Meuric

  He had just stripped down his horse, Paden, off his saddle and harness before sitting down to eat a lunch of salted beef with bread covered with honey, washed down with water from a flask. He had only lain down to rest for a moment and must have immediately drifted off. A sudden feeling of unease began to settle over him. He slowed his breathing as he began to focus his mind. Abruptly a vision entered his mind.

  It was a picture of four men on horseback riding two-by-two. Three of them looked like soldiers of Roz’eli ilk though they were all dressed as Kel’akh warriors. There was something about the way they carried themselves on horseback, the positioning of their weapons and their style of dress. The fourth man, the eldest by some decades, looked more like a hireling, battle-hardened and proud. He looked to them all with his Spirit Eyes, a form of clairvoyance that allowed the aura of a person to be shown.

  A dark shadow hung over the three that Meuric marked as professional soldiers. One of them, riding next to the old man, was especially cruel and eager to kill. He had the darkest shadow surrounding him. He looked closer at the elderly hireling. With that one there seemed to be no black cloud lingering about him. A myriad of colours surrounded him as it did with every other living person only around that spectrum of light a greyness enveloped the colours. It marked him as touched by the darkness but it had yet to claim his soul. He watched fascinated as his aura pulsated against the darkness, keeping it at bay.

  The warrior retreated from the Spirit Eyes and focused further and saw that all the men’s clothes were made of the highest quality, clean, yet well-worn. It was the same with the many weapons they carried. Only the two men to the rear bore Kel’akh-styled tattoos. On a casual inspection he would have classed them as hirelings but three of them definitely had a military feel to them. The young man to the front carried the look and arrogance of a Roz’eli though he had the bone structure of an E’del man. Was it all a coincidence so soon after Ah’mos? So close to Radha losing her Link? He doubted it. The older man’s hairstyle and weapons also marked him as a man from E’del. Somehow he knew that they were tracking him.

  Meuric hastily saddled Paden and sat upon his horse. He cantered out from under the trees and stopped dead centre on the trail, turning his horse to face the oncoming warriors. He looked to each weapon on hand. His double-bolt crossbow he loaded and set across his lap. He removed the thongs that kept two small throwing knives reversed and up the inside of his leather vambraces. He knew that he could control Paden, a trained warhorse, by his thighs alone, if need be.

  He slowed his breathing, relaxed his mind and sat patiently. He decided not to change into the uniform of a Knight Protector in case he was wrong and it was not him they sought. Meuric only had to wait for some moments to pass for the four warriors to round the bend. The Daw’ra man took more than a little pleasure in seeing that three of the disguised soldiers seemed to be more than a little disconcerted to find a Kel’akh warrior sitting upon his horse waiting for them.

  The fourth man, the elderly hireling, simply smiled.

  XXXIII

  Bradán breathed in deeply, relishing the various scents he could define, glad all of a sudden that he was alive. He frowned at the thought, wondering why he should feel with such intensity. Everything seemed clear and bright and his eyes seemed to encompass everything that he saw in minute detail, leaving a lasting impression of the Rabi’a village in his mind. It was a sensation that he had come to know extremely well. It happened just before the start of every battle in which he ever partook. But what skirmish? There was no rational reason to presume that a fight was about to begin. He was part of the superior force. The people that he had been searching for had been caught and secured.

  And yet he felt tense.

  He looked to his right. Theirn and Rainier were standing next to him, motionless and silent. Both had those faraway looks in their eyes he had seen a hundred times before on the eve of a battle. It was a look that men carried whenever they had to come to terms with their own mortality. They had to live with the decisions that they had made in life, rightly or wrongly.

  He had seen men write letters home to their parents or loved ones, those of course who could write, or ask a trusted friend to correspond in their stead. More than once he had witnessed soldiers, who by profession were known to be extremely superstitious, remove icons of the gods that they worshipped and spend a short time praying in solitude. Others sought out a prēost and asked forgiveness for the sins that they had committed in life. Others still had cried quietly to themselves in dark corners so as not to spark fear in the troops. Even in the Dark Druid’s Legion Bradán had observed such sights.

  Laughter caught his ears and the Kel’akh warrior watched several children of the town playing mindlessly around the buildings a short distance away, chasing each other, oblivious to the drama that was taking place. Further distant he could see men toiling under the midday sun as they built new homes for extra families who were moving into the area, or extensions on their own homesteads. Soon the protective stone wall that surrounded Rabi’a would need to be extended. Those women who did not have the responsibility of a young family also worked with the menfolk. Though he knew that the Roz’eli would scowl deeply at such a sight, in the Kel’akh culture men and women were considered equal in all things. It was one of the few traits that the Roz’eli could not extinguish from their way of life.

  Bradán gazed at Rainier who was staring hard at the Roz’eli troops, unable to hide the venom in his eyes. The original order was the capture of Abram and to bring him before his master, but somewhere along the line Tacitus had decided to kill the child instead. He could guess what the War Band Commander was feeling, and Theirn too, though he seemed to be in more control of his emotions. He in fact felt it himself.

  For them, for all of them, the murder of the child and his retinue was an evil act and Bradán could almost imagine the blackness of the deed reaching out and clutching at their souls, his own included. As Free Archers, Theirn and Rainier would have been asked to commit such butcheries that regular Men-of-the-Legion would never have been asked to do. The fear was it would forever tarnish that Legion, and the standing and reputation of their armies in the future. Their military hierarchy thought of everything when it came to the conquering and occupation of lands.

  Between the children playing and where the Roz’eli Men-of-the-Legion readied themselves, Bradán watched several of Rabi’a’s War Band approach and stop just short of their commander. They were led by a woman, which again surprised the Druid Captain. In his opinion, she was most likely to be Rainier’s second-in-command. She was tall and lean and carried herself well. Her hair was shockingly red and Bradán reasoned that she must be a descendant from the tribes far to the north in Kel’akh. They were well reputed for their fiery coloured hair and their equally fierce tempers.

  “Who is she?” asked Bradán, indicating the red-haired woman.

  “My Lieutenant, Ysolt,” responded Rainier. The tone was short, precise, and with no embellishments. It was clear to Bradán that the War Band Commander could only tolerate her at best.

  Bradán looked at Theirn. In a quiet voice he asked, “How is it that you have a War Band? You hold only a village. Are you not too small for such a force?”

  The Rabi’a man looked hard at the Druid Legion Captain. “Everyone in Rabi’a is a member of the War Band.”

  Although the Kel’akh warrior could now see about a dozen members of the War Band milling about casually a short distance away, he caught a glimpse of others surrounding them at a discreet distance. Whether that was to keep the citizens of Rabi’a away from the executions or to keep the Roz’eli troops, and him, ring-fenced remained to be seen. Looking at the War Band, Bradán could tell without any doubt that Rainier’s warriors seemed none too happy about the killings either. He could not but help notice that they were all fully equipped with sword, shield, spear and bow.

  They were too well armed.

  Bradán allowed himself a quick glanc
e to confirm that his way was clear to the building behind. No one had silently come up to the rear of him and blocked his way. If this was truly an ambush, he would lead his men to the Chieftain’s Chamber and barricade them in. From there he would hope to negotiate a truce for himself and his men or defend themselves long enough so that his Lord and Master would spirit them away with magick. It was not much of a plan but it was a plan.

  To Bradán’s left, half of the Emperor’s troops had dismounted and had gathered their bows with a single arrow. Those who were taking part in the firing squad handed their pila to their companions for safe keeping.

  Casually Bradán stepped closer to the Druid’s Legion’s Chosen Man. “Stand ready. I fear that there may be more going on here than meets the eye.”

  The man, suddenly fearful, nodded and quietly passed the word along to the remainder of the Druid’s men. Bradán watched Theirn wave over the woman with red hair. Ysolt immediately jogged over, holding onto the grip of her sword. She rattled with the amount of weaponry she bore. Her face was a mask of disgust when she noticed the Roz’eli archers. When she stopped she looked Bradán up and down, sizing him up. Her face never relinquished that look of disgust.

  “Ignore him,” said Rainier to the woman. He was indicating the Druid Captain. “He may not be one of us but he has no love for Roz’eli either. Is everyone here?”

  “For the most part,” answered Ysolt. “Some are on guard and I have sent out a roaming patrol to secure the perimeter. Your sons are still to return though.” In hushed tones she added, “Are we really going to allow this? Even if Wyeth returns with Oak Seer Ulrich now,” she cast Bradán a furtive glance, “it is too late. The Roz’eli would surely kill us all if they find out about your friend.”

  Bradán almost nodded in agreement with them, but caught himself just before he did so. The Oak Seers were outlawed throughout Roz’eli territories that formerly belonged in the Kel’akh Nation, so great was the fear the Empire had of that sect. Even to know one by association could mean death. The Empire had every reason to worry about them.

  The Oak Seers possessed not only very powerful magick but they also carried the law of the land with them. They were a symbol to the people that encouraged unity and valour. No one in Kel’akh would refuse an Oak Seer. If they asked for you to lay down your life you would do it, so great was your faith and trust in them. Bradán knew that one day they would have to kill them all if they wanted any chance to conquer the remainder of the Kel’akh Nation.

  The Druid Captain looked at Rainier and saw the despondency in his face. “I was hoping that Ulrich would have been here first but since he is constantly moving his hiding places it makes it more and more difficult to find him. We have no choice for the moment but to obey and before you argue I’ve already had it out with Theirn. He fears for the village and he has good reason to.”

  Seeing that his Lieutenant was about to speak Rainier added, “Just remember that if you are ever to make Chieftain your first loyalty is to your people. Have the War Band make a half-circle around the Emperor’s men, but facing outward. If the townsfolk are in any way feeling like us we will have a riot on our hands very soon. Make certain that every other man carries a baton, a knife and a shield. The remaining warriors are to carry bows with an arrow nocked at the ready.”

  Ysolt gave a crisp salute and wandered over to Rabi’a’s waiting warriors. Quietly she began implementing her commander’s orders.

  XXXIV

  I am with you, Meuric, sounded the voice of Radha from within the Daw’ra warrior’s mind.

  The former Knight Protector frowned momentarily, distracted by her voice, though he fought hard not to show any change in his demeanour. This was what he did. He knew that he was going into battle. Where most would now be fuelled by adrenalin he was the opposite. A coldness would settle into him, almost as if he was devoid of any emotion. He waited patiently, anticipating the moment when they would either speak or fight. Moments passed and nothing happened. He looked at each of the men before him.

  The three younger warriors were wide eyed and eager. It was the old man who kept them in check, simply by his sheer presence. He seemed calm, almost amused by the scene.

  I need to know what they are thinking, Radha, said Meuric silently. Look through my eyes. See what I see. Do the old man first.

  His name is Thales. The name floated around Meuric’s mind like a ship on a great sea. Thales of E’del, whispered Radha, her voice sounding like a distant echo.

  The name was familiar to the warrior though he had never had cause to meet him. Only the most secretive of contractors spoke of Thales the hireling, so great a guarded secret was his identity. It was reported that he was an honourable man, purely professional in hireling circles. He was someone who would refuse to do certain jobs that would reflect badly on him and his character.

  Thales is distracted. He is thinking of home, continued Radha. He is an old man and knows he has only so long left to live. He is wondering about the safety of his daughter when he is gone. She is getting married in a short time. Meuric, her betrothed is Knight Protector Iason. He loves him like a son.

  Damn.

  What of the other three? asked Meuric.

  A moment’s silence followed by Radha saying, They are men of the Dark Druid. They are tasked to kill you and then Thales.

  “Thales of E’del,” began Meuric aloud. He gazed coldly at all the men. “I am Meuric of the Daw’ra.”

  Meuric could feel their fear and excitement. All reacted to him speaking except for the E’del hireling. He continued to lean lazily on one of the curvatures of his four-horned saddle. Thales offered a wry smile though his eyes were vacant of any humour.

  “So much for the element of surprise,” he muttered, his tirade mostly directed at his companions. “You’d think I should know better at my age.”

  Meuric smiled coldly. “I am no ordinary prey.”

  The three Dark Druid soldiers shifted uncomfortably in their saddles. Tension was building. The E’del hireling looked to the man next to him.

  “Gavriil, control your men,” he hissed.

  “Then do something, old man,” whispered the younger rider harshly under his breath, “or I will.”

  Unhurriedly, Thales shifted in his saddle, attempting to seem as unthreatening as possible. The whole time Meuric could see that he was scanning the area with his hawk-like eyes. He was weighing up his options with his many years of experience behind him. Meuric considered the question of what to do. The men before him were his enemy, no matter who they were connected with, and yet Iason was not just a Knight Protector but a friend. He had so few of them in the world these days.

  “Thales, before we begin you should know that these men next to you have orders to kill you upon my death,” began Meuric.

  “Nonsense,” screeched Gavriil. His voice screeched in a bluster. “How could he possibly know that? He is attempting to distract you, Thales.”

  The E’del man nodded. “I expected as much. I was prepared for that eventuality.”

  The three men belonging to the Dark Druid looked to one another, unsure what to do next. Was he talking to them or the warrior before them? The hireling continued to stare unwaveringly at Meuric. His gaze was like iron.

  “Naturally I have heard of you. We are mentioned in the same circles. I had thought more of you, Meuric. I did not believe that I would find you begging for your life.”

  Meuric shook his head. “I am begging for yours. Iason is an old friend.”

  Though his face remained impassive, the Daw’ra man could see Thales’s eyes waver. “How is that possible? He is a simple merchant; a man of limited courage. I do not believe that he has even ever left E’del.”

  Meuric continued to stare at the hireling. He hoped that the E’del man would believe him. “No, Thales, Iason and I are the same.”

  The E’del hireling remained silent for some moments. Slowly he sat up straight and casually drew the sword at his waist. Without any hast
e he untied his small round shield and slid his arm through the straps at its rear. On seeing what he was doing the three soldiers of the Dark Druid followed suit and at the same pace. One man, directly to the rear of Thales, loaded a small crossbow.

  Thales said, “Son, I have taken a vow to complete this contract. I have already been paid. I do not know if what you say is the truth but I cannot go back on my word.”

  “So be it,” muttered Meuric coldly.

  There would be no mercy.

  XXXV

  “Chieftain Theirn, come here please,” ordered Tacitus. He looked up to the sky noting that the sun was now past the midday mark. “The day grows long and I have many other tasks to complete.”

  The leader of Rabi’a turned at the mention of his name and saw Tacitus waving him over only a short distance away. Without any comment Theirn immediately moved towards him, resentful that he was summoned like a dog. Bradán could not help but notice how uncomfortable he looked as he walked, though he tried hard to disguise it. Rainier and Bradán quietly fell in step behind him, the Captain of the Druid Legion coming last.

  Bradán looked on closely. Tacitus was laughing and joking loudly in a pompous fashion with the Roz’eli officers, as if he was having an informal gathering with his men. His back was to them. The Druid Captain noticed that Quirinus kept a slight distance from them, only talking when he must. It seemed to Bradán that the senator was making a point by the way he was acting, marking himself and his ilk as the undisputable rulers in this land. The senator turned suddenly at the sound of Theirn’s last few steps. Behind Rainier Bradán stopped suddenly. With hand on sword he scanned the area for any possible dangers.

  “It is unfortunate that your barbarian birth forbade you becoming a member of the Emperor’s Personal Guard,” commented Tacitus, addressing the War Band Commander. “I remember now how the Emperor, during banquets and so forth, still spoke of how you saved his son.” He waved his hand carelessly. He sneered as he quoted.