As he rode through the outer reaches of the city, he made his way for the southern sector. “This is where they say you once lived. Manure, true enough, but spies are probably watching my gray ass. I’m too old for games.”
The rabble of mercs still clouded the doorways of shops and homes around the perimeter of the city. Some gave him notice, but many others directed their gazes down. If any thought of way-laying him, they decided better to leave him be. Gorias knew that, on size alone, few would start anything with him. Surely, easier prey lurked elsewhere.
Aside from these people, several itinerant peddlers and merchants set up shop in the streets. Business was business, even in the face of war.
Near the edge of the main city inner wall, he saw a metallic rack with its higher tiers full of flame. On this pyre lay a headless body being consumed. Gorias wondered if it was Shavon or some other persona being snuffed from the planet.
Just outside the city limits, he surveyed the earthen works and felt the walls of his mind closing in on him. Death scented the wind and he feared it as his own. His senses weren’t so dull that he didn’t see a figure in dark castle guard’s clothes step out. The guard leveled a bow and fired. The missile struck Gorias in the chest and he reared back on his mount. With a heavy groan, he fell from the saddle and struck the cold ground. His horse backed off and three guards emerged from the evergreen hedgerow.
“He went down rather easy,” said the guard who fired the arrow, doubtful of his luck.
A rough voice intoned, “Fool. He isn’t dead yet, and probably wears armor plates under all of those cloaks.” Gorias recognized this voice as Robyn De Balm. Footsteps came near as they closed in on him. “Do you see, old man, that not even a legend can stop my designs? Do you think I would let some pathetic puke steal one of my souls for no reason?”
“He doesn’t move.”
The dwarf secured the strap under his chin and ordered, “Drive your pikes through and finish him fast.”
Gorias tried to rise up to disengage his two swords, but the guards quickly jumped forward and grabbed his wrists. His fingers trembled and he involuntarily released the two blades. He fell to the ground and they moved back, laughing at how they disarmed the legend with little effort.
On one knee, he held his chest and gasped. “Well, I never trusted in magic much, Robyn. I like the feeling of steel going into the flesh of another.” He moved forward fast and grabbed the dwarf by the ankles. “But in a case like this, flesh will do. Deliverance will come.”
Gorias sprang up and swung the body of Robyn De Balm. He smashed the dwarf’s head into the nearest guard’s face. Since Robyn wore a metal helm, the jawbone and nose of this guard crushed far back into his head. Arms flailing, face ruined, the man stepped back. Feet dancing fast, Gorias maneuvered the body of the dwarf around, inadvertently knocking a pike loose from a shocked guard’s grip. His rage turning scarlet, he struck again with the dwarf, smacking the second guard on the left forearm so hard a bone there broke. As this guard clasped his injured limb, Gorias brought the dwarf around and up with an overhand arc, like he would a broadsword, and nailed the guard on the top of the skull. The man collapsed in a heap. Smelling brains, and unsure if they were that of the guard or the dwarf, Gorias moved on.
The third man remaining had his bow loaded. He drew back and fired.
Gorias held up the dwarf and Robyn took the arrow in his gut. He swung the dwarf once more but missed in his attack. The guard scooped up one of La Gaul’s swords, handling it with awkward fingers. He moved the weapon as if the blade were longer, missing his targets. Still he fought off Gorias, who continued to wield the dwarf like a bludgeon. When Gorias made an uppercut move, the ankles of the small body cracked. He swore as he threw the dwarf at the guard and drew his dirk. The guard fumbled with the body of Robyn De Balm in his arms. That provided enough confusion for Gorias to move forth, grapple him with one arm, and stab down with the other. The dirk sank through the heavy leather coat of the guard, and he ground it around. Chambers of the guard’s heart imploded and he died gripping Gorias’ sword, in the embrace of a fable.
Blood gushed from the wound as he replaced his swords. He looked down at the guard and then at the bloodied, crushed skull of the dwarf necromancer. Pulling the arrow out of his chest, he smirked. “Never even hit my skin, you young prick.”
Under his shirt, he adjusted his brace and the armored chest plate that no one could see. He turned to the guard whose face he’d broken in his initial attack. Gorias crossed his swords with little effort, removing the guard’s head and the hand that held his broken jaw.
Alone in the road, he spit on the dwarf’s bloody head. He stepped near his horse and stopped. The wind shifted.
“Step out, missy,” Gorias said calmly, sword still in his hands. “We may as well get this over with.”
From the hedge stepped the figure of Kayla Rhan. Though standing in a defensive pose, she held no weapon. “How did you know I was there?”
He sheathed a blade then gripped his saddle horn and said, “I can smell you. Serious, missy, you have an earthy quality. That isn’t bad, it’s just you.”
“My name is Kayla,” she said with strength, her hands on the handles of weapons concealed by the hedge and the dark.
“I remember who you are,” he said. “Were you part of this band of happy idiots or did you come to watch?”
She took a step but never drew a weapon. “I followed them because I heard what they were going to do. Robyn’s a swine and planned to double cross you.”
“He was a swine,” Gorias corrected her, returning his other sword to the scabbard. “He seemed like a fence sitter with your mom. He wasn’t much in the way of darkest wizardry by a long shot. I took him more like dim fortune-teller.”
“Hell of a dagger you have there. I thought it would pass through him.”
Gorias patted the dirk on his belt. “Yeah, it’s made of adamantium. Fairly rare stuff and one has to kill a hundred people to get some of it. It can cut jewels or other steel at will.”
Her eyes never blinked as she testified, “I know who Maddox is.”
He climbed into the saddle. “Oh? Does that mean I have to kill you?”
“We’ll see, Gorias La Gaul. I know that Maddox doesn’t have the ideals of Nosmada at heart.”
With a smirk, he said, “You wanted to see just what I was going to do when I get to Maddox, eh?”
“You’d never kill your own grandson,” she said, her hand resting on the strap of her lacquered leather quiver.
“I wouldn’t?” Gorias sent her a mocking look. “You don’t know me at all, missy, uh, Kayla.”
“You’d be surprised what I know about you.”
“Probably.” He coughed then said, “I have to find him and get down to business. I thought I had time to get out of this hole, but now with you knowing this…” He paused and saw what passed for a smile on her face. “You never told your mother Maddox was my grandson?”
“Of course not,” Kayla confessed. “I knew Maddox wasn’t evil and that you would never slay him. I also know he switched the jewels with those the cult obtained. Yes, he really pulled one on the Cult of the Dragon and those in the society of Wyss. They’ll not be raising Wyss from the dead.”
“Then you can guess that your Ma won’t be pleased with me when she figures out that I took her object of worry and killed her Mage.”
Kayla kicked the body of Robyn and said, “To Hell with him.”
“What’s Maddox to you?” Gorias asked as he looked down the moon flooded streets for witnesses.
The girl shrugged and said, “Sometimes one finds a man interesting due to what he is or who he is…or what he’s apart of.”
“I’m not much any more, sweetheart.”
Kayla smiled, her pale skin beaming in the night. “Inhumanly ancient and quite jaded? There’s no sin in that,
sir.”
“Ya talk funny, hon. I’m somewhat past being fervent about terms, deary dear.”
Gorias turned his horse and started to trot away. The girl jogged behind him like a trooper taking the field. He headed for the place he knew his grandson resided. Looking back at the castle, he wondered if he’d played his cards correctly, not exactly telling Lira or Kayla Rhan about his motives for coming here.
Though still cold the season was turning, but the night chills still gripped the warrior. The cold didn’t seem to bother the girl running behind him. Then again, he pondered, I got seven hundred years on her.
The simple home Maddox resided in attached itself to a series of other hovels that formed a city block. Made of planks, the thatched roofed home appeared well sealed against the elements with mud and pitch.
When Gorias came to a halt, Kayla jogged up behind him. She sounded winded but looked invigorated by the pallor of her skin. He turned his head as he heard a great crash inside the home. While he dismounted, a small figure ran out of the front door and onto the muddy ground. This youth fell at the feet of Gorias’ mount. Kayla drew out a slim rapier and sank back behind his horse. The person fresh out of the home was a young man, very slender, sporting long greasy hair. Dressed in russet pants and a horsehair tunic that a priest would die for, he whimpered and trembled, many words trickling from his lips.
Gorias heard more thrashing inside the house as he knelt by the youth. Brow furrowing, he realized the boy sang.
“What say you, boy?”
“Give me some wine for my mouth.
Let me have peace in my soul.
If I could get to the Mercy seat
God would bless me true, I know.”
“Kid,” Gorias grunted. “What’s going on here and where’s my grandson?”
“Who? Maddox La Gaul?”
“No, the bride of Methuselah, ya little jackass.” He gripped the boy by the hair and lifted him up. The youth sported a broad face, lightly freckled, and only reacted in pain for a moment to Gorias’ action. “Why are ya singing and running away?”
Tears flowed heavy and he wailed. “Because I’m about to die and as a young bard I always said I would die with a tune on my lips.”
Gorias scowled. “Very dramatic. Who’s going to kill you?”
In response, the sidewall of the home splintered into a hundred shards of wood. A rather large figure flew through the opening and slammed into the side of Gorias’ horse. The horse bellowed and backed away as the body fell to the earth. This sudden action knocked Kayla to the ground, but she rolled to her knees in response to this blast. The form from the house turned over and Gorias recognized his grandson, Maddox. A big man for twenty years, Maddox sported the La Gaul frame, but was leaner than himself.
“Evening, son,” Gorias said and drew the two swords from his backpack. “Deliverance will come.”
Up on his all fours, Maddox glared through a mane of black hair at his grandfather. Though this cover shrouded his expression, his gaze screamed alarm. Maddox leather boots dug into the ground, but he never sprang to fight whatever tossed him.
Gorias needed no ringing gong to tell him where the danger would originate. From out of the home emerged a gigantic figure, fully two feet taller than Gorias’ great height. This man, corded with muscle, bore a long beard snaking to his belly. His skin was scaly and red as blood, but his eyes glowed orange. Bald and wearing deerskin pants and vest, he swung a crudely made spiked mace to break his path clear in his exit.
The giant spoke in a deep voice, saying, “Stand aside from the son of a fallen son of God.”
“Great.”
Gorias ruffled out the sleeves of his overcloak. The boy who sang stared at his arms, and Gorias wondered if he saw the threads dangling near the handles of the swords. Stepping in front of his grandson, he put the handles of his swords together. They slotted jointly and stayed firm, forming one two bladed weapon.
He demanded of the giant, “Who is your father, shorty?”
Six fingers gripped the mace as the creature faced him. The two boys scrambled to one side as the giant yelled, “My father is Azazel. I am Hawkabel, vice Lord of the Nephilum at…”
The words of Hawkabel stopped with a groan, as Gorias twirled his blade and struck the giant between the legs. Gorias frowned, knowing he missed his target, even if he sliced the buckskin open. Hawkabel swiped with the mace in his right hand and reached out with his left. Easily, Gorias was disarmed and flung back into the dirt on his backside.
Hawkabel laughed as he put down his mace. He held the joined swords of Gorias in the middle at the handles, admiring the legendary weapons. “These must be the swords made from angels’ wings.” He looked away from the gleaming blades and down at the handles he held.
Maddox and the bard both stared at the same thing Hawkabel did. Their eyes traced the long thread back to the sleeves of Gorias as he sat up in the dirt. It was a simple maneuver when he yanked backwards. The swords disengaged from each other and the giant couldn’t resist grabbing for the blades as they fell from his grasp. Unfortunately for Hawkabel, his six fingered grip made fists around the blades. When he did, Gorias pulled back even harder. All the warrior needed was a modest yank and the blades sliced through the digits of the giant.
At the same time Gorias reeled his swords back in, Maddox took a chance and grabbed for the huge mace of the giant. He had trouble lifting it.
Hawkabel went to his knees, staring at his hands. Only his thumbs remained and blood poured from his wounds.
Maddox reached into his leather coat and each hand emerged wielding a small knife. He leapt on the giant’s back, stabbing him in the throat on either side. Hawkabel shrugged off the boy, sending Maddox flying, but the wounds bled like racing rivers.
Gorias rose up and gripped his swords anew. “Azazel taught men to work in metal and make weapons,” he said as he stepped closer to Hawkabel. “You shoulda paid closer attention to him.” He slashed down twice, chopping at the head of the giant near the wounds his grandson made. It took both blows to cut into the skin near the Nephilum’s throat. Hawkabel jumped up, gurgling, roaring, and swearing sulphurously. Gorias made a move with his right forearm, almost like a punch, but the belly of the giant split open in the move’s wake. The youths behind him gasped, not comprehending how he brought Hawkabel down to his knees.
He hacked a few more times at the throat, and then placed the swords side by side before he swiped. The head of Hawkabel hung off his body backwards, still attached by his spinal cord. Geysers of blood vomited in the air and they all stepped back.
Maddox looked at the bard. “Next time I want to go to the tavern, Tammas, listen to me.”
Gorias sheathed his swords and stepped closer to the boy. “That sounds like my grandson.”
Kayla stepped forward, focused on the forearm of Gorias. “How did you do that?” Though armor rested on his forearm, she couldn’t get a clear look at what on it could cause such an injury to the giant. The material gleamed scaled and sported a bony outcropping.
Maddox pointed at the house. “The creature wasn’t alone. His wizard came along with him.”
“Son of a whore,” Gorias cursed and maneuvered toward the breech in the house. Looking around, he saw no one. “Where in the hell is he?”
Tammas muttered, “Bedroom.”
Gorias moved through the breech before Maddox could stop him. The old one bolted through the darkness toward a door with an emerald glow seeping from the cracks. He kicked it open and beheld a small man carrying what looked like a mirrored shield. The wizard held the polished surface at the shelves near what Gorias presumed as Maddox bed. On these shelves sat many pouches, now discarded. Beside these empty cases lay a scattered series of jewels.
A disembodied voice in the room said, “No, no, no, wait, the emerald one! That is the soul we require.”
The ruddy skinned wizard then saw Gorias and his face showed terror. He raised his right hand and made a forked symbol. When he started to invoke a spell, Gorias roared and swung his swords from side to side. He removed the conjuring hand at the wrist cleanly, sending it to the shelves. The other blade slit across the throat of the wizard, trapping his spell in his wretched neck forever.
The polished shield fell to the floor, a rush of crimson gushing over the middle of it. The wizard fell on the bed, dying with a massive twitch and a rude breaking of wind. Gorias stared at the shield and saw that, through the shadowy depths of the glass, someone looked back at him. With a grunt, he planted a boot in the bloody mirror and the inner shield lining shattered.
Gorias emerged from the home with the dead wizard on his shoulder. He threw him by the dead son of the fallen angel. He peered down the street and saw a few figures peering out of hovels, soon to vanish from his gaze. One lingered, a tall slender man.
“Who the hell is that? He seems familiar to me.” His mind raced as this figure slunk back into obscurity. Who was that? He couldn’t place the body exactly. Surely not Ezran…
Maddox stared at the old man as he smiled. “Grandfather? You’re still alive?”
“For a while yet,” Gorias said, regarding the long-haired, smaller youth with his grandson. “Tammas the bard is it?”
The young man nodded with vigor, somewhat stunned by who he looked at.
Gorias slapped him on the shoulder. “I assume you both know Kayla.”
The youths exchanged glances, but were non-committal on that regard.
“Well, how did ya manage to get a Nephilum pissed at you?”
“Long story, Grampa.” Maddox gave Gorias a half embrace.
“Well, are there any more of him after you?”
Maddox shrugged. “They came from an advanced party of Nosmada’s band. They knew I stole the soul jewels from that little wizard. They thought I had the soul of one they wanted from amongst Robyn De Balm’s cache.”
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