Meuric

by Meuric- Beginnings (epub)

  “Let me show you,” said Abram.

  The world about them changed. The blackness receded revealing a nighttime scene. It was moonless night. Stars were obscured by dark clouds. Meuric looked about. They stood dead centre in a large Kel’akh circular fort. Round huts of various sizes surrounded them. It had grown in size since he was a boy to cover half of the isle now. A huge palisade surrounded it. He could just about see some of the guards defending the enclosure. He knew exactly where he was. A place he had not seen in approximately one hundred years.

  The Isle of Gla’es.

  He knew instantly that something was not right. He turned to the main gateway. He could make out vague shapes moving in complete silence. There were several of them in total. Of the two static guards who should have been overlooking the main entryway to Gla’es, there was no sign. Meuric took a step towards it with his knife held ready.

  “Stop,” advised Abram. “This is only a memory. There is nothing that you can do here.”

  In silence the figures slid to the ground. The gateway was opened and in poured a small army. Meuric walked towards them. He could see them form into ten groups of ten men. Each dropped down onto one knee. They drew their weapons. Not a sound was to be heard. Noise was the enemy at night. No warning resonances from Gla’es were raised.

  Now that he was closer he could see them dressed in dark leather armour, so as to keep the noise to a minimum, and carrying only two long-bladed black daggers. The majority wore olive green tunics. He could see two others wearing green and another one in dark green. It was he who gave the attacking force their commands. Systematically they began to work their way forward. In teams of two or three they entered the closest homesteads only to reappear a moment later with bloodied knives. Meuric felt sick. He still remembered the families who had lived in those homes. Any cries of surprise were efficiently muffled.

  “To arms,” yelled a woman. “We are under attack.”

  Meuric turned but he did not need to. He already knew who the voice belonged to: Dervla. He could see her standing alone, sword and shield in hand, defiant and unafraid. Judoc, their eldest son, was the first to reach her. He was similarly armed but was bare-chested. Half the invaders formed up in a standard phalanx; twenty-five men across, two rows deep. The Daw’ra man looked to the spirit of his dead wife.

  “I could not sleep,” she explained. “I knew that you were due back at any time and I was waiting.”

  He did not need to ask after their second son. Meuric already knew that he had been staying at a Daw’ra village on the mainland with one of Colton’s sons.

  The killing of the unarmed in their sleep continued. But the invaders were not getting it all their own way. Shouts of alarm were being raised all over the village. The people of Gla’es were starting to wake. Armed Daw’ra tribespeople were beginning to pour out of their homes. Others had already begun to fight back with shield, sword and spear. Those too young or too elderly to fight were encouraged to run to the rear of the town. A second smaller gateway existed there. All around Dervla, those not already fighting formed up. They too took up a phalanx formation. Colton stood next to her. The Chieftain turned to the War Band Lieutenant, now standing in as commander in Meuric’s absence.

  “Protect the children. We have it here.”

  The sell-sword smiled sadly. It was Fabien, the bully that had made the lives of the children hard on the island. But after that day he had changed. A bitterness that he had clung onto had finally been released. So much so that, as the years passed and friendships grew, Meuric had promoted him to make him his second-in-command.

  The man nodded and sped off to the rear of Gla’es with ten chosen warriors. Meuric looked at both sides, weighing up the tactical advantages. The people of Gla’es should have won this mêlée. They had now formed up into their fighting disposition, were more heavily armed with shield, spear and armour and were ready for battle. Metal armour covered their bodies. It was they who were fighting for their homes and their people. And the invaders knew it. A moment later the intruders charged.

  “Spears,” yelled Colton.

  At his command a huge volley of spears flew through the air, slamming hard into the soft-armoured bodies of the enemy. Scores fell dead and wounded. Their advance faltered. Another volley of missiles erupted from the Daw’ra townspeople. Most of the enemy stopped dead. Most began to look for cover. A few turned tail and ran. Colton raised his arm, about to give the command: “forward”.

  But then he had appeared, the Dark Druid, and everything went still.

  Calmly he walked through the gates, a shadow within the darkness, and stepped forward casually. Clear of the entranceway he stopped and raised his arms. Lightning bolts burst from his fingertips, easily ripping through the bodies of a dozen townsfolk. From his other hand he flung a ball of flames. A town home, next to the Daw’ra phalanx, exploded. Half of them were knocked to the ground. Most did not get back up.

  “We need to save the children,” yelled Judoc over the cries of the dying and injured. He stood after being blown to the ground. Blood ran down his face and arm. “We cannot stay here and wait.”

  Dervla shook her head. “We need to buy them time.” She looked all around her. “With me,” she yelled. “Attack!”

  She led the charge with Judoc. Half a dozen warriors immediately ran with her. Town archers began to shoot at the invaders from the rooftops. More warriors quickly followed. That was when they heard the cries of more attackers from the rear gate. The enemy had now also arrived there in force. Meuric could not help but think of the children who were already there. Tears filled his eyes.

  He looked to his old friend Colton. The Chieftain had sized up the situation in an instant. There would be no escape for him or his family. He raced to his home. Meuric already knew how that would end.

  “Take me away from here,” commanded the former Knight Protector. “I do not want to see anymore.”

  He fell to the ground just so that he could not witness any more of the carnage. He began to sob quietly. The spirit of Dervla cried with him. She bent over and kissed the top of her husband’s head. The world around them vanished to be replaced by a dark void that held only the three of them.

  “I cannot stay,” said Dervla suddenly. Her voice was full of sorrow. “I love you.” He looked up at her and Meuric felt that his heart would break. “Remember what you saw here. It is not you or the Conclave’s Council that is to blame all our deaths. You know now who is responsible.” He lowered his head again. “Be strong. Love again. Live.”

  Meuric looked up. It was not his dead wife who now spoke but Abram. Dervla’s voice issued from his lips. “Be strong.”

  The Daw’ra man fell back and cried.

  LIII

  Side by side, Bradán and Tacitus made their way down the long corridor towards the caldarium. Both could clearly feel the stirrings of the heat from the bathing area reaching out towards them. The Druid Captain looked at his companion. He was now wearing his full senatorial dress, a white robe with a plain deep red thick stripe running down the centre of it. Though the Kel’akh part of him refused to acknowledge totally the authority of the Roz’eli Empire, he was nonetheless impressed by the presence of the man dressed up in his livery. He knew that Tacitus had entered the senatorial forum at a young age. Ever since then he had eaten, slept and breathed politics to such an extent that he now wielded that authority as easily as their master, the Dark Druid, wielded his magicks.

  Bradán himself was now dressed as a member of the Roz’eli Elite Guard. A deep red tunic was overlapped by black metal armour. A dark red hooded cloak completed the look. He held a plumed helm tucked under one arm. A State Guardsman was a member of the Roz’eli military. They were considered part of the elite, surpassed only by the Emperor’s Personal Guard, and as such Tacitus had instructed him to wander about with an air of superiority. Their main job was the protection of the Empire’s most important citizens though this did not extend to protecting the Emperor and
his immediate family. Such a duty went only to the Roz’eli Personal Guard. No foreigners were permitted into such an important unit. It was thought by Tacitus that there would be fewer questions asked about such an obvious native of the Kel’akh Nation accompanying him.

  Bradán could not help but look at the extravagance of the politician’s home with disgust. The monies that went into one of the many life-sized figurines that lined the hallways would have paid for a year’s food for one of the poorest families of the city. Tacitus spoke as if having so much material wealth was a good thing. Bradán held his tongue. In his homeland, even from a young age, a Kel’akh person was taught that no family ever went without. If someone was in hardship everyone helped. Feelings of belonging, security and warmth began to wash over him.

  Bradán stopped abruptly. There was something just at the edges of his vision. He could not quite understand what it was. He stirred as invisible fingers stroked his cheek and a warm breath touched his neck. Was it Wis once again visiting him? Ever since he knew that it was the goddess who was conversing with him, she was never far from his mind. He chuckled suddenly, amused by his infatuation.

  “Are you mad?” snapped Tacitus. “Laughing to yourself!”

  Bradán looked at the senator with unafraid eyes. “I was just remembering something.”

  Tacitus grunted. “It is a shame that you cannot remember to walk behind me! I am after all a senator of the highest order and commander of the Emperor’s General Agents.”

  Bradán took a step forward and swung around to stand almost nose-to-nose with the senator. “You are not my commander,” he said angrily. He paused, suppressing his rage and took a step back. Tacitus was forever goading him. “As powerful as you are you obviously recognise the necessary skills that I possess to keep you alive. Otherwise you would not have asked for my assistance in the elimination of Paulus.”

  Tacitus looked about almost nervously. “I do not care about you but here in Roz’eli reputations are everything. People will pay a large amount of money to spy on me. My slaves are undoubtedly in someone’s pay. If they see me arguing with a Guardsman it threatens my standing not only as a senator but also as a powerful figure within Roz’eli society.”

  Bradán looked up and down the corridor. At both ends stood a servant, both still and waiting, but discreetly watching everything. Slaves they may be but the chitons they wore were made of the finest materials. The jewelled rings upon their fingers would probably fill the lowborn of Ee’en with jealously.

  “Your servants look well looked after,” commented Bradán. He indicated the man and woman at each end of the corridor. “Why would they betray you?”

  Tacitus laughed. “They are not servants. They are just two of my slaves. Servants are free citizens of Roz’eli and are my more trusted people. I only have two of them. One is my personal assistant while the second looks after my children and wife.”

  Bradán was stunned. “You have babes? I had no idea.” He looked about again scanning the building in a new light. “Is this your home?”

  “They are not babes anymore,” he chuckled, “but are in fact near adulthood. And no, this is not my home. This is my private residence in the capital. I see my children now almost less than I see my wife.” He paused for a moment then added with genuine regret in his voice, “Do you have children?” The Druid Captain shook his head. “They grow up so quick. Where do the years go?”

  Bradán looked at him closely. Was this the same man who had murdered so mercilessly? Tacitus looked about as if searching for something. His tawny eyes gleamed as his demeanour suddenly shifted. Bradán thought he could see specks of blue breaking through the senator’s usual yellowish-brown irises.

  “But my duties as a senator and as an adviser to the Dark Druid are paramount. So too is my reputation here.” The dots of blue that Bradán had noticed promptly vanished.

  The Druid Captain looked at the closest statue. He shook his head in disbelief. It seemed to be a representation of a warrior from the ancient past, though he had no idea who he was. “The money you waste on such things… It is staggering.”

  “Still you do not understand the importance of politics here,” replied the senator. “I suppose that it is not surprising since you have nothing like this in Kel’akh. Standing is everything here; your image is everything. People are murdered for the slightest affront to one’s status. It would be like an attack on your honour in backwater lands such as the Kel’akh Nation. You would not brook it. But here your reputation can be even more important than family.”

  “Nothing is more important than family,” stated Bradán, before he realised what he was saying. Again he felt that brush of warm air against the back of his neck. It felt almost like a caress. “It seems to me that the more civilised you supposedly become, the more you lose sight of what really is important.”

  “Enough of this nonsense,” Tacitus snapped. Angrily he spun away. “I have pressing matters to attend to.”

  Bradán fell into step beside the senator. He could tell that it irked him somewhat and he slyly allowed himself a smile. They continued down the corridor in silence and navigated several more. Intermittently they passed more of the comfortable-looking slaves. Through an open courtyard they went and into another building that the warrior knew was used as a swimming pool, a gymnasium and a bathing area including a caldarium.

  “You have not even told me where we are going,” observed Bradán suddenly. “May I remind you, Senator, the Conclave’s Council will now know you are aligned with the Dark Druid. They could send Paulus at any time to assassinate you.”

  “I guarantee you he will not be trying to kill me now,” remarked Tacitus casually.

  “You do not know that,” stated Bradán.

  The senator ignored the query and continued. “You have killed one Knight Protector… could you not kill another?” asked Tacitus. His tone was almost pleading.

  Bradán was dumbfounded. He had never before known the senator to sound so suppliant. “My orders are to protect you and I will do so to the best of my ability.”

  Tacitus nodded, seemingly happy with the answer. “I owe you my life so I will allow you to know this. I have a discerner in the camp of Abram. I am just awaiting the location of their new destination though I can hazard a guess.”

  “You have a spy with Abram,” exclaimed Bradán. He could barely contain his amazement. “Is he a General Agent?”

  Tacitus shook his head. “It is actually one of his people. That is how we have been able to keep track of them so well when magick failed.”

  “How?” asked the Druid Captain. Seeing Tacitus’s stoic face he changed his question. “What good is it if a Knight Protector comes to kill you in your sleep?”

  Tacitus smiled and shook his head. “I am counting on it. What better way to kill a Knight Protector if you know when he is coming. Better still, if we manage to take him alive think of the intelligence that we can gather.”

  “So this is all a ruse?” asked Bradán. “To draw out Paulus’s true mission?”

  “In part,” answered Tacitus. “I did need to return to Roz’eli to fulfil my senatorial duties and I have an audience with the Emperor. I am also here to say goodbye to a friend.”

  “A friend?” asked Bradán.

  Tacitus nodded. “Yes. He is swimming in my pool and he is someone who I have not seen in a little while.”

  “What is his name?”

  “Paulus of Petrish’e,” answered Tacitus.

  Bradán stopped walking and looked at the senator. “Are you mad?”

  The senator smiled. “I am saying goodbye to the man I knew before I have to kill the Knight Protector.”

  The Druid Captain looked again to Tacitus and for the first time he saw the man behind the monster. He spoke of his family and the loss of the closeness of his children. Now he spoke fondly of a friend. Perhaps Paulus was the only friend he may have, or ever had, but it still showed Tacitus to have the ability to form relationships. Even so, he
had no doubt that the senator would have no hesitation in killing his family or friends in the name of the Dark Druid or, as he had now proved, Mailís.

  They entered the swimming area. The first Bradán saw of the swimmer was the front of his head, his face buried in the water. Almost rhythmically his arms ploughed overhead. His hands, knife-shaped, cut smoothly through the water with barely a ripple. The warrior could only admire the athleticism of the stranger. His head only came up for the space of a heartbeat, a gulp of air after every several strokes. He appeared effortless in his movements. Whether the swimmer knew of their presence Bradán had no idea. He kept going neither pausing nor stopping up and down the length of the long pool until he had obviously reached the number of laps that he wanted.

  The time spent waiting gave Bradán the time to look about. The room was like most others; large and white; marble statues of the gods; pictures of various muses painted across the walls; a highly decorated mosaic flooring. Three attractive female slaves stood evenly spaced around the room. Each was arrayed in fine material but each looked on with bored indifference.

  A thin layer of steam carpeted the flooring created by the hypocaust or steam ducts that lay under the floor. They kept the whole of the bathhouse and the water warm. The heat was beginning to make him feel extremely uncomfortable. He had spent the whole of his life in the freedom of the outdoors, not cooped up inside buildings with artificial heat. Wearing the armour and cloak only made him feel even more constricted.

  Paulus finally stopped swimming. Easily he lifted his naked frame out of the water. He stretched out his arms and immediately the closest slave woman approached him. Obligingly she slipped a light robe around him and tied it around his waist, before assuming her original position. As she did so Paulus winked at the senator. He flashed a glance at his groin.

  “Lucky for me it is warm in here,” he said with a large mischievous grin.