Meuric

  He was a tall man, Bradán could see, certainly taller than most in Roz’eli culture. But he would not have stood out too much in the Kel’akh Nation. He seemed to be in his mid-twenties, was heavily muscled and yet lean. His hair was brown and cropped in the Roz’eli fashion. His face was open and friendly. His smile was warm but his eyes were a cold blue.

  The first time that Paulus looked at him Bradán felt the thrill of battle. He sensed, rather than knew, that the swimmer had sized him up in an instant. He had judged the level of threat Bradán might pose. The Druid Captain had noticed Paulus’s eyes flicker almost imperceptibly, first to the doorway, then to the open windows as if scanning for danger or an escape route. He turned to Tacitus.

  “It was so good of you to allow me to use your pool,” said Paulus. He stepped forward and hugged his friend.

  “It is customary to ask first, my friend,” answered the senator returning the embrace.

  “True, true,” responded Paulus. “But then I had no idea of your return.” He smiled and spread out his hands. “But then you are always so secretive about such things. Will you be home long?”

  “I will be here a short while but unsure of the length,” answered Tacitus amiably.

  “It will depend on what the Emperor has in store for me and I have a personal errand to run.” Bradán noticed the senator looked to the swimming pool then to his friend. “Why do you still bother to exercise so hard? You are no longer in the Army.”

  Paulus laughed. “Having a good physique certainly helps with the ladies.”

  Tacitus laughed in return. “That is where being rich becomes useful.”

  Paulus snorted. He turned to face Bradán. He asked, “And who might this warrior dressed as a State Guardsman be?”

  “Bradán of Kel’akh,” answered Tacitus.

  “I’soolt tribe to be precise,” commented Paulus, noting the red and white tattoos. “I had not realised that the province had yet fallen.”

  “It has not,” responded Bradán quickly. He continued, with his well-rehearsed lie. “I am originally from the Kel’akh but I grew up in Nah’cho.”

  Paulus smiled politely. “If you say so.” He turned to Tacitus. “Tell me of our sugar trade routes through our eastern provinces. I have heard that there has been a little bit of trouble as of late.”

  Tacitus nodded. “Raiders were attacking our caravans. They were nothing more than opportunists really. Hirelings were employed to escort our caravans and Roz’eli cavalry now patrols that area of the route. Everything is running smoothly now.”

  Paulus nodded, obviously pleased. “What about the corsair problem in Sea Mahr’she?”

  “Quiet of late,” answered the senator. “The commissioned works of art from Jay’keb are coming through nicely though I hear that the price of marble is about to drop because of it.”

  They continued to talk about various other business ventures and Bradán turned away, instantly bored. He wandered off taking a closer look at the statues situated around the Pool Room. The first was of Faeder, chief deity of the gods. The second was Wis, Goddess of Wisdom, who in time of war was also the goddess of strategy and tactics. Bradán allowed himself a secret shy smile at the statuette as he passed it. So engrossed was he with the third effigy that he almost bumped into one of the slave girls.

  “I apologise,” he muttered. Automatically he stepped around her.

  The third sculpture was Rosa, the goddess protector of the city of Roz’eli. She was represented dressed as a Roz’eli soldier. In her right hand the pilum she wielded had a rose entwined around it. It was the symbol of the goddess. Her left hand held a circular shield, different from a typical Man-of-the-Legion’s rectangular shape. Printed on it were two infant boys surrounded by a laurel of roses.

  “The boys are Julius and Livianus,” said Paulus. He had approached Bradán as quiet as a wisp of smoke. “Legend has it that they were the founding members of Roz’eli and later the Roz’eli Empire.” Bradán turned sharply. He had not heard the man’s approach nor even sensed his presence. “Apologies if I startled you,” he added sincerely.

  Bradán composed himself quickly and offered a thin smile. “You move quietly for a big man.” He glanced past the Roz’eli man and saw Tacitus disappear through a doorway.

  “Old habits,” commented Paulus. “You learn very quickly the art of stealth when moving about the forests of Gahp’ryel.” He followed Bradán’s line of sight. “Do not worry about Tacitus. He is simply going to his office to read up on current reports from his agents.”

  Bradán moved off to the fourth statue. Paulus followed close by. It was none of the major Roz’eli gods that the Druid Captain could recognise. It was a massive, muscular marble statue depicting a weary bearded warrior. He leaned on a huge club with a lion-skin draped over his back and one shoulder. He looked for a name on its heavy base but failed to find one.

  “It is Streno,” explained Paulus. “He is meant to be the son of Faeder and a mortal woman. It was said that he was a great athlete with strength beyond any mortal man. You would usually find effigies of him in gymnasiums and such places.”

  “So he was not a full god?” asked Bradán.

  Paulus shook his head. “He is what we would call a demigod. I do not know if you have an equivalent.”

  “We do,” said Bradán. “But we do not use that word.”

  Paulus nodded. “Would it not be funny if he was not the son of a god at all but simply a man of magickal means. He was only considered more because the people of the time could not explain it?” Bradán looked at him sharply and Paulus held up his hands. “Do not be insulted,” he added quickly. “I meant no disrespect to your faith in the gods. It was something our senator friend said to me one time. So how does a man from Kel’akh become the bodyguard to Tacitus?”

  Bradán at him intently and said, “I am a member of the Emperor’s Elite Guard.”

  Paulus smiled but the grin did not reach his eyes. “Come, sir, lies do not become us. You look like a State Guardsman but you do not talk or act like one. I have no doubt of your skill set though, otherwise you would not be here.”

  “What gave me away?” asked Bradán. He was glad to be rid of at least one untruth.

  “Well, to begin with, members of the State Guardsmen do not apologise to slaves for brushing against them. They expect them to get out of the way.”

  Bradán frowned. “What else?”

  “You do not stand or project yourself as someone who has served in the Army,” explained Paulus. “I would bet that although your weapons and kit may be clean and sharp, you would not worry so much over the armour you wear. The straps at the side of your torso armour should be tucked away neatly and not left out like you have them.”

  Bradán looked at him and paused, his face a picture of seriousness. This was the second part of his cover. Tacitus had told him to hold himself as if judging whether or not to trust this man. He doubted very much that his acting skill was up to the challenge. He was not one naturally for subterfuge. When he had informed Éabha, a woman from the west of the Kel’akh Nation and his adjutant, of his mission his friend had laughed out loud.

  “Do not think of it as acting,” she chuckled. “Think of it in military terms such as a feint or disinformation.”

  Bradán now considered what Éabha had said. The woman was hard and unforgiving, almost cruel, but she was also loyal, steadfast and a good tactician.

  The Kel’akh warrior released his breath slowly and said, “Word has reached the senator of a possible threat to his life. It was even suggested that it might be a member of the Elite Guard. Not being able to trust them he spoke to a mutual friend of ours who suggested me.”

  Paulus looked concerned. “Is there anything that I can do?”

  Bradán shook his head. “We are not even sure if there is an enemy. But if word of anything like that should reach your ears please do not hesitate to inform us.”

  “So what are your plans for tonight, Tacitus?” asked Paulu
s suddenly. “I was hoping that we might have dinner.”

  The two men turned. They watched the senator approach.

  “Unfortunately, my friend, I have a meeting with the Emperor tonight,” answered Tacitus. “So I must decline. What about you?”

  Paulus laughed. “Since you are not free then I must take part in the usual, my friend, and my plans are as follows.

  “I will arrange to meet the latest woman I am wooing and we will have cena together and have a lavish three-course meal, and then she will attend the ludi with me. I have yet to decide whether it will be the theatre, chariot races or gladiators tonight. Then I will be open to anything…” He grinned largely then laughed aloud as if remembering something. “Do you recall that night three years ago when we took that Nah’cho barbarian Rainier and Augustus to Be’ta?” Tacitus nodded. Bradán could not help but flinch at Rabi’a’s War Band Commander’s name. “That was some night! We should do it again sometime.”

  “My friend, you have far too much time on your hands at the moment,” commented the senator. “I have known you for three years now and not once have I known you to go home to Petrish’e. Maybe you should make your way down there for a little while? Reconnect with your mother.”

  Paulus looked at him strangely then said, “Perhaps I will.”

  Tacitus then gave an apologetic look. “I must go, my friend. I have many errands to run before tonight.” Bradán noted the nod in his direction and moved to join the senator. “Why do you not come here tomorrow morning and break your fast with me if you can.”

  “Sounds good, my friend,” said Paulus smiling broadly as he waved goodbye to him. He held out his hand to Bradán and the two men shook, wrist-to-wrist. “Well met, Bradán.” He moved off to an adjoining room.

  Tacitus and Bradán turned and walked off in the opposite direction.

  “Where does he go?” asked the Kel’akh warrior.

  “It is called the apodyterium,” answered Tacitus. “It is where we store our clothes when we go for a swim. He has gone back in there to retrieve his.”

  Bradán paused at the doorway as he left the Pool Room and looked back. He saw Paulus staring at them. It seemed to him that the senator’s friend, secretly Knight Protector of Ee’en, held some serious intent within his eyes.

  LIV

  Meuric’s mood was sombre.

  The fact that a light rain had just begun, accompanied by a slight chilling wind that came out of nowhere did not help matters. Even though he and his two fellow Knight Protectors did not feel cold like ordinary people, the Daw’ra man still pulled his hooded cloak a little tighter across his body.

  It was the middle of the next day before Theirn’s people broke camp or, as Meuric corrected himself, village. It was later than the Chieftain and Rainier had hoped to be leaving but there were the families of Rabi’a to consider. All in all it was still not a bad time. From the eastern wall he watched them move off in silence. A wagon train sauntered forward in a snake formation as it began its long journey into banishment. He was thankful for the lack of panic and Theirn’s organisational skill in accomplishing such an event.

  Yet he found it hard to be moved by such a sight. How many times had he seen such an event over the years? An aggressor pushing native inhabitants away from all they knew. No matter how strong the homestead, no matter how long it had stood there, it all came down to refugees running with only a few personal belongings and all of it often rolled up in a blanket and tossed into the back of a cart when forced to leave. Meuric looked at his fellow Knight Protectors. With their helms removed he saw that their faces were as impassive as his.

  The plan now was a separation of force. Theirn and Ulrich would lead the majority of the Rabi’a people deep into the Great Wood with Nah’cho. A smaller force under Rainier would stay with Abram. His mission was primarily to ensure the safe passage of the Jay’keb child to Ee’ay. Afterwards he would seek a counsel either with the Oak Seers or the Kel’akh High King and ask for asylum within the free Kel’akh Nation.

  Meuric looked over the village and saw only a few remaining warriors of the War Band littering the walls of the Rabi’a now. Each had been hand-picked by Rainier. They were all dressed as either Federate Mercenaries or as Free Archers. This applied to all but Rainier. He alone was dressed in deep red and black as a member of the Roz’eli Emperor’s Elite Guard.

  From the southern end of the town Meuric spotted a red hue light up the air encompassing the wall and the buildings in that area. As quickly as it appeared it vanished. He knew that the Conclave Troopers were in that vicinity. Nathan was using his magick to lay traps for any Roz’eli soldiers or Dark Druid’s men who may be following.

  Meuric looked again to the wagon train. Each of the village folk seemed to know their responsibilities. The more able-bodied helped the elderly and the young. Those not employed with those tasks carried food, tools or local wares. Meuric could feel the heavy hearts of Theirn, Ulrich and Rainier. Each of the leaders stood behind him without uttering a word understanding that the future of their people rested firmly upon their shoulders.

  Petros and Radha stood to the left and right of the Daw’ra man respectively. He knew that he should say something, anything, to convey some sort of feeling. There should be something to offer up to the three men. But the words would not come. To his left, as if on cue, Petros turned.

  “Your people should be commended, Theirn” said the Knight Captain. “What they do and why they do will be worthy of a Bard song or two.”

  Rainier smiled meekly while Theirn said, “My thanks. I am pleased that it has all gone according to plan.”

  “Why not fire the town?” asked Edgar, a nearby War Band warrior.

  Rainier shook his head. “It was considered but we decided that it would just draw unwanted attention. As we stand here my sons are ensuring the poisoning of the food and water supplies that we leave behind before we finally lock our gates. We can only hope that some Men-of-the-Legion, or whoever may come, will help themselves before looting.”

  He smiled grimly as his two sons bounded up the steps to join them on the palisade. Both Wyeth and Xavier wore Federate Mercenaries armour. No one spoke. It seemed to Meuric that all were waiting to see what the two boys had to say. It was Xavier who was the first to look out over the battlements. He gazed upon the people of his village, people he had known his whole life.

  “It feels like the end of the world,” he murmured solemnly.

  Wyeth came up behind him and placed his hand on Xavier’s shoulder. “No, brother, it is merely the beginning of a new one.”

  “Report,” commanded Rainier.

  He did not mean to sound harsh, Meuric knew, but they still had a mission to accomplish. They all felt they had been extremely fortunate not to have Roz’eli soldiers attacking them by now but the urgency of time was now pressing in on them all.

  “All has been as you ordered, father,” responded Wyeth instantly. “Horses have been slaughtered and dropped into the wells. Poisons supplied by Ulrich have been sprinkled over the food supplies. Booby-traps have been scattered about some of the homes. The more official buildings and the Southern Gate have been sealed. The mage Nathan is currently setting a trap there. The Northern Gate will be sealed as soon as we leave.”

  “Good,” said Rainier. He turned to Theirn and Ulrich. “We must assume that we are being watched by a General Agent at all times. We must not let our guard down even once.”

  Theirn nodded in agreement but Meuric knew that there was no need to warn the Chieftain. He bore the dark green and brown uniform of a Free Archer.

  “We should leave,” he suggested.

  He led the way down the steps to ground level where several horses waited for them, tethered and ready. Two War Band warriors dressed in the tan tunics and brown armour of the Federate Mercenaries handed the reins over to their village leaders. A deep brown f’ was traced over the heart of the wearer though it was difficult to see. The horses were packed in the same way; bundl
es over the rear of the animal containing food and clothing. Weapons hung over the packs. Meuric could see two bows, one long and one short. They were traditional weapons of the Kel’akh people. When Roz’eli had first expanded their powerbase from Ee’en they had hired Kel’akh warriors as cavalry units for their skill as horsemen.

  No one spoke. In silence they mounted their respective horses. As they did so, several riders and an open top wagon approached them. Immediately Meuric felt the weight of his weapons and armour. His magickal strength faded from his body. He looked at his fellow Knight Protectors and knew that they felt the same. Jemima pulled hard on the reins of the wagon.

  “You do so much for us,” began Jemima. “I would not even begin to know where to thank all of you.”

  “You can thank us as soon as Abram and our people are safe,” answered Theirn.

  It had been decided in the meeting that her royal rank should not be spoken of until both she and her son were safely in Ee’ay. Meuric looked at the Jay’keb woman. She was now as far from royalty as she had ever been. Though she wore a simple, rough Kel’akh tunic, her bearing and dignity radiated from her to such an extent that only a blind man could miss it. She glanced at her son sitting next to her, set an arm around him in a tight embrace and kissed the top of his head.

  “You and the people of Rabi’a will always have the thanks of my people and my nation,” said Abram.

  Theirn nodded dutifully.

  Anan, always close to his wards, said, “We must be away from here and quickly. Even a lack of commerce from your town will be noticed.”

  “He is right,” added Rainier immediately. “Let us set off now.”

  “Of course,” said Jemima apologetically, as if it were her fault that they still lingered. “Meuric, can you stay with me for a little while?”

  Rainier’s sons led the way as they rode hard out of the town with four other warriors. They were the scouting party. Their orders were to ride out ahead of their group and to lead their party on a designated path to the Kel’akh Nation. Radha and Petros rode out next. Meuric watched Theirn and Ulrich say their goodbyes to Rainier before they rode off. Jemima’s wagon left the village. On her right sat Abram. The large warrior Anan sat on his horse only an arm’s length away from the boy, his black eyes missing nothing. The maid Zahara sat in the back of the wagon darning clothing. Lastly the final six men of the War Band rode out.