The Brotherhood of Merlin

by Rory D Nelson

  Gabrialus starts to bark out an order to his other men, but as he attempts speech, a bullet penetrates through his neck and exits from the back of it. Blood seeps out in a moderate amount. He scrambles for cover, hoping to regain his bearings, but a bullet pierces his sternum, knocking him back against a tree.

  He hits his head so hard he nearly loses consciousness. Terror seizes him as he feels his throat clench up like a noose and is unable to breath. He tries to suck in air and only succeeds in sucking blood into his lungs. He begins to gurgle up blood and collapses as darkness overtakes him.

  The other soldier Menamus tries in vain to run for cover. He chooses the most convenient of exits offered to him, the thicket. As soon as he runs into it, he is unexpectedly met with a snarling beast of a dog. It bares its teeth in a death growl and seizes his neck, ripping out his larynx savagely. Profuse blood flow gushes uncontrollably from his neck and with it, his life.

  Merlin jumps down from his perch on a large Lannicaster tree. Though the jump is nearly thirty feet, he hits the ground unscathed, his fall having been cushioned by a thick sage brush. Shadow joins him. They walk around to the back of the Lannicaster tree, where one of the soldiers is tied up.

  Merlin approaches him and removes the ragskin that is tied over his mouth. The soldier flinches and looks at Merlin, clearly terrified. “Are you going to kill me? If you are, then have at it and be done with it.”

  “If I wanted you dead, I could have done it ten times over. Whether or not you live or die is entirely up to you.” Merlin removes a tobacco blunt and a small matchstick from his pocket. In his left hand he holds the tobacco blunt, and, on his right, the matchstick. In an imperceptibly quick move that defies the law of physics, Merlin rolls the matchstick through the fingers on his right hand, transferring it to his left hand.

  When the matchstick reaches his left hand, it seems to light of its own accord. With his index finger and his middle finger, he holds the blunt and the matchstick rests on the tip of his thumb. The soldier looks baffled and yet he cannot take his eyes away. Merlin takes a drag on it and grabs the soldier’s hand. The soldier tries to pull it back, but Merlin is much too strong. He extinguishes the blunt onto the back of his hand. He cries out in painful surprise. “What the hell?”

  “When you wake from your trance, you will remember that. That will be the catalyst.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I know you don’t, but you will. Today is your lucky day, soldier. I am going to allow you to live.”

  “Why me?”

  “I’ve seen something in you. The desire to redeem self and most importantly discord in your heart. And you’ve met someone. Someone of note. You ken?”

  “I am true to my country.”

  Merlin nods. “I believe you but being true to your King and your country are not necessarily one and the same. You ken?”

  Merlin takes out a coin and begins to deftly move the coin through each finger. When it travels through each finger, he transfers the coin from his pinky finger towards his index finger. Repeatedly, he moves the coin through his fingers and back again. Each time he completes a cycle, he speeds up the motion until the coin appears to travel through his hands of their own accord.

  At first, the soldier is impressed, mesmerized, and transfixed in his mind. After a couple of minutes, all thoughts and worries are extinguished from his mind. He appears pliable. Coaxable.

  (4)

  “We were expecting you a while ago, Merlin. Don’t suppose we would be privy to your whereabouts?”

  “I was-”

  “Leaving less to chance,” interrupts Germanicus.

  Merlin smiles sheepishly. “Ai. You have done well, old friend.”

  “We could not have gotten this far without your leadership, but before we open up a bottle of alespritz, I should mention we have several thousand more soldiers to subdue.”

  “Noted.”

  Chapter 35: No Mercy. No Escape

  Commander Marcus Battilus paces back and forth along the ridgeline so much that the soles of his feet begin to heat up, burning his feet. The stagnant heat doesn’t help. The ridgeline effectively shelters them from any breeze. He sweats profusely. Their hope rests with the news from the scouting parties. Once again, thoughts of retreat linger in his mind.

  Considering the ruthlessness and efficiency the enemy dispatches his men, it is not out of the realm of possibility all of the scouting parties were killed at the hands of their aggressors.

  Lieutenant Dannamus approaches Commander Battilus, who looks as if he were about to come unhinged at any moment. He would welcome good news. “Commander, there is a familiar scout approaching. Perhaps he has news. He is alive and that is good news. You ken?”

  Commander Battilus seems hopeful. “Ai, Lieutenant. Tis good indeed. Bring him straight to me upon arrival.”

  “Ai.”

  Commander Battilus, desperate for some good news, becomes impatient. He does not wait for the scout to meet him but approaches him the moment he dismounts. “What is your name, private? Speak.”

  “Bracken, Commander. My name is Private Bracken.”

  “And what news do you have for me, Bracken?”

  “Our scouting parties have been successful in killing three of the aggressors. And we have uncovered several granado traps ready to fire for the unsuspecting riders who would have traversed through the trails. We dismantled them. Lieutenant Davias has relayed a message to me to recommend we continue the assault. Two hundred fifty men are positioning themselves on the eastern corridor to flank Merlin and his party. We should lead the charge from the west and trap them, as you have strategically ordered.”

  A wave of relief sweeps over Marcus and he sighs. At last, there will be an end to this bloody and tumultuous campaign. The wave of relief is short-lived. It is replaced with suspicion. It seems too easy for Marcus.

  “Private, Merlin was rumored to be in the area. Did your men not come upon him? Was he not in the area?”

  Bracken shakes his head in frustration and puts his head down. “I cry pardon, Commander. That was a detail I left out.”

  “Let’s hear it Scout.”

  “My own scouting party was dispatched by the Merlin. I was the only one who escaped with my life.”

  Marcus looks dubious. “And how did you manage that, Private? Do tell.”

  “Merlin couldn’t read my thoughts. I was hoping he could cast a spell over me. I faked it. I’m a vault. I was schooled by Renault, so I was.”

  Marcus appears more incredulous. It’s a ridiculous assertion. He shakes his head. “Don’t believe you, Scout. And if I discover you are, you will be in front of a firing squad by day’s end. You ken?”

  Bracken does not waiver. “Ai.”

  “Where is Renault from? Where did you learn from him?”

  Renault is from Canerbury. He was a sage briefly during his tenure in Westlemoreland, where I do hail from.”

  Marcus raises his eyebrows in astonishment. He is momentarily speechless with this amazing luck. He smiles at Bracken and pats him on the back. “Well done, Private. You have done well. At ease. Refresh yourself with sustenance and drink at your leisure.”

  “Ai, Commander. I patiently await the destruction of our foe, with you at the helm.”

  Commander Battilus looks at his Lieutenant, his only remaining Lieutenant. All others perished. “Prepare the troops for the march to Briar Hill. We leave at the end of the hour.”

  “At the risk of questioning your expertise Commander, would it not be prudent to seek some confirmation from another?”

  “His is the only confirmation we require, Lieutenant. You heard for self. He knows Renault. No other would have been privy to that information.”

  “But sir in military protocol, it is dictated-”

  Commander Battilus abruptly cut him off. “Do not seek to lecture me on military protocol. We have no time to wait for further confirmation. We have the enemy in our grasp and it is a matter of expediency
that we act now, swiftly. Confidently. Mercilessly. Besides, Lieutenant Davias is to flank the aggressors from behind with a signal. When he signals, that will confirm that he is upon them and we will attack. By day’s end, the enemy will be completely obliterated. Every moment of delay works in our enemy’s favor.”

  Lieutenant Dannamus sighs in frustration. The commander is correct. They cannot hesitate. Why the nagging suspicion that something is amiss, and the situation is not what it seems?

  (2)

  Lieutenant Davias sweats profusely and his heart trip-hammers in his chest. It was several hours since he last seen any of his men alive. The last subordinate he saw was Calthus, the Borakian. He seen first-hand the handiwork of the Brotherhood.

  The men lost their lives recently. Two men had most of their faces shot off with a high-caliber speed shooter. Their blood was fresh and not yet congealed. Rigor mortis had not yet set in as the men were pliable; their bodies warm from hearts that had recently transpired.

  And there’s another disturbing fact. Someone or something intrudes on his mind, trying to gain entrance. It is all he can do to thwart him time and time again. And yet, he isn’t sure if the intruder has gained access. Who is he? Is the mental intruder one of the aggressors who is dispatching his men?

  This possibility sends an ice-cold chill down his spine and it feels like a thick ice cube was lodged in the back of his spine. For a moment, he is so terrified he can’t move. Is it the Merlin?

  Inexplicably, his throat clenches up and he panics. He is incapable of drawing breath.

  When the Lieutenant is finally able to regain his movement, he feels his neck and discovers the reason for his inability to dispel or inhale breath. He has been shot in the neck and blood gushes uncontrollably from it. He emits a high-pitched mewling sound, drops to the ground, and chokes on his own blood. He squirms frantically for several seconds and stops as darkness overtakes him.

  Merlin emerges from the behind a great Sycamore and Shadow follows. He walks over to Davias’ knapsack and pulls out two flares.

  (3)

  Commander Marcus Battilus waits approximately two kilometers from the summit of Briar Hill and observes the large trail that descends to the bottom of the ridge. He had not seen any sign of the Brotherhood, but he is not worried. They are there, observing the massive force that awaits them. The waiting is maddening.

  And then it happens. He sees the first flare in the sky. He counts off ten seconds. And like clockwork, two other flares discharge in the air in immediate sequence of each other. Lieutenant Davias has succeeded in flanking the Brotherhood.

  “Lead the charge, Lieutenant!” says the Commander.

  “Ai, Commander.”

  “Cavalry. Full Charge ahead!”

  The roar of the horses’ hooves vibrates throughout the canyon corridors, inducing small animals to scamper into hiding. Several formations ride within a few meters of the first formation.

  Experienced speed-shooters feel their weapons in their holsters, hoping for the action to ensue as soon as possible. They are in a bundle of nerves, unsure of when or where the insidious aggressors will emerge. Many lost fellow soldiers to them and they are desperate for payback. They are anxious as well to prove their mettle as the elite soldiers they claimed to be.

  After half the force charges ahead, Commander Battilus leads the remainder. He reflects that it is unlikely that any of these men will see any battle, considering they are fighting so few. Perhaps when Merlin and his crew sees the extent of what they are facing, they will turn scamp and high tail it out of there- into the clutches of Lieutenant Davias and his men. He smiles to himself at this thought.

  Will they be stupid enough to charge them? Let’s hope so. But instead of charging them, the men wheel some device out to the trail, some contraption obscured behind the dense, pyrene bushes.

  Marcus peers closer at the contraption and notices that it is a large, wieldy, cumbersome device and suddenly his heart trip-hammers in his chest. He is momentarily unable to breathe. He croaks out the words but his voice is undecipherable and barely audible.

  “Halt, men! Halt!” The men begin to slowly pull back on their reigns. They are bewildered by the sudden order to halt.

  Looks of consternation emerge on the men’s faces and they seem to be caught in a dream. Sergeant Bitticus is the first to break the silence. “Commander, what is it?”

  “Look for yourself.” He hands Bitticus the hyper-oculars and the Sergeant peers through it.

  Almost as soon as Bitticus looks through the hyper-oculars, a cacophonous ‘boom’ erupts through the canyon, echoing through the canyon menacingly. The Sergeant flinches from the sound and drops the hyper-oculars. They are of little concern. He no longer needs them. “Retreat! Retreat!” He yells at the top of his lungs.

  Commander Battilus was so focused on the battle he was barely cognizant of the unusual substance he encounters as he makes his way to the battlefield. As the horses begin their gallop, they seem to lose their traction slightly. It is almost as if they are bogged down. Also, there is an unusual smell that permeates the air. He thought nothing of it at the time.

  The first of the incendiary balls rockets through the air like a gunshot and smashes into the front group of riders like a cannonball from hell itself. They are the lucky ones. They are immediately obliterated as the ball consumes them. The riders behind them are not so lucky. They try in vain to halt and adjust themselves to the wave of fire that erupts around them. But, it is like trying to avoid getting wet when dumped in the middle of the ocean.

  The flammable lather begins to devour them. Horses whine frantically and collide into one another, propelling their hapless riders through the air and into the path of the merciless fire. The flames eat savagely and indiscriminately at the downed riders, burning their skin to melting flesh as their skin peels off in bloody sheets like tarpaper. They scream in excruciating pain as the flames began to penetrate into their bones, scorching it and making its way into their arteries. It takes mere seconds to consume them.

  Their mounts fare no better. Once the flames began to heat up, they cannot be extinguished. Horses whine in torment as the flames devour their coats to embers and penetrated their flesh, burning, scorching, and melting it away in thick, bloody slabs.

  Commander Marcus Battilus does not wait to see the tumultuous scene play out. He makes a hasty retreat.

  Skulls are smashed and laid open with the vestiges of eyes, brain matter, bile, and gore staining the canyon floor. It doesn’t matter. Soon, the fire will consume everything.

  Marcus feels the heat of the raging inferno behind him. The hot wind blows a scorching breeze that singes the hair on his skin as if several million matches are being blown around him. He nearly vomits from the smell of burning flesh. He discovers in horror it is his own flesh. He pushes Stella into a harder gallop, but it is unnecessary. She is already running at her peak. How did it come to this?

  For a brief moment, Marcus has hopes of escape, but they are quickly dashed when another cacophonous ‘boom’ reverberates through the canyon. A large incendiary ball hurtles towards him at God’s speed. His last thought is simply ‘what the fuck’ followed by brief seconds of excruciating pain. Darkness overtakes him.

  (4)

  Merlin surveys the carnage through his hyper-oculars and nods. He seems satisfied. “There is nothing left to do at Briar Hill. Germanicus, take Syrus, Savelle, Atticus, Ithicus and reconvene with and Cotteroy and Jamison at Mounts Edge. I have set the final granado traps, effectively blocking in our enemy between a landslide on the main path and the inferno. Kill the stragglers that you find, but do not give chase to those out of your reach. I should expect the survivors to have a story to tell of our merciless ways and we will not deny them. Wait three days. At dawn of the third day, meet me at the enemy’s encampment.

  “What happens on the third day?” asks Germanicus.

  “God willing, our reinforcements will arrive. And then, I’ll initiate the last p
art of our plan.”

  “Which is?” asks Savelle.

  “I will enter the King’s encampment. You will bring up the rear after the signal. Troubadour will set off the ballistas for the final leg of our attack.”

  “When do we meet up with our reinforcements, Merlin?” asks Germanicus.

  “We don’t. If our reinforcements have not done their job, then we are in serious jeopardy and we must contend with a third of the Visi-Galia army.”

  “And Domithicus?”

  “I’ll mount a rescue for him. And the girl as well.”

  “If they both live,” says Syrus somberly.

  “Set watch and warrant, they live for now. And they will so long as Jason has a use for them. I pray he won’t unravel prematurely.”

  Merlin mounts Jessibel. “If we are unsuccessful?” asks Savelle.

  “Then I’ll see you on the other side, Brother,” says Merlin.

  Chapter 36: Bamboozled Beyond Belief

  Three long, maddening days pass with no word from a courier. Jason grows increasingly more erratic and agitated with each passing hour. His arrogant and smug self-assuredness is replaced by a paranoid terror that makes him more capricious. He’s convinced that Sylvia is under the mind control of the Merlin, so he places her in a cage meant for animals and shackles her wrists and ankles. Jason’s reasoning is that Merlin’s hold on her is mitigated inside the steel cage.

  She sits inside it, huddled in a corner, unable to keep warm and dehydrated considerably but otherwise intact. Indecisive about what to do with her, he sustains her for the time being. She whimpers to herself quietly and rocks back and forth, shivering with each inhalation. In the face of her severe trauma, she realizes she wants desperately to live.

  At the least, she is out of harm’s way from Jason’s reckless tirades. Every few hours without word from a courier, he screams out and begins to throw objects around the room recklessly, hitting soldiers who are unlucky enough to be in the way.