From behind them, a respectful distance, Nahum sang out, “Isn’t Yannick dying of the blood sickness coming out his backside?”
Thynnes cursed, “Who isn’t fucking dying these days?”
Gorias pulled a circle of rope from his saddlebags, let it plunge to the ground and walked past the Queen. He took the body of the Queen’s daughter and laid it not far from her sobbing husband. Gorias then flipped Atirs over and ripped her dress open. Again, the crowd held their breath at his actions.
“You guys are too damned sensitive,” Gorias muttered and pointed, the bloody scarf in his hand. “See? Those are tiny tattoos.”
The flustered Queen struggled not to sob. “What? So what?”
“They are Pryten marks.” From his haunches, Gorias looked up and told her. “Your daughter had pledged her loyalty to Tancorix, ma’am. Those marks are devoted to their goddess, Hretha.”
“The bitch,” Garnet growled and turned away.
Gorias wasn’t sure who she spoke of, the goddess, Tancorix or her own daughter. He still had a job to do. Gorias stepped over and backhanded Ryss in the face. “Hey, piss ant.”
“Wha?” he started, stunned by the fresh shot. “What are you doing to me?”
“Taking you to see your daughter.” Gorias told him as he ran the rope under Ryss’ arms, between his legs, then all around his body. He then tied it to his saddle. Gorias soon produced another rope and spun it about the body of the Queen’s daughter. Gorias strapped her to the wailing man. “Here, I got company for ya. It’ll be a rough ride.”
Garnet stood near the two lashed together, holding hands with Alena. “It’s all my fault, Gorias. I should’ve not weakened when her first husband died out on the hunt. This one, barely known in the land, appeared as a ready tissue for her tears. I felt that pang of objection, but as I’m getting on, I hated to deny her happiness.”
“What were the odds he was an agent of Tancorix?”
“Who could’ve thought it?”
“Don’t just blame yourself. Your wizards are shitty judges of character or in league with them. Ya tell me they didn’t have a clue or inkling in the ether realm that something was amiss? Killing all them pricks sounds like a great start to a peaceful kingdom.”
Garnet thought for a moment. “Perhaps I could torture the wizards and see.”
“Good idea, beats buying them muffins,” Gorias said under his breath. “I better hit it fast.”
Thynnes said, “We’ll go along.”
Gorias snapped, “No, I’ll do just fine alone. There just might be an insurrection going on in this land. You stay and guard the Queen. Ya never know if a fresh bunch of assassins or a group of booger-men wait in those woods for Garnet’s head. Get her and the rest back to Qesot. They will be safer in the capitol city.”
Turak coughed, took another quaff from his flask and lamented, “Wonder why Garnet and this land is so important? Albion is closer to the Pryten wilderness and a pretty nice place.”
Eyes on the bloody cloth in his hand, Gorias said quietly, “Pergamus.”
Hands balled to fists, Thynnes barked at Gorias, “Who? What’s Pergamus?”
“Some say it’s a place, others a person, the land where Satan dwells, the island where a fallen angel plots ways to never go to the abyss and avoid the coming deluge.”
Garnet sighed. “Do you really think all of that talk of a deluge is true? Rollers of bones have said the world will end for ages. Why do so many accept this fate by water one hears on the winds?”
“Maybe if even the demons are scared of it there’s a hint of truth to it.”
“Why do you speak of Pergamus?”
“Because assface Ryss here knows something, but won’t tell. No way to get it out of him so, thems the breaks.”
Gorias donned his helmet and climbed into the saddle. Traveler careened about and Gorias saluted the queen. “I’ll bring back your princess, ma’am.”
The Queen studied the two lashed together. Gorias half expected her to wring her hands, but that wouldn’t be Garnet. She had nothing to be guilty for. She’d not allow such an emotion in her being.
“Am I so unjust that they want me dead?”
“Naw,” Gorias shrugged and stretched his back. “I doubt it is personal, you’re just in the way of plans too big for this world.”
She raised her eyes to Gorias. “You’re close to seven hundred now, aren’t you?”
“Heh, who is counting, ma’am?”
“I’m over a hundred now. Does everyone where you hail from live so long?”
“I think this world is full’a people that need to die, um, natural like. Hell, I dunno, ma’am. If I had all the answers, they’d be buildin’ a shrine to me.”
Thynnes smirked. “They’d serve beer at yours, Gorias, not wine there.”
Hands tight on his reins, Gorias asked her, “How did you come to suspect your daughter?”
“Aside from her acting distant, I heard her cry out to Hretha when she climaxed.”
At the name of the Pryten goddess, Thynnes slapped his hand to his forehead and Gorias shook his head. There was no mandate on belief in Transalpina, Gorias reflected as he studied the sky for a moment. One could believe in any god one chose, save for the Pryten ones. Somewhere in the mists of time’s dawn these two cultures decided they hated each other, down to their gods. Transalpina advanced in civilization and technology while the Pryten lands were full of tribal fights and regressed. Queen Tancorix over there was as close to a uniting figure the Pryten’s possessed even in Gorias’ living memory.
Garnet welled with tears for a moment, but fought it down with all the grace of a man breaking a horse. He admired her guts, but also understood such shedding of emotion could eat a hole in one’s soul.
Thynnes drew close to Gorias. “What if the attack on the hill never happened? What if you showed up and were expected to give a revelation from that phony scroll?”
“Pubic speaking is mostly bullshit and experience. If I’d have rode up to a peaceful setting, you’d have got to experience my bullshit.”
Once more, Garnet eyed the two at her feet. “Is this necessary?”
“Yeah,” Gorias replied, waved a hand at the troopers and little girls watching from the top of the hill. “Actions speak loud, they say, but words carry the acts to all.” He held up the bloody cloth and said to Alena, “I’m keeping this, young lady.”
Alena grinned and curtseyed to him.
Gorias kicked his heels in Traveler and they bolted away, dragging the screaming Ryss tied to his dead wife behind him.
Gorias figured the Queen comprehended the lesson, that every one of those sons of bitches on the hill would tell everyone they knew what they saw him do that day. The message was unambiguous: This is the fate of those who harm the Queen. Aside from her guards, something even worse guarded Queen Garnet’s interests. Gorias had known the Queen since she was a lass and understood her love of being respected, and feared.
Traveler galloped hard and only half the intent became realized. Gorias laughed that this part would make the story even better.
After an hour on the trail, Gorias met a huge company of cavalry wearing the colors of Transalpina. At the sight of him they spread out, but never drew their weapons. A single rider came forward to greet Gorias, who didn’t draw his twin blades. The rider stopped short as the troopers all whispered “La Gaul” with one voice.
Gorias called out, “Let me pass, son, I have shit to do.”
The soldier pulled his face wrap to one side and nodded. “We heard tell you were in country, Lord La Gaul.”
“I ain’t a Lord no more.”
“I’m Captain Harlan.”
“Good for you.” Gorias kept his stern way up for them, but his fatigued body felt grateful for the quick respite.
Harlan faced the two bodies bound up
behind Gorias mount, mangled by the abuse of the countryside. He glanced at his men who focused on the bodies. With a desiccated voice, Harlan told him, “There are forces of revolt all over. The army and navy are meeting it fast.”
“Great, now I gotta go save the princess.”
“We are on our way to the capitol.”
“Ya want a cookie? I gotta light a shuck for the coast.”
Harlan blinked, mouth wide, but looked down at the tied up bodies as Ryss cried out, “Help me! We are of the royal house of Lady Garnet! This man has killed the crown princess and is torturing me!”
The cavalrymen gawked at each other as Harlan demanded, “What did he say?”
“Never mind him, he’s fuckin’ drunk.” With that, Gorias kicked Traveler and set off again for the coast. None of the men on horseback followed.
Several miles before he reached the coastal lodge of the Queen’s family, her daughter fell off someplace. Wild dogs, rats or monsters in the night would feed on the corpse for all he knew and that was all right.
Gorias rode hard, but that didn’t stop him from reaching into one of the pouches on his belt and pulling out Noguria’s jewel. He eyed it in the sunlight as he rode, nodded and then braced his left arm on the saddle horn. From the plates of armor on his forearm protruded the dragon’s dew nail. Reins to his teeth, Gorias took the jewel and rubbed it on the point of the dragon nail. A few strokes later, the jewel burst and turned to countless shards, blowing away in the winds as he went on.
Eyes closed for a moment, Gorias felt another tremor from his chest and the name Pergamus returned to him. He hadn’t pondered Pergamus for a century. Many thought Pergamus a mysterious island where pirates talked to a spirit oracle, but Gorias knew better. Pergamus wasn’t a place. It was a he. A fallen angel, the father of all dragons who mated with saurian beasts instead of women like his cursed brothers. They created giants, Nephilums and such. What Pergamus might want in Transalpina via Tancorix intrigued him. Gorias didn’t want to die finding out, but it interested him all the same. Only a clairvoyant could sort it all out, he thought.
Clouds overhead cast baggy silhouettes over the rolling green valleys. The territory grew steeper as the air blew cooler from the nearing ocean. Gorias stopped to rest a few times, quickly chewing on old jerky and a stale biscuit in his bag. Once he washed that down with water from his canteen, he glanced back at Ryss who moved a little still. Still tired and hungry, Gorias put all of that out of his mind for his task had only just started.
He smiled in spite of himself at the ruse of the codex. There was no such thing. The preamble of that Codex didn’t exist and never had, save for on the tongues of those who made legends. Gorias pondered that he rode the pages of created fables like an expert equestrian. How many words passed in taverns or palace mead halls made him more potent, powerful and stronger than he really was?
Gorias didn’t know when Ryss expired precisely, but he still dragged him to the seaside lodge. By the time he hit the beach where the Pryten’s had their rafts moored, the body of the traitor lay nearly flailed of its skin, unrecognizable.
Down the beach the miscreant Prytens carried the little dark haired princess, but she didn’t scream. They wrestled her toward one of boats as waves lapped the sand, haphazard and foaming. A woman in a robe, painted up with woad, probably a shaman, spotted him riding on the beach.
He drew his blades, put his reins in his teeth and charged, thinking, perhaps overkill would be the course of the day.
To be continued…
About the Author
Steven L. Shrewsbury, from Central Illinois, enjoys football, history, politics and good fiction. Over 300 of his short stories have been published in print or digital media. His small press novels include OVERKILL, HELL BILLY, THRALL, BAD MAGICK, BEDLAM UNLEASHED, STRONGER THAN DEATH, HAWG, TORMENTOR, GODFORSAKEN, the forthcoming PHILISTINE and BLACK SON RISING. These titles run from horror to historical high fantasy. He tries to drown out the rumors that he is Robert E. Howard reincarnated with beer. When not wrangling his sons, he can be found outside in his happy place.
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More Gorias adventures from Steven Shrewsbury!
Enter an ancient world of heroes, blood, and steel in the tales of Gorias La Gaul! Hard-hitting Sword & Sorcery in the vein of Robert E. Howard!
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Explore post-apocalyptic fantasy worlds in the Seventh Star Press anthology The End Was Not the End, from editor Joshua H. Leet!
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More from Stephen Zimmer
Be sure to check out the other novella-sized single-author collections of short stories from Seventh Star Press!
Also available!
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From Editor James R. Tuck
Want more Sword and Sorcery?
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Blood and Steel: Legends of La Gaul, Volume 1 Page 12
