Gorias lifted his left sword, not only parrying the rapier, but also cutting the stylish blade in half. Stunned, the woman gaped at her ruined blade but for a second. Gorias then raised his right sword and dropped it. Of course, she used her shield in defense. Gorias’ sword passed clean through the metallic safeguard, sliced clean through her forearm and even cleaved into her jaw. He jerked back, ripping loose flesh, metal and teeth, Gorias stared at her bankrupt face as blood and gore belched from her torn mouth. He waved off another arrow attack by the midget fighter, avoided a third glowing ball and continued to look upon her pained expression. Green, her eyes were green like the southern sea, he noted in passing as founts of blood gray marrow gushed from her forearm stump. She stood on quivering legs, but he figured that wouldn’t last long.
Once he kicked the suffering woman in the gut right under the cones of steel covering her breasts, Gorias hopped off the porch and checked to his left. A few yards away, the older man in billowing robes waved his arms. The palms of his hands generated an emerald hue and started to produce balls of glowing quality.
Behind his back Gorias heard the woman cry with her torn mouth and the barbarian growl, legs swishing on the street. With a grunt and a leap lacking in grace, Gorias attacked the mage, slashing through the spell caster’s arms, removing both of the glowing hands. The wizard’s mouth ceased its spell, frozen open at the suddenness of his destiny. He fell to his knees, rasping in agony, blood spurting from his wrists. Then, he started to scream.
Though people down the way at the shops and café applauded, they never came out into the open. Gorias winked at them, acknowledging them in passing and showing how little he feared his attackers. He told the mutilated man, “The policy of the Queen and her goddess is that nary a wizard should be spared the burning pile. However, she’ll forgive me this sin of beheading.” He criss-crossed his swords, cleanly removing the wizard’s wailing head, sending his withered face to the street with a stunned expression etched on it forever. It stopped rolling, upright in the gutter.
Turning his back on the wizard’s blood-gouting corpse, Gorias heard a rushing howl and got thrown back into the hitching post lines. The posts gave way under his back as the brutish warrior tackled Gorias. The fighter, much larger than even the thuggish La Gaul, knew how to fight, Gorias thought by how he hit him low. This man kept Gorias’ sword arms from striking and pinned one of them down as he slammed his pointed mace into the dragon plates on the legend’s chest. He blocked the attempt from Gorias’ other sword by using the heavy broadsword.
Amid the displaced horses, the two struggled, neither gaining much advantage until Gorias kneed the burly fighter in the groin. This action sent the bulky man backwards and the mace to the ground. The barbarian staggered, struggling to get a grip on his aching manhood.
“Can’t believe he fell for that twice.” To his knees, Gorias sucked air in and held his chest. He looked up at Orsen, who had crept out on the porch.
The youth blinked, “What cheating deeds of the laudable La Gaul.”
“Doesn’t have to be pretty,” Gorias murmured as he wobbled getting to his feet. “Only matters if ya win.”
The barbarian stood, trying to shrug off the second shot to his manhood. He towered, his legs apart, shaking loose his manhood, but this proved his undoing. Gorias stepped forward, taking the swing of the broadsword to his left arm. His armor took the shot but it felt like a rhino charge to him. Placing his swords side by side, Gorias swung upwards, striking the savage between the legs before he could use the broadsword to block him off. The deep-voiced barbarian growled, but his tone was more in tune with a gelding than a manly shout of agony. The great sword dropped and blood ran from the barbarian’s tongue. Drawing the twin blades out, Gorias stabbed one into his opponent’s lower abdomen and sliced up, his motions raw because of Traveler bumping into him. When the barbarian’s guts started to unravel, Gorias gave the horse an annoyed look, but a gleam lit in his eyes. Stabbing his swords into the dirt, he grabbed a handful of intestines and looped them over Traveler’s saddle horn. The dying barbarian looked Gorias in the eye, knowing true terror as the old man slapped Traveler on the rump. The stallion galloped off, taking the guts of the Northern man with it. The barbarian gawked on in horror as his insides unraveled. Traveler ran on and there seemed no end to the barbarian’s insides. Even after he fell to his knees, he kept losing his guts. Gorias took up his swords and made a slight motion, cutting the man’s throat, ending his suffering.
The small archer, seeing himself alone, froze as he stared across the street at Gorias and Orsen.
Gorias joined his swords at the handles, forming a single, double-headed blade and proceeded to twirl it like a wheel.
The small man turned and ran.
“Ahh, ya wuss,” Gorias shouted and faced Orsen, who was throwing up over the south side of the porch. Grimacing at the youth, he asked, “That tattoo of luck sure doesn’t keep yer stomach in tow, does it?”
Orsen wiped his mouth, unable to face Gorias, his face pale and his hands shaking.
Coldly, Gorias said, “Now you see what it takes to be me.” He gestured at the street, the sliced up mage, the dismembered woman, and at the trail of barbarian guts. “The burden of my life is with me at all times.”
“This happens a lot?” Orsen stammered, his head turned to see Traveler stopping and beginning to trot back to them.
“Happens enough.”
Looking at the body of the dead woman, Orsen asked, “Was she one of the famed guild of assassins from…”
Cutting him off, Gorias replied, “No, just a mean little bitch, trying to make a name for herself by killing an old man. She did make a name, though, and its worm-food. C’mon, kid, we’re off to see a wizard.”
Both men stopped cold as a tall figure emerged from around the corner of the saloon. Alena carried the small archer by the right ankle. The tiny one cursed her and flailed at his captor to no avail. She held the small bow in her other hand, patting her thigh.
“You missed all the fun, little girl,” Gorias told her.
She offered the midget toward him. “Want to make a wish?”
CHAPTER V
Temple Visions and Yannick
All on their horses, Gorias glanced at Alena and Orsen before looking ahead down the street. “I’m not buying this.”
At first a dull silence reigned, but Orsen broke first, asking, “What do you mean?”
“The twerps on the ship, the band of goofs, the assassin last night with bad breath and shitty methods, all out to get me?”
Alena tilted her head to the left for a moment. “You said it does happen a lot.”
“But seldom like a shark to blood in the water.”
Alena and Orsen exchanged a glance.
Gorias sighed. “Ya dunno what a shark is?”
Orsen said, “We’ve read of them and seen sketches, but…”
“Suffice it to say when there is blood in the water out in the sea, a shark is drawn to it like a young man to a piece of tail.”
Alena glanced at the people on the streets, many of whom ignored the riders as they moved on, but a few pointed at Gorias. “What are you saying?”
“I can’t believe everyone has gotten stupid at once. I know the world is headin’ down the privy hole and all that, but it seems a might convenient.”
Orsen said, “If they are hired killers they are a poor lot.”
“Yeah,” Gorias said in a low voice, eyes still straight ahead. “Makes one wonder.”
Frustrated, Alena spat, “What?”
“If someone doesn’t really want me dead or is trying to distract me. That’s a screwy game either way.”
Alena sighed. “It isn’t all about you, is it?”
Orsen put in, “I asked him that before.”
“My life is, little girl. I take it pretty seriously even if killers come after me dressed like jesters.”
“Oh, that’d be fun,” Alena gushed, mocking him. “Can I kill a c
lown if they attack?”
Gorias eyed her briefly, struggling to rein in her humor. “Why are you along again?”
“To help you find the Princess. I think we should go to Yannick and wring it out of him.”
“Not a bad idea,” Gorias agreed to her violence.
She patted her right saddlebag. “I brought thumb-screws.”
“Good night,” Gorias said without turning. “You must be killer at parties.”
They traveled several blocks, nearing the center of the city once more, but not by the route they traveled before.
Gorias said, “We must be gettin’ near to something important. There are soldiers on every street corner.”
Each of these men wore the insignia of the palace guards, not the regular army or the police. Gorias’ curiosity was soon answered as many more guards and regular citizens flanked the street. Off to their left loomed the giant temple of the goddess. In front of this edifice passed the carriage Gorias saw the night before, the one carrying Mavik and her son, Vincent. A small crowd gathered near the outer wall of the temple, and applauded as the carriage stopped. A hulking man in black leathers emerged from the coach first. Though gruff in appearance, the man’s tight black mane of hair stayed in place no matter how fast he snapped his head from side to side.
Orsen informed Gorias, “That’s Harlan, the bodyguard.”
Letting Traveler rest, Gorias said, “I doubted he was a baker with that build and look. He really loves himself--see how he sticks his chin out? What? Ya learn this stuff the older ya get.”
Next came out Mavik, a much stouter version of Queen Garnet, her hair a fake blonde color. Her manner friendly, Gorias read weariness in her gait as she leaned heavily on Harlan’s grip and her cane as she stepped to the paved area. Harlan then helped Prince Vincent emerge. Rail thin and delicate, clad in posh velvet trousers and tunic, he stepped down and waved to the crowd. Not a hair out of place, clean shaven and sporting flesh that came near to glowing, Gorias pondered the Queen’s words about his artificiality. He smiled, thinking Garnet paranoid as most royals had too soft of a life and had the tendency to come into view a tad dainty.
From the rear of the carriage, the driver produced a large wreath of flowers. He brought it to Vincent and the crowd whispered.
Gorias said, “Wonder if he outweighs the wreath.”
Orsen’s eyes riveted to Gorias, his desire for silence evident.
Vincent carried the wreath and placed it by the base of a pedestal showing a life-sized version of the goddess. Once the Prince drew back, the crowd applauded.
When the party turned back to the carriage, Mavik shouted, “Gorias La Gaul!” Thus causing the crowd to turn and face those on horseback. A few gasped, and Harlan moved in front of the Prince, hand resting on a sheathed sword pommel dangling from his belt.
Gorias gripped his reins. “Afternoon, ma’am. It’s been a long time.”
Her shock fading, Mavik waltzed over to Gorias, half dancing as her steps popped on the paved section of the street near the temple. “At breakfast dear Harlan said you were in Transalpina.”
“It appears so.”
Mavik smiled, her hands folded together in front of her stomach. “Will you join me for wine or perhaps dinner?”
“I have some things to attend to today.” Gorias shrugged as Harlan relaxed, letting Vincent walk up beside his mother. “I might take ya up on that soon though, ma’am.”
“You’ve seen my sister?”
“Hard to come here and not see the Queen.”
A hint of distaste in her face, Mavik smiled and reached out to stroke Traveler’s muzzle. “I’m sure the matters of state bore you as much as I.”
“I hate politics.”
Mavik turned to her son. “This is Crown Prince Vincent.”
Gorias raised his head up to acknowledge the stoic Prince, and then climbed down from the horse. Many in the crowd retreated a step. Gorias stuck out his hand. “Young man, pleased to meet ya.”
Vincent never hesitated to reach out and take the huge hand of the warrior.
Gorias shook his hand. After he released his grip, he reached up, touched the side of the Prince’s face and then ran his hand to the side of Vincent’s neck. “You’ll have princesses from all over at your door, young fella. I’m sure your Ma will help ya choose wisely.”
Prince Vincent smiled, but didn’t blush.
Gorias patted him on the shoulder and let his hand drop for a moment. He soon took up Mavik’s hand and kissed it gently. Though Harlan glowered at him Gorias never deemed him important enough to look at.
“Careful Mavik,” a voice in the crowd shouted. “The dragonfire killing didn’t start until that man came to our land.”
Many started to murmur their agreement.
Gorias sighed and climbed back on his horse.
Mavik pressed the place Gorias kissed to her lips and fluttered her eyelashes. “I think that all preceded you, correct? Are you here to ferret out that problem?”
“Sure, why not?” Gorias winked at her and gently heeled Traveler to head down the street.
Orsen looked back, but Gorias didn’t. “Not quite an angry mob.”
Alena added, “Yet. They’re stupid to think you had anything to do with this.”
“Who the hell knows why all this is happening? If I threw my real reasons on the table to Mavik there, I bet Harlan’s pecker woulda fell out his trousers.”
Alena put her hand to her mouth, suppressing a laugh but Orsen didn’t smile. He said, “We shall see Yannick and hear his words on our mission. Perhaps he has an idea on the dragonfire.”
Alena patted her saddle horn and said flippantly, “Queen Garnet will be displeased.”
Gorias frowned. “Why?”
“You had your hand on Prince Vincent’s neck and never squeezed.”
“He felt real enough to me.”
Alena nodded. “Mavik had no issue with you touching him, did she?”
“If she’s a card player, she’s damned good,” Gorias replied. “Damn, I need a drink.”
“Another drink?” Orsen grimaced. “It’s the middle of the afternoon.”
“I’m late then, by God.”
Alena stopped and held up her hand. “We need to go into the temple on the side route. They will let us in because of me.” She faced Gorias and directed him to the doors by the outer wall. “I really want you to see something.”
“All temples are about the same.”
Alena shook her head. “I’ll show you something on the memory crystal.”
Gorias’ eyebrows raised. “Recollection glass? A thing that’ll let me see a memory of yours clear-like?”
“Yes.”
His features darkened, brows drawing down. “What can ya show me that’ll be that great?”
She rode ahead and dismounted. “Vincent’s resurrection. I was there.”
“Sweet,” Gorias grunted as he climbed down.
Orsen stayed on horseback.
Gorias asked him, “Not coming along?”
“I’ll wait out here.”
The two walked to the temple and Gorias said, “I’d figured he’d break his mother in half to get in the temple, as religious as he sounds.”
“Who knows about him? He’s a court ass-kisser. If we are lucky,” Alena said as she approached the twin double-doors, “we can see Niva.”
“Niva? The Abbess of the temple? Sure are a progressive society here. Seldom do I see women running the temples, unless…”
Alena completed his thought: “Unless they are whores?”
“Temple prostitution is common enough out in the older regions of the world, where life sprang and all that.”
Alena looked southeast as if she could see Shynar and the cradle of civilization. “I suppose it’s alien that society progressed further away from where it sprang?”
“Oh, there are plenty of ideas on all that.” He stood back as Alena pounded on the door using the iron ring hanging from it. “Some
say tribes from after the creation went over the top of the world, as much as they could, hell, it wasn’t so cold up there then, and had other revelations. I never have been that far north.”
“But you are from the north, correct?”
“Sister, you know all about me, why ask?”
Alena smirked as they waited. “I hear tales of you in scrolls, in class, even in training, but the stories the drunks tell are more fanciful.”
“Surprised I’m not ten feet tall?”
She let her smile break open. “I’d be disappointed if you were as little as Orsen, but you’re a big man for this place. Or any other.” The door opened and the young lady within blinked at Alena, who executed an elegant curtsey to the acolyte. The young girl let them inside.
“My dad was a big man, stronger than me, in many ways,” Gorias went on to say as he noted the grassy lands inside the walls. “He was simple, not too complicated. Ya get out in the world, it bogs ya down with behavior, distractions and other crap like that. Dad lived in uncomplicated ways and doubtless never worried on too much.” He eyed the inner courtyard, the cobblestone walks and brickwork.
“Niva is the one with all the visions, religious experiences and the mother of the new faith.”
“A new faith? Stuff like that is hard to hoist on a people, much less an entire nation. How’d that happen? I’d not heard of that goddess until recently.”
Alena frowned, her brown eyes sullen as she glanced at the pinnacle of the temple. Various ladies in white linen carried candles past windows making certain any who looked would see them. “Several miracles, healing of the sick and whatnot, added to a revelation that her faith is the true one, discovered in ruins in caves.”
Gorias now grinned. “Ya don’t believe it, do ya?”
Eyes shifting, Alena stated, “The people of Transalpina need this faith. It binds them together. Me? I follow what my papa taught, not the faith of a resurrectionist.”
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