Savage

by James Alderdice

  Vardulak winced and it was obvious that while he had proved so powerful beforehand, he had no strength or great will any longer. “If you had played a different note, you might have brought the walls of the city crashing down upon us or caused the great deeps to rise up over and drown us all.”

  “It’s that powerful?”

  Vardulak grunted in the affirmative. “But you would have to know how to use it, otherwise it is just an instrument of destruction, perhaps your own.”

  “Why did you want it?”

  “Isn’t obvious? I wouldn’t have to be a servant to haughty queens with delusions of grandeur anymore. I could be my own master and order an apprentice for myself. But Lyana is cunning, she too learned the secrets and covets the Pipe for herself.” Hate still glared from his yellow eyes but he was watching over Gathelaus’s shoulder. “You should run,” Vardulak said with more than a hint of sarcasm.

  “You think you can scare me, little man?” taunted Gathelaus. The approaching glow of torchlight alerted him that Vardulak’s words were not just a threat. He glanced over his shoulder at the advancing Baron’s guard. Someone must have alerted them to the ruckus of the earlier fight, if the noise of the Pipe hadn’t awoken half the city as well.

  “Damn the luck,” growled Gathelaus. He ran and scooped up his short sword.

  Vardulak called after him, while still sitting naked on the cobbles. “You can run Gathelaus, you whore’s son, but you can’t hide. We will get you! I’ll change back after I’ve rested for a few days, and when I do, you’re a dead man! The Queen and I will get you!”

  “No, you won’t.” Gathelaus lopped off Vardulak’s head before racing off into the shadow covered alleyways.

  9.

  Enemies in Towers

  Gathelaus raced off into the gloom, careful of allowing his footfalls to make as little noise as possible. He ducked behind a deserted market stand when another troupe of guardsmen came down the opposite avenue, blocking his intended way of escape. He heard the gasp of the guardsmen as they found Vardulak’s headless corpse.

  “Queen Lyana isn’t going to like this,” said one.

  “Who gives a damn what she likes, this one gave me the creeps,” said another.

  “Can’t even be the same sorcerer, this fellow is too small.”

  “He was a changeling, he looked like this when they landed in daylight,” said another.

  “I say we ought to pin a medal on the cutthroat that did him in.”

  “Quiet you, if the Baron finds out—”

  “If I find out what?” proclaimed a commanding new voice.

  Gathelaus risked peeking through a tear in the market’s stand to watch.

  Baron Sethur himself stood there, along with a contingent of huge, imposing guardsmen far above the level of these street guardians. That and a woman wearing a long grey cloak. She knelt at the dead body of Vardulak. It had to be Queen Lyana of Toth, his spurned former employer and lover.

  “Is it him?” asked the Baron.

  “It is,” she said somberly. “Fetch his head there and have the body burned. Bad luck to deal with a dead changeling.”

  “See to it,” ordered the Baron.

  They stepped away from the body and befuddled guardsmen, unknowingly getting closer to Gathelaus’s hiding place.

  The Baron continued, “I thought Vardulak was unstoppable, how could he have been slain?”

  Lyana shook her head. “He divined that the Pipe was here, and that Gathelaus carried it. He was right. It is incredibly powerful. Gathelaus must have used it and slain him.”

  Baron Sethur twisted at his goatee and mustache. “If he is that strong with magics as well as his sword, what can we do?”

  Lyana wheeled angrily. “He is a man of steel not sorcery. Likely he doesn’t fully understand what he did nor the power it wields. We can still find him and capture the Pipe. Then, my love, then we shall rule an empire.”

  “King Vikarskeid’s men promised a hefty bounty for his head,” reminded the Baron. “We could have the best of both worlds.”

  Lyana harrumphed. “I’d rather have the satisfaction of giving him a long torture before slicing his throat myself. I still can’t believe the luck of him returning after all these years just so I can have my way with him.” She licked her lips and the Baron seemed visibly concerned at her idea of torture.

  “It would not be wise to go against the monarch of Vjorn.”

  “Bah! He is far away and cannot do anything to our lands or trading routes, it’s a false threat of wanting Gathelaus. He is more valuable to us, especially if he indeed has the Pipe. Vardulak swore that his master said Gathelaus has it and was coming this way. Vardulak’s death is proof that he is right under our noses. We have but to tear the city apart and find him.”

  The Baron, finally showing some backbone, said, “It is my city and I want him found and you, my love, well pleased But I don’t want my city torn apart. This lockdown has disturbed my people enough. The sooner we can find him and return things to normal the better.”

  “And the sooner he is found, the sooner I will pleasure you on our wedding day,” said Lyana, running her fingers across his neck, then blowing in his ear.

  Gathelaus remembered that very notion himself. Laying in silken pillows on a bed the size of a wagon with the Queen back in the city of Toth. Back when he was in her favor. The sweet scent of lavender and the deep emerald pools for bathing. It was the most luxurious palace he had ever spent time in, Vjorn included. Memories can be so cruel.

  The Baron broke his reverie. “Anything for you, my love. I look forward to the union of our kingdoms.”

  “And I look forward to wielding the power of gods. Find him! If you can’t in the next day, I will dispatch a cadre of Headhunters from Meroe. They will get results, your citizenry be damned!” She swirled her dress and cloak and stormed away with more than a score of the big guardsmen.

  A handful of the lower tier guardsmen struggled to put the dead body of Vardulak in a section of cloth for carrying. They picked him up and the head fell out.

  “I’m not touching that.”

  “I put it in last time.”

  “Good job, it just fell out again.”

  “Well, you get it!”

  “Enough!” roared the Baron. He knelt and picked up Vardulak’s head by his red hair. He sneered at the face and tossed it in the cloth with the body. “She said burn it, so burn it now!”

  “Where?”

  “Right here for all I care,” demanded the Baron. “Just get it done!” He hurried down the avenue with most of the rest of the guardsmen, leaving only a trio of men to attend to the body.

  “I’ll fetch some oil,” said one guardsman as he raced away.

  “Best get some more tinder, it will stink too much otherwise,” suggested another.

  The final pair of the guardsmen went to the market stand and grabbed at it to fetch some dry wood for burning, thus revealing Gathelaus.

  Shocked, they stumbled to the ground beside each other.

  “Don’t kill us,” stammered one.

  “Don’t make me then,” said Gathelaus stepping out from behind the stand.

  “We won’t shout an alarm or nothing, we’re glad you killed him. He was a beast.”

  Gathelaus nodded at that. “Soon as I walk away are you going to shout an alarm?”

  “Do you want us too?”

  Gathelaus rolled his eyes. “No. I’d prefer you forget you ever saw me.”

  “We can do that,” said one. The other nodded.

  “All right then.” He saluted them and vanished into the gloom.

  10.

  Castaway

  “Again?” asked Niels.

  “Again,” breathed the other in ragged agreement.

  The two men squared off against one another. The rasp of steel drawn from leather sang that death should swiftly follow. They circled one another across the rolling deck, wary as caged animals. The sun glinting upon their blades.

&nb
sp; “Last chance, you can swear to sail away and never show your face in our lands again, and I’ll let you and yours go,” said Niels. He was a big man with bronzed skin over corded muscle, penetrating eyes and a mane of dark blonde hair just beginning to frost gray at the temples.

  His opponent, a thick red-bearded juggernaut called Hawkwood, was an infamous mercenary captain who was equally held to be both an impressive sorcerer and a great swordsman. But time had been unkind to Hawkwood and he appeared twenty years senior to Niels, though no one knew how old he really was. Sorcery, it was said, had taken a terrible toll on his body. “Think I’ve done all of this, chasing after Gathelaus and you across the ring of the world, just to turn tail and walk away like a spurned concubine?”

  “Yes,” answered Niels with a wry grin. “Any kind of life is better than the grave.”

  Hawkwood chuckled to himself and shook his hoary head. “There are many souls who would argue against that point.”

  Niels swept his sword in front of him. “You going to use your tongue or your sword for this decision?”

  “I gave my word,” said Hawkwood, coldly. His icy blue gaze would have cowed most any other man, but not Gathelaus, called the Usurper, nor his chief captain, Niels. “And if I can’t keep that, what might men say of me? Reputation is all.”

  Niels snorted in derision. “I applaud keeping one’s word, but reputation is stolen and covered in lies by most. It is not a measure of worth.”

  A pair of sailors watching from the starboard whispered to one another, “Are they going to kill each other or not?”

  The two men lunged toward each other, crossing blades violently, each battering back and forth, springing forward and then back. The steel hammered together, drawing sparks as shards were sawn free by the razor edges. As the blades allowed, they threw in fists and elbows, as well as Niels hammering his pommel into Hawkwood’s shoulder.

  Hawkwood cried out in pain, but his titanic fist sent Niels flying away. Just as quickly they were back, all snarling savagery and teeth like wolves struggling to lead the pack.

  With hilts locked, each pushed his bulk against the other and slowly Niels forced Hawkwood back toward the gunwale. His left hand locked about the other’s throat and he bent back the foe. The left-handed Hawkwood let go of his sword to reach for a dagger at his belt, while his right fingers dug into the hand at his throat. His face contorted as red as his beard as Niels’s fingers closed on his windpipe.

  He reached the dagger and pushed.

  Niels reeled back, the edge of the blade skittering across the links of his mail. He gave a scornful smirk to his opponent. “I had you there.”

  Hawkwood took in deep breaths, his face flushed a singular crimson. “And I you. Best three out of five?”

  Niels shook his head. “I’ve already won two out of three.”

  “That last one was a draw to my mind,” argued Hawkwood.

  “Even if I were to concede that, which I won’t, you’ve lost.”

  Hawkwood nodded begrudgingly. “All right. I’ll sail on, never to return to Vjorn so long as Gathelaus is king.”

  “And that includes the next three moons to win back his kingdom,” reminded Niels.

  Hawkwood chewed at the edges of his beard, nodded. “Fair enough. You wish me to let you off upon the nearest coast?”

  Niels nodded.

  “Then we have a deal,” said Hawkwood. They shook hands.

  “Land ho!” cried the watchman.

  They came in closer to the stretch of brown rising just above the surf. In the distance, red mountains rose competing with clouds for sky.

  “Where is this?” asked Niels, with a snarl. “It doesn’t look anything like Derenz or Marence.” Niels took to the gunwale to examine the coastline.

  “Because it’s not,” affirmed Coco, guessing Hawkwood’s meaning.

  “Ho! Observant a little too late I’m afraid,” taunted Hawkwood. “I’ve had my men running us on a hard easterly ever since you escaped Vikarskeid’s pursuing corsairs and now that we have cut a deal, with blood we shall honor it.”

  “Dropping us off on some far island is not honoring your deal,” said Niels.

  “Well, I can’t very well keep my word to everyone, but I can do my best to balance it all out. You have three months to return and help Gathelaus win back his kingdom from Vikarskeid, while I have three months to prepare for that eventuality.”

  “Where are we?” growled Niels.

  “Well, I am aboard my ship, but you, my captain, shall be on the rocky western coast of Dar-Al-Hambra, miles upon miles from civilization. I suspect you can make a good account of yourself and survive, perhaps even thrive and find a way back to Vjorn? But should it be within three moons? I doubt that very much.”

  Niels’ hand went to his hilt.

  “Not so fast,” said Hawkwood, taking the brown-haired woman of Tultecacan, Coco in his arms with a long dagger at her throat. “I shan’t hurt the wee lass, if you do as I say.”

  “Which is?”

  “You get into that rowboat there and head for shore. I shall keep the woman and your other men hostage on good faith that you don’t try anything.”

  “No,” contested Niels.

  “You’re far too trusting Niels. You may be chief captain to Gathelaus and one of the greatest warriors alive, but we all have weaknesses and I know yours. You’ll not allow me to hurt the woman.”

  “You think I’ll leave her with you?”

  “You have no choice.”

  “There is always a choice. I’ll kill you rather than leave her in your dirty hands.”

  Tears welled in Coco’s eyes. She shook her head.

  Hawkwood’s crew had bows nocked. They pressed closer, ready to shoot not only Niels but also his handful of loyal men.

  “You will get off my ship and I will keep my word to you. Three moons. No more. No one will die. You try and fight me and she will die, your men here that Gathelaus left you in command of will die. Make your choice!”

  “Go find my love. Find a way. Let me go with him and you fulfill your destiny,” said Coco.

  “Sensible lass,” rumbled Hawkwood. “Get in the boat, Niels, and try your luck.”

  “And the others?” asked Niels.

  Hawkwood kept one hand holding a dagger at Coco’s throat but rubbed at his beard with the other. “I’ll let them off in Marence.”

  “Why should I believe that?”

  “You’ve no choice. But I keep my word that I shall not harm them nor even put them in harm’s way, unlike you. I think you can survive in that wilderness, but even you will be taxed to find a way back to Vjorn in less than three moons.”

  “You’re going to pay for this,” growled Niels, as he stepped into the rowboat.

  “We’ll see,” taunted Hawkwood. His men let the boat down into the choppy sea and cast off the ropes. The barren looking coast beckoned to Niels with white fringed surf. It wasn’t the best of landing places but certainly could have been worse.

  “A word of warning to you, Niels,” taunted Hawkwood further. “If you should head north along the beach you will eventually come to the town Enselyjos, and of course there will be fishing ships harbored there that could bring you back to Vjorn swiftly or even to hunt for Gathelaus down toward KhoPeshli, but I’m telling you now, that Vikarskeid has put a great bounty on your heads and there will be many men out there hoping to collect. I’ve sent carrier pigeons out giving seed to the rumor that the Usurper will turn up thereabouts. So, for your own good, don’t chance it. You’ll find no friends in that border town, I suspect they still have not forgiven your Sellsword’s company laying siege to her all those years ago.”

  Niels stared coldly at his antagonist and judged that Hawkwood was not lying, for he had lain siege to the city with Gathelaus’s motley band of Sellsword’s years ago and it had not been a pleasant experience for anyone involved. There would be no friends there, that was certain. But it would likely be the closest point of civilization on this i
nhospitable coast.

  “Til we meet again, captain of Vjorn” mocked Hawkwood. “Remember, just like Gathelaus, I gave you a fighting chance!”

  “Find Gathelaus!” cried Coco.

  Frowning, Niels gave Hawkwood an insulting salute.

  “Oh, one more thing, just so you don’t try anything so foolish as to attempt taking that dingy all the way across the channel to Kentsia and the like—” He vanished from the side of the gunwale.

  Niels pondered what Hawkwood had in mind, as the waves almost knocked him against the hull of the pirate’s ship.

  Hawkwood appeared and slammed a great head-sized stone down on the keel of the dingy. It didn’t smash through, but it did make the seams crack and begin taking on water.

  “You best hurry to shore now, hear?” He laughed maniacally as Niels cursed him.

  The east wind caught the sails of the ship, it came about sharp and was beyond sight much swifter than Niels could manage getting the rowboat to the ragged shore.

  This would be a bitter experience, but not one beyond his expertise. His list of men to wreak bloody-handed vengeance upon was not growing but it was certainly becoming more creative.

  11.

  A Deadly Game

  Moonlight alone glinted upon the grimy cobblestones of Mankares’ worst back-alleys as Gathelaus stepped carefully, hand on hilt. He moved graceful as a panther over the puddles of rain―or worse. Few cut-purses here would accost a man who moved with such finesse. But he was wary too, having only been in Mankares a scant few days which seemed already far too long to remain in one place for someone with such a price on his head, likely the largest price offered in all the coastal City States. He hoped word hadn’t spread to the Galinese Peninsula yet, but he knew it was a fool’s hope.

  Ill news is always borne upon the swiftest wings.

  Red lanterns hung in slit windows and a few of the available trollops stood watching in doorways, waiting for their randy customers. A comely, auburn-haired wench by the name of Melora made sure to catch Gathelaus’s eye by displaying her voluptuous wares. She gave him a slight nod and held two fingers close to her heaving breast before disappearing back into her silk-lined shanty.