Tammas leaned in to get a better view. “How so?”
The Beholder whispered, “You know how it is with two big men. Mitre has a manhood complex, as do all creatures born with a penis. Noel was a lover of great capacity, it is said. Stillwell thought Noel plotted against him. I don’t think he did. Noel was smarter than any of them and would never let something as petty as a female stand in the way of his goals. But to make an example of him they put out his eye, cut out his tongue, and chained him down amongst the lowly workers. It shows the others what happens in the case of rebellion.”
Gorias stared at Noel then the Minorcs. “It has to be a bitch being herded by a bunch of creatures with no balls. Just ironic, that’s all.”
They moved across the main production floor and up another flight of stairs before they felt cool air on their faces. After ascending a great distance, they were led into the offices of Mitre Stillwell.
The red-headed creature peered up from a clipboard in his hands. “La Gaul.” His surprise turned sly. “I see you’re here. You come to visit this person of great taste and wonderful discernment for the better things in life?”
“We must talk, you bugbear bastard.” Gorias closed the door.
*****
Maddox La Gaul glanced at the entrance to the foundry and frowned. Hands on his belt, he spat, making no attempt to hide his displeasure at being yoked with Kayla. Kicking at nothing on the ground, he twisted as if an invisible hand slapped him.
The daughter of Lira Rhan, however, made no eye contact with Gorias’ grandson. She cleaned the shoes of her horse and said quietly, “No use pouting. It doesn’t become you, even on your worst days.”
“Why didn’t he take me with him?”
“Who knows?”
“It doesn’t make any sense.”
“Perhaps you over estimate your importance.”
Maddox raged on. “Tammas is a child and knows nothing about the world, much less keeping a straight face in the eyes of danger. Educational? Hah. Breathing every day is a new experience for him. You and he nearly pissed your pants at the sight of those Beholders. I’ve seen them before.”
“Angry that those in the foundry cannot see you on Gorias’ arm?” Kayla said, a hint of sarcasm in her voice. “One more chance to bleed the legend of Gorias dry and make your shadow grow longer? I think that’s why you whine like a girl.”
Now his stare blazed at her. In that moment, full of anger, Maddox La Gaul resembled his grandfather a great deal. “I’m glad I never saw anything in you. You’re just a hanger on with no imagination.”
“It’s true I searched for your grandfather in you.” There was no sadness in her tone. “You have a great deal of road to tread before you’re a quarter of the man he is.” She expected Maddox to snap back and gave him a fierce expression.
He looked off into the distance, far to the north, and said nothing for a long time. “Life is a teacher, girl. I have a long way to go. The old man is a lover of life. Well, he was at one time. I can feel what he feels in his blood--the desires, the wanton lust, and the eagerness to fight.”
Kayla ignored his words. “I expected you to flee by now. There’s a bad war coming.”
”So what? Like you will die in it. You can always go back to mommy.” His voice turned grim. “No, I must stay with the old man until the end. Running away isn’t an option.”
“Do you fear Gorias hunting you down to kill you?”
Maddox raised an eyebrow. “There’s nothing in me that allows me to run. It is not in my nature, as useless as you think I may be for women and drink. There’s a time when every man must face his destiny, son of man or son of gods. I’ve had my fun, but I’ll answer the call when it’s made, make no mistake. I’ll fight and I’ll die like I’m supposed to.”
Kayla returned to her work, but this time, her pale fingers shook. For some reason, she couldn’t stop this action.
*****
Tolin walked in a large circle in the dead grass of late winter. His lips worked in soundless curses and groans as his troopers whisper to one another, “Zillian refused his request.” The troopers guarded a crude altar they had set up out of stones. On it lay the body of an aging prostitute who had been vivisected to obtain enough blood for Tolin’s contact spell. The archaic scarlet designs in the grass and on Tolin’s face faded with his sweat and with the tramp of his boots.
With a disagreeable roar, he placed a foot on the body of the woman and pointed at the other whores the men had brought. “You did well to bring enough of these along, men. You knew I might want to call out to the realms beyond if Zillian refused my request.”
Captain Karter nodded, still at attention. “I have served you for years, sir. I know your ideas and desires, if not your perfected will.”
Tolin pointed at the open space. “Lay the five out and dig a hole in the middle.”
“Yes sir,” the men said as one.
Still struggling against their bonds, the women were laid out at perfect angles, forming five points to a design that terminated at the waist of Tolin. The troopers then grabbed their tiny shovels used in making foxholes for long attacks. In time, they scooped out a basin by the heads of the women that ran fairly deep in the earth.
The troopers handed Tolin heavy gloves from his saddlebags. These gauntlets held sharp knives on each finger. Tolin howled to the shifting sky and slashed downward, cutting the throats of two prostitutes. He gouged the necks cross, causing the blood to spurt at him. The others screamed under their gags as he delivered their fates. He stood at the center of the five points of shooting blood. When the words of his entreaty were uttered, the blood congealed on him like jelly. Soon, it fell off and formed into a scarlet mass. This blob turned an orangey hue and rose up like a serpent. Its density faded and transformed into a beam of light, arcing to the sky.
Far away in the North, there arose a roar that trumpeted across the land. It was greater than any horn of war and a sound unheard in centuries.
It was the call of a dragon.
CHAPTER XI
Lannon, Mitre, and
the Summoning
*
Deep in the fortress of Kanoch, Lannon once again met Lord Nosmada near the Chamber of Redemption. This time Nosmada required no aid in walking. He moved with measured strides yet his legs quivered, appearing feeble. Lannon kept a respectful distance and slowed his pace so as not to out distance his master.
Nosmada asked him with weariness in his voice, “How is Zillian after speaking with the general?”
“Zillian is very weak, sire, as always after using her viewing.”
Nosmada’s face became more vital and rage rose in him, but his words remained steady as he said, “I wasn’t planning for her to use her magicks yet. Tolin requested an audience and isn’t powerful enough in his state to conduct such magicks. It took more out of my Zillian. Bastard.”
“He sounds quite determined, Lord.”
In his place of rest, Nosmada reclined and pondered his words. He told Lannon to go care for Zillian. Just as he was leaving, Nosmada said in a fatigued tone, “How long have you served me?”
“Most of my adult years, sir. Not all in your inner chambers, but for most of my life.” Nosmada already knew this, but he answered him anyway.
“I contemplated your words to me earlier, but refresh my memory. What do they say of me in the outside world?”
Lannon didn’t answer right away.
Nosmada smiled. “You choose your words carefully. That’s wise and amusing unto my very soul. But be honest. Entertain me with words, good or ill, from outside these walls. I’m not likely to kill such a faithful servant as you, am I?”
“Oh, I don’t listen to idle gossip, sire.”
“But I wager they fear you in the taverns and halls because you work for me, no?” Nosmada offered in a kind voice.
/> Lannon couldn’t help but smile. “True, sire, your patronage inspires fear, loathing, and love.”
Nosmada laughed. “I can see the fear and loathing, but love? Oh, do tell. How does the accursed one of Earth inspire love?”
“It’s an element of what bards call celebrity or being associated with legendary status. Since there are so many legends and tales about you, they think any man who serves you so long and lives must have favor in your eyes. I am not foolish enough to be that arrogant. I serve and go home. However, the young females in the taverns, or the girls that don’t go to saloons, just want to be close to your aura, your legend.”
“So.” Nosmada laid his head back. “You get many women because they are caught up in my thrall?”
“That’s about correct, sir.”
“No wonder you serve me gladly.”
“There are worse duties, sir. May I ask a simple question?”
“We shall see if I answer it. Go on.”
“Have you ever met Gorias La Gaul? He’s incredibly long lived, such as yourself…”
Nosmada shrugged. “Great age is no fantastic exploit in these times. Most are long lived in this day, if they don’t end up murdered. No, I have never met Gorias La Gaul. He has lived but seven centuries while I have trod this planet much longer. I respect him in that there are so few like him on Earth. That barbarian king of Albion, far off from here, is like Gorias. They are both powerful bastards who care not for any but themselves.”
“I see.”
“Yet, they are hailed as heroes. It baffles one side of me, but the human side understands. People are frail and need something to believe in. If they refuse to put their faith in gods, they will put it in men. If not men, they will screw up their courage and follow a legend farther than any god can send them.”
“Then what is your desire, sir? What is it that you want?” He added quickly, “If I may ask.”
Nosmada looked at the ceiling. “It isn’t about control, power and destruction. It’s simple yet complex. It’s all about blood, everything in life. That’s one reason Tolin hates Gorias so.” Nosmada opened both hands and gaped at his fingers. “You see, he hates him due to his soul--that of a dragon—and for exterminating his kindred. His own flesh hates him because Gorias sired him. Though he isn’t always aware of that part of himself, it’s an important element in it all.”
“I understand now.”
“Tolin’s greatest sin is that he is not Gorias,” Nosmada said. “Imagine growing up in that shadow? He certainly attained a different kind of fame.”
“Why didn’t you grant General Tolin his wish, sir?”
“Why? Because I didn’t.”
“Will he be angry and try to contact the dragon himself?”
“Probably.” Nosmada turned over on the bed, saying, “He does wrong, yet I will forgive him.”
“Permit me one last question, sire. Why would you do that?”
“I’m the only one who can. Forgiveness is better than punishment. A man punished is a man who carries vengeance to new and bizarre lengths to be, in the end, justified in his actions or to be forgiven. Forgive him and vengeance will not grow in his heart.”
*****
Gorias sat across the vast table from the massive creature. Mitre Stillwell’s one good eye looked at him then the young man who stood beside.
“Who are you, schoolboy?” Mitre said, sounding insulted at the presence of the youth.
“I am no one,” Tammas said. “Just a bard traveling with Maddox La Gaul.”
Gorias imparted a glance at the young man that almost showed pride in the words spoken by the bard.
“Bards.” Stillwell snorted via his enormous nostrils. “I killed a bard once, right on stage, God Almighty.” He glared at the ceiling as if answers were printed there to read. “Must be fifty, sixty years ago if it was a day.”
Tammas lifted both eyebrows and said, “There is a song, a warning ballad for bards not to travel into the ice lands ruled by Gorm the—”
With a slice of a great paw, Stillwell cut him off. “Hangman. Yes, I know of the area. Gorm the Hangman ruled it with an iron fist. Fear of him never stopped me from charging the stage and ripping the fool bard’s throat out.”
“Why did you do it?”
“Not fear Gorm or kill the bard? I didn’t fear Gorm because I was too drunk. I ripped the throat from the bard because I hated his song, and I was too drunk.”
“I was shocked to see you in a position of regular authority,” Gorias said. “You always did drink too much.”
Mitre was very still, and then he stifled a laugh before saying, “Look who is talking, such a pure man. My work interferes with my drinking, that’s certain.” He cleared his throat. “So you come to my foundry to see me. You still have stones, old one.”
“Yer no spring rooster yerself,” Gorias retorted, lifting the cloth that covered the table. A look of surprise spread on the old warrior’s face.
Mitre rolled his eye and sighed. “The little lackey is on break. I’m not a devil.”
Gorias shrugged, glancing at the filmy curtain in the corner of the office. “I guess what goes on in a bar doesn’t go on in here as often, eh?”
“They all serve me here,,” the ogre said hotly, gripping the desk edge. “They are all my bitches if need be.”
“And that’s all this is for you?” Gorias said, his boots nudging the front of the desk. “Making stern weapons for the nameless armies who pay you and being overlord over all of these sad, wasted lives?”
Now Mitre shrugged then tapped the desk top with his right thumb. “It’s a living. Some need to feel the chill touch of fear in their spines to perform well at anything. I’m just a provider.”
“Not much of a life for such an adventurer,” Gorias needled him.
“Things change.” Mitre sent him a serious stare.
“Apparently. The great Ogre Stillwell, slayer of men, defeater of armies, deflowerer of virgins now sits, beats down the weak and gets oral gratification from fat little slobs.”
Non-plussed by his words, Mitre took a drink from an enormous ceramic mug and said, “Just because you haven’t seen fit to die yet, don’t cast stones on the latter stages of my life.”
Gorias leaned forward. “Let’s cut to it, old bugbear. Why was that puke sniffer Michael Galenson following me? Why?”
“I think you know.” Mitre belched, thumbing his drink. “Tell me about it.”
“You didn’t count on me showing up, did you? But you knew my grandson was a necromancer, or played at being one.”
“He played at being your grandson to get women. A good racket if you can run it, I suppose.”
“Anyway, you never counted on my presence in the coming affair. Old or not, no matter what your bluster, you didn’t want any X-factors in your scheme.”
Mitre’s chuckle gurgled up from his belly. “This is fabulous, you old fart. What scheme is that?”
“Maddox named you as the dealer in souls. I can see your work a mile off. You swapped soul jewels with that damned prick, De Balm. He was always working an angle with the forces of darkness. Most little dicked wizards are.”
“He’s dead now, Robyn?”
“I killed him.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, a couple times. He worked one approach when Maddox stole the soul jewels. My grandson is still not the brightest star in the sky, but that’s youth.”
“True.”
“You knew his desire to please his friends in the Cult of Wyss and you screwed him. Maddox never knew what he was doing, but could feel the spirits were wrong. He was double-crossed by the cult, but they humped the dog already, eh? You made sure that their dreaded master wasn’t ready to arise from the dead by changing the crystals around long beforehand.”
“My, what a story!” Mitre smiled. �
��Where’s that little slob of mine?”
Gorias continued. “Wyss arisen from the dead, a beacon unto his servants, isn’t what you wanted at all. Your dope fiend mole said you sold the soul of Wyss to the Cult of the Dragon in the desert of Dundayin long ago.”
“So Michael told you about my dealings with those in the ruins of Larak,” Mitre said. “There’s no honor in a dope fiend.”
“True,” Gorias agreed, shuffling his boots. “I knew an arisen Wyss would be of no use as his old self to you. What I cannot gather is why trade that soul off to the dragon cult? Instilling such a society with such an article--there’s no point to it beyond sheer cruelty against the world.”
Mitre laughed heartily, a disturbing sound to anyone nearby. “True, old man. What good would such a cult have for the soul of Wyss? I mean really, they want the sentient dragons of old to lead them. What good would a doom cult leader do such folk?”
Gorias wiped sweat from his forehead and his eyes widened. “They don’t realize it, do they? They think they have the soul of a dragon.”
“My, my, you’re still bright for a dimming star,” Mitre said.
Tammas looked from one to the other and said to Gorias, “What do you both mean?”
Gorias stood up. “The dragon cult would have the time, resources, and will to try to raise a dragon from the dead. It would take a great many lives and a great deal of blood to perform such a feat. Once they had a body close to being reconstituted via their magic, they would need a soul for their creation. Yet there are no souls of dragons about any more, are there?”
Mitre said dryly, “Save for what walks in the breast of Tolin La Gaul.”
“This is but a fable,” Tammas said, trembling. “The tales of the Draco-Lich arising from the sands are as old as those about…”
“Those of Gorias La Gaul being a real person? We all know what manure those stories are, aye, boy? Tell me one about Mitre Stillwell, ostracized outlaw, making good on a sale of souls for a place to rest his weary head.”
Tammas stumbled back, but Gorias grabbed his wrist. “Steady, boy. I see how it is, old ogre.”
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