Meuric (12 page)

“Why not go direct to the Council?” asked Meuric. “They have an army.”

“I have only the power to take one person through the shield,” responded Ladra. “They are tied by regulations and to see them would take too long.”

“Can you not do something for the boy yourself then?” asked Meuric. “You are immeasurably more powerful than me or any of the Conclave's Council members.”

Ladra looked despondent. “If only I could, but the gods forbid me to do anything directly.”

Meuric laughed. “Good excuse for a coward.” The room suddenly filled with power and the Daw'ra man felt the hairs on his body rise. Brilliance shone from the mage filling the room forcing Meuric to hold up his hands for fear of being blinded. It was not unlike that of the god Faeder he had seen a dozen years earlier in Ay'den. The warrior knees buckled under the force as if being pushed down from above.

“Boy, I fight a war on so many fronts that you could not possibly imagine it,” spat Ladra angrily. He swept his arm through the air and suddenly Meuric found himself dressed in the dark uniform of a Knight Protector along with his bladed weapons and his small hand-held crossbow. “Abram is too important. If he dies now so does the world. So do the gods. So does the universe.”

Meuric stood, feeling the power diminishing. The radiance faded away leaving the room in a deeper gloom than before.

“If you send me there I am going to kill that whoreson who murdered my family,” said the former Knight Protector defiantly, his voice muffled within his leather helm. “The boy means nothing to me.”

Ladra shook his head. “You will not get a chance to try. Not yet.”

For Meuric, the world suddenly changed.

XV

Meuric fell to his knees on a street and gagged. He removed his helmet of toughened leather quickly for fear of retching into it. Ladra was not joking when he spoke about the effort of passing through the magickal shroud that now covered Ar'en. It was almost like slamming past a physical force, his body stretched and pushed to its limits as it rammed through the shield. But in his mind it was worth it.

He was now in a position to take his revenge.

Meuric stood transfixed. Screams of panic and pain came from everywhere bringing him back to his senses. Boulders thrown from onagers, some of which were combustible, landed around him demolishing buildings and people alike. Whole generations of families were gone in the blink of an eye. So caught up was he in what he wanted he completely forgot the cost of a town under siege.

He watched the people run frantically everywhere in total disorder. Most attempted to fight their way to the north end of the town where the docks lay, the smell of which indicated the way for those not familiar with Ah'mos. More than one person cried out the names of missing wives, husbands and young ones as they searched the rubble and smashed bodies. Most, though, clutched their loved ones that still lived as tight as they could, fighting their way through the varying mobs. Meuric stepped back from the path of the surging crowds. On occasion he was almost trampled underfoot beneath the hordes. Anger gripped him. More families and people destroyed because of the ambitions of the Dark Druid.

But how could he destroy him?

His mind flitted back to Ber'ek. He remembered the figure upon the horse and the dread he felt even through the magickal barriers set up against such things by the Gradalis. Zuleika had wanted to attack him there and then when he had advised against it, reminding her of the mission. He wished he had allowed her to try. All together they might have had the power to take on the dark mage. Then he remembered the force with which he had destroyed the buildings with so little effort.

How then to kill him?

He obviously could not attack the Dark Druid directly. That would be suicide and pointless if that monster did not die also. The secret was to draw him out and then distract him as he landed a killing blow. The child was the key. If he possessed the boy then the Dark Druid would have to hunt for him. That would allow the Daw'ra man to draw in the mage and kill him at a location of his choice.

Resolved upon his mission, Meuric stood and slipped on his helm. Just in time. An arrow bounced off it and ricocheted downward, slicing his bicep. The former Knight looked up. On a rooftop to his left he could see a Free Archer notching a second arrow.

Though he resembled a Man-of-the-Legion he was considerably less well armoured. He wore only a green tunic, brown trousers and sandals, a helmet of the same design as a Roz'eli soldier's and chainmail over the tunic. He was armed only with sword and dagger, bow and a quiver full of arrows. There was no messing about with soldiers from this legion. Only the most hardy and gifted soldiers were ever expected to last any length of time as a Free Archer.

Years of training took over. Immediately Meuric dropped and rolled to his right, coming up on one knee. At the same time he lifted his small crossbow and fired only once. The bolt flew true ramming into the archer's face directly between his cheek-guards. The bowman toppled off the rooftop. Any screams the archer might have made were lost in the wails of the panicking crowds.

Two more soldiers, armed with gladii and pugiones, raced out of the alleyway below the rooftop, bows slung across their backs. Hastily Meuric loaded his crossbow and aimed. A powerful set of arms suddenly wrapped themselves around his shoulders and down over his arms, making his weapon useless. Instantly Meuric dropped down and stamped hard on the soldier's foot. Immediately he followed up by throwing his head back and felt it connect with the centre of his assailant's face. The former Knight Protector smiled with satisfaction feeling the grip loosen. Twisting his body, Meuric slipped his leg behind his opponent's and pushed back. The soldier slid off Meuric's knee and landed hard, the air exploding from his lungs. He turned to face the remaining two Free Archers.

As one they both lunged at him with their gladii, a short sword mainly designed for stabbing. Meuric leapt back and landed several feet away. His crossbow shot out and one man fell dead. Realising that he had no time
for a second bolt, he pulled a dagger from his belt and threw it hard and true, the impact lifting the man off his feet. Making his way to the dead bodies he retrieved his weapons.

He had only five quarrels left.

Quickly Meuric checked that the two soldiers were dead. He did not need to look at the bow and arrow sewed onto their sleeves to know their unit. He ran over to the third man. By now the soldier had stood and had drawn his sword. He swung at Meuric. Easily he danced out of the way then stepped in quickly, lashing out with a low kick. The soldier screamed as his knee snapped and fell to the ground, dropping his sword. The former Knight Protector kicked it away and placed his foot squarely on the soldier's chest, pinning him to the ground.

Meuric aimed his small hand-held crossbow at the soldier's throat. “Speak.”

The soldier looked up at the dark warrior. His blue eyes blazed with ferocity through the pain he suffered. “I will tell you noth—”

He did not get to finish his sentence. Meuric released a bolt from his crossbow that ripped through the man's throat and embedded itself in the hardened sand beyond. “I believe you.”

No doubt these were some of the Free Archers Ladra had seen entering the town. Other teams would already be operating throughout Ah'mos, searching for the boy. Meuric looked skyward. Dawn had come and gone here, with the Roz'eli troops deciding on an early morning attack. Ar'en was approximately two hours ahead of Kar'el in time. Onóra would still be asleep for a few more hours yet. He dragged the bolt from the soldier's throat and cleaned it.

He turned then, reaching out and grabbing the first local man he could. When the townsman began to struggle the Daw'ra warrior pushed him hard against a wall and held him there. The man looked him up and down. He was obviously terrified, having been accosted by someone who was dressed just like a Man-of-the-Legion albeit all in black.

“I am not Roz'eli,” Meuric stated. His grey eyes burrowed deep into the man. He was a worker judging by the simple blue one-piece garment he wore. He wore no armour and possessed no weapons. His hands were rough and his face weather-beaten. “Tell me of what happened here.”

The man stopped struggling. There was no moving against the arms that seemed to hold him with the same pressure that a mountain would. It was then he noticed the dead Free Archers and he relaxed a little more. He looked at Meuric. His large brown eyes, filled with fear, softened.

“What is your name?” asked the Daw'ra man.

“Rabi.” He jumped as two more boulders flew overhead.

The former Knight Protector slowly released the man. “I am Meuric of Kel'akh.” In a softer tone he asked, “Rabi, what happened here?”

“They came just before dawn,” he explained, hesitant to talk at first. “I was working at the West Gate to have it repaired before the town proper woke. At the first sign of the Roz'eli soldiers the Guardsmen closed the gates and I was told to race off to fetch the Roz'eli Administrator accompanied by the First and Second Citizens. By the time they had got to the West Gate Men-of-the-Legion had surrounded the town. Without any protection, they went out to speak with the Roz'eli officers outside the walls. They assumed he was completely safe. Why would they not be? The Administrator was of the same ilk. They were still close enough to the wall so I was able to hear what was being said.”

“How many Men-of-the-Legion?” asked Meuric.

“I think one thousand but I am not an expert on such things. It was the First and Second Spear who approached and someone who looked like a mage with a man who wore no uniform but looked important anyway. Then there was a woman…”

“A woman?” interjected Meuric sharply.

Rabi nodded, unsure that he had mentioned the right thing. “She stood on a dune further out, apart from the army. I could see she was watching it all very closely. I did not know her as she was dressed as a warrior woman. I tell you truthfully whenever I looked at her I felt a chill in my heart.” Seeing no reaction from the dark warrior the townsman continued.

“First they asked the Administrator about a particular child and his party. A family from Jay'keb I think. They went into a lot of detail on their descriptions. The Administrator knew nothing. Neither did the First and Second Citizens. Immediately they were murdered, bursting into flames without even being touched. That was
when the attack began. The Guardsmen could do little but keep the gates closed and keep their heads down. We have no real force to defend ourselves with as it is forbidden under Roz'eli law.”

“Father…” The small voice came from their left. Standing there was a little girl no more than seven years of age. There were tears in her eyes. Like her father she wore a simple blue tunic that covered her from neck to ankles. Her face was stained with dirt. “I cannot find mama.”

The man looked from the child to Meuric then back at his daughter. A boulder from an onager landed a short distance away to their right, penetrating deep into a homestead. Fear filled the man again, this time accompanied by panic. Meuric released Rabi and stepped to one side. With no hesitation the townsman sprinted to his daughter lifting her high in a swinging motion only to hold her tight. Tears welled in his eyes.

“We will find her together, little one,” promised the man.

“Little one,” repeated Meuric. Memories of the Oak Seer Paden flashed in his mind. He remembered again the moment he had stopped him from hurting Fabien.

Meuric touched the man's shoulder gently to gain his attention. “Listen to me, Rabi,” he said. “Hide yourself in that house that just got destroyed and hide you well. Be prepared to wait for a couple of days before venturing out of Ah'mos. The chances of another rock landing there is extremely small.”

“But my wife,” protested the man.

“Listen to me,” insisted Meuric. “If she is alive and has made it out safely she will return here. She may have the sense to hide and wait for the Roz'eli force to leave. If she is dead there is nothing that you can do for her except live.” Seeing that the man was about to protest the warrior quickly added, “Think of your daughter.”

The man looked to his child then reluctantly nodded. Focusing his magick the former Knight Protector lifted himself off the ground. The Conclave called it the Gift of Feather Light. It was the ability to become lighter than air and to control movement through it. He could hear the man draw a sharp intake of breath and mutter a prayer to the gods.

“Wait,” he shouted only a moment later, regaining his nerve. Meuric hovered in mid-air and looked down. “Take us with you.”

The former Knight Protector shook his head. “I cannot. I have only the power to raise myself and one other and where I am going Deo will surely follow.”

Faster than any arrow could hope to follow Meuric shot upwards, coming to rest only when he was able to see the whole of the town. All thoughts relating to the father and his daughter were already fading from his mind. Slowly he turned around, taking in a three hundred and sixty-degree view of the situation. A golden haze from the early morning desert seemed to cover everything.

The town was a perfect box shape and uniformly planned, as were all engineering feats by the Roz'eli. He could have been looking at any town within the Empire, so identical were they in their design. There was of course a reason behind their strategy. No matter where you go in the realm every town or city will look like home.

Ah'mos was large enough to comfortably house three thousand of its inhabitants and was divided up into three sections, a difference that was not typically seen. A wall, as high as the town's outer wall, was stationed between each division. At least the Roz'eli will not get it all their way, smirked Meuric. From his position he could see a few hundred people, not all of them soldiers, armed on each of the walls, ducking down low behind the parapets, firing off arrows or dropping rocks directly below them.

Rows and rows of identical terrace houses and close-grouped apartments filled the southern end of the town. These were the homes for the labourers and the lowborn or low ranked. The middle section had slightly larger homes that were semi-detached and these were set aside for those with the skills of artistry and craftsmanship. The north end of Ah'mos had detached houses and these were set for those of education, business and government. The residences for the Roz'eli Administrator and the First and Second Citizens were the closest to the harbour, having the best view of the Mahr'she Sea beyond.

Arrows shot up past Meuric. He looked down and spotted further teams of Free Archers aiming for him. Several of the Guardsmen had also begun shooting at him, fearing what they did not understand. Meuric flew up higher and now he looked beyond the perimeter walls of Ah'mos.

To the north end Roz'eli ships of war were beginning to come into view. They had either been slow in taking up their positions or the land attack had occurred too early. Whatever the reason for their tardiness several fishing ships and galleys of varying descriptions had already made their way out into the open waters.

To the east beyond the floodplains Meuric could see the River Nab'eel that ran from the north of the country to the south, dividing it. Between the floodplains and the town's walls sat three onager machines, continually being loaded and fired fluidly by its well-practiced artillerymen. Three catapult machines, in essence giant crossbows, were aimed at each of the gateways to the town, no doubt to stop anyone from escaping.

Behind them stood a phalanx of Men-of-the-Legion in crimson tunics and muted grey armour, sixty men across and five rows deep. No ordinary soldiers, these were the elite State Guard tasked with protecting Roz'eli officials but could be used as a military force like any other legion. Behind them stood the archers, bow in one hand and an arrow in his other. On the wings of the phalanxes waited their cavalry. None of the men moved, or shifted anxiously in anticipation of a coming fight, such was their discipline.