Dante reaches the last face of the trek, a monstrously intimidating visage of a dangerous rocky outcropping. Several footholds exist on the rocky, but its incline is ridiculously steep, the aperture curving up and outwards at times. Even Dante proceeds slowly and cautiously once he waits for Maximus to get right behind him. He has been lagging behind him all day and Dante worries that he will fail when they are mere feet from the top.
So, he proceeds slightly slower than he normally would without Maximus. Maximus’ panting is out of control, the panic in his breathing palpable. “Almost to the top, comp!” yells Dante, hoping to induce him into continuing. Phates and Cammilia push ahead to the top and move out of view. Dante is dumbfounded by their behavior, wondering why they would leave them.
Dante is nearly at his physical limits as well. He is only a few feet from the top. He pushes himself. Maximus cries out desperately. “I’m falling!” He yells. Dante snaps the whip out towards him and Maximus grasps onto it desperately. His hands are sweaty, and the whip falls out.
“Hold on!” yells Dante.
“Don’t let me go!” cries Maximus, with no attempt to hide the quivering in his voice.
Dante tries to maintain his handhold but feels himself start to slip. “Cammilia!” He cries out desperately. Where is she? He feels himself start to fall as if in slow motion. As he does, he hears and feels the lash of whip, coil around his wrist. He hangs onto it with a death grip. Maximus has nearly lost the grip on the whip himself. As the whip slips out of his hand, he reaches for it with his other hand so tightly that he pushes his fingernails into his palm, nearly making himself bleed.
Merlin pulls up the boys, slowly at first and then he gives a violent tug, propelling them up over the cliff top. They are both panting desperately. Maximus still shuts his eyes and imagines that he is still falling.
Dante opens his eyes, not to see, but to feel the warmth. Merlin stands before him with a reproachful expression on his face and his arms crossed.
“Imbeciles!” He scolds.
Maximus opens his eyes, still unable to grasp the fact that he has not fallen to his death. “Merlin, you saved us.”
“But who will save you both from your own stupidity?” He asks.
“We had to get the egg,” says Dante defensively. “It was one of the clues.”
“A fact I know all too well. I wrote them. Do you ken?”
“We had to get up here,” responds Maximus. Merlin grabs him by the scruff of the neck, forcefully and brings him to the other side of the cliff. The north side, though still treacherous, is not nearly as precarious as the south side. They were over eager, impatient, and had nearly paid for it with their lives.
Dante takes out the egg from his satchel and gives it to Merlin. Merlin feels it, quickly scrutinizing it with his hands. “At least you got the right egg. Markem’s group tried to go into Ager swamp to retrieve an alligator egg. Can you imagine? Set watch and warrant it, they would have been killed if Germanicus had not interceded.”
“We were foolish,” Dante admits.
Maximus nods his head. “Ai. Tis true.”
“And you stole my bulla whip, runt. I knew you took it the moment you did. I permitted you your indiscretion.”
Dante nods.
“Do you not remember what I told you about preparations?”
“Ai.” They nod. “Consider every angle. Prepare for any contingency.”
“I told you to pack up the supplies you would possibly need, should the circumstances warrant them. Did you not think to bring a frey rod?” asks Merlin in an admonishing tone.
Dante and Maximus shake their heads. Maximus ribs him. “Ow!” He cries out.
“An apt gesture. You could have killed yourselves. You were the lead in the games, Dante. And you made a serious mistake. His life was in your hands and you put it in serious jeopardy unnecessarily.”
Merlin goes to his large saddlebag and extracts a coiled wire, which has a small, threaded rope that runs along the coil. Another thinner rope has a set of magnets. When a wire is manipulated on the handle, a group of magnets are drawn together and close in on each other, making it possible to grasp onto an object from a distance.
Merlin uncoils it and drops the coil down the cliff. He uncoils it further until he feels around for something and then nods. He manipulates the wires, causing the magnets to close in on themselves and then he pulls up the coil.
When the coil reaches the top of the cliff, Maximus observes that it is an eggert egg. Dante observes the type of egg that he had confiscated, the same type he had risked his life for was the one that Merlin had extracted in a matter of minutes from a safe distance. They both felt foolish and brash.
“We are fools.”
“Well, learn from this foolish deed,” admonishes Merlin.
Merlin takes the other egg from Dante and puts it back into the coil bag. One by one, he uncoils the frey rod and returns the eggs to their nests. Dante is about to speak to ask how Merlin will know where they are going but thinks better of it. He is, after all, Merlin and some mysteries must remain.
When he is finished, he looks towards Dante sternly. “Congratulations to you both. You have won immunity. Dante, you will need it because for the next month, you will have mess hall duty. Perhaps you should make your quarters in the kitchen til then because you will be cleaning up after us all. You ken?”
Dante nods. “Ai, Merlin.”
Chapter 15: A Calculating Ruse
Felinius returns to Herod after his latest mission, having had another tryst with Morgana. As she stands there, looking ravishing, there is no indication that less than an hour before, she was involved in a very vigorous fucking session. Felinius smiles at her the least bit and she slyly returns it.
Herod walks up to him, grinning mischievously, clearly reveling in his latest accomplishment, holding two glasses of his finest.
“Cheers, Sai! Well done.” He says enthusiastically.
“We are well met, Herod-Sai.” He takes the glass and clings it against Herod’s.
“So, everything went according to plan? Did it not? No unforeseen complications? No unresolved matters to speak of?”
“The town was whitewashed as you have commanded, Herod-Sai. One holdout. I watched as the man and his family burned alive,” says Felinius, finding it impossible to keep his voice from breaking.
“Hard times, Felinius. A necessary evil, but all for the greater good. You will see when you have regained your former status. One day you will walk among us, not as a fugitive but as lead Knight in my empire.”
“Your empire?” He asks with thinly veiled disdain. “And you will place yourself as supreme Dictator, no doubt?” asks Felinius.
“Ai,” says Herod matter of fact. “That was always the plan.”
“Of course. You intend to break that which has been in effect for over five hundred years that which has been sustaining this country for so long. But the great Herod-Sai knows best,” says Felinius facetiously.
“I do. This country is imploding in on itself.”
“Tell me councilman, do you believe the human factions will still respect you when they discover you have aligned yourself with the race that is the very scourge of all humanity? The Orachai will never respect-”
“Enough!” booms Herod. “I do not deign to speak of politics and government with the likes of you!”
Felinius shakes his head, irritated, and dissolute. Herod walks up to him, chagrined. “Do you wish to end your tenure with me, outlaw? Speak it and we can dissolve it now! I will have you brought back in chains to Lycenea and you will be crucified,” says Herod indignantly. “Or perhaps I could send you to Visi-Gaulia to broker a peace treaty with them. I’m sure King Aramon would be receptive to it. What do you think?”
“I think the Knights and King Menelaeus would be very interested in the story of Felinius. Perhaps I could make a bargain with them.”
“Then do it!” booms Herod. “See how you fare!”
Mor
gana approaches Felinius and puts her arms around him. “Felinius, please. You are in Herod’s good graces. Do not jeopardize your position with haughty words.”
Felinius looks at Morgana and appears to cool. He nods. “Ai. You speak truth.”
“Herod forgive Felinius. He has been unduly affected by the death of Vandemus and his family. Do not fault the man for his empathy. It is a quality in short supply among your ranks.”
“I will forget conversation if you will Felinius,” says Herod, eyeing Felinius sternly like a scolding father.
Felinius nods. “Ai. Cry pardon, Herod-Sai.”
“Accepted,” says Herod nonchalantly.
“I am ready to heed command, Herod. Set watch and warrant. The deed will be done.”
“I do have something for you, Felinius.”
“Ask it and see it done.”
“I’ve no doubt of your combat skills. They have been aptly proven beyond measure, but how good are you at Spades?”
Felinius raises his eyebrows inquisitively. “Well, I’m no Merlin, but I can certainly hold my own and outwit most men, especially if I cheat. It helps to have such quick hands.” He says as he showcases them.
“Hands are gifted indeed.”
“Outside of New Camelot, there is a small township named Bali. The Captain of the King’s Guard, Milton is rumored to play there. Sort of an addiction for him. You can no doubt tempt him into play with you as you would tempt a starving dog with a piece of meat.”
“Set watch and warrant, I have my way,” says Felinius impishly. “When do I set out?”
“As soon as possible.”
(2)
Dante returns from his combat lessons as he normally does at this hour, his knuckles bruised and bleeding slightly from the plethora of punches he threw, his forearms tender and bruised from constant blocking. Like most days, the pain is a welcome friend, reminding him that he is advancing in his combat skills.
He opens his philosophy book and reads the braille, using his fingers as his eyes. But every few minutes, snapshot images filter through the darkness, scaring him. At the back of his mind is a burgeoning pain that slowly builds, causing his head to swarm and making it difficult to concentrate.
Cammilia, sensing his unease, bends down, putting her massive muzzle in his lap. Dante tries his hardest to concentrate and for two hours, manages to keep the pain at bay, doing a quick meditation after every few hours. It also helps him to absorb the material.
But after a couple of hours, the pain is unbearable, and he shuts the book and goes to his cot, lying down and focuses on trying to fall asleep. The pain continues to mount, preventing him from falling asleep. He opens his eyes and sees wide awake visions, like photographs appear before him. They flicker on and off, and, with them the pain mounts. He catches glimpses of his desk, Cammilia and his stone floor; which is disconcerting since he normally only sees visions when he shuts his eyes. He is a lucid dreamer and can control his visions, but the fact that he cannot control these images is frightening to him. What is happening to him?
He focuses on his breathing and soon he drifts off to sleep but is awakened several minutes when the mounting pain soon becomes agonizing. And then, just as quickly as it came on, it is gone and with it; the images have subsided as well. He opens his eyes and his world is once again dark, accompanied by a warm glow.
In his mind, he knows the location of every object in his mind. He feels for Cammilia, just where he expects her to be and she is there. He sighs deeply and drifts off to sleep. Tomorrow the pain will emerge and then just as quickly abate. Until then, he will enjoy his reprieve.
(3)
Milton Eberle permits himself a satisfactory nod and nothing more. But in his mind, a smile is etched on his face. It is still early and already he is up sixty gold pence. If he wins another forty, he will be able pay off the Terra-Gaulian, Falkner, in full. This will get him off the short-list and probably save his life, at least for a bit.
The beautiful Constance entices him with her stunning beauty- smooth, silky, white porcelain-like skin and the most luminescent green eyes he had ever seen. She has ample bosoms and an alluring body to match. He is instantly aroused the moment he lays eyes on her as are all the men. But she is a horrible card player. He is up a hundred gold pence after only a few rounds but happens to lose the next few rounds when a couple other chaps join them. He bows out with a very respectable sixty gold pence profit.
He walks around the clamorous bar, looking for his next mark and seems to find it at a table. A very handsome and well-fit young man with a well-trimmed and oiled mustache nods at him. He is playing with several other gents, who appear to be ruffians or possibly mercs, or Gaulians on leave.
The handsome man looks around with perceptive intent, trying to pick up signals from the other players, who telegraph everything, their faces an open book. It’s as if they don’t even try to conceal their hands. One gent raises his eyebrows every time he receives a good hand. One man even smiles, hinting at his hand. The handsome man rubs his chin every time he receives a good hand. An extra chair happens to be available at their table. Milton walks over to them.
“Good day, gentlemen. How fareth?”
Felinius looks at him and gets up. “Well met, sai. My name is Jammison Counter, Senator’s Aide to Herod Antipaz.” He says and then shakes his hand.
Milton nods. “Ai. Well met.”
“This is Kell, a Gaullian, Cort, a Visi-Gaulian merc, Troilus, Anther, Dunmar and Pilkot, other Visi-Gaulian mercs.”
“We are well met,” says Milton.
“Ai. Well met.” Mumble the others nonchalantly, clearly unhappy with their luck at the tables.
“I notice you have an open table. May I join you?” asks Milton.
“Ai. Would suit me well.” Felinius looks at the other men. “Men, would you permit him?”
Several men shrug but murmur their assent. “Ai.”
“Have a seat, Milton,” says Felinius. “Glad to have your company.”
Milton nods politely but unenthusiastically, hiding his giddiness underneath. The dealer begins the shuffle and then passes out the cards to the players. Milton looks at his cards.
He wisely hides the reveal from his face, expressing a deadpan countenance. The players ante-up their initial pot, which is set at three gold pence to start. Milton tosses his in. Felinius appears reluctant but finally tosses in his three gold pence. Milton surmises he is considering folding. His hand is awful.
When it is time to render out discards, Milton sets out his jack-a-quades and seven cloven, hoping for a king and queen of spades, which would give him a royal suite flush - an unbeatable hand.
When his cards are returned to him, he doesn’t get the king and queen of spades, but does get a jack of spades and a king of spades, giving him a royal straight back - not the highest hand, but the next highest hand.
After a few rounds, several of the players prudently fold their hands. Two other gents continue. When the pot reaches a whopping three hundred gold pence, the other man drops out, assuming a ‘show’ is inevitable. Kell is the only other player left in the game. He looks mean and intimidating as if he is going to reach for his shooter and attempt to plug him. Milton knows the man will do no such thing. It’s merely his signature look, employed merely to intimidate other players into making mistakes.
The pot has increased to five hundred gold pence and the ‘show is inevitable’. “Five pence to you to show, Kell,” says Milton matter of fact. He then tosses in his five pence.
Kell puts in his five pence as well. Kell shows his hand, which is a good hand - three ladies of quades, a good hand, but not nearly good enough for this round. Milton lays out his hand, a nearly unbeatable royal straight back.
Kell’s lips tighten up and his eyes become narrow, his bushy eyebrows depressing down his eyelids, making him look as if he will lash out at any moment. He stomps his fist against the table. Milton touches the butt of his speed shooter, reassuringly. But as quickly a
s it seems to escalate, the moment deflates.
Kell nods. “Ai. You have played me well, so you have and won me fair as angel’s moon.”
Milton takes the pot and transfers it to his own coin satchel. Felinius nudges him begrudgingly. “Well played, patriot. We are well met. Kell is no spruce goose around these parts. You are well matched.”
The men continue their game and several more hands. When Milton is dealt an unremarkable hand, he prudently folds out, losing only about ten gold pence in the process. On two other occasions, he wins a substantial pot, increasing his total earning to several hundred gold pence. He is ecstatic but obscures his giddiness though he permits himself a smile after each win.
Milton inwardly smiles. And contemplates. Finally, the lady-a-the lake is on his side for a change. At this rate, he will be able to pay off a substantial portion of his debts and stave off the relentless vultures a little while longer.
After losing a couple more hands, he prudently decides to check out of the game, knowing for the moment, his luck has panned out. “Well, gentlemen, appears that it is time for me to be on my way. I am currently on duty and I must be going. If you would permit me.” He says.
“Oh, I see you must go now, after you have taken all our money and left us in a pauper’s straights,” says Kell angrily.
“I cry pardon Sai but do not begrudge a man his luck. The hour is getting late and I must get back to my post.”
“And what post is that?” asks Dunmar.
“I have a post with King’s Guard,” replies Milton. He does not want to volunteer such information but hopes that the men will be more respectful of his intent to leave the game. After all, a post on the King’s Guard is a very prestigious position.
Kell nods respectfully. “Ai. You are one well-versed in combat and warfare. Are you not?”
Milton nods. “Ai. I am at that, Sai. I am a former student at the rectory in Lycenea, so I am. Set watch and warrant it.”
The Test of Ostra Page 10
