Gathelaus mused that both were similar enough in skill and intent. He ignored their pleas and threats and continued looking for the disenfranchised folk that could aid him.
When he had conquered the city years ago, he spent little enough time enjoying the fruits of his labors, but he did know a place where men might gather and discuss those days of glory. A gambling house and pub toward the waterfront named The Gilded Hawk. Gathelaus knew that a veteran serving the old baron was the proprietor, or at least had been long ago, perhaps he still was and perhaps there might still be clientele that disliked the current Baron Sethur.
Going inside the stuffy place, he found a seat and ordered a full meal and ale. He waited but a moment because his ready coin brought quick service. He hungrily ate, listening to see what other folk inside might be discussing. There were a handful of gamblers and the lot playing cards and dice. A woman danced in the rear to the tinkling cymbals and sounding brass of a piss-poor four-man band. No one here looked like revolutionaries but looks can be deceiving.
Gathelaus spent a longtime sipping his ale, waiting to see what might come of his presence there. The folk working seemed eager to please and there was no rush for him to move on as no other clientele came inside. Just when he was beginning to think he should look elsewhere, a rowdy man burst through the door. He was thin and older than middle years with a long drooping grey mustache.
“Where’s my Dazee?” he proclaimed, and the serving wench, apparently Dazee herself, blushed and fetched him a mug of ale. She gave him a peck on the cheek as she filled his tankard.
“Thank you my dear,” he said. “Any sign of the constabulary?”
She shook her head but subtly nodded toward Gathelaus, as if he were suspected of being one of the Baron’s men.
The man spoke with a curious accent and Gathelaus realized it had been years, but he recognized him. “Sigurd?” he asked.
The man Sigurd stared a long moment. “Do my eyes betray me or do I see a ghost of yesterday?”
“Don’t use my name,” said Gathelaus.
The woman Dazee watched with narrowed eyes.
“It’s all right Darlin’, I know him. He’s good people, no worries.”
She seemed unsure but nodded and filled Gathelaus’s nearly empty tankard and went back to the kitchens with a suspicious glance over her shoulder.
Gathelaus looked at Sigurd concernedly.
“Don’t you worry about her or anyone else here. If I say you’re good, they’ll do nothing. They’re just worried I might be wrong about you is all.”
“Where can we talk privately?” asked Gathelaus.
“Anywhere,” shrugged Sigurd. “This place is as safe as anywhere in all of Mankares.”
“You sure?”
“Sure, I’m sure. This is my regular watering hole, this and The Speckled Hog over on the avenue of the Ram. What’s eating you? What brought you back here after all these years?”
“I can’t have anyone know I’m here,” said Gathelaus softly. “I want to fetch a ship and be away as soon as I can. Can you help me?”
Sigurd rubbed at his chin. “Problems right now like fleas on a dog. The Baron is holding everyone in the city hostage looking for something, we don’t know what and they aren’t letting anyone go anywhere without being thoroughly inspected. You have something to do with that?” He prodded with both words and a long finger.
Gathelaus shook his head. “No. I only just got here this morning.”
“You want to hear something else that ought to amuse you after all these years? I tell you what, life is awful funny at the way it makes things all tie together.”
“What?” asked Gathelaus irritated.
“Queen Lyana. She is here now. Courting Baron Sethur or he is courting her, I always get confused as to who is the what now.”
“Don’t even joke about that,” growled Gathelaus.
Sigurd laughed long and loud before continuing. “I wish I was joking. But here’s the deal, she is here and I’m sure it is her and her pet sorcerer Vardulak that is behind this city lockdown business.”
“Never heard of Vardulak,” said Gathelaus, finishing his ale and waving the tankard for a refill.
“It’s whispered that he isn’t even a man. I’ve heard rumors that he sups on human flesh.”
Gathelaus held a hand up, shushing his friend. “You’re trying to share street rumors with me? What about Lyana?”
“Well, she is here I assure you. She showed up only a week ago, if even that long, and ever since, the city has gone mad looking for something.”
“Well that’s got nothing to do with me. I never planned on seeing her again or ever coming back here, but life gets in the way sometimes and here I am, and I need your help to get out of here as soon as possible. Let the past stay buried.”
Sigurd kept rubbing at his chin and furrowed his brow at Gathelaus as if he didn’t believe him. “Why’d you come back then? Never thought I’d see you again either.”
Gathelaus avoided the question. “Why did you stay? Thought all foreigners were marked for death.”
Sigurd leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms behind himself. “We were. But I had some help. I had my woman, remember Illeanna? She kept me hid for a few months in her cellar until Sethur didn’t care no more. You and the Sellsword’s were long gone and things had a way of blowing over. So I had to stay on. I loved her.”
“Loved?” asked Gathelaus, before taking a sip of ale.
“She’s dead and buried for the last five years now. But I love the climate here and I’m so used to things in this city, I don’t think I’ll ever leave even if I do wish an anvil would fall out of the sky right on Baron Sethur’s fat head.”
“Can you get me out of here? And soon?”
Sigurd finished his ale. “I’m sure I can find a way. Maybe I can get you passage on a friend’s ship soon as it is cleared by the Baron’s men to leave for the mainland. You will stick out though, big man like you. We’ll probably have to sneak you inside a barrel or something, otherwise they’d want to know who you are.”
“Thank you. Is there a place I can wait safely for those few days then?”
“Yeah, I can get you into a room with no questions asked, especially if you have a little coin.”
Gathelaus passed a few coppers and a golden kings crown across the table to Sigurd.
“Perfect,” said the older man. “Wait here a spell and I’ll find a place, probably better if you’re not out on the street in the daylight, Gathy.”
“Don’t call me that,” rumbled Gathelaus.
“Sure boss,” said Sigurd, standing and pocketing the coins. “Hold tight and I’ll get you squared away.” Then he bowed to the serving woman Dazee and left.
Dazee brought another pitcher of ale for Gathelaus. Now he just had to do that which he hate—wait.
“How long have you known him?” Gathelaus asked Dazee.
“Most of my life. He has been like a second father to me.”
He nodded at that.
“You do anything to hurt him or get him into any kind of trouble with the Baron and I’ll kill you!” she said firmly before slamming the pitcher down on the table, causing the handful of other customers in the room to look up in surprise.
“No worries then,” said Gathelaus, as he took another drink.
8.
The Apprentice
For the next two days, Gathelaus kept inside most of the time, venturing out only at night to explore his surroundings and keep his blood flowing. It exhausted him to wait when he felt the terrible call of returning to Vjorn to rescue Coco and regain his crown. Vengeance would come for his enemies, and he could hardly hold himself back from the drive to slay. But as both the beggar and Sigurd had told him, the city was on lockdown while they hunted for a mysterious article.
Gathelaus took up strange hours while he waited. He slept most of the day and awoke near evening. He had little to read and there was nothing else to do but wander after du
sk and listen to the talk of strangers. This night he waited until very late before stepping out and beginning his nightly stroll.
A light rain had washed some of the red-hued dust from off the walls, and rivulets resembling blood ran in the cracks of the cobbles. Few people roamed the streets this night and Gathelaus couldn’t help but wonder if something kept them all shut indoors besides the weather.
He wandered down to the docks to see how fared the ships. One of which he hoped would leave port soon with him on it.
The dark clouds masked the moon and stars this night and only a few lamps were lit on the streets, every fifty paces for the sake of the city guard rather than the folk that lived here.
Gathelaus went down the deserted main thoroughfare, again curious at the complete lack of anything out and about this night. A city like Mankares would always have folk out wandering with their unsavory business at this hour.
Finally, near the end of a long, curving byway he saw an old woman hurrying past.
“Old woman, what goes on this night?”
She gasped and took a few involuntary steps back as he approached. “Stay back!”
“I mean you no harm, I am just a curious foreigner,” he said as calmly as possible, halting his own approach to reassure her.
She glanced back and forth as if wary that other dangers might be closing in around her. “Are you Vardulak?” she boldly asked, though her wide eyes betrayed her great fear at the answer.
“Nay, good woman I am not. My name is Khyte, I am from the Northlands,” said Gathelaus, using the incognito name he’d already chosen for himself. “Why is everything so deserted this night?”
“We must get off the streets. Every third night something terrible happens in this city. Folk say Vardulak prowls the streets to sate his hunger. I must go.” She hurried away, glancing over her shoulder at him until she vanished into the misty night.
Sigurd had mentioned that name, a sorcerer who now served Lyana. Wide awake, having slept all day, he wanted a drink. He was out of wine back at his room. But everything looked boarded up and closed. Yester eve the city had been full of sprawling drunks and music floating out of doors, but now it was deafening silence.
Far up the long avenue something moved beneath the guttering city lamps. The farthest lamp winked out. In about half the time it took a man to step to the next lamp, it too was extinguished.
This fully caught Gathelaus’s attention beyond the thought of mere chance. A third was snuffed out and soon a fourth. Gathelaus stood watching, waiting to see what this encroaching darkness might reveal, for how or why would anyone blot out the light at their very approach? There were but three lanterns left and then the third from himself was gone and the shambling horror that scuttled along the cobbles became vaguely visible. The second lantern vanished just before the thing reached it. One left—and the thing halted a short distance from it, facing straight toward Gathelaus. He thought briefly of running, but that was not his style. The proud bearing in him wanted to face whatever horror or danger presented itself. Besides, there was always the chance it was just a city worker sparing the oil for a night with no citizens about.
No such luck.
“I have found you at last,” spoke the thing with a deep gravelly voice. “I knew you prowled the city, but your scent was troublesome here amongst the spices.”
“Who are you?” demanded Gathelaus. His mind reeled as the thing took another step forward and the last lantern died. He had trapped the lich Lucifugis within that magical black necropolis, had he escaped and come for revenge?
“I am Vardulak,” growled the figure.
“Never heard of you.”
“I am chief sorcerer to Queen Lyana, but you have something I want more than my service dictates.”
Only now, as his eyes became somewhat accustomed to the full darkness of this gloomy night, could Gathelaus see that the thing was very broad in the shoulders and covered with a cloak that hid nearly all of its features. Only great green eyes were visible beside what must be an incredibly bushy beard and long nose. This Vardulak appeared to be quite bulky and stooped as if hiding his full size.
“Oh? And what do you want wizard?” asked Gathelaus as he slipped his hand over his short sword hilt.
Vardulak chuckled mirthlessly then stretched forth his hand from beneath the cloak, revealing a long hairy arm and taloned finger. “You, Gathelaus, usurper of Vjorn. I want you and what you have stolen from my master.”
Gathelaus snorted in derision. “And who is your master hairy one?”
“Why Lucifugis was my master of course. He was training me across the aether in dark arts. I know what he sent you for and that you betrayed him.”
“It seemed fair turnabout, he would have left me to die in there without revealing the secret of how to open the door.”
Vardulak growled in protest then said, “I care not for your excuses. You will give the Pipe to me and then you will die.”
“Earn your pay, dog!” Gathelaus drew his sword.
Vardulak pulled himself up to his full height. He was perhaps all of eight feet tall and so bulky with rippling muscle that he weighed more than twice as much as Gathelaus. But most terrible of all, he threw off his cloak revealing a naked lupine form. He was covered in long reddish-brown hair and his nails were black taloned claws, his face resembled that of a ravening wolf.
“Is this because I said dog?” taunted Gathelaus, beckoning with his short sword.
Vardulak answered the challenge with a roar and charged with blinding speed.
Gathelaus’s sword bit into flesh as the huge man-beast bowled him over. His sword flew away into the dark, skittering across the cobbles.
Vardulak stood over the top of him. “Get up. I like to play with my meals.”
“What kind of sorcerer are you?” asked Gathelaus, stalling to think and gain another weapon.
“I am a man of many talents. I am a seer, a changeling, and a diviner. I knew you took the Pipe and came here. My mistress and I have been hunting for you many days. I knew you were here somewhere. Only my long sleeps have gained you this much time before dying at my hands.”
“Every three days, huh?”
Vardulak grunted in the affirmative. “Where is the Pipe?”
“Can’t you divine that?”
Vardulak struck him a titanic blow across the chest. “Answer me.”
“I have it here,” wheezed Gathelaus. reaching into his belt pouch. He kicked straight up with all his might at the most tender piece of Vardulak’s male anatomy.
The wolf-man made no noise, but his face cringed and his yellow eyes crossed.
Gathelaus rolled away and scrambled on his hands and knees toward where his sword had fallen.
Vardulak bounded atop him, picked him up by his shirt, and threw him into the air to slam against a collection of crates.
“You’ll pay for that dishonor,” shouted Vardulak
“Won’t be able to have pups now?” grunted Gathelaus. He searched his belt for a knife, finding nothing but the Pipe. He pulled it out, thinking he would toss it into the sea, if he could throw it that far. Perhaps he should throw it at Vardulak and race for his sword.
Vardulak roared and stepped closer.
Gathelaus pulled the enchanted instrument from his belt, ready to throw it, when Vardulak froze, staring at the Pipe.
“Give it to me,” said Vardulak, as if worried that Gathelaus might break it.
Gathelaus was taken aback at this change in attitude. Vardulak stared at the Pipe as if his very life depended upon it. On a whim, Gathelaus brought the thing up to his lips. Before he could play upon it, Vardulak fell to his knees.
“Don’t. Just give it to me, and I’ll let you live to walk away,” begged the wolf man.
The situation seemed so ridiculous that Gathelaus breathed one solitary note before pulling it away. He planned on tossing it far and giving himself ample time to reach his sword as Vardulak seemed sure to chase after the thrown instrume
nt, but instead, the single solitary note from the Pipe echoed a warping, discordant blast, loud as thunder, that sent Vardulak crashing to the ground as if struck by lightning.
Vardulak writhed and Gathelaus stared as the huge beast shrank in size, his hair rapidly vanished revealing him to be a scrawny little man with a reddish-brown bowl haircut. He lay naked as the day he was born.
The sound of the Pipe had been decidedly unpleasant to Gathelaus himself, causing a nauseous headache. But it had been apocalyptic to the shape shifting sorcerer. Now old and wrinkled, no bigger than a skinny little boy he curled into a fetal position.
“Do it then, slay me, but make it quick.” Vardulak’s voice now resembled nothing so much as a sniveling weasel.
“Why should I do that?”
“I’m done with, kill me.”
“Not so fast. You’re going to give me answers.”
“No, I won’t,” responded Vardulak over his shoulder before covering his face with his bony arms. “Kill me, but I’ll tell you nothing.”
Gathelaus kicked him in the butt. “Get up and speak with me or I’ll just hurt you some more.”
Vardulak sat up, glaring hate. “What do you want to know?”
“What is the Pipe?”
“Magic,” snapped Vardulak like a spoiled child disappointed their toy had been taken away.
“If I don’t get better answers, I’m going to toss you into the sea for the fish to bite your manhood off.”
Vardulak’s eyes widened in fear and Gathelaus guessed the sorcerer could not swim. “It is old world magic. It can change men.”
“Like you, but what else?”
“It will turn men into ghoul. Ghoul back into men. But you must know the right song to play. You were blessed by the gods that you played the right note to change me, I cannot imagine a fool like you could have known what note to play.”
Gathelaus kicked him. “Watch the sweet talk. Besides, not knowing the right song meant little, I could see the fear in your eyes when I brought it to my lips.”
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