Dawn of the Merlin- The Final Quest

by Rory D Nelson

  DAWN

  of the

  MERLIN

  The Final Quest

  by

  RORY D. NELSON

  Copyright 2018 © Rory D. Nelson

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for use of brief quotations in a book review.

  8

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Chapter 1: A Clandestine Meeting

  Chapter 2: Unholy Meeting

  Chapter 3: Another Shaky Meeting

  Chapter 4: Deathtrap for the Unwitting

  Chapter 5: Co-Conspirators

  Chapter 6: Setting the Stage

  Chapter 7: The Mission Begins

  Chapter 8: The First Act of Subterfuge

  Chapter 9: Awaken the Dead

  Chapter 10: An Expedient Escape

  Chapter 11: Castle Breached

  Chapter 12: The Search for Gaeden Kai

  Chapter 13: The Rescue of Gaeden Kai

  Chapter 14: The Mole Revealed

  Chapter 15: Uncomfortable Betrayal

  Chapter 16: Imminent Departure

  Chapter 17: Behold the Merlin

  Chapter 18: The Humble Merlin

  About the Author

  Dawn of the Merlin: Your Review

  Dedication

  I would like to thank my best friend, partner, and love of my life, Janell Galindez for all her hard work and supporting in helping me with this endeavor. Without her, this book would not have been possible. In short, she has been my rock of Gibraltar. My proofreader, editor, website developer, SEO specialist eBook formatter and all-around technological wizard. Being technological inept myself, she has proven herself resourceful and invaluable in running my cross-promotion events, giveaways, and Mailchimp campaigns. And she has done it all without monetary compensation – only to need to see my dreams of being a successful author come to fruition. She is the epitome of a selfless partner. Thank you Love!

  I would also like to thank my mom, who has always encouraged me to pursue my dreams and continues to recruit new readers for me among friends and family. Thank you, Mom!

  Chapter 1: A Clandestine Meeting

  A cloaked figure approaches the castle in loose fitting, nondescript clothing. He conceals an assortment of weaponry. He wears a gun belt with three holsters, two on the left side and one on the right. On his left side is a razor-sharp sword, ready to be ejected from its sheathed scabbard at a moment? notice. His companion wolf walks close behind him. He keeps his head down and avoids eye contact with anyone. Though his wolf is extraordinarily large and unusual, no one seems to take notice of him. He has mesmerized those around him in a hypnotic spell, implanting the suggestion in them that reflects his attire. I am no one.

  He seems to glide past everyone. If by chance a stranger should take notice of him, they are quickly dissuaded from thinking on the matter any further. He implants the suggestion of indifference as easily and naturally as a bee implants the pollen in a flower. He is of no concern to anyone.

  When the figure emerges from the streets and approaches the gates to the castle, two of the guards approach him. Though they too have received the suggestion, duty commands they question him. “Who goes there?” asks Alexander, Captain of the guards.

  “Phillip of the Nordic Province. I'm requesting an audience with the King?”

  Alexander smirks condescendingly. “Are you now, stranger. You’d have better luck requesting a pot of gold. Get out!”

  “Wait,” says the stranger. “Bring your King this. I will wait for his reply.” He extracts an immaculate and silver-plated envelope with a well displayed gold embossed symbol in the middle.

  Alexander takes it and looks at it curiously. It belies the stranger’s disheveled appearance. “Wait here,” he says. He turns to his subordinate. “Watch him carefully,” commands Alexander.

  “Ai, Captain,” says Brody.

  Alexander takes it to Menelaeus.

  Alexander approaches King Menelaeus. He bows to him. “My Lord, some ruffian named Phillip of the Nordic Province is requesting an audience with you. He asked me to give you this.”

  He hands him the silver-plated envelope. Menelaeus looks at it curiously. He turns it around to examine the embossed seal and a smile erupts on his face. He opens it up and begins to read it with his fingers. Though Perronius can write fluently in the Gaelic cursive favored by the Crown, he opts instead for Braille. Few can read it, so there is little chance his information will be discovered, should it not make it to King Menelaeus.

  Menelaeus peruses it slowly. He must, since he rarely uses the Braille language favored by Perronius.

  My Lord, I do cry pardon for the deception, but I could not risk discovery. I am on a secret mission. Please meet me in secrecy with due expedience. The gravity of the situation demands it.

  Indebted as your faithful servant,

  Sir Perronius

  Menelaeus turns to Alexander. “Captain prepare me a meeting chamber in the catacomb level at tempest halt. I’ll be meeting with this stranger.” He looks hard at Alexander to reinforce this last point. “Alone.”

  “Sire, with all due respect, I’d advise caution. Please do not leave yourself vulnerable. We don’t know much-”

  Menelaeus abruptly cuts him off. “Your objection is duly noted, Captain. Now see to it.” He says with hard conviction as he bores his eyes into him. Alexander looks away and bows.

  “Ai, my Lord. I’ll see to it, set watch and warrant it.”

  Alexander takes the hint from Menelaeus to heart and prepares a room deep in the levels of the catacombs, ensuring he will not be uninterrupted with the stranger. Wren, his timber wolf, follows Menelaeus down into the catacombs and as Shadow’s smell becomes evident, he emits a whine of anticipation. He looks towards his master. Menelaeus gives him a nod and Wren runs off, greeting Shadow.

  Perronius pulls the cloak from around his face and greets Menelaeus. He bows and reaches out for Menelaeus’ hand and kisses it. “We are brothers as well,” says Menelaeus. “I would have you greet me as one.” They embrace with forearms outstretched.

  “We are well met, Perronius. Had I known of your arrival, I would have presented you with a feast and proper homecoming.” He pauses and raises an eyebrow in curiosity. “But there is great reason for your secrecy, is there not? Officially you were never here. Were you?”

  Perronius smiles. Menelaeus gestures towards Perronius. “Would you sit, brother?”

  “Ai and I say thankee. No, I was never here.”

  “What is the reason for your non-visit?” asks Menelaeus playfully.

  Perronius snickers but his expression turns grave. “I am on mission as you know well.”

  “Ai,” says Menelaeus. “Ken well. Does this mean we will have a Merlin soon?”

  “If we are successful, it will mean many things. The title only carries weight with the accomplishments behind it. It will mean many things to Gilleon, but there are many things that must be set in motion if we are to accomplish it. You ken?”

  “What do you need from me?” asks Menelaeus.

  “Your seal, your signature, and the weight of it. I need you to assume the guarantor of a loan, should it be reneged on.”

  “And why would this loan be reneged on?” asks Menelaeus curiously.

  “If I should fail and fall to my death, you must answer for it- and repay this loan,” warns Perronius.

  Menelaeus scowls, an expression that is part curiosity and indignation. “How much are we talking about?”

  “Eight thousand pounds of gold. Four chests full.
”

  Menelaeus coughs and his eyes grow in dilation. A look of consternation crosses his face. “Eight thousand pounds!” he hisses in disbelief.

  Perronius nods. “Ai. Tis not a tripe amount.”

  “An amount that will lead to ruination. What would the terms be?”

  “Ten years. Eight percent interest.”

  Menelaeus scoffs and puts his hands through his hair and rubs his temples, feeling the unmistakable burn of a migraine beginning to seep its way into his head, the pulsing waves beating faster and faster. “I would not be the first to voice my misgivings about your previous campaigns, Perronius.” He looks at him, in a scolding manner, the way a parent would look at a rebellious child. “But this borders on madness. Do you have any idea how much that would cost per month?”

  "Of course, I’m a mathematician. About eighty thousand gold pence, depending on how accurate the weight is.”

  “Forty, fifty, sixty, seventy. It doesn’t matter. It would lead us to ruin either way.”

  “Only if my plan is not successful. And it will be, I assure you.”

  Menelaeus sighs in frustration. “And who is the note’s recipient?”

  Perronius slides a piece of parchment paper over to him. Menelaeus eyes grow in dilation and he re-reads the paper just to be sure it is true. He wears a look of utter desperation and defeat. “This cannot be. By my hand, I would be committing treason. Do you not understand?”

  “I understand this is the only way. The repercussions of our failure will echo throughout this land for some time. I have never failed you yet, my Lord. You believed in me when I was but a slave and you gave everything and more to procure my rescue. I ask you to have faith in me now.”

  “You ask me to commit treason. I could have you arrested just for suggesting it. You know this well,” says Menelaeus sharply. “For this unholy alliance with an ork. An enemy of the state. A slave general, no less.”

  Perronius smiles coyly. “Don’t be tripe my Lord. We both know you will do no such thing.”

  Menelaeus emits a long, pathetic sigh and looks at Perronius that is part sneer, contention and exasperation. “My most beloved student, please assure me that you have everything under control. That I will not be signing off on my own death warrant with this. That you will not lead us to ruin.”

  Perronius edges closer to him and grasps his hand to placate him. “My Lord set watch and warrant, the repercussions of not signing this will be far greater. Would you cut off your own ear to spite your face?”

  “You know I wouldn’t.”

  “Then sign for the sake of our country.”

  Menelaeus emits another hopeless and pathetic sigh. He picks up his pen and signs the document, takes his seal, places it in the ink pad, and presses it over the top of his unusual signature, one that is part Gaelic and Sumerian cursive, a signature that would be nearly impossible for anyone to reproduce. The seal completes its authenticity.

  Menelaeus hands it to Perronius. With careful reverence, Perronius takes the signed document and places it in his knapsack as if he were handling a live grenado.

  Perronius turns again to Menelaeus. “Thankee my Lord. There is one other thing I must ask of you and it’s no tripe matter.”

  “It never is when it concerns you,” says Menelaeus.

  “I need the reprieve of a prisoner and a commutation of his sentence. He is currently in Abernath Prison awaiting crucifixion. I need him transferred to Cathrall.”

  “What’s his name?” asks Menelaeus, with a look of mounting concern.

  “Benedict Corian.”

  “The infamous marauder?”

  “Ai.”

  “Convicted rapist, pillager, extortionist, mass murderer, slave trader, and robber?”

  Perronius reluctantly nods. “Ai, that’s him.”

  “Could you possibly find anyone less deserving of a reprieve than him? The man murdered an entire family- where they slept. Even the children were not spared. How shall I compensate the families of the victims?”

  “Any way you see fit. You are King.”

  “A King with a conscience.” He sighs. “And principles. There are many who have been anticipating the man’s crucifixion. You would seek to take that from them?”

  “You are the King. You must appease them in the way you see fit. I am not your counselor, my Lord. You know me as a righteous man and a patriot. Sometimes I don’t get to be both, and I must choose. You should thank God I choose to be a patriot for the survival of this country. You ken?”

  Menelaeus remains speechless. He merely buries his face in his hands and tries in vain to will away the throbbing pain that burgeons in his temples like a mounting wave crest before a coming tidal wave.

  “I could explain my reasons for doing this, if you would hear them,” says Perronius.

  Menelaeus stops him with a gesture and a shake of his head. “I don’t want to know, Perronius. I know too much as it is.” He lets out a long, overly dramatic sigh. “I will see it done because I trust you above all else.” He shakes his head, bearing an implacable countenance. “Alliances with our sworn enemy. Granting clemency to an execrable sociopath- all in the name of your quest. Mark my words, Perronius. If it were anyone else, I would have them strung up and charged with treason. I grant you this simply because it is you and there is no one I trust more than you.”

  Perronius turns to Menelaeus, bows, and grasps his forearm to embrace him. “My Lord, I say thankee for your faith and complicity.”

  “See that it is not wasted. I trust you above all others, but you ask the world of me-continuously so.”

  “Ai.” Perronius turns to go.

  “One more thing,” says Menelaeus.

  “Ai," replies Perronius.

  “Officially, I must disavow any knowledge of this, not the least of which is your unholy alliance with an ork slave master. Should it come to light, you would be subject to treason. See that the nature of your relationship does not come to public light.”

  Perronius smiles. “There are many things that should never come to light. My men do not know of this and they never will- so long as God wills it.”

  “Maintain that at all costs; because if it does come to light, not even I will be able to protect you.”

  Perronius nods and in seconds he is gone.

  Menelaeus rubs his temples nervously, trying to will away the massive migraine that pulses through his temples with the steady drumming of an electrical current. Wren emits a low-level whimper and buries his head in his master’s lap. Menelaeus rubs his head affectionately. “Please God, do not let Perronius fail in this."

  Chapter 2: Unholy Meeting

  Cleotus makes his way down into the subterranean levels of the mines and ruminates over the lates0t slaves he has procured. One is especially observant, intelligent, rebellious but surprisingly sycophantic towards him. There is something about the way his eyes dart rapidly back and forth, studying every minute detail, examining his surrounding with calculating intensity. Cleotus has read his dozier in detail. He is a murderer and bank robber, who had been apprehended along the Appalachian Bound Trail.

  Cleotus knows it well. Only the unschooled, unlucky and pathetically stupid could be caught there. He has no doubt they were trumped up charges and he is one of Perronius’ recruits. He calls himself Paxus, but it is an alias, Cleotus has no doubt. He will turn a blind eye if necessary but not at the risk of implicating himself in his escape.

  So far eleven men have been recruited and six have made it out alive. He was forced to kill one above the ridgeline when four of his subordinates stood with him. He had no other choice in the matter. It was either shoot him or risk heavy suspicion, one which would could have had serious repercussions.

  Even a Captain and mine steward is subject to protocol. This alliance has served him well and he has procured the freedom of twenty of his kin. In time, many more will be released from exile. It is a maddening, slow and precarious process, one which involves more risk than Cleotus is
comfortable, but he must toil on. To do otherwise would be abandonment.

  As Cleotus nears the eastern mine shaft, he hears the distinct ‘ping’ of a small pebble being thrown. With his acute sense of hearing, he can hear it, even above the pounding din of the elevator shaft. He reaches for his beacon sword from its scabbard, but the grasp of a strong, human hand stops him.

  “It’s just me,” Perronius assures him.

  “What have I told you about sneaking up on me like that? Could have kilt you so I could have.”

  “No, you couldn’t,” says Perronius playfully.

  “You’re in luck. Change of guard.”

  “It was no accident. I timed it this way.”

  Cleotus grunts and snickers in amazement. “I’ll never know how a blind man can set his watch to such things.”

  “There is much you do not understand about me and never will.”

  “You are right in that, patriot. Meet me in the card room at tempest halt.”

  Perronius nods.

  Minutes later, Perronius and Cleotus meet in the card room. The smell of ork is pervasive and it brings back the more pleasant memories of Perronius’ life in the slave mines. He enjoyed cards, eating cheese, and cheating orks out of a good deal of their pay.

  The card room is exactly how it was all those years ago. Huge mahogany chairs with sheepskin backs are set up around a massive table. The table has an intricate painting, expertly etched into it. A large falcon sits atop the massive clawed hand of their King Sylvio, who fancies himself the tamer of beasts and the world at large. The etchings are extraordinarily detailed. It was commissioned and painstakingly produced by a human, since no Ork could have produced it.

  The pictographs painted on the walls of the room are more crudely drawn, devoid of the extraordinary detail of the carving. They were painted by Ork and the difference is marked but they are heavily textured. Perronius feels the wall and takes it all in, pondering the vivid memories from this room.