The Brotherhood of Merlin

by Rory D Nelson

  Germanicus nods. “Ai, you are right, Merlin. Do cry your pardon for my impulsiveness.”

  “There is nothing to forgive. I love my Brother as much as we all do, but we cannot jeopardize this mission. We proceed to Briar Hill and ready the Tug-a-boom. Preparations must be made to flammatize the plateau drift. Come and help me see to it.”

  “Ai!” exclaims Germanicus.

  Merlin smiles coyly. “Then we are well met.”

  Germanicus grasps him by the forearm. “Ai.”

  Chapter 27: Tenuous Meeting with a General

  Captain Daliance Bellwether dismounts his horse Scout and hands it to the stable boy private, who greets him, like some obsequious whore looking for a tip. Daliance only smirks condescendingly.

  “Top of the morning to you, Captain,” says the boy, nearly too young to shave. He looks at Daliance with wonder, a man with a chiseled jaw, golden locks that hang to his shoulders and piercing blue eyes that intimidate. His white shirt is spotless and his blue blazer uniform is full of medals. The boy looks at them in wonder. Most of them mean nothing to him. He is more awestruck by the shiny precious metal that screams importance.

  Daliance nods. “Good day to you, private. Take good care of my horse. I’ll be looking for him. And he if is not treated well, you will hear of it. You ken?”

  “Ai, Captain. What business concerns you in Outpost Seven? There must be something a brewin’ here, so there must. The General rarely makes it to these parts.”

  “That is none of your concern, private. I wouldn’t tell you anymore of my business here than I would tell you of my lovemaking to my wife.”

  “Oh, I do cry pardon, Captain. Meant no disrespect. It’s just we don’t get many visitors here in Outpost Seven. Am just a humble simpleton, so I am.”

  “At ease,” says Daliance. “What is your name, private?”

  “I’m Ludepepper, named after my great grandpappy Colonel Red Ferrel Ludepepper who fought in the Trist Campaign during…” Ludepepper overly-annunciates each word and he speaks very slowly, as if he is afraid it will come out wrong.

  Daliance grows impatient and cuts him off. “I don’t need your family history, Ludepepper. Take good care of my horse and there may a half-gold pence in it for you. What say?”

  Ludepepper, who does appear to be a simpleton, lights up at the mention of coin like a pube who has been promised a piece of chocolate. He nods enthusiastically. “Ai, Captain. Set watch and warrant it.”

  Daliance looks around at the Outpost. He would have expected nothing more than a dilapidated barn and a small shed, but this outpost is well maintained. A large corrugated metal shed sits across from a well-maintained log structure. A recently stained large oak door guards the dormitory-like structure.

  Instinctively, he reaches for the rings on his left hand, which have an almost invisible, glass casing over them. He taps one of them on a small clasp, opening one of them up, revealing a powerful sedative inside- Casper root. In large quantities, the root is lethal, in tiny, a dulling of the senses and slowing of the reflexes. Alcohol will increase the effects. He looks briefly to ensure the contents are intact before he makes his way to the rest of the group.

  Two other officers he has never seen before making their way inside the building. He notices one of them. Colonel Filmore Danver looks in his direction, waves, and salutes. Captain Daliance salutes back and approaches the group.

  “Daliance Bellwether. Good Lord. Haven’t seen you in these parts in some time. Must be of importance.”

  “It wouldn’t be if I came to see the General myself, would it?”

  Filmore laughs as if it is the funniest thing he ever heard. Either he is being obsequious or overly polite. It could be both.

  Daliance smiles, with his mouth. For his eyes speak of some other moral conflict within. They shake hands, while each man studies the other briefly, trying to ascertain the reason for the visit. None of them want to overstep as they are high ranking. Their jobs naturally require them to be taciturn, disingenuous. Ass lickers, in other words.

  After several uncomfortable seconds, Filmore begins introductions. “This is Captain Helsvie Banken.” The two men nod and shake vigorously. “The man to your right is Colonel Fakamire of the Twenty Third Regiment and the man to your left is first Lieutenant Delk Sleeter of the Master Cavalry.”

  “Have heard good things about you,” says Daliance.

  They all shake. “Likewise,” says Delk Sleeter.

  “Have heard you are faster than the King himself when it comes to shooting. That true?” asks Sleeter.

  “Haven’t lost a fight yet. I’m sure luck enters into it somewhat,” says Daliance modestly.

  The other men laugh. “First time for everything.”

  Filmore extends a hand towards the door. “Shall we go in?”

  Everyone nods. “Ai.”

  As they walk in, they are greeted by a refined, dapper older gentleman with a neat, grey beard. His hair is cut short, his jaw is chiseled and his appearance is immaculate, his physique well-maintained, especially for a man of his age. The salt and pepper hair and the deep crow’s feet around his eyes are the only indicators of a more advanced age. He is the consummate General. He blows a billowing smoke ring from his thick cigar, temporarily blinding the men as they walk in. Daliance feigns a cough, clearly annoyed, but the General is preoccupied with other matters.

  “Gentleman!” He says as they enter. “We are well met.”

  The officers salute General Alexander Piedmont, snapping their hands prominently. The General salutes them back, minus the enthusiasm. “Filmore, do believe I know everyone here, except for this gentleman.”

  Filmore turns to Daliance. “This is Captain Daliance Bellwether.”

  Piedmont’s eyes light up at the mention of the name. “Of the Sipian Bellwether clan?” He asks as they shake hands heartily.

  “The same,” says Daliance proudly.

  “My father Helgore was well acquainted with the Bellwether from Sipian. Seems they were instrumental in our campaign against the Corsiacian revolt. The blood bath extended all the way to the Manges Tribe on the River Phen. No doubt your grandfather would have told you about it. You ken?”

  “Ai,” says Daliance. “He did, but don’t you mean the town of Renaal along the Krates River South?” asks Daliance.

  The room goes deathly quiet as General Piedmont puffs out another billowing cloud ring. For an uncomfortable moment, he looks indignant. Daliance meets his piercing gaze without so much as blinking. The scowl runs away from his face, he smiles and laughs, patting Daliance on the back.

  “Ai, so it is. I was testing you. You passed.”

  “Oh, am exactly who I say I am. You may check my papers if you wish.”

  “I’ll peruse them at my leisure, Sai.” He looks around at the other men in the room. “Don’t suppose you pubes would try a game at Panther Spaids? What say? Make it interesting?”

  The men look around at each other. They nod enthusiastically.

  “Ai.” They say, nearly in perfect unison.

  Piedmont goes to a finely polished lacquered cabinet and takes off a crystal topper of a bottle of brandy wine. He pours several glasses and hands them around. Daliance takes special notice of the bottle. “I see you are not averse to some level of refinement even out here in this Outpost. From the estates in Helsengarth?”

  “Ai,” says Piedmont. “Good eye.” The men down the wine like a shot, but not Daliance. He sniffs the wine, inhaling it and sifts it around before tasting a small sample, noting the deep tannins, the peppery after bite.

  “Aged in Applewood?” asks Daliance.

  “Impressive,” remarks Piedmont. “I would expect someone from Sipian to know a good wine.”

  “Have I convinced you yet, General?” asks Daliance coyly.

  “Almost,” says Piedmont. “Let’s have ourselves a game, shall we?” He sits down first and extends a hand out to the officers. Daliance sits down first.

  “I will
deal if that affords you all?” asks Piedmont. He raises his eyebrows briefly, as if daring someone to speak out of turn. No one does. Except for Daliance, the officers are intimidated by General Piedmont, both because of his abrupt manner and his reputation. Much like the King, he rules with an iron fist.

  “By all means,” says Filmore. “Your house. Your rules.”

  Piedmont looks at Daliance. “Daliance, why don’t you refill our glasses.”

  “Of course,” says Daliance. With an imperceptible tap on one of the rings on his finger, he opens it and quickly moves his hand across the glass bottle, emptying the sedative inside the bottle, unbeknownst to all.

  Piedmont takes out the deck and begins to shuffle, his dexterous hands working the cards so fluidly they appear almost to float through the air at times. “Ante up,” says Piedmont. “Spaids and wasps go double up. Three Pence to ante. Four to stay. Five to call.”

  Sleeter sighs nervously. “That steep, eh?” He asks.

  Piedmont looks at Sleeter with icy indignation. “Problem for you?” asks Piedmont gruffly.

  With the other men bearing down on him with hard stares, he nods his head. “No, General. Cry pardon. I’ll stay.”

  “Ante up,” says Piedmont. The men ante up. Daliance antes up two and takes two of his coins, one in each hand and twirls them seamlessly through his fingers faster and faster until they seem to float. The men stare at him in fascination.

  “Wow,” says Sleeter.

  “Amazing!” says Helsvie.

  Filmore smiles. “Ai.” He says. “Is not the only thing the man has a talent for. I assure you. That’s an old parlour trick. Daliance is the most gifted gunslinger I have ever seen. “He looks at Daliance. “You were what? About three weeks from your Penultima? That about right?”

  The smiles fade from Daliance’ face as he tosses the coins aside. It is clearly an uncomfortable topic for him. “Ai, that’s so. I hate the Brotherhood and that Merlin. They kept me out of knighthood. Should have been a part of it. All of it.”

  “We welcome all the Brotherhood’s rejects,” says Piedmont. “You are in good company.”

  “We are fortunate they have passed on him,” says Filmore. “I was there at Calcutta. I saw Daliance gun down at least twenty men on his own. In less than a minute, he unloaded both twelve shooters and was already reloading. Every shot found its mark. Set watch.”

  “Quite a story,” says Piedmont. “After the game, perhaps we could have apt demonstration. What say you?”

  Daliance shrugs. “Ai, if it please the likes. Then set watch and warrant.”

  The men continue to play for several more hours, while uncharacteristically yawning. Filmore manages to lay his head down on the table until Piedmont rebukes him for it.

  “If you’re that tired, cuss, I have a nice bed for you in the brig.”

  “I cry pardon,” says Filmore. “That must be strong wine.”

  Piedmont, the consummate gamesman, wins most of the hands. Delk and Helsvie are pushed out of the game when they lose their pot. They get up and brood in the corner quietly, smoking cigars and exchanging disdainful looks with the other men. They too, yawn nearly non-stop, fatigued by the sedative.

  Daliance purposely holds back in the game, allowing the General to get the better of him. He muses it will be of little consequence soon anyway. The men are drunk on brandywine, their reflexes diminished. Daliance is only slightly buzzed. Unbeknownst to them, he has poured out most of his drinks on the floor during the course of the game.

  As the game winds down, Piedmont pulls out his thick, gold-ornate pocket watch and looks at the time, the signal for business to start. “Well, gentleman. We should get to our business. You ken?” The men nod.

  “But first, I would like to see an apt demonstration of your skill, Daliance. You ken?”

  Daliance shrugs. “Ai. Would be delighted, so I would. Knives or cards?” He asks.

  The men shrug and look to the General. “Am a man who loves to live dangerously.” He says. “Let’s see what you can do with the knives.”

  Daliance smiles. “Then gather around. Would you like to see juggling, targets or both?”

  The men again defer to the General. “Surprise us Captain.”

  He smiles. “Oh, I assure you, it will be a surprise.” He unbuttons his topcoat and places it on the table. Underneath, he wears a black leather flapjacket. Hidden in each of the numerous sleeves are medium sized throwing daggers, surgically sharp. Daliance pulls out several and begins to juggle them. Filmore, Delk, Helsvie and Sleeter all clap, but Piedmont seems unimpressed.

  “Have seen a juggler before,” says Piedmont. “Tis only tripe.”

  “Oh, have you now,” says Daliance. He grabs two more and begins to juggle them. He is now juggling six. Piedmont blows smoke and a smile begins to form and his brow unfurrows.

  “Trust me,” says Fiddlemore. “Haven’t seen anything yet.”

  While juggling, Daliance removes his flapjacket seamlessly, while still managing to juggle the six knives. He tosses it gently at Piedmont. Piedmont looks at it suspiciously. “Take it,” says Daliance. “Throw the knives at me one at a time. You ken?”

  Piedmont chuckles heartily, clearly impressed. “Alright then. Now you have impressed, Captain.”

  Piedmont takes out the first knife and throws it at Daliance who barely catches it between his legs. The men clap thunderously and laugh. “Well done,” says Piedmont.

  Piedmont throws another one. Daliance catches it, to the roar of the inebriated men. Daliance turns his body slightly. Piedmont throws another one. As he launches it, Daliance pivots the slightest bit and throws his shoulder imperceptibly fast, sending the dagger into Filmore, hitting him directly in the eye-socket. He cries out in befuddled agony.

  The men first believe it to be part of the show. They croon out in amazement. But their amazement soon turns to horrific incredulity as two other daggers are launched nearly simultaneously. The first one finds Delk in the Adams’s apple. It rips through his throat, puncturing the jugular. He cries out in shock and reflexively clutches his neck. The next dagger finds Sleeter in the chest. He looks at his chest as if he had sprouted a dagger. He begins to cry out.

  Helsvie reaches for his six shooter, but two sharp daggers seem to materialize in his chest. And the hand that reached for his gun now reaches instead for the daggers that threaten to consume him. He drops as he tries to cry out in muffled protests.

  Piedmont reaches for his gun and attempts to fire, but two of his digits are severed and his gun drops to the ground. He cries out more from surprise than pain. The pain will come later. Of that, he has no doubt.

  “I’ll see you crucified!” He wails. “You just signed your death warrant.”

  “You should only be concerned with one thing, Piedmont.”

  “What is that?”

  “How you’re going to leave here. I’ll give you an offer and only once.” He removes a paper from his saddlebag and hands it to him. “With your good hand, I expect you to sign this. And when you do, I promise an end to your pain.”

  “Fuck you!” He hisses. “Ain’t signing shit. Suck my cock in hell!”

  Daliance only smiles. He takes the point of his sword and pushes it into his ballsack. Piedmont cries out in excruciating pain.

  “I assure you the pain will only be exacerbated. Sign my document with your good hand and you will receive the medical treatment you so desire. You know the pain will only get worse. Sign my document.” He pushes the point of the blade harder into Piedmont’s nutsack until he wails. “Now.”

  “Give it to me!” says Piedmont. Daliance takes a pen and the official parchment notice. Piedmont signs it.

  “Now, get me up. Help me.”

  Daliance stuffs the paper back into his saddlebag. “I did promise you an end to your pain, did I not?”

  “Ai,” says Piedmont.

  Daliance takes his sword and slashes it swiftly across a small arc. A huge laceration appears in Piedmont�
�s neck. He clutches his neck and tries to cry out but only manages a few gurgled protests. He drops to the ground, twitches for several seconds and is still.

  Filmore squirms and tries to reach for his gun, but Daliance is too quick. He stabs him through the back, causing Filmore to cry out. He pulls it out, and the blood visibly oozes.

  “You!” He hisses in gurgled exclamation.

  Daliance finishes him off by slicing through his neck, detaching his head. It rolls around on the floor, bearing the same countenance of horrific consternation.

  As Daliance gets to the door, he looks back at the gruesome scene. He puts on his coat and bows. “Gentlemen. I bid you a farewell and a Thankee to boot.” He shuts the door and walks out.

  Chapter 28: Painful Loss

  Two sniper sentries are perched on a ridgeline nearly ninety percent of the way up Briar Hill, atop a perilous switchback trail. From their vantage point, they can see almost the entire Siemen Valley and little escape their notice. Sergeant Martimus Xander observes the Western corridor, while his Second Lieutenant Bartimer Anthamus observes the Eastern corridor. So far, there is no sign of the enemy.

  With several hours of inactivity passing Martimus grows bored and restless. He puts his scope down for several minutes and rests. After several minutes, he hears a gurgling sound emanating from his partner Bartimer and looks at him in response.

  Martimus is bewildered as to why his partner has an arrow sticking in his neck. Where the hell had it come from? Martimus reaches for his scope rifle; but as he reaches for it, an arrow shoots through his hand, impaling it against a tree.

  He cries out more in shock than pain. Reflexively, he reaches for the arrow. As he does, another arrow lodges in his neck. His breath catches in his throat and he is unable to expel air. When he does, he inhales blood into his lungs and gags convulsively, expelling prodigious blood flow from his mouth. Mercifully, he loses consciousness and blackness overtakes him.