Four Gods

by Sebastian H. Alive

“Goru is what I entrusted you with, Tomas.” answered Magdalenian softly.

  “Ahhh yes, when you put your faith in me you can be sure that your valuables are in a safe and secure location.” he said tapping the huge key around his neck and winking at the same time.

  “I can’t tolerate this despicable man any longer.” hissed Hephaestus.

  “Forgive my friend,” soothed Magdalenian. “A long journey awaits us so grant me access to my box and we will be on our way.”

  “Of course my Lord.” replied Tomas. “If you would kindly excuse me for a moment and allow me to check the register.”

  He turned and walked stiffly back to the table and picked up a pile of parchments bound by a leather animal hide cover and began thumbing through the pages carefully.

  “Ahhh…here we are,” he said tapping a page with his finger. “Your box is situated in bay twelve, third shelf from the bottom. Let me just go get that for you”

  Clearing his throat Tomas placed the register back down on the table and left the room hurriedly and made his way through the hallway then down a narrow stone staircase towards the vault at the back of the house. Swiftly he entered a large bare chamber lit by torches set in iron brackets hammered into the rock of the wall. His servant, Geffray, was waiting patiently by the huge stone door and Tomas clipped him around the ear as soon as he was within reach.

  “Ouch!” cried the boy cupping his ear.

  “Tell me something, Geffray. What is missing in this room?”

  The boy looked around mystified and shrugged his shoulders as Tomas planted his hands on his hips.

  “Let me give you a clue, Geffray. I am disgustingly rich and I don’t plan to do any manual labour for the rest of my life and yet here I am stood before a tremendously heavy stone door.”

  Geffray stared blankly back at Tomas who looked around the chamber incredulously.

  “Where is the heavily muscled man that I employ to open the tremendously heavy stone door?”

  “The Vault Master?” queried the boy.

  “The Vault Master.” agreed Tomas.

  “Oh, he’s taking a break. I said I would let him know when the sand clock had run out.”

  Tomas clipped him around the head once again and the boy cried out in pain holding his red ear with a hurt expression on his face.

  “I suppose we’ll have to do it ourselves then.” he muttered lifting the huge key over his head.

  He inserted the key into the hole and turned it then grabbed the iron pull handle with both hands and pulled on the heavy door with all his strength. But the huge stone door didn’t budge. Swearing loudly Tomas planted one foot against the wall alongside the door and yanked on the handle and inch by miserable inch the heavy stone creaked open to reveal the vault.

  When he had finally opened a wide enough gap Tomas collapsed to his haunches gasping for air and breathing heavily.

  “Is it heavy?” asked Geffray eyeing the door.

  “How did I end up with the world's most useless servant? Really?” muttered Tomas feeling lightheaded and dizzy as he pushed himself to his feet.

  “Do you want me to help?” asked Geffray sounding bored.

  “Grab a torch from the wall and follow me.”

  A wide grin spread on the boy’s face and he skipped on the spot excitedly.

  “You’re letting me in there?”

  “Yes, but don’t touch anything.” warned Tomas as Geffray ran over to the wall and plucked one of the torches from the iron bracket.

  “I promise I won’t.”

  “And don’t set fire to anything.” he added looking nervously at the flickering flames of the torch.

  They stepped into the vault and the boy stared around in awe at the network of enormous stone dividers lined up in the vault like massive aisles, each with hundreds of individual shelves.

  “It’s so huge.” whispered Geffray holding the torch aloft and panning it slowly around the room.

  “The trick to tackling such a room like this is to divide it up into numerical zones and catalogue it accurately.”

  They wandered slowly down the rows of marked aisles and Geffray’s eager eyes scanned the goods displayed on the shelves as they walked. There were vases the likes of which he had never seen before, exquisite jewel encrusted helmets, decorative chests, volumes of books, heavy sealed sacks that he couldn’t identify, numerous items of silver and gold jewellery, deeds detailing the acquisition of lands, payments of monies and dispute resolutions and other items of worth all with their own individual marked shelves.

  “Here we are, this is it,” murmured Tomas stopping by a section and staring down at a large wooden crate. “Bay twelve, third shelf from the bottom.”

  Stooping he lifted the box up with a grunt then looked back down at the empty area.

  “You look sad.” commented Geffray.

  “An empty shelf is less income and that is a loss that makes me incredibly sad.”

  Adjusting his arms against the weight Tomas hauled the case back to his waiting customers and gently lowered it onto the table top surface then wiped his forehead with the back of his hand.

  “Please sign this, my Lord.” he said offering Lord Montagu the register and ink quill.

  Magdalenian scribbled his acceptance and delved inside his travelling cloak and pulled out a small bag of coins which he tossed through the air to Tomas who caught it deftly.

  “This is more than you owe, my Lord?” questioned Tomas hefting the coin suspiciously in the palm of his hand.

  “A man of trust is a hard man to come across and I never know when I may be in need of your service again.” said Magdalenian moving towards the table.

  Tomas watched intently as Magdalenian opened up the wooden crate and reached inside with both hands and lifted out a large heavy wedge shaped object wrapped in oilcloth. He placed it onto the table and slowly removed the fabric from around the object revealing a beautiful blackened twin bladed axe with a steel-wire wrapped grip. Silver runes were etched along the surface of the metal and glinted in the light of the room. Lightly, Magdalenian ran his finger over the silver runes that ran along the blades and a sigh escaped his lips.

  “Oh, it’s just a barbaric weapon.” muttered Tomas sounding disappointed.

  “Fool, this is no ordinary battle axe,” snapped Hephaestus. “This is Goru, the axe of Dar Thadian.”

  “A weapon of the Old Gods!” whispered Tomas. “Are you selling it?”

  “No,” answered Magdalenian. “We’re giving it back.”

  Chapter Seven

  The capital city of Tarlath

  The Solar of the Princess

  Unnoticed, he slipped into the room and gently closed the door behind him then lowered the large woolen saddlecloth to the ground. The room was dark with only a fraction of moonlight spilling though a gap in the thick heavy curtains so Agamemnon paused and waited for his eyes to adjust to the gloom. Peering into the darkness he could see the silhouettes of some chairs, a small table, an unlit fireplace and a four post wooden bed set in the corner. The little princess was asleep on the bed and her soft snoring carried across to him in the stillness of the night. He crept stealthily towards her holding his sword and scabbard tightly against his leg so not to knock anything. Standing at the foot of the bed he stared down at the princess who was peacefully clutching her own cloth doll with her tiny legs curled up in a foetal position and the blankets kicked away from her body. She wore a simple linen night dress and her long red hair reached halfway down her back, perfectly neat and combed. Agamemnon padded softly to the side of the bed opposite her and it was then that he kicked the chamber pot lying on the ground close to the bedside.

  All of a sudden her bleary eyes flicked open in alarm, blinking into the darkness for a second then looking up at him. Muttering a curse Agamemnon sprung on her and covered her mouth with his hand so she couldn't scream. She twisted desperately in his grasp, trying to free herself but he held firm and leaned in close to her ear.

  “
My name is Agamemnon and I'm not going to hurt you.” he whispered.

  The princess tried to scream but his hand muffled her cries for help and she kicked out with her legs and struck her balled fists against his chest.

  “Calm yourself." he said in a low soothing voice.

  She tried to pull away again and then in an instant she went quiet and slumped limply in his arms, her unfocused eyes flicking around and glaring into space.

  “I serve your father and have no reason to lie.”

  Her brow creased ever so slightly at the sound of his voice, and her head tilted to the side.

  “Your life is in great danger, Princess. Men are coming to kill you and you will not see the sunrise. Do you understand what I am saying?”

  Her eyes remained vague and Agamemnon cursed once again.

  “I want to get you to safety but know this, if you scream I will kill you without hesitation anyway.”

  Slowly he took his hand away from her mouth and the Princess didn’t move or utter a word.

  “I need to get you beyond the castle walls. To do this you must do exactly what I say otherwise we will both end up dead. I am going to wrap you in a large blanket and carry you on my shoulders to the stables. There I have a horse saddled and waiting. Then we need to get past the gatehouse and you must remain completely still and without a word as there are men that know me there. If you hear any strange noises still do not make a sound until I give you the signal.

  Agamemnon stared at her angular pretty face not knowing if she understood. With a whimper the Princess turned and looked down at the mattress, her hand snaking around frantically looking for something in the darkness. He felt on the bed and his fingers brushed the cloth doll and he pressed it into her hands.

  “You must trust me. Men are coming.” he said cupping his hands around her face.

  She looked back at him now, her eyes staring into his and then she nodded her head.

  Without another word Agamemnon pushed himself from the bed and walked over to the door and picked up the fallen woolen saddlecloth then walked back to the little girl sat hugging her doll protectively. Gently he lifted the Princess from the bed and wrapped the girl in the blanket covering her from head to toe.

  “This may feel uncomfortable for a few minutes.” he said kneeling on one knee.

  With a grunt he threw her over his shoulder and walked over to the door and opened it a crack to peer down the hallway. Satisfied there was no-one there Agamemnon opened it wide and exited the room quickly. He took the stone stairs of the solar two at a time holding onto the bundle tightly and burst out back onto the paved stone courtyard of the inner bailey. With his breathing coming hard now and his pulse racing, Agamemnon hugged the shadows and made his way over to the stable where the boy was waiting with his saddled horse. Without a word of thanks he flung the Princess across the back of the horse and smoothly vaulted into the saddle behind her and grabbed the reins from the outstretched hands of the stable boy.

  “Searching eyes can get you into trouble, boy.” said Agamemnon looking down at the boy who was staring up at the bundle curiously.

  “I saw nothing Lord Agamemnon.” he replied flashing a grin.

  Nodding his head he flicked the reins and his horse cantered towards the stone gatehouse and the heavy spiked portcullis which barred their way beyond the castle walls. There was only one guard that he could see on duty and Agamemnon recognised him even from a distance. His name was Hamon, a tall ugly balding man with a fondness for ale and a weakness for the ladies and they knew each other well. When the gatekeeper saw the approaching horse he smiled warmly and stepped out of the gatehouse side door to greet him.

  “Ho there, Agamemnon.” he said waving a greeting.

  “A cold night, Hamon.” he replied licking his lips nervously.

  “It will get colder still,” muttered the man. “Where are travelling to?”

  “I plan to find myself a nice warm body. The kind that keeps me awake at night.”

  “Then I am truly envious,” said Hamon hawking and spitting onto the ground. “There is a new girl in the whorehouse that you will like. They call her Jelena. She has the arse of a young boy, slim waist, nice small breasts and a face men would draw blades for. I have heard she is a whore of some renown.”

  “Knowing you, Hamon. You would have already sampled her wares.”

  “Me?” he replied with a wink. “No, I like them busty with plenty of flesh and ugly as sin. I’ll bid you a good night.”

  He turned to leave and open the portcullis when suddenly the bundle across the horse of Agamemnon jerked and uttered a muffled noise.

  “What is this?” hissed Hamon with his hand reaching for his sword.

  “Wait!” hissed Agamemnon quickly. “How long have we known each other, Hamon?”

  The man paused but his hand still rested on the pommel of his sword.

  “Four years.” he replied narrowing his eyes.

  “That we have. We have hunted together, sparred, whored and got drunk together have we not?”

  “We have.”

  “Then you know me, Hamon. You have a daughter, right?”

  “The fruit of my whoring but I dote on her very much. What is going on, Agamemnon?”

  “The King has ordered his own daughter slain and I cannot allow that to happen.” he whispered.

  “You would kidnap the Kings flesh?” gasped Hamon. “I like the man as much as I like the pleasing aroma of burning flesh but this is high treason. You are the King’s champion like I am a King’s man.”

  “I like you Hamon. Do not make me kill you.”

  The words were spoken softly but the gatekeeper knew them to be true and he ran a hand over his balding head and looked around furtively.

  “I would be dead before I pulled my sword anyway,” he grunted. “And what of the whore you favour? She will be dead by the morn.”

  “She craves money more than my company and will find comfort in the company of others if the King spares her.”

  “She’s a whore.” mumbled Hamon shrugging his shoulders apologetically.

  “Will you let us pass?”

  Nodding his head numbly the man vanished back into the gatehouse and after a few long seconds there was a grinding of chains and the oak plated portcullis with its iron spikes on the bottom began to rise inch by inch until there was enough height for them to ride through. The gatekeeper finally re-emerged and looked up at Agamemnon.

  “You have my gratitude, Hamon.” he said reaching down with his arm and grabbing his wrist.

  “You may have condemned me to torture, you know.”

  “Then let us not leave it to chance. Turn around.”

  Hamon sighed and turned his back to Agamemnon who smoothly pulled out his sword.

  “Make it look real!” he snapped. “But not the face, it’s my best feature.”

  The swordsman brought the pommel of his sword down hard against the man’s skull and his legs buckled underneath him and he dropped to the ground silently.

  “Thank you, my friend.” he said sadly.

  Sheathing his sword he kicked the horse into a gallop and rode hard from the castle without looking back.

  Chapter Eight

  The capital city of Tarlath

  The enchanter’s lair

  Mordechai stared down at the naked corpse on the raised wooden table, his tiny distorted reflection looking back at him through the cold, dead eyes of the bloodied body. He had been a young man cut down in his prime by a single stroke of a sword blade to the neck, his life ended in an instant as a result of a quarrel between two men and a woman.

  “Foolish boy,” whispered the enchanter shaking his head. “Yours was such a waste of life over nothing more than the desires of the flesh.”

  He had never fully understood the sexual excitement or lustful intoxication that a woman could muster in a man because he had never had the urges. As a practitioner of magic, Mordechai had celibacy vows that he faithfully kept. Abstaining from al
l sexual relations he had never touched a woman or experienced what it was like to kiss and caress one amorously remaining unmarried and without children of his own. Now as he looked upon the young man with the fatal sword wound to the neck he felt nothing more than a sense of irritating loss and it irked him.

  “How many more evils would be caused in this world by a woman?” snapped Mordechai as he started to wash down the blood from the rest of the body. “A casual enticing glance of the eyes, a spoken word and it stirs a poison in men and poison kills. You were young and once you had hopes and dreams; you could have been anything, a great soldier, light cavalry or maybe a Knight yet the jealousies of man forced you to draw blades and you were not the better swordsman. Now here you are.”

  With a hiss between his teeth the enchanter pushed back his disheveled hair over his shoulders, smearing a streak of blood into his silver strands as he did so. Then he wiped his long, thin fingers over his woolen habit and tossed the bloodied cloth back into the water basin on the table surface.

  “If celibacy was granted law today there would be fewer stupid deaths,” grunted Mordechai fixing the corpse with a hard admonished stare. “Flesh should only give birth to flesh for the purposes of reproduction. Now your death will serve a much greater purpose and you will know great strength and power.”

  He shuffled to the side of the corpse and turned his head to the right and stared down at the second table running parallel alongside it. There lay the body of a huge grey wolf, its eyes vacant and tongue lolling limply outside its mouth. The animal was about six feet long and when alive had stood about seven hands tall and weighed as much as a young child and it’s wealth of grey fur lay matted and bloody where the arrow had struck deep into its muscular body.

  “My eyes tell me you would have been magnificent alive,” commented Mordechai raking his gaze over the animal. “You will be magnificent still.”

  Suddenly the door to the underground chamber opened and the enchanter looked up to see the huge bulky frame of the King glaring back at him. The silver streaks in his forked trident beard were stained red with spilled wine and his dark, beady eyes searched the room.