“A very unfortunate event took place this evening. This gentleman was mugged outside, and he wandered in her drunk and incoherent. I’m sure when he wakes up, he’ll be confused, and might even get the details of what happened somewhat mangled. I’m sure I can count on each of you to cooperate fully and provide a detailed statement to the police if asked which will reflect the accurate events.”
There were many smiling faces which told me they were proponents of justice. However, I sensed reluctance on the parts of a few. I read a few details from them and called them out. “Isn’t that true, Mark Flynn of 70 South 4th Street? And James Parsons of Kings Court Inn room 15? Or do I need to get a personal deposition from you later?”
And then there were nods all around.
I sat at the table across from the bleeding man. He was becoming more animated. He wiped his right hand across his face and he spit out the tooth.
“Hey Dick, wake up. I want to see how you are going to gum the steak and eggs you ordered,” I said.
Richard looked up and opened one eye to look at me. He then looked around. “Where am I?”
“Booth eight. Blue Note Diner. Memphis, Tennessee.”
“Wait a minute, I was talking to a hooker and—”
“Listen to me…Dick. This is what happened,” I said and then began the tale.He believed me completely. The fact the story had no basis in logic and no tangible proof couldn’t prevent it. Dick was absolutely certain every single word I spoke was truth, undeniable and absolute.
It’s what we gods do. It’s in the blood.
CHAPTER FOUR
I’ve grown as a person, believe it or not. I left the man alive. Hey, don’t brush that off. It’s no small thing for me and compared to the messed up crap I’ve done over the years. It was by comparison in fact, heroic act.
I was the good guy.
Sure.
It’s a sad thing when you recognize your own lies. I enjoyed smacking that fool in the gob. It gave me deep, dark pleasure. I hadn’t grown very much, after all. I’d been a hypocrite. There I was at the diner doing the same things I promised I’d never do again. Taking up arms for a noble cause. I do it all the time, convincing myself there was a difference.
The only difference was a matter of scale.
Did I help someone? Yes. What harm did it cause? I don’t know. How could I?
That’s the problem with unintended consequences. If they were obvious you could head them off.
Sure, maybe the girl gets away and has the chance for a new start. Albeit a small one. Perhaps the bully is prevented from hurting someone tonight. But will it make him that much more bitter and angry the next time? Will he kill her when I’m not there.
Will his missing teeth make him less successful at selling, crap to people who don’t need it? Maybe, and maybe that money pays someone’s medical bills, or more likely, child support. I was a bastard. All the more reason not to invoke the true powers of my godhood.
But, if things were as dire as Yond made them out to be, would I be more of a bastard to ignore the problem?
The mere fact I was stopping to consider the consequences of my actions was because I had not taken up the blade for so long. If I were the old me I wouldn’t give a shit. I’d dive right in and get knee deep in blood.
Still, I couldn’t ignore what Yond had shown me. I needed to know more about Jegu, and I knew only one way.
After I left the diner I mounted Blackflame and roared off into the night, leaving the lights of Memphis behind me. I moved forward entering the aether, transitioning from the motorcycle into a 1967 Ford Mustang, then leaping into flight, easing Blackflame into a sleek black fighter jet. Beneath us paved roads and highways had became mountain trails. Electric lights became watch fires. I was focused on a goal and so did not wander down the side roads but kept to the main path. I landed and Blackflame was again a mighty horse. We continued at a gallop across ghostly fields and shadowy lands.
I passed a few others along the path. I purposely didn’t take note of who or what they were. Malthon, the poet and scribe of the gods had written that all travelers, alive or dead, past future or present existed somewhere along the path. I’d taken that to heart long ago so I never looked too long into any face I might catch a glance of in that misty place. I was afraid one day I might see myself returning from where I was destined to go.
What do you say when you meet yourself? It’s always awkward—embarrassing pauses and artificial smiles. Better to pretend you didn’t recognize yourself in the rush and avoid the situation entirely.
Blackflame and I passed through the air, over water and through space—through realities and places unknown until finally I was again Carl the traveling entertainer upon his simple donkey on the road to the reality where the Kingdom of Guldon existed. I wanted to get a look at the situation personally. First, I would visit the people, and then assess the power of the enemy.
As we stepped from the aether, Blackflame’s donkey hoofs stepped along a leaf-strewn, dirt path through a quiet wood. The oak trees sighed in the wind which carried the scent of smoke. Soon I reached a clearing and could see the surrounding countryside consisting of rolling meadows and fields. But although the land was rich. Guldon was a kingdom in ruin.
I saw a familiar haze on the horizon. The smoke in the distance was evidence of the fields being put to flame in retreat. What animals couldn’t be brought along were slaughtered, both so as not to benefit the enemy.
As we continued the path became wider and more traveled. Eventually, it converged several times with other paths into a wide road and finally continued and merged onto the king’s highway, a paved and tended thoroughfare vital to commerce.
I encountered more and more people along the way. A few single pilgrims at first, then some families, then what appeared to be be entire villages of people until finally I found myself part of the throng of refugees which clogged the highway to Tarnon, the capitol city.
I had seen such panic many times before. The smell of fear was everywhere. Ox carts were loaded high with every belonging. Mothers clutched babies to their breasts and wept. Small children were put into service carrying packs or herding goats or geese. Men loaded themselves down as much as they could with sacks and packs and pulled the reluctant oxen forward using nose rings toward what all hoped was safety.
As I approached the outskirts of the Tarnon, I dismounted and took the saddlebags containing my few belongings from Blackflame’s back. With an unspoken command, I sent him off back towards the woods where he vanished. The animal would return to his primal plane, shared with the eternal, elemental forces, until called again. I knew what was coming, and wanted to simplify things. I watched as the small donkey exited the road and made off toward the trees. One man broke off toward him in a run, thinking Blackflame had escaped from his owner. I laughed as I saw Blackflame look over his shoulder and shoot the man a glance with red flamed eyes. The man stopped in his tracks and allowed Blackflame to continue toward the woods unmolested. Yeah, Blackflame could always take care of himself.
A checkpoint loomed ahead. Soldiers were stopping the refugees before they could enter the city. They were separating out the men and boys.
This always meant one of two things. If the soldiers had been those of an occupying army, then it would mean genocide, but since the defending army was still in control, it meant conscription. Both usually meant death.
Farmers with no training at war made poor soldiers, even when defending their country. A large contingent of levied peasants meant an easy rout when the blood began to spill, ofttimes their panic would infect the trained soldiers as well. Desperation did not use logic.
On the other hand, they could work the farmers nearly to death on digging trenches, building fortifications and moving supplies. You can’t beat patriotic slave labor.
Wives and daughters screamed as their men were taken from them. Dazed and terrified, the peasants were herded together like sheep.
My turn came soon.
“Stop there. Who are you and what’s your business?” A gruff old bear of a sergeant shouted while jerking my cloak backwards. He was scarred and had obviously seen his share of action. I read his essence. Not a bad man necessarily, just a survivor making the best of his situation. I would have put him where he could do some good instead of dealing with civilians.
“I’m Carl. I play the lyre and tell stories. I am trying to escape to the capitol where I might be able to entertain the king during this time of trouble.”
The sergeant laughed. “Oh, you can be of service to the king, right enough. What have you got in that there bag?”
“Just my lyre and a few personal items—a bit of food and a fresh tunic.”
“Lemme see.” He roughly took the sack and started digging in it. He grabbed my small coin purse and stuffed it into his belt, then he took my cheese, then he took out my lyre and threw my bags to the ground.
‘Well, lookie here. Ain’t this pretty?” He began to pluck the strings harshly, pulling them out of tune.
I began to get stupid. “Hey, Be careful with that.” I snatched it back.
“Whoa now,” the sergeant said and drew a large cudgel. “I think we might just have ourselves a Jegu spy.”
I shook my head. I knew better, but I never was good at humble. I tried, but sometimes I just couldn’t bite my tongue. “No, I’m just a musician. See?” I began to play and sing, and the sergeant smiled as he walked toward me. I knew why he was smiling. I sensed the two men coming up behind me, but I was determined to play my part. I just wanted to make sure the lyre didn’t suffer any more.
I dropped when they hit me on the head and I fell over the lyre. I quickly stored it away in a pocket of reality where they couldn’t get to it, and then I rolled on my back unconscious as far as they knew. Damn! I’d forgotten how much it hurt. I hoped they would be happy with just pummeling me, and not stick any swords into me while I was down. It had been a long time since I had exercised my deeper self-healing powers and I didn’t want to go through the hassle.
“What? Now where in hell is that toy he was playing with? Damn it, who took it?” The sergeant was disgusted, but rapidly losing interest.
“Toss him over there with the others. When he wakes up, we’ll have Captain Rosten question him.
They threw me down and I would have broken a rib had I not been tougher than the normal mortal. I felt them place a leg iron on me and then walk away.
Luckily, they had placed me in the shade. I took the opportunity to sleep, hoping when I woke I could convince this Rosten fellow not to make me endure the pain and inconvenience of torture.
CHAPTER FIVE
A kick in the ribs woke me up. It was mid-morning, and a guard with rotten teeth was taking an inordinate amount of pleasure in rousting us for inspection. Of course, he had no doubt been up at dawn and probably considered us slackers. He grasped me by the neck and forced me to stand. Then again, maybe he was just an asshole.
I noticed the manacle on my ankle connected to a length of chain keeping all the prisoners linked together.
All in all it had been a pleasant enough nap, the pain in my side had gone away and I actually got some good sleep. But, I had dreamt and my dreams are never pleasant.
I had seen a war of long ago, and a fair-skinned, lithe-limbed, beautiful people whose name I couldn’t remember. They created art of unmatched beauty, paintings which saw into the heart of whatever subject they chose to represent. They were poets and dancers and singers. They lived a peaceful existence in harmony with their neighbors, but they did not give the gods their due.
These people knew no gods. They cared for strangers, aiding those travelers who were sick or injured. They were great teachers and their ambassadors traveled throughout the lands teaching the secrets of astronomy and physics. But they did not bow to my family’s vanity.
I watched as they died again. I watched as I led armies to slaughter them all down to the last wailing child. Their cities fell in flame and their art was destroyed, until nothing remained in the world showing they’d ever existed. The gods were pleased. I was a hero. I was my father’s son in those days.
The guards led us away towards a large campaign tent—which I assumed belonged to Captain Rosten. I noticed the traffic along the road had slowed. Most of the refugees had made it to the temporary safety of the city.
Guldon had placed their armies just outside the city to provide an initial defense, but based on what I had already seen, I knew it would be short lived. The Jegu would quickly overrun defenders and force them to fall back into the city itself. Then the siege would then begin.
Siege warfare is a nasty business full of disease, starvation, and slow insanity. I saw the dread in the eyes of the soldiers we passed. They knew what was coming.
But the city of Tarnon looked to be in good shape to mount a defense. Built upon a rocky hill, it sat majestically surrounded by a series of thick city walls and not so majestically by a sewage-filled moat. That made it difficult to tunnel underneath to sap the walls. The high ground also made it more difficult to mount a cavalry charge against the defenders.
I could see the gatehouse was stout, with twin barrel towers to either side. There were both inner and outer doors and a goodly number of murder holes.
They had been hard at work on the grounds before the gates. A series of pits filled with sharpened sticks protected the approach as well as many long simple trenches.
Yes, the defenders knew a thing or two. I just wasn’t sure it would help them much. A lot depended on the quality of the fighting men, and I supposed I would soon see if they were all as charming as the sergeant.
“I’m sure we’ll be okay,” said the man behind me.
I turned and noticed the man for the first time. He looked to be a farmer. Skinny, tanned, and aged beyond his years. I’d say he was probably twenty-five, but he looked forty. His cotton tunic was thin, torn and dirty.
“What?” I asked.
“I said I’m sure we’ll be okay. They need all the help they can get. I brought my wife and family. I thought we would be better protected here. She’s in town with her sister. My brother-in-law is a tailor, very rich. She and the kids will be well cared for.”
I smiled and nodded absently. “Good for you.”
“I don’t mind fighting. I’ve got them to protect, you see.”
“I hope you get the chance, partner. From the looks of things you may be doing more digging than fighting.”
“No matter. I’ll do my part either way. The name’s Olo.” He extended his hand and smiled.
I shook it. “Carl. Good to meet you. You seem to be in a pretty cheerful mood.”
“Scared shitless, but what are you gonna do?”
Olo began to grow on me. He had the right attitude. “How did you get stuck in chains?”
“Uh, well. I didn’t mind volunteering my sword arm, but I didn’t like giving up my coppers.”
“I understand. I think it might be healthier to just write them off as taxes.”
He nodded in agreement.
Our column stopped in front of the tent. My friend the sergeant walked into the tent and returned with another man, obviously the captain.
He was tall and broad shouldered with an intelligence in his eyes that was so lacking in the sergeant. He was shrewd, this one. He wore his jet-black hair tied back in a tight queue. The sword at his hip was simple and well used. He had the gift of natural leadership. I saw how the faces of the soldiers around him brightened as he walked among them. They seemed to draw strength from him like trees from the sun. He would have been a general in any army I created.
He looked at us prisoners and nodded, said a few words to the sergeant and went back into his tent.
One by one, each prisoner, starting at the end of the line, was separated from the chained group and led into the tent. Most who left, exited the tent as free men, free at least to fight and die as conscripts. They bowed, and thanked the captain tearfull
y.
But some men had to be dragged away by others, leaving a trail of blood. These, they threw onto a pile of dry brush.
Good idea, that. Make sure to burn the corpses. No sense in leaving any extra rotting ammunition for the catapults to fling into the city later. Although, the sad truth was there would be plenty more when the time came.
The other prisoners were getting nervous. Even Olo had paled considerably and his smile had become strained since he spotted the pile of corpses. Being immortal, all I worried about was the pain involved. They might slit my throat, tear out my heart, whatever. I wouldn’t die, but it hurt like a mother. Sometimes, the healing hurt worse than the original wound.
Still, my pain was a choice—perhaps a stupid one. I could, at any moment reach into the ether and withdraw that which was my right to carry—the Bright Sword of War and the Armor of Brilliance. While wearing these arcane magical items I was immune to pain, incredibly strong, and impossible to harm by mortal means. Unfortunately, I also became an egotistical asshole like the rest of my family. Absolute power corrupts, blah, blah, blah. The longer I stayed away from exercising my powers as war god, the more human I became. Also, the more adamant I became about staying away from the family business once and for all.
I suppose a sense or perspective grew within me the longer I lived a “mortal” life, or as close as possible for a god. The others didn’t understand and I’d given up trying to make them. They were incapable of seeing what I saw while not blinded by the light of absolute power.
My turn eventually came. I walked to the end of the long chain, dragging my manacle until it came free at the end.
“Good luck, Carl,” said Olo.
I answered him with a nod. “Yeah, you too.”
The sergeant and the guard with the bad teeth, took me by the arms and walked me into the tent.
“Here’s the one, sir,” the sergeant said. “He’s a troublemaker. He began fighting with my men when we questioned him.”
Duty Calls: The Reluctant War God Book 1 Page 3