Meuric (32 page)

“No,” he growled.

Body quivering, racked with pain, he stood unsteadily. He drew his sword though he could hardly raise it.

Mailís smiled in delight. “I cannot believe that a mere mortal shook off my thrall. Nevertheless you will kill that boy!”

Out of nowhere came the first arrow. Bradán had only time to gasp before the black quarrel shot past the window directly for Mailís's heart. Faster still was her arm. It shot up, catching the bolt mid-flight. Immediately she spun, easily catching a second arrow from another direction. A torrent of flames from a third direction surged forward. It consumed the goddess totally. Rainier collapsed onto the ground diving away from the heat. Next to Bradán, the senator gasped.

“She cannot be dead,” muttered the senator, as if he was reciting a mantra. “Nothing can kill her.”

The flames died away leaving Mailís unharmed. Her clothing remained untouched by the fire.

“Mortal magick,” laughed Mailís aloud. “It is so pitiful.”

From a fourth direction came a new object. Though large, it moved faster than the arrow. Looking no more than a black blur it impacted squarely with Mailís. She fell forward hard, swiftly curled up into a ball before rolling smoothly onto her feet. Before her stood a man dressed all in black, with the same coloured leather armour. Two silver stripes crossed his shoulder. A full-face helm hid his identity. In one hand a black-bladed sword glistened in the daylight. On his other arm a large black circular shield rested. His deep brown eyes blazed with controlled fury through the single eye-slit.

“My turn,” he stated.

XLVIII

Bradán could not believe what he was seeing.

Magnificent is he not
, whispered Wis into the ear of the Druid Captain.

Bradán had to admit that he agreed.

The Knight Protector stood before Mailís proud, confident and unafraid. His eyes were locked upon his opponent, his focus total. His shield had been placed in front of him defensively while he laid the blade of his sword horizontally on top of that shield. Surely he must know who he is facing, reasoned Bradán. He did not know which of the Knight Protectors stood outside the building but he must have had some semblance of the power he faced, with the Gifts he possessed. A noise suddenly touched Bradán's ears. He turned. By one of the side windows he heard a faint whisper followed by the slightest scrap of metal against wood.

“Move,” cried the warrior.

He grabbed Tacitus roughly as he dragged him to the ground. Several crossbow quarrels shot through all the windows, embedding into the walls and floor or ricocheting around them at varying angles. The banging of men's bodies shoulder-charging the barred doors reverberated within the room.

“We need to get upstairs,” yelled Tacitus, clutching the warrior as he attempted to stand.

“We cannot,” cried Bradán, pulling him back down to the ground. “We are trapped in this room.” He had a sudden thought. “Mailís,” he yelled at the top of his lungs. “Help us.”

The two men promptly vanished only to appear next to the wicce. Bradán allowed himself to survey his surroundings for a short moment only. Frantically the Knight Protector was battling the goddess. He was obviously outclassed. As impossibly fast as he was, Mailís was infinitely faster. Even if she did not possess the necessary skill of a warrior, her sword moved almost quicker than his eye could follow.

Mailís laughed aloud as she lightly cut the Knight Protector time and time again, toying with him. She was fully enjoying this, realised Bradán. He looked to his left and right. A man and woman had aimed their bows and were waiting for a clear shot. Next to them a young mage was concentrating on his magick. All around them from various directions Rainier's men were closing in. It was time to go, he realised.

“Mailís,” yelled Bradán urgently. “We need to leave now!”

The wicce paused and glared about her. All of a sudden an oval silhouette of shimmering light appeared only a short distance away. It was easily the size of three men in both breadth and height. Bradán immediately knew exactly what it was. A Doorway Narration had been formed. Instinctively he knew that it was not from his master. As if to answer him, two more Knight Protectors rode out from the magickal doorway on horseback. One was a man and the other a woman. Sizing up what was happening, they instantly slid off their saddles and drew their black swords. The Druid Captain screamed at Mailís though he could not remember what he said, such was his desperation. The wicce nodded in agreement. A sudden thick mist swirled around Bradán, Tacitus and the wicce, enveloping them to mask them from any projectiles. An instant later they were all gone.

XLIX

“I so love it here,” whispered Meuric as he lay back. He looked over to the woman who accompanied him. “With you of course,” he added swiftly. A mischievous smile pursed his lips.

Dervla gave him a playful slap on his chest. She rolled into him as if seeking comfort in his strong arms. A sigh of contentment slipped from Meuric's lips. The warrior was bare-chested relishing the heat upon his torso supplied by San, the god of sunlight and fertility. He squeezed his wife a little tighter.

“Where are the children?” asked the warrior.

“A short distance along water's edge,” she smiled at him. Meuric tensed. “Do not worry, my husband. They are safe.”

Meuric grunted in resigned acknowledgement. He trusted Dervla without question. From an early age the boys had known not to enter the water, not even in fun. It was not uncommon for children to tragically get caught up in the reeds and drown. Both he and Dervla had taught the two boys to swim from even before they could walk properly. Having now passed their seventh and ninth birthdays respectively, their two sons were now accomplished swimmers.

The couple lay by the water's edge. They stared in silence at the mist that constantly surrounded the Isle of Gla'es, acting like a natural shield. Beyond that stood the beginnings of the Great Wood and the remainder of the Daw'ra tribe. Beyond that still was the remainder of the mighty Kel'akh Nation, where the Daw'ra tribe was positioned almost in the exact centre. But for Meuric, all that now felt as if it were a thousand leagues away.

All he cared about at this moment was that he was lying on the grass with the love of his life. Meuric kissed the top of Dervla's head and dragged his eyes from the clear blue skies above to look to his right. He spied the newly built crannóg. He watched as old man Belenos fished from his platform while his equally elderly wife, Agrona, brushed debris from the entrance to their new wooden home.

“I do so hope that the Bawld'rik tribe do not arrive today,” muttered Meuric. “It is far too nice a day to fight.”

Dervla looked up at him sleepily. “And what would you do, husband, if they did?”

Meuric smiled. “Why I would ask them to come back tomorrow.” Unintentionally he looked at his weapons. His sword and dagger lay next to him on top of his blue woollen tunic. “But there should be no fighting anyway. Colton has sent envoys to the Bawld'rik and they proved to be most favourable. We are too small to be any threat to them and too centralised.”

“I am sure that the Bawld'rik were small once themselves,” responded Dervla lightly. Her words struck home though. “With a chieftain such as Colton and a War Band Commander as good as you many tribes would rally to your call-to-arms if you so deemed it. Already fifteen tribes have pledged alliances to the two of you. It would have been their fealty if you had so demanded it.”

“I think that I tell you too much,” he laughed. “Colton would be most displeased with me.” Even though he tried to sound light Meuric could feel his body tense. As War Band Commander of the Daw'ra tribe he knew that he may have to lead his men into battle against the Bawld'rik. As Dervla had pointed out, he would be leading several other tribal War Bands also.

“You are anxious, my husband. I apologise for making you so,” whispered Dervla. She had a wicked smile on her lips. “Allow me to relax you.” Her hand slid down over Meuric's chest and hard abs. Discreetly she untied the string belt at his waist and slipped her fingers below his bracae. Meuric arched his back and groaned.

“I so loved that day. It was one of so many happy times with you.”

Meuric turned and looked back at the voice. Standing a short distance away was Dervla. She looked older now, perhaps by twenty summers. Now she wore a léinte made of blue wool with a gold trim. A soft leather belt with a gold buckle hung around her waist. He frowned. There was something very familiar about what she was wearing. But it was not what she was wearing as she lay next to him.

“It was what I had on me when you found my body,” she said suddenly. She knew exactly what he had been thinking.

Meuric stood and walked towards the older Dervla. “I do not remember,” he admitted sadly.

She held out her hands and Meuric accepted them. “Look behind you, my love” she said.

Meuric looked back. He could see himself lying on the ground with a young Dervla draped over him. They seemed to be frozen, unmoving. It was then he noticed the green swirled tattoos down the left-hand side of his body. He looked at his left hand and arm and now only saw the faded black; the colour of mourning.

He turned to the older Dervla. “What is happening here?”

“It is only a dream, my love,” answered Dervla softly. “Your nightmare for at least one night has ended.”

“Nightmare?” he asked. Images of him lying wounded in a cave burst into his mind. Jemima and Abram stood cowering close to him. “Dervla, tell me is this a dream or a memory?”

Dervla looked at him with the eyes of someone full of both adoration and sorrow. “It is both, my husband, but now is the time to wake. Be strong, my love, a dark time is looming.”

L

Meuric woke with a start. He leapt out bed and reached for his sword, failing to recognise where he was. He was not even aware of the brown woollen blanket that landed in folds at the base of his naked frame as he drew his blade.

“Whoa!” cried out Petros and Rainier simultaneously.

They raised their hands as if to ward off an attack. The Knight Captain, infinitely faster than his companion, stepped to his feet and drew a long dagger. Meuric froze and chuckled as he lowered his weapon. He offered a shy apology. Gently he shook his head as he looked about. Only then did he recall that he was now in a bedroom in the Travelers' Inn in Rabi'a.

After the incident with the wicce and the Dark Druid's people, the leaders of the village had moved to Theirn's Chamber, to discuss the future of the village. It was plain for all to see that there was none. It was decided that Rabi'a was in danger of repercussions. If not by the dark prēost then, at the very least, by regular Roz'eli troops. Even if the cavalry soldiers they had killed had not been authorised to be at the village there would surely be accounts of the Administrator Quirinus travelling there. It was suspected that the cohort who had travelled with him had pretended to be his guarding force. All the while they were really in the employ of Senator Tacitus. It was ordered by Theirn that an evacuation of the village was to be set in motion. A location was to be determined the next day.

Rainier had left the meeting then. He explained that he had to ensure the security of the village before settling down for the night. Meuric, Radha and Petros had joined him. The War Band Commander had set continuous nighttime patrolling and guard duties under the experienced eyes of Edgar and Ysolt. His two sons he had sent out with two small bands of men to watch the few roads that led to Rabi'a that could take a marching horde of Men-of-the-Legion. For at least one night, Rainier had commented ruefully, they were all safe.

When all had been settled and those of the Protectorate were finally alone they retired to the Travelers' Inn where intelligence had been shared and updated. Food and water were brought to them as they spoke quietly at a table.

Radha had asked, “Where is Fabienne?”

She was the current Knight Protector of Nah'cho. Petros could do little except shake his head. She had been informed of their arrival but had failed to show at the prearranged site. No message had been received from her. Radha and Meuric exchanged glances. There was no obvious explanation, but after what the Roz'eli warrior had told him when travelling through the Oo'do region of Kel'akh and the attack on Radha, the Daw'ra man could hazard a guess at what had happened to her. So another of their number had potentially fallen. There were so few of them now.

“How are you feeling?” asked Petros. He sheathed his knife.

Meuric thought about the question. To be honest he felt better than he had in some time. It was the first night in a long time that he had slept uninterrupted with no hint of dreams of his impending death. Onóra's smiling face – the serving girl from Kar'el – suddenly burst into his mind. Not much sleep then either, he chuckled silently. More memories shifted. His thoughts turned to Ah'mos and the death of Qadir. His face darkened.

“I feel good,” answered Meuric cheerfully. “And what of Radha? How does she fare this morning?”

“Up and about already,” said Petros smiling. “She has been up for some hours actually.”

“What?” Meuric looked surprised. “Why? What time of day is it?”

Petros laughed. “It is near midday. We had trouble waking you. We knocked on the door but you failed to answer.” In a guarded tone he then asked, “Have you been exerting yourself of late?”

Meuric nodded in understanding of what exactly the Knight Captain meant. The use of his Gifts. “Somewhat,” he acknowledged. It would seem that the continuous use of his magick recently had exhausted him more than he had realised.

“I was beginning to think that you were going to sleep forever,” teased Rainier.

Meuric looked at the burly Nah'cho warrior. He sat casually upon on a stool opposite. He gazed at Meuric unwavering. A sheathed hand-and-a-half sword now rested across his lap. The former Knight Protector smiled weakly. He made a show of rubbing the back of his neck as if a creak was settling there after such a long sleep. His throat was dry. Setting his weapon on the bed, he tied the fallen blanket around his waist and stepped closer to the window. Not saying a word, his eyes darted around the town, expertly appraising what he saw in a single look.

Rabi'a was built in the same formation as any other settlement in the Roz'eli Empire, just smaller. The streets ran in straight lines left to right, north to south, with houses and apartments set in neat rows. From his vantage point Meuric could see a village that acted in a subdued manner. Armed guards patrolled the walls. There were no market traders today. No women shopped. No children played. He spotted Theirn moving through the village. Radha was accompanying him. Still there was plenty of milling about as people moved back and forth. A number of them seemed to be carrying their possessions. Meuric could feel a certain amount of fear lingering in the air. He also noticed a few small bands of armed warriors discreetly loitering around. They kept to the shadows of the buildings.

“I assume that your men down there are to make sure that there are no more unwelcome guests,” said Meuric.

Rainier moved to the window and peered out.

He nodded, adding, “Magick allows the enemy to come and go at will. They are not to be underestimated.”

A pleasant smell of broth reached his nostrils but he could not see where from. His stomach rumbled loudly. “Is lunch being prepared?”

Rainier nodded. “Behind Theirn's home women are preparing a broth and bread for lunch. We all share our main meals together. It ensures that we get to know each other and share stories.” The former Knight Protector's stomach grumbled again. The War Band Commander indicated a chair by the door. “Your clothes are there, already cleaned and dried.”

Meuric turned. On a stool the clothes he was wearing only the night before were sitting in a neat pile. He was almost too stunned to speak. “How…? When…?” He made his way over to them.

“When you slept last night,” explained Rainier. The Daw'ra warrior dropped the blanket from around his waist. He slipped on his
bracae
and a tunic top. “A couple of our women took them and worked on them all night. They tried to wake you but were unable to. The goddess Sliip certainly held you well last night. The rest of the weapons that you carried are under your bed.”

Meuric knelt and looked below the bed retrieving his daggers. It was there that he also found a small wooden carving of a goose, his wings spread upward as if mid-flap. Though faded, it was coloured a greyish-blue with an orange beak and legs. Gold and black streaks ran along its body, tail and wings. The edges were smoothed as if from years of rubbing from gentle hands. The beak was now broken at its tip. One wing had been snapped off. A small crack sat in its centre. Meuric lifted it and focused. Almost immediately a scene appeared in his mind.

“What is it, father?” asked the boy.

He held out his hands. In them the father placed the carving of the goose. The colours were vivid and new. None of its body was damaged.

“This is a symbol of power used by Amerigin the Bard. It was said that in times of great meditation he used to hold this and say, ‘I am the hawk on the crag, I am a golden drop of the sun, I am the fairest of blooms, I am a wild boar in boast, I am a salmon in the pool, I am the craft of the poet and the word of knowledge.'

“I just thought that it would be something that would remind you of me when you leave to go on your Oak Seer apprenticeship in Ee'ay tomorrow, Ulrich.”

“I need nothing to remind me of you, father,' laughed the boy. ‘Do I have your permission to see Rainier before I leave?”

The father smiled down at his son full of pride and love. “Of course, Ulrich,” he said. “I will hold onto the goose for the moment just in case you were to break it.”

“Thank you, father,” grinned the boy as he raced out of the room.

Abruptly the vision vanished from his mind as he handed the figurine to Rainier without a word. The War Band Commander took it happily. He realised immediately what he had been given.

“This belongs to my friend,” explained Rainier. “He is the Oak Seer Ulrich. He stayed in this very room the last time he visited us. His father gave this goose to him when he was to begin his Oak Seer apprenticeship.” He threw the carving up into the air and caught it deftly. “He has had this since he was a child and feared that he had lost it. He will be extremely grateful for its return.”

Meuric assessed the man opposite. He was acutely aware of the friendliness from the War Band Commander. But his smile and open posture contrasted greatly with his steady confident gaze that at no time flinched or lowered. His red woollen tunic with short sleeves only accentuated the thickness of his arms, chest and shoulders. It did nothing to hide the criss-crossed scars on his forearms. Meuric began strapping his weapons upon his person. “You take a lot for granted at this time. Radha and I are strangers in your home and you only know Petros from a few days earlier.”

“Petros here has spoken on your behalf,” responded Rainier. Again his eyes did not waver. “But I did take the liberty to discreetly place two guards a short distance from your door. I have two more watching Radha.” He shrugged. “You can never be too careful.”

Meuric looked at the man trying to judge his words. He needed to decide whether he was actually a friend or an enemy. Casually he moved to the door, lifted the latch and peered out. Two men stood at the opposite side of the semi-circle balcony. They seemed to be talking casually. Both were heavily armed and had angled their bodies for an easy view of his door.

“‘You can never be too careful',” mimicked Meuric. “What is it that you want from me, Rainier?”

“Let us talk for a little bit,” said Rainier. “I think we should get to know each other better.”

“Why?” queried Meuric defensively, a sneer on his lips. “So you can decide whether you like me or not before you have me shot? I am sure that Petros has told you that the last time he saw me was under a cloud of dark circumstance.”

“Meuric,” snapped Petros. “Behave!”

The Daw'ra man threw the Knight Captain a hard look.

Rainier hurriedly said, “Not at all. I was hoping that you would join us. Petros in truth has spoken nothing but praise of you.”

Meuric turned to the Knight Captain. “Petros, I must speak with you in private.”

“After we have spoken and you still feel the need to move on, so be it,” offered Rainier casually. He almost seemed to pause before adding, “You are both Knight Protectors… yes?”

Meuric shot a glance at the Knight Captain. He could see that Petros was considering his next response just before he nodded slowly as if not wanting to give away anything more than he had to. “So you know of us?”

Meuric said nothing. He had stopped considering himself a Knight Protector for some years now. Perhaps now it was time to reconsider.

“By the gods I was almost afraid to believe,” commented Rainier in almost utter disbelief. His tone became serious. “I know that the person tracking the child will come back with a force. I also understand that it is the Roz'eli that we need not fear.”

Petros's eyes narrowed. “How is it that you know who we are?”

“My father was a big believer that the Protectorate existed. He would not tell me why but he was adamant. Then one night I saw you back when I still served the Roz'eli.” He looked directly at Meuric. Rainier's eyes then drifted in the direction of the room that belonged to Abram. “They both have talked openly about you, Meuric, in front of me but me alone like they already knew I had seen you in the past. Abram dreams about you. Jemima has spoken to me about when she first met you in Ber'ek and again as they fled from Ah'mos.”

“How do you know Meuric?” asked Petros.

“In truth I did not know your name until last night,” explained the War Band Commander. “I was there ten years ago at the Siege of Ot'ili, fighting under the Roz'eli banner.”

“I remember it,” acknowledged Meuric. His tone was guarded.

Rainier nodded and continued. “The Roz'eli Commander Remus had surrounded the last of the Gahp'ryel rebels in the town. The order was given to kill every man, woman and child. I disagreed with that order and I got this for my trouble.” He ran his thumb along his hairline to the right side of his head. Instead of showing an
ear all that remained was the scar of a cauterised stump. “The order was carried out and after everyone was killed, the town was put to the torch and razed to the ground. The next morning Remus was found dead. A single wound was found to his heart.

“Rumours abounded of assassins, rebels who had survived the massacre, disgruntled soldiers and officers and, even more remotely, an assassin from Jay'keb, though everyone had laughed at that. No one knew for sure, except for me. I was a Free Archer at the time. I was given guard duty that night as an extra punishment. I was just coming out of my tent to report for duty when I saw you, as clearly as I look at you now. I might add that you have not aged a day since. I knew straight away who you were and what you were there for. Your armour and weapons were of the same design I had been shown by my father when I was growing up. So I kept my mouth shut.”

“Why is it you do not fight for Roz'eli now?” asked Meuric.

“I gained my freedom and that of my sons,” clarified Rainier. “The Emperor's son had got himself into bother. I just happened to be there. He and I alone survived. I was damned sneaky enough of a whore's son to get the two of us out alive. I was made a State Guardsman. Five years later I did something else equally stupid. I received my release soon after. Now my only duty is to the safety of my town and my people.”