Meuric

  “Laban, you old goat,” warned Petros. “You could have broken your neck riding like that!”

  The Troop Captain grunted. “Young Baadur here,” he indicated his companion, “took a bet that he would reach you first, Knight Captain. He lost.”

  Petros looked at the second man who smiled sheepishly and shook his head. He was perhaps in his mid-forties, strong and fit with a neatly trimmed dark beard lined with silver.

  “Knight Captain,” said Baadur formally.

  Petros offered a cursory nod in return. “By the gods, Laban, you are nearly sixty. You will be retiring soon. You should not be galloping around thinking that you have only seen thirty summers.”

  “You know what they say,” retorted Laban with an infectious grin. “You are only as young as the woman you feel.”

  “That would make you sixty-three,” laughed Baadur.

  Laban grunted and turned to his superior. “You should have told me if you were about to supervise our troops, Knight Captain.”

  Petros chuckled. “And have you distracted me from any wrongdoings? I think not, my friend. But if it makes you feel better I am pleased by what I see here. But then I would expect nothing less from the men under your command. Is there anything that I should know about concerning Black Squadron?” Currently they were undertaking various operations for the Council and he had yet to read any reports.

  “My account is waiting for you back in my study,” answered Laban, obviously reluctant to discuss such matters in the open. “We will go through them in detail when we return.”

  “You should know, Knight Captain,” Baadur shot in, “that Iacchus, Kaan and Nathan of the Brown Tower Company are in the gaol… again.”

  Petros shook his head in exasperation. He did not miss the severe look that Laban shot his adjutant. “Again?” He thought for a moment. Brown Tower Squadron were on their reserve phase at the moment. Obviously too much time on their hands. It was always the same with those three. Ever since the rescue at Ah’mos ten years earlier the three of them had become totally inseparable. “What for this time?”

  “Brawling,” stated Baadur.

  “But they were not drinking,” offered Laban quickly. “Apparently a merchant made a defamatory comment on Troopers in general.”

  Petros nodded. “Recommendations?” he asked.

  “Why not dismiss them?” said Baadur with a sneer on his lips. “They should have walked away. Iacchus especially should have taken charge being First Servant. Men with such a lack of discipline should not be tolerated especially when the stakes are so high with us.”

  Petros looked to the Troop Lieutenant. Very quick to judge, he thought. Perhaps it was a mistake promoting him? It had been a tight contest between him and another Troop Servant.

  “A thorn in my side they might be,” said Laban quickly, “but when it comes to the security and aid of Wardens Keep those three people would be the first in line. They play hard, they fight harder but not one of them has a deceitful bone in their body.”

  The Knight Captain understood why Laban had snapped in such a way and sprung to the defence of the three Troopers. All of them had served together in Brown Tower Squadron. Baadur was about to speak again when Petros raised his hand for silence.

  “Enough,” he said. “I will handle this matter.” He turned to look at Baadur. His deep brown eyes glared at the officer. “Just because they do not fit in with your way of doing things does not mean they deserve any less than respect from you. I have on occasion had the three of them by my side, our backs against a wall, and not once did they falter.

  “Always they race to be the first to aid stricken comrades when needed. No other three warriors would I rather have at my side when the odds are against me. Remember, Baadur, I know of your privileged upbringing but true nobility cannot be measured by coin.” He looked at Laban. “Have the three of them confined to quarters when off-duty. We will discuss later whether to split them up into other troops.”

  Laban smiled. “You know that they will steal away the first chance they get.”

  Petros shrugged. “I know.” He smiled. “After that we will just have to put a narration on them.” His face turned serious again. “I would hate to lose three of our best people.” The Knight Captain stirred. The feeling of magick swept over him, creeping along his skin like a hundred thousand tiny ants.

  Petros. It was a man’s voice that resonated within his mind. It sounded tense.

  Yes, my Lord, responded the Captain of the Knight Protectors silently. It was the Bridge Maker.

  You are summoned by the Council. There is a situation that has arisen and we have need of your insight. You will come immediately to the Council’s Chamber.

  Yes, my Lord. I have Laban with me. I wish for him to accompany me.

  Understood, came the reply within the Knight Captain’s mind. Stand ready.

  Petros dismounted and immediately handed his reins to Baadur. “Stand ready, Laban. The Council has summoned me and you are coming with me.” The old man quickly dismounted and also handed his reins to his adjutant. “Troop Lieutenant, please see that our horses are taken back to the stables.”

  Petros barely acknowledged the junior officer as he saluted dutifully. His vision abruptly blurred and vanished.

  XXIV

  Petros adjusted his chiton and composed himself. Next to him Laban smoothed out his uniform, tugging hard on the sleeves of his grey tunic. Like Baadur, the two high-ranked Squadron officers were identically dressed, differentiated only by the silver stars over their hearts. Laban had two while the Knight Lieutenant only possessed one. The two men smiled at each other, at the comedic aspects of the situation. Here were two aged veteran warriors feeling that they were being summoned before a headmaster.

  Before them stood a large and thick oak door with magickal symbols etched deep into the wood, barring their path. For what seemed like the millionth time Petros stared hard at the archaic emblems that he understood to mean “protection” amongst others. That door would not open until summoned inside so all they could do now was wait.

  Only with missions of the utmost importance would it be here that he would get briefed; the only room in the whole of the citadel that was totally surrounded by magick, that forbid magick from working within. The door itself stood in the centre of a typical, nondescript corridor that was like many within Wardens Keep. Only that it was on the uppermost level of the Council Tower hinted that it was of some importance. Lit sconces marked the walls at equal intervals. Statues of various religious icons, historical figures and paintings littered the walls. For Petros they typified what this place represented: knowledge, respect and truth.

  The door swung open and a man of thirty summers stood behind it. “Knight Captain, Troop Captain,” said a quiet voice. The man nodded to each respectively. “You are to go in immediately.”

  Petros looked at him noting the swarthy skin, dark hair and eyes. Though he wore no armour a dagger hung down by his waist. The man was an administrator but the Knight Captain could see the ambitious fire that burned in his eyes. “Mage Cade is it not?” said Petros. “You have done well to reach this position.”

  The young man bowed stiffly. “It is Key Keeper Cade now, Knight Captain.”

  Petros ignored the rebuke and looked up and down the corridor before stepping through the doorway. At the end of the corridor guarding the top of the stairwell stood two Guardians. They were dressed in a similar fashion to a Trooper, only they were all in white, and carried spear and shield. It was for that reason they were nicknamed “White Knights” by the people of Wardens Keep. The purpose of the guards was simple: to make certain that none approached the Council’s Chamber.

  “We should go in, Knight Captain,” said Laban formally.

  Petros nodded and stepped forward. As he reached the barrier of the doorway he stopped. His arm trembled. “I can feel magick from within.” He looked at Cade. “The Council is inside?” Cade nodded. “With someone?”

  “Yes,
Knight Captain” replied Cade. “The magick is not of the Council. Even they cannot use their power in here.”

  Petros looked at the Squadron Troop Captain. “Perhaps we should go in and find out whom?”

  Laban nodded though the Knight Captain noticed that there was an edge of tension in his friend’s eyes. Petros stepped forward first, hand on dagger. From within the room the magick of the Gradalis left him.

  It looked more like a large study than any other type of room with its wall-to-wall bookcases stuffed full of books and parchments. There were several tables to work at and chairs of varying lengths which ranged between those of normal size to those which a person could stretch out on and sleep if need be. Surprisingly, for once, the room was actually tidy. The fireplace had a small lit fire within, obviously to take the chill out of the early morning air.

  To the rear of the room, furthest from the door, gathered all the Council members, surrounding someone that Petros could not see. They were talking in depth, a mumble of different conversations all at once that made it impossible for the Knight Captain to catch any of what they were discussing.

  A deep voice suddenly boomed out over them all. “We are now all here. Let us begin.”

  Petros knew that it was the Bridge Maker who had spoken. The crowd parted to allow him through. He approached the Knight Captain and Laban with a smile. He greeted each man warmly in turn, his robes sweeping behind him in the wake of his quick gait. His dark eyes almost seemed to gleam with an excitable energy.

  “Come,” he motioned the two men forward. “There is someone I want you to meet.”

  Petros stumbled forward and joined the semi-circle of the Council members, nodding to those that he was more familiar with. Before them stood a single man, a Kel’akh Oak Seer, considered the Knight Captain, judging by the brown robes he wore. Except that he bore no tattoos of the Kel’akh people he would have to display. He was taller than the average man with brown hair cut short and clean-shaven. He seemed to have seen at least forty summers and had a long face with a long nose. Even though he wore a plain robe it was easy to see that he was of a muscular build but it was his eyes that caught Petros’s attention the most. They were of a violet colour that seemed to peer unflinching into his very soul.

  The Bridge Maker stood next to the mysterious Oak Seer. “Men and women of the Council, may I introduce Ladra.”

  Petros looked at the Council members on either side of him. It was obvious to him that none of them knew who this newcomer was.

  “Council members, Knight Captain and Troop Captain,” began the Oak Seer in hurried tones. “Time is short so I must excuse the lack of niceties. No matter what you think the Dark Druid is very real and he is here.” Several of the Council members scoffed at that but Ladra continued unperturbed. “His mission is to kill the boy Abram, whom you all know, or at the very least steal his power. As you know he is a child born of two parents from the descendants of the long dead Jay’keb kings and the magick that he brings into this world will be a power beyond measure.”

  Ladra stopped talking as raised murmurs flooded the room, allowing the information to sink in. Petros looked at the Oak Seer. He was convinced that he was holding further information back. Ladra continued.

  “For those who were not Council members at the time may I remind you that the boy was saved some twelve years ago by the former Knight Protector, Meuric of Kel’akh.”

  Petros knew the story. Everyone did. It had been him who sent Zuleika along with the Brown Tower Squadron to Jay’keb only to find Meuric already there. He looked at Laban. The Squadron Troop Captain had actually been there, serving as a Troop Servant then. Their mission was to meet up with Knight Protector David and then make their way to Ber’ek to spirit the boy and his family away to Wardens Keep for safety.

  “More recently though Meuric has saved him once again,” continued Ladra. “This time it was at the coastal town of Ah’mos in northern Ar’en. Unfortunately Knight Protector Qadir lost his life there protecting the child.”

  Petros was shocked at the news just as many of the Council members were. There were only so many Knight Protectors in the world. The loss of one fellow Knight affected them all greatly.

  “Why were we not informed of his death!” demanded Petros.

  “Where is the child now?” asked the Bridge Maker, completely overshadowing the Knight Captain’s question.

  “First of all,” said Ladra, “allow me to show you the stakes.”

  With a wave of his hand the air hardened to produce a screen that appeared in mid-air, just above and a little in front of the Council’s heads. Everyone was shocked by this, noticed Petros, except for the Bridge Maker who seemed perfectly calm despite the presence of a man who could produce magick in a room that prevented it. The idea was that magick was blocked for the express reason that all who entered the room were on an even keel.

  “How is this possible?” gasped Laban.

  Petros shook his head, unable to answer. He looked at the screen overhead. It reminded him of a large rectangular shield only totally flat. It seemed to match the measurement of a man’s height in length and half that in height and perhaps a sword’s blade in depth. That was where the resemblance ended though, for instead of metal the screen seemed to be a shimmering like a pool of water.

  A series of moving pictures formed. The first was of a dark-robed figure astride a horse, accompanied by several others. One bore the robes of a Roz’eli senator while another, a woman, wore the garb of a Kel’akh warrior. The remainder seemed to be Men-of-the-Legion. Together they stood on top of a sand dune completely focused upon a coastal town before them.

  “Who is the woman?” Petros heard himself ask. If this was to be his next mission he needed all the information that would be afforded him.

  “We do not know yet,” responded the Oak Seer. “As you will see Free Archers were operating in Ah’mos at the time of the attack. We think that she was their commander.”

  Petros was stunned but was careful not to show it. He was lying. It was a good line and perhaps one that was a half-truth but there was a definite omission of veracity there. His eyes flickered to his most trusted friend. Their eyes met and Laban nodded in agreement. For Petros that only confirmed it. He looked at the Bridge Maker who seemed to be just as oblivious as all the others to the untruth.

  “Where are these images coming from?” asked Petros.

  “From me,” responded Ladra. “This is what I witnessed. I was unseen the whole time I was there.”

  The pictures moved forward. He watched with military interest the attack that took place. The initial clandestine attacks undertaken by Free Archers not only creating havoc but at the same time gaining intelligence as if searching for something or someone; the siege machines pounding the walls; the final push by the infantry units while the cavalry held the flanks to stop anyone escaping from the town. It was totally professional and completely efficient.

  Ladra then closed in on the fight between the Dark Druid and Meuric. A gasp of shock expelled from most members when they saw the former Knight Protector fall and being left at the mercy of their enemy. Stunned silence filled the room when the Dark Druid allowed Meuric to live.

  “Why?” asked one. Petros looked to the voice. It was Kettledrum, Lord Shaman from the lands far to the west.

  Ladra shook his head. “In all honesty we do not know.”

  “Who is ‘we’?” asked the Knight Captain.

  Ladra looked to him and smiled slyly yet still refrained from answering. Realising quickly that he was not going to get an answer he looked once again at the screen above his head. What shook him the most was the fact that Meuric was defeated. When it came to combat only the Knight Protector David of Jay’keb was technically better, but it was the former Knight Protector who was much more dangerous. Petros noticed the Council leader’s eyes quietly regarding him. The pictures moved on.

  Now he was witnessing the chaos that went on at the harbour. People openly crushed one anot
her just to make passage on any sailing vessel. He observed how the Royal Family boarded the Widan, which seemed to be nothing more than an ageing trading ship. He watched in silence the death of one of their own and saw how Meuric strived to reach him in time. He felt proud when watching the Kel’akh warrior, knowing that he continued to fight for what they all struggled for. It had been many years since he had last seen Meuric.

  “Why did Qadir not use his Gifts?” asked Daciana, Lady Prēost of the Council.

  “It is part of Abram’s natural Gifts,” answered Ladra. “Around him magick will not work making all men equal. Every year that barrier of anti-magick expands.”

  “So he really is the foretold child from the Jay’keb scriptures,” commented Kettledrum. “He is the one that will bring equality to the world?”

  “Yes he is,” answered the Oak Seer.

  “Praise to Junives,” cried out Daciana. Petros could see that there were tears in her eyes. Someone put a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

  “Indeed,” said Ladra, exposing a knowing smile. “Please keep watching. There is not much left.”

  The pictures moved on. After the death of Qadir everyone could see Meuric use one of his Gifts and fly to the Roz’eli warship Malitia and attack its crew single-handed in an apparent suicide mission just to allow the Widan to get away. That was when the pictures froze and the screen vanished.

  “What happened to Meuric?” asked Petros.

  Ladra looked at everyone when he said, “Be sure in the knowledge that he escaped and has returned home.”

  Immediately men and women began to talk, voices rising over others just to be heard. The Bridge Maker held up his hands. Instantly there was silence.

  “There will be time enough to talk about this later. For now return to your duties. We will meet again in a short while. Remember, this is of a most secret nature.” As everyone turned to leave the Bridge Maker spoke again. “Laban and Petros, please remain.”