Meuric (16 page)

“Are you sure?” asked Tacitus of the mage.

The mage from Pan'iz nodded. “I have not seen inside the scroll myself but it would not serve our cause to be otherwise.”

The senator's face darkened. His hands turned into fists.

“I will send a team to kill him immediately,” offered Bradán amenably. He did not like the senator but still felt that it was his duty to help.

Tacitus shook his head. “No,” he cried. He took a breath and calmed himself. In a quieter voice he avowed, “I have a far better way of dealing with him.” As he spoke Bradán noticed that he was staring at Mailís. The
wicce
nodded lightly to him.

“It will have to wait,” stated the Dark Druid. “But only for a short while, Senator, I promise you. Have you ever heard of Thales the merchant of E'del?”

The question seemed to be open to the floor so Bradán said, “No, my Lord.” Next to him, Tacitus said, “Are you talking of the hireling?”

The Dark Druid nodded. “I am. It would seem that a Knight Protector by the name of Iason has become betrothed to his daughter.”

“That old man will not stop us,” snapped Tacitus.

“Do not underestimate him.” The dark mage shook his head and looked at the senator. “You say old while I say experienced.” He chuckled then as if remembering some private joke. “There is a reason why he has been so successful while at the same time remaining relatively unknown.” He looked again at the list on the
parchment. “We need to separate them.” He regarded both Tacitus and Bradán with cold eyes hidden beneath the shadow of his hood. “The two of you will go to Thales and offer him a job to kill Knight Protector Meuric. If he is no longer here then he will most likely return to Kel'akh. He will be able to move quite freely using his role of merchant. He will then be ordered to join up with the team we already have in Kel'akh to kill Radha. When he is gone Iason will be much more vulnerable.”

“And what of Meuric?” sniped Mailís. “If he has the boy there is no way that he will take him to the Council of Eight. He hates them too much. More likely he will take the boy to Ee'ay. But the question now is will you treat him like all the others? All of the Protectorate must be eliminated.”

Bradán had heard of Ee'ay of course though he had never been. It was the island home of the Oak Seers in the centre of what remained of the Kel'akh Nation. It sat to the south in the Tarn Kel'akh. The Dark Druid took a step forward to look out over Ah'mos. Fighting had begun now against the innermost wall. He raised the parchment again and read, seemingly not interested in the combat.

Bradán looked at his master. He did not know why but he could sense the turmoil that he felt. After some moments of silence he turned to Tacitus and said, “For the two killings he will get triple his usual rate.”

The Dark Druid looked back at Mailís, whose neutral face offered the slightest of nods. He then looked out over Ah'mos once again. Bradán stared hard at the wicce. He did not understand what was going on between the two but he felt disgusted that she was barely able to suppress a triumphant grin as soon as his master was no longer looking at her.

XIX

Bradán looked on as the Dark Druid stared out towards the north end of Ah'mos. His master had taken a few steps to one side as if to distance himself from those who were considered to be his closest counsel and the warrior looked on in curiosity. Was the wicce soon to lose her position as first adviser to his master? Bradán had to admit he took some delight in that thought. As if sensing that she was dismissed, Mailís made her way over to the senator and began to speak with him in low conspiratorial tones.

Bradán looked about. His master had moved off to be alone with his thoughts. The wicce and Tacitus sat together plotting their future adventures. The mage from Wardens Keep made his apologies and wished to take his leave. He wanted to return as soon as possible for fear of being missed.

“Wait,” the Dark Druid commanded. “First tell me how is it that you were able to transport here through magick? I have a narration placed over the whole of this land preventing that.”

The mage from Wardens Keep shook his head. I did not come here through the land, my Lord Druid. An Oak Seer from Wardens Keep opened a pathway under the land and a Water Bearer gave me passage along the River Nab'eel. Once in A'ren I merely transported myself here. I will return by the same manner.”

Bradán listened intently. Naturally he was well versed in the power of the Oak Seers as they were based in Kel'akh. He had yet to meet a Water Bearer. Like the land prēosts from his homeland Water Bearers were elemental in basis and possessed a strong empathic bond with water. They may not possess the same power as a prēost to the gods but they were apparently far more skilled in their ability.

The Dark Druid nodded approvingly before dismissing the mage. “Clever.” He looked again to the parchment of intelligence he now possessed. “And how did you come by this?”

“A member of the Council of Eight is on our side,” came the response. “As you can see there are many within the Conclave who are with you.”

Bradán was amazed. He had always believed the Council of Eight to be untouchable. To have at least one of them now aligning themselves with his master only confirmed for him that he was on the right path.

“When you return to Wardens Keep,” said the Dark Druid. “Have that person contact me directly.”

The mage bowed. “As you wish, my Lord Druid.” He vanished.

Bradán scrutinised the five bodyguards of the Dark Druid. They seemed unfazed by the power they had just witnessed, continuing to stand at their positions and scanning for all and any possible dangers. The warrior was now beginning to feel like a fifth wheel attached to a wagon, as the saying went. He looked again at the Dark Druid. If Bradán did not know any better he would say that his master was having trouble justifying the decision that he had just made. But what did he know? He was just a simple soldier. He was just about to move off to find his unit when he heard the Dark Druid speak.

“Stay, Bradán.”

The warrior nodded and stepped forward to the rooftop's edge and also looked north, careful to ensure there was a small distance between him and his master. He looked back once, feeling hostile eyes upon him and saw both Tacitus and Mailís watching him in silence, their faces unreadable. For the first time he noticed that their eyes were of the same colour of tawny brown and he wondered if they were in some way related. They certainly kept each other close.

Bradán glanced at the Dark Druid. As usual he could not see his face beneath his cowl but he knew that his master was straining his eyes out to sea in a vain attempt to glimpse the boy's ship. Knowing that the boy Abram was out there and escaping upon a vessel galled him. He was so close to the seizure and the beginnings of his master's dreams, but as always those conniving Knight Protectors blocked their attempts.

Bradán scanned the area and looked on with a commander's eye. Patrols from the Dark Druid's Legion, as they called themselves, dressed as proper Roz'eli Men-of-the-Legion, swept through the town and searched the rubble killing any they found. Men disguised as Free Archers stood watch from several rooftops shooting indiscriminately at any fleeing townspeople. The main body of the Dark Druid's men had lined themselves up for an attack against the last wall. Soon it would begin and once the wall or gate had been breached there would be no mercy shown to the people of Ah'mos.

He turned away from the scene and looked south. There was a harsh beauty to this place, he decided. Coming from a fertile land where green grew everywhere he found it hard to feel comfortable here. The sun glared angrily from above and a haze seemed to settle over the great plains of sand. The only vegetation that
could be found grew only near water and yet he was told of nomads who could live well in the desert, following their old ways and staying well away from everything that was Roz'eli. He thought again of the townspeople defending the last wall.

What is wrong with me?

For the briefest of moments guilt and pity touched him and Bradán's heart went out to the people of Ah'mos. There would be no witnesses allowed to live in case they talked of their actions here. It was vital that the Roz'eli authorities did not learn of their involvement. Not until the boy had been captured.

“Is it necessary to kill them all?” asked Bradán before he could stop himself. He frowned unsure at what had made him speak out like that.

The Dark Druid turned his head slowly to look at him. The man from Kel'akh turned but refused to meet the gaze of his master. He knew that from beneath the depth of his cowl hard eyes were scrutinising him. He almost held his breath.

“The fewer that know of my existence and involvement the better,” said the Dark Druid. “There will be many who fear what I intend. It is hard now but for the greater good and the safety of our world it has to be done. But we may not have to disguise ourselves for much longer.” Seeing Bradán's quizzical look the Druid added, “Tacitus will very soon be attending an audience with the Roz'eli Emperor. Recruitment continues to swell our numbers. Already the numbers in our force have doubled and the training of our second Legion is almost complete. The plan now is to make us a legitimate organisation attached to their General Agents. That way we will have all the freedom we need to move throughout the Empire.”

Bradán allowed his breath to escape. He had witnessed in the past the terrible cruelty that his master could unleash upon those he could no longer trust.

“I feel honoured for your trust in me, my Lord, and I apologise for speaking out of turn.”

The Dark Druid waved the remark away. “I do not need blind followers with me, Bradán. I respect men who think for themselves as long as their loyalty remains.”

Bradán straightened up. “Never doubt that, my Lord.”

The fighting at the wall had begun taking the attention of both men. The Men-of-the-Legion were not having it all their own way though. It was strange to Bradán that he found himself almost cheering for the townspeople. He cleared his throat.

“With your permission, my Lord, I shall go be with my men. The sooner we end the fighting the sooner we can go after Abram.”

“Hold,” said the Dark Druid. “They will not get too far. Our ship will stop them from leaving the waters. And even if they do escape all we need do now is wait and allow Tacitus's General Agents or one of my own discerners to bring us information.”

“Can you not magick us the intelligence needed?” asked Bradán.

“The narration that I placed over the land stops others from spying on us from the outside but also prevents me from doing the same.” The Dark Druid chuckled suddenly with the irony. “I am too clever for my own good, Bradán.” He looked to the officer. “When you go to see Thales with Tacitus there will be a man by the name of Gavriil waiting for you. He is my man on the ground there and will act as your guide. Take a troop of hand-picked men with you as an escort. You are hereby promoted from Lieutenant to Captain.”

Bradán bowed deeply. “I am of course honoured, my Lord Druid, but surely we do not need a man such as Thales doing our work? He is after all simply a hireling. We have plenty of Kel'akh soldiers within our ranks.”

“You are of course correct,” responded the mage. “But I cannot risk any of my men being recognised from home even if chances of that are remote. Nor do I want to tempt the men with visiting their old homes. Some of them, like you, have been away for a long time.

“Thales has made it part of his reputation to keep his word so if he agrees to the contract it will be done. But he is far more than that. He can travel to places far and wide without anyone batting an eyelid. And he has contacts in every major town in every country with an intelligence network of his own. If I thought he might have joined us I would have recruited him a long time ago.”

Bradán cursed silently. He had secretly hoped that his master would send him home to Kel'akh and, in turn, he might have had the opportunity to escape from the Dark Druid's Legion. He held a fantasy close to his heart to call in with Corliss only to take her away and set up a home far from any war between Kel'akh and
Roz'eli and the army of the Dark Druid. Who could have known that he would have flourished as a soldier, rising steadily through the ranks? He was a victim of his own success. Now he was a rising star within the Dark Druid's army and a commander of five hundred men. He was being called upon more and more by the Dark Druid to carry out his missions.

Bradán bowed. “I should see to the men, my Lord.”

The Dark Druid waved him away. Bradán turned and marched off. As he strode away he began to dream. He had enough money now. Coffers of gold had been hidden away across many countries, accumulating in various business ventures. Maybe after meeting this Thales he could escape the Dark Druid after all? Maybe he could push his way to accompanying the hireling and take Corliss from her village in Kel'akh? Maybe they could still have a new life together?

His heart lifted. Maybe this was the time to go after all. He turned, feeling a weight upon his shoulders. He glanced back at his master and Mailís. He found both of them staring at him. Though he could not see his commander's eyes, hers were cold and judging. His heart sank.

Maybe this was not the time after all.

XX

Meuric found himself standing in the centre of the sparse room of the Travelers' Inn exactly as Ladra had found him. Gone were his weapons and the Knight Protector's uniform. So too were the wounds that he had picked up during the fighting at Ah'mos. Onóra had continued to sleep apparently quite content on her pallet bed, remaining in the same foetal position as when he had left. He was forced to question whether any time had passed. Was any of it real? Meuric raised his hand out over the serving girl from Kar'el and felt the remains of a narration lingering over her body and throughout the room. Meuric gave a wry smile feeling somewhat relieved.

Leaving the girl, he made his way to the window and drew back the curtain. Pushing open the window shutters he saw that the sun was up but had not been for too long. The cold air washed over his body and he relished the sensation, still feeling the burning sun of A'ren. It would be still midmorning in Ah'mos. He wondered how the people there fared. He sighed. Being to the rear of the Travelers' Inn his view was of the palisade that surrounded the small village and the Great Wood beyond, but he could well hear the stirrings of its people beginning to waken. He turned.

Apart from the bed there was nothing else that decorated the room except for a single table with a bowl, a stool at the end of the bed, a vase with water in it and two small plain wooden bowls next to it. There was not much to look at after a hundred years of life, he deliberated, but what else did you need as long as there was a roof above your head and the room was both warm and dry? The people of Kel'akh were not known for their luxuries, unlike those in Ee'en where excess in everything seemed to be the norm.

Reaching for the stool he lifted it to the window and sat. Why had the Dark Druid not killed me? The thought tumbled over and over in his mind. Why would someone who ruthlessly destroyed all he came into contact with suddenly allow him to live?

A noise touched his ears and he looked down. From below, he could see two of the village's guards visually checking each of the palisades for damage or interference. By looking at them he could tell that one was past his prime and one barely seemed old enough to accept the fresh tattoos upon his body. They seemed unarmed but Meuric knew that at the very least they would keep long-bladed daggers beneath their cloaks.

He recalled Liam telling him of the Ard-ri stealing away all fighting men to Ka're, one of the far southern tips in west Kel'akh. ‘There is something else at work here, my friend,' he had said. ‘It was almost as if our army was sent to the most southern part because something else is about to happen up here.'

Meuric nodded at the memory. With the main body of the Kel'akh's western army in the south it cleared the way for an invading force. Or worse. Perhaps it also cleared the way for the Dark Druid. But he brushed the thought from his mind. There was no reason why the dark mage or his minions would be here.

The younger of the Guardsmen pulled his blue woollen cloak tight across his body, obviously suffering from the chill morning air. The older man slapped the younger man hard on the back while laughing only to stop suddenly and turn to stare up at Meuric. His arm inched to the dagger below his cloak. Their eyes met and the former Knight Protector nodded once to the old man with pale green eyes. The warriors may be gone, considered Meuric, but I defy any soldier to tackle even an old Kel'akh warrior. The old man nodded curtly and, leading the boy, continued on their inspection.

But something continued to irk the Daw'ra man. The words of Liam repeated consistently in his mind. Leaning forward he grasped the windowsill and he sucked in a deep breath, drawing the early morning air into his powerful lungs. He allowed his magick to pour out. A vision abruptly burst into life all around him.

The village of Kar'el before him now was, in most part, reduced to ashes. The roof of the Travelers' Inn and the north end of the building was now gone. Meuric looked about. The sky above him was now dark and starless. Many of the family homes that lay to the north side of the village were nothing more than the charred remains of what they had been. Several great sections of the palisade had now collapsed and continued to smoulder. The corpses of both townsfolk and livestock littered the ground. He spotted a few of the dead enemy combatants.

They wore uniforms similar to Roz'eli Men-of-the-Legion but the tunics were different. Most wore a firebrick-red tunic with black leggings and armour. He noted that no wounded painfully crawled to safety or cried out in pain. It was hard to tell but there seemed no sign of rape or robbery. No one lamented over the dead. There were no survivors. It had been a massacre. He could smell the burnt remains of Kar'el and feel the heat that had ravaged the area around him.

Behind him he could hear Onóra beginning to stir forcing the warrior out of his reverie. He removed his hands from the ledge and the world shifted back to normal. No more death or destruction surrounded him. It was once again just an ordinary day's beginning in a common tribal village within northwest Kel'akh.

What did it mean though? When was it set to happen? First there was the rescue at Ber'ek, then the battle at Ah'mos and now the vision of Kar'el's destruction. Was Abram set to come here? A war was coming, and possibly not with the Roz'eli Empire. Meuric could feel it in his bones as surely as the magick from the Cup-of-Plenty coursed through his veins.

The former Knight turned and faced the young woman whom he had bedded just hours before. He smiled. Onóra was finding it hard to open her eyes and was apparently extremely reluctant to do so. She slapped her tongue about the inside of her mouth as if it was too large for her orifice. Meuric folded his arms and watched her, his grin growing at her antics. She attempted to swallow what little saliva she had left in her mouth but it seemed almost too hard for her to do so. Meuric could imagine that she felt her parched throat underwent thorns running down the inside of it. Onóra sat up on the pallet allowing the green cotton blanket to slip to her waist revealing her small and bare white breasts.

“Water,” she croaked.

Meuric moved to the table and poured some water into one of the shallow bowls. Onóra sat up and groaned as she suddenly became aware of the throbbing that had started at the back of her head without any warning.

“I will never drink again,” she swore passionately. Her face was ashen. “Not even watered down mead or wine. It is the curse of the gods.”

“Spoken like a true person not long of age,” mocked Meuric approaching her with the dish.

He handed it to Onóra who clutched it with two shaking hands and drank plentifully. Twice more Meuric had to fill the bowl before there was any sign of the young woman's lack of fluids being appeased.

Unsteadily she set the mug on the floor and looked up at Meuric for the first time that morning. He, in return, was very much aware that she was still naked beneath the bed blanket but she did not seem abashed in
any way. He looked at Onóra just as she looked at him and could see that she was obviously sizing him up. She smiled.

He was tall for a Kel'akh man, some four cubits in height, was both broad and muscular with a narrow waist and toned legs that Onóra clearly appreciated. Next, her eyes followed the black swirl-shaped tattoos covering patches of his skin down the length of the left-hand side of his body, which was typical of any native person of adult age within the free Kel'akh Nation, except for the colour. Black was the sign of suffering a great loss.

Meuric did not need his magick to read the thoughts behind her green bleary eyes. How could his tattoos become so faded if he was only a few years older than her? She knew that the colours in a tattoo usually took many years to diminish and should have only been added, at most, ten years before.

Unconsciously, Onóra looked at her own deep red tattoos, the traditional colour of the Kah'al region. They covered parts of the left-hand side of her body and still looked considerably fresh even after four years. She smiled at him and began to hum to herself, pleased she had caught someone who was both handsome and obviously powerful.

Meuric instantly recognised the theme. It was an old melody about a forbidden love and the shade of a man who was always in search of it. Meuric could see a sliver of light that surrounded Onóra begin to flare. He could feel the touch of magick lightly press against him as if it were a physical force.

“Do not try to influence me, woman,” said Meuric suddenly with a slightly smug half-grin on his face. “You won't be able to.”

“He is the Hand of Death,” uttered Onóra suddenly in a voice that was not her own. “To face him is to die.”

Meuric froze. His heart began to hammer in his chest but quickly he calmed himself. He examined the serving girl and saw that her eyes had become glazed over and that her face was now expressionless. He knew that she possessed the Gift of Barding but had no idea until this moment how powerful that Gift actually was within her.

Meuric examined the scene. The voice that had passed through her lips had been male and ageless and seemed to have no definable accent. He stepped in closer to her and knelt. In detail he studied her face. The pupils in her green eyes were extraordinarily large as she stared straight ahead unseeing.

“Onóra,” he whispered gently. “Onóra… can you hear me?”

There was no response. The serving girl's lips moved once again. “I am a goddess. I am the Daughter of Malevolence. No mere mortal, even a Knight Protector, can kill me.”

The voice this time belonged to a woman. Again it sounded ageless with no indication of any inflection though it was angry.

“This one can,” answered the male voice from Onóra's mouth, the same one as before.

Meuric saw her eyes come into focus. At first she seemed startled at not being able to see him in front of her and then flinched as she suddenly noticed him kneeling to her right.

“How did you get so close to me without being seen?” she asked.

Meuric smiled at her but did not answer. He sat on the bed next to her. Onóra seemed totally oblivious to what had just transpired. She reached out and touched his unblemished body, which was unknown for any warrior to possess.

“You have a beautiful voice and a quick mind,” he commented changing the subject. “Have you ever considered being a Bard?”

“I leave in a few months to be tested at Ee'ay,” Onóra answered rather proudly. “My father will be taking me.”

Meuric nodded. The island of Ee'ay, home of the Oak Seers, was in the Tarn Ke're. It was where those living in Kel'akh would be tested before progressing on to Wardens Keep. Kel'akh was renowned for its bards and metal and wooden artisans, those who could create magick through the objects they fashioned. More commonly these traders were known as Men of Art.

“You begin your testing a little late,” commented Meuric. “I know that it is uncommon but not unheard of.”

Onóra smiled at him. She cocked her head to one side. “Do you realise that you do that, I wonder?”

Meuric looked confused. “Do what?”

“Your accent,” she giggled. “You speak as if you had lived here your whole life but last night when you spoke to your friend you sounded just like him.” She paused and her face became serious. “Do you even know your own voice anymore?”

Meuric frowned. “What makes you say that?”

Onóra thought about it. “I do not know. It just came out.”

“You have a good ear,” said Meuric quickly. “I have travelled so much over the last few years that I probably have learned various accents without even realising it.”

“What is it that you do?” asked the servant girl.

“Hireling,” was the Knight's reply. She nodded at that and Meuric felt that she was satisfied by that answer. “So tell me of your Gift. I felt it last night as you sang.”

“You felt it?” she exclaimed, a little surprised. Meuric nodded. “Last night I could not read you. Why was that? That only happens to those who know how to protect themselves from magick. You must be powerful indeed.”

Meuric smiled but it was forced. “Not really,” he lied. “A Man of Art living at Ee'ay made me a pendant that protects me from those trying to read my mind or my feelings. It cost me a pretty coin but well worth it in my line of work. I assume that you inherited your Gift from your mother otherwise it would have been your father singing last night.”

Onóra nodded. “My mother was a Bard and we used to travel from place to place throughout Kel'akh. That is why I have not begun my studies sooner. She died three seasons ago as we travelled through Kel'akh.”

“I am sorry for your loss,” said Meuric softly. “What was her name?”

“Ariana.”

The former Knight Protector nodded. “I remember her. I actually saw her sing twice. The second time she came to me and questioned why she had not been able to read me much like you could not.” That particular time had been twelve years before but he kept that knowledge to himself. “She was amazing. Much like you were last night.”

Onóra gave her thanks and continued. “Only my parents knew of my Gift at that time even though everyone in the village now suspects. She called it having an empathy with all living things. Whenever we sing it is like we can tap into a person's soul. My mother had it as did her mother. My father decided to come back here, the place of his birth, and take over the Travelers' Inn from his father when mother died.” She frowned. “Why am I telling you this? I don't even know you.”

Meuric allowed the question to go unanswered. He reached out with his magick and a scene flashed in his mind. He was being robbed as he slept. A female hand was lifting his purse. She had planned to steal from him the night before, he realised. Admittedly they were drunken thoughts but… He stood and crossed to the opposite side of the room, possessing both the body of an athlete and all the grace of a cat.