The Brotherhood of Merlin

by Rory D Nelson

  However, the Tribes desperately needed the funds of the sale from the land in order to travel to the West. It would be an expensive and perilous journey. An added cost was traveling briefly across Orachain lands to continue their journey. The Orachain would allow humans to pass through their lands, but only if proper coin was given as a toll. This could be a hefty sum.

  Since so many interested parties present themselves, they were forced to establish an auction for the land. Herod, the richest man in the Empire, easily won the auction and has full rights to the land. This did not rest well Jason and the Visi-Gauls, who felt they were unfairly thwarted from obtaining the rights. Their bid of twenty thousand gold pence was more than sufficient to secure the rights.

  The rules of the land dictated a silent auction and each attendee was allowed to bid twice over a two-day period. Herod, the cunning entrepreneur, knew very well what each participant had in their possession with the help of Morgana and spies. Knowing the highest bid, he simply bid higher and won the auction.

  Jason tried to reason with Herod, but he was inexorable; he could not be moved to reason. His last offer was Jason could simply match his price plus ten percent and he would take twenty percent profit from the mines. Insulted, Jason concluded the negotiation by threatening Herod, who merely smiled sardonically in response.

  Several more attempts to negotiate with Herod proved unsuccessful. Eventually, Jason gave Herod an ultimatum. Consider a reasonable offer, or we will invade the Siemen Valley. Jason knew it was a weak point in the Republic. Herod made the inadvertent slip, or was it? The bulk of the forces were in the Northern Territory. Jason would not risk open war with Menelaeus, but Menelaeus was a cautious King. His first instinct would be to negotiate first. When confronted with the conflict between Herod and Jason, the Council would be forced to consider a reasonable offer that would secure the realm, or so Jason surmised.

  Jason learned many of the weaknesses in the Republic. No force was large enough in the Western territories to thwart Jason. He will venture to Corith and linger at the shipping hub of Khatul, menacingly, threatening to cut off their main harbor to the Indie Ocean. He will sack the small towns along the way, their fate nothing more than collateral damage. Next, he will send emissaries to the Council to negotiate with them. Meanwhile, his formidable force of nine thousand will plunder relentlessly.

  Part 2: The Brotherhood

  Chapter 11: Meet the Legend

  Dexterous, gifted fingers make their way over the piano keys seamlessly, producing a haunting melody so moving it routinely brings tears to the eyes of the man playing it. Slowly, he begins to build towards to the crescendo of the piece. His wolf Shadow, sits nearby, entranced.

  The wolf is much more than a beloved house dog. By all measure, Shadow is a working dog. Like his namesake, he shadows his guardian continuously, having been with him since he was a boy.

  They are intrinsically linked, so much so his master does not bother to verbally command. He merely sends his thoughts telepathically. And like an obedient dog, Shadow complies. Shadow feels his guardian’s burgeoning anticipation of the conflict to come underneath his conscious and knows he will follow Merlin into battle.

  Wherever their campaign takes them, Shadow will be there. Unconditionally. Relentlessly. Obediently. He is the embodiment and culmination of the canine’s greatest attributes.

  Like his master, he has an iron tenacity and a fierce loyalty to his pack and nothing could deter him. This is the calm before the storm and Shadow enjoys the repose as much as his guardian.

  Their moment comes to an abrupt halt as Germanicus walks into the chamber hall, accompanied by his wolf, Shep. Like Shadow, Shep has been with his master, Germanicus since he was a boy and shadows the Dotore constantly. Germanicus’ dour expression could have offended the dead.

  Merlin senses him coming long before he enters. The music abruptly stops. Germanicus holds a telegraphed sheet of parchment. Despite the brevity of the note, he appears to be staring at it for quite a length of time.

  “The Visi-Gauls have attacked Missalia, Merlin. Jason knew of our weaknesses and he was quick to capitalize on it; as you have foreseen. And, as you have foreseen, there is no squadron anywhere in the vicinity to thwart them. My guess is they will make haste to Khatul to block our route to the Indie Ocean, stifling and disrupting trade routes. He is going to hurt us where it hurts economically.”

  Merlin stands up from his bench slowly, seeming to consider everything Germanicus says, his expression nonchalant; though it is difficult to determine, considering his eyes are obscured behind his small rimmed, oval shaped glasses.

  Merlin sighs. “I would fare better if I have my head cleared, Germanicus. Shall we reconvene to the target room?”

  “Now?” asks Germanicus, clearly irritated.

  Merlin nods. “Ai.”

  They walk out from the gymnasium and into a smaller hall that has many targets arranged on the white, alabaster walls. Merlin puts on a shiny, black vest, which has many compartments that are filled with throwing daggers. In a lightning quick move, Merlin reaches for two daggers and twirls them around his hands so fast they seem to float in mid- air. His hands are a blur to the naked eye.

  Seconds later, the two daggers are propelled at gunshot speed at their respective targets. “You would have target practice at this moment?” asks Germanicus.

  “If it cleared my head, I would get naked and dry hump the table.”

  “You would jest at a time like this? The situation demands hard palaver. You ken?”

  Merlin nods. “Ai. Then let us speak. This place is as good as any.”

  “We could call an emergency meeting of the Council. They could vote in.”

  “Two days?” asks Merlin.

  “Germanicus, by the time they could muster a force, several hundred more men will be slaughtered, their children sold into slavery and their women raped.”

  “Borga is only three days from here. We could muster a force of at least one thousand men. Several of the local constables would lend hand to our aid.”

  “And in doing so, we would permit Jason free reign for a week and a half. That is a dead end.”

  “Faline is only two days away.”

  Merlin shakes his head. In another lightning quick move, he throws a couple more daggers. “Not good enough Germanicus.”

  “It will take three weeks to raise a force to contend with him. You know this.”

  “Ai. Know it well, Brother.”

  “Doesn’t leave us many options, Merlin.”

  “It leaves us, Germanicus.”

  Germanicus laughs.

  “Have you ever known me to be tripe?” Merlin asks with righteous indignation.

  “No.”

  “Are you suggesting the ten of us here engage an army of nine thousand men?”

  “I’m not suggesting anything, Brother. I’m commanding it. Summon the Brethren.”

  Germanicus looks at Merlin dubiously. “Ai, Merlin. I’ll do it. You do have a plan?”

  Merlin says nothing. He only smiles mischievously. He picks up two more daggers and throws them seamlessly, his hands never seeming to touch them at all. “I am the Merlin, Brother.”

  Merlin walks away. Germanicus looks at the target. Merlin threw twelve daggers at two targets. He looks at it, amazed at his extreme marksmanship. Each dagger hit the target perfectly. The first two daggers hit both targets in the dead center. The following daggers are embedded into the handle of the other one preceding it in a straight line.

  Germanicus shakes his head, marveling at the impossible display of skill.

  Merlin and Germanicus make their way out of Merlin’s meditation chamber and into the hall of the domicile of the Confederate Knighthood, a structure built for purpose. Large, maroon bricks accompanied by ironwood walls painted white make up the interior of the house. Vapid, light colors help clear the mind, relax the body, and are favored over bright and rich hues.

  In many ways, this is a monastery; bu
t a monastery devoted to the extremely selective recruitment of the Confederate Knighthood, the most prestigious knighthood in the world.

  Many young boys are recruited under its walls and most do not make it past a year. As many as fifteen hundred are initiated into the program, but less than a dozen will make the final cut. Some leave of their own accord, the brutal training simply too much to endure.

  Germanicus summons the Brethren. They meet in the vestibule leading to the sacrosanct chamber, the place reserved for them where they go to pray. Savelle, the Carthanian, master bowman, Syrus, a local Lycenean, Atticus, a Dorakian, Ithicus, the master with the Scythe, Domithicus, the Statesman and Justinian the Freedom Rider, a name he inherited from his father, Cotteroy, the Curd and friend and blood brother to Justinian and Jamison, the Luddite. As is customary with the brotherhood, they are accompanied by their respective wolves. “Brothers,” says Germanicus. “We are well met.”

  They all respond in unison. “Ai, Brother. Well met.”

  Merlin nods solemnly to them. They take careful note of his demeanor and can decipher purpose in the subtlest of gestures. They all know. They are going to war.

  Merlin speaks. “Hard purpose brings us together. Jason and the Visi-Gauls have laid siege to towns in the Siemen Valley, hoping to induce us into re-negotiating with us for the mines in Vespan. This campaign is not to protect his holdings. It is to protect the people. We cannot sit idly by for negotiations while hundreds, thousands of innocents are slaughtered, children sold into slavery. I will not abide. We will terminate this threat.”

  “Ai, Brother.” They say in unison.

  “What of reinforcements, Merlin,” asks Syrus, the worrisome one of the group. “I have heard rumors of a force of nine thousand.”

  Merlin is quick to correct him. “Actually, it’s more like nine thousand.” Syrus’ eyes dilate to twice their size. “And what of backup? Reinforcements?”

  “As usual, you’ll be briefed on a need to know basis. I would not have you follow me into such a battle if I had not planned accordingly.”

  “So, you do have a plan?” asks Syrus in relief.

  Merlin smiles devilishly. “Am I not the Merlin?”

  Savelle, Syrus’ closest friend in the group, pats him on the back playfully. “Don’t worry Brother. We’ll try and not shoot your dick off.” The room erupts in much needed laughter. Syrus, the recipient of the jest, reluctantly joins in.

  Merlin is quick to end the playfulness. “Gentleman. Hard purpose demands hard prayer. Lest we forget why we do what we do, join me in the chamber.” They walk to the chamber and look solemnly at the ironwood cross hanging in front of it. They bow and genuflect before entering.

  Compared to the large church where Merlin serves as the head priest and sermonizes to a crowd of nearly two thousand, the sacrosanct chamber’s interior is small. And, this chamber is for the Brethren. None of the ornate and brightly hued works of art that festoon the main temple are present here.

  It is austere, a place of contemplation, focus, and prayer, a place where the Brethren connect with God and each other to complete the monumental tasks set before them. The pews are simple wooden benches and the kneeling pads are connected to the pews through metal bearings that are pulled out when the recipients latch on to them.

  Merlin is the first to enter. The others follow with heads bowed down in deference and respect. A large iron sepulchered Cross is the only adornment that hangs in the chamber. The image of Christ in the throes of agony detail the horrendous scene. The sacrifice he made for them could never be refuted. Astonishingly, the wolves are bowing their heads. The fact is a sacred, worshipful moment is not lost on them.

  Merlin is the first to pull out his rosary. A small-ornate cross hangs at the center of the rosary. Twelve, black alabaster beads are connected on a pure silver chain. Despite their small size, the beads boast an incredibly detailed scene of each station of the Cross. Sepulvedes, the Elder, heir to the master Mavidian, spent two painstaking years crafting the rosaries.

  Regardless of the robust economy in Lycenea, few could afford such expensive precious metal jewelry. The Brotherhood were the only recipients of the special jewelry, however. Selfless and non-materialistic, they allowed themselves few worldly possessions. This was one of the exceptions.

  The remaining brethren pull out their rosaries and begin to twirl it around in their hands. Merlin is the first to speak. “Jesus Christ, our Savior, first knight, we beseech you Lord. The task has been laid before us is one that is besought with many perils. Guide us. Watch over us in the quest that you have laid before us. You have molded us to great purpose. See us through to victory as we attempt to do your will.”

  The other follow suit, “Ai, my Lord.”

  Merlin continues, “Redeemer, Savior, First Knight. You are the light that guides us. Give us the power to illuminate those that accept you and vanquish those that oppose you. You are our namesake.”

  When Merlin concludes the prayer, he genuflects and walks out. As they exit the chamber, he addresses his men. “Brethren, I do wish you a good night and good sleep. I’ll see you in the morning before Dawn.” He turns to go. The Brethren disperse.

  Germanicus walks after him. “Merlin, may I have word?”

  Merlin turns around to him. “If it’s a quick one.”

  “The other Brethren are gone. Know well your penchant for tight lips.”

  “Loose ones topple Empires. You ken?”

  “Allay my misgivings, Merlin. I know you have plan. Would you speak of it to most trusted friend?”

  “And if you’re captured behind enemy lines and tortured for the intelligence? I would not put our mission in such jeopardy.”

  “But I am your best friend.”

  “And not above the needs of our country or this mission. You know this well.”

  Germanicus sighs. “If I could have a moment.”

  “No time for one,” says Merlin. “I am going to spend one last night with my wife before our quest takes us. It may be our last chance.”

  “Perhaps you would comfort an old friend.”

  “I am not your nurse maid. Brother and I am not impervious to fear. It is what we do in the face of great fear that makes us knights. You ken?”

  Germanicus nods, “Ai.”

  “Enjoy this repose as I will.”

  Merlin turns to go as Germanicus sighs in frustration. He goes home and makes love to his wife one last time before his quest takes him away and possibly his life as well. He cradles Chelsea and pats her head affectionately. Hours before sunrise, he goes out into the night for one last stop, the house of his mentor, Vangelis.

  Chapter 12: Guidance from Beloved Mentor

  Merlin goes out into the cold, foggy night, with Shadow in tow. The fog is thick and menacing but yields to Merlin somewhat as he walks through the towns square and to the home of his great mentor, Vangelis. It is two hours before dawn. Merlin has slept for perhaps only two hours. It is all that he needs.

  He attempts to knock on the massive polyhock door, which seems more fitting for a door in a castle. The wood has an immaculate veneer sheer and a maroon stain and is a hotbed for a plethora of smells. Shadow sniffs at it, curiously.

  Merlin does not expect to find Vangelis up at this hour. He opens the door before Merlin grabs the knocker. Merlin smiles at his old friend and extends his forearm in the traditional way. “Teacher, I cry pardon for the hour I have called upon you.”

  Vangelis dismisses it with a wave of his hand. “You are always welcome here, Merlin, especially on the eve of your quest. Would you come in for a bit?”

  Merlin nods. “I would extend a thankee Teacher.”

  “You are privy to the maelstrom?” asks Merlin.

  “Ai, am indeed. Hard news travels fast. It is on the hearts and minds of those who are privy. You ken?”

  Merlin sits in Vangelis’ comfortable leather couch in his tea room after Vangelis extends his arm to him. The décor is the epitome of restrained gaudi
ness, a place of creature comforts and indulgence once shunned by one of the greatest knights in their country’s history. It is a mesh of great history and unnecessary luxuries for a man beyond reproach.

  Since being sold into slavery, Vangelis is the closest thing to Merlin’s father.

  “Have some tea,” says Vangelis. “It will clear a head and calm overactive nerves. You ken?”

  Merlin takes it and sips. “I say thankee.”

  They both sit in silence for several seconds, enjoying this brief repose. Merlin pats Shadow’s head affectionately. Vangelis’ dog, Bruffles, died many years ago. Vangelis outlasted the other brothers he fought with.

  “Is he behind this?” asks Merlin.

  Vangelis smiles. “You would expect answer? You ken well the answer. Behind every act of subterfuge lies the interloper. He sabotages, waits, plots, misleads, like a hindserpent in the shadows. But you must kill the puppet before the puppet master will reveal himself. I have something for you.”

  Vangelis rises and walks over to a small wooden book rack. With a lock, he opens up two wooden doors and pulls out several wrapped-up paintings. He hands them to Merlin. “Your enemies will find these properly obscuring.”

  Merlin nods. “Ai.”

  Vangelis walks over to a large treasure trove chest. It is a large, auburn lacquered monstrosity, the veneer finish that once shined is now dull and listless, but dust free. It is Vangelis treasure chest. Vangelis opens it. The smell of oily residue, gun powder and musty, dry leather evoking images of quests, long since gone.

  Vangelis pulls out a gun belt. Like Merlin, Vangelis wore a gun belt with two holsters on his left side and a single on his right. The ivory grips are immaculate and polished, as is the barrel itself. It has been meticulously cared for.

  Vangelis hands it out to Merlin. He takes it.

  “Put it on.”

  In one seamless, preternaturally fast move, Merlin throws the belt on and with each hand, he twirls the guns rhythmically fast. They twirl with such astonishing speed they appear to leave his hands and float in midair in a mesmerizing display.