The Brotherhood of Merlin

by Rory D Nelson

  “Your Grace, the coins are Sandonistas gold pence.” Jason’s face reddens, his brow furrowing. Standard gold dallions were the coin of choice. It was the standard of money and its value is irrefutable. The Sandonistas pence is only three quarters gold. Part of the coin contained silver and nickeladium, two minerals which were significantly less in value. Therefore, Sandonistas coins were acceptable for trade, but their value was only considered to be three fourths.

  In another display of unbelievable arrogance and audacity, the Orachain attempted to spend the stolen coins he confiscated off the Sandonistas they slaughtered. Jason does not want to appear weak in front of his General; and yet, he does not want to offend the General and risk hostilities. The intermediaries’ lives are at stake. Although Jason could risk the lives of one of his men, the Orachain would certainly take extreme offense at such an insult. Risking hostilities at such a juncture would be imprudent.

  Marcus is unsure how to proceed. He considers their options and is aware of the implications of any action. How could the King save face in front of his soldiers and not incite the General? Perhaps there was no way to accomplish both. Perhaps the other soldiers did not take notice of the coin that was being handed down. Two of the officers witnessed the exchange.

  He notices they are whispering among themselves. Marcus looks in their direction and at last, catches their eye. He looks at them sternly, an unspoken rebuke evident in his eyes and nods his head. The gesture is subtle but readily observed by both. Marcus hopes that will be enough to quell the rumors that might be unleashed. He looks back at his King. “Your Grace? How shall we proceed?”

  Their grave expressions and murmuring do not go unnoticed by the Orachain General. His booming voice startles them. “King, you are whispering in hushed tones over there like two school girl pubes. Should I be privy to any problems with this negotiation, which have very nearly concluded?” He and Marcus exchange nervous glances. Jason cannot stay silent for long. He must address him.

  “No, General. Our business soon to be concluded. My General and I were discussing another matter altogether. I cry your pardon if I unwittingly led you to believe otherwise.”

  “Good. Then we are well met?”

  Jason forces himself to smile and bite back a scalding bile rising in his throat. “Indeed. We are well met and well compensated. Your kindnesses will be well remembered.”

  “Well played, your Grace. I know these concessions are particularly loathsome, but such is the ways of war, so it is.”

  “It will be the last concession, I assure you,” says Jason bitterly through clenched teeth.

  “Marcus, conclude the proceedings and bring Adele to my bedchamber. I am heavy of heart and my ego has been trampled on mercilessly. I need the comfort only she can provide.”

  “Ai, my Lord.”

  With negotiations over and the potentially volatile situation diffused at least for the time being, the King visibly relaxes, imbibes and fraternizes with his lowly officer core. A massive weight was lifted from all and they are quick to express their relief. The Orachai relax and speak among themselves, enjoying the wine offered to them in copious amounts.

  Although the two factions do not fraternize with each other, they nod to one another, indicating a mutual respect and an acknowledgment among each other of their relief that negotiations concluded peacefully.

  The moment of relief and comfort come to a screeching halt when Commander Marcus Attilus returns with a grave look on his face. Jason surmises the news is not good. His Commander approaches him. When he speaks, he is trying to catch his breath. “Your Grace. Adele is gone, along with her sister. They have absconded and are nowhere to be found.”

  Jason acts out immediately and capriciously, smashing his commander in the face. A very palpable and loud snap is heard and blood gushes out of his broken nose. The King seizes him by the coat. “How could you let this happen, you inept fool?”

  “I cry your pardon, your Grace. I do beseech you. I take full responsibility for the oversight.”

  “What happened to that imbecilic brigant that you had left in her charge? I shall have his head and yours if my wench is not found!”

  Marcus pauses for a few seconds, reluctant to divulge all the bad information.

  “Speak!” demands Jason.

  “Your Grace. Simon is nowhere to be found. It is believed he has absconded with the girls.”

  Jason is incapable of holding in his rage. “Fool!” He yells and throws the commander against another unwitting soldier, toppling the two of them. By this time, the acrimony does not go unnoticed by the Orachai, who observe the ruckus with mounting concern of their own. Marcus picks himself and approaches the King, bracing himself for another impulsive assault. Jason is beyond livid, but with great effort, he manages to hold himself in check.

  “My liege, set watch and warrant, I’ll find them.”

  “No. I’ll handle this myself. You will stay and conclude the matters with the Orachai. Prepare the goods to be handed over. I pray you do not fuck up this, or I will have your head.”

  “Ai, your Grace. I cry your pardon.”

  “I do not want your apologies. You must answer for such. If they are not found, you will answer with your life.” Marcus’ tongue swells up in his mouth and he finds it difficult to swallow. If he had not so recently gone to the trine, he would have lost control of his bowels as well.”

  Jason turns to the next highest officer, Captain Titus Bauldeer. He turns in his direction and speaks curtly. “Captain?”

  “Ai, your Grace?”

  “You have not fucked me today. As I attempt to withdraw your Commander’s cock from my ass, I shall ask you not to ram me as he did.”

  Trepidation is evident in his eyes, but he does not waiver. “Your Grace, I am yours to command, so I am. Order and it shall be done.”

  “Get the hounds, the bassett-pinchers. We have two girls and one traitor to apprehend.”

  “Your Grace?”

  “The man I left as their custodian has betrayed me in the most egregious way.”

  “Ai. We’ll get the miscreant, your Grace. Allay your misgivings. He will be in our charge at tempest halt, so he will.”

  “Ai. I know. I’ll be accompanying you. I want to see his face as he is caught, so I do.”

  “Ai. And well deserved to see such, your Grace.”

  The Captain and the King exit the tent and make their preparations with great haste. The dogs are assembled along with their handlers. Nearly 30 able-bodied soldiers are called in to aid in the chase as well. Among them, at least six veteran trackers are present to offer their services.

  They go to the last known place where the group was, which was the baths. No article of clothing will be needed to introduce to the canines. The group’s smell is pervasive as it was the last smell present in the baths. The dogs pick up their scent and run into the forest. They approach a thicket.

  Their lanterns fail to illuminate any detail in the thicket with the overgrown vinetails in such abundance. They know something is there by the frenetic barking. A lowly soldier is asked to venture inside, notwithstanding many painful cuts.

  The reason for the dogs’ enthusiasm soon becomes clear as a dead body reveals itself. A soldier had been butchered, most likely one who was trying to apprehend the group. He paid for it with his life.

  Chapter 21: Failed Attempt

  Simon knows the protocol for tracking escapees. They call in the bloodhounds for the task and the best trackers they had. They have little chance of outrunning them. Their only hope would be to put as much distance between them.

  Jason is often inebriated. When he awakes, perhaps the other woman will suffice his libido. Eventually, he will ask to see his trophy wench. When she is nowhere to be found, all hell will break loose. If several hours transpire before she is discovered missing, they might have a chance.

  Perhaps they might not discover the girl was missing until the morning. Yes, and perhaps a magical hawk would simp
ly appear before them and offer to take them on the back of its wings. Simon knows he is indulging in wishful thinking.

  He could not have risked absconding with a horse as well. Luckily, the thick forest makes it difficult to traverse with one, and his pursuers will not have that advantage. The dogs however, are quite agile and can easily traverse through the forest with the aid of their powerful noses.

  Simon knows it is unproductive to worry about such things. He committed himself to their freedom and he will continue until they reached their goal, or he is dead. The older girl is making fine time, but her sister is slowing the group down considerably.

  At times, Simon carries the girl himself; and while she is not a heavy load, the mere task of carrying her for such long distances fatigues him prematurely and he is forced to put her down.

  After only traveling on their path for a couple of hours, two of the dogs sprint back, alerting their handlers to the group’s proximity. The handler alerts the Captain to the good news.

  The Captain alerts the King. “Your Grace, the dogs have picked up their scent. They are very close.”

  “Good. I want those cunts apprehended.”

  Initially, the adrenaline rush Simon felt in the beginning of the escape waned. And now, it has run its course. His apprehension turns to mortal dread when he observes flickering lights behind them. Despite the obscurity, his look of consternation does not go unnoticed by the girls. “What is it, Simon?” Adele asks, on the verge of hysteria, mortal fear constricting her vocal cords. “It’s him, isn’t it?” The sobbing from her inquiry cannot be contained.

  Simon is indecisive. He tried his best to be optimistic, but his hunched features and furrowed brows belies his statement. “I see lights, but it could be fireflies. They are said to inhabit these deep forests.” Adele knows it is forced.

  Ahead of them, Simon hears rustling in the thick of the forest. Instinctively, he reaches for his gun and fires it. Whatever beast is pursuing them yelps. Simon does not realize the implications of his blunder until several seconds later. Now they will know exactly where he is.

  Seconds later, he hears other dogs pursuing him. This time, his reflexes are not fast enough. Without much warning, a canine seizes his arm in a vise-like grip. He tries to stifle a shout of pain, but it startles him so much that he was unable. The dog bites down harder and tosses his head from side to side, forcing him to lose his grasp on his revolver, which goes flying off into the brush.

  He grabs his other revolver with his free hand. He is ambidextrous, so the movement is natural and fluid. There is no sense in being quiet now. He shoots the dog through the torso and the beast freezes in place. Simon extracts the corpse from his bloodied arm.

  Two other dogs come bounding out from behind him and he turns the revolver and fires two successive rounds a split second before they catch him. He can now hear voices, which are very close. “Halt traitor. Put down your weapon!” Simon can barely discern two human shapes and he instinctively fires and empties his round. Several of the shots find their mark as he hears two soldiers drop and cry out in pain. A couple of soldiers fire in retaliation, but they are unable to pinpoint much of a target, given the darkness.

  He reaches for his other revolver, while trying to cover himself over the two girls. He is momentarily frozen in place when he hears a booming, familiar voice. “You are outgunned traitor!” It is the hateful King. “You know full well we are going to kill you. Do you not? Your death is a foregone conclusion. Put down your weapon, lest we open fire on the ones that you have taken such pains to rescue. You have my word. They will live. We shall not ask again. Throw your weapons away, get on your hands and knees, and present yourself. My generosity has a time limit.”

  Tears well up in his eyes as he throws his weapons aside. He looks at the girls with a defeated, pathetic look. Tears cascade down their eyes and they do not attempt to wipe them away. “I failed you. I am sorry. Forgive me.”

  “There is nothing to forgive kindly sir. You have risked your life to save us, so you have. You will be rewarded in the afterlife. I hope it will be quick.” Adele kisses him on the cheek.

  The group approaches them. Simon extracts his butterfly knife and hands it to her. “I don’t know what you can do with such, but it may serve you well. Perhaps they will not search you.” She takes it.

  Jason is indecisive about how to proceed with the treacherous wench to whom he given such liberties. In exchange for his generosity, she stabbed him in the back and conspired to flee from his presence. He knows exactly what he will do with the traitor and his death will not be a quick one. That he was sure of.

  The King’s party surrounds the group. Sylvia clings to Adele in a vise-grip of death and begins to hyper-ventilate. Adele tries to soothe the girl but to no avail. Jason is the first to speak. He addresses Simon first. “You, soldier?”

  “Ai?

  “Did I not leave these lasses to be in your charge?”

  “Ai. That you did. You gave them to be in my charge to protect, and I have attempted to protect them from the likes of a bastardizing cunt like yourself.”

  Jason abruptly cut-off his insolent tongue, taking out his revolver and butting the soldier squarely on the side of the head. A laceration appears and he slumps down, ostensibly unconscious. But Simon is gifted with an unusually thick skull and he is little more than dazed. He feigns unconsciousness. “Chain him and wake him up! I want to see his traitorous face as I begin to torture him!” Two soldiers comply. Given his size, the soldiers have difficulty lifting Simon up and positioning him in handcuffs.

  Believing they are dealing with an unconscious soldier; the men are caught off-guard.

  As one of the men attempts to grab his hands to put them in cuffs, Simon acts with lightning quick ferocity, sliding his own hand around the man’s wrists imperceptibly and twisting it savagely.

  The man yells and exposes his gun belt, which has an assortment of sharp daggers. It would have been too much to hope for to grab a gun, but the holsters were well out of reach. And if they were, it would require an extra step of unclasping the revolver sheath, a maneuver that would be too time consuming. A dagger is within easy reach and Simon grabs it in an effortless move and stabs it into the neck of the soldier.

  Near simultaneously, Simon head-butts the guard just behind him, pulls the dagger from the man’s neck and plunges it into the neck of the guard next to him. The two guards that he stabbed, reflexively clutch their necks to stifle the prodigious blood flow, but to no avail. With their jugular veins severed, they die almost as soon as they fall to the ground.

  The head-butted guard is not mortally wounded, but the vicious blow breaks his nose. He is temporarily blinded as stinging tears and shock waves from the blow daze him. For several seconds, he is unable to react. It is all the time Simon needs to send a hard kick to his intended target-Jason. By the time Simon dispatched the second guard, the King pulled his Billy club and was about to use it on Simon.

  Simon foiled his attempt by landing a powerful kick to his groin. After Jason is knocked to the ground, Simon jumps on the King. But, he is unable to land a blow as numerous soldiers respond to their King’s attacker. With the butt of several revolvers slamming viciously into Simon repeatedly, he loses consciousness this time. The guards continue to beat him. The King stands up with some difficulty and awkwardness.

  “Stop! I want him alive and full of his faculties when I torture him! Bring him up!” Simon lost consciousness, but only for a few seconds. He is handcuffed and presented for the King. One eye was completely mashed in and the laceration on his head gouged deeper. Blood seeps out in a fair amount, making his hair sticky.

  Physically, he is a mess but very much cognizant and not about to give them anymore satisfaction than necessary.

  Simon gives the King a contemptuous sneer. “I do hope it was good for you, you rapist cunt. I do hope your chance for seed expired with my gift to you.” The King wants nothing more than to draw his revolver and put a bullet in
his head, but he does not want to kill the traitor too quickly. He restrains himself. Instead of shooting him in the head, Jason punches Simon in the gut several times, hoping to snap ribs and elicit cries of pain. Though Simon suspects the punches did just that, he restrains from crying out. He laughs instead.

  The King grabs Simon by the hair and speaks to him in hushed tones and clenched teeth. “You will regret everything you have done here tonight, so you will. Mark my words. Worse pain than all your imaginings you will suffer and we will revel in your torment. Ye will beg me to kill you!”

  “Do with me as you will. You are a fraud, masquerading as a King. I regret nothing. My torture will be a badge of honor I shall show to thee Lord. And you will be on your way to hell, soon enough. Do with me as ye will, fraud.” Then Simon spits on the King. Jason could not restrain himself this time. In response, he punches Simon in the face, opening up another laceration on his face as his ring bites into tender flesh.

  Jason looks at Captain Baldeer. “Take him back to the encampment. We shall quiet that insolent tongue soon enough.”

  “Of course, your Grace.” Captain Baldeer turns to leave, ordering several soldiers to accompany him.

  The King turns his attention to Adele and Sylvia. They are huddled together and Sylvia clings to her sister in a vise-grip. Her raspy breathing turns to normal somewhat, but terror envelopes her. Just looking at the back-stabbing, treacherous wench incites Jason to violence.

  Capriciously, he picks up a rock and hurls it at her. She instinctively puts up a hand to deflect it. If she hadn’t, she would have received a painful bump on the head. The throw was considerable and she may have fractured her wrist, but the pain is the farthest thing from her mind.

  He walks up to her and grabs her by the hair, slapping her repeatedly. “After all the liberties I have bestowed on you, the kindnesses I have shown you. This is how you repay me, you erroneous whore-cunt. Your mother should have stricken thee from the womb. To be stabbed in the back from the likes of you!”