Vicious

by James Alderdice

  The Kentsian crew stood away on the poop-deck watching. They would not interfere between the Tolburnians and their temperamental antagonist, at least so long as the ship was not damaged.

  “How can you say we cheated? You don’t even understand the rules, dog,” spat a mustachioed Tolburnian knight, bleeding from a slight head wound. He and the other Tolburnians faced a broad-shouldered man dressed in a motley of cultural styles, thick ox-hide boots from Mankares, breeches of Shang-Henj silk, Tolburnian mail over an Azschlander’s woolen shirt and a wide Kentsian leather belt over the former. But it was the Damascus sword in his red right hand and tell-tale bearded northern ax in his left that told of his true origin. That and his cold northern eyes and blond tresses set him apart from the shorter dark-haired Tolburnians. He towered over them and the number opposing meant next to nothing. The Northman had killed more men for less in this campaign already.

  The shallow-drafted Kentsian galley listed back and forth ever so slightly with the wash of the Iraythian Sea. The Tolburnians still did not have their sea legs, but their opponent knew the decks of many ships and may as well have been born at sea.

  “You have my breed wrong,” laughed the Northman. “Come closer, a wolf that stays in its lair doesn’t eat.”

  Two of the opposing knights flanked him on either side as the mustachioed third charged his center. The Northman went a hard left and kicked the feet out from under the Tolburnian, then sent his bearded-ax blade into the man’s helm. With only two now facing him, he charged at them with a snorting bellow and sent the first to his knees with a smashing sweep of his sword blade while the other gave ground from the devastation.

  “What is this?” came the commanding voice of Adjutant Reynard. “This is a ship of order! Cease these pretensions.” The narrow man climbed aboard from the rope lines and stared at the carnage. Most here knew the lead adjutant of the Crusades commander, Boniface of Rekezt and obeyed.

  The Northman ceased his attack but yet stood in an imperious manner over the Tolburnian knights. His eye twitched ever so slightly. “They tried to cheat me,” he rumbled.

  “We thought he knew the rules,” said the last Tolburnian standing.

  Reynard ignored him. “Gathelaus Thorgrimson? The one called the Gatekeeper?”

  The Northman grinned and nodded.

  “The baron wishes you to join him and the doge immediately, come,” said Reynard, beckoning to the waiting rowboat.

  Gathelaus stalked from the broken knights to the cloven table. He picked up a handful of rings and a golden necklace. Sniffed at an amber bracelet and put it on. He left what could not readily be put on his person. “I leave the rest to you still living. Is there a blood debt against me?” he asked the two watching him.

  They shook their heads.

  “You swear it?” Gathelaus asked again, and they repeated the gesture along with making the sign of the cross across their chest. “When next we meet, I shall not strike you down.” He went over the side to the adjutant’s rowboat.

  Already aboard the rowboat was Gathelaus’s friend, Niels von Eschenbach, the Paladin knight who fancied himself a poet. “That was good. We of Hawkton would not accept their cheating either. You have to pay the piper. But then you did play them didn’t you Thorgrimson?” said Niels, as he pretended to play upon a flute.

  Gathelaus grunted a chuckle as Reynard fought to climb down the rope lines into the rowboat.

  Niels then stood and saluted the adjutant with cutting exaggeration, forcing the rowboat to become terribly unbalanced. “Hail captain Reynard, noble slayer of milk maids and rapist of great warriors.”

  “Must you always play the fool, that was one time,” snapped Reynard.

  “The siege of Zara or upon the Horn? Or perhaps it was that Dyzani maiden with a beard? I forget which one time?”

  “There was also the drowned Sen-Toku sailor,” offered Gathelaus.

  “I forgot about that one.”

  “Shut up! You waste your gift of knowing how to read by reciting nonsense. Why not admit your one skill and serve as a scribe instead of pretending to be a knight.”

  “Oh I couldn’t do that. I’m just good at pretending,” said Niels. He dipped an oar in the water purposefully splashing Reynard. “Pardon, me.”

  Gathelaus laughed at that while Reynard scowled and barked, “Get us to the command ship! You can both crack skulls and play upon invisible pipes with the Dyzantines after this night.”

  “We could be heroes,” sang Niels. “Dancing on hell and then…”

  “Speak for yourself,” grated Gathelaus.

  8. Loose Ends

  “Gathelaus—who the men call the Gatekeeper,” welcomed Boniface. “You are well? Reynard said you were having an incident with some of my men. A bad game of dice?”

  “They tried to cheat me. I took four of their lives,” answered Gathelaus, glowering with folded arms.

  “He truly must be the best man for the job as you said, Boniface, for he is damaging us more by merely being present than the Dyzantines are,” mumbled the doge.

  “Are men to go unpunished for thievery?”

  The doge smiled and blinked his sightless eyes. “Yes, indeed the Northman is most suited for the task, inform him will you Boniface, by the chill in the air I sense the night approaches.”

  Niels coughed, catching the commander’s attention. “I haven’t forgotten you either Niels von Eschenbach, your slithering tongue may yet serve.”

  “Slithering tongue?” murmured Niels. “I think you meant silver.”

  Boniface ignored Niels and said, “Emperor Alexious is expecting our most trusted ambassadors in the city this very evening. We or rather you, are serving him the papers of our final demands for payment of services rendered. We gave him the throne and he has delayed long enough. You both will serve the notice.”

  “Gathelaus, I was also told that you speak Dyzan,” added the doge. “Is that true?”

  “My father was of the Varangian guard. When I was a lad, I learned the Dyzan tongue from him,” said Gathelaus.

  “Excellent. And I for one am grateful that you are not on the wall opposing us,” said the doge. “But a question. Have you any loyalties left to the emperor of the Dyzans? Many of your barbaric race have served the Dyzantine emperors for generations.”

  Boniface blustered, “Of course he doesn’t. They don’t call him the Gatekeeper for nothing. He was the first man through the gates of the Hammett. We owe him for taking that fortress and the lowering of the chains.”

  “I have given no oath to any emperor,” answered Gathelaus, with an eye twitch. “My father’s oath ended with his death. I have no oath but a blood debt to his slayer.”

  “That is well. I reiterate again, if you can do us this service, plus one other side job it will be invaluable.”

  “What is it? An assassination?” asked Niels, as he pointed a finger at the startled Reynard in the corner.

  “No, the emperor claims there is a treasure in the city none has yet brought forth yet.”

  The Northman’s interest was kindled at the word treasure like steel on flint. “Must be small for a man to bring out. What is it?”

  “Emperor Alexious has offered a holy relic to help assuage our lack of patience. If you can gain this thing then by all means, bring it to us. If not—we will engage the city on the morrow. Any intelligence you could bring back will be most appreciated as well,” said Boniface.

  “You’re not a Paladin are you Gathelaus?” said the doge. “You don’t serve the supreme god of the peninsula, do you?”

  Gathelaus shook his head and pulled an object out from under his shirt. A silver hammer of Perkunas dangled at his neck. “It was my father’s. I am a man of few traditions, but I keep this. But if I must be a Paladin for this intrigue tonight, I can be.”

  “We are not so different, you and I,” said the doge with a crafty smile.

  “This matter revolves on the possibility of you retrieving some sacred artifact from a holy s
epulcher within the city walls tonight. It has never been mentioned before because it was deemed too sacred and none but our fine Alexious the Fourth would dare change that,” said Boniface. “We have been told that the treasures have been safeguarded thus far because a dire curse is upon any who would remove them.”

  Gathelaus cast a curious glance at that statement, frowning and briefly looking at his own heavily scarred hands. White lines arced across the backs forward to the palms like the Midgard serpent entwining Yggdrasil, the world tree. The pain was gone but the memory lingered.

  Boniface hesitated at Gathelaus’s grimace. “For someone who isn’t a Paladin you shouldn’t worry. The curse is only supposed to affect those who follow the ways of the Paladin and their one true god.”

  “I’m with you, Northman, I personally believe in all the gods as they are convenient for me to have faith in. You must hedge your bets,” said the doge. “Those who follow the ways of the Paladin are doomed to die upon a cross as Paladin did all those centuries ago. Poor deluded fools.”

  “Still the threat of the curse will help us now as it has safeguarded the treasure for a millennium.”

  The doge laughed as Gathelaus gave the look of cold death to Boniface.

  Niels winced at the sound of a curse. “But I’m a Paladin,” he murmured.

  “The curse is said to be a week in Hell’s court or something to that effect. If you don’t believe in Heaven or Hell, it shouldn’t worry you. It’s probably just a lie anyway.”

  “A lie that has kept superstitious people from stealing it for almost a thousand years,” said the doge, with a malevolent chuckle.

  “I’ll do it,” said Gathelaus, surprising the men with his tone of grim finality.

  “Reynard will get you to the gates, then it is up to you to deliver our demands and bring back the holy relic. Do not fail us or it is war,” said Boniface. “And remember there is more reward for you to succeed then there will be in the spoils of war. That I can promise you. This is very important,” he urged as he ushered them out of the doge’s quarters and shut the door. “Do not fail!”

  He wanted a moment and said, “It isn’t important, no matter what happens we win!”

  “How soon until they are dead, and we can start the siege?” asked the doge.

  “It doesn’t matter, either way we’ll get what we want. Priceless treasure and control of the Iraythian Sea. But those boys are wild and rugged, they might survive til daybreak. Then they will be out of the way along with any other loose ends.”

  9. Gates of Empire

  Gathelaus and Niels were taken across the harbor in a rowboat. They then strode up to the massive gates of Dyzantium, one of the greatest cities in all the world. The multi-staggered walls loomed before them, wreathed by the fading light of the setting sun. Gathelaus did as Boniface had instructed, knocking on the titanic dark gates, repeating the code words and phrases including the secret handshake. Which were reminded to him by Niels, who seemed incredibly familiar with such esoteric nuances.

  “I was in an order of the Snake Brotherhood, back in Hawkton. I meet brothers all over the world.”

  Gathelaus grunted at that. If had not already been through blood and fire with Niels these last few months, he would be very suspect at that man for that particular revelation.

  The initiatory guard called for his captain, a large man with a bushy unibrow and the unpleasant face of someone who has forgotten how to laugh, if indeed he ever knew how. Though he did look like a capable fighting man, armed with a long, curved sword and bronze mace. He was the most formidable Dyzan the pair had yet seen.

  “You have special messages for the emperor’s, correct?” he asked. “We have been expecting you for some time,” he said with a sullen air.

  “We were told to give our replies to the emperor,” said Niels. “You have more than one?”

  “There are two, Alexious the Fourth and Isaac the second, will you be speaking to each?” the captain demanded more than questioned by his tone.

  “Yes?” answered Niels, with a shrug of his red armored shoulders.

  “Then I shall lead the Northman to Emperor Alexious in the Great Palace and Sergeant Nicholas will take you to see Emperor Isaac in Blachernae Palace.”

  “They are not together?”

  “Of course not, they hate each other,” smirked the captain. “Emperor Isaac lives like a crazed hermit now. He sees no one but his zealous astrologers and soothsayers.”

  “I think we will both speak to emperor Alexious then,” said Niels. “Our message was meant for his obligations more so than Emperor Isaac’s.”

  “This had better be important, Emperor Alexious dislikes being interrupted during his night games,” said the captain.

  “Besides, I have the official letter marked for Alexious,” said Gathelaus.

  Scrutinizing the odd-looking pair, the captain waved them forward. “Come along then,” he said. “Sergeant, the gates.”

  “Lady Adventure awaits,” said Niels.

  Gathelaus grinned and nodded. They were led through the massive gates, while murder holes above their heads leered like hungry monsters waiting to pounce. The black gate slammed shut and heavy bars were replaced and so the city’s doom was sealed.

  Once fully ushered inside Gathelaus was astounded at the splendor and wealth of even the poor quarter. Their score of armed escorts continually stopped and waited as he took in the city. Even Niels was silent, gazing about the entry. Fountains of running water splashed and richly colored facades were upon every home and side street. Dusky whores belly danced on corners with jangling bells as twanging dulcimers and sitars joined in, across the street nuns gave bread to the poor and sickly. Even at this late hour, the city bustled with excitement and life. No matter the crusaders ships lay just beyond the city’s trebuchets reach, life goes on. But a heavy air of anticipation wrung out over the city too. Folk watched the envoys warily as they entered.

  Red stained clouds splashed the walls below in shadows.

  “Hello, Fenrir,” said Gathelaus, to a dark bank of clouds that obscured and covered the rising moon.

  One of the escorts, a Varangian, and an Aldrethman by the look of him, frowned and thought to say something but kept silent.

  The escorts led them from the busy cloistered street to a wide forum teeming with people moving in every direction.

  Gathelaus could not avoid gazing at a tall white colossus, looming over them central in the square. Beautiful marble was etched in the form of a robed woman, crowned with a radiant star like tiara. She held one hand out beckoning and the other close to her side clutching both a spear and shield. “Who is she?”

  “She’s beautiful,” said Niels.

  “The Khanzia Partheno, last of the great statues by the master sculptor Phidias,” answered the unibrowed captain.

  “Is that your queen?” asked Gathelaus. “She is the most desirable woman I have ever seen!”

  The captain guffawed before answering, “It’s the goddess Khanzia, sculpted by Phidias the great! It’s over fifteen hundred years old. Craddock brought it here from Khanzis, you ignorant knave.”

  Gathelaus’s hand went to his hilt.

  The Aldrethman did the same, but whispered in his captain’s ear.

  “My apologies, I was rude and did not know you were unaware of our pride and traditions,” said the captain, in a hurried and somewhat sarcastic manner. “Forgive me and do not hold it against my emperor,” he added.

  The Aldrethman nodded and Gathelaus repeated the gesture, letting his hand leave his worn hilt. Niels’s throwing knife was behind his shield, ready. He slid it back into the hidden sheath inside his sleeve.

  “She is a Valkyrie,” said Gathelaus. “Or even queen of the Valkyries.”

  “We are a Paladin city, but we take pride in our past as well as our future,” said the captain, wiping sweat from his oily forehead and unibrow. “Some forget that.”

  Gathelaus took one more look at the Khanzia before striding
away to catch up with Niels. Did he imagine her calling to him? Asking that he stay and continue gazing upon her? A voice sweet as honey and sharp as the edge of his sword.

  “Time enough for the sights of the city once this night is through,” said Niels.

  “She calls me,” said Gathelaus.

  “Lady Adventure call us all,” answered Niels.

  Gathelaus grinned, “I would follow such a woman anywhere.”

  “Wouldn’t we all?”

  If Gathelaus was astounded at the poor quarters of the city, he was almost beyond words for the luxury of the palace. Gold framed the most magnificent paintings in the world and large candelabras fashioned of the precious metal seemed too costly to merely give light. Ivory and jet checker-boarded the floors, ornately wrought pillars and fine tapestries were in every alcove and hall. Lapis-lazuli was set between marble tiles for baths and arches, while furnishings soft as a mother’s bosom went unused in every room. The very servants looked wealthy in comparison to the doge and Baron back aboard the command ship.

  Gathelaus felt eyes on his unkempt mane and he spied above him a beautiful flame-haired woman at the top of the stair. Dressed in scarlet silks, she smiled though he could not say if it was pleasant, nor even for himself, possible it was meant for the hairy browed captain. Niels noticed too and clapped the big Northman on the shoulder to keep moving.

  Mounting up the wide curving steps they entered into a vast auditorium, off to one side doors opened to a balcony set to overlook the forum. The view was of the Khanzia Partheno, who faced the west and beyond her, the fleet of crusaders. Twilight crouched behind giving red gloom to their sails.

  At the far end of the spacious imperial audience chamber sat the young Alexious the Fourth upon a gilded throne. Gathelaus recognized the fey youth from their first meeting in Zara. The boy king had spilled a drink on Boniface and the angered baron nearly strangled him for it. But for the blind doge’s intervention he might have.