“Where is she?” he bellowed.
“Whom do you seek, my King?” asked Mordechai.
King Gomorrah didn’t answer and stumbled into the room on unsteady feet. He paused for a moment and sniffed the air at the strong pungent metallic odor of blood then staggered over to the tables and looked down at the two bodies.
“You should be resting my King.” remarked the enchanter with a disapproving look.
“You whittle like an old women,” barked Gomorrah with spittle flying from his lips. “Where is the half-witted girl? I gave the command to Agamemnon to notify you when the body is ready to be bled.”
“I have not yet seen Lord Agamemnon, my King.”
“I am surrounded by incompetence!” yelled Gomorrah slamming his fist down onto the table angrily.
“Worry not, my King. We will drain much from the girl and she will be…sufficient until you have recovered.”
“I sense hesitation in your voice, enchanter!”
“Merely the misfortune of hindsight, my King,” replied Mordechai with a tight-lipped smile on his thin, sallow face. “Had the girl lived she could have been a constant source of Royal blood. We could have had the girl chained up and bled her when demand needed.”
“I like that idea,” chuckled Gomorrah with a glint in his eyes and a smirk on his round face. “Like a wooden cask in a brewhouse waiting to be drained. The girl is a reminder I would rather forget so if any good can come from my loins then it will be that her blood has helped create me more Meldlings.”
“It will be as you say, my King.”
Gomorrah glanced at the corpse then over at the dead wolf and ran his hand over the animals fur hide pelt examining the wound.
“A formidable beast, I am surprised a single arrow took it down.”
“It still will be formidable, my King. Wolves of this size are a rare phenomenon indeed. It should make a specialised Meldling like nothing before it, able to detect smell from great distances, to hunt and to track. The perfect apex predator,” said the enchanter with a determined look in his eyes. “This animal terrorised the town of Ansk on the outskirts of the citadel. Ate some chickens before Raulyn took it down with one shaft which lodged deep into its lung. It was a fine shot.”
“The man has an uncanny eye,” grunted Gomorrah nodding his head in appreciation. “He can shoot the hind legs from a rabbit at fifty paces that much is true.”
Mordechai wandered to the other side of room and collected the pewter bowl of blood he had drained from the King earlier and brought it carefully over to the table before looking up.
“Would you not rather return to your chamber and take some rest, my King?”
“Does my presence unnerve you, enchanter?” hissed Gomorrah.
“The process requires much concentration and my powers cannot be misdirected and create…impurities with the Meldling. If you stay then no single sound can be uttered from your lips, my King.”
“Then get on with it, enchanter!” said Gomorrah retreating to the side with his huge arms crossed and resting over his bloated stomach whilst watching him intently. Mordechai reached across and took the bare arm of the corpse and laid it across the table against the matted body of the wolf. Then he bent low over the naked man, tilted the head up slightly and opened the mouth and poured some of the Kings blood down his throat and held it closed for a few long seconds before releasing the head. Next he turned to the wolf and opened its maw, pushing aside the long tongue as he did so and poured a measure of the blood down the animal’s throat. Placing the pewter bowl down the enchanter stood in the aisle between the two tables and rested one hand on the chest of the man and the other against the body of the wolf and began whispering quickly with his eyes closed. It was barely audible at first, his lips opening and closing as he rapidly chanted words unfamiliar to the King with his eyes fluttering under his lids. For a while nothing happened then suddenly the wolf’s body jerked spasmodically on the table. Gomorrah’s face remained transfixed on the animal as Mordechai dug his fingers deep into both flesh and fur with his voice reaching deep pitches, louder and faster. Suddenly the male corpse arched on the table and writhed then slammed back down hard against the surface but still the enchanter kept his hands against them almost screaming now.
Finally, with a gasp the enchanter snapped his hands away and backed slowly towards the King as the body of the male swelled and grew sprouting light grey fur with its limbs distorting abnormally. Muscles stretched and its chest swelled outward, teeth lengthening and nose and mouth moulding together forming a muzzle as the body of the wolf shrank before their eyes. The table groaned under the weight of the man-creature as its fingers stretched, growing longer into dark razor sharp claws.
Suddenly the door to the room burst open and a soldier cried out in fear as he saw the beast twisting and squirming violently.
“My King! My King!” he yelled.
“Fool!” hissed Mordechai scrambling over to the Meldling and examining it carefully as the soldier backed away a couple of steps.
“Speak.” ordered Gomorrah glaring at him.
“My King, the princess has been taken from her room.” the man gasped lowering his eyes from the piercing gaze of the King.
“Who?” roared Gomorrah with his lips curled back in anger.
“Agamemnon, my King. He is a traitor to the realm. He attacked the gatekeeper and has fled the castle gate with your daughter under cover of darkness.”
The King narrowed his eyes menacingly then waved the soldier away with a flick of his wrist before turning to Mordechai.
“Does the Meldling live?” he asked.
The enchanter stared deep into the yellow-gold eyes of the creature and looked back at Gomorrah.
“He lives my King, but the link was interrupted before completion. Who knows if the Meldling is spoiled or pure? We need to examine the creature’s behaviour before it is used.”
“No, the beast will begin to hunt…tonight.” whispered Gomorrah.
Chapter Nine
Outskirts of Tarlath
Agamemnon stared at the fire, watching almost hypnotically as the wood crackled and burnt around the dancing flickering flames of the campfire. He listened to every sound of the softwood as trace amounts of sap hidden in the pockets of the wood hissed and popped, the noise amplified in the night like a guiding beacon sending out signals to their location. But he left it to burn. Too weary to sleep and with his thoughts troubled he just sat against the fallen log gazing at the flames of the fire that leapt and twirled in a fiery dance. His back was stiff from riding for so long, his left arm aching from holding the Princess steady in the saddle upfront and his calves were tight from gripping the sides of the horse. The journey so far had been arduous and the terrain had been rough. He had angled them towards the waters to the South avoided the towns, using routes over open country and riding across fields and craggy hillsides trying to put as much distance between them and the city. After several hours of being exposed by the moonlight and anxiously looking over his shoulder Agamemnon had veered slightly off course and rode into a thick growth of woodland. The endurance of his horse was good but not unlimited and he had pushed the animal as hard as he dared. He had placed a great deal of faith in the horse's ability to find its way in the dark but all it took was one pothole or uprooted tree stump and the animal could break a leg. To do so would be death for them all. Slowing to a gentle canter Agamemnon had let the horse take the lead as it could smell water in a stream within the dense woodland. Led to a narrow flow of water in a channel he had dismounted slowly and stretched his back with a groan. Then he lowered the Princess to the ground who stood motionless staring blankly into the darkness of the woods with the saddle blanket wrapped around her tiny frame and the cloth doll still clutched in her hand. Without a word he had strode to the undergrowth, tore out some long grass and rubbed the sweaty horse down as it took its fill from the water.
“You rode well, my brave-heart.” whispered Agamemnon into the a
nimal’s ear as he tied it to a nearby tree and patted its neck.
Walking over to the stream he knelt on one knee, cupped his hand into the cold water and brought it to his lips drinking thirstily then splashed some onto his face and revelled as it washed away the dirt from his travel-stained skin.
“Drink!” he ordered looking over his shoulder at the Princess who was still stood unmoving from the same spot.
After a few moments of silence he spoke again but this time with an edge of irritation in his voice.
“Drink!”
But she still didn’t respond to him. With a curse Agamemnon stood up and began foraging around for loose twigs that had fallen on the ground and began methodically building them into a little pyramid. Then with one of his knives he cut some thin shavings of bark from a tree and laced them through the twigs before ripping up a handful of long dry grass and threading it into the base of the structure. Delving into his right riding boot Agamemnon drew out a small dark stone with a sharp edge and knelt low over the pyramid. Taking his knife he struck it hard against the edge of the stone just above the tinder sending a shower of sparks down onto the dry grass. It smouldered but didn’t take so he continued striking down until he saw the smallest flicker of a flame followed by a thin plume of smoke. Bending even lower Agamemnon blew on the fire coaxing it to life and after a few seconds the flames spread and intensified giving off a wave of warmth. Sinking to his haunches he rubbed his weary eyes then looked up at the Princess who had half-turned and was staring at the fire.
“Come, it is safe.” said Agamemnon beckoning her over.
Hesitantly she walked over and sat apart from him on the other side of the fire shivering with her legs drawn up to her chest and the blanket draped over her like a shawl as she stared unfocused into the flames.
“Cold?” asked Agamemnon.
For the briefest of seconds her eyes flickered in his direction but then the moment was gone. Unclipping the silver broach of his long dark cloak Agamemnon pushed himself to his feet and walked over to the Princess and placed the garment over her covering her body from the shoulders down then wandered back over to his spot and sat back down and began warming his hands in silence for some time until finally he spoke again.
“I cannot remember the last time I slept beneath the stars,” said Agamemnon softly looking up. “Not that we can see them under the canopy of the trees.”
The Princess blinked once then continued to gaze into the fire.
“What’s the name of your doll?” he murmured his voice smooth and calm.
Her glazed expression remained unmoved but Agamemnon saw her hand tighten around the doll protectively pressing it to her chest and knew she had heard him.
“I don't know if you understand me or whether you choose not to respond but back at the castle you nodded your head at me and made a choice so I think the latter. I have taken you on a path for which there is no return and I am the only one keeping you alive. Out here you are not a Princess and you are not royalty anymore. News will have reached the King by now and they will be hunting us and soon we will be surrounded by enemies. Every moment we stop is a moment they gain on us so I need to know that you will do as I say when I say it without delay. You need not fear me.”
Suddenly there was a loud pop from the fire and she flinched at the noise, briefly met his gaze and then looked away quickly.
“Your name is Anya, is it not?” asked the swordsman. “I knew your mother. She was a good woman.”
Agamemnon felt his irritation rising as she maintained her silence and remained perfectly still.
“Do you even know what I have given up?” he snapped.
But he regretted the words immediately after he had said them.
“My apologies Anya, I am wearied from the long ride. By the morning I will be well rested. I know a village close by and have a friend who will help us. We will travel there tomorrow and get supplies and you some clothes and food. Take some sleep and we will talk again in the morning.”
Dutifully the Princess lay down on her side in a foetal position with the long cloak wrapped around her and the flickering flames illuminating her face. After a few minutes her eyelids began to droop heavily and then she fell into a slumber. He watched her asleep for a while, seeing the cloak moving up and down slowly as she inhaled and exhaled and felt an unfamiliar pang of fear.
‘How can I keep a child alive?’ he asked himself bitterly.
‘How can you not?’ replied a voice in his head. ‘You are Agamemnon the King’s champion, defender of the realm and you have never been equalled by anyone.’
The words rang in his head but didn’t restore his ebbing confidence. It was true, he had never faced an opponent he hadn’t beaten in a duel. His skills with the blade were legendary throughout Tarlath and his reputation alone had reached almost exalted status. But no matter how high his ability was with the sword death was inexorably closing in and they were hopelessly outnumbered. Suddenly Agamemnon chuckled to himself but there was no humour in the sound and his eyes hardened.
‘I find the courage to do what I believe is right and now it seems that I’m the enemy.’ he thought coldly.
‘It was the right decision.” answered the voice softly.
‘The Gods must truly mock me.’
‘You don’t believe in the Gods, Agamemnon.’
‘They never believed in me. I had everything but Gomorrah is not the man I once followed. My sword was his and I would have given my life for him.’
‘Maybe you are not the man you once was.’ suggested the voice.
“How can we possibly escape?” whispered Agamemnon bitterly. “The King has eyes and ears everywhere. Beasts of unimaginable strength and ferocity and that cursed enchanter.”
‘It was your choice, Agamemnon. In that instant you made a decision that will change your life forever and it can never be undone.’
“I have done what is right.”
‘Yet you have seen the King slay countless innocents on a whim in the past and have done nothing?’
“Maybe I am tired of death now.” he said out loud into the night.
For a few long minutes the voice in his head didn’t reply and he thought it had gone but then it did.
‘You should sleep too! A warriors mind needs to be alert and sharp.’
‘I am too tired to sleep.’
‘Too scared!’ insisted the voice.
‘I am scared of no man.’
‘But it will not be men hunting you. Fear is good it keeps you alert; do not be afraid to embrace that emotion.’
“If they come then I will be ready.” growled the swordsman under his breath.
‘When they come pray you are not and it is swift.’
Then as quickly as the voice had arrived in his head it vanished and he shivered involuntary and gazed across at the Princess wrapped in his dark long cloak.
“You are getting old and foolish listening to voices in your head,” he chided himself loudly. “Your own mind will have you jumping at the shadows next.”
Hearing him speak Anya stirred and flicked open her eyes and looked over at him.
“Jolecia.” she said in a sweet high voice.
“What?” asked Agamemnon.
“My dolls name is Jolecia.”
“It is a pretty name.” he replied with a weak smile.
Just then a distant prolonged howl echoed through the darkness of the night and Agamemnon’s hand instantly reached for his sword by his leg.
“That was no wolf.” he said swallowing hard.
“The beast’s come.” whispered Anya with a terrified look on her face.
Scrambling to his feet the swordsman scattered soil over the fire with the tip of his riding boot.
“We must ride!” he hissed.
Chapter Ten
The capital city of Tarlath
The Kings chamber
The King stared malevolently into his goblet, his mood was foul and the drink-fuelled headache which pou
nded his skull was barely dulled by the alcohol. He shut his eyes for a moment against the pain and drained the wine in one gulp then quickly filled the cup again from the pewter jug on the table.
“You dare to defy me!” slurred Gomorrah narrowing his eyes.
With a faltering and unsteady hand he lifted the goblet to his lips spilling more of the crimson liquid onto his already stained black and silver trident beard.
“When the talons of my Meldling tear into your flesh ripping it from your body know that I, your King, gave the order to have you slain.” he hissed to the empty room.
He steadied himself against the carpeted table for a moment and wiped the back of his pudgy hand across his face and stared out through the open balcony window at the blackness of the night sky.
“Your location doesn’t matter, Agamemnon,” whispered Gomorrah with a flicker of a smile ghosting across his face. “You are being hunted right now by the very beast that you despise. It will have your scent and will track you for as long as it takes. How I wish I was there when you are found.”
For a moment he stared down at the contents of his goblet but then his face contorted in anger and he flung it across the table.
“A curse on you, Agamemnon!” he roared.
With spittle hanging from his lower lip and his eyes blazing the King watched as the wine soaked into the deep, lush carpet draped over the table.
“A curse on you.” he repeated in a lower voice.
Just then there was a knock on the chamber door and Gomorrah straightened himself up.
“Come.” he growled.
The door opened and in stepped a tall, lean man with raven hair and a long swarthy beard around his pock-marked face. He wore a padded shirt under a hauberk of rings and a long, sleeveless loose fitting surcoat over that along with leather greaves. The King watched as he strode forward, sure-footed and confident without a hint of intimidation or fear and stood before him in the candlelit room.
“You wanted to see me at once, my King.” said the man bowing deeply.
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