Thrall

by Steven Shrewsbury

  Lemach ignored his words, walking in a small circle with the delicacy of a dancer. “Do you have children?”

  Hands falling to his sides, near the pommels of the twin swords, Gorias chuckled. “I’m sure I do.”

  His steps halting, Lemach’s nostrils flared. “From a wife?”

  “Yeah, at least one that way--a son.”

  “Is he dead?”

  “I should be so lucky. Look, where’s this woman I’m supposed to see? I have business in this town even if you don’t want to kill me.”

  “Lira is on her way, and the legion of mercenaries can live without one more for a bit.”

  Gorias didn’t arrive with the glut of mercenaries, but didn’t related this fact. “Quite a bunch they are.”

  Lemach showed wry humor in his rigid face. “You are not impressed by these fighting men?”

  “Not specially,” Gorias said, his middle fingers tapping on the grips of his blades. This action made the guards stare at him with keener eyes. “Those mercs are high on intimidation and low on delivery. That’s the way with most mercenaries from afar.” He smiled at that thought, for many folks thought people from distant lands possessed a sort of clandestine method of fighting or killing. They really didn’t, by and large, he reflected, but their alien nature could be used to an advantage.

  Lemach nodded and thought for a while. “Back to your son, Lord La Gaul. I would guess being your offspring would carry great baggage, no? I mean, walking in the shadow of a parable…”

  “Lord?” Gorias shrugged. “Life is what you make it, youngster.” Looking at the supple featured man, he thought it was never a pleasant thing to realize your own blood had become something this planet could do without. After a while, though, you got comfortable with it, he reckoned. Life went on and on.

  Lemach licked dry lips, looked about with a sudden discomfort. “Do you have grandchildren?”

  Gorias leered at him. “Funny you mention that. Maybe I’m in Shynar visiting one, eh?”

  At the head of the room, a long line of castle guards emerged from the single doorway. All of their clothes, from breeches to tunics, were woven in a heavy brown leather cover. These men in spiked helmets stepped with purpose, lean and fit, carrying tiny cross bows. Their manner and eyes told Gorias they stood much more apt for war than the relaxed constables.

  Lira Rhan, Gorias assumed, was the amazingly tall woman who emerged from behind them. A small dwarf followed her dressed in black, but Lira demanded Gorias’ attention. Very pale with green eyes and arching cheekbones, Lira wore a floor length houppelande gown made from woolen Kersey cloth. While not the velvety Fustian material Lemach seemed to favor, her Murrey tinted garment showed her aloofness from the dark warrior class. Her long, spider-like arms were encased in samite gloves to the elbow. Her collar, high and tight, hemmed her neck like ravens on each side.

  The guards lined the wall opposite Gorias and Lemach. The dwarf pulled back his slate colored cowl, stroked a jewel hanging from his neck, and gaped at Gorias. Lira stood behind the table, but when it became apparent he had no plans to rise and turn to face her, she stepped around the edge of the counter.

  “Evening,” Gorias said. “Excuse me if I don’t jump up and salute. I’ve had a helluva day.”

  “I would have had you thrown in chains, La Gaul,” she said, her voice husky but tight.

  “What stopped you?”

  She folded her arms, and Castellan Lemach dropped hands to his sides.

  “We could not justify the causalities it might result in. On to other matters, Shavon was on retainer from our chieftain.”

  “I guess you dropped that money in the waste hole, huh?”

  Unamused, Lira said, “She is a fine warrior.”

  “She was, anyway. The gal had a big mouth for a killer. I guess they don’t have to worry about paying her in hash or whatever now.”

  The dwarf spoke up in a stinging tone, “She was the best stock for the duty at hand, La Gaul. They are a rare breed.”

  Gorias never faced the dwarf. “She was young, I guess. Hell, she’ll be young forever. If she was that good of a killer, better decapitate her and burn fast so Shavon can’t rise from the dead and join Nosmada’s horde in the south. For now, they feed and move on, probably to Kanoch. I’d hate to see her fight like that as an undead.”

  Lira’s roared. “We know how to stop that.” Her manner calmed as many guards stiffened. She unclenched slender fists. “This is our chieftain’s mage, Robyn De Balm.”

  Again, Gorias never looked in the dwarf’s direction. His hand smoothed over a dirk in his belt and the small jewel on the handle.

  “Don’t think about trying to fight your way out of here,” Robyn said, the small metal helm on his head slightly askew. With quickness, he righted the strap on his chin. “Perhaps in your youth you would have challenged these guards, but…”

  Gorias sighed loud. “Is that all you folks think about is killing people? Did you bring me down here to execute me? How? By boring the piss out of me?”

  A few of the guards raised their crossbows. Gorias dropped his arms, palms on the grips of his two short swords. He was certain each young guard thought the arrow they had set carried death for Gorias La Gaul. He gave them a cold glare, challenging them with the unspoken question: Who will die first?

  Lira remained steady. “You question our methods?”

  “I wasn’t expecting an answer, sister.”

  “Gorias La Gaul,” she said. “You have no idea why Shavon was in Shynar?”

  “I never caught why she was here, no. Every dog screwing fool who fancies themselves apt at killing for hire is here. What was one more tramp with a sword and a bad attitude?”

  “Shavon came on retainer to us for a service, not to serve amongst the protectorate against the legions of Nosmada. It’s a very important duty she was trusted with, and one not just any soldier could perform. One would have to be a fierce killer with little soul to do this job.”

  Gorias exhaled noisily, guessing her intent. “Oh great. You have me to take over her job since I killed her arrogant ass? I’m only in town for the booze, whores, and to see my grandson. Why not go find a younger swinging dick amongst the mercs? Go ask that freakin’ assfaced ogre at the foundry for his hand. I know he can be bought.”

  “You slew our hired woman,” Robyn said matter-of-factly mid rapid blinks.Gorias stared at the guards. “And you will kill my sorry carcass if I don’t comply, huh? Just splendid.”

  “A group of youths obsessed with gaining the favor of Nosmada are planning to go to the marshes and resurrect Carlato Wyss,” Lira said while folding her hands. “They have been in league with the Cult of the Dragon.”

  “Wyss.”

  “I imagine, at your advanced age, you recall his incidents.”

  “Haven’t heard that name in quite a spell. Incidents? That sounds mighty clean.” He recalled tales of Carlato Wyss, the evil bard or performer, who slaughtered and raped so many people the exact count eluded authorities. “They tied rocks on his legs and sank him in a bog north of here.” Gorias laughed and unnerved the room. “Yeah, a cult leader if my memory serves, at least by today’s reckoning. These punks are out to resurrect him? Why?”

  “That is a matter of some debate.” Lira sighed, fingers drumming on her forearms. “Some say to curry favor with dark Nosmada and further his evil claims for blood. Others say it is out of a bizarre hero worship of the late bard. At any rate, they’ve slain many for their blood rites and thus, need to be stopped.”

  De Balm said, “Many believe they want the location of an ancient book that will unset the world--the Daemonolateria. Wyss knows where it is.”

  “Is that a fact?” Gorias said, humor fading as both hands rubbed his beard.

  Lira looked at De Balm then folded her nervous fingers in front of her stomach. “Others think the cult
is racing a team from Nosmada’s realm to the spot.”

  “Yeah, I hear tell of an enormous army traveling this way from Nosmada’s citadel,” Gorias admitted. “Hence your mercs outside. Dunno what they would want with Wyss’ bones, though.”

  “Nosmada’s army is led by General Tolin himself.” Robyn grinned.

  Hands returning to his knees, Gorias frowned and shook his head. “Tolin, eh? He’s a sweetheart.”

  “Tolin has the heart of a dragon,” Robyn said, small arms raised as the tiny wizard aimed at Gorias.

  He thought for a long time. “It’s soul, anyway.” Gorias then contemplated why they all wanted this dead fellow, Wyss. Dead men tell nothing, they say.

  Lira turned and watched a figure who entered the room. Though dressed in dark clothing, Gorias thought this person a female, sort of boyish, but sporting plump, generous breasts nonetheless. The echo of her boots distracted him as well as her figure.

  “Anyway,” Lira said, aiming serious eyes back at Gorias, “there are real necromancers amongst these foolish youths and they plan to move soon. Real evil will come from their acts. Amid all this troop movement, I cannot abide dangerous games.”

  “I suppose not.”

  “Tolin has an appointment with Mitre at the Foundry of Syn.”

  “Do tell?”

  “We don’t know if Tolin is involved in this plan to resurrect Wyss or not. He will not suffer these youths and will kill anything in his path that angers him. I worry our city will feel the brunt of chaos unleashed by these fools.”

  “You don’t seem to be in a great hurry, Lira Rhan, or you would have killed these kids yourself. Why all the subterfuge?”

  “The bogs are still partially frozen from the winter,” she reminded him. “Tolin and his army will not be here for a week.”

  “Good point.”

  La Gaul looked into the dark eyes of the girl who walked to Lira. Her tied back hair ran very dark, but her skin proved milky white. Her boots came to her knees and thick hose covered her thighs up to her cut-off, bastardized breeches.

  Lira went on to say, “There is evidence that a massive force of barbarian warriors are moving this way. It is the largest force of such monsters ever seen. They march south of the rugged Zenghaus Mountains.”

  “Proto-sword.”

  “What?”

  Gorias rolled his eyes. “Nothing, sister, just thinking. Quite a tight spot this city is getting to be in.”

  “Mitre thinks the barbarians are coming to buy his weapons as well.”

  Gorias wondered if these tribes of Zenghaus were the same ones led by the son of legendary barbarian warrior Brock, who he met decades ago.

  “The forces of Nosmada and these barbarians may use our back yard for a battlefield. I have other problems to deal with aside from their imprudence.”

  Gorias nodded. “Being in charge is never easy, eh? If you know who these cult kids are, why not kill them before they ride out to the bogs? Why doesn’t your miniature wizard there cast a spell, roll some bones and find the answer? Is he not as strong as he looks or what?”

  Enraged, Robyn was about to speak, but Lira said, “That’s one part of the puzzle. Once they try to raise Wyss, all of them will be exposed.” She paused as the young woman who entered stood behind her. “Magic does not solve everything, old warrior. They’ve slain a few minor nobles at varied whorehouses for their blood-spells. For that alone, they must die. Shavon could ferret them out and slay them, no big news story, no bad happenings as the town arms up for war. All we need is terror induced in the troops knowing we cannot get a handle on a few children adept at sorcery.”

  Gorias noted the young woman as her murky eyes sized him up. Her left eyebrow twitched when he nodded a subtle greeting. He thought the girl looked enough like Lira to be her daughter, but built sturdy and not made for feminine games.

  “Chieftain wants them dead, quietly?” He thumb pointed to the ceiling as if to reveal the leader of the city.

  “Who wants a dead bard around, leading the youth into his paranoid fantasies?” Lira said.

  “True,” he agreed, wondering if what the youths were after was Wyss’ wicked blend of herbs he used to make the will of his followers like jelly. That was a lost recipe as well…

  Lira shook her head. “It’s madness, but there’s a rumor that our Chieftain is descended from one of Wyss’ many wives. If they have success…”

  Gorias stood and all of them leveled their bows. “Yeah, who wants a famous old daddy around? I get your meaning. I have been the object of diplomacy before, Lira. But how do you know of this?”

  Lira motioned for him to follow her. He did, and the guards kept close with their stare and bows. Gorias glanced down at Robyn, who took a step back from his looming form.

  She walked to a dark curtain on the far wall and drew it back. They traveled past many a door. One open revealed a link to a barracks, another showed a kitchen. In time, a series of steps led them down the side of the castle. In an area invisible to the outside world stood a series of torture devices sprawled across a huge underground chamber. Gorias’ noted many circular bulges along the walls and assumed they were cisterns. Near these gathering places for necessities of life, many a life ceased to be.

  On one rack lay a stretched, stiff body of a young woman.

  “She was one of them who told us much, but she was short of a few names.”

  Gorias bit his bottom lip. “She won’t be short again.” He glanced at the dwarf, who still leered at him. La Gaul wondered if the tiny wizard lived on a drug or smoked something to make his eyes stutter so.

  Lira glared at Gorias, but he didn’t show fear at the fate waiting those below. “Dislocation loosens the tongue, every time. I knew this would not bother you. You are a man of violence. It suits you.”

  “Still, how do you know all of their motives?”

  The other young woman spoke up. “We have a novice necromancer on the inside.” She took out a small piece of parchment and showed it to Gorias. “He stole the jewel of Wyss from Robyn, here in the wizard’s collection. That jewel holds the very soul of Carlato, it is said. With it, they can restore the dead man, if they can get his body up and moving. If you catch and persuade him, this youth will surely tell you of their location.”

  Gorias coughed. “Can’t believe there would be much left of him by now…Miss?”

  “Kayla, Kayla Rhan.” She never offered her hand nor did Gorias offer his. “Our young contact fled their company and is a rogue, but he refuses to aide in the stopping of their enterprise.”

  Gorias read the paper again. “I see what you mean. That makes it all the more binding, huh? Still, he would know where they are I wager.”

  Robyn sneered. “The novice was quite a student, but he had anger issues when he studied under me. This youth must die.”

  The name of the novice was Maddox. Gorias showed no emotion as he asked, “This is the one you want neutralized?”

  “Yes,” Lira said. “He must die and the jewels must be returned to us. He worked yonder in the Foundry of Syn, but magic was his hobby, as it were.”

  “Was he a slave driver in the foundry? I hear there are a great many prisoners there.”

  Lira’s lips tightened. “The boy was a smith as well and oversaw the construction of weapons. The slaves are there in abundance. We certainly will not pay for such hard labor in the foundry. Do you think you can track this scoundrel Maddox and not cause a fuss?”

  “Certainly,” La Gaul said. “I would be able to go right to him.”

  Though not showing it, he knew the full name of the young necromancer causing them such trouble. Maddox La Gaul.

  By the look in the eyes of Kayla Rhan, she knew it as well. Gorias had to ask himself why this girl never told the information to her mother or the wizard.

  CHAPTER III

 
; Grandson Also Rises

  *

  Gorias stepped close to his white mount and glanced up at the outside of the keep. The city chieftain resided in the most fortified and elevated place Khabnur possessed. Protected by stone battlements, curtain walls, towers, and such, this place would be the last to fall, he ruminated. From afar, the chieftain made requests. Gorias almost laughed, for this individual had never deemed him worthy of being looked at, yet Gorias was to perform his will. Digging at the dirk handle with his thumbnail, he wondered what it must feel like to be a god.

  Lira watched him fidget with his belt, then stared into his old face and said, “If you cross me, you’ll die.”

  The breeze ruffled his flowing gray hair. “We’re all gonna die, sister.” His voice carried a heavy note of sarcasm. “Some sooner than others, by Heaven.” He stepped closer to her and whispered, “You see, I got something in my belly that’s eating away at me. It isn’t the blood disease of Nosmada, but it’s just as deadly. So you and your damned dwarf necromancer can shitcan the theatrics. You can’t scare a man who’s practically dead.”

  He mounted up and Lira Rhan calmed, folded her hands, and said, “Sending a dead man to stop more dead men from rising again. Who is the fool here?”

  Gorias grunted in the saddle and eyed Kayla next to her mother. The young girl watched him intently, emotionlessly…or was there something there? He touched his beard before winking at her. “Great thing about having nothing to lose, Lira: The world gets really clear.”

  “God be with you,” she muttered and turned back to the castle.

  He studied the distant ejecta billowing up from the Foundry of Syn, visible as an orange cloud in the darkness. “You’re funnier than you think,” he said but was sure she couldn’t hear him.

  The hour turned after midnight when Gorias rode out into the rambling city. He reviewed the provided directions to the spot, outside Khabnur’s earthen works, where sources claimed the youths were held up. Gorias also thought of how the guards viewed him in the castle. Years ago, the looks would have been of admiration or fear. Now, their looks registered as hungry--thirsting for his legend and to be caught up in his wake.