With a sigh Otis moved his hand away from the blade.
“That’s right. Just as the deer fears the wolf you should live in fear of me. Now step aside.”
Muttering an obscenity under his breath Otis gave a final look to the girl sat motionless on the ground and pushed himself upright as Hemmet walked over and crouched down close to her.
“What's your name, little one?” he asked stroking her cheek with the back of his hand.
Anya remained impassive as he spoke as if seeing no one.
“I think we could be friends,” continued Hemmet. “Did you hear me? We could be friends, you and I. Do you think that we could, hmmmm?”
He looked around at Otis with a vaguely embarrassed smile on his face then turned back to her and waved a hand in front of her face.
“You’re a quiet one aren’t you? You have such lovely red hair. Are you from the city? Do you have family? I’ll help you find your family if you do what I say.”
His eyes roamed over her and fixed on her raggedy cloth doll that was stuck under her arm.
“Do you like toys? I can get you another doll.”
“Told you, she don’t speak.” mumbled Otis over his shoulder.
Hissing between his teeth Hemmet leaned close to Anya’s face and gripped her chin tightly with one hand.
“Promise me,” he snarled with his voice becoming a dark, deadly tone. “Promise me you’ll tell me what it feels like when I enter you.”
Suddenly her eyes looked directly into his and he released her chin.
“Then promise me.” she whispered.
“Promise you what, little one?” said Hemmet with a smile.
“Promise me that when he comes for me and takes your life you’ll tell me what if feels like before you die.”
Suddenly the grin on his face faltered for a second and he licked his lips nervously.
“If someone comes for you then I’ll kill them but not before I hear your screams.”
“Make it quick, Hemmet.” grunted Otis impatiently.
Nodding his head he stood to his feet and fumbled at his belt for a second when all of a sudden there was loud thud behind him. Spinning round he froze as he stared at the body of Otis lying face down on the ground with the blade of a knife exiting out of the base of his bloodied skull. The woodland had become deathly quiet and all Hemmet could hear was his quick, shallow breathing as he scanned the trees but could find no trace of the attacker.
“Show yourself, coward!” he yelled with spittle flying from his lips.
Just then a tall dark man with storm grey eyes stepped out from behind a tree with a sword in his hand.
“Get your sword.” the newcomer said walking towards him smoothly.
“First tell me who you are before we fight.”
“My name is Agamemnon.”
Hemmet hesitated and his eyes widened in alarm.
“I have heard of you.” he whispered fearfully.
“It happens.” said Agamemnon.
“If you spare me you will never see me again. This I promise you.”
“You would wish to rape a child? There is no mercy for people like you.”
“I…I cannot hope to beat you.”
“Then your death will be mercifully quick, brigand.”
Hemmet looked around wildly, seeking an escape route and considered running but the softly spoken words of the swordsman carried over to him.
“You wouldn’t make it.”
He gazed across at Agamemnon and saw the coldness in his eyes and knew that today would be the day he died.
“I wasn’t always like this, you know.” muttered Hemmet hanging his head low as he walked over and collected his sword.
Suddenly without warning he attacked but Agamemnon blocked it smoothly and replied with a lighting riposte halting his sword at the brigand’s neck pricking the skin and letting a droplet of blood form at the sharp point of his blade. Hemmet stepped back quickly and circled the swordsman slowly whilst eyeing him warily. Snarling he darted in and their swords clashed again and again but each strike was matched blow for blow.
“I told you I cannot beat you!”
Agamemnon said nothing and with a frustrated yell the brigand stepped back in swinging wildly but the swordsman side-stepped parrying his blade easily and threw a thunderous left punch which cracked against the man’s chin. With a grunt Hemmet stumbled back off balance and shouted out in frustration.
“Just kill me!” he roared.
With a cry he threw himself forward slashing at the swordsman but his attack was blocked again and this time Agamemnon flicked out sending his opponents blade spinning out of his fingers and onto the ground.
“Pick it up!” snapped the swordsman.
The brigand walked over and collected his sword, wiping his sweaty hand against his leg and adjusting his grip before rushing back in two-handed. Agamemnon swayed back on the balls of his feet then attacked with speed and once again sent his weapon soaring from his grasp.
“Again!” said the swordsman.
Hemmet stared down at his fallen blade and bent to pick it up.
“Just kill me.” he pleaded.
This time the brigand threw himself forward expecting the death blow and didn’t bother to defend himself but instead Agamemnon brought the pommel of his sword down hard against the man’s skull and he sank to the ground unconscious. Sheathing his blade he walked over to Anya and knelt by her side staring at her dazed expression.
“Did they hurt you?” he asked in a soft voice.
She said nothing as he carefully untied the ropes from her arms and legs.
“Did they hurt you?” repeated Agamemnon a little more firmly.
Anya slowly shook her head as the swordsman looked her up and down. Satisfied he gently hoisted the girl to her feet then scooped and picked up the loose ropes. Tossing the cord down at the base of a tree he moved over to the still body of the brigand and with a grunt dragged him over to its trunk. Hauling Hemmet into a sitting position with his chin resting against his breast bone Agamemnon bound his arms tightly with the rope and wrapped it around the tree. He checked the knot with a couple of tugs and then the swordsman tied his legs together. Crouching down to face-level with the brigand he slapped him viciously around the face. Hemmet stirred and groaned with his eyes fluttering open as they focused on the swordsman. Agamemnon stared at him in silence for a few seconds as the brigand struggled against the ropes, weakly trying to move his arms and legs but he couldn’t free himself.
“Don’t fear me. Fear what is following me and know that in the last few seconds that you have left alive before it rips out your throat that the monster that killed you was yourself.”
Standing to his feet Agamemnon moved over to the dead body of Otis and wrenched his knife free from the dead man’s head and wiped it on his tunic before shoving it back into his baldric fastened across his chest.
“Kill me!” screamed Hemmet throwing his head back against the tree.
Without a word the swordsman walked over to Anya and took her hand before walking away from the clearing without a backward glance.
“Kill me! Kill me!” shouted the hoarse voice of the brigand after them.
Chapter Twenty Three
The capital city of Tarlath
Unfortunate’s alley
“You do not know what you have done!” snapped Ingrith icily.
The old woman’s usual stern face was pinched and strained and the aura of toughness she radiated seemingly replaced by one of vulnerability. Only her storm coloured eyes still carried her steel and all her anger was being openly vented at Leonidis as Damascus stood uncomfortably to the side in the small stuffy room.
“I know exactly what I have done, Ingrith. I have taken another man’s life.” he replied stoically.
“A King’s man!” she hissed looking down at the dried blood on his clothing and hands.
“A murderer.”
“Then what does that make you, silly boy? Will y
ou champion everyone who is wronged at the hands of the King and his men? Fool, the girl was dead the moment she pulled a knife on him and now you have condemned us all on Unfortunate’s alley. Gomorrah will want his vengeance and it will be blood for blood.”
“He was avenging one of our own, Ingrith.” protested Damascus.
“She was merely a usable asset to be used, a common streetwalker and nothing more.” she spat angrily.
“Her name was Giliane.” said Leonidis feeling his anger rising.
“I care not for her name. She is dead along with the Captain of the Guards and now you have put the focus of the most powerful man in Tarlath on us all. I let you heal and join our family and this is how you repay me?”
“It appears that being part of your family only suits whilst you are drawing in coin but the moment that stops you can become nothing more than a nameless streetwalker.” retorted Leonidis.
Ingrith fixed him a long piercing stare then turned to look at the cripple with some of the anger fading from her eyes.
“Leave us immediately, Damascus.”
He nodded his head and turned then looked back at Ingrith as if to say something.
“Out!” she said in a strong, agitated voice.
The cripple ambled away stiffly and opened the door to the small shack and left the building without another backward glance.
“He’s a good man.” said Leonidis softly.
“He’s my best,” admitted Ingrith. “And he thinks much of you.”
She walked slowly over to a single wooden rickety chair and sat down with a groan and in that moment looked nothing more than a painfully thin old woman with straight iron grey hair as she looked up at him.
“I know the body is old but the mind is still as sharp as ever and I can read your eyes,” she chortled. “Did you know I’ve been running this community for nigh on 12 years now? Yes, through the tough times and the tougher times. It ages you but makes you hard and I’m still old enough to remember the real dark days, days when vagabondage and street begging with your bowls was punished severely. King Ethelred himself had me put in the stocks once and I was humiliated in a public display and all because I was trying to survive. There were no depths to the man’s cruelty. Others didn’t see him that way but I did. He just didn’t like our kind and found us a stain on Tarlath.”
“Today is no different.”
“Pah, today things are tolerable, Leonidis. These may seem like dark days but they have been darker before. I’ve seen the severest of the severe punishments in my time, beatings which were bloody and merciless, hangings, castration and blinding. I’ve seen one man have his right hand cut off then when he was caught again they cut off his left.”
“A woman was murdered today in the street!” he spat.
“That she was and if she hadn’t drawn her blade she would be alive still.”
“That man was responsible for disfiguring her face.”
“And that girl was a castle whore who shared her bed with the traitor that has taken the King’s daughter. It was mercy that she was allowed to live.”
“The King knows no mercy, Ingrith. What about me? What about the others who have been forced into ordeal by combat in the arena?”
“Yet you enter that arena with a chance of freedom.”
“There is no chance against the Meldlings.” he snapped.
“Maybe not, but still a chance is offered. That girl paid for her crimes with her beauty and that should have been an end to it. She could have had some semblance of life but she chose not to.”
“You defend Gomorrah?” asked Leonidis incredulously.
She remained silent as he scanned her face and then suddenly realisation struck him like a hammer blow.
“You work with the King?” he whispered.
“We have a certain understanding for each other’s position is the best way of putting it.”
“Do the others know?”
“They do not need to know,” said Ingrith narrowing her eyes at him. “The King turns a blind eye and is tolerant to a certain extent of what we do. We are seen as a drain on the country's wealth so he uses us as a source of revenue. I give him a percentage of our takings and he affords us a little protection. People still die but people die all the time on the streets.”
“You fund the very person that rips the people from your streets for blood-sport?”
“Do not judge me, boy. I do so for the good of my own people.”
“I take it that it was no coincidence that you found me dumped down an alleyway with rats?”
“It was no accident. You were given mercy by the King and that is why you have crossed a line by killing one of his men and now you have brought death to my door. The path you decided to walk on is your own. They will come for you have no doubt and I will give you up if you stay.”
“So be it.” hissed Leonidis.
Ingrith pushed herself from the chair with a grunt and looked him up and down for a second.
“I don’t regret nursing you back to health.” she said.
He nodded his head as she walked over to the door. Pausing Ingrith looked back at him with what looked like sadness in her eyes.
“Have you ever killed anyone before today?” she asked.
“No.”
“How do you feel?”
“I feel nothing.” he answered.
“You should feel something. I fear what they did to you may have changed you forever. You don’t belong here, I see that now. You are destined for greater things than this but which way you go I cannot answer. You said to me once that you wanted your vengeance against Gomorrah. Does that fire still burn inside of you?”
“It does.”
“Then leave Unfortunate’s alley and do so today.”
“I think you have forgotten why you are doing this.”
“Maybe I have.” replied Ingrith as she opened the door and left the room.
Closing his eyes Leonidis reached into his shirt and brought something out which he held in his hands. When he opened his eyes he looked down at the hardened black mask resting in his palms. Taking a breath he slowly lifted the moulded leather towards his face. It felt cool and snug against his skin as he reached behind his head and fastened it in place. Then suddenly the door opened and Damascus stepped back into the room and studied his face.
“A chilling look,” he said looking at the mask. “But the question is who the man behind the mask is?”
“I am Leonidis no more. That man has gone. Now I am Mask.”
“You can't keep your true self hidden forever; before long you'll be exposed. What will you do?”
“I will get my vengeance or die trying.”
A look of sadness crossed the cripples face and he sighed out loud.
“I’m sorry it has to be like this.”
“It is the only way it can be, my friend.” said Leonidis offering his hand to the cripple.
Damascus ambled forward and pushed the hand away and clumsily embraced him.
“Do me a favour, Leonidis.”
“Anything.”
“Don’t lose yourself.”
“Be careful out there, my friend.”
“Always.” replied Damascus in a thick voice heavy with emotion.
Nodding his head they separated and Leonidis strode to the door, opened it and was gone.
Chapter Twenty Four
The capital city of Tarlath
With the knife poised at the throat of the helpless sheep Mordechai mumbled a few unintelligible words then grasped the jaw of the animal and drew the blade across its jugular veins and carotid arteries. The sheep struggled momentarily and the enchanter forced it down onto the table surface.
“Lift.” he commanded.
His nervous assistant yanked down hard on the chains attached to the pulley anchored to the ceiling and the animal was hoisted off the surface by its hind legs as it bled out into a large circular wooden bowl. Mordechai stood mesmerised at the downward flow of blood that gushed
out as its heart pumped its last final beats.
“I have a fascination watching animals die,” murmured the enchanter distantly. “There is something powerful in watching the life of something ebb away before you. Did you know that with some animals, I have observed consciousness being prolonged for over 60 heartbeats after having their throats cut?”
“How long will this take?” snapped King Gomorrah from behind him.
“It is not like reading a book, my King.” said Mordechai in irritation.
Gomorrah laughed aloud and downed his goblet of wine in a single swallow, the liquid staining his forked black trident beard.
“It is good that I am in a heady mood, enchanter. Such tone should have your tongue removed.”
“Apologies, my King. The method of reading of omens specifically from the liver is not something that should be rushed.”
“Let’s hope for your sake that the future for your King is a prosperous and victorious one.”
The last drops of blood fell from the slashed neck of the slaughtered animal and Mordechai turned and washed his hands in a second bowl of clean water, and then the knife.
“You can now place the animal onto its back on the table.” he ordered without turning around.
The assistant slowly lowered the body of the sheep down then unshackled its hind legs quietly.
“Be gone.” said Mordechai with a dismissive wave of his skeletal hand in his direction.
Looking relieved the assistant removed the bowl brimming with blood, bowed his head low at the King then left the chamber hurriedly.
With the knife in his hand the enchanter grasped the pelt of the sheep and made an incision between the skin and the fleece of the animal then carefully ran the blade down the carcass loosening it whilst using his spare hand to help separate it. Then he placed the blade tip near to the crotch area and moved his way down the body cavity to where the ribs came together cutting it open. He pulled out the sheep’s guts and pushed them to one side on the table and began removing the organs from the body one by one. Finally, with his hands red and woollen habit spotted with blood the enchanter lifted out the liver located right of centre next to the diaphragm and placed it onto a small clean plate.
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