Meuric (31 page)

“Lieutenant,” snapped Rainier. “Be calm.”

“What are your orders?” fumed Ysolt.

“Have all the bodies of the Roz'eli soldiers taken out to the Great Wood,” replied Rainier quickly. It was obvious to Petros that the War Band Commander had already thought about this. “Hide them well. Take all of their horses and have them killed too. We dare not keep any for fear of anyone recognising them. Bring Urbanus there also. I do not want him coming back.” Ysolt smiled, nodded and hurried off.

Petros inspected the Nah'cho Oak Seer. The Kel'akh priest was tall in height, broad and, judging by the way he lifted Rainier, seemed to possess the strength of a bear. His hair was brown and his beard was unkempt but his eyes were a startling blue. He was dressed as a peasant in cheap clothing and a cloak of poor material. His sword though was of excellent quality.

“When I entered you seemed to be in some sort of correspondence with Abram,” the Knight Captain asked Ulrich. “Tell me what went on between you.”

Ulrich's usual jovial face dropped. “As you wish, Knight Captain. He is the Child of Junives. He brings balance to the world and carries the fate of everyone on his shoulders. Without him our world will die for daemons will one day walk amongst us feeding on our very souls.”

“I bring equality to us all,” came a small voice. People turned to find Abram standing by the door of the annexe. Next to him, Zahara closed the door, leaving Jemima alone in the adjoining room. “But it is neither Tacitus nor the Dark Druid that we need fear. The biggest enemy is a goddess. She is known as Malitia, daughter of the goddess Melevelens, and it is she who is the real power behind all this. She controls the Dark Druid, manipulates him to her will and she is coming for you, Knight Captain. See her now.”

Petros paled. An image of a woman sitting next to the Dark Druid flashed in his mind. They were overlooking an attack against a coastal Roz'eli town. From inside the vision he could feel her immense power and the dark sickness of her soul. Now he understood who the real threat was. Now he knew what he must learn to do.

He must now find a way to kill a god.

XLVI

Gently Bradán placed the palm of his hand against the door at the sound of voices. He closed it slowly and placed the latch quietly. He could feel the smoothness of the grain and in some part of his mind he was aware of the cleanliness of the room and the general good quality of this particular Travelers' Inn. He almost laughed out loud at the incongruity of it all. Here he was surrounded by enemies, some of which sat in the very next room, and he was comparing tidy rooms in other Travelers' Inns from across the regions.

Bradán had appeared in the very room he had concentrated on. He had picked this particular room as he knew that the boy Abram was sleeping only a couple of rooms along from his position though, strangely, he had emerged at the furthest corner away from where he considered his enemies to be. It felt to him that he had come up against some sort of barrier which forbade him from travelling any further. Between his room and the Jay'keb child's was a small annexe, which was still large enough to contain a single bed but had remained empty.

His plan was to leave his room and enter the annexe to listen in on what might be said. Another door closed and the voices became more distant. The people in the next room had moved away, he surmised. It was time to move forward to see if he could glean any information.

Carefully Bradán lifted the latch and opened the door forward. He held his breath praying that it would not creak. His request was answered and he pushed the door open just wide enough so that he could slip through. So fixated was he on the door opposite that led to the next big bedroom that he failed to notice the woman sitting on the bed, her back to him.

The Druid Captain recognised her to be a Jay'keb woman and mother to Abram. She was completely oblivious of his presence. He berated himself for not checking the corresponding room before he stepped through. It simply had not occurred to him that someone might be in the room. He cursed again at a lack of foresight. As quietly as he could the warrior drew his dagger. The metal blade unintentionally sounded as it slid against its metal sheath. The woman turned at the noise and, like a coiled snake, Bradán leapt upon her. Facing her, he pressed the point of the blade against the woman's throat.

“One noise,” he hissed. “And you will never make another.” His face was pressed so close to hers that he could smell local wine upon her breath. “Then I will kill your son!”

She whispered harshly, “You could never hurt him.”

Bradán smiled but it was ice cold. His eyes matched that grin. “Are you sure about that? Take the chance if you dare.”

Bradán looked into her eyes and saw none of the usual fear that he expected to see, only anger and defiance, but he noticed her shoulders sag as she capitulated. He knew that it was not because of him but out of fear for her son. He stepped back, releasing the grip he had on her. But still he held the blade up. There was something about her that reminded him of an older version of his beloved Corliss. He did not realise that they made such women in Jay'keb. Bradán shook his head, disbelieving his thoughts. What was the matter with him? She was the enemy! He had a mission to accomplish! His hand wavered as it held the blade.

“It is my son that you feel,” whispered the woman, answering his thoughts. “It is Abram. And he is coming.”

He reached for the magickal orb but it felt cold in his palm. Footsteps growing louder touched his ears. Moving off to the side with deliberate steps, Bradán quietly stepped to the corner of the room that would be behind the opposite door when opened.

“Not a word, woman,” whispered Bradán, keeping his dagger up threateningly. “Or your son will be the first to die.” The Druid Captain did not have to wait long.

The door opened only a moment later and in strode Abram. “No, Zahara,” he was saying. “You remain out here. I would like some time alone with my mother.”

He closed the door. The boy paused as if sensing that something was out of place. Bradán waited for the inevitable cry and held his breath. He could see the boy stare at his mother. She looked like she was about to speak then stopped. For a fraction of a heartbeat her eyes flickered to the Druid Captain then to her son.

“Well met, Bradán,” said Abram suddenly. The boy turned to face him. “So are you here to hand me to Tacitus, the Dark Druid or Malitia?”

Bradán was totally taken aback. He stared deep into the dark eyes. He felt himself becoming lost in them. He looked away, not trusting himself.

“Not a word,” he whispered harshly. “Or I will attack. I serve only the Dark Druid. It is to him that I will bring you.”

He looked at Abram. He seemed like any other boy at the edge of puberty, only marked by the swarthiness of his skin that protected him from the heat of his homeland. His hair was dark, cut short but still wavy. Compared to the boys of Kel'akh, he may have even been considered a little plump.

He had in no way envisioned the position in which he now found himself. He could grab the boy but he would surely cry out. He had no way of getting him and himself away. The magick in the orb no longer seemed to work. He could surrender but did not wish to end up being slowly tortured like Urbanus. Or he could kill the child. It was what Tacitus and co. in conjunction with Malitia also wanted. But the Druid Captain was no child killer. His best bet would be to retreat back to the room he had appeared in and then run like the god Mittere.

Abram smiled. “It makes me glad to hear you say that.”

“But I did not open my lips,” stammered Bradán.

The boy nodded. “I know.” He turned to his mother. “It is okay. He will not harm us.” She opened her mouth to speak but Abram interrupted her. “Trust me, mother.” He looked again to Bradán and peered at his shoulder. He frowned then cocked his head to one side as if listening to something. “Wis watches over you, Bradán. She feels that everything depends on you. Faeder, it would seem, agrees to a certain extent.”

“I do not understand,” stated Bradán. He lowered his knife.

“I know,” said Abram. “And I cannot explain it to you. The rules that bind the gods also hinder me but I can offer you one small Gift.” He stepped forward and extended his arm. “Be not afraid, man of the I'soolt tribe. I will not harm you.”

Bradán felt the boy's fingertips lightly touch his forehead. At first there was nothing, just the warm smooth touch of his skin. Suddenly there was pain like nothing he had ever experienced. He fell to his knees. It was almost as if a knife had been plunged into his forehead. He managed to look up and witness the impossible. It seemed like the boy's fingertips had sank into his forehead. He grunted, determined not to cry out. The room
spun and murkiness clouded the edges of his vision. Abram retracted his hand and just like that the pain was gone. Bradán took a step back and steadied himself.

“You did well, Bradán,” admitted Abram. “Strong in both body and mind, you are. Those few I have done that to before have all collapsed unconscious. They simply could not take the pain. I can see now why Wis likes you so.”

“What did you do to me?” Bradán felt the front of his head for marks, but found none.

Abram looked at the warrior unmoving.
I have given you a Gift.

Bradán caught his breath. “Your lips did not move and yet I heard you.”

Abram nodded.
I gave you a Gift, a small Gift, but a powerful one nonetheless.

The Druid Captain asked, “What Gift?” He was almost afraid to hear the answer.

Abram smiled. “I have given you the power to read the minds of the gods. Not just any gods but all of the gods so you may hear the truth of things.”

Bradán shook his head. “I cannot believe this.”

“You should,” conveyed Abram passionately, now speaking normally again. “I think that it is time you discovered who you have truly aligned yourself with.”

Bradán felt the orb that had transported him begin to warm up. Without any warning the room around him abruptly vanished.

XLVII

Bradán smiled at the gaping mouth of Tacitus, bursting out of air just in front of him, as he once returned to the storeroom. He could not help but notice the profuse sweat across the forehead of the senator. He smiled inwardly. Not so brave now, without his magickal escape routes or anyone to fight his battles. Since he had left him a large wooden box had been propped against the door.

“What did you discover?” asked Tacitus. The sneer was back as was his arrogance after a moment's recovery.

“Nothing,” lied Bradán smoothly. “There seemed to be some sort of magickal barrier surrounding the Travelers' Inn. I tried to get closer but it was too great a risk. I assume that the boy Abram caused it to happen.”

“You,” smirked the senator, “who are one of the Dark Druid's favourite and one of his best soldiers, are afraid of a small challenge?”

“Yes,” answered Bradán, his tone flat.

He turned away and moved to the window. Discreetly he looked out. He saw several of Rabi'a's War Band troops scurrying about their duties. Some were making for the walls, others were heading towards the gates. More still were beginning the house-to-house searching. He noted that there were no children out playing and that all the market shops and businesses had been closed. An eerie silence settled over the large village.

Bradán spotted the War Band Commander leaving the Travelers' Inn. He was making his way across the open ground in the direction of Theirn's home when he suddenly slowed, then stopped. Something had gained his attention. Bradán looked to where the War Band Commander was staring. His eyes narrowed and squinted. He could see a Kel'akh warrior woman leaning against one of the homesteads in a completely casual manner.

“Is that Mailís out there?” he asked, disbelieving what he was seeing.

Tacitus hurried to his side and, after taking a moment, confirmed, “Yes.” He could not hide his excitement. “Yes it is. We are safe now. We must go to her now.”

Bradán looked at him sharply. He seemed too animated, just a little bit too keen to reach her. Unnoticed by the senator, the Druid Captain had removed the small black orb from a pocket in his clothing. If Tacitus was
about to attack him for the magickal device he wanted to be ready to use it and leave that room. Instead, the senator began searching the room.

“Help me,” he pleaded. “We must find something reflective so that we can signal her.”

It took only a moment. On the floor in a small crate full of straw Bradán found a hand-held highly polished and decorated bronze mirror. Tacitus snatched it from him and immediately stood by the window. He angled the hand mirror to catch the daytime light.

“What you are doing is risky,” warned Bradán.

“We must,” responded the senator as he continued signalling. “We cannot stay here.”

The Druid Captain stood next to Tacitus in silence and waited. They only had to wait for several heartbeats before the senator gained her attention and he saw Mailís look up in their direction. He noted the almost imperceptible nod from her.

Bradán could feel energy fill the room just before it vanished. They appeared in what seemed to be the main living area of a family dwelling. Fortunately for them it seemed to be vacated at that present time. Immediately the Druid Captain made for the closest window and gazed out. From their angle to Theirn's home, they now stood in the home that they had found Mailís leaning against. Bradán let slip a sigh of relief. He had seen this very building being searched earlier.

“Where is everyone,” asked Tacitus in a harsh whisper.

“There can only be two reasons for that,” surmised the Druid Captain, equally quiet. “Either they are all absent from Rabi'a or they are all members of the War Band and are answering the call to duty.” He hoped that it was not the second option.

The room was in typical Roz'eli fashion, but had the feel of a Kel'akh home. The house was square in shape, with several adjoining rooms and with a flat roof above. The hearth, the heart of the home within the tribes, sat directly in the middle of the building with a funnel-shaped chimney just above it. It was this that drew and extracted the smoke away from the family whenever lit. Typical of the Kel'akh people, the furniture was sparse but comfortable. Bradán could see the senator cast a disapproving eye over the whole home.

“I would not let my rats live here,” he spat, derision cast all over his face.

Bradán let the comment go. In an unhurried fashion he closed the wooden shutters but did not secure them into place, allowing them to remain ajar ever so slightly to peer out. At night, or during harsh weather, the shutters were secured by a latch. In the Kel'akh Nation they were still using animal hides, cloth or wood panelling to block out the wind and the rain.

Rainier was only a short distance away and Bradán was positioned just behind him and to his left. The Druid Captain angled himself to see Mailís but she was stationed just beyond his field of vision. Suddenly he felt the presence of Tacitus close to him and his sickening sweet breath on the side of his neck.

“I want to see,” sniped the senator.

“No,” stated Bradán bluntly, like a father scolding a child. “Do something useful and bar the doors to the room and ensure that all the shutters are closed and secured. It may allow us a few extra moments of protection if we need it.”

Grudgingly, the senator moved off and Druid Captain watched him until he had placed the thick wooden plank across the two doorways. It was good enough to prevent anyone, short of a battering ram, from entering.

“I know that we have never met, my lady,” Bradán was hearing Rainier say. “Yet you seem so familiar.”

“We have in a fashion,” answered Mailís stepping out more into the open and into Bradán's view. “I, of course, have heard of you… the great and mighty Rainier.” She chuckled mockingly at that last bit, as she offered a curt bow. “My name is Mailís.”

Bradán looked at her now as if seeing her truly for the first time. She appeared to be of near thirty summers. She possessed a smooth and pale complexion, yet at the same time she seemed somehow ageless. She was slim and tall for a woman with tight wavy brown hair. She had the same tawny brown eyes as Tacitus did.

Bradán frowned. Why had he never noticed that before? Her face was oval in shape with a small pert nose and full lips. She wore the same clothes as a Kel'akh warrior with black leggings and a red tunic laced with gold. A black cloak was tied around her shoulders. She also held a sword and dagger, both strapped to her narrow waist.

The perception of truth is what has been given to you.

Bradán did not react to the woman's voice from within his mind. He was actually becoming used to the disembodied utterances. Was it truly the goddess Wis that Abram had claimed was speaking to him? Bradán's vision of the wicce altered slightly.

Looking closer he could see an almost transparent mist secrete from her body, the very edge of which reached out with wispy tentacles as if alive. It shifted forward, probing, exploring at the sound of Rainier's voice until it had at last found him. Like a predator it consumed its prey, enveloping the War Band Commander in the space of a heartbeat.

Bradán looked on closely. He had half expected the mist to strip away his flesh or something equally horrible. Instead, Rainier did not cry out in pain or act in any way different. Disappointingly his shoulders simply dropped slightly. Bradán scowled. It seemed that Rainier was unaware of the fog that covered him.

“She is beautiful is she not?” whispered Tacitus into the Druid Captain's ear.

Bradán started. He had not heard Tacitus approach, nor had any sense of his movement being so close to him. Idiot, he screamed silently to himself. So intent was he upon the mist and Mailís that he had failed to realise where Tacitus was. Nevertheless, he could not understand how this man had got so close without even the awareness of his presence nearby. But then, considered Bradán, the senator was no ordinary man. The strength and speed that he had displayed earlier had proven that. He was not to be underestimated.

“Under Roz'eli laws,” Rainier was saying. “The women in Kel'akh-conquered lands are not allowed to bear arms except for those who make it into the ranks of the Federate Mercenaries or Free Archers.”

“And rightly so,” declared Tacitus in a whisper. “Their place should be at the hearth and with their babes and tending to their menfolk.”

Bradán smiled knowingly. “Never mind the fact that when you refuse Kel'akh women to bear arms you immediately cut their military force by half.”

“Ever the general,” hissed Tacitus through his teeth, which the Druid Captain took to be a laugh. He smiled coldly. “Considering how hard it was for us to take this cursed land do you blame us? One of your own leaders at the time allowed your women and children to starve to death rather than open the gates for fear of our forces pushing through.”

The mist had moved on now, inching closer to the window where the two men were peering out. Fascinated, Bradán watched it scale the nearby walls like an invisible vine. He jumped slightly as a wispy tendril suddenly appeared over the window ledge directly in front of him. It crept forward at a cautious pace and Bradán allowed it to find one of his fingers, curious to see what, if anything, would happen. Without any warning the haze blanketed his hand. Out of reflex, he leapt back almost knocking Tacitus over.

“Do not let it touch you,” whispered the senator. “If you want to keep your mind focused.”

He knows! Bradán was stunned, not only the speed at which the mist had pounced, but also at the way it had made him feel. The need to obey Mailís without pause, no matter the consequence to others, was almost overwhelming upon contact. With the mist no longer in contact with his skin, the feeling instantly vanished. And that was only with the slightest touch, Bradán realised. Outside Rainier was covered with those intangible vapours.

Bradán looked at the senator. He was standing stock still, one arm raised at the elbow, the fingers of that hand wiggling ever so slightly. This new sight allowed him to see the mist coil itself around Tacitus's arm like a snake and mingle between his fingers, almost playfully. It was like a pet recognising its master, or maybe the mist had identified the senator as one of Mailís's favourites. Tacitus was staring at him now. Bradán could guess what he was thinking. How had he seen the mist with no background in magick? He returned to his position by the window, careful to avoid the mist, but this time made sure that the senator was in his field of vision.

“I have come in for some supplies,” explained Mailís as she smiled sweetly. “I am making my way north to my homeland. I entered Rabi'a only moments before your men closed the gates.” It was a smooth lie, agreed Bradán, and not too implausible. Maybe that was how her influence worked? “I understand that you a have a child here, a boy with special Gifts. Where is he exactly?”

Bradán watched the Dark Druid's lover smile as she spoke. Her grin was radiant with just a hint of flirtation. Her eyes sparkled with mischief. Her image wavered in front of him. Now when he looked into her eyes all he saw were dead cold orbs that glared at Rainier with hatred and disgust.

Mortals are so small. I hate that I am forced to interact with them.

It was Mailís's voice within the Druid Captain's mind now. He froze. Mailís was a goddess! He had always just seen her as his master's lover, a wicce with power. Now he knew that she was so much more. Part of him wanted to know which goddess she was. He had no memory of a divine being named Mailís. That did not mean that she could simply not be the bastard daughter of one of the major gods. He forced himself to relax. He could not allow Tacitus to discover what he had learned. His death would be assured if he did. Bradán now wondered if his master, the Dark Druid, knew of Mailís's secret.

“He is staying in one of the upper rooms in the Travelers' Inn,” complied Rainier. “Come with me, Mailís, and I shall lead you to him.”

Bradán saw the War Band Commander turn. His eyes were wide, unblinking and had glazed over. He had seen that same look when witnessing the aftermath of those on strong and powerful narcotics. The wicce reached out to Rainier.

“No, my sweet man,” said Mailís. Bradán noted the fleeting look of fear on her face. “I cannot go there just yet. I want you to kill him for me.”

Rainier stood stock still. His body began to shake. He suddenly staggered then collapsed to the ground. Bradán could see him lying on the ground twitching. He opened and closed his fists in anguish. He groaned in pain.

“I cannot do that,” he muttered through gritted teeth.

He is fighting the command of a goddess
, came the voice of Wis.
Like any of us she cannot make someone do something against his will if you are strong enough. She can only influence… strongly influence! Even we are bound by the laws of men.

Bradán closed his eyes and focused his thoughts.

Do something
, he demanded of the goddess.
You must help Rainier
!

He checked himself for thinking such thoughts. His loyalty should have been to the Dark Druid and his allies.

I cannot
, answered Wis.
That is why I contact you now.

Tell me first, goddess
, asked Bradán.
Why does she fear the boy so
?

But there was no answer and Bradán could no longer feel her presence in his mind. Either she was gone or she was simply refusing to answer. Perhaps what affects Mailís can also affect the whole of the pantheon. The Druid Captain opened his eyes. Mailís was now kneeling next to Rainier.

“You are strong for a man, Rainier,” commented the goddess. “You will go now and kill Abram. Afterwards you will immediately kill yourself.”

Mailís began to stroke the War Band Commander's head. Rainier grimaced. His body recoiled as if in great pain. He shook his head violently. His hand inched down towards his sword, grabbed its grip and he seemed to gather strength from that act.