Meuric (5 page)

Was that the hidden mortal from his vision?

My Lord, I would speak with you.

The storyteller sighed. Would he never know peace?
I trust that it is important, Wis
?

It is, my Lord King
.

The stranger's shoulders sagged. He so loved these days, partly due to the fact that they were always so short. “Forgive me, my friends,” he roared above the volume of the townspeople. “I have a need to empty my bladder.”

“One more story,” yelled one man.

“One more tale,” shouted young Bairre from the storyteller's feet.

“Shortly,” answered the man as he shakily stepped down from the table, pretending to be drunk. “I will be back soon.”

He made his way through the horde quickly, all signs of the effects of alcohol immediately leaving him. Men offered him more beer. Others wanted to ply him with stories of their own deeds. Politely but firmly he refused them all. All the while, he could feel the eyes of Meuric boring into him as he moved closer to the
doorway. As he opened the door, he paused. He looked at the Kel'akh warrior and saw the uncompromising gaze of a man who had nothing to live for.

“Your journey begins today, Meuric,” said the storyteller in a tone so soft that only the warrior could have heard. He had no idea why he was talking to him. Again, he saw the newcomer charging down the hillside with the armies of the world behind him. He stepped through the door quickly and immediately closed it behind. He could not have the warrior following him to where he was going.

At the moment, the door slid neatly into its frame the storyteller's world changed.

VI

Meuric swung open the door straight after the storyteller had closed it, realising immediately that he would already be gone. The signature of the power that he emitted had vanished. “He” may be the wrong use of the word, considered the Daw'ra man. The incredible energy that pulsated from the storyteller had hit him like waves lapping against a beach, and when he had tried to discern the force behind it, he had been met with a blinding radiance that was almost too painful to look at.

‘“Your journey begins today, Meuric,”' the storyteller had said to him.

How had he known who he was? To what journey had he referred? An image of him shot by arrows in a cave burst into his mind and he shivered. He was a fool for coming to Ay'den, he knew. Daring the prophecy to come true was probably one of the worst ideas that he ever had. Yet as the years passed, he found that he needed more and more forms of extreme excitement as boredom sank in more frequently. Besides, he had yet to meet the child and his mother and until that day happened, he told himself that he should not be overly concerned about it.

He began to flit between the buildings of the town, barely making a noise as he moved, as he searched for his objective. Though dark, he knew that a being of such power would not be able to hide from him for long no matter where in the town he went. For those sensitive to the ways of magick it was just a matter of time until he picked up the storyteller's trail.

Ay'den was just like every other Kel'akh town. There was no discernible structure to the build-up of the settlement. The only regulation was that there had to be a certain sized gap between each structure. Circular homes made of stone and mud with thatched conical roofs littered the area all around him. In a town of this size there were no pens attached to the homesteads for their domestic livestock. The majority of the animals were kept outside the town in a specially built enclosure while a smaller portion were kept inside the town should they be attacked and forced to close the gates.

He spied the well that supplied the towns' only fresh water that lay in the centre of Ay'den. It was guarded at all times though there was unregulated free access to it. He nodded to the two guards who eyed him cautiously as he suspected they did to all strangers who were dressed as a well-armed warrior.

He continued walking, silently moving through the shadows, offering only a cursory greeting to those few townsfolk who just happened to walk past him. He moved close by the Chieftain's home, a three-storey high building, that marked not only his status but also allowed everyone to know where to find him. Eachann was his name. He was as canny a man as any, but it was his wife Fedelm who was the real power behind him. It was said that she could outwit a snake that was about to strike and, if that did not work, cut off its head before it had even realised it.

The ground level was named the Great Hall. From here, the Chieftain would entertain dignitaries, hold banquets and discuss affairs connected to his region. The centre section was where the kitchens were, his servants lived and it also retained stores of all kinds. The uppermost level was where he and his family lived. Two sentries guarded the entrance to the Great Hall, which was also the only public passageway into the Chieftain's home.

On one side of the Great Hall, a short distance away, sat the home of Ay'den's War Band Commander. A less grand affair than the Chieftain's, the homestead possessed two levels, but he was still obviously much better off than the townspeople. Only one guard blocked the doorway here.

On the opposite side of the War Band Commander's home sat a roundhouse that was typical of any in Ay'den. The fact that a single sentry guarded its doorway marked that as the residence of the Oak Seer whenever he or she came to stay.

Meuric kept on moving, finding himself skirting close to the fringes of the town. The protective wall that surrounded Ay'den was also circular in shape and he began to follow the path of it, his eyes scanning the terrain. By now, he knew that it was no longer of any use. The power that he had sensed earlier was now completely gone, leaving him feeling strangely isolated. He alone in Ay'den felt the might of a being that could not possibly have been of this world.

Onwards he moved like a cat on the prowl. Maybe the being had some way of shielding himself from others, he considered. He could see some of the Guardsmen on duty, their red cloaks removed as it was such a mild night. Even those not close to their fired braziers had left their cloaks open. Thinking about it, he realised that not even the Travelers' Inn had lit its central furnace, the closeness of the patrons making its central hall verge on the oppressive.

Some of the Guardsmen paced the ramparts as they sought to scan the terrain on the outside, ready to defend the town against any attacking force. Others stood perfectly still, staring out into the evening sky, boredom forcing them to seek solace in their thoughts. There was little chance of Roz'eli forces finding themselves this far from the border, even on a raiding mission, but it was not unheard of for rival tribes to launch a sneak attack. Meuric knew that strategically Ay'den was well placed to control movement across the northern tip of the lake named Tarn Nee'sha and all its interlinking tributaries.

Meuric shook his head, finally admitting to himself that it was foolish to waste any more time searching for the mysterious being. Deciding to return to the Travelers' Inn to have a drink he suddenly felt another presence of magick. It was nowhere near as powerful as he had encountered earlier but it was something nonetheless. Focusing on the homestead from which the magick originated, he circled the wall searching for the front door only to almost walk straight into a young woman as she stamped impatiently before the doorway, waiting for a response from within.

“I apologise, young Miss,” said Meuric. He tried to smile politely on finding her so startled. She was pretty enough, he decided, though fragile looking with blonde hair and blue eyes flecked with green. She had only one red tattoo and that was on her neck. “I am sorry if I scared you.”

The girl looked at him noting his finely made clothes and weapons. He could see her look curiously at his face and wonder why there was no beard, why his hair was cut short and how someone so young could have eyes that looked so old. “It was my mistake, my Lord. I was so intent on what I was doing I had not the mind to be careful.”

“Genovefa,” called a woman from the inside of the house. “Is that you?”

“Genovefa?” repeated Meuric in a quiet voice. He had no intention of letting the person from inside the house know that he was there. “That is not a name from these parts.”

“No, my Lord,” was the girl's reply. She was slightly suspicious and seemed reluctant to answer. “My family comes from eastern Kel'akh. We fled here when Roz'eli started to invade our lands.”

Meuric nodded solemnly. “That was a wise decision by your parents.”

A latch lifted and a woman appeared at the doorway. She was old and bent-over, her red tattoos so faded that they seemed to be little more than a pale pink. He could not but help notice, though, the triple-spiral tattoo over her left eye, the symbol of the goddess Fari. Her iron-grey hair was tied back and held in place by a gold torc. She gripped her fur cloak tight around her when the evening air touched her skin despite its warmth. She stared hard at Meuric without a word as if gauging his thoughts.

“You are a long way from home, Meuric of the Daw'ra tribe,” she said with a half-smile. “So is the Hand of Death here to take me to the Otherworld?”

Meuric gave her a scathing look. “That is not who I am, woman.”

“Careful how you speak to me, Meuric,” snapped the woman. “The goddess Fari herself protects me.” Genovefa started to take some backward steps. She glanced nervously at both man and woman, sensing the invisible power struggle going on between the two. The woman turned to her. “Be still, girl. You are in no danger here. I am simply letting him know that I recognise who he is.” She looked once again to the warrior. “Do you believe in fate, Meuric?”

“No,” he answered a little too quickly and she laughed.

“What a fool you are,” she spat at him. “How do you dream these days?”

“I sleep just fine, wicce!”

She laughed again and turned to the girl. “Come, Genovefa. It is time to answer your questions.” She stepped to one side and held the door wide enough to allow the young woman to walk through. She was only too keen to get inside the house. The witch looked to Meuric. “Will you come in also? You too may find some of the answers to the questions that you seek.” He hesitated to respond and the crone disappeared into her home. She left the door open. “Your journey begins today, Meuric.”

‘“Your journey begins today, Meuric,”' he repeated. That was what the being had said to him in the Travelers' Inn. He entered through the doorway, feeling the tingle of magick ripple against his skin. Once inside he stood to one side, his back against a wall in the dimly lit room. He waited patiently for his eyes to adjust to the poor lighting.

“Wards protect my home, Knight Protector,” sounded the witch's voice. “Those who follow the Dark Ones, whether man or daemon, cannot enter my home.”

Meuric looked about. The one-roomed dwelling was spacious for a Kel'akh roundhouse. Large enough to house a family, the old woman sat to one side on a fur rug at the end of a low table while the young woman Genovefa sat at the opposite end. She glanced nervously at the dark-clad warrior who stood silently by the doorway, his grey eyes scrutinising everything closely. In the centre of the room lay a small fire, sitting neatly within a small stone circle, the smoke from which meandered lazily through the small hole in the roof directly above.

As was characteristic of a Kel'akh homestead, there was little decoration; a pile of furs lay for a bed, small low tables sat in various spaces that were used for greeting guests and for eating off, but it was her weapons that made Meuric take stock. They had been cleaned immaculately and mounted, displayed almost with a certain amount of veneration. It was these that the warrior approached.

A wooden stand, representative of a man, stood against one section of the wall. On its head sat a helmet, on its body rested a breastplate and, judging by the contours, it could only be worn by a woman. Across its arms lay a sword, resting neatly within a fur-trimmed scabbard and at its feet lay a circular wooden shield reinforced with straps of bronze. Though each piece was plain Meuric could make out the small runic writing that could only be made from a metalworker within Ee'ay. He reached out to them but did not touch, feeling the vibration of magick tingle his fingertips.

“Such things are not cheap, wicce,” noted Meuric. He turned. His eyes fell upon the table that the witch and Genovefa sat at, noting the quality of the wood and the runes etched into it. “I think that you are far richer than you let on.”

She smiled to him revealing teeth blackened by years of neglect. “We all have our secrets, Knight Protector, and I must insist that you call me Honora. I am no wicce.”

Meuric flashed a hard look and felt his anger start to rise as it always did whenever the Protectorate was mentioned. “That is twice you have referred to me as a Knight Protector. Do not call me that. I have been off that path for a long time now. Why would a prēost of Fari have any need to fear the Dark Ones? She is a goddess of neutrality is she not?”

“Even they do not like to hear the truth,” said the old woman. “Probably more so in their case. Will you sit?” Meuric nodded and, adjusting the weapons at his waist, sat cross-legged, facing the door. “Have you yet realised who the person you were searching for is?”

“No,” said Meuric. “But at a guess I would say that it was one of the gods.”

Honora nodded. “Not just one of the gods but
the
god. It was Faeder, father of the New Gods. Did you find him in the Travelers' Inn recounting stories and looking like the personification of what every Kel'akh warrior strives to be?” The warrior thought for a moment before slowly nodding. “Faeder the Storyteller visits our town.” She paused, considering the information, then looked directly at Meuric. “I knew who you were of course even without the use of my Gifts. All who have attended Wardens Keep have heard of Meuric of Daw'ra, the Knight Protector who turned his back on the solemn duty of the Protectorate. I had never thought that I would meet you though. In truth, I had considered the possibility that you were only a story concocted by the Conclave to keep its students in line. I find it more than coincidental that you and Faeder should be here at the same time.” She looked to Genovefa. “Perhaps you hold the key, my girl.”

The young woman visibly shrank under the old crone's gaze but held steady. “I am only here to see if I will bear Bairre any children.” She gave Meuric a swift embarrassed look and giggled nervously. “We have been trying for a wee while now but I have yet to conceive.”

Honora nodded and bowed her head. “Goddess Fari give me sight,” she prayed. She looked at Genovefa and seemed to hesitate before speaking. “You will have children but it will not be for some time to come. You will have twins and they will be great heroes of the Kel'akh Nation. It will be they who stem the growing conquests by Roze'li within our lands.”

“What will their names be?” cried Genovefa excitedly.

Honora looked off into a faraway place. “One will be named Bairre after his father and the other will be named Brian.”

Genovefa clapped her hands with glee. “That pleases me immensely even though I will have some years to wait. It does my heart good to know that Bairre and I will be together for times to come.” She suddenly sobered, noting the pained look on Honora's face. “What are you not telling me?”

“Your path will not be easy, child,” the prēost quickly replied. She does not believe in beating around the bush, realised Meuric. “A war is coming and a battle will be fought right here in Ay'den. There will be losses but also greatness to some of the survivors.”