Meuric (21 page)

Meuric raised his eyebrows, stunned. Such a thing was unheard of though he had been cut from the Link as soon as he had walked away from the Council. How strange, how scary, it must be for Radha to lose that connection after fifty years or so.

The Daw'ra man considered this new information. The Link was a mystical connection that existed between each of them and the Conclave's Council, used primarily as a method of instant communication and a transfer of orders. There could only be two reasons for it.

The first was that everyone was dead. He knew that was not likely. The second explanation was that someone had isolated Radha, most likely in preparation for an attack. Either way, someone was clearly targeting her or the Knight Protectors in general. Meuric wondered now if he too was going to be a target.

“Have you been dreaming much lately?” she asked.

Meuric sighed and slipped a black cloak around his shoulders, securing it with a silver brooch with an intricate Kel'akh design of swirls surrounding a dragon. “I am still having that recurring dream if that is what you mean. Only now it increases in vividness and information. Is this another punishment by the Bridge Maker?”

Radha shook her head. “I have been having them too. I think that our abilities are trying to warn us of the dangers that we are about to face. The Dark Druid is coming here. I can feel it. I think that it is time for you to come back into the fold. Perhaps you should go and see the Council and make amends?”

Meuric cocked his head. Was that actual fear he had heard in Radha's voice? “I am no longer a Knight Protector,” he stated again, more vehemently this time. “I strayed from that path some time ago and I have no wish to go back. They cost me my wife, my son, my friends and my life. Besides, if I was to come back there would be two of us protecting Kel'akh and that would be against the rules of the Religious Conviction. Sitting in Wardens Keep like Petros and Zuleika is not my idea of living.”

Radha laughed. “You think that is all they do? You know better than that.”

“This fight is yours not mine,” continued Meuric ignoring the female Knight's comment. “I plan to be away from Kel'akh itself inside the next several days or so if the weather holds. I was thinking of making my way to the port at Bren'den and on to Ba'teest.”

Radha smiled. “I do not think so, Meuric. You still possess our armour. You still practice our ways. I know you help others when you can and kill only those that are considered wrongdoers. When you have need of me, call. You know how to get in touch.” The woman stood and turned towards the forest. “I will be waiting. It was good to see you again. Do not allow it to be so long again.”

With that, she turned and simply vanished.

“I will never again be in league with the Council,” Meuric yelled after her, suddenly feeling like a child throwing a tantrum. “No more will I do their work!”

Radha began laughing. Her chuckling filled Meuric's mind and the air around him. “Who do you think has been using you as a hireling this whole time?”

XXIX

Bradán almost slid his way across the soft ground of Rabi'a village as he made for the Chieftain's home. He had been summoned for a meeting with the local Roz'eli Administrator by the name of Quirinus, who had just arrived at the settlement a short time before. He cursed as the mud splattered the lower part of his leggings so recent was the rainfall in these parts. Thankfully the rains had now stopped allowing the late winter sun to shine in all its glory. He and his fellow men from the Druid's Legion, and now a cohort from an authentic Roz'eli unit, had already spent two nights in the large village and were mostly bored. There was very little to do in a place such as this which always made the threat of fights between soldiers and villagers even higher. He was determined not to allow that.

He was still a Captain in the Druid's Legion and, though there was nothing that he could do about the Roz'eli cavalry, he was damned sure that his own men would not lie idle. The Chieftain's home, a large yet nondescript building of three levels, stood in the direct centre of the settlement as per the norm of any Roz'eli-occupied lands. It acted as both the Chieftain's homestead and office for his official duties. For the inhabitants of Rabi'a it was also the focal point for the town where the market and shops would set up close by. Gone now were the traditional circular domed huts of the Kel'akh people. In their place now stood erected square buildings of mostly a single level, made mostly of a drab local stone.

Vanished too were the standard wooden protective walls that at one time would have defended the village. Now a dull grey wall of stone surrounded the settlement, though the main gate was still wooden. It seemed to Bradán that the whole place was nothing more than a cheap boring replica of the city of Roz'eli where everything seemed to glisten and shine. It saddened the warrior to see this. The people here had lost a way of life that could be traced back thousands of years, only to be replaced by the new empire of a new world.

But there was something more to this town, thought Bradán. Though he could not put his finger on it the place seemed to have an almost military aspect to it. It was hard to define though, as if great care had been taken to disguise the fact. Was it because it was built on a hilltop surrounded by somewhat steep slopes? Was it the subtle changes of layout to the village where small pockets of cleared areas had been created as if they were
killing grounds within the settlement? Was it the way the guards on the walls acted? A little too “switched-on”, even for a large village deep within the Roz'eli Empire?

The warrior's eyes flitted to the people that resided here. They went about their business, wearing clothes that seemed to be a mixture of Kel'akh and Roz'eli. The hairstyles of the women also resembled those worn throughout the Roz'eli Empire, yet the men still continued to sport the shoulder-length hair that was usual in the free Kel'akh Nation. Though they could clearly see the green Kel'akh tattoo upon his left cheek marking him as a provincial cousin, they looked upon Bradán with an open resentment. He could guess why. Here was one who came from one of the remaining free regions of Kel'akh yet he chose to align himself with the enemy.

They did not know him, he decided. They did not know his story. He told himself that their opinions of him did not matter but deep down he knew that he was lying. Looking into their eyes he saw a people whose armies may have been defeated but as a race they could never be fully controlled. He smiled inwardly rejoicing at that thought. At the same time he felt distraught that he would not be considered one of them. Yet, paradoxically, a number of men and women volunteered every year to become members of the elite, and very often suicidal, Free Archers Company. But was it all a ruse?

A standing army they may not be allowed but on the other side of the coin more and more people every year were being trained not only in Roz'eli warfare but also in advanced techniques such as assassination, espionage, field craft, marksmanship and a form of martial techniques that was an amalgamation of several others. Those who did not make it into the Free Archers often became members of the Federate Mercenaries. Simply put they were “ally” units of warriors that came from occupied countries around the Empire and fought for Roz'eli as a semi-regular regiment. Usually they served five to ten years. Typical of their arrogance in thinking that they had truly defeated the Kel'akh people, Roz'eli might just wake up one morning to find an army of first-class killers on their doorsteps.

Movement caught Bradán's eye a little to the left of the Chieftain's Chamber. It was Tacitus down on one knee, his purple and white robe sinking deep into the mud. The warrior was almost amazed to find that the senator had failed to notice the dirt considering how fastidious he was about staying clean, almost as if that
alone made him superior to everyone else. He started to walk towards him when he suddenly froze. The warrior's face paled.

The senator had knelt holding the hand of a small girl, but it was the way he was doing it that forced Bradán to take pause. Something in the manner in which his hand was lingering over that of the child. His eyes flittered beyond Tacitus and saw a woman, obviously the girl's mother, bracing herself in the doorway of a house. She was distraught but silent. Between her and her child stood two Roz'eli Men-of-the-Legion, hands resting on the pommels of their gladii.

Those in conquered countries had no rights to speak of when dealing with true Ee'en natives. He noticed then that both soldiers were looking away from the senator, but whether it was out of duty or disgust Bradán could not say. Anger grew within the body of the Druid Captain. His hand reached for the dagger at his waist but he did not draw it.

He wished he had Thales at his back but the hireling had just been forwarded on to the Oo'do region in northwest Kel'akh by magickal means along with Gavriil and two other men. He had protested against the taking of further men but Tacitus had insisted. It was said that the former Knight Protector by the name of Meuric had last been seen in that locality so it was an opportunity that they could not miss if they wanted to pick up his trail. Another team of four had already been dispatched to kill the Knight Protector Radha. They now had the precise location of her home, one day's ride outside a village called Kar'el.

Bradán had been left behind with the senator, a troop of Roz'eli cavalry and the remainder of his Druid unit. He could sense the pull of a whirlwind of events that was about to overtake him and sweep him up. The war in earnest was about to begin. He had no doubt of that now. But first he had to deal with this. He took a few more steps towards Tacitus.

“Senator,” said Bradán, his voice firm. “We must speak with Chieftain Theirn.”

“Shortly,” responded Tacitus, not taking his eyes off the child. “I am sure that Urbanus is doing a first rate job.”

As he spoke Bradán watched as the Roz'eli man's hand slid up the child's arm. He felt sick with disgust. He could see that the small girl was obviously terrified. The Roz'eli soldiers looked too, but turned away on seeing what was taking place.

“You are the most senior-ranking man here, Tacitus,” continued Bradán. “I must insist on it now!” The senator turned, almost reluctant to have the small girl leave his sight. He smiled when he saw Bradán's hand on his weapon but it did not disguise the fury that burned in his tawny eyes. “This way, please,” continued the warrior. His tone was cold.

The Druid Captain had indicated the doorway of the Chieftain's Chamber with his free hand. Tacitus nodded and slowly released the girl who immediately ran into the arms of her mother. Both hugged and kissed each other frantically. Bradán found the Roz'eli soldiers regarding him closely. Eventually one nodded slowly to him and both men moved silently away. Without any haste the senator approached the doorway of the building. Just before entering the building Bradán glanced over to where the mother had stood.

She was watching him with wide eyes that were so full of emotion that Bradán could not comprehend which one was the strongest. Was it hatred that he saw, relief, or was it gratitude? Maybe all were equal and the woman was having trouble assimilating them. Eventually though the woman reluctantly smiled once in the warrior's direction before closing the door and disappearing behind it.

XXX

Meuric rode through a glade on the edge of the Great Wood, his head bowed and lost in thought, failing to notice the beauty of the day and the stillness of the air. Loath to admit it, his encounter with the female Knight Protector Radha a week earlier had disturbed him greatly, more than he even wished to confess. Since leaving her, things had a habit of going wrong. It was as if the gods were transpiring to keep him in the Oo'do region of Kel'akh. Or was he simply looking for excuses to stay?

Damn that woman, cursed Meuric. Whenever Radha was about he would lose that usual wealth of stoicism and self-discipline he normally possessed. Only Dervla, his long dead wife, ever had that same effect on him.

His plan was to leave Kel'akh just as he had told Radha but, realising that he was running short of immediate funds, Meuric was forced to travel to the next town to find work for a few days. He would have needed to travel to one of the larger cities to arrange a transfer of funds from one of his invertors. And so he discovered a merchant by the name of Heber who needed a temporary bodyguard.

It was a simple mission. The businessman was transferring some of his wealth to a partner two towns further. It was a five-day round trip and the Daw'ra man expected no trouble. The merchant had been clever. He told no one of his travels and though his wife knew of the trip she did not know about the gold. Even his partner did not know the exact time he was to expect Heber. He was an amiable fellow, decided Meuric, except for his incessant talk about money. By the end of the journey the Daw'ra man was hoping that someone, anyone, would attack them. But they never did. With his work completed the morning they returned to Heber's hometown, Meuric left with the aim of reaching the port city of Bah'hahr on the east coast and sailing from the Kel'akh Nation for at least a dozen years.

The Knight Protectors, he mouthed silently during one of his contemplative moments, mentally spitting the words with an utter abhorrence. Men and women from around the world, specially chosen for their bravery and skill, empowered with an almost immortal life and Gifts beyond the ken of normal men from the Gradalis, otherwise known as the Cup-of-Plenty itself. He was beginning to see it all as a curse.

Meuric recalled he had jumped at the chance when the Conclave's Council had finally sent for him. Much to his chagrin he had seen forty-five summers before he was chosen, though in truth age did not matter. It was made all the worse for him as Paden had told him that someday he would be chosen. He just did not know when and so every day for years he had waited for that summons.

Of course everyone in Kel'akh knew of the legends concerning the Knight Protectors of the past. Meuric suspected that much of the world did in one form or another, how they acted as protectors for the people of their home nations, unparalleled in their skills with weapons, and their stand against evil and injustice until their power corrupted them, forcing the world to turn against them. Being a country of oral traditions their tales had been sung for aeons by Bards, their lessons taught to the people by the Oak Seer.

Many years ago, the Bards would say thousands of years though no one knew for sure when it had happened, the Conclave and the Knight Protectors fell from their righteous path. They had been corrupted by the power they had wielded and had been ultimately destroyed by unifying kingdoms, but only after a civil war had first divided and weakened them. No one believed that they still existed today, though fables still persisted as if they did. The Council of Eight was happy to perpetrate those myths so that none knew what was truth and what was not. They were the stories that parents told when scaring their children into being good.

In truth, those from around the world who knew of their existence still feared the rise of the Conclave to power in case one day they should have to stand up against them. And so the Religious Conviction was born, made up of leading clergy from varying faiths whose jobs were the accountability of the Council and their use of the Protectorate. But their rise in political power also made them more powerful than kings. As he rode, his mind began to wander still further back.

It was almost like another life when Meuric had been a warrior for the Daw'ra tribe. His deftness with a sword, his extraordinarily quick reflexes and sharp mind were quickly recognised and it was not long before Meuric had become War Band Commander and the survivor of many battles with other villages, wars and duels.

Years passed and Meuric's reputation grew, not only for the sword he wielded, but also in the justice he had carried out in the name of his Chieftain, Colton. He smiled at the thought of his friend. In truth, it was only
partly thanks to him that the Daw'ra tribe grew and prospered. His old childhood friend had proved himself to be just, intelligent and brave, equally fair to both his enemies and his people. Yet he was never weak. The Oak Seer, Paden, had grown in status and was now an administrator for the Council of Eight. As such it became part of his duty to inform Meuric of the Council's calling.

The War Band Commander had entered the Oak Seer's Hall, a residence that every major settlement in Kel'akh contained. He bowed respectfully. Paden was more than a mentor to him. The old prēost had been a father to him. It was here that all visiting Oak Seers would stay though Paden had almost made it his permanent residence in Gla'es. He never did manage to marry Meuric's mother. She had died of sickness five years after his encounter with Fabien.

“You sent for me, Paden?” Meuric had asked. He remembered being excited, almost giddy. He knew that it was not a normal summons. They had known each other long enough that formalities no longer meant anything.

They stood in the domed building, the floor of which was circular in shape, roughly fourteen cubits in diameter, and devoid of any furniture. The walls were made of straw and mud and the roof was thatched. Thick sweet-smelling incense filled the room and it took Meuric some moments for his watering eyes to adjust. Arcane symbols covered the floor. Before him stood the elderly Oak Seer, dressed in a brown robe with a loosely tied dark red cord hanging down from his waist. He seemed unfazed by the overwhelming fragrance.

“The Council has finally sent for you, warrior,” he had stated matter-of-factly, almost stern. Meuric smiled at the memory. “Here is how you will reach them.” He handed the War Band Commander a parchment of animal skin with a map drawn upon it. “The way is secret and you must tell no one even to the cost of your life. You leave immediately. I will tell the people that I have sent you on a sacred mission. Colton will support me in this.”

His voice softened. “As we have discussed before, Meuric, you cannot stay if you truly desire to be a Knight Protector. You will return younger, fitter and stronger than you ever thought possible. Questions will be asked. You will be expected to take up many identities. Anonymity will be your greatest weapon. I will leave it three seasons before I inform everyone that I have received word of your death.” He approached Meuric then
and flung his arms tight around him. “You are the son that I wish I had. I am so proud of you this day, as much as your mother would be had she lived. I love you, son. Go now before I really get sentimental.”

Meuric looked into the face of Paden and saw the tears welling in his eyes. He ran his fingers through his greying hair, not knowing what else to say, before bowing and leaving without another word. He wished now he had told the old man how he felt about him. It was the last time that he saw him alive, another victim in the violent annihilation of Gla'es.

As an Oak Seer, Paden's commands were to be obeyed immediately. However, being the person that he was, Meuric went straight to Colton and then to his wife at home, telling both everything of what just happened. He smiled at the memory though he could feel the familiar touch of sadness stroke his heart.

“I love you,” Dervla had said, hugging her husband hard.

“And you still have no idea how much I love you,” responded Meuric, holding her tighter still. “Remember, I will be away for three years for training though I am sure I will get time off at times. I will contact you secretly and when my training ends and I will be sent back to Kel'akh. I will send for you when I am settled. I have already spoken to Colton on this. He will ensure that you reach me. I will be faithful to you. No amount of time will change how I feel about you.”

She smiled then and kissed him fiercely. “I know and I feel the same, my love.”

Dervla looked up into her husband's face and gazed deeply into his grey eyes, seeing the love she felt reflected there. She reached up and began to trace his faded forest-green tattoo with her fingertips. She watched in satisfaction as Meuric closed his eyes for a few moments at her soft touch, even after all their years together.

He still cherished the memory of that last touch.

Dervla said, “As long as we are together, my love. That is all that matters to me.” A large grin had suddenly spread across her face and her eyes twinkled playfully. “So I will have a young man again in my bed after all this.” She laughed. “You had better not disappoint me!” Her hand moved towards his stiffening groin.

‘Woman,' cried Meuric laughing. ‘You are incorrigible!'

He playfully slapped Dervla on her rear-end and left, but not before pausing by the door to gather his weapons and supplies. He took one last look at the woman he loved more than life itself then stepped out into
the daylight. He had not seen the middle-aged woman he had aged with but the smooth-skinned beauty he had known when younger. It was as if he was only seeing her through the eyes of his soul.

Once through and clear of the doorway he closed it without looking back. He had dared not. It was only then that he had heard his wife begin to sob. Each cry tore into him like a spear but she was as strong as he was. It was one of the reasons why he had fallen so deeply in love with her.

The journey was both long and arduous, having to travel by horse through desert lands and by ship on seas where huge blocks of ice floated to a small village named Jef'ri. It was there that he had met with his contact and been taken onwards to Wardens Keep, along one of the secret pathways through Beorg Ay'klis, otherwise known as the Black Mountains.

Not for the first time had Meuric worried about the Daw'ra people and Gla'es on his travels to Wardens Keep. He was no longer there to lead his troops into battle, to protect the borders of his region, his people, his friends nor his wife. He was arrogant enough to think that the reports of him leaving might encourage neighbouring tribes to attack. His War Band Lieutenant and old childhood nemesis, Fabien, would most certainly be promoted in his stead and where he might fail to prevent war he was confident that Colton and Paden could keep the peace.

Nevertheless, by the time Meuric had returned to Kel'akh, some three years later, Gla'es had been razed to the ground and everyone he had ever known had been murdered.