Meuric (3 page)

Colton turned to his friend. “I fear that he will kill you if you do not let him beat you,” he whispered.

Meuric's heart hammered in his chest but he managed to quell the growing panic. Though still young, in his heart he was a Daw'ra warrior and a soldier of Kel'akh Nation. Fear was just another enemy to be conquered.

“If he does, he and his mother will be banished from all tribes within our nation,” the boy reflected. “They would be forced to live in the Great Wood like any other bandit. That is if the Oak Seers do not ask for their deaths. No… he will seek to humiliate me and to give me a sound thrashing.” He smiled at Colton, trying to appear more confident than he actually felt. “I will not make it easy for him.”

Meuric looked to Fabien, nervous but resolute. The boy opposite stood near four cubits in height, broad and muscled, and every bit a man in the eyes of the twelve-year-olds. Fabien's eyes were bright blue; his golden hair was shoulder-length and tied back. Already his body had a few scars on it from training he had taken part in over his growing years. The two combatants stood a short distance away from each other and held their swords up in the traditional manner.

“Begin,” ordered Meuric, as the challenged always did. He was glad that his voice did not shake.

With a cry, Fabien charged. His strength was superior to him, Meuric knew, though his speed and reflexes were on an equal par. The young villager had already expected that. The young boy's plan was simple. Try not to defeat Fabien but to block him at every opportunity, frustrate him, and strike only whenever the advantage was his. Their blades hacked at each other almost constantly.

After a short time, Meuric was forced to admit that Fabien was good. His balance was excellent and he never overextended his reach. At all times, he was able to maintain a defence. Nevertheless, he was angry, Meuric noted, and getting angrier the whole time out of frustration. No matter how hard he tried, he could not land a blow on the young boy. As they fought Meuric's mind began to clear, almost in a detached fashion.

“You are good,” whispered Fabien reluctantly. His breathing was laboured.

“Then let us walk away as equals,” responded Meuric, also breathing hard. “There is nothing to be gained here.”

However, Fabien did not answer. He began to circle the younger boy much like a predator stalking its prey, seeking a weakness. Meuric rotated with him, never once allowing his back to be exposed to his opponent. It was then that the villager spotted the nod, not directed at him but at one of Fabien's friends' to his rear. Instantly he recognised the danger that he was in.

“Siorus, now!” yelled Fabien.

Meuric spun but it was already too late. At the command of Fabien, Siorus lashed out with a vicious kick aimed at Meuric's back. The blow caught him as he swivelled, but had lost much of its power due to the young warrior's angle. Meuric's wooden sword came down with as much power as he could muster on Siorus's leg, spinning the kicker to the ground. The lapdog cried out loud and hard as he fell.

Immediately Meuric turned to face Fabien as he brought up his weapon. He managed to block the swing from his opponent's sword but moved too slow to dodge an elbow from his opposite arm. The strike caught him on the temple. He stumbled back several paces and fell, the world whirling away from him.

“Is this how warriors from your village fight, Fabien?” cried out Colton running forward. Two of the boy's accomplices caught him and held his arms tightly. “Perhaps it was best then that the Roz'eli had wiped Bren'es from the land.” He spat his last words with venom. “You who are native to Gla'es disgust me!”

Fabien yelled out in rage and, with the grip of his sword still in his fist, punched Colton squarely in the face several times. The boy collapsed, blood spewing from his mouth and nose, his lips split and teeth broken.

“Face me, poltroon,” spoke Meuric. His voice was strangely calm as he stood.

Fabien turned. A smile of superiority that had been etched onto his face quickly vanished to become one of curiosity and then fear. He could see that there was something different about Meuric now, something cold and deadly, visible only through his grey eyes. His face paled.

Meuric had heard about the blood-rush of battle, where men and women run berserk and fight in a frenzy at the sight of a fallen friend. Now he had become the opposite. It had happened only once before when he had
seen his father fall, a sword plunged deep into his chest. It felt like all emotion had left him, sucked away at racehorse speed, leaving only a cold emotionless shell in its place, consigning only one thought to his mind.

The need to kill.

At pace, Meuric bounded forward raising his weapon before him. As he did so, black clouds closed in from either side of his eyes, obscuring his vision. It felt like he was no longer in control of his body. Yet at the same time he was filled with more strength than he knew possible. He welcomed the coming darkness, understanding what was about to happen.

At the sight of his father falling, the darkness had overtaken him for the first time. When it had dissipated, two grown men lay dead at his feet. A bloodstained dagger rested comfortably in his palm. The third man had vanished, presumed fled in terror. That was why the elders of the village spoke of him in both respect and in fear, and all during his tenth summer.

Just before their wooden swords clashed, the blackness enveloped him.

He was aware of nothing but sweet oblivious peace.

II

“Meuric… stop! Please!”

The words buzzed about him as if he was in a dream. He felt lost, floating in a dark sky with no sense of identity. On some level, Meuric was aware that it was Colton who had spoken. He shook his head as if trying to revive himself, to wake from the dream, to remember who he was. If that was Colton then that must mean that he is Meuric. He was confused. He did not feel like himself. It was almost as if he were a thousand leagues away, adrift at sea, and people were shouting out at him, attempting to locate him. It could not have been his friend that was speaking. He felt the anger begin to grip him once again. Colton was bloodied and unconscious. He lay on the ground after being viciously attacked by that milksop Fabien!

“Stop, Meuric, please. You are killing him.”

He had no idea why Colton was in his dream, nor why he would be saying such things. Did Fabien not deserve to die? Meuric felt that he was floating further away, the darkness comforting and supporting him like a living and loving thing. He had no idea of where he was or how long he had been there. He barely understood who he was now. He thought he could hear the tears of others quietly weeping in the background.

“Meuric,” commanded a new voice. This one was a male's voice, an adult's voice. It was a voice of power. “Leave him be, Deo! Attend me, Meuric.”

As if on command, the darkness receded and Meuric was left blinking in confusion. He found himself on his two knees, astride the bloodied body of Fabien. He held the grip of his wooden sword in a two-handed manner. The weapon was reversed and directed downwards, the blunt point of which was pressed against the softness at the base of Fabien's throat. Meuric opened and closed his eyes again rapidly and looked about. He still was not sure of where he was or what was happening.

Colton abruptly knelt before him, his bloodied face helpless and pleading at the same time. He looked to his best friend, barely recognising him. Unhurriedly, almost as if he were afraid to, Colton reached out and touched Meuric on the shoulder. The young warrior looked past him, his eyes blank.

The party that had travelled with Fabien stood around in silent shock. Some of them had tears on their muddy cheeks. Below Meuric lay the still form of Fabien, blood spattered across his face. Nevertheless, he was alive. Meuric fell back then. Somehow, he managed to stumble onto his feet. He allowed his training sword to fall from his hand.

“Meuric,” spoke the man's voice once again. “Turn around and face me.”

Meuric looked about, not really sure what was going on. He looked to the adult in a gormless fashion. He continued to blink furiously.

“Do you know who I am?” asked the man. There was a hint of concern in his voice.

Meuric looked the newcomer up and down. He wore a long brown robe, tied at the front with a leather belt, upon which sat a sword and dagger. He was old, possibly having received thirty Name Days, tall and slim with a drooping moustache and blue eyes with a ring of amber surrounding his irises. Sea-blue and the white swirl tattoos of Isle Ee'ay, the island home of the Oak Seer, marked the left-hand side of his neck and a smaller tattoo was above his left eye. His prematurely greying hair was tied at the back and held in place by a small gold torc. Meuric noted the newcomer's horse standing a short distance away, chewing at the grass with bored indifference.

“You are Oak Seer Paden,” said Meuric in hushed tones. He lowered his eyes respectively.

“Good.” Paden offered a polite smile. “Are you hurt?”

Meuric reached for his bruised temple when he suddenly stopped himself. “I am fine.” He looked to his friend in concern. “You must see to Colton.”

Paden nodded and stepped forward. “I will help all three boys.”

“Fabien can rot in The Pit for what he did to Colton,” retorted Meuric, his voice full of bile. “May Deo take his soul!”

Paden stopped and swung on the young boy. “He almost took yours. I will help them all equally,” he admonished. “Just remember boys who are enemies when young can often turn out to be the greatest of allies when older. Fabien may be your sword partner when in battle in the years to come if he decides to stay with the Daw'ra people.”

Meuric put his head down dutifully and Paden moved to the sitting Siorus first. He placed his hand on the boy's leg for only a moment. Paden smiled then at the boy.

“Better?” he asked.

Siorus stood and flexed his leg. “Much better, Oak Seer.” He bowed respectfully.

Paden now knelt on one knee between Colton and Fabien. He touched both boys lightly.

“Stay calm,” he said to Colton, as Fabien was still unconscious. He closed his eyes and burrowed his forehead towards his chest.

“What… what are you doing,” asked Colton. “My body feels like it is quivering and I am feeling dizzy.”

“There is much power in the land,” said Paden, his voice straining. “What I am doing is channelling the power from the earth to heal you.”

“Can I learn?” asked Colton immediately. He staggered slightly but remained upright.

“Only those born with a strong Gift of Empathy can do this,” answered Paden. He attempted to sound apologetic but Meuric could not help but notice that there was a guarded tone in his voice. “It is the core of what the Oak Seer is.”

Meuric looked on, watching with fascination how the fresh blood seemed to be sucked back into their wounds. The injuries then healed over to finally vanish as if they were never there leaving only dried blood behind. Colton groaned loudly as his missing teeth grew back. The whole scene took only several heartbeats. Colton tenderly touched his face while the memory of his facial pain was still prevalent. On the ground, Fabien stirred.

“I feel as strong as a boar,” announced Colton flexing his small biceps. Meuric could not help but let out a chuckle. “The pain is totally gone.” He touched his mouth. “Even my teeth are healed. It is absolutely amazing!” He bowed respectfully. “Thank you, my Lord Oak Seer.”

“I have a long way to go before I am made Lord Oak Seer,” he chuckled. Paden turned to the boys and girls that had followed Fabien. “Take your friend back to the fort. He is healed but he will be sore for a short time. Take him somewhere quiet to rest.” A few of the boys moved forward and gently lifted Fabien, now semiconscious.
Siorus offered Colton and Meuric a cursory glance as if to reevaluate the two boys, before slipping one of Fabien's arms over his shoulder. He bowed his head to the Oak Seer and moved off.

“Can you find your own way home?” asked Paden of Colton. The boy nodded. “Take a different route from the others.” He smiled knowing that there were not too many paths that he could choose. “Be sure that you do not antagonise them any further. I may not be on hand next time, Colton.” Paden turned to Meuric. His face was stern and his voice tight. “Walk with me.” He saw that the young villager was about to protest. “Now!” he commanded

III

Meuric led the way across open ground towards a lazy stream he knew well, for two reasons. The first was because he was confident of where they were heading. The second, and the real truth, was that he could not bear to look at the Oak Seer Paden right now. Without realising it, he had increased his stride in an attempt to outrun the shame he felt at what he had done to Fabien and the questions he knew that would be forthcoming. His sense of embarrassment, for allowing Paden to see a side of him he thought hidden, was strong within him.

Meuric was also angry that he had shown the other children of Gla'es what he was capable of. It had only ever been Colton with whom he had discussed the darkness he felt inside of him and how it had first risen that night, when his father had died. Now he had found something else within the darkness, something disturbing. It had seemed to him, when he had taken a moment to analyse the incident, that his soul had been dragged out of his body, only to be replaced by something else, something much darker. How could he look at the Oak Seer and friend now? No, he was more than that, he realised. Paden was someone he aspired to become, now that his father was no longer with him.

For reasons unknown to the boy, Paden had cared for and protected him even when he had no legal obligation to do so. He was not even of the same tribe and yet he had been there the day after his father had been murdered and had been there for him ever since, whenever his duties allowed for it. He had even dared to hope that the Oak Seer would one day begin to call in with his mother formally. That had yet to happen. Meuric's pace quickened again, a further attempt to outrun his discomfort. Behind him he could hear Paden chuckle.

“There is no point in running away, little one,” he explained. “There is nowhere for you to go.”

Meuric purposely slowed and attempted to curb his racing heart. There was a dip in the ground where the river ran and it was here that he stopped and sat down upon a fallen tree. He stared hard into the water, unwilling to make eye contact with his friend. Because of the depression, the site was hidden from view from the fort and surrounding ground making it the ideal spot to hide, which suited his mood right now. It was also known as an area frequently used by courting couples and he was glad to see that there were none here that day.
He shivered feeling the air suddenly cool even though San, the sun god, still blazed strongly above them. Without another word, Paden sat down next to him. He remained silent, not even attempting to broach a conversation. He simply waited. It was not until Meuric began to shift his position, uncomfortable with the extended silence, that Paden raised the subject.

“So what happened back there?” he asked gently. “Thank the gods that I had come upon you just as you attacked Fabien. The skill, speed and aggression that you demonstrated were…” He searched for the correct word. “Unprecedented. I worry what would have happened if I had not appeared in time.”

“How did you know where I was?” asked Meuric. He did not ask why he had searched him out. Paden always made a point of saying hello whenever he was in the area.

“Your mother,” stated Paden.

Meuric brightened instantly and looked up expectantly. “You called in with my mother?” Paden chuckled and shook his head. “Drive that thought from your mind, little one. I am tired having only just returned from Lahm'bert and your mother still misses your father far too much.”

Meuric smiled with hope. “Maybe all she needs is someone else to be with? I know that she likes you and though father will always be in our memories, a memory will not keep her warm at night.”

“Wise words from someone so young,” laughed Paden. “I think that maybe you see too much. However, I will tell you this and I will be equally honest with your mother. Though I am very fond of her my role in the Conclave and my duties as an Oak Seer will always have to come first.”

Meuric could not keep the look of disappointment from his face and dropped his chin. Paden reached out and placed a hand on the young boy's shoulder. “I have known you since your father died. I have loved you ever since then. To me, you are the son that I have always craved for.” He smiled and released a small sigh. “Maybe I will call in with her after all if she can live with my role.”

“My father was a War Band Lieutenant,” Meuric reminded Paden stiffly. “His duty to the protection of the Daw'ra tribe and to the Kel'akh Nation had to come before us at times. My mother knows what it is to hold an important role.” Meuric brightened and lifted his head, a sudden comprehension bursting within his mind. “So you have finally passed the Conclave's tests? You are now a member of the Conclave?”

Paden nodded. “I am indeed, little one. I have become a Minister of Education, though a lowly one. My first role is to be an instructor to those wanting to become Oak Seer. It was hard going but I finally made it.”

“How old are you now?” asked Meuric suddenly.

“I have seen thirty-two summers already,” answered Paden.

A low whistle escaped from Meuric's lips. “You are that old!”

The Oak Seer laughed aloud. “You say old, I say experienced.”

“Can you tell me about them all now, Paden?” asked Meuric expectantly. “You promised me the next time that you returned you would tell me more of Wardens Keep.”

He saw the Oak Seer open his mouth as if to ask another question, then pause and shake his head. Relief swamped the boy. He could guess at what Paden was wishing to know.

“As you say, Meuric,” said Paden. “We will play it your way. What more is it that you wish to learn?”

“Everything,” chuckled the boy.

Paden nodded. “I think that you may already know everything. How about you tell me first what you remember and then I will fill in any of the gaps. Tell me first of the city itself.”

“The city that they live in is called Wardens Keep,” began the boy. “It has a five-sided outer wall with two inner walls and is surrounded by immense lands that are farmed and tilled which in turn are hidden from view by a huge and surrounding mountain range. You can only enter by invitation unless you have a charm and it is where people of faith and magick go to learn their trade. Will you ever tell me the name of those mountains, Paden?”

“Absolutely not,” laughed the Oak Seer. “I would be afraid of you just turning up. Now remember only those who are considered to be the best in their classes are invited to stay and serve the gods. Otherwise, you return to your homeland and serve the people. Now tell me of the people who live in Wardens Keep?”

“Normal people?” questioned Meuric and Paden nodded. “There are a few thousand and everyone has a job. Space is limited so when they retire or can no longer work the Conclave set them up in a country of their choice and with a comfortable amount of funds.”

“Tell me of the Guardians.”

“They are also known as the White Knights as that is how they dress,” began the boy. “They erm… police,” he struggled over the strange word but Paden smiled and nodded encouragingly. “They police the city and the lands around it and protect the citizens and Conclave ministers whenever they leave the city on trade or on other business. Does that mean you have some with you?” Meuric could barely contain his excitement.

Paden nodded. “I do but they are not on the island.” The boy visibly sank. “There are five of them under the command of a Guardsman but do not expect to see them in their white uniforms. This is strictly a low-key affair. Now tell me of the Troopers.”

“On each corner of the outer wall is a tower. It is here that the Troopers live. They are the military wing of the Conclave and are tasked with the protection of the Conclave Administrators, the Council of Eight and support the Knight Protectors on missions.” Meuric smiled at the mention of the “Knight Protectors”.

Paden smiled with him. “Now for your favourite group,” he stated. “Tell me of the Protectorate.”

“They are the warriors of the gods,” said the boy excitedly. “Each of them drinks from the Gradalis when their training is complete and is bestowed with a long life, immune to poisons and granted great strength and speed. Each Knight Protector is also given three different additional magicks known as Gifts. They fight to keep our world safe from the Dark Ones in an effort to maintain The Balance. They live amongst us, there is only one to every region and their identities are known only to the Council of Eight. They only answer to the Council of Eight who in turn answer to the Religious Conviction. When they have to be seen they pretend to be emissaries for the Religious Conviction.”

Paden nodded approvingly. “They dress as a captain in the Temple Knights. Do you know why?” Meuric shook his head. “A captain is one of the highest ranks in the Temple Knights. As a representative of the Religious Conviction, they are answerable to no one, not even kings. They are part of an organisation that the rulers of kingdoms must answer to in a sense. They cannot be refused.” The prēost laughed at the bemused expression on the boy's face. “Let me put it this way. If the Oak Seers of this land said that the Ard-ri had turned evil and commanded the people to rise up against him what do you think would happen?”

Meuric shrugged. “The people would fight. Oak Seers cannot be refused.”

Paden nodded. “Exactly. Only the Religious Conviction could make the whole of Terit're stand up and fight. Could you imagine a king trying to take on the whole world? That is the power of the Religious Conviction. They are an immense organisation with incalculable power that possesses tentacles that can touch just about everything.” The Oak Seer cleared his throat. “Now tell me why there is only one Knight Protector to each nation?”

“In ages past,” Meuric was quick to say. “During the Age of Durance the original Protectorate grew so much that they turned into an army. They grew greedy and corrupt seeking man to look to them as if they were gods. The people of Terit're united and fought a war across the whole of the world to finally invade the land and island that was home to the then Conclave. They eventually won but at great cost. What came next was the Age of Despair when war, disease and famine spread to every corner of the world. The old gods were rejected and new ones rose up. The old gods refused to accept that man had turned away from them and still seek to undermine the new gods at every turn. An age passed and a new Conclave was created, some say with the help of the goddess Wis, but to stop history from being repeated only one Knight Protector to every nation was permitted.”

Paden smiled happily. “Well done, little one. Have I told you yet about the workings of the Conclave proper?” Seeing Meuric shake his head the Oak Seer quickly continued. “As I have said before the top one per cent of the class is asked to join the Conclave. If they refuse, they simply return to their homeland to continue their ministry. Those who decide to stay have the option of continuing their service for the favour of the gods and the protection of our world.

“First and foremost Wardens Keep is a place of learning but there are several paths to choose from if you decide to stay. Like any kingdom, there is diplomacy, the treasury, the protection of the Conclave's interests, the military side of things, justice and the law and finally education including a cultural element. The people who take these jobs are called Ministers. Each has their own department and lives within one of the eight huge Conclave towers but works within the Council Tower. Above all these, there are the Council Administrators who report directly to the Council of Eight. Each Council of Eight member represents his or her own faith or path. Guiding them is the Bridge Maker who they say can speak directly with the gods.”

“Bridge Maker?” laughed Meuric. “Not much of a title.”

Paden smiled thinly. “The name comes from the fact that he is the bridge that links man with the gods. The Council does have to answer to the Religious Conviction though, a unified band of high-ranking religious and magickal leaders from across the world. They ensure that the Council does what they are supposed to do. Their first law is to see that the Conclave does not affiliate himself or herself to any king or ruler and that they stay away from all civil matters. To break this law could very well see all of Terit're united once again against us.”

“I hear the Bards sometimes sing about the Dark Ones in their songs,” queried the boy. “Are they the old gods?”

“No, Meuric,” answered Paden. “But some of the old gods, embittered at being thrown from their Otherworldly thrones, became either corrupted by the darkness or simply offered themselves up to it. Make no mistake they are the enemy of all mortals and ultimately the world. They seek to destroy The Balance and make the whole of our lands a place of chaos. They hope to enslave those who may survive. Their ultimate goal is to once again walk upon our world. The Dark Ones incorporate most of the old gods and goddesses, daemons and the mortal men who wish to serve these creatures either for their own greed or for carnal ambitions. That is why the Conclave cannot serve any sovereign. Who can say in which hearts that the Dark Ones sit?”

“Exactly what then is The Balance?” questioned Meuric, sitting more upright now.

“The whole world works in a balance, a constant shifting of motion that always seems to complement itself. With death, there is life; with youth, there is old age; with good, there is evil. These are just a few examples and to rhyme them all off would take a full day and more probably. Even in the Otherworld you have places of light and of darkness as well as Wardens Keep.”

“Wardens Keep!” exclaimed Meuric, a little surprised.

Paden nodded. “Yes. Where Wardens Keep is a place of study, training and defence of the realms there are places out there, secret places that to speak of would mean death, that deal with the study of dark magick. These people specialise in destruction and chaos and engage with those we call the Dark Ones. They sell their Gifts to the highest bidders and think nothing of their mark on Terit're.”