Meuric

  Confused but realising that something mystical was clearly happening, Petros quietly closed the door as the War Band Commander immediately made his way to the corner of the room where a young man sat on a stool. Older than Xavier, there was no mistaking the family resemblance of the blonde hair, piercing blue eyes and broad shoulders. Wyeth stood on seeing his father. Petros watched in silence as father and son hugged each other fiercely.

  Rainier whispered, “It is so good to see you again.” Wyeth embraced his father tighter at the words. Rainier then asked, “How did you get in? I ordered the village closed to all. I cannot believe that someone let you in without notifying me.”

  “We did not come that way, father.” Wyeth blushed and stepped back. He gave a nervous laugh which he muffled as best he could. “The land let us through.”

  “What?” asked Rainier, incredulous. “What do you mean?”

  Again Wyeth gave another uncertain laugh. “We had stopped outside the village some way back. Ulrich said a blessing then asked the earth to give us passage.” The young man shook his head in disbelief. “The ground opened up and we stepped into a tunnel. We stood on two flat boulders and the opening behind us closed. It was pitch-black, father, and I do not mind admitting that I have never been so scared in all my life.

  “Ulrich told me not to worry though. From all around us approached hundreds of tiny insects giving off their natural light. I could see again and could tell that the tunnel ran on for some distance ahead of us. Ulrich laughed at my obvious discomfort then told me to hold tight to his hand. As soon as I grabbed it the boulders started to move forward at a rapid pace. After a while they stopped and began moving in an upward direction. The ground above us opened up and we found ourselves just outside the rear to the Travelers’ Inn. As soon as we stepped off the rocks the land closed up as if the hole had never been there.

  “Without a word Ulrich then made his way up to this room and I followed. The guards let us in on seeing us. Apparently the boy had told them of our coming.” Wyeth shivered and looked apologetic. “I need to get a bath, father. I don’t think Ulrich was affected but as we travelled underground insects and mud kept dropping down my back and into my hair.” He shivered again. “I will see you later.” He clasped his father’s shoulders and hurried out of the room.

  Rainier smiled as his son speedily left. Quietly he closed the latch on the door after his son, again attempting to minimise any noise. He stood next to Petros before turning his attention first to the boy and then the Oak Seer. He folded his arms and casually leaned against the wall waiting. Even for an immortal such as the Knight Captain the two stared at each other for what seemed to be an age. A sudden thought occurred to him then.

  Even without the use of his Gifts, Petros could feel the energy in the room and know that an incantation was taking place. He could feel the hairs on his arms and the back of his neck rise in response to the energy that saturated such a confined space. And yet for a child such as Abram, who had the power to subdue all forms of magick simply by his very presence, his narrations alone still had the ability to flourish. Now he understood the danger that Abram posed. Certainly to his enemies, possibly to the world. What a mighty weapon he would wield against all who professed magick. It was no wonder that he was both sought after and feared. Finally Ulrich and boy moved and spoke.

  Ulrich bowed. “May the land guard you.”

  Abram bowed. “May He Who Is All Things answer your blessings.”

  The boy smiled sheepishly then moved off to a side door that led to an adjoining room. It contained only a small single window and another door on the opposite side which led to another large adjoining bedroom. The annexe was just large enough to hold a single pallet bed and a torch by which to light the room. Petros had personally checked and secured the rooms earlier and with guards now posted outside they were safe as they could be. Rainier watched the boy go without saying a word. Through the doorway they could see Jemima, the boy’s mother, sitting on a bed. Zahara was kneeling next to her. The boy paused before his mother. Petros watched as Jemima smiled at her son, though it seemed strained.

  Then her eyes met those of the War Band Commander. The Knight Captain could feel the attraction between the two as if it were something tangible. Jemima’s mouth moved ever so slightly as if she was about to speak, then seemed to reconsider. The door slowly closed, as if by magick. Ulrich leapt forward suddenly, without any warning, and grabbed Rainier, catching him totally by surprise.

  “Let go, you big oaf,” snarled the War Band Commander. “You are breaking my ribs.” The Oak Seer promptly dropped him. “I see that you have not lost any of your strength.”

  “You know our ways,” said Ulrich. “Warrior first; everything else is secondary. The rule also applies to Kel’akh Oak Seers, you know.”

  “Well met, old friend,” said Rainier, smiling. “It must be about two seasons since we have last seen each other. There is so much that we need to discuss but the immediate situation calls for us to be focused solely on that.”

  As if on cue Ysolt burst into the room. “He finally talked,” she said, addressing the War Band Commander.

  Ulrich was about to speak when Rainier silenced him with a look. “Who was it?”

  Ysolt explained, “He answers only to that Senator Tacitus, who in turns answers only to a figure known as the Dark Druid and a wicce by the name of Mailís.”

  “The Dark Druid does not exist,” guffawed Ulrich. “A tale to scare those in the world of magick.”

  “But he does,” put in Petros. “The people that I represent have already met him on two occasions. On that second occasion, a member of our organisation died. No easy task I must add.”

  “But getting captured is?” ridiculed Ysolt.

  “Lieutenant,” snapped Rainier. “Be calm.”

  “What are your orders?” fumed Ysolt.

  “Have all the bodies of the Roz’eli soldiers taken out to the Great Wood,” replied Rainier quickly. It was obvious to Petros that the War Band Commander had already thought about this. “Hide them well. Take all of their horses and have them killed too. We dare not keep any for fear of anyone recognising them. Bring Urbanus there also. I do not want him coming back.” Ysolt smiled, nodded and hurried off.

  Petros inspected the Nah’cho Oak Seer. The Kel’akh priest was tall in height, broad and, judging by the way he lifted Rainier, seemed to possess the strength of a bear. His hair was brown and his beard was unkempt but his eyes were a startling blue. He was dressed as a peasant in cheap clothing and a cloak of poor material. His sword though was of excellent quality.

  “When I entered you seemed to be in some sort of correspondence with Abram,” the Knight Captain asked Ulrich. “Tell me what went on between you.”

  Ulrich’s usual jovial face dropped. “As you wish, Knight Captain. He is the Child of Junives. He brings balance to the world and carries the fate of everyone on his shoulders. Without him our world will die for daemons will one day walk amongst us feeding on our very souls.”

  “I bring equality to us all,” came a small voice. People turned to find Abram standing by the door of the annexe. Next to him, Zahara closed the door, leaving Jemima alone in the adjoining room. “But it is neither Tacitus nor the Dark Druid that we need fear. The biggest enemy is a goddess. She is known as Malitia, daughter of the goddess Melevelens, and it is she who is the real power behind all this. She controls the Dark Druid, manipulates him to her will and she is coming for you, Knight Captain. See her now.”

  Petros paled. An image of a woman sitting next to the Dark Druid flashed in his mind. They were overlooking an attack against a coastal Roz’eli town. From inside the vision he could feel her immense power and the dark sickness of her soul. Now he understood who the real threat was. Now he knew what he must learn to do.

  He must now find a way to kill a god.

  XLVI

  Gently Bradán placed the palm of his hand against the door at the sound of voices. He closed it slowly an
d placed the latch quietly. He could feel the smoothness of the grain and in some part of his mind he was aware of the cleanliness of the room and the general good quality of this particular Travelers’ Inn. He almost laughed out loud at the incongruity of it all. Here he was surrounded by enemies, some of which sat in the very next room, and he was comparing tidy rooms in other Travelers’ Inns from across the regions.

  Bradán had appeared in the very room he had concentrated on. He had picked this particular room as he knew that the boy Abram was sleeping only a couple of rooms along from his position though, strangely, he had emerged at the furthest corner away from where he considered his enemies to be. It felt to him that he had come up against some sort of barrier which forbade him from travelling any further. Between his room and the Jay’keb child’s was a small annexe, which was still large enough to contain a single bed but had remained empty.

  His plan was to leave his room and enter the annexe to listen in on what might be said. Another door closed and the voices became more distant. The people in the next room had moved away, he surmised. It was time to move forward to see if he could glean any information.

  Carefully Bradán lifted the latch and opened the door forward. He held his breath praying that it would not creak. His request was answered and he pushed the door open just wide enough so that he could slip through. So fixated was he on the door opposite that led to the next big bedroom that he failed to notice the woman sitting on the bed, her back to him.

  The Druid Captain recognised her to be a Jay’keb woman and mother to Abram. She was completely oblivious of his presence. He berated himself for not checking the corresponding room before he stepped through. It simply had not occurred to him that someone might be in the room. He cursed again at a lack of foresight. As quietly as he could the warrior drew his dagger. The metal blade unintentionally sounded as it slid against its metal sheath. The woman turned at the noise and, like a coiled snake, Bradán leapt upon her. Facing her, he pressed the point of the blade against the woman’s throat.

  “One noise,” he hissed. “And you will never make another.” His face was pressed so close to hers that he could smell local wine upon her breath. “Then I will kill your son!”

  She whispered harshly, “You could never hurt him.”

  Bradán smiled but it was ice cold. His eyes matched that grin. “Are you sure about that? Take the chance if you dare.”

  Bradán looked into her eyes and saw none of the usual fear that he expected to see, only anger and defiance, but he noticed her shoulders sag as she capitulated. He knew that it was not because of him but out of fear for her son. He stepped back, releasing the grip he had on her. But still he held the blade up. There was something about her that reminded him of an older version of his beloved Corliss. He did not realise that they made such women in Jay’keb. Bradán shook his head, disbelieving his thoughts. What was the matter with him? She was the enemy! He had a mission to accomplish! His hand wavered as it held the blade.

  “It is my son that you feel,” whispered the woman, answering his thoughts. “It is Abram. And he is coming.”

  He reached for the magickal orb but it felt cold in his palm. Footsteps growing louder touched his ears. Moving off to the side with deliberate steps, Bradán quietly stepped to the corner of the room that would be behind the opposite door when opened.

  “Not a word, woman,” whispered Bradán, keeping his dagger up threateningly. “Or your son will be the first to die.” The Druid Captain did not have to wait long.

  The door opened only a moment later and in strode Abram. “No, Zahara,” he was saying. “You remain out here. I would like some time alone with my mother.”

  He closed the door. The boy paused as if sensing that something was out of place. Bradán waited for the inevitable cry and held his breath. He could see the boy stare at his mother. She looked like she was about to speak then stopped. For a fraction of a heartbeat her eyes flickered to the Druid Captain then to her son.

  “Well met, Bradán,” said Abram suddenly. The boy turned to face him. “So are you here to hand me to Tacitus, the Dark Druid or Malitia?”

  Bradán was totally taken aback. He stared deep into the dark eyes. He felt himself becoming lost in them. He looked away, not trusting himself.

  “Not a word,” he whispered harshly. “Or I will attack. I serve only the Dark Druid. It is to him that I will bring you.”

  He looked at Abram. He seemed like any other boy at the edge of puberty, only marked by the swarthiness of his skin that protected him from the heat of his homeland. His hair was dark, cut short but still wavy. Compared to the boys of Kel’akh, he may have even been considered a little plump.

  He had in no way envisioned the position in which he now found himself. He could grab the boy but he would surely cry out. He had no way of getting him and himself away. The magick in the orb no longer seemed to work. He could surrender but did not wish to end up being slowly tortured like Urbanus. Or he could kill the child. It was what Tacitus and co. in conjunction with Malitia also wanted. But the Druid Captain was no child killer. His best bet would be to retreat back to the room he had appeared in and then run like the god Mittere.

  Abram smiled. “It makes me glad to hear you say that.”

  “But I did not open my lips,” stammered Bradán.

  The boy nodded. “I know.” He turned to his mother. “It is okay. He will not harm us.” She opened her mouth to speak but Abram interrupted her. “Trust me, mother.” He looked again to Bradán and peered at his shoulder. He frowned then cocked his head to one side as if listening to something. “Wis watches over you, Bradán. She feels that everything depends on you. Faeder, it would seem, agrees to a certain extent.”

  “I do not understand,” stated Bradán. He lowered his knife.

  “I know,” said Abram. “And I cannot explain it to you. The rules that bind the gods also hinder me but I can offer you one small Gift.” He stepped forward and extended his arm. “Be not afraid, man of the I’soolt tribe. I will not harm you.”

  Bradán felt the boy’s fingertips lightly touch his forehead. At first there was nothing, just the warm smooth touch of his skin. Suddenly there was pain like nothing he had ever experienced. He fell to his knees. It was almost as if a knife had been plunged into his forehead. He managed to look up and witness the impossible. It seemed like the boy’s fingertips had sank into his forehead. He grunted, determined not to cry out. The room spun and murkiness clouded the edges of his vision. Abram retracted his hand and just like that the pain was gone. Bradán took a step back and steadied himself.

  “You did well, Bradán,” admitted Abram. “Strong in both body and mind, you are. Those few I have done that to before have all collapsed unconscious. They simply could not take the pain. I can see now why Wis likes you so.”

  “What did you do to me?” Bradán felt the front of his head for marks, but found none.

  Abram looked at the warrior unmoving. I have given you a Gift.

  Bradán caught his breath. “Your lips did not move and yet I heard you.”

  Abram nodded. I gave you a Gift, a small Gift, but a powerful one nonetheless.

  The Druid Captain asked, “What Gift?” He was almost afraid to hear the answer.

  Abram smiled. “I have given you the power to read the minds of the gods. Not just any gods but all of the gods so you may hear the truth of things.”

  Bradán shook his head. “I cannot believe this.”

  “You should,” conveyed Abram passionately, now speaking normally again. “I think that it is time you discovered who you have truly aligned yourself with.”

  Bradán felt the orb that had transported him begin to warm up. Without any warning the room around him abruptly vanished.

  XLVII

  Bradán smiled at the gaping mouth of Tacitus, bursting out of air just in front of him, as he once returned to the storeroom. He could not help but notice the profuse sweat across the forehead of the senator. He smiled inwardly.
Not so brave now, without his magickal escape routes or anyone to fight his battles. Since he had left him a large wooden box had been propped against the door.

  “What did you discover?” asked Tacitus. The sneer was back as was his arrogance after a moment’s recovery.

  “Nothing,” lied Bradán smoothly. “There seemed to be some sort of magickal barrier surrounding the Travelers’ Inn. I tried to get closer but it was too great a risk. I assume that the boy Abram caused it to happen.”

  “You,” smirked the senator, “who are one of the Dark Druid’s favourite and one of his best soldiers, are afraid of a small challenge?”

  “Yes,” answered Bradán, his tone flat.

  He turned away and moved to the window. Discreetly he looked out. He saw several of Rabi’a’s War Band troops scurrying about their duties. Some were making for the walls, others were heading towards the gates. More still were beginning the house-to-house searching. He noted that there were no children out playing and that all the market shops and businesses had been closed. An eerie silence settled over the large village.

  Bradán spotted the War Band Commander leaving the Travelers’ Inn. He was making his way across the open ground in the direction of Theirn’s home when he suddenly slowed, then stopped. Something had gained his attention. Bradán looked to where the War Band Commander was staring. His eyes narrowed and squinted. He could see a Kel’akh warrior woman leaning against one of the homesteads in a completely casual manner.

  “Is that Mailís out there?” he asked, disbelieving what he was seeing.

  Tacitus hurried to his side and, after taking a moment, confirmed, “Yes.” He could not hide his excitement. “Yes it is. We are safe now. We must go to her now.”

  Bradán looked at him sharply. He seemed too animated, just a little bit too keen to reach her. Unnoticed by the senator, the Druid Captain had removed the small black orb from a pocket in his clothing. If Tacitus was about to attack him for the magickal device he wanted to be ready to use it and leave that room. Instead, the senator began searching the room.