by Keith Walsh
“You mean why did I break my vow? And ‘become the cold-blooded killer you see before you’, as you so elegantly put it moments ago?” replied Kalen. Atheles felt a sting of shame but simply nodded in response.
“Why, my mother of course…” answered Kalen as if it were obvious. “She figured it easier to maintain the loyalty of my instructors by rutting with them, like the whore she was, then to threaten them. I caught her many times… I mean, she made no effort to hide it.” Gods, no wonder this child turned out the way he did, thought Atheles.
“However, during one such dalliance she did not seem her usual enthusiastic self. The instructor in question had been particularly cruel towards me and did not take well to my mother’s resistance. Instead he knocked her senseless and proceeded to take what he wanted,” continued Kalen and Atheles noted his breathing becoming heavy, his anger rising. He glared at the giant and Atheles shivered.
The man’s eyes could unnerve the Gods themselves, thought Atheles.
“I cannot say what happened to me that day, for I felt no real love for my mother. But in that instance I broke and in a blinding rage I jerked the man from her by the hair,” Kalen leapt up as he spoke and started to re-enact the scene. The sudden movement caused Atheles to flinch.
“With a yelp he came to his feet,” continued Kalen. “And turning quickly he swung at me. I ducked it easily before ramming my foot into the side of his knee with such force it broke the tibia and caused it to protrude through the skin.” Kalen’s emotional re-enactment kept Atheles on guard. “He dropped like a stone and writhed around screaming, holding his leg. My mother roused and looked shocked at what her little boy had done.” Kalen calmed for a moment at the recollection.
“I remember walking to the side of her bed and picking up the oil lantern there. Mother watched as I blew out the flame then proceeded to smash the metal casing into the downed instructor. I felt like I was possessed, all my anger, all my pain – I emptied it all on that man’s face, ignoring my now-screaming mother who was begging me to stop. The man screamed too, briefly…” Kalen lashed his arm through the air as he spoke, wielding the imaginary lamp. Again and again he swung. Atheles sat in stunned silence, watching him.
“By the time I had finished he had no head, only splattered gore remained upon the floor, the lamp an unrecognisable lump of twisted metal in my hand… ‘Kalen! What have you done?’ my mother screamed. I turned to face her, covered in blood, breathing heavily.” Kalen paused long enough to smile at Atheles. “That was the first and last time I ever saw fear in my mother’s eyes.”
Atheles eyes widened. “You… you killed your own mother?” he asked, already confident he knew the answer but not wanting to believe it. Kalen’s cold eyes held his gaze. “Her, and every other person inside the gates of my home that day,” he answered without a hint of sorrow.
“Stop!” said Atheles, his hand held high in protest. “I do not wish to hear any more of this,” he finished, making to rise but pausing upon hearing Kalen’s response. “Oh, but some good did come of that day Atheles…”
“How could any good ever come from such a…” Atheles trailed off, shaking his head, unable or not wanting to finish his question. “The massacre over…” Kalen continued, using the very word Atheles had resisted. Atheles put a hand to his head and rubbed at his eyes, disapproval clear to see but curiosity winning over nonetheless.
“I don’t believe it could be called anything else for no-one stood a chance against me that day,” continued Kalen, either oblivious or uncaring towards his companion’s discomfort. “I bathed, washing the blood from my body. Once dried and dressed I packed my things and rummaged for any coin I could locate. I found plenty and a book with lots of names and numbers in it… I later learned they were merchants who had been entrusted to invest some of the family fortune. Needless to say that is the reason why I now have so much coin,” Kalen cocked his head to one side arrogantly and smiled slyly at this last statement.
Atheles simply stared at him with disgust. Gone were any feelings of pity.
Kalen continued. “Finally my preparations complete, I opened the gate to leave my broken home forever… and who did I find standing on the other side about to knock?” Kalen fixed his cold eyes on the giant and Atheles held them. “Me,” answered Atheles, looking away as the memory of a young man introducing himself and convincing him that his mother slept and was not to be disturbed came back to him.
“You told me your mother had given you her blessing to leave and that she rested, not to be disturbed,” said Atheles after some time had passed. “Well, I didn’t know you at the time. I couldn’t very well have had you going in and finding that… mess, could I?” answered Kalen mockingly. Atheles ignored him, his mind focussed on memory.
“I remember thinking the situation strange but I had given my word to your father, not your mother, so I let it pass,” Atheles said at last. “Oh, so you let it pass did you?” responded Kalen, glaring. Again Atheles held it.
Looking away, Kalen said, “I seem to recall you gave me the news that my father had fallen in the arena, that you had known him, given your word to serve and protect me. The look I gave you at that moment in time brought fear to your eyes. You let nothing ‘pass’, you were afraid – afraid to press the matter.” Kalen spat at Atheles feet. Atheles turned his head and looked into the fire, a feeling of shame flowing over him.
“Aye, your father warned me not to judge him too harshly, for fearing to look into your eyes, until I had gazed upon them myself. He was right and so are you. I felt fear that day and an unnerving sense that I had given my word to watch over the devil. That look was the reason I truly knew you were his son,” admitted Atheles.
“And now here we are after all this time together, still such great friends,” said Kalen, smiling wickedly. “Although I must admit, I find you serve me better then you protect me.”
“Aye,” replied Atheles. “I had been led to believe I would be caring for a child but I found a young man instead. A deadly young man, I soon learned.” Upon hearing his words, Kalen stood up and made an elaborate bow. Atheles ignored his theatrics, his own emotions had been mixed throughout Kalen’s tales and now he felt drained. “I’m tired of all this talk. I wish to get some sleep,” said Atheles rising and stretching, followed by a brief search for the blanket he had tossed aside earlier.
“Of course,” replied Kalen. “We have much time to make up for tomorrow,” he added, while watching Atheles retrieve and shake out his blanket before laying it back down on the ground. Atheles eased his huge frame onto his freshly laid bedding, and tucking his arm under his head he closed his eyes. He could hear Kalen shuffling around, probably preparing his own bed. Just as he started to drift he heard his master’s voice. “Oh, before you fall asleep…”
“I don’t want to hear it Kalen,” mumbled Atheles.
“You did meet that man, my old instructor, the one who abandoned me,” continued Kalen, disregarding Atheles’ tired protest. The giant took a deep breath and let out a long sigh.
“You didn’t do him any real harm but I can’t say the same for that thing you carry on your back. You know? That excuse for a weapon you insist on keeping… your axe?”
“Yes I know my axe Kalen, get on with it,” said Atheles, fully aware that his frustration could steal his chance of sleep. “Touchy,” said Kalen before laughing.
Atheles frustration turned to anger and he rolled over abruptly. “I’ll have you know that when I wield my axe it is not to harm but to kill.” Kalen lay with his back to him but upon hearing the anger in his companion’s words he turned to see Atheles sitting up. He revelled in the reactions he could cause in the giant. “Oh, but you did not wield it,” said Kalen, smiling malevolently. “I did.”
Atheles eyes danced as he tried to recall handing his weapon over to Kalen. He could only remember one occasion. When the realisation hit him his eyes widened. “Dallious,” he said at last.
And Kalen’s laughter filled the
air.
Chapter 14
Dallious awoke with a start.
He had been dreaming of Sister and her revelation that she still needed him. What use am I to you now? he thought, while making to rise. He paused as he sat up, his head pounded and he felt like vomiting but he fought it. He hated that feeling more than anything else and although letting it happen often led to one feeling better he preferred to fight it rather than being sick. Leaning forward he rubbed his forehead before gently pinching the bridge of his nose between his eyes. He held this position for a few moments, savouring the darkness and the feeling of slight relief. Finally he released, opened his eyes and, straightening himself, took a deep breath.
His mouth felt terribly dry and he scanned the room looking for a jug of water, not remembering if he had one or not. He didn’t, and now realising he wanted a drink more than anything he forced himself to his feet. He swayed a little as he stood and his head pounded again, causing him to grab it with his left hand and force his stump against it on his right. He squeezed his eyes open and closed a few times before letting go and pushing on towards the bedroom door. His ribs felt sore and he struggled to remember the previous night completely. He couldn’t fully recall everything but certain faces and moments flashed through his mind.
Upon entering the hall he heard voices coming from downstairs and he stopped in his tracks, trying to make them out but he couldn’t and decided to continue on. As he entered the tavern bar he could see three men talking and recognised one of them as Grott, the tavern keeper. “Well, look who’s finally awake,” said Grott, casting a cold look towards Dallious.
Dallious ignored it, his mind focussed on getting water but he did notice the other two men looking at him now. Although they said nothing they continued to stare at him expectantly. “I am sorry to interrupt,” said Dallious at last, “but may I trouble you for a drink of water please?” He braced himself against the wall and rested his head on it, holding his ribs. Without a word, Grott hobbled behind the bar and started to pour a tankard of ale. When finished he placed it on the bar.
“Here, drink this instead,” said Grott, gesturing Dallious towards the freshly poured ale. Dallious felt ill just looking at it. “No, please, I need water,” he said, “I cannot drink anymore of that stuff.” He licked his lips, desperate to do something to counter the dehydration.
“I have been working here a long time,” replied Grott, his focus solely on Dallious. “Trust me when I say you need it more then you need water right now,” he finished, nodding at the tankard. Dallious moved tentatively to the bar and gazed at the foaming ale, and his stomach turned. He looked desperately at Grott as though hoping to change the man’s mind but Grott stood firm and simply nodded towards the tankard again.
Slowly Dallious lifted it to his lips and took a tiny sip. Instantly he felt bile flow into his mouth and he quickly placed it back on the bar, shaking his head while fighting to swallow. “I cannot drink this,” he managed to say when his mouth cleared a little.
“Drink it quickly,” replied Grott, “Don’t sip or your body will reject it, just as it did moments ago.” Dallious’ patience began to wane and he stared at Grott.
“May I please just have some water?” he asked his tone matching his demeanour. Grott did not budge. “Water may feel good initially but it will do nothing for your head or for restoring you to some form of normality quickly,” explained Grott. “One ale, some breakfast which I will get for you in a moment and a piece of sweet fruit will see you feeling much better and steadier then any water.”
Dallious continued to eye Grott, looking for any signs of this being some sort of joke at his expense, but the tavern owner was clearly serious. “Just drink it quickly,” repeated Grott, obviously not moving anywhere. Dallious resigned himself to the task at hand and after a quick glance at the ale, back to Grott and then to the ale again, he began to drink deeply.
It felt horrible at first but then his body accepted it as it sated his thirst and within moments it was gone. Placing the empty tankard back on the bar, he belched and tasted a small amount of bile but he swallowed it back down. “Better?” asked Grott.
“I’m not quite sure yet,” replied Dallious, staring at the bar and looking like someone trying not to vomit, his head swimming. “Give it a little time,” said Grott. “I’ll see to your breakfast now,” he continued, making sure to look past Dallious to notify the others that the offer included them, before disappearing through a door at the back of the bar.
Dallious moved towards the two remaining men, his mind searching for memory of who they were, the previous night’s events still cloudy. “How are you feeling?” asked one of them upon Dallious reaching their table. “I have felt better,” replied Dallious. “Forgive me but I remember very little of last night. Who are you both?” Both men chuckled before standing.
“I am Durok, the village blacksmith,” said a powerfully-built man, extending his hand. “And I am Dallious,” replied Dallious, instinctively making to shake it with his right hand but a mixed expression of confusion and embarrassment on the face of the person he now knew as Durok forced realisation upon him. “I am sorry,” said Dallious before retracting his right stump and extending his left hand.
“No. The mistake is mine,” said Durok, quickly withdrawing his right hand and shaking Dallious’ left with his own.
“Without conscious thought on my behalf my instincts have yet to learn that it is gone,” explained Dallious as if attempting to lessen the embarrassment he could feel emanating from Durok. Before anything else could be said, the second man extended his left hand, obviously learning from Durok’s mistake. “Magnus,” he said, awaiting Dallious’ response.
“Dallious,” he replied, shaking the man’s hand firmly and noting that he had a very similar build to Durok. “Are you brothers?” he asked, his eyes flicking between the two. “No,” laughed both men while looking each other up and down. “But I can see why you might think that,” said Durok, realising how closely matched himself and Magnus actually were.
“So I know you are the village blacksmith,” said Dallious still smiling from their reaction to his previous question. “But what about you?” he continued, focussing on Magnus. The man considered the question before replying, and Dallious noted his hesitation. “I guess you could call me a merchant traveller,” he said at last, with a smile.
Dallious nodded but his eyes scanned over the man known as Magnus and spotted several heavy scars upon his face, arms and knuckles. Merchant? More like mercenary, thought Dallious before realising that his searching stare made Magnus uncomfortable, evident by the fact the big man cleared his throat and looked away.
At that moment Dallious knew his conclusion served him well, but he decided not to press the matter. Durok felt the sudden tension within the silent and brief exchange between the two men, and eager to lighten the mood he spoke. “And what about you Dallious, what is it that you do?” he enquired.
Dallious eyed the blacksmith momentarily before looking away. His good hand reached across to his stump and began to massage it. Gentle at first but slowly becoming more aggressive. “I do nothing,” he replied at last, his focus on his stump. An awkward silence fell upon the three men. Neither Durok nor Magnus were eager to interrupt whatever was going on in Dallious’ mind.
Finally he stopped rubbing at the injury, gripping his fingers tightly around the stump and pressing them deeply into the wrist. “I am nothing,” he added, looking up to gaze deeply at the man who had posed the question, his expression was empty but Durok could see the sorrow in Dallious’ eyes and he met them. “I am sorry you feel that way,” said Durok after some time had passed. Then he looked away, his expression one of a man lost in thought.
Magnus, who had been staring at Dallious’ stump during the exchange between the two men, suddenly became aware that he was being watched. Looking up, his eyes met briefly with Dallious’, and he flashed a hint of sympathy then switched to Durok. The three men sat in silence, th
e atmosphere tense before Grott finally returned bearing a tray with various foods on it. Before placing it on the table in front of the men he eyed each of them in turn, noting the obvious tension in the air.
“Having second thoughts?” asked Grott, addressing no one in particular as he took a seat. Dallious cast his eyes upon the tray and could see pieces of sliced fruit, meat, cheese and a stale-looking loaf of bread. “Second thoughts about what?” replied Durok, while reaching out and taking a slice of cheese and meat. Magnus and Grott followed suit but Dallious simply continued to stare at the food, raising his left hand to his mouth to cover a burp and looking a little worse for wear.
Noticing Dallious’ subtle movement, Durok and Magnus smiled at him as if acknowledging the fact they had both been there before. “About the Mason brothers,” answered Grott, while ignoring Dallious, still placing the blame regarding what happened to Beth on him.
“No, not at all,” said Durok, before squeezing the slices of cheese and meat together and stuffing them hungrily into his mouth. Magnus placed his pieces of food on the table, picked up the loaf and tore a lump off before shaking his head in response to Grott. “And you?” asked Grott, turning his head to stare at Dallious who’s focus remained on the food, hand still over mouth.
Grott had seen this look before many times with customers and knew Dallious’ stomach to be unsure if it could handle eating or not. Feeling Grott’s stare upon him, Dallious squinted at him but he did not answer. “His silence is answer enough,” said Grott while shifting in his seat, flicking a look of disgust at Dallious and waiting for a reaction from Durok and Magnus. They both chewed on their food, offering no response, but their eyes suggested they felt the silent Dallious would not be standing with them against the Mason brothers.
Several minutes passed without any words being spoken and the tension mounted. “May I trouble you for something to drink?” asked Magnus of Grott, eager to break through it. “Of course,” replied Grott, casting a glance over the table as if only then realising he had not brought water or ale. “How absent minded of me. Please forgive me,” he continued, making to rise.
