So Flagrum is the one responsible for my relocation. I wonder what he wants from me now, here, Ganis thought. “And now it sounds like you are threatening me, Vetus.”
“Does it, Ganis?”
Ganis raised his other foot, placing it on the one already resting on the table. “Commander Ganis, Vetus. You ought to respect the rules.”
The remark grazed Vetus’ ego, and his wrinkled face revealed no attempt to hide it. “Of course, Commander Ganis. I simply wanted to voice my concern for your safety.” Vetus stood and made for the door, nodding at Ganis.
“Wait!” Ganis commanded. He paused for a moment, puffing on his pipe a few times, and after a few moments waved his free arm at Vetus dismissively.
Anger raged within the Scyld, but he expressed none of it and simply walked away, boots pounding on the stone floor mercilessly.
Now you can rest assured that Vetus will strike against you, Eos projected.
And when I expose him there will be no doubt about my command. Only then will it be possible for me to seek the resistance and prepare for the Southern Alliance’s assault without drawing any suspicion.
5
It was night when Ganis was roaming the empty corridors of Initium Keep’s basement. Lifeless ancient tunnels zigzagged under Initium Keep, leading to empty clearings and more lifeless corridors. They were forgotten sections of the keep, yet revealed that it stood long before the Scylds knew of it and started constructing whatever became known as Initium Keep.
These passages have not been used in ages, since the time of the mysterious dwellers of the submerged labyrinth, but they were on the verge of housing a revolutionary change in small society that has been formed by Naa’tas’ intentions regarding the keep.
Ganis knew he was being followed, and continued deeper into the ground to make certain that no sound would be heard from his deed-to-be. His enhanced ears gave him warning of the approaching footsteps made heavy by the weight of weapons and armor.
His torch blew fiercely, and he had enough cloth and oil to sustain it for many journeys back and forth from the Heart of the Keep to where he stood in the underground caverns, even by the longest of routes.
He reached a clearing, a good spot to fend his attackers, and rested his torch on one of the iron protrusions intended for torches. His armor, a tight fit for his male body even when loosened to accommodate for the extra weight he gained in muscle during his transformation, had grown to feel like part of him with the many moons he spent wearing it, never taking it off since his arrival at Initium Keep, and he was ready to test it against Scyld iron.
“You’re a slow lot,” Ganis said upon the arrival of the dozen Scylds, his assassins. He scanned them calmly, a smile naturally forming on his face, and recognized a few of them. They were amongst the ones he suspected to be loyalists to Vetus.
The assassins, all clad in the Scyld leather and iron, rushed at Ganis with morningstars and maces drawn. Two of them carried blades, an officer’s weapon usually, but swung them clumsily with lack of sufficient practice and training on handling the edged weapon.
Ganis dodged the blows, leaving Eos still sheathed, and twisted with incredible grace, pushing at the Scylds who got too close to make room for his maneuvering. With fists clenched and feet ready, he punched and kicked at some of the attackers, drawing blood whenever he made contact with skin, but felling none. They were a tough bunch.
A blow to his chest, dulled many folds by Thalus’ protection, signaled that it was time for Eos to shine. With the speed of lightning and the strength of waves, Eos flashed, splitting bones and cutting flesh. In one swoop, the Progenitor Blade cut through leather, wood and Scyld alike, felling three with lifeless gazes staring into oblivion.
The feat made the others hesitate, but they quickly regained composure and struck, doing little to prolong their untimely death. There was no parrying against Eos, for all that it touched was cut, even the cavern walls which fell into his path thrice.
Seven were dead - laying limp on the cold stone, feeding the thirsty rocks with their spreading blood.
“Tell me, traitors, who sent you?”
Breathing heavily, ignoring the cut in his thigh and forcing himself up, a Scyld said, “Commander Vetus, the true commander of Initium Keep.” The man lunged at Ganis making his wound bleed even more with his futile effort.
Ganis evaded his blow by leaning to the right, a simple movement with little effort, avoiding the blow entirely but feeling the air of it. He then elbowed the man in his jaw. The Scyld dropped unconscious. The others attacked, falling one by one, until one stood and attempted to flee, only to find Eos thrown at him and pinning him to the stone wall. He died in a few moments, choking on his own blood.
Ganis walked to Eos, claiming him, he tore a piece of cloth from a fallen Scyld’s pants and cleaned Eos with it, thanked him, and sheathed the Progenitor Blade.
Other than the rising and dropping of his chest, the unconscious Scyld remained facedown and motionless, indicating his condition to the patient Nosgardian. When he awoke, only death - and Ganis - surrounded him. The man quickly turned himself around, unable to stand with his deep wound, and pushed himself towards the wall panicked.
“How?” he asked. His chest rose and dropped quickly.
“There’s a reason I have been given command here,” Ganis said. He sat, resting his back on the stone wall, on the other end of the clearing, separating the Scyld from him were eleven corpses. Ganis stood up and approached the man, causing him to fidget in an attempt to escape his fate. He could not get far in his condition, or even if he was at his best, from Ganis.
When Ganis was upon him, he crouched, producing a dagger from behind him, it was one of Thalus’ daggers he always carried in the back of his belt, and reached for the man’s sword arm, pushing his other hand away as it attempted to obstruct the aggressor from reaching him.
Ganis managed to grab the Scyld’s wrist and in one flash cut his little finger. When the deed was done, Ganis let go and said, “You seemed quite brave earlier. I’m disappointed.”
The Scyld screamed in horror as he looked at his disfigured hand.
Ganis slapped him and held his head back, using his long hair to grab it securely. “Have I made my intentions clear?”
The man whined, shocked with his misfortune. When Ganis raised the bloodied dagger again, he nodded his head frantically.
“You’ll come with me now to Initium Keep and tell the others what Vetus did to the previous commander and what he sent you to do here. Do you understand?”
The man nodded once more, fear never parting his face.
“Use your tongue or lose it. Do you understand?”
The man forced a very low, “Yes.” Ganis cleaned his dagger on his face, poorly, and then returned it behind him - back into his belt, where it belonged.
6
“Why do you summon me here?” Vetus said as he entered the Heart of the Keep. When he noticed the other officers standing silent, bearing empty expressions of fear, he knew something was amiss. Vetus then proceeded towards the table, twisting with the line of officers and guards leading him there and when his eyes fell on Ganis, nothing but shock marked his wrinkled face.
“Vetus,” Ganis said, sitting casually on the table legs crossed, joined by none, “I’m disappointed.”
Vetus’ eyes fell on Eos, silver shinning regally and black edges resonating with an aura of power, resting beside Ganis. It was the first time he, and many of the other Scylds, saw the Progenitor Blade, and it was a dreadful sight to see him bare, staring back with murderous intent.
“It seems, Vetus, that you have forgotten your place.” Ganis stood up and walked towards the Scyld, placing his hand on Vetus’ shoulder. “Your attempt on my life failed.”
Vetus pushed Ganis’ hand away, shouting, “It’s you who has forgotten your place. Seize him!” He looked around and found that his words fell on deaf ears. The others looked at him pitifully, even those who were once supportiv
e of his leadership. “I see you’re all fools who believe in his lies.”
“One of your own betrayed you, Vetus, and if they chose not to believe me, then they have him to hear.” Ganis turned his back on Vetus and proceeded to the window, walking calmly.
Vetus raged, looking around seeping with agitation, and drew his blade. It was a pitiful sight with Eos’ presence, yet conveyed his intentions perfectly. He lunged at Ganis, grunting, and swiftly found himself facing an empty wall. He slashed as he turned, hoping to hit flesh, but only succeeded in cutting air.
Ganis looked at him, smiling, and took a few steps back towards Eos, but then passed the Progenitor Blade and left Eos untouched.
Vetus grunted and reached for Eos. When he attempted to lift the blade, it would not bulge, or even shake. His face taken by surprise, Vetus attempted once more to grab Eos.
“You aren’t worthy to carry such weapon, Vetus,” Ganis said, approaching Vetus, making him retreat wearily. Ganis slowly dropped his hand onto Eos, fingers slowly grabbing the brown leather straps wrapped tightly around the hilt, and picked the blade up effortlessly to his face. Ganis looked at Eos, smiled, and said, “Now, Eos, sing.” He walked closer to Vetus.
Vetus kept his distance and only stopped his withdrawal when he found his back pushing against two Scylds who once followed his orders. They would not move unless commanded by Ganis, blocking his path until released from such duty. Angrily, he stepped towards Ganis and slashed, Eos meeting his blade and cutting it from the hilt. It was an effortless strike from Ganis, face as still as a stone.
With only a movement from his wrist, Ganis carved into Vetus’ chest. The wounded Scyld looked down in disbelief, covering his fatal wound with his wrinkled hands, and fell to his knees. Blood seeped onto the floor and life parted from him.
The deed was done, none would question Ganis again.
7
With no need to justify his action, Ganis ordered the Scylds of Initium Keep, her now-fanatically loyal subjects, to feed the prisoners sufficiently for them to conduct their work unhindered. The wooden coins were no longer used, and instead they were fed thrice a day, as many servings as they requested, an easy feat with the excessive supply sent from Scyldur.
And Ganis would walk the site with no need for guards, a grand liberation. When the guards have been made busy, and the officers’ eyes turned elsewhere, Ganis made for the Pits of Carcer he remembered so vividly, his once-shelter.
Two guards stood by it, none of which he recognized, and grew weary with his approach. They tensed but were spared the torture of deciding which action to take.
“I know of the Pits of Carcer, and of Prometh.” Ganis raised his hand and slowly approached. “How fares the resistance?”
The guards eased, but their confusion did not subside. “We know who you are, commander.”
Ganis smiled. “No you don’t.” He continued to approach, drawing nervous looks from the weary guards. “Take me to Prometh and let me talk to him.” He drew Eos, provoking the guards to prepare their pikes, and gently placed it on the ground. Two daggers followed, one from behind his belt and the other from his boot, and rested next to Eos, dulling in comparison to the Progenitor Blade.
“I’m unarmed,” Ganis said. “What threat will I be?”
“Very well.” One of the guards nodded and the other responded by opening the hatch, he was the one to lead Ganis to Prometh.
“I do admit there is an uncanny resemblance,” Prometh said, responding to Ganis’ story. The Nosgardian revealed to Prometh his entire story since their separation, even about Ninazu’s transformation pills.
“Since my arrival I have tamed the guards, assured the prisoners would be fed, and killed a handful of Scylds. What else can I do to prove that I’m an ally?” Ganis said. He sat opposite to Prometh, five guards at his neck, ready for a single gesture to claim Ganis’ head.
Prometh hummed. “Tell me, then, what were the last words I spoke to you?”
Ganis raised his eyes and looked straight into Prometh’s. The memory of their last conversation was as vivid as Prometh’s face at this very moment. The feeling of the wind’s breeze and the colors of the ocean that day have been engraved into Ganis’ thought like runes carved in an obelisk. Ganis said, nostalgically, “Till we meet again, Ganis from Nosgard, and till the resistance fares well.”
A single tear formed and parted from Prometh’s left eye. It quickly made its way to his chin and then to the dry wooden table. “Welcome back, Ganis from Nosgard.” The guards eased and dropped their weapons, rubbing their palms on Ganis’ body. Prometh stood up, Ganis mirroring him, and hugged his returned friend.
Wild emotions echoed through the Pits of Carcer, and so did word of Ganis’ return, but the reunion was be a brief one, for the people of Utyirth awaited, resistance and all.
Chapter 15: To the Hour of Demise
‘It matters not if a mission takes me a day, a year, a decade, or a century, for my purpose is immortal’ Philosophical Lessons from Utyirth (Volume III: Scholar).
1
“Prometh,” Ganis said, “I have to go to Scyldur.” It was the third time he visited the Pits of Carcer since his arrival to Initium Keep, and the excitement of his return all but faded.
The resistance leader raised his head, revealing his saddened eyes. “The resistance needs you now more than ever.”
“On two fronts it seems.” Ganis shook his head both ways. “It cannot be, Prometh. I’m needed by the Ona. The time draws near and my return is necessary.”
Prometh’s eyes widened. “Are the Southern Dwellers attacking?” He propped up his chair, back straightened with aspirations of a long-awaited strike at the Scylds.
“Not yet.”
“Then what is it? By Gehennam, would you let me know what’s going on?”
Ganis took a moment for himself, thinking of how to best explain that the connection he had to the Ona is the only source of warning. His immediacy was something beyond reason and words. “You will have to trust me, Prometh. It’s of things I can’t explain, a connection beyond words, that I’m drawn to reunite with the other Nosgardians.”
Prometh nodded. He did not like having Ganis come and go as he pleased, drawing close and far at the same time to the resistance, his own child. “Do as you must, Ganis from Nosgard, and we’ll do our best to be there when the time comes.”
Ganis looked at Prometh intently, a single look that bore more meaning that any words he could produce, and left, red-trimmed grey cloak gliding behind him as it brushed the air.
2
The Scyld guards, loyal to a fault, remained behind under the command of Twityo, whom Ganis had promoted to serve as his right hand. They were left with strict orders to see to the construction of the keep before anything else, even the prisoners’ atonement.
When Ganis returned to the empty streets of Scyldur the moon had reached its highest. He made his way from the pier at Sacred Stove District to Pertinax Dwelling, coming across a few houses emitting the occasional sound of praying dwellers, chants fading in the night.
It was not long before Ganis reached Pertinax Dwelling and entered it, expecting none of his Parthan crew to be awake.
A few steps into the common room, just before Ganis turned at the corner to reveal what awaited him, and Ganis heard a voice saying, “We were wondering if you would sense it.” It was Hephaestion. The smell of fumes strengthened as Ganis approached, revealing the other eight Parthans sitting idly, each minding their own and barely surprised by Ganis’ arrival.
“Sigurd and Monolos?” Ganis was surprised to see the two within the walls of Scyldur, Monolos more than Sigurd. “When have you returned?”
“When we were called,” Sigurd said, coarse voice sounding ever so strange. Monolos nodded agreeably.
“Is that what drew me here? A calling?”
“It is a rare occurrence, even amongst Red Onas,” Hephaestion said. “Some believe that it is a sign of greater things unraveling around an Ona
, a pattern of sorts.” He puffed on his pipe. The smoke smelled differently from what Ganis remembered, less floral and more arid, but equally pleasant. “We were never called before.”
“Is it about Naa’tas?”
“Certainly,” Rein answered. He stood up and approached Ganis, his aura of concern and violence entirely gone. After all this time, Rein finally managed to control his transformation rage and return to serenity, in spite of the vengeance oath he made against the Scylds. “Pax smiles upon us.” He held Ganis gently and hugged him, letting go just when it felt right.
“There is no urgency, Ganis,” Hephaestion said, after taking a deep breath to cleanse his lungs from smoke. “Tell us of Initium Keep.”
Ganis swallowed, and started his story. He missed no detail, even the thoughts he got about how different Initium Keep was from his memory of it. He told them what he discovered about Vetus and of Flagrum’s role in his assignment; of Twityo and the trust he pioneered in Ganis; and of the resistance and how far it went.
When Ganis concluded his story, drawing the absolute attention of the others, Hephaestion hummed and said, “Everything is falling together as it should.”
“Yet you seem concerned, captain,” Percival said. He sat next to Drain, shoulder to shoulder, and had his leg raised on the seat of his chair casually, resting his other arm on it, palm relaxed and facing down.
Hephaestion nodded slowly. “We are incomplete without Pertinax, and the calling never comes to a missing Ona.”
“You said you never experienced a calling before, captain.” Percival did not seem concerned, the only among the Parthans – even Sigurd – who remained calm.
Book of Kayal: Strength of Unity Page 30