Dawn of the Merlin- The Final Quest

by Rory D Nelson

  He takes the grappling gun and fires it, anchoring himself in the stone. With callused and bloodied fingers, he climbs horizontally, while Shadow continues to jump, climb and cling to insubstantial handholds. Perronius feels his grip beginning to loosen. The swarm of termites is now overwhelming. He brushes off his clothes, only to have another thousand race onto him again, the allure of his clothing too much for them to resist.

  The topography of the ceiling abruptly changes. He must jump at least ten feet to reach the beam of his last anchor. He braces himself, crouches down as much as possible and jumps. He barely clasps onto a portion of the beam with only two fingers. He panics for a moment and can’t find Shadow. He is unusually silent. And he sighs in relief. Shadow manages to hold on with only his mouth.

  Perronius attaches himself to the carabiner, while brushing off the relentless termites. He tries to brush them off the rope, but it is futile. He cannot hold them off for long. He begins to rappel downwards. He motions to Shadow, who follows. He rappels down further. As he does, he feels the palpable jolt from the fibers of the rope as they begin to give way. He begins to rappel further down. He gets to the end and tries to pull out another rope, but it is too late. The rope is tattered and beginning to sever in several places.

  His heart trip-hammers in his chest and he sighs in exasperation. The rope severs, and he falls to the ground. From a height of twenty feet, he crashes to the ground. Sensing the location of the tripwires, he spreads his legs as far as they will go. Shadow follows him. He grabs him before he touches the ground and holds him there precariously, with his feet spread out almost to the point of doing the splits. He can feel the presence of the trip wire brush ever so slightly against his leg. If he breathes too heavily and sways the slightest, he will set it off.

  He notices a small opening but knows it will be next to impossible to accommodate Shadow. He moves very slowly up over the trip wires, crouching down, nearly to the point of a contortionist. He’s done it several times in the gauntlet, but never holding Shadow.

  Shadow grows increasingly heavier with each step, but he manages to move through the landmine easily enough. Less than ten yards from the end of the trip wire field, the ending is just barely out of reach. “You’re going to jump, old boy!” With legs splayed apart, Perronius bends down and remains firm. He motions to Shadow. Hunching down, the wolf attempts to spring off Perronius. He jumps off while Perronius manages to be an immovable spring board. Shadow jumps just under a portico where the minefield ends and just barely misses a tripwire. He barks at Perronius. You’re next.

  Perronius mentally maps out the course he will take. He jumps several feet, turns, arches on his feet and springs forward, barely missing a tripwire and launches himself from a crouched position and only a few feet from Shadow, who barks and muzzles him affectionately.

  Perronius laughs. He proceeds through the hallway, while drawing his sword out. As they step through, he swings it in a powerful arc and severs two deadly arrows that nearly decapitate him and Shadow.

  Several vats of chemicals are stacked throughout the laboratory. The smell of sickly-sweet plants, solutions and noxious chemicals is pervasive. Steam engines churn the vats of multi-colored liquids continuously, which in turn are powered by turbines. Several large channels open, forcing the water through the turbines that produce steam.

  Cylinders, flasks, microscopes and an assortment of shiny, metallic instruments are spread out on several tables. A tall, bespectacled, distinguished looking man in a white jacket emerges from behind a microscope. He removes the smudges from his bifocals and raises his eyebrows in mock exasperation, much like a school teacher would with one of their errant pupils. He gives Perronius a perfunctory nod.

  “Cameo,” says Perronius. “I enjoyed your little maze.”

  “Perronius.” He walks over to him, bearing a look between bemusement and pleasant surprise. He is calm, self-assured and composed, as if he just awoke from a restful slumber.

  “You’re not startled?” asks Perronius.

  Shadow emits a warning growl.

  “I was at the first intrusion,” says Cameo. Lespie materializes from behind a large cylinder and smiles mischievously.

  Perronius smiles and laughs. “Well I know now who I’m dealing with. How did you fare past the termites?”

  “I took a detour,” says Lespie, smugly.

  “For years, countless numbers have tried to circumnavigate my traps, and all have failed-until now. Today, the three of you are successful. It leaves me feeling a little disconcerted, a trifle insecure. You ken?”

  Perronius walks towards to Cameo and embraces him with his forearm outstretched. “We are well met, old friend.”

  “I’ll always be in your debt, Sir Perronius. You ken well.”

  “As I am yours, Cameo.”

  Cameo smiles. “I’ve been working tirelessly on your impossible task.”

  “And were you successful?” Perronius asks hopefully.

  Cameo sighs and smiles. “Ai, very.” He pauses. “But notwithstanding the great debt I owe you, as always, pragmatism overrules debt and appreciation. Does it not?”

  Perronius smiles. “Ai.” He reaches into his knapsack and tosses Cameo a medium-sized pouch of gold pence. It is full of thick, ten gold pence, the highest denomination.

  Cameo eyes them curiously, partly in gratitude and partly in curiosity. “You overcompensate.”

  “And you over-deliver.”

  “Come this way.” They head around another set of tables, beakers, microscopes, vats and equipment. Cameo extracts a large key ring and ascends a small set of stairs and unlocks a refrigerated compartment of numerous vials. He grabs a tiny vial, no more than 2 ml. of solution inside. It is clear throughout except for an orange tinge on the surface of the volatile liquid.

  Cameo holds it up to Perronius. “Pure tannic acid. It’s over ninety nine percent pure, next to impossible to formulate. I assure you. Four hundred failed batches. But I finally did it. Will be worth it if you can accomplish your task, Perronius.”

  Perronius takes it but before he can put it in his satchel, Cameo hands him a small rubberized container which has been constructed with the mold of the vial. “Put it in this,” says Cameo, with a look of dour seriousness. “Take care with it, Sir Perronius. It is very unstable.” He opens a drawer and hands Perronius a metallic syringe. “You must not open up the vial and put it in the syringe until two hours before injecting it. If you do, you risk death by asphyxiation.”

  Perronius nods. “Ai.”

  Cameo looks at Perronius gravely. “You must be very precise with the measurements, Perronius. I would have you measure out the antidote yourself.” He pauses and looks at him. “If that is possible.”

  “I trust my men. Will train them diligently. They will be precise. Set watch and warrant it.”

  “They must. Because if you under-dose, you will die a painful death by poisoning. Overdose and you will die a more painful one. You are renowned for your abilities to heal yourself, but this will kill you faster than a fifty-caliber bullet to the head. You ken? I cannot stress enough how exact you must be. The margin for error is no more than a few drops. The antidote must be administered within the hour, no more than an hour and a half after poisoning, and that is pushing it. Ideally, you will want to administer the antidote within forty-five minutes. You ken?"

  Perronius nods. “Ai. Set watch and warrant it.”

  “Of course, it will do you little good if you should receive a bullet to the head. You ken? No one enters Khan’s palace armed. You’ll be stripped of all your weapons.”

  “I will have everything I need. Set watch and warrant it.”

  “Not everything,” says Cameo. He goes to a drawer on his massive oak chest and extracts a leather satchel. Inside is a map that he unfolds. Perronius senses the textured letters and confirms with a touch of his finger. “Oh, it’s in Braille, Perronius. Kalen has a photographic memory. He pieced it together from Taiken, Rasmore and Feldmore
’s escapes.”

  “We are indebted to them.” An impossible lump forms in Perronius’ throat and he finds it difficult to swallow. He holds back the tears, remembering several who never made it out of the prison. “And to those who did not make it out.” He says in a wavering, sorrowful voice.

  Cameo looks at Lespie. “You’ve been to your father’s cell, have you not, Sai Lespie?”

  Lespie nods. “Ai.”

  Cameo nods. “Then you must piece the rest of it together from his account. In the meantime, peruse this map. Commit it to memory. This map is rife with the blood of the fallen who helped create it. Remember such.”

  “I will never forget it,” says Perronius. “Set watch and warrant it.”

  “If you are not successful in your campaign, it will all be for not. My life and this sheltered existence will be forfeit. The hordes of the SeneGauls will destroy us. Much rides on your mission. I hope it’s worth it. This mission.”

  “Set watch and warrant, Cameo, even if we did nothing, you would be discovered. Tis only a matter of time. Already, your little haven has been breached. Do you really think you can stop the Proteriat from finding you?”

  Cameo sighs and reluctantly nods. “Ai, ken well.” He pauses, ruminates. “Even should you accomplish the impossible, what then? After you have achieved the fame, recognition and power you so desperately aspire to?”

  “You really think I’m doing this out of ambition?”

  “No.”

  “Our country needs the Merlin. This world needs the Merlin. From hundreds of miles away, Gaeden Kai and I had the same dream and from this vision, we transcribed the same message.” Perronius rolls up his sleeves. Lespie does the same. They put their forearms next to each other. Cameo looks on awestruck at the symbols, letters and markings are perfect mirrors of each other, right down to the exact color of paint used.

  “Remarkable,” gasps Cameo. “You could not chalk that up simply to coincidence. Could you?”

  “No,” says Perronius.

  “There is one more thing, Perronius. As you may have ascertained, the sea salt has corroded the palace structure over the last hundred years. The cost of reinforcing it with steel would be exorbitant, even for Songre Khan.”

  “I ken this well,” says Perronius. “My men were able to escape using this route.”

  “After the last debacle though with the attempted escape, they are now privy to this vulnerability. During the Festival of Devon Khan, the Great, it will be heavily guarded. The daily change of guard will take place and for a couple of hours, it will remain unguarded. It will be an arduous task gaining entrance into the palace from there, but I imagine it will be a possibility.”

  Perronius says, “Ai, we’ve already looked into that possibility.”

  “Then you have thought of everything,” admires Cameo.

  “No matter how diligently we plan,” cautions Perronius, “there is always the X factor. The unforeseen factor no amount of planning can account for, no matter how diligent we are.”

  “I know this well,” says Cameo.

  Cameo looks at Lespie and Perronius with a gleam of desperation in his eyes. “There is nothing left on my part. The rest is up to you. An impossible mission for the Knight that can do the impossible. Godspeed old friend.” He extends his forearm to Perronius, who embraces him as one of their own.

  “I say thankee, Cameo. You’ve been invaluable. I’m permanently indebted to you.”

  “My fate rests in your hands. Can do nothing but place my trust in you. Is more than I have ever granted to anyone. I grant it to you now.”

  “It’s well placed. Set watch and warrant it,” Perronius assures him.

  Cameo embraces Lespie as well. “Godspeed,” says Cameo. He turns from them and seconds later turns back around to say something, but they are gone. He sighs in frustration. He forgot to tell Perronius the most important aspect of the antidote.

  Chapter 5: Co-Conspirators

  Perronius and his knights travel on the perilous road to Kentene. It’s either that or travel through the Segoine Marshlands, a place rife with huge blood-sucking mosquitoes the size of horseflies. An insidious large, water serpent called the Muckus inhabits the marshlands, devouring prey as large as small horses by strangling their victim. They can be killed of course, but it requires breaking through their thick skin, and exposing themselves to their highly acidic and deadly blood. One drop will burn the skin. Copious amounts will liquefy anything it meets.

  Perronius and his crew are forced to defend themselves against a band of highway robbers in service to the many gangs that patrol the grounds, looking for victims. Being unaware of the appearance of knights, they imprudently ambush the group. They are quickly and methodically gunned down in seconds and left on the road to rot.

  They arrive in the hub of Kentene, a burgeoning town in the middle of a massive city overhaul and revitalizing effort, a town in transition. Several of the buildings are on stilts while construction workers tirelessly build up the city with mortar clay bricks. Half the buildings and its streets sit on the elevated portion of the town. Workers tirelessly build up the city to the new height which is twenty feet higher than the original city. Because a cycle of heavy rain years has flooded the town, they decided to remedy the situation by raising the streets and its buildings by twenty feet.

  The more affluent business owners have raised their structures already, so the town is a maze of cobblestone streets connected to dirt roads that drop off sharply from the other side of the street, making navigation in a coach or horse difficult, if not impossible.

  Perronius and his crew travel to the more affluent side of town with buildings that have already been revitalized. It hosts a movie house, several well-built brick taverns with numerous amenities like poker tables, hotel rooms, a kitchen, full bar and a phonograph record with loud speakers. A steam powered fan blade blows cold air through ducts throughout the building, which also blow through a massive ice box, causing the air to be cooled. It is a welcome and pleasant sensation from the stifling heat.

  The tables are mahogany and are shined to a glowing, lustrous veneer finish. Felt back pads provide cushioning for the wooden chairs. The poor and less fortunate who would seek refuge from the heat are dissuaded by the bouncer named Jasper Collins, a huge, barrel chested ruffian with forearms as big as billy clubs.

  His swelling muscles bulge through his tight, insubstantial shirt that fits him more like a sock than a shirt. His face is handsome except for the lengthy scar that runs down the side of his face and a glass eye that seems to follow you wherever you go, as if it knows something you don’t.

  Perronius dismounts his horse, turns to Lespie and nods the slightest bit. Germanicus and Domithicus quickly dismount also and approach Perronius. Perronius halts them with a gesture. “Gentlemen, you must sit this one out. Set watch and warrant, they’ll be rattled if anyone other than Lespie and I go. Malkie is skittish. He’s already on edge. Let us not push him over.”

  Germanicus sighs while Domithicus nods. “Ai. Suit yourself, but if you’re not back in ten minutes, we reserve the right to come in after you. You ken?”

  Perronius nods. “Ai, you have my word. If I’m any longer, you can come in.”

  Perronius and Lespie enter the tavern. Jasper Collins swings a butterfly knife around his finger rhythmically and menacingly. The butterfly knife seems to disappear and is replaced by an Ace of Hexagon. No one really knows why he favors the card. Some surmise it is because of his nickname, the Ace of Hex; others surmise it is because he hailed from the town of the same name. It was rumored he was cousin to the infamous bounty hunter, Malachai. the infamous bounty hunter and Imperionista in the Roont Peninsula in the unincorporated area known collectively as the City-States of Kent.

  However, this was never substantiated. Though what is substantiated is Ace’s battle prowess. Inside his flap jacket he keeps several throwing knives and he can launch them faster than most men can fire a gun, and he is deadly accurate. H
e is also notoriously strong and well-schooled in martial arts. One look in the direction of an unruly patron can stifle a verbal altercation or a physical one. Jasper Collins takes flak from no one.

  Jasper eyes them curiously as they enter. “Good day to you Gents. What brings you in today?”

  “Here to see Malkie Syers,” says Perronius matter of fact.

  Jasper turns around and gestures to the bartender with his index finger twirling around in a circle. He looks at them and nods. “You two may go on up to the bar. Malkie demands discretion at all costs. You understand?”

  They nod. “Ai,” says Perronius.

  They approach the bar. The bartender looks at them gruffly. “What’ll it be gents?”

  “Two whiskey sours. Top shelf Smitton, if it please you,” says Perronius.

  The bartender turns around to the liquor shelf and ascends a set of stairs with rollers attached, much like a librarian would use. Once he reaches the top, he grabs an elaborate crystal bottle with a shiny, intricate glass work. It is a rare and expensive bottle. There is a note directly under it. He picks it up. He opens it and pours it through an aerator. Once through the aerator, Wendyl, the bartender, pours them a shot from the aerator. He gets three shot glasses and places them on the table. “Would be obliged if’n you can buy mine too,” says Wendyl.

  Perronius and Lespie nod. “Ai,” they say in unison. “It would be our pleasure.”

  Perronius slides two five gold pence through his fingers seamlessly, increasing the speed until they seem to float around his fingers. He drops them on the table and causes them to spin around in place. Wendyl smiles but seems unimpressed. He had heard the stories of the gifted knight before. As he grabs the coins, he pushes the note to them. It says “Parlor Room” in boldly accentuated letters.

  He raises his shot glass. “To the destruction of Songre Khan.”

  Perronius and Lespie raise their glasses as well. “Ai.” They say.

  They all down their glasses. Lespie, unaccustomed to drinking such strong spirits, scrunches his face and coughs. His face flushes and he warms to the after effects. “We say thankee,” says Perronius.