Though in a defensive pose over his father’s body, Gorias blinked. Was this a bluff to throw him off guard? Gorias comprehended the power of misdirection and had used it himself to distract dense opponents. One might exclaim that the floor ran alive with snakes, even though one’s enemies had just trod on it. Chances were, for a split second, the adversary would look down or away from you. Ambiorix instructed Gorias long ago that a second was all one needed and death was easy to deal to the stupid.
Gorias swallowed, sized up at the god standing before him, then thought of the deity lying frozen between his legs and reflected, so was religion.
He wasn’t about to argue with Kangmi. After all, Kangmi was a beast. Ambiorix educated Gorias that one tames, hunts, kills, skins, and usually, eats beasts. When Kangmi’s mouth tightened, Gorias comprehended the creature planned to swing a claw. Knowing a headshot or blow to the heart from his sword would be impossible to land on the creature, Gorias leaned forward and dove. The massive hands started to swing down toward him.
Gorias’ swords twirled, and he stabbed downward as if wielding a spear, using the beast’s enormous feet to its disadvantage.
Some sing ballads over the swords of Gorias La Gaul that they are made from angel’s wings…others say that they were made from a smithy in Shynar, a huge sonofabitch and the major whore-taker of a village, but either way his ability with metals couldn’t be denied. Whatever their origin, the weapon never broke as Gorias dropped all of his weight behind the blows, stabbing the swords through the tops of Kangmi’s feet. When Gorias’ momentum carried him ass over elbows, the blades stayed in place, refusing to leave the bones of the gigantic feet or the frigid earth underneath them.
The howls of the inhuman fiend reminded Gorias of when he’d heard a mastodon fall into a lava flow near Engaruka.
Long arms in the air, Kangmi screamed on and tried to turn, thus twisting the swords in his feet even more. Blood spurted from the wounds, painting his pallid calves with jets of crimson. A stream of this blood lapped over the chest of the prone Ambiorix. He’d had blood on him before, Gorias mused, and the old chief took it in stride.
Even if Gorias charged and sent Kangmi over the cliff down the slope, he reckoned a brute from this terrain would survive that fall. The blades contained his only salvation, but reaching for them meant death, especially since Kangmi had started to lean down and gripped the pommels. Gorias counted his options. The daggers in his belt could only work at close range. He ran his left hand over the dew nail on his right fore-arm bracket, a piece of bone from the dragon’s leg skinned for his armor.
Gorias did what all survivors do. He reached down for a weapon, and found the stiffened ankles of one of the Stipncas he’d slain earlier. Gorias set his boots in the snow and swung the body like a bludgeon. The dead dwarf connected with the slumped over skull of Kangmi. So intent was the monster in removing the weapons from his feet, the beast didn’t dodge the blow. The skull of the Stipnca broke open on Kangmi like a rotten melon. Be it from extreme cold, a lack of dexterity or brains, the Stipnca’s head splattered, spewing orange and gray slop over the giant’s face. As the swords fell free, Kangmi staggered, wiping the grime from his visage. Through the muck, Gorias saw the body had succeeded in busting Kangmi’s lips open on the row of brutal teeth.
When Gorias pulled dual daggers out of his waist belt, he stepped forward. Kangmi gaped down at him, still in pain, but half amused by the stranger’s pluck.
“You’re mad, human,” Kangmi coughed, rage bubbling, dropping his arms down.
Gorias hadn’t the speed to block the blows this time, and felt each hand chop, one on the shoulder, and the other on the side of his head. Gorias flipped over, head full of stars, crumpling to the snow. If his shoulder dislocated he felt a wicked pain as it popped back in upon his landing.
Certain the moment of his death drew nigh, Gorias struggled to banish the drunken feeling in his brain and flipped over in the snow to escape an additional attack. When he did, a set of balled up hairy fists smashed into the icy ground, just missing him.
Gorias lay back, feigning inertia. The ruse lasted long enough for Kangmi to stagger a few steps, raise both arms high and give a death yell any Ingaevone would’ve been jealous to make.
The beast didn’t call on Wodan, but Gorias did. His death-shriek joined that of Kangmi when he dove, avoiding the massive arms, but setting himself just in the spot he desired: Between the creature’s legs, Gorias raised the daggers, burying one on either side of Kangmi’s large testicles. The creature convulsed, and then seemed frozen for a moment as Gorias performed a maneuver usually meant to slice the throat of a man in two places from behind. This time, a gelding was needed and the sack fell free easier than Gorias would’ve thought. A wellspring of blood and veins erupted out like a burst barrel of beer on Equinox Night.
Though his voice shrilled to a higher pitch, and agony surely seized his flesh, Kangmi reached down and grabbed Gorias by the hair. Just before the trembling Kangmi yanked Gorias away, the Ingaevone dropped a knife and thrust his right forearm toward the gaping wound. The dew nail of the dragon armor probed the hole, reaching for anything solid. When the beast pulled on him, Gorias yanked veins and a loop of something he couldn’t name out of the beast.
Such was his anguish; Kangmi let Gorias drop from his grip and stepped backwards.
Free of the shadow of the colossal creature, Gorias scooped up his swords. Measuring the vacillating god of the mountain, he swung his blades with great force. Kangmi’s left hand came up to block the shot, as his right hand engrossed his ruined groin.
Gorias’ slashing left sword shot took off four fingers, causing Kangmi additional hurt, bringing tears from the monster’s eyes. Gorias didn’t fault him that.
Eyes darting, Gorias surveyed behind Kangmi--reading the battlefield as he always did--and attacked. Aggressively criss-crossing his swipes, he drove Kangmi back, not once connecting with him, but making him go where he wanted. Gorias then charged, slamming his right shoulder into Kangmi’s stomach. The blow merely knocked the wavering beast off balance, but the gory foot injury made the creature slip in the snow. When he fell, he crashed, flopping over the stationary body of Ambiorix, giving out a surprised bray, and then fell silent.
Gorias leapt on the beast’s pelvis and held the swords high. Screaming the name of his god, Gorias drove the blades into Kangmi’s heart. Though a thick resistance met his thrusts, Gorias overcame the muscle and bones, quickly finding his way to the heart. The creature convulsed and gagged as Gorias twisted the swords around, making sure he destroyed its life center.
Kangmi turned, knocking Gorias off himself, and rolled over. Though Gorias landed cock-eyed in the snow, skating to his knees, he rose up fast, and happy the beast had performed the move. It saved him the trouble of rolling the brute off his father.
Ambiorix’s battle-axe stuck out of Kangmi’s spine. The fist and forearm of Ambiorix also were present, busted off in the action. Gorias sucked wind as Kangmi breathed his last.
“Damn, you’re still a killer, you old sinner,” Gorias murmured, smiling at his father’s body.
Gorias pulled the piece from the back of Kangmi and laid it on his father’s chest. He then started to wipe off the swords on the Kangmi’s furry leg. He contemplated what Kangmi said, that the little ones here were his children. Was this so? Gorias pondered the dwarves, how their hair and flesh shone similar to the beast, but, then again, they were half human. Probably not the results the creature wanted with his brides down the mountain, Gorias guessed, but one looks after one’s children no matter what.
After he sheathed the swords, Gorias retrieved his cloak. The Stipncas had worshiped Ambiorix, even though their own patron was venerated as a deity by these deluded women down the hillside. Gorias wondered, did they--like most children--seek a different way, or were they just that ignorant?
Leaving that mystery for the ether
, Gorias picked up his father’s legs and started to haul him down the mountain. Though too much sentiment wasn’t good, Gorias felt a great penance lay in wait for him for avoiding his duty to Ambiorix. Oh, Wodan was an uncaring god and Gorias never prayed to him, save to venerate his name in war or at the climax of a sexual act.
Wodan’s son, Donar, though, attempted to do good by him. Donar Tanarus drank, fought, and fornicated in his great hall with all those warriors of his kindred. There it was that Ambiorix sat, on the doorstep of heavenly Tir Na Nog, frozen all these years, caught in time.
Gorias was busy, fighting, seeking wealth, killing, running, becoming a Lord, whoring … and now felt something wayfaring warriors seldom felt. Guilt. He wished to sit at the table of Donar with his father someday, to partake in the eternal feast and the following fornications. Now, he had to do more than just burn the body of his father.
When he saw the monastery of Kangmi and his weeping brides nailed to the outside of it, Gorias discerned that Wodan provided a route for his salvation.
It took a few days for Gorias to thaw his father by the fireplaces inside the temple. Gorias never considered that when he hatched his plan to begin with. The change of plans had made him take down the crucified brides of Kangmi, and even let them tend their wounds.
He slept in a side prayer room, filling his belly on the bread and wine meant for communion with Kangmi from afar. He hoped the elixir of communion wasn’t made from Kangmi’s own seed, as some religions did to honor a false god. Subsequent to filling his guts, he didn’t really care.
On the third day, satisfied his father would burn, Gorias started to build an altar in the main hall of the small temple. Over the stiffening bodies of a dozen dwarves, he stacked as much of the chopped wood that the ladies of Kangmi kept in storage. He saturated this pile with as much oil for lanterns as he could find. Atop this, he placed the body of his father and looked up. Surely, the spirit of his father could escape through that hole.
Before he struck the fire to send his father away forever, Gorias nailed the women up to the outside of the temple again.
As they cursed him, Gorias told them, “Be kind, ladies. I never raped you. You will go to serve my father, who’ll be in heaven soon. I had to let you live a few days longer. You’d have escaped to your own afterlife, not to mine. Take care and stop crying, or he’ll throw you over the rainbow bridge to the Satyrs who only desire buggery in eternal burning Ifurin.”
Gorias then struck the flints and set the oil supplies to burn. Fire crept through the structure and over the pile of wood. The Ingaevone warrior climbed into the saddle on Traveler and watched the fires lick the temple, creeping out all over.
He once heard a sage say that one’s father should be as a god to you. Gorias figured this to be manure, but he hoped his actions succeeded in honoring his father enough in the end. Gorias saw the ashes arise toward the heavens and he turned to go, noting the screams of the women, yet, thinking how much they’d soon be singing at the great hall of the dead in the eternal land of youth, in service to Ambiorix.
He didn’t know if he’d ever be the man his father was, or if he’d produce offspring to compliment him so. That task proved great indeed. But that labor wasn’t for the hands of men to fret over. God would provide for the strong weapons to wage a life and provide respect in death.
He always did.
THE END
Beginning of the Trail
“A desperate disease requires a dangerous remedy.”
-GUY FAWKES, 1605
My, what a man you are, drawing out the two legendary swords made from angel’s wings to slay a simple priest. Is it true that fabled hero Gorias La Gaul has no heart?”
“I’m about as much a hero as you are a priest.”
Two gleaming short swords drove through the man clad in a long robe pinning him up against the trunk of the birch tree.
“Let me up to the ceremony site or I’ll kill all of you.”
The man with two swords through his chest didn’t answer. Gorias didn’t expect one from him. He hoped sticking the mouthy leader of the group blocking the road to a tree would inspire compliance with the others. Even impaled twice below his short ribs, Gorias thought his target owned the expression of a jackass. It took a cocky bastard to step out into the dirt road from the copse to hold up ten soldiers in the regalia of the Transalpinan army and not to mention two hard cases clad in armor.
The sound of swords clearing scabbards rang out and a voice behind him yelled, “Baal’s balls, Gorias! He’s just a priest.” The largest of the military men on horseback, a bear of a man near to Gorias’ size, cursed his soldiers who held out blades as he drew a short sword secured to his thick waist belt. “Cyrus, Nahum! To my side! Yavin? Where the hell is Yavin?”
A half dozen men who’d melted into the roadway from the forest brandished curved swords. Even though dressed in russet colored robes only a Cleric would don, the swords testified to the truth of Gorias’ next statement: “He ain’t no priest, General Thynnes.” Fists tight on the pommels, Gorias twisted his blades, causing the man’s eyes to widen and arms to flail at his shoulders, pulling Gorias’ faded over cloak off partially. The six men from the woods didn’t come to aide their brother, but stayed in the road leading up to the hill ahead, where cries of anger and the clanging of weapons echoed.
The men on horseback behind Gorias started to dismount. Ten of them wore leathers, chain mail, and sported military insignias. The other man, bald, thick set, wore heavier armor and leggings, but didn’t dismount. They couldn’t stop the armed priests that hemmed the road in close from attacking Gorias. Two of the robed men jabbed at the warrior, breaking their bronze blades on Gorias’ bluish armor.
Gorias’ long white hair swooped back as he pulled his swords from the dying man, letting the body go to its knees and fall into his thighs. Moving one leg back and squaring his shoulders to his attackers, Gorias swiped out with his twin blades. He removed the wrist of the nearest man, who still gaped at his broken sword as his appendage flew off. Gorias left him to ponder the blood gouting from his stump and sliced the man on his opposite side open from the wrist to the elbow, making sure he’d never wield a sword, much less hold his manhood to pee again.
“This is bad,” a stout man amongst Thynnes’ military troopers swore as he stayed in the saddle, looking to the sacrosanct site above, not concerned about the battle in front of him, hand resting on his long mustache striped gray like a badger pelt.
Gorias looked across the tall grasses and up the hill at the religious site. The locale, Woodsborough, sat high on the flat-topped knoll, it’s monoliths made of huge logs that aped great stone circles in Albion across the channel. Through the ruckus of Thynnes’ troopers dismembering the fake priest honor guard, Gorias could hear trouble up on the hillock.
“The Queen’s party is in sorry shape, maybe dead already up there by now,” Gorias stated and swore, swiping his swords through the man’s robe which fell off his thighs, exposing his under tunic and bare skin. He pointed with his right blade. “See? Damned Pryten markings, tattoos and woad colorings under their costumes.”
Thynnes kicked the dying man in the head and did a double take as one of his men, a fair-haired youth named Cyrus, struggled with one of the robed figures who wrapped a whip about his sword arm. “Pryten savages or pirates, damn them. They have no place here. Queen Garnet and the royal family are up there with their party of aristocrats and hangers-on.”
Gorias joined his gaze on the hill and they saw a body in purple clothing stumble to the edge of the apex and fall, dead. “Not for long. Hell, I’m only here to read from the lost preamble to the Codex of Zenghaus. I’m not here to kill anybody.”
Just as they prepared to mount up one of the troopers shouted and pointed to the woods beside them where the men had emerged. A tall woman in a green gown peered from the thick brush.
Thy
nnes, clearly disgusted that his soldiers still wrestled with the intruders, spotted the woman and his face flushed. “Well, fuck me! Crown Princess Atirs!”
Nahum, a ginger haired trooper of some years on the job said what they all thought, “What is she doing down here away from the ceremony?”
Thynnes barked and Atirs jumped a little, “Fools, she probably ran from the attack up there. Yavin?”
From the men emerged an astonishing short soldier clad just like his fellows. Gorias guessed him barely five foot tall. As La Gaul lamented that either his father was a big shot or there was no height restriction in the Transalpinan army, the youth stood at attention and barked back, “Sir!”
Thynnes ordered him, “Go look after her.”
At these words, Atirs wore an expression of open-mouthed horror and fled into the woods.
Yavin hesitated but a curse on his mother from Thynnes made his boots work fast to pursue the Princess.
Gorias eyed Thynnes, who immediately shot back, “He doesn’t fight like a bitch though.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You think very loudly.” Thynnes turned and shouted to the last trooper to arrive, “Jayred, fire a couple bolts over the summit of that hill! That’ll stun them and buy us time.”
Gorias guessed Jayred barely old enough to serve in the army much less shave, but the youth slid from his dancing pony and unslung a bow from his shoulder. He reached behind his head and slid an arrow from his quiver as Thynnes clashed swords with another priest. Involved in his own jab and parry move, Gorias missed Jayred notching the arrow. He then noted a glass ball on the tip of the missile with fluids sloshing inside it.
Thynnes right sword thrust extended too long and Gorias thought the priest would kill the old warrior, hell, he would’ve with such an opening even through the chain mail. Jayred drew his bowstring back as Thynnes let go of his blade and grabbed the hesitating priest by the wrist of his sword arm. The bolt flew from Jayred’s touch as Thynnes pummeled the priest, punching him over and over in the face, his superior weight behind every shot. All of their action, even Thynnes’ punches, ceased as the bolt exploded over the summit of the hill. The distant din of battle stopped as the mammoth burst of lights and rivulets of red color painted the air above the hill.
Blood and Steel: Legends of La Gaul, Volume 1 Page 9
