“Tak,” called the blacksmith, “by all the gods where have you been?”
“Sleeping,” Tak replied. He was loved by the town and known for his sparingness with words. Tak looked at the party and smiled, his teeth glistened in the sunlight.
“Tak let me tell you what has happened in the time you have been sleeping, for it is obvious by your face that you are curious,” the blacksmith said. Then the smithy began a rather long description of how the storm abated and how the party had begun. He of course, left out the presence of Vokar and Mara for they were never included in his memories.
Tak listened to the blacksmith with heavy intensity and his brows creased when he heard that the storm cleared away within seconds.
“What’s the matter?” the blacksmith asked as he looked at the consternation on Tak’s face.
“Not many Gastonians have been to Soci, but in my short young life I have seen this mysterious land beyond the Volski. When I was sixteen I fought these wizards and sorcerers, and I know too well their power,” Tak said.
“Yes, so what of it?” the smith asked. He was a little irritated at what he thought was Tak’s inflated ego for being some place no one in Gaston had been to.
“The point is, my short, strong friend, that no storm ends, the way you described it, naturally. It has to be the work of wizards or maybe even one great wizard,” Tak said.
“So what, we are safe aren’t we? I say hail to the great wizards if they are the ones that made us safe.”
“No! Whenever a wizard does something for other people it is either for his profit or for his evil lust. I trust not what I see and by the gods I feel we should send a carrier to King Zenak and tell him of this unusual occurrence,” Tak said with unusual zeal of tongue.
Then the smithy did something totally out of character apparently because Vokar’s magic stretched further into the subconscious than even Vokar had imagined. Even the mention of Zenak’s name made the people Vokar mesmerized go into a rage and kill the utterer of the king’s name. Vokar had never planned for this.
At the mention of Zenak’s name by young Tak, the blacksmith went into a shaking rage. “Don’t ever mention that scum’s name to me again. If you say his name again I will tear you apart piece by piece,” the smith yelled. He then grabbed the upper part of Tak’s arm and squeezed it with a strength that Tak would have never thought of the smith.
“Are you crazy?” Tak asked as he pried the smith’s hand from his aching arm. “What do you mean? Why just yesterday you were telling me you’d give your life for our King Zenak.”
The blacksmith, even in blind, unthinking rage, was no idle threat maker. No sooner had the words of the name Zenak been released from Tak’s mouth than the smith jumped Tak with a force driven by insanity. The blacksmith was a powerful man and his brawny arms were only weaker than Tak’s because he was thirty-five years older than Tak. The unknown and, as far as Tak knew, uncalled for aggression took the hunter by total surprise, and before he knew it Tak was on the ground with the mighty blacksmith on top of him choking the life from his youthful body. Tak, however, was a trained fighter and he went immediately into action. He swung his legs up, wrapped them about the smithy’s head and neck, and proceeded to pull the aggressor backward. But the smith’s bulky, bull-like neck was strong and would not give way to Tak, and Tak could feel his life being squeezed out of his body. Then, in a final effort, Tak’s great legs proved to be too much even for the blacksmith’s knotty neck muscles. The blacksmith let go of Tak’s neck and was thrown backward as he tried to pry Tak’s legs from his neck. Tak let go of the smith, who jumped up again. But before he could resume his assault, Tak landed a smashing upper cut into the bearded jaw of the insane man. The blacksmith fell backward and Tak slipped out from under him and bounded to his feet.
“What’s wrong with you? I don’t want to fight you, old man,” Tak yelled at the smith.
The smith, blinded with Vokar’s induced insanity, heard nothing and with a growl on his lips rushed Tak for a second time. This time Tak was ready for him and so once again the smith felt the iron fist of the young defender and the cold, hard cobblestones of the main street as he fell gracelessly back onto them.
“Will you stop,” Tak pleaded. All of his life Tak had known and loved this old man. He was baffled by the insanity that overtook the town mechanic. The blacksmith, however, could not hear Tak’s voice. All he heard was the monotone voice of Vokar telling him to kill. This time the blacksmith rose from the ground, grabbed a sword from an interested onlooker, and came at Tak waving edged death at him. Tak was just as quick and had his sword released from its scabbard before the smith had gone three steps. When the smithy reached Tak, naked steel met naked steel with the resounding clash of lightning striking a tree.
It was obvious from the first clash of the swords that Tak was the master of the situation. He kept cool as he parried the maddened thrusts of the smith. The whole time that they fought Tak kept begging the old man to stop, but the crazy man was relentless. Death was all that the smithy wanted and his eyes made that known to the saddened hunter. Tears swelled in Tak’s eyes as he thought of the days he would rush from school to watch his friend the blacksmith shoe a mark or fix a wagon. Now he knew that he would have to end this man’s life or forfeit his own. As the fight continued the smith kept faltering and making mistakes that in other fights Tak would have taken full advantage of. But in this one Tak kept hoping that the old man would drop from exhaustion. He didn’t, though, and Tak felt his own body tiring. So Tak began fighting with the intensity of a great fighter and within moments he had the blacksmith trapped in the corner of a doorway. This caused the old man to fight with even more ferocity and Tak found himself fighting harder than ever. But the blacksmith made even more mistakes than he had before he was trapped and Tak took advantage of them and kept licking his sword all over the old man’s body opening blood-letting wounds at every lick. Finally, the end came when the old man dropped his guard. It was a mistake like the rest he had made, but Tak was tired and he knew if he fought any longer that he would make a mistake and if he did that would be the end of him. He could see the blacksmith would take every advantage he gave him. Tak jumped at this opportunity and drove his sword through the smith’s sternum and tore at the heart as he twisted his sword in the blacksmith’s hairy chest. The crunching of the bone was heard throughout the street and wailing of the dying man pierced every heart that heard the terrifying scream. Tak felt even more wretched than the rest of the crowd who had known the blacksmith. The old man had taught Tak how to ride a mark and it had been the blacksmith who had introduced Tak to the first girl he had made love to. The blacksmith had been his dearest friend. He had been even closer than Tak’s father. Tak knew sometimes that his youth and arrogance about the places he had been in his short life bothered the blacksmith, but that was the only friction the two of them ever had. Usually they had good times together drinking and whoring with the women of the eight taverns in the town. Now it was over. Tak put his foot on the chest of the dead man and wrenched the sword from the body. The body dropped to the ground revealing the hatred that was etched on the old man’s face. Tak would never forget that face as long as he lived. He knew that.
Tak still held his sword in a fighting position after he had dragged it out of his friend’s body. He stared intently at the dead body as he tried to figure out what he had done. What had come over the man? Tak couldn’t help but think that it had to do with the sudden ending of the storm. He was positive that the storm had been stopped by a wizard and now he felt that this wizard had done something to his old friend. Maybe the whole town had been affected; he wasn’t sure about that though.
“What was the fight about?” The town mayor asked Tak. The mayor put a sympathetic hand on Tak’s shoulder. It was obvious to all that Tak had done what he could to avert this tragic ending, but since he had tried without success, he had done the right thing by killing the blacksmith.
> Tak shook his head, cleared the daze from his mind, and responded, “He just went mad all of the sudden. We were laughing and talking in the manner of old friends, which we were, and discussing our great King Zenak when all of a sudden he went—”
“Put him in irons,” the mayor ordered. “You will be beheaded on the morrow.” The mayor’s face was contorted and disfigured with the same hatred the blacksmith had when Tak drove his cold steel blade into the blacksmith’s heart.
Three men quickly grabbed Tak. Tak tried to shake free and tried to talk to the men who were holding him. But when he saw one of the men holding him, his knees buckled. Tak’s father was holding Tak’s right arm. Tak couldn’t believe it. He and his father had always been close. Whenever he got into trouble his father had been there to help him. Didn’t this big hulking man teach Tak to fight? Didn’t he always tell him to protect himself whatever the cost might be? What was happening now? His father no longer had the friendly look he always had. Instead, he had a vileness about him that made him unrecognizable to Tak. Tak offered no resistance as the three men dragged him to the stone jail by the river.
“It was self-defense,” Tak yelled to his father. Tak’s legs dragged on the ground. “I didn’t want to kill him. He was my friend. You knew that. What has happened to you, Father?”
“Shut up scum,” said his father gruffly. “Who cares about that pig of a blacksmith? You will die because of that hateful man you mentioned.”
“Who?” questioned the baffled Tak.
“King Zenak,” the father said. “Just the mention of that cursed name makes me cringe. Yes, you are dying because you mentioned his name.”
Tak slumped even more. He couldn’t even put up an argument; he was too amazed at what was happening.
The entire town was behind Tak as he was being pulled to the small, gray-block jail on the outskirts of town. He looked at their faces and was saddened. All of them, his mother, his good friends, and his women looked at him with total hatred in their eyes. As they followed him to the jail, they were all chanting in unison, “Die. Die.”
The young girl whom Tak had made love to the night before ran in front of Tak and began spitting in his face. “You scum, you mud,” she yelled at him. “I will be in ecstasy when I see your head fall to the ground.” Tak looked on in disbelief. He wondered if he were having a nightmare and that he would wake up any minute.
“Get up and walk yourself,” Tak’s father yelled, “I’m tired of carrying you. I might even kill you right here.”
Tak picked himself up and walked alongside the men. They still kept a heavy hold on him.
“Let’s kill him now,” an old woman yelled.
“Yes, let’s kill him now,” the rest of the crowd screamed. Tak walked faster toward the jail. At least there he could be safe for a night and possibly he could escape.
“Stop,” ordered the mayor.
The three men who held Tak stopped and held him at bay.
“Maybe it would be a good idea to kill Tak now,” the mayor said. “What do you think, Havin?” the mayor asked Tak’s father.
Havin looked at Tak and thought a moment.
“Father, don’t kill me today. The gods will not like an execution on the same day as when the rains have stopped,” Tak said.
“Shut up, scum,” Havin said. “Yes, it would be good to kill him. That will assure us that we will never hear that terrible name again.”
Tak felt sick to his stomach. He had to think of a way out of this. He knew that the town was mad and he knew that he had to play up to that.
“No, don’t kill me today,” Tak yelled. He looked at all the crazed eyes staring at him, “Don’t you know that it is against everything we were taught to execute someone the same day a great catastrophe had ended. Do you think the gods would like you if you killed me right after they have saved your lives?”
The people mumbled among themselves and some nodded their heads in agreement.
Tak continued, “I agree I have done something terrible and I should die.”
“Die now!” his woman of the night before yelled.
“But must you incur the wrath of the gods today. Tomorrow all will be fine for you to kill me,” Tak continued.
“He speaks the truth,” a town elder said. “If we kill him today we will bring the wrath of the gods on us, but tomorrow we will bring their love, for he must die for what he said,” the old man’s eyes were crazed when he finished speaking.
“It is settled then. We will behead you tomorrow at sunrise as we planned,” the mayor said. “Take him away.”
Tak took a breath and was dragged to the jail. He was happy that even in his bewilderment he was able to remember some of the old teachings of the religion.
Tak fell back into a daze when he was chained to the wall of the damp cell. He could not believe that his father and two very good friends were chaining him to a wall. And, as they left, one of the men, not his father, kicked Tak in the groin leaving him to writhe in misery.
“Am I dreaming,” Tak yelled out, “all I mentioned was our beloved King Zenak.”
“Quiet,” hissed Tak’s father as he locked the door. “One more mention of that man’s name and morning will be too far away for me.”
Tak shook his head and stopped talking. He tried to position himself in a way that would ease the pain in his groin. It was hard to do though for the chains limited his movement.
The cell he was placed in was dark and damp. The only light was sunlight from a small window high in the outer wall. The walls were hard and rough as were the floors and resting on the ground was almost impossible. A nest of rats occupied the far end of the cell away from Tak, and when the din of the crowd died down as they left the small jail, Tak could hear the rats hustling about as if to tell their relatives and friends that a new meal had arrived.
Tak finally got relatively comfortable and collected his wits. He figured he had a good fifteen hours before the next morning and that should be plenty of time to escape. Now he had to figure out a way out of the chains. The first obvious solution for a man of Tak’s strength was to try to pull himself free from the wall. He began pulling and for the next hour his mighty young muscles kept him tugging at the wall, but even Tak, a man with the strength of a bull, could not free himself. He sat back panting and decided to rest a while. While he was resting he kept turning over in his mind any reasons why his town had gone insane. He thought a long time but the only reason he could come up with was that a wizard had driven the town insane for his evil gains. He decided not to think about it anymore and just to concentrate on getting out and warning the rest of Deparne of Gaston’s insanity.
Chapter 12
It was late in the afternoon of the day that the storm had stopped when Zenak reached the muddy banks of the Volski. He had decided to detour off the road to Soci and go into Gaston. He hoped that someone would know about his family and possibly had seen them. He had to dismount Gam for the banks were too treacherous from the mud for a mark to carry a rider. Zenak walked along the river until he came to the place where the bridge stood only two days before. There was no way to cross the river except to ford it. This was an unpleasant alternative for Zenak because even though the Volski was back to its normal size it was still at least three quarters of a karn across. Zenak did not mind the swim, in fact, he was an excellent swimmer, but he was worried about Gam. A large animal such as Gam was not accustomed to swimming and the many years of building on bulk strength to make Gam even stronger made the crossing even more dangerous. It would take every ounce of strength for Gam to stay above water. But Zenak resigned himself to the fact that there was no other way. He was just about to direct Gam into the water when he noticed two saddled, riderless marks drinking from the muddy river just a little upriver. Zenak left Gam by the side of the river and ran to the marks to see where they were from. As he suspected the royal emblem of Balbania and Deparne was on the saddles. A look of frustration and consternation crossed Ze
nak’s chiseled face when he recognized Mara’s mark. But what had happened to her? From the look of the marks they had not had a rider in quite a while. Could it be that his wife and child were dead as a result of the raging storm the night before? Zenak did not even want to think of that possibility. He could not bear such a fate for the only two people he had ever loved. It was strange for Zenak to feel that way for he had known death and seen so much of it through the many battles he had fought. But he could not bear the thought of death for his two loved ones even though he never feared it himself. He looked in vain throughout the immediate area but it was too much for one man to undertake. The brush a little farther up the bank was so thick that it would take him days to look in the area where he found the marks much less the area where they may have come from. So he decided to recruit the loyal citizens of Gaston to help him search for his family. Maybe his family was in Gaston resting from the storm and no recruiting would be necessary. But in case he had to call on Gaston to help him he would once again assume his title of king and take advantage of it to raise a search party.
He rushed back to Gam and pulled the loyal, but frightened, mark toward the lazy river. Gam was visibly frightened and Zenak had to calm him down by patting him on the nose and speaking softly to him to coax him into the river. Many riders would have whipped their marks into the river but Zenak had no need for such force for he and Gam were as close as animal and man could be. Finally, Gam gave in and carefully went into the water. The crossing was rough and at least twice Zenak had to grab Gam’s head and hold it above the water so the heavy war mark would not drown. They made it to the other side, though, and Gam quickly clambered onto the land while Zenak lumbered up behind him.
Zenak Page 11