by Tracey Alley
I bring before you tonight a traitor. One of my own who had witnessed the incredible power of witchcraft and yet he still chose to defy me, to defy the will of Shallendara, to defy the new order. I bring before you Luca. Luca, who knowing all that you now know, chose betrayal instead of obedience and worse yet, he chose to try and lie about it. Now tell me, my people, what do you think should be the punishment for the traitor? How should I respond to such open defiance?”
“Kill him!” The shout went up all around Tares, quickly becoming a chant among the throng. The minotaur felt sickened knowing that soon he would be a witness to a human sacrifice, beyond his power to prevent.
“I cannot watch this,” Tares whispered to Nikolai.
“You don’t have a choice. Count the numbers, there are too many people here, if we make a move now we’ll be dead in minutes.”
“But to simply stand here…,” Tares trailed off.
“Pray, pray to Belenus, pray to any god you can think of, but pray,” Nikolai said harshly, his voice rough with barely suppressed emotion.
If Tares was surprised by Nikolai’s injunction to pray he did not have time to dwell on it, the crowd, eager for blood, was becoming increasingly restless. Bowing his head the minotaur prayed earnestly to Belenus, trying desperately not to hear the joyous cries of the crowd as Luca was tortured right in front of them. What manner of people, he wondered, could take such delight in the suffering of another?
Yet it was obvious that the crowd was delighted by the torture being inflicted on the unfortunate Luca. Apparently these people did not care to whom they gave their devotions as long as their lusts for blood, violence and perversions were met. As the cries of the crowd grew ever louder and more excited Tares kept his bovine head bowed, feeling his own hot tears falling inside the folds of his robe.
Eventually the unholy sacrifice was over, although Tares believed he would be haunted by Luca’s primal screams for the rest of his days. Finally daring to raise his head the big minotaur saw The Dark One’s coarse robes were shiny with blood, appearing only as slightly darker patches on the black material. Still standing in their original positions to either side of him were Malachi and the elven witch, Shallendara. While Malachi’s face was impassive, Shallendara was smiling, obviously pleased at the display she had just witnessed. Tares fought against a rising nausea as he wondered what horrors still lay ahead.
“My people, come closer,” The Dark One began again, his voice deep and soothing as though the public torture and sacrifice of a man was a normal occurrence. Tares wondered with deep foreboding if soon that would not be the case, if witchcraft denied the gods and worshipped only itself they might well see such sacrifices all over The Kingdoms.
“I have shown the way, I have given to you before all others the privilege of witnessing the dawn of a new day, a new era. From this moment forth this night, this festival shall be known forever as the Ascension of Shallendara, for it is she who has led us out of the darkness of enslavement towards the light of power. I leave you now, my people, to do that which you came to do, yet you will do so now with a new purpose, a greater understanding. All of you who follow me in this new dawn will receive power and riches beyond your wildest dreams,” here The Dark One paused significantly, looking out into the crowd, “while for those who choose, foolishly, to betray my wishes...well, you have seen how I feel about those who betray me, and how I deal with betrayal.”
In an elaborate puff of smoke The Dark One and the elven witch Shallendara disappeared, leaving the lieutenant Malachi behind. Tares glanced uneasily at Nikolai but the necromancer was merely gazing ahead indifferently.
“You heard our lord, the rituals will continue in the manner you have observed. You and you,” Malachi singled out two of the other processional marches and directed them to the other altar on the nearby hill, the other group he directed to the third of the stone altars, leaving only Tares and Nikolai’s pseudo group standing before him in the darkness.
“You, come up here,” Malachi ordered peremptorily, watching as the other marches moved off in the directions he had indicated.
Walking slowly the remaining distance up the hill Tares was encouraged, the wizard was now alone, they all had weapons and very soon they would be completely out of sight of the others. By the time The Dark One realized this lieutenant was dead it would be too late; they would be well on their way to Saxenburg. The minotaur generally disliked killing but was willing to shed blood if necessary, and this was a clear case of necessity. One life for all of theirs. Nikolai had obviously reached the same conclusion, even if he did not share the big minotaur’s scruples, because he was marching purposefully up the small hill towards the wizard. Tares reached carefully under his robe to ensure that his heavy headed mace was in position but did not produce the weapon yet; the wizard might yet leave them as well, as The Dark One had done, thus rendering his death unnecessary.
Before Tares could formulate any further plans Nikolai had reached the top of the small hill and walked straight up to the wizard standing before the stone altar, embracing Malachi like a brother. Tares stopped abruptly in sheer astonishment.
“Nikolai, my old friend,” Malachi said warmly as he hugged the necromancer.
“I knew it,” Wulfstan cried out as the others gasped in shock, “it’s been a trap all along.”
“No, as usual Wulfstan what you know wouldn’t fill a small thimble,” Nikolai replied caustically before continuing, “Malachi is on our side. He’s our way out.”
Under Arrest
Lord Michael Strong stood on the bow of the small boat watching as the high plains of Saxenburg drifted slowly past. The river roads of The Kingdoms was not Michael's preferred method of travel, and leaving behind his beloved mount, Heimdall had been a wrench. However after his meeting with Lord Nexus he had not wanted to take the extra time to travel overland back to Saxenburg.
By coming along the rivers he had cut his journey time in half and Nexus had assured him that someone would follow along with Heimdall as soon as possible. This particular river junction would bring him to within a half day’s ride to both The Tears of Belenus and Anglia, the capital city.
Sighing Michael pushed his heavy, silvery white hair back from his face and turned away from the view before heading back to the cramped quarters below deck that had been his home for the past two ten days. Inside the tiny bunk room the Grand Knight finished his packing, fitting everything he required into a medium sized leather pack. Mindful of the promise he had made to Lord Nexus, Michael had originally intended to go straight to the Black Lotus monastery to speak with Solomon about letting the mage have access to the monastery’s library. However, with Patrick missing he recognized that he could ill afford to be absent from his Knights for any longer than absolutely necessary. Consequently he had decided he would first check in at The Tears of Belenus before heading to the monastery.
As he was tying the last of the knots on his pack to secure it he heard unusual noises coming from above. Pausing, one hand on his sword hilt without even being consciously aware of it, Michael listened, frowning slightly. It sounded as though the boat was being hailed by guards although they had not yet arrived at their destination. This was an unexpected development; there were no guards on any of the river roads, only stationed at the boarding ports and around the cities. Straightening up he strained to hear more, surprised to hear that they were indeed being hailed and ordered to stop by what sounded like Saxenburg guards. Shouldering his pack the Grand Knight pulled on his heavy gauntlets and set off up the nearly vertical ladder leading to the upper deck.
Coming up on deck Michael looked out to shore to see a full regiment of soldiers mounted on horses behind two senior guards standing on the shore. Grappling hooks had been used to bring the boat into shore and the knight could see that the men holding the ropes were struggling to hold on; Michael sent a brief prayer to Belenus asking the god to stay the water temporarily. Immediately the boat came to
a complete standstill, the ropes going slack. At this overt sign of Belenus’s favor to his Grand Knight many of the waiting soldiers moved back, even their horses shying away. The two senior guards, whom he recognized as Bjorn and Gunnar, both very senior soldiers in Saxenburg's army, paled slightly but held their ground.
“This is an unexpected pleasure. What can I do for you?” He said, keeping his voice even, although he was certain there would be nothing pleasurable in this strange summons.
“Lord Michael, I have come at the request of High King Ulrich and order you to accompany my men and I back to Anglia for an immediate audience with the King.” Bjorn answered, his tone almost mocking, secure in the overwhelming odds of his many men ranged against only Lord Michael and the small crew of the boat.
“By all means, may I assume you have a mount for me?” Michael asked politely. Bjorn shot Gunnar a confused look, which confirmed the knight’s initial suspicion that they had expected him to fight and, of course they would have expected him to lose.
“Sir that can be arranged,” Gunnar answered, stepping forward and indicating to one of the soldiers holding the now slack ropes to relinquish his horse to the Grand Knight.
“Wait a