The Brotherhood of Merlin

by Rory D Nelson

  “Your Grace. It is evident that Merlin is cozening you into acting out rashly. It seems you are playing into his hands.”

  Though Jason is livid, a part of him cannot ignore reason. Now, he is open to council. “What do you suggest I do, Commander?”

  “Send a platoon to Briar Hill. It is the highest point in the Siemen Valley. Don’t play his game and allow his group to pick off our men at random. That’s exactly what he would have you do.”

  The King visibly relaxes. “Ai. You speak to reason. We will break group with several scouting parties along the way, so we will.”

  “A prudent plan, your Grace.”

  “Send another large squadron, two thousand men to circumvent the north-western corridor. When the scouting parties ascertain the group’s whereabouts, we will flank them and render their retreat impossible. The Eukrades River has been breached, so it has. Be it a lost cause. Keep reserves in the encampment, ready at the helm for battle, should we need reinforcements at any time. Re-establish the communication lines. We find them. We kill them, except for Merlin. I want him alive and begging for his life before me.”

  The King looks at his Commander and pauses to let the gravity of the situation sink in. “You will lead the main charge. Eliminate the Brotherhood and I’ll forgive your shortsightedness.”

  “I’ll win back your trust again, my Lord, so I will.”

  “My Praetorian guard will accompany me in my fortification tent.”

  The Commander looks at Sylvia. “And what of her, your Grace?”

  “She will accompany me to me tent. I’ll break her in tonight in place of her cunt sister- but after we have eliminated the Brotherhood. She will see how we handle the enemies of the Visi-Gauls.” He smiles at her. She glances briefly in his direction, but is unable to meet his piercing, lascivious gaze. She wishes for the oblivion of catatonia, but a part of her speaks of hope.

  Commander Marcus Battilus leaves with renewed hope and yet, he can’t shrug off a sense of impending doom. He doesn’t know why he feels this way, but he senses the King’s rash behavior will surely doom them all. Marcus cannot shake off the feeling there is an important part of that Braille letter never read before the Sage met his premature death.

  Chapter 25: Underestimating the Enemy

  The Brotherhood reconvene at Briar Hill. Several of the wolves are situated along a perilous switchback along a steep incline along the mountain pass. They are obscured on the other side of the Eucalyptus trees that border the incline. The ballistas planted in the valley floor are ready and awaiting Troubadour, the giant mottled gray wolf-mastiff hybrid. Everything is in its place.

  Merlin knows of Jason’s penchant for caprice and there are only two outcomes in the letter he sent the King. He mentioned to the King to meet him at Briar Hill. He knows the King would, in a fit of inconsolable rage, send out parties to intercept him or possibly an entire platoon. Merlin hopes it would be the latter.

  Merlin also knows the King will listen to reasonable council and take heed. The best course of action from Jason’s standpoint would be to send two large platoons out, one to Briar Hill and one to the Northwest Corridor. Briar Hill is the highest point in the valley and would provide the best vantage point.

  When their position is ascertained, the platoon from the northwest corridor will flank them from behind, while the army at Briar Hill will drive them into the lion’s den, ensuring no chance of escape. This is exactly what Merlin wants. They will know soon enough if he took the bait.

  The minutes drag by relentlessly while Germanicus peers through the hyper-oculars and observes if Merlin’s tactics prompted the King to send out his largest forces. Germanicus practices drawing his guns out and twirling them.

  Merlin sits and puts himself in a trance and prepares himself.

  Syrus and Savelle walk about restlessly back and forth and sigh continuously. The other Brothers divide their time between brandishing their weapons and looking in the direction of the ridge, hoping for the large force to make its way up the ridgeline. For the Brethren, the actual battle is more surreal, their supernatural training and reflexes taking over their body and functioning in a dream-like state. The most stressful part of the battle is always the waiting for the foe to take the bait.

  A pervasive fog of doubt hangs over the Brethren as well as they can’t help but to think of the implications if their leader is wrong in his assertions. No one is infallible. No one can make accurate predictions all the time. Merlin, gifted though he is, cannot predict the future and estimate one’s actions consistently.

  After what seems like several hours, Germanicus senses movement on the ridgeline. “Look alive, Brothers. They’re coming and bringing the platoons and squadrons. Hundreds. Perhaps more.” He continues to observe. Several of the brethren exchange glances with one another of restrained hopefulness. Merlin smiles to himself, while Germanicus continues to observe. “They have over a thousand soldiers ready at their helm.” Germanicus looks in Merlin’s direction. “Whatever you put in that letter, I do believe they have taken it to heart. We are well met, Brother.”

  Merlin shrugs it off humbly, as he always does. “Capricious and sadistic men are not always hard to predict, when one learns most what motivates them. Overconfidence and caprice are his downfalls and he will fall as all such men do.” From a trance-like position of contemplation, Merlin jumps up and flips up on his feet, so quickly it catches some of the Brothers off-guard and they flinch. Although they witnessed his preternatural movements many times before, it never ceases to startle them. Perhaps their leader wants them to be startled into action.

  He looks at them and smiles. “Are you ready, Brethren?”

  “Ai.” They respond.

  (2)

  Commander Marcus Battilus lead his men to Briar Hill, the highest point in the Siemen Valley. The main road is a perilous one with narrow switchbacks and dogleg trails. To make their trek more passable and efficient, they are forced to spread out in several groups. Snipers are set up along high points on the ridgeline to observe any movement in the vicinity. The Brethren are nowhere to be seen.

  But an hour before midday sun, the hounds pick up a strong scent and they are off. This will be too easy. The commander does not know why he had such misgivings earlier. The aggressors will be caught soon enough. There will be no chance of escape. With the dogs tracking them and the snipers on their trail, there will be nowhere to run. So why all the feelings of unease still?

  A squadron of approximately sixty men are ordered in to tail the dogs through the switchbacks of the ridge. Marcus observes this with a sense of surety bordering on arrogance. After less than a couple of miles, the dogs begin to bark out frenetically, indicating their proximity to the targets. Marcus smiles in anticipation. He is sorry they wrapped up this campaign so quickly. He would have preferred a longer game of cat and mouse. And, he is disappointed in the Brotherhood. He heard stories of their prowess. He now believes it to be an exaggeration.

  His assessment is proven premature when three large, cacophonous explosions reverberate throughout the canyon. They aren’t gunfire and the Commander gasps for a split second. As he peers through his hyper-oculars, he observes a landslide bombarding the switchback with medium to large size boulders.

  Several large boulders fall onto some of the horses, killing them and their hapless riders. Several riders stop, only to be assaulted by several smaller rocks, which blanket them in dust and blind them to the chaos. They run amuck, inadvertently smashing into one another and fall victim to the rocks that hail down upon them from above.

  The horses whine in protest. Some rear up and eject their riders through the air, who land with a violent thud and are crushed to death under the landslide. This lasts for several seconds. At least twenty-five riders and several of their horses are killed in the initial melee.

  And that wasn’t the worst of it. Most riders left safely out of the first barrage of charges only to be subjected to another barrage of charges which initiate
d the second massive landslide. The frenzied horses, having survived the first barrage, are more agitated. As the explosions starts, they break formation, whine frantically, and expel their hapless riders through the air right into the eye of the storm. Small, medium, and large-sized boulders rain down on the men relentlessly.

  Men are pinned down, bludgeoned, knocked unconscious, and crushed to death by the onslaught of boulders. Gravity shows no mercy. A few swift horses make it out of the tumult with their riders. As the remaining riders emerge, they are quickly shot down by an obscured sniper who ostensibly set the charges. The hounds are nowhere to be found.

  Captain Gaius Battius looks to his Commander, pleadingly, expecting an order. “Commander? What are your orders? “

  The Commander hesitates briefly. The look of consternation on his Captain’s face induces him into giving an order, any order. The man is coming unhinged. “Send in two tracking parties, reinforcements to track the aggressors. Replenish the hounds and set upon them immediately. I will lead the bulk of the force on to Briar Hill, as planned. “

  The Captain visibly relaxes. “Ai. That we will do, Commander. Set your watch and warrant it.” He salutes and begins to order his subordinates. The Commander peers into his hyper-ocular once again and views the devastation.

  Chapter 26: Unexpected Setback

  Cotteroy observes Captain Gaius Battius making his way to the end of the battalion line, where approximately two hundred men are stationed and awaiting his orders. He waits patiently, obscured behind a dense group of trees. He readies his sniper rifle, making minute adjustments with his tumber-wheel, calculating wind-velocity, pressure, distance and altitude.

  He clears his mind, focusing nothing but his target and rests his index finger gingerly on the sensitive trigger. He forces his heart rate down from the previous trip-hammering pace set only moments ago.

  First Lieutenant Gil Nautilus observes with relief Captain Gaius Battius riding down to the troops that are stationed at the Battalion’s descent. His mind is set on edge at the unbelievable turn of events, but he doesn’t show it.

  In truth, he feels relieved from the burden of having to give orders. His Captain will set things right.

  Like all his troops, he heard the rumors of the blind Confederate Knight whose formidable gifts are said to rival the angels themselves. But unlike many of his men, Gil is not inclined to lending credence to superstition or mythology. Merlin, like the rest of his Confederates, are mortal men and can be killed just like any other men through prudent planning and execution.

  It is the reason he admires men like his Captain, who are well grounded in reason, logic and military protocol. He knows no force of any size force could escaped the notice of the point men. And there is little evidence that such a force exists. With the country’s best trackers at their disposal, it will only be a matter of time before they are found and eliminated.

  As his Captain ventures closer, Gil begins to bring up his hand in the Visi-Gauls salute when his Captain’s head suddenly and inexplicably explodes from a high caliber round. He is temporary paralyzed from shock and forces himself out of it, wiping away the blood and brain gore that stains his face.

  Several of his men are not. In retaliation, they begin to fire rounds aimlessly, unsure of who or what they are firing at but desperate to exact revenge for their leader’s demise.

  Gil’s paralysis finally breaks. With the Commanding officer dead, it is up to him to command. “Hold fire! Men, hold fire! “As Gil relays his order, several more shots ring out, seemingly from the sky itself. With each shot, riders are blown clean off their horses, as cavernous holes gush crimson.

  One man is blown back and gets his foot in the stirrup. His horse whines and gallops off frantically, dragging the hapless soldier along the deadpan, his head bobbling up and down with every nuance of the topography. Luckily, he is dead the moment he hits earth. Men clutch their necks reflexively to stifle the prodigious blood flow that gushes from mortal wounds, but to no avail. Whoever fires upon them is accurate. Deadly accurate.

  One man cries out in mortal anguish, trying to hold in his intestines from a lethal gut shot. He looks at Gil in desperation, falls back onto his saddle as his hands go slack, spilling out his intestines.

  His horse rears up, whines, and gallops off like a shot, leaving his intestines to spill out like some macabre party streamer at a Christmas festival.

  The cacophony of gunfire spooks the horses into pandemonium. Several riders who avoided a hit are knocked from their horses and inadvertently trampled to death.

  Gil watches in helpless and horrific fascination. He is certainly accustomed to the graphic nature of war and is somewhat desensitized to its horrors. What is so disturbing are the many shots perfectly targeted for a mortal wound. He never witnessed such marksmanship in his life.

  Although he is livid with the ruthless audacity of his enemy, he is also impressed.

  Expedience and decisiveness are needed now more than ever. He turns to one of his Sergeants scouts, Officer Lucius Bomerian, a Corealean. “Lucius, prepare the hounds, quickly! Get a scent on them. There are only a few of them. Take seventy men and go towards the south western corridor near the ablation. Do ye see it?” He points beyond the group of trees.

  “Ai,” says Lucius. With the command, a look of resolute determination replaces his former look of consternation. The man also witnessed his Commander’s head exploding and he is eager for retaliation. “Will do, Lieutenant. Set watch and warrant it well.”

  Unfortunately, he does not have the opportunity to finish his sentence, for his head explodes in a mess of brain gore and crimson, drenching the Lieutenant. He wipes away the blood and is confused by some high-pitched, childlike mewling being emitted. He is horrified to discover that it is him.

  Merlin, Cotteroy and Jamison succeed in running counter- sniper point, while the remaining Brethren gun down large numbers of soldiers across the descent of the baseline. With Merlin’s ability to ascertain the officer’s rank through telepathy, the highest-ranking officers are eliminated first, making it difficult to relay orders and seriously disrupting their communication lines.

  As a result, the scene is one big clusterfuck, with some soldiers aimlessly firing off rounds, while other soldiers break formation and make a hasty retreat. All are fair game and many are gunned down mercilessly.

  The soldiers make a hasty retreat or venture far enough away from the action and are spared out of necessity. And so, when enough bullets are spent, Germanicus and his crew cease fire and ride off, as planned.

  The chaotic scene briefly subsides. As planned, Germanicus and his crew intentionally draw the attention of a battalion of seventy men. They resume the chase.

  The topography makes it impossible to fan-out entirely; so small groups choose numerous switchbacks though the ravine in order to pursue them.

  Merlin uses his hyper-oculars to observe the developments and smiles to himself. Merlin, Cotteroy and Justinian parallel Germanicus and his men, albeit from a much higher vantage point.

  Although not the fastest and youngest among their steeds, Selus is definitely the most experienced and agile of horses. Although not intrinsically linked with his master like his wolf, Shep, Selus can easily decipher the subtlest of commands with an unusual accuracy and quickness. Germanicus never has to give him a command more than once. The duo’s synchronicity will be needed now more than ever as he makes his way through the perilous switchbacks.

  Selus is forced to make dangerous hairpin turns to avoid setting off the charges. This particular switchback is a veritable land mine and impossible to see all the charges; so, Germanicus must rely on his memory.

  His crew is forced to follow nearly in Selus’ hoof prints or risk setting off the charges. It is a cumbersome and harrowing task but made easier by the fact that Germanicus sprinkles udder’s milk infused with a red dye along the tripwires.

  Still, the riders cringe and hold their breath for what seems like hours as they make
their way perilously through the dogleg trail.

  The group finally make it through the trail, unscathed and able to breathe easy. It is the most mind-numbingly precarious task they set before them on this quest. When it comes to gun-play, their sub-conscious takes over. Their gifted hands glide seamlessly for the firearms, gunning down soldiers with an eerie calm more dreamlike than real. Faith is harder to come by when they need to muster it for cumbersome beasts of burden weighing over a ton and having to perform tasks they were never meant to perform.

  They wait and listen. Soon they hear the approaching soldiers. The first round of charges ignites as they round the bend. Germanicus takes out his hyper-oculars and observes the resulting chaos that ensues.

  Three sets of charges are positioned at the base of an extremely large boulder. As it ignites, the boulder is released. The effects are catastrophic. When the massive boulder dislodges, gravity uproots numerous stones of varying size from small to large. The cascading torrent of boulders produces a landslide palpably felt and heard like an earthquake.

  The hapless men underneath are pinned to the ground. Soldiers are knocked unconscious by the rocks. Others who managed to remain conscious are forcefully ejected from their mounts, landing hard on the ground and pelted with an onslaught of debris.

  Soldiers, who managed to cover themselves in time and remain conscious, are buried alive in the debris that follows. Medium sized boulders rained down relentlessly and smash in skulls, broke and severed spinal cords, resulting in broken necks.

  Medium sized boulders smash and maim frenzied horses, knocking them over like a child’s playthings. No one directly in the landslide is spared. The hapless riders and mounts who are directly in the path of the massive boulder are mercifully crushed instantly.

  Germanicus smiles briefly, allowing himself a small victory celebration. It will be the only one he allows himself until it is finished. He intones the overwhelming odds are clearly in their favor. With twenty-five cases of shells expired and forty charges having been set off, they have managed only to wipe out about five percent of their army. It is a sobering thought and sets Germanicus’ mind to a state of expediency. He turns to his men, who are laughing with each other raucously.