Meuric

  “Help me,” he pleaded. “We must find something reflective so that we can signal her.”

  It took only a moment. On the floor in a small crate full of straw Bradán found a hand-held highly polished and decorated bronze mirror. Tacitus snatched it from him and immediately stood by the window. He angled the hand mirror to catch the daytime light.

  “What you are doing is risky,” warned Bradán.

  “We must,” responded the senator as he continued signalling. “We cannot stay here.”

  The Druid Captain stood next to Tacitus in silence and waited. They only had to wait for several heartbeats before the senator gained her attention and he saw Mailís look up in their direction. He noted the almost imperceptible nod from her.

  Bradán could feel energy fill the room just before it vanished. They appeared in what seemed to be the main living area of a family dwelling. Fortunately for them it seemed to be vacated at that present time. Immediately the Druid Captain made for the closest window and gazed out. From their angle to Theirn’s home, they now stood in the home that they had found Mailís leaning against. Bradán let slip a sigh of relief. He had seen this very building being searched earlier.

  “Where is everyone,” asked Tacitus in a harsh whisper.

  “There can only be two reasons for that,” surmised the Druid Captain, equally quiet. “Either they are all absent from Rabi’a or they are all members of the War Band and are answering the call to duty.” He hoped that it was not the second option.

  The room was in typical Roz’eli fashion, but had the feel of a Kel’akh home. The house was square in shape, with several adjoining rooms and with a flat roof above. The hearth, the heart of the home within the tribes, sat directly in the middle of the building with a funnel-shaped chimney just above it. It was this that drew and extracted the smoke away from the family whenever lit. Typical of the Kel’akh people, the furniture was sparse but comfortable. Bradán could see the senator cast a disapproving eye over the whole home.

  “I would not let my rats live here,” he spat, derision cast all over his face.

  Bradán let the comment go. In an unhurried fashion he closed the wooden shutters but did not secure them into place, allowing them to remain ajar ever so slightly to peer out. At night, or during harsh weather, the shutters were secured by a latch. In the Kel’akh Nation they were still using animal hides, cloth or wood panelling to block out the wind and the rain.

  Rainier was only a short distance away and Bradán was positioned just behind him and to his left. The Druid Captain angled himself to see Mailís but she was stationed just beyond his field of vision. Suddenly he felt the presence of Tacitus close to him and his sickening sweet breath on the side of his neck.

  “I want to see,” sniped the senator.

  “No,” stated Bradán bluntly, like a father scolding a child. “Do something useful and bar the doors to the room and ensure that all the shutters are closed and secured. It may allow us a few extra moments of protection if we need it.”

  Grudgingly, the senator moved off and Druid Captain watched him until he had placed the thick wooden plank across the two doorways. It was good enough to prevent anyone, short of a battering ram, from entering.

  “I know that we have never met, my lady,” Bradán was hearing Rainier say. “Yet you seem so familiar.”

  “We have in a fashion,” answered Mailís stepping out more into the open and into Bradán’s view. “I, of course, have heard of you… the great and mighty Rainier.” She chuckled mockingly at that last bit, as she offered a curt bow. “My name is Mailís.”

  Bradán looked at her now as if seeing her truly for the first time. She appeared to be of near thirty summers. She possessed a smooth and pale complexion, yet at the same time she seemed somehow ageless. She was slim and tall for a woman with tight wavy brown hair. She had the same tawny brown eyes as Tacitus did.

  Bradán frowned. Why had he never noticed that before? Her face was oval in shape with a small pert nose and full lips. She wore the same clothes as a Kel’akh warrior with black leggings and a red tunic laced with gold. A black cloak was tied around her shoulders. She also held a sword and dagger, both strapped to her narrow waist.

  The perception of truth is what has been given to you.

  Bradán did not react to the woman’s voice from within his mind. He was actually becoming used to the disembodied utterances. Was it truly the goddess Wis that Abram had claimed was speaking to him? Bradán’s vision of the wicce altered slightly.

  Looking closer he could see an almost transparent mist secrete from her body, the very edge of which reached out with wispy tentacles as if alive. It shifted forward, probing, exploring at the sound of Rainier’s voice until it had at last found him. Like a predator it consumed its prey, enveloping the War Band Commander in the space of a heartbeat.

  Bradán looked on closely. He had half expected the mist to strip away his flesh or something equally horrible. Instead, Rainier did not cry out in pain or act in any way different. Disappointingly his shoulders simply dropped slightly. Bradán scowled. It seemed that Rainier was unaware of the fog that covered him.

  “She is beautiful is she not?” whispered Tacitus into the Druid Captain’s ear.

  Bradán started. He had not heard Tacitus approach, nor had any sense of his movement being so close to him. Idiot, he screamed silently to himself. So intent was he upon the mist and Mailís that he had failed to realise where Tacitus was. Nevertheless, he could not understand how this man had got so close without even the awareness of his presence nearby. But then, considered Bradán, the senator was no ordinary man. The strength and speed that he had displayed earlier had proven that. He was not to be underestimated.

  “Under Roz’eli laws,” Rainier was saying. “The women in Kel’akh-conquered lands are not allowed to bear arms except for those who make it into the ranks of the Federate Mercenaries or Free Archers.”

  “And rightly so,” declared Tacitus in a whisper. “Their place should be at the hearth and with their babes and tending to their menfolk.”

  Bradán smiled knowingly. “Never mind the fact that when you refuse Kel’akh women to bear arms you immediately cut their military force by half.”

  “Ever the general,” hissed Tacitus through his teeth, which the Druid Captain took to be a laugh. He smiled coldly. “Considering how hard it was for us to take this cursed land do you blame us? One of your own leaders at the time allowed your women and children to starve to death rather than open the gates for fear of our forces pushing through.”

  The mist had moved on now, inching closer to the window where the two men were peering out. Fascinated, Bradán watched it scale the nearby walls like an invisible vine. He jumped slightly as a wispy tendril suddenly appeared over the window ledge directly in front of him. It crept forward at a cautious pace and Bradán allowed it to find one of his fingers, curious to see what, if anything, would happen. Without any warning the haze blanketed his hand. Out of reflex, he leapt back almost knocking Tacitus over.

  “Do not let it touch you,” whispered the senator. “If you want to keep your mind focused.”

  He knows! Bradán was stunned, not only the speed at which the mist had pounced, but also at the way it had made him feel. The need to obey Mailís without pause, no matter the consequence to others, was almost overwhelming upon contact. With the mist no longer in contact with his skin, the feeling instantly vanished. And that was only with the slightest touch, Bradán realised. Outside Rainier was covered with those intangible vapours.

  Bradán looked at the senator. He was standing stock still, one arm raised at the elbow, the fingers of that hand wiggling ever so slightly. This new sight allowed him to see the mist coil itself around Tacitus’s arm like a snake and mingle between his fingers, almost playfully. It was like a pet recognising its master, or maybe the mist had identified the senator as one of Mailís’s favourites. Tacitus was staring at him now. Bradán could guess what he was thinking. How had he seen
the mist with no background in magick? He returned to his position by the window, careful to avoid the mist, but this time made sure that the senator was in his field of vision.

  “I have come in for some supplies,” explained Mailís as she smiled sweetly. “I am making my way north to my homeland. I entered Rabi’a only moments before your men closed the gates.” It was a smooth lie, agreed Bradán, and not too implausible. Maybe that was how her influence worked? “I understand that you a have a child here, a boy with special Gifts. Where is he exactly?”

  Bradán watched the Dark Druid’s lover smile as she spoke. Her grin was radiant with just a hint of flirtation. Her eyes sparkled with mischief. Her image wavered in front of him. Now when he looked into her eyes all he saw were dead cold orbs that glared at Rainier with hatred and disgust.

  Mortals are so small. I hate that I am forced to interact with them.

  It was Mailís’s voice within the Druid Captain’s mind now. He froze. Mailís was a goddess! He had always just seen her as his master’s lover, a wicce with power. Now he knew that she was so much more. Part of him wanted to know which goddess she was. He had no memory of a divine being named Mailís. That did not mean that she could simply not be the bastard daughter of one of the major gods. He forced himself to relax. He could not allow Tacitus to discover what he had learned. His death would be assured if he did. Bradán now wondered if his master, the Dark Druid, knew of Mailís’s secret.

  “He is staying in one of the upper rooms in the Travelers’ Inn,” complied Rainier. “Come with me, Mailís, and I shall lead you to him.”

  Bradán saw the War Band Commander turn. His eyes were wide, unblinking and had glazed over. He had seen that same look when witnessing the aftermath of those on strong and powerful narcotics. The wicce reached out to Rainier.

  “No, my sweet man,” said Mailís. Bradán noted the fleeting look of fear on her face. “I cannot go there just yet. I want you to kill him for me.”

  Rainier stood stock still. His body began to shake. He suddenly staggered then collapsed to the ground. Bradán could see him lying on the ground twitching. He opened and closed his fists in anguish. He groaned in pain.

  “I cannot do that,” he muttered through gritted teeth.

  He is fighting the command of a goddess, came the voice of Wis. Like any of us she cannot make someone do something against his will if you are strong enough. She can only influence… strongly influence! Even we are bound by the laws of men.

  Bradán closed his eyes and focused his thoughts.

  Do something, he demanded of the goddess. You must help Rainier!

  He checked himself for thinking such thoughts. His loyalty should have been to the Dark Druid and his allies.

  I cannot, answered Wis. That is why I contact you now.

  Tell me first, goddess, asked Bradán. Why does she fear the boy so?

  But there was no answer and Bradán could no longer feel her presence in his mind. Either she was gone or she was simply refusing to answer. Perhaps what affects Mailís can also affect the whole of the pantheon. The Druid Captain opened his eyes. Mailís was now kneeling next to Rainier.

  “You are strong for a man, Rainier,” commented the goddess. “You will go now and kill Abram. Afterwards you will immediately kill yourself.”

  Mailís began to stroke the War Band Commander’s head. Rainier grimaced. His body recoiled as if in great pain. He shook his head violently. His hand inched down towards his sword, grabbed its grip and he seemed to gather strength from that act.

  “No,” he growled.

  Body quivering, racked with pain, he stood unsteadily. He drew his sword though he could hardly raise it.

  Mailís smiled in delight. “I cannot believe that a mere mortal shook off my thrall. Nevertheless you will kill that boy!”

  Out of nowhere came the first arrow. Bradán had only time to gasp before the black quarrel shot past the window directly for Mailís’s heart. Faster still was her arm. It shot up, catching the bolt mid-flight. Immediately she spun, easily catching a second arrow from another direction. A torrent of flames from a third direction surged forward. It consumed the goddess totally. Rainier collapsed onto the ground diving away from the heat. Next to Bradán, the senator gasped.

  “She cannot be dead,” muttered the senator, as if he was reciting a mantra. “Nothing can kill her.”

  The flames died away leaving Mailís unharmed. Her clothing remained untouched by the fire.

  “Mortal magick,” laughed Mailís aloud. “It is so pitiful.”

  From a fourth direction came a new object. Though large, it moved faster than the arrow. Looking no more than a black blur it impacted squarely with Mailís. She fell forward hard, swiftly curled up into a ball before rolling smoothly onto her feet. Before her stood a man dressed all in black, with the same coloured leather armour. Two silver stripes crossed his shoulder. A full-face helm hid his identity. In one hand a black-bladed sword glistened in the daylight. On his other arm a large black circular shield rested. His deep brown eyes blazed with controlled fury through the single eye-slit.

  “My turn,” he stated.

  XLVIII

  Bradán could not believe what he was seeing.

  Magnificent is he not, whispered Wis into the ear of the Druid Captain.

  Bradán had to admit that he agreed.

  The Knight Protector stood before Mailís proud, confident and unafraid. His eyes were locked upon his opponent, his focus total. His shield had been placed in front of him defensively while he laid the blade of his sword horizontally on top of that shield. Surely he must know who he is facing, reasoned Bradán. He did not know which of the Knight Protectors stood outside the building but he must have had some semblance of the power he faced, with the Gifts he possessed. A noise suddenly touched Bradán’s ears. He turned. By one of the side windows he heard a faint whisper followed by the slightest scrap of metal against wood.

  “Move,” cried the warrior.

  He grabbed Tacitus roughly as he dragged him to the ground. Several crossbow quarrels shot through all the windows, embedding into the walls and floor or ricocheting around them at varying angles. The banging of men’s bodies shoulder-charging the barred doors reverberated within the room.

  “We need to get upstairs,” yelled Tacitus, clutching the warrior as he attempted to stand.

  “We cannot,” cried Bradán, pulling him back down to the ground. “We are trapped in this room.” He had a sudden thought. “Mailís,” he yelled at the top of his lungs. “Help us.”

  The two men promptly vanished only to appear next to the wicce. Bradán allowed himself to survey his surroundings for a short moment only. Frantically the Knight Protector was battling the goddess. He was obviously outclassed. As impossibly fast as he was, Mailís was infinitely faster. Even if she did not possess the necessary skill of a warrior, her sword moved almost quicker than his eye could follow.

  Mailís laughed aloud as she lightly cut the Knight Protector time and time again, toying with him. She was fully enjoying this, realised Bradán. He looked to his left and right. A man and woman had aimed their bows and were waiting for a clear shot. Next to them a young mage was concentrating on his magick. All around them from various directions Rainier’s men were closing in. It was time to go, he realised.

  “Mailís,” yelled Bradán urgently. “We need to leave now!”

  The wicce paused and glared about her. All of a sudden an oval silhouette of shimmering light appeared only a short distance away. It was easily the size of three men in both breadth and height. Bradán immediately knew exactly what it was. A Doorway Narration had been formed. Instinctively he knew that it was not from his master. As if to answer him, two more Knight Protectors rode out from the magickal doorway on horseback. One was a man and the other a woman. Sizing up what was happening, they instantly slid off their saddles and drew their black swords. The Druid Captain screamed at Mailís though he could not remember what he said, such was his desperation. Th
e wicce nodded in agreement. A sudden thick mist swirled around Bradán, Tacitus and the wicce, enveloping them to mask them from any projectiles. An instant later they were all gone.

  XLIX

  “I so love it here,” whispered Meuric as he lay back. He looked over to the woman who accompanied him. “With you of course,” he added swiftly. A mischievous smile pursed his lips.

  Dervla gave him a playful slap on his chest. She rolled into him as if seeking comfort in his strong arms. A sigh of contentment slipped from Meuric’s lips. The warrior was bare-chested relishing the heat upon his torso supplied by San, the god of sunlight and fertility. He squeezed his wife a little tighter.

  “Where are the children?” asked the warrior.

  “A short distance along water’s edge,” she smiled at him. Meuric tensed. “Do not worry, my husband. They are safe.”

  Meuric grunted in resigned acknowledgement. He trusted Dervla without question. From an early age the boys had known not to enter the water, not even in fun. It was not uncommon for children to tragically get caught up in the reeds and drown. Both he and Dervla had taught the two boys to swim from even before they could walk properly. Having now passed their seventh and ninth birthdays respectively, their two sons were now accomplished swimmers.

  The couple lay by the water’s edge. They stared in silence at the mist that constantly surrounded the Isle of Gla’es, acting like a natural shield. Beyond that stood the beginnings of the Great Wood and the remainder of the Daw’ra tribe. Beyond that still was the remainder of the mighty Kel’akh Nation, where the Daw’ra tribe was positioned almost in the exact centre. But for Meuric, all that now felt as if it were a thousand leagues away.

  All he cared about at this moment was that he was lying on the grass with the love of his life. Meuric kissed the top of Dervla’s head and dragged his eyes from the clear blue skies above to look to his right. He spied the newly built crannóg. He watched as old man Belenos fished from his platform while his equally elderly wife, Agrona, brushed debris from the entrance to their new wooden home.