Meuric (33 page)

Meuric looked at the Knight Captain. “My mission is the same as yours, Petros; the protection of the child. With the numbers of warriors here that would certainly make that job a lot easier.” He turned to Rainier. “We will not be staying though.”

Petros frowned. “Where do your orders come from, Meuric?”

Meuric smiled a little smugly. “A higher order than that of the Council.” Seeing a flash of anger spread across Petros's face he hurriedly added, “I will explain all later. Radha will back me on this.”

Rainier looked at the two Knights. “When we killed those Roz'eli soldiers and the Administrator our fate was set. They will be coming for us. Theirn believes that we can exist in the Great Wood for the remainder of our days though we will be shunned forever. I would rather that we all up and left, disappear from Nah'cho completely and create a new home. Theirn needs convincing though.”

“Keep talking,” pressed Meuric.

Rainier's tone changed. His military commander side was now coming out. “I assume that Abram will not be brought anywhere in Roz'eli-held territories. Seeing that we are south of the free Kel'akh Nation, I assume that you are aiming for Ee'ay. The Oak Seers there might have the power to protect the boy. You will be moving across land since the ship they travelled in has been destroyed. To get another means of evading the Roz'eli navy ships that patrol the waters. On top of that General Agents watch the ports.”

“All true,” confirmed Petros. “My concern is that the Ard-ri may react to strangers in his land if we take you all with us. The people there might even react to it as an invasion.”

Meuric moved to the window. “It does not seem that people here are in too much of a panic to pack up.”

Rainier joined him there. “Do not let that fool you. What you see here are only half the adult population. The other half lie waiting, ready to be mobilised in case of a Roz'eli attack.”

“Tell me, Rainier,” said Meuric. “What do you know of the boy?”

The War Band Commander shrugged. “Only what they have told me. I know he is special and from Jay'keb. You can feel the power of him when simply standing in his presence. He has some very powerful people after him.”

Meuric laughed. “Powerful does not cover it.” He turned to the War Band Commander. “It was twelve years ago when I first met them; Jemima, Obadiah and their infant son Abram. They were in hiding in Ber'ek when,” he offered a lopsided grin, “I was enlisted by a man who was dressed like an Oak Seer. He went by the name of Ladra.”

“You do not believe then that he was an Oak Seer?” queried Petros interested.

Meuric shook his head. “The power he possessed is so much more than an Oak Seer. Neither Radha nor I could get a feel from him.”

“Radha met him too?” asked Petros.

“Only yesterday,” responded Meuric. “For the first time. Back in Ber'ek it was explained to me that this child was no ordinary boy. Both his parents are descended from a lineage of ancient Jay'keb kings that the Roz'eli forces have tried to eradicate for decades.”

Rainier raised his eyebrows. “I have heard of the story from a posting I had when I was over there. The tale goes that a child would be born with powers unimaginable. Behind that child the world will rise up. It seemed that every Roz'eli soldier that I met bragged at how they personally had killed the last of that line.”

“Not unimaginable anymore,” avowed Meuric in a slightly haughty tone. “Shortly after rescuing the family in Ber'ek a Knight Protector, David, turned up with a Squadron from the Conclave. I handed them over and I assumed that he took them to Wardens Keep for protection.” He looked at Petros accusingly. “Ladra sent me back.”

“They did go,” explained the Knight Captain. “They refused to stay. They did not want the Jay'keb people to give up hope. As a compromise the Council transported them to Ar'en.”

“And that was the last I heard of them,” continued Meuric, “until recently when Ladra turned up in my room in Kar'el. Again I was sent to protect the family, this time in Ah'mos. I did so but Qadir was killed during the evacuation.”

“Who was Qadir?” asked Rainier.

“A Knight Protector,” answered Petros instantly. “He was the assigned protector of Ar'en.” He turned to Meuric. “Any idea on how he was beaten?”

The Daw'ra warrior nodded. “It was Abram.”

“What!” Rainier exclaimed. “How was this even possible with your magicks?”

The two Knights of the Protectorate looked at each other.

“It would seem that the boy has the ability to cancel out all magicks around him,” explained Petros. “When Qadir and the warrior fought it must have been on an equal footing.”

“But even without your magicks,” continued Rainier. He was more than a little disturbed. “Are you not supposed to be warriors with no equal?”

“It would seem that we have found our match,” murmured Meuric darkly. “And perhaps, without our Gifts, we are not even as good as them.”

LI

A gentle knock came at the door followed by soft words from a woman. “May I enter?”

Meuric recognised the accent instantly. It belonged to someone who grew up in the Roz'eli province of Jay'keb. “Please do, Jemima.”

She entered somewhat cautiously and offered a slight bow to Petros and Rainier. “I thank you for allowing me into your home,” she uttered looking directly at the Daw'ra man.

Meuric smiled politely recognising the traditional words of her homeland. Although the room at the Travelers' Inn was in no way the Daw'ra warrior's home it was still the current place that he resided. As such, the Jay'keb customary saying applied. He did not miss the appreciative look by Rainier at the Jay'keb woman.

Meuric bowed slightly saying, “I thank you for respecting my home.” Now that the formalities were over he asked, “What is it that I can do for you, Jemima?”

Jemima closed the door behind and stepped forward. Now that he had time to look at her properly he could see that she was still of slim build, petite and as pretty as when Meuric first met her some twelve years earlier. Her hair was long and light brown, her skin swarthy and her smile was nervous yet radiant. Yet, for the Daw'ra man, the sight of her proved to be extremely unsettling.

His nightmare was closer to becoming true.

“Abram wishes to see you, Meuric,” said Jemima, her tone gentle.

Meuric gazed hard at the Jay'keb woman. “Why?”

Jemima smiled, “He says it is to free you from yourself.”

Meuric sat and unhurriedly slipped on his fur-lined boots and began to wrap the string of leather around them, tightening the shoe. “I do not understand.”

Jemima smiled sympathetically. She knelt beside the former Knight Protector. Gently she placed her hand on his arm. “Yes you do,” she muttered. “Dervla.”

Meuric allowed his head to hang just for a moment, to compose himself, before he raised it. The emotions he felt even at the mention of her name threatened to overwhelm him at times. He calmed himself, forcing his racing heart to slow to a much milder pace. His hard grey eyes glared into Jemima's deep brown ones.

“I have nothing to say on the matter.”

Tension hung in the air with such intensity that it seemed to have a life of its own. Meuric knew that it was of his own doing but he was not about to back down. He cursed himself silently. He was getting to the stage of life where the years he had lived were now blurring into one another, and yet he had never found a way to deal with the loss of his first wife so many years before.

“Perhaps you should go with her.” Meuric looked up to see that it was Petros who had spoken. “You turned your back on us after the death of Dervla. We all know you have never let go of her since.”

Meuric swallowed his scream. He said, “I felt that it was the Council's fault that she had died. I was so angry. I never got the chance to say farewell to her. All that I have left of her and my son Judoc are the memories. I still treasure every single one like she is still alive today. In truth I have been angry for so long now I just do not know how to stop anymore.”

“Abram will help you,” interjected Jemima.

Meuric looked towards the Jay'keb woman, then to Petros and finally to Rainier. The War Band Commander had stayed silent this whole time, almost sinking into the background. He nodded to the Daw'ra man. He was now feeling obliged to go with Jemima. He stood and indicated to the Jay'keb woman that she should lead the way. Meuric followed in silence.

His thoughts were in a tumble. He was unsure exactly how he was meant to be thinking or feeling right now. For someone who was always so sure, so strong in his convictions, always planning his next move, he was now at a total loss. The two warriors from across the hallway watched him warily, hands on their sword grips. Behind him, Rainier stepped from the room. Meuric saw him shake his head lightly. His two War Band warriors immediately relaxed.

At the door Jemima paused and turned. “I understand that you are a Knight Protector or you were at one time.”

Meuric uttered in a stony tone, “One time.” He could feel his Gifts disappear from his body.

“And still you do the right thing,” commented Jemima. Seeing that Meuric was about to protest she held up her hand and quickly continued. “Abram has seen the things that you have done in your life. He dreams of you regularly.”

“As I have dreamt of you and your son, Jemima,” he responded. “I have heard the stories of how you are supposed to be descended from a line of ancient kings. Can I ask, what is your Gift? I know that you have one just like Obadiah had. I spotted it as soon I first met you.”

“I am an Agent,” answered Jemima. “Do you know what that is?”

“I do, my Lady,” responded Meuric a little too smugly. “Your Gift allows you to retrieve information by various magickal means and transmit that information instantly to others if you so wish. We of the Protectorate are trained on all Gifts so we know what to expect when on a mission.”

Jemima smiled at him. “You spoke of the Knights as ‘we'. Tell me then, do you still carry the values of the Knights and the Council?” She shook her head. “I already know that you do. What I actually wanted to do was thank you for saving my son first at Ber'ek and again at Ah'mos. I was able to thank the Knight Protector David back in Jay'keb so many years ago but you disappeared so quickly on both occasions that it was impossible for me to do so.”

“Not by choice, my Lady,” said Meuric sincerely. He offered a slight bow. “But you are more than welcome.”

Jemima nodded. “You will always have my thanks and if I ever do return to the throne of my people you will never be forgotten.” She turned and opened the door to her room. “Go in now, Knight Protector Meuric. My son awaits you.”

The former Knight Protector stepped through and paused. Before him, sitting cross-legged and hovering in the centre of the room, was the boy from his nightmares.

LII

“Please sit,” said Abram. His voice was almost musical. Meuric did so without question, feeling a sudden strong compulsion to do so. He sat cross-legged on the floor, directly opposite to the boy. Abram floated to the ground landing lightly on the wooden floor. “I have dreamt about you so many times, Knight Protector Meuric, former protector of the Kel'akh Nation, ever since we met back in Ber'ek.”

“You remember me in Ber'ek?” questioned Meuric, amazed. “You were only a babe in your mother's arms then.”

“I remember everything from the moment of my birth,” stated Abram solemnly.

“As you say,” retorted Meuric. He was unsure whether to believe the child even with all he knew about him. “But I am a Knight Protector no more.” He paused, steadied himself, before stating, “I dream that you are with me when I die.”

Abram nodded. “Yes I am.”

Meuric drew a deep breath and forced a dry chuckle. He allowed a small amount of time to pass by, allowing what Abram had said to him to sink in. He had been alive for so long now he was beginning to wonder if he would ever die. Now that he knew for sure he would, he felt a certain amount of relief with that knowledge.

Meuric muttered, “Not much of a recruitment speech there, boy, if you are of the same mind as Rainier and want me to join your band.”

Abram said nothing, continuing to stare at him. Meuric's eyes flickered about the room to give himself something to do. It was plainly decorated, identical to the bedroom he was placed in. The only difference was that to the right there was another door. The Daw'ra man guessed it led to a small adjoining room, most likely for Jemima.

Meuric's annoyance grew. He stared hard at the child unflinching. He understood that the boy was appraising him, judging him. He did not want to disappoint. Abram himself was slim and fine-featured, much like his mother, dressed in the simple chiton of a Nah'cho peasant. His skin was swarthy, as was true of all his
people, and his eyes were so dark that they almost seemed black. His face was long, with a hook-shaped nose, and a mass of curly brown hair crowned his head. Even sitting Meuric could see that the boy was tall.

“Why am I here?” The Daw'ra man eventually asked.

He needed to get this conversation moving. He also felt partly amused that he was in audience with a child who was approximately ten times his junior.

“To save us all,” answered Abram bluntly. “For I have a destiny, a great legacy, but without you and your skills I most likely will not survive.”

“You do not have much of an ego there, boy,” Meuric commented drily. “But what of the Protectorate and the Conclave Council? Surely they will be better suited to protect you and your mother?”

Abram paused for a moment. There was huskiness in his voice as he said, “Even as we speak plans are being made to kill the remainder of your ilk. An army is being gathered to take on Wardens Keep. Those who do survive cannot help me. Radha survived her attack, as did you. Most will not.”

“We must help them then!” demanded Meuric. He stood. “We must warn them at the very least! The Link may be blocked but surely you could reach out.”

Abram shook his head. “It is too late for that, Knight Protector. The narration that stops the mind-link even I cannot pierce. Nor can my mother and she has tried on several occasions. It is all up to you now, Meuric, but first I must set you free.”

The former Knight cocked his head. “What exactly does that mean?” He did not like the direction of this conversation.

“I understand that you lost your wife and son a long time ago. You have never recovered from it. You feel that the Conclave's Council had betrayed you.”

Meuric paused and felt the rising anger at the mention of his dead wife and son. He took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down. From what he knew of Abram he quite liked him. He knew that the boy had troubles enough without also having to deal with an embittered Knight Protector. With some difficulty he swallowed his rage.

He said, “She, my son and my closest friends were murdered. Everyone who lived on Gla'es was wiped out. As time passed I found it harder and harder to go back to the Protectorate and the Council until the chasm between us felt so great that one day I just stopped thinking about it.”

Abram nodded. “A sad time for you, I am sure. For now I need you to just wait.”

Meuric gazed at the boy, drawn in by his large, onyx-coloured eyes. Wait for what, he wanted to ask. Impossibly Abram's eyes seemed to grow, filling the Knight Protector's mind and vision, overshadowing all that he saw. At first he only became dimly aware of the darkness, closing in on all sides, obscuring his sight. Meuric leapt up but it was already too late. The darkness had enveloped him, making him totally blind.

“Abram, where are you?” cried out the Knight Protector. He drew a dagger from his waist. “Damn it, boy, answer me! What is the meaning of this magick?”

There was no answer. Somehow Meuric knew that he would not get one. A test then, considered the Daw'ra man. Calming himself, he began to fumble forward. He held out his arms before him, groping the darkness. He took small steps convinced that he would bump into the child, a piece of furniture or even the window overlooking the town beyond. It took only a moment for Meuric to realise that he was no longer in the room. He was alone, in total blackness and without his Gifts. Panic threatened to engulf him but viciously the Knight Protector quelled it.

It was then that he first saw the light and began to walk towards it. In the beginning it seemed only to be a pinprick in size but it grew rapidly and far too fast for Meuric to be heading towards it. Whatever its source, the glow was moving swiftly towards him. Instinctively Meuric gripped the handle of his blade tighter.

“My love...”

The words had come from the light and Meuric froze. He felt that his heart had just been torn from his chest. He shook his head vehemently, denying what he had just heard. He stumbled back, nearly falling. It cannot be, repeated the Daw'ra man to himself over and over. The light was almost upon him now. Meuric lowered his head not wishing to see.

“My love,” said the voice, as soft as the morning dew. “Why do you not answer me?” A female hand gently cupped Meuric's chin and lifted his head. There were tears in the Knight Protector's eyes. “Is it that you have forgotten who I am?” There was a mocking tone in her angelic voice.

Meuric tried to speak but the words failed him. Sobs made his body quake, and he doubled over, the pain in his heart near bursting point. Hands, soft and yet firm, supported him. “I have come a long, long way, my darling, to be here like this and in this place,” spoke the light. “Do not disappoint me.”

Meuric straightened and stood tall. Somehow he managed to find his voice. “I will never forget you, Dervla, my wife, my beloved.”

“That is good for time is short,” spoke the brilliance gently.

The glare subsided revealing a woman of middle-age, with a light swarthy skin, silky brown hair and deep brown eyes. But to Meuric she was still that young woman he had fallen in love with so many years before. Next to her, holding her hand, was Abram. He could not help but feel a stab of jealously at their touch.

“For too long you have blamed yourself for my death and that of Judoc. It has to stop. It must stop. For now things are moving. There are lines of fate that will change our world forever and you are the man to make it happen. For if you keep blaming yourself our world will fall into darkness for the next age of man. And then it will simply cease to exist. This must not happen. You will get your day of vengeance when not seeking it.”

Meuric fell to his knees. “How?” he asked. There was desperation in his voice. “I do not know how to do this. To move on when all I have done in my life is seek revenge is beyond me. What would you have me do?”

“Let me show you,” said Abram.

The world about them changed. The blackness receded revealing a nighttime scene. It was moonless night. Stars were obscured by dark clouds. Meuric looked about. They stood dead centre in a large Kel'akh circular fort. Round huts of various sizes surrounded them. It had grown in size since he was a boy to cover half of the isle now. A huge palisade surrounded it. He could just about see some of the guards defending the enclosure. He knew exactly where he was. A place he had not seen in approximately one hundred years.

The Isle of Gla'es.

He knew instantly that something was not right. He turned to the main gateway. He could make out vague shapes moving in complete silence. There were several of them in total. Of the two static guards who should have been overlooking the main entryway to Gla'es, there was no sign. Meuric took a step towards it with his knife held ready.

“Stop,” advised Abram. “This is only a memory. There is nothing that you can do here.”

In silence the figures slid to the ground. The gateway was opened and in poured a small army. Meuric walked towards them. He could see them form into ten groups of ten men. Each dropped down onto one knee. They drew their weapons. Not a sound was to be heard. Noise was the enemy at night. No warning resonances from Gla'es were raised.

Now that he was closer he could see them dressed in dark leather armour, so as to keep the noise to a minimum, and carrying only two long-bladed black daggers. The majority wore olive green tunics. He could see two others wearing green and another one in dark green. It was he who gave the attacking force their commands. Systematically they began to work their way forward. In teams of two or three they entered the closest homesteads only to reappear a moment later with bloodied knives. Meuric felt sick. He still remembered the families who had lived in those homes. Any cries of surprise were efficiently muffled.

“To arms,” yelled a woman. “We are under attack.”

Meuric turned but he did not need to. He already knew who the voice belonged to: Dervla. He could see her standing alone, sword and shield in hand, defiant and unafraid. Judoc, their eldest son, was the first to reach her. He was similarly armed but was bare-chested. Half the invaders formed up in a standard phalanx; twenty-five men across, two rows deep. The Daw'ra man looked to the spirit of his dead wife.

“I could not sleep,” she explained. “I knew that you were due back at any time and I was waiting.”

He did not need to ask after their second son. Meuric already knew that he had been staying at a Daw'ra village on the mainland with one of Colton's sons.

The killing of the unarmed in their sleep continued. But the invaders were not getting it all their own way. Shouts of alarm were being raised all over the village. The people of Gla'es were starting to wake. Armed Daw'ra tribespeople were beginning to pour out of their homes. Others had already begun to fight back with
shield, sword and spear. Those too young or too elderly to fight were encouraged to run to the rear of the town. A second smaller gateway existed there. All around Dervla, those not already fighting formed up. They too took up a phalanx formation. Colton stood next to her. The Chieftain turned to the War Band Lieutenant, now standing in as commander in Meuric's absence.

“Protect the children. We have it here.”

The sell-sword smiled sadly. It was Fabien, the bully that had made the lives of the children hard on the island. But after that day he had changed. A bitterness that he had clung onto had finally been released. So much so that, as the years passed and friendships grew, Meuric had promoted him to make him his second-in-command.

The man nodded and sped off to the rear of Gla'es with ten chosen warriors. Meuric looked at both sides, weighing up the tactical advantages. The people of Gla'es should have won this mêlée. They had now formed up into their fighting disposition, were more heavily armed with shield, spear and armour and were ready for battle. Metal armour covered their bodies. It was they who were fighting for their homes and their people. And the invaders knew it. A moment later the intruders charged.

“Spears,” yelled Colton.

At his command a huge volley of spears flew through the air, slamming hard into the soft-armoured bodies of the enemy. Scores fell dead and wounded. Their advance faltered. Another volley of missiles erupted from the Daw'ra townspeople. Most of the enemy stopped dead. Most began to look for cover. A few turned tail and ran. Colton raised his arm, about to give the command: “forward”.

But then he had appeared, the Dark Druid, and everything went still.

Calmly he walked through the gates, a shadow within the darkness, and stepped forward casually. Clear of the entranceway he stopped and raised his arms. Lightning bolts burst from his fingertips, easily ripping through the bodies of a dozen townsfolk. From his other hand he flung a ball of flames. A town home, next to the Daw'ra phalanx, exploded. Half of them were knocked to the ground. Most did not get back up.

“We need to save the children,” yelled Judoc over the cries of the dying and injured. He stood after being blown to the ground. Blood ran down his face and arm. “We cannot stay here and wait.”

Dervla shook her head. “We need to buy them time.” She looked all around her. “With me,” she yelled. “Attack!”

She led the charge with Judoc. Half a dozen warriors immediately ran with her. Town archers began to shoot at the invaders from the rooftops. More warriors quickly followed. That was when they heard the cries of more attackers from the rear gate. The enemy had now also arrived there in force. Meuric could not help but think of the children who were already there. Tears filled his eyes.

He looked to his old friend Colton. The Chieftain had sized up the situation in an instant. There would be no escape for him or his family. He raced to his home. Meuric already knew how that would end.

“Take me away from here,” commanded the former Knight Protector. “I do not want to see anymore.”

He fell to the ground just so that he could not witness any more of the carnage. He began to sob quietly. The spirit of Dervla cried with him. She bent over and kissed the top of her husband's head. The world around them vanished to be replaced by a dark void that held only the three of them.