In the next moment, Merlin pulls the other gun and twirls it around simultaneously with the gun on his left hip. He re-holsters them.
He inspects the guns with his hands, marveling at the craftsmanship, the love of a man who was one with his weaponry. “They are beautiful. I’ll never forget the first time I beheld them. You used them in our first campaign together. I was barely out of pubedom.”
“You were a man, lead knight. Not yet the Merlin.”
Merlin nods. “Want you to have them,” says Vangelis.
Merlin looks dubious. “You ken?”
“Ai. They will find apt place in your gifted hands. My days of the quest are long gone. Take them in honor of me.”
“Honored to wear them, old friend.”
Merlin extends his forearm to Vangelis. Vangelis embraces him. “Come back to us, Merlin.”
“If God wills it, there will be manna,” says Merlin.
As the Brethren leaves the house and into the street, they are greeted by a pervasive fog. It clings to the Menekin Valley and buffets the town from the cold that inevitably takes anchor with the coming of dawn. Now, sensing the imminent sun, the fog begins to dissipate more quickly and retreat, sending palpable currents of billowing wind in the air.
The Brethren are happy for the absence of any well-wishing town folk who would feel compelled to see them off on their journey. They love the town and its inhabitants, but always had misgivings about leaving them, dire circumstances demand it. Oft times, they would linger too long, chatting, and procrastinating. When they would leave, they felt the inevitable tug strings on their hearts. A feeling like they were abandoning the very flock they were sworn to protect.
They load up their horses with the many needed supplies, both for warfare and sustenance: knives, cooking utensils, porridge custard, dried meats, halenuts, friction rods, ocular devices, extra ammunition, a three channeled bow and arrow (the weapon of choice among the renowned bowman Syrus), poisons, carving knives, apothecary supplies, and special arrows, which could be easily assembled just before battlefield and ammunition in great abundance.
Merlin loads up the oxenules with the heaviest of supplies. The massive beasts of burden, which are sired from both an oxen and mule, are larger than both. They can easily carry payloads which would have broken the back of the hardiest of horses. They’re slower, but what they lack up for in speed, they make up for in stamina. They will linger far behind the group at times but close the distance when they stop.
Merlin effortlessly unclasps his sword and pulls it out in one fluid motion, so quick that it appears to the naked eye to have appeared in his hand. The other brothers did the same. “To Christ. To love. To the flock. To maintaining peace and upholding our chivalric duties. This I say in Christ. Amen.”
The other respond immediately. “Amen.” Astonishingly, the wolves emit a loud, harmonious howl, indicating their synchronization with the campaign. They are able to control the pitch, volume and frequency of the howl. They can sound menacing, lonely, or in this case, agreeable. Merlin turns towards Shadow. He nods. “Lead the way, boy.”
Chapter 13: The Tyrant
After plundering the town of Missalia, Jason continues onto to Brandenburg to further his campaign. A small squadron of republic loyalists imprudently mounted an assault against him and he was quick to eliminate them. Regardless of their size, they managed to kill several his troops, but they were close to eighty-five hundred strong. None of his prized cavalry were injured in the melee. It was better to have killed the infantry. They were little more than fodder for the campaign. Their strength lies in their numbers. A few dead means nothing to Jason.
Jason takes a few minutes and retreats to his meditation chamber. Unfortunately, he is not alone. Though he has been dead for many years, his late father Barneaus Skai is there waiting for him, judging him, watching his every move.
“The Merlin will come, son. Set watch and warrant, he will muster all he can to thwart you.”
Jason turns to his father. “Ken well, father.”
“And what pray tell, are you to do about him?”
“What concern is it to me of a few rebel knights?”
“A few rebel knights?! These are no tawdry rebel knights, pubes with malicious intent. These are time-tested, battle-born soldiers with skills none of your own possess. You ken?”
“These mines are my birthright. They belong to us. This is our legacy! Our heritage! We are the direct descendants of Jesus Christ. The chosen.”
“Though fact to us, it is hotly contested among other.” His father scoffs. “Besides, Merlin doesn’t care about your heritage. Your legacy. He has none. He came from nothing. He was a slave in the worst, most horrendous place imaginable, while you suckled from gold-plated tit.”
“I do have my measures, Lord. You will see I am worthy.”
“Oh, do you now?”
“Ai.”
“Merlin is the deadliest soldier on the planet. But it is not his physical prowess that makes him so dangerous. It is the man’s wits above all else. Set watch and warrant it son, he will bring them in full force.”
“What do you suggest, Father?”
“Treat him as you would a King. He is worthy of no less.”
“Treat a slave as I would a King?”
“Only if you wish to live, boy.”
That last word was especially demoralizing to Jason. He is no boy. Before he can utter a retort, his father dissipates.
He walks back to his tent to check on his latest prize- a beautiful young, supple girl of about fifteen. She is well developed, having ample bosoms and yet retained an athletic and slim physique. She is perfect. As usual, she cringes every time he walks into his chamber and tries in vain to hold back tears. She constantly whimpers in his presence, making him rock hard. He loves it.
Consensual sex does not compare to rape. Jason prefers rape and the younger the better. Adele was a virgin when he first penetrated her. Her initial screams brought his pleasure to new and dizzying heights. He came in her time and time again until exhaustion finally took him late in the night.
He will manipulate her now, using her love for her sister as a weapon. He’s always thinking of the future. He has several children he could sell into slavery. They would bring in a hefty price if sold to the right party. Unfortunately, if most of the children are so traumatized they appear catatonic, they will not fetch as much. He will need Adele to bolster their morale.
For obvious reasons, he cannot ask such of his men. He sits down on the cot that they both share. As usual, when he sits down, she cringes and averts her gaze. He touches her cheek, feigning sympathy. “My beauty. You are so beautiful, Adele.” She turns her head away in disgust.
“Some of the children are not doing well, Adele. They could use an older child to stifle their cries, show them some compassion. Will you help me in this?”
“You are my warden and I am sworn to you, so I am, but I want to see my sister.” Tears cascade down her cheeks at the mention of her.
Jason appears to consider it. “Perhaps something could be worked out.”
She looks at him, a gleam of hope straightening furrowed brow. She wipes away tears. “You promise?”
“I didn’t promise. I say only that perhaps something could be worked out. I will consider your request. Will that suffice for the time being?”
“Ai. It must.”
Jason reaches out for Adele and is bitterly interrupted. “Your Grace.”
Commander Marcus Attilus walks into his chamber, a look of concern on his face. The man is a nervous, overly-cautious ninny at times. Marcus inherited the post long before Jason came to the throne. His father appointed him to the title. They were similar in their disposition, preferring to gain intelligence, and contemplating a course of action instead of acting instinctively like Jason.
Marcus was not someone Jason would have considered for such a high command. Still, the man was revered by his troops, intelligent and his prudency paid off ma
ny times. Being extemporaneous by nature, it was a good balance for Jason to have someone on the other end of the spectrum.
“What great calamity now so concerns you, Commander?”
“How long do you expect to stay here at this juncture, Sire?”
“Until we receive word from the Council that negotiations are under way. One, two weeks at most, why do you ask?”
“Sire, we are vulnerable where we are. “
“From whom? The army of the north is the closest within vicinity. They are more than four weeks away. They could surely obliterate us, but it would take a month to travel and plan for an assault. And they do nothing without the authorization of the Council. The Council will have no other choice but to deal with me.”
“And what of the confederate knights, Sire?”
“There is perhaps a dozen in the vicinity. They couldn’t have mustered more than a few hundred in such a span. And we are talking about a dozen men. I don’t care how formidable they are. The very idea is ludicrous- a dozen men against thousands.
“Pardon me Sire, but we don’t know how many of them there are. And Merlin is not one to trifle with. The man has more tricks than a sorceress. He is intelligent and formidable beyond all reasoning. I would suggest prudent measures.”
“Such as?” Jason looks at the Commander incredulously, as if he were an imbecilic child.
“We could set up watch towers and man them continuously. Lude blocks are cheap, easy to assemble and will require minimal manpower. They could be assembled in less than a day. We would have a great vantage point to spy any would-be intruders.”
Jason considers the matter. “I suppose it would be prudent to implement a few counter-attack measures. See it done. Send an expert infantry unit to guard that perimeter as well. We will choke off any would-be vantage points. Monitor their progress continuously. Does that suffice, Captain?”
The Captain visibly relaxes and lets out a sigh building in him for some time. “Very prudent, Sire.”
“Let them come. If the confederate knights believe they can penetrate our borders, we will make quick work of them.”
Chapter 14: Merlin’s Surprise
The need to be expedient is not outweighed by the need to ensure that their large beasts of burden are properly rested and fed. As a result, they traverse more slowly than they would have under other circumstances; and much slower than Merlin would have wanted. Still, the oxenule make good time, despite they are carrying such an ample load.
Frequently, Merlin must double back to ensure that they are keeping up. And so, after traveling about twenty-two miles for the first day, the group makes camp at a clearing in the dense steppe.
The day grown increasingly warmer, almost uncomfortable at times; by nightfall, the temperature dropped sufficiently to cause shivers in the group. Merlin lights a fire without the use of a friction rod. The others shake their heads in wonder. The man has mysterious ways about him. The rest of the group reflected on the idea much like the original Merlin, he is also an enigmatic figure.
The Brethren, in the face of being pious and followers of Christ, nevertheless believe in logic and are not superstitious by nature. They favor pragmatism, logic and science over mystery, supernatural and ethereal forces of nature; so, they are naturally weary and ambivalent towards their gifted leader. Still, one fact remained irrefutable. He is the most capable among them. Only he could lead them against such odds.
Although gregarious and extroverted at times, Merlin can also be reclusive at times and he is not easily inclined into sharing his mind. He sits and faces the stars, petting Shadow’s large head affectionately. Their silhouettes give off a warm, comforting glow only Merlin can feel.
Germanicus is the first to broach the subject weighing heavy on their minds. “Merlin, I am sure you have some sort of plan, but for the benefit of Syrus, could you perhaps share your plan with the rest of us.” Germanicus says this teasingly and looks towards Syrus, who returns his teasing manner with a look of exasperation. Light chuckles ensue from the rest of the brethren.
“Are you not also speaking for yourself, Son of Diegemus?”
Germanicus concedes, “Ai.”
“I suspect that the Visi-Gauls will be plundering the town of either Brandenburg or Basain. Both towns are close enough to the port of Khatul, where they are hoping to disrupt the trades from that port. Most likely, they are plundering the town of Brandenburg as Basain is slightly off course from Khatul and it is further down in the Siemen Valley. This will be a treacherous course for such a large force. If Jason is as smart as I suspect, he will opt for Brandenburg. In fact, I am betting on it. If they are in Brandenburg, we will reach them at dawn on the morning of the third day, at our current rate of travel. Before we get into Brandenburg, I have something to show you there that may make everything clear. At the least, it may allay the fears you are harboring.”
“We have always trusted you Merlin. I see no reason why we should not now,” says Savelle.
“As do I,” says Atticus.
“Are the rest of you satisfied then? Even the ninny agrees,” asks Merlin playfully.
“Hey now!” protests Syrus. The others erupt in laughter.
“All kidding aside, Syrus, your mettle will be tested in three days and there is no one that I would trust more to have my back. Are you up for the challenge?”
“Set your mind and warrant it done,” says Syrus.
The next few days, the Brethren engage in little discourse. All know the gravity of the situation and what their duties entail.
True to his word, the Brethren reach the outer city limits on the third day, as Merlin foretold. All are expert trackers and immediately recognize the tell-tale signs of a large force. Merlin signals with four fingers up and hitched his thumb to the side. They are to go down the ravine towards the river and join him.
As they walk down the ravine, they see a large thicket of poison oakwood. Instinctively, they withdraw from it. Merlin does not. He leaps off his horse with the agility of an accomplished acrobat and makes his way towards the thicket. It is especially overgrown and so thick it is hard to see to the base. When Merlin opens it up, however, a surprise awaits them all. Several large ballistas are present. They are only partially assembled, but with some work, they can easily be assembled.
There are at least forty, perhaps more. And more surprising is Merlin can completely obscure them from view. Anyone venturing into the area would be repelled from the sight of the poison Oakwood and would avoid it.
“Merlin, what of the poison oakwood?”
“Engineered this myself in lab. It’s not oakwood, although it looks similar and has a similar smell. It is a mimic. It’s no more poisonous than a razzleberry patch. You can come in. Be mindful of the sharp thorns though.” The others look at each other dubiously and bound off their horses. The itinerant inventor, Merlin is oft times in his lab, improving already existing technologies or inventing new ones himself.
“When did you put all this here, Merlin?” Germanicus asks.
“A few weeks ago.”
Syrus seems dubious. “Two weeks ago? But Merlin, we recently received the telegram only three days ago. How could you have known?”
“Shall we say I have strong suspicions a turn of events would lead to this contingency.”
“But how?” asks Cotteroy.
“Don’t question Merlin’s hunches, Syrus. You’ll only tax your small brain. Let the man remain an enigma and let us be thankful we have him,” says Domithicus.
Upon closer inspection, they were way off on their initial estimate the thicket contained only forty ballistas. There were far more. Many of the parts were so obscured inside the thicket, it was hard to see them.
“I noticed your absences over the last few weeks becoming more pronounced. I did not think to ask. I surmised it was Merlin just being Merlin. I would never have guessed you were stockpiling an arsenal worthy of the Northern Army.”
Savelle and Syrus look around and spot
another thicket about a hundred yards away. As they reach it, they notice a dark object inside. One would not have noticed unless they were actively looking for something. And of course, no one ventures too close to the Oakwood. But it was unmistakable. There was something in there. They walk into the thicket, mindful of the sharp thorns. Their clothing is especially thick, but their heads are vulnerable. As they peer in, they notice the deadly weapon- a tug-a boom.
The weapon is extremely powerful. Some would put large steel metal balls inside and fire them at advancing armies. As a deadly tactic. This weapon which does massive amounts of damage. Merlin favors a deadlier alternative with more prolonged devastation. He will stick incendiary balls made up of large tortoise shells welded together by a thermite wand.
Each ball has an incendiary mixture. A massive explosion is created with great impact to the ball. Beaver fat, turpentine and balax, a strong adhesion, serves as the mixture. Each ingredient is in abundance and easily obtained.
The results are instantaneous and devastating. In the moment of impact, the ball explodes and anyone in the near vicinity will perish in a hail of explosive heat. Those would be the lucky ones. Massive amounts of the incendiary mixture would pour out and drench the unlucky recipients. Painful and agonizing third degree burns would ensue.
Chapter 15: Prepare for Battle
The following day is a busy one for the Confederates. They spend the entire day assembling the ballistas. The job is made easier since he pre-fabricated the parts for ease of assembly; but there are numerous ones to assemble. Grooved filament rods are connected together to form working ballistas. Having extensive knowledge of engineering techniques, the Brethren have no problem configuring the assembly; but it is extremely time consuming as there are literally hundreds of parts to scrutinize and assemble.
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