A rustling of the cloth at the tent's opening revealed the bent shape of a gargoyle entering the eight foot doorway of the enclosure. The dark creature stood back up as he neared the center of the tent where the ceiling was just barely high enough for him to stand. The generals gave him their places easily and virtually hid behind the dark creature to escape Merrick's attention.
"What is the word, Kar'esh?" the High King questioned less heatedly of the giant. "Can your mar'goyn'lya warriors defeat those creatures?"
He spoke of a new magic that had been placed before them that had been strong enough to drive even the dozen dragons back. Strange, stone men ranging from ten feet tall to almost fifteen feet had suddenly risen from canvas covered carts from the midst of the combined armies of Sileoth and Maris. With those unspeaking, unblinking, multi ton, stone warriors carrying iron spears more than twenty feet long and easily weighing a couple of hundred pounds each, his enemy had met and turned the attacks of knights, gargoyles and dragons every time. Arrows bounced off of stone skin, while even iron bound spears and lances shattered against the monoliths.
Only the mar'goyn'lya and the che'ther dragons had been able to destroy their stone bodies in battle so far. Using giant iron clubs and war maces, the gargoyles had been forced to dare the slower moving but deadly golems by moving close enough to shatter limbs and bodies to stop them. It took nearly complete destruction to defeat the stone soldiers and Merrick already knew that many a gargoyle and dragon had already been lost in the struggles.
Kar'esh affirmed his fears as he stated, "Nearly half my soldiers are injured or dead. The dragons have lost their leader and are now only a half dozen. Should we re-engage those creatures again, we will need
reinforcements before too long. In truth, we need them now."
"Damn them!" the king cursed and brought his fist down on the table's surface so hard that it began to crack. "Wizard Melgan, how soon can your people have more of the mar'goyn'lya brought here?"
The wizard dressed in a green robe shifted his feet uncomfortably and answered. "Three days for us to return to the portal. Perhaps a score and a half each day until our strength runs out. Within a week we could have two hundred of them in our world, but only at about thirty a day. If they fly quickly, it will take each group a day more to return here."
Merrick ground his teeth furiously. A vein threatened to burst upon his left temple from all the tension. "How many of those creatures do you think they have and how many more can they make, Melgan?"
The wizard looked very uncomfortable. "I can't say. None of my wizards know of this magic. Perhaps Quentin of the Hala council might know of this spell?"
Merrick pulled his chair back up gruffly and sat down in a pout. The king sighed in exasperation. "Find out if he knows, Melgan. If he doesn't, send him here with any wizard that might be able to help him. They'll take your place and Retens' here, while the two of you bring more of the gargoyles and dragons to our world." The high king turned to look up at Kar'esh once again. "Is our deal still intact, Kar'esh? Will they continue to fight until these last nations are conquered?"
"They will fight," the stony voice rasped in answer.
Merrick looked up into the gargoyle's face and wondered if what the creature said was true. Though the High King had told Krulir often enough that he could control these beasts, there were days like these where Merrick wondered just how long he could trust them to honor their word. The more that died, the less likely they would stay true, he thought. Yet, they still needed him. His wizards were the only way to bring his race out of the flames of a quickly dying world.
That was the other problem. How long would it take for Kar'esh to grow desperate enough to demand that all his people come through? The High King could never let them all come across, he knew, and hoped that Kar'esh did not suspect that truth. It was his hold over the creature. To release his hold, would be disastrous.
Remembering that the others were still within the tent, Merrick spoke quickly with each. Sending the wizards away meant lessening his strength on the field, but someone had to go and use the magic of the portal. Kar'esh was sent off with the charge to see to the fitness of his men and the dragons.
At the last, only his two generals, Bragus and Komus, were left before him. "You and I need to talk gentlemen." The beginning words were not encouraging to the generals. They knew that Merrick would want answers to win the war quickly. They did not have those answers yet. Their army was still strong. With the backing of the legions of footmen, the gargoyles and dragons could hold off the monoliths for awhile longer, but they were still flesh and blood. The golems were not. Wizards were the strength behind the monsters, but how much strength it would take to cause the monoliths to fail they did not know.
Each general took a canvas supported field chair and prepared to have a long and uncomfortable planning session.
The winds of the Talmoth Sea had been incredibly strong. Gerid's fleet fairly flew down the western coast with their strength. It was almost like the power of a hurricane driving them ever southward. The fleet had actually been forced to shorten their sails for fear that the stronger gusts would tear their rigging apart.
With the winds to drive them every day and night, Gerid's fleet found themselves entering the capitol city of Tristan half a week sooner than he had expected. It was too late to visit the palace that day, however, so Gerid had gone into town to visit one of the sailor saloons located near to the docks.
It had been nearing dusk when they arrived, though that had made no difference to the harbor guards. With a quick check of intent, that was easily taken care of by a letter granted him by Admiral Koort, they had taken half the time of most inspectors, which left plenty of time for him to go to the saloon to relax.
As usual, it took a little while to get used to the land not moving under his feet. He could almost feel the beats even after several hours of being on land. That didn't cause him to slow down on his journey into the seaside edges of the capitol city, however, and soon he had Finneas, his man-at-arms James and Captain Ferrin of the Vengeance were sitting around a comfortable table towards the back of the Cauldron Saloon. It was a combination inn and bar that seemed good enough for him and his men to get suitably relaxed.
A young woman, who looked enough like the owner to realize how she had gotten her job, came over to take their orders quickly and efficiently before moving on to the next table. Shortly afterward, the girl returned with mugs of ale for each and plates of bread, yellow cheese and steaming beef. The men forgot speech for a time as they dove into a meal that, for all its simplicity, tasted quite good to their healthy appetites.
A pair of musicians took their places upon a small wooden platform at one end of the bar and began to play while the men ate. Conversations quieted only slightly as some of the other patrons paid momentary homage to the pair's talent. The noise rose again shortly, even as the musicians played on oblivious.
Gerid waved the serving girl over pointing to four empty mugs. It was while the girl was bringing the replacements that a pair of large men, looking battle hardened and ready for trouble, entered the tavern. The girl was intercepted by the taller of these, causing the girl to spill the mugs onto the floor. The spill was the least of her trouble as the man lifted her onto one hip in a forceful though unwanted hug.
"Hello, Jesel," the man guffawed. "What does the winner of the arena get from you tonight? A kiss, a beer, a tumble in the back, eh?"
The girl raised the serving tray and smacked the ruffian on the forehead. The tavern patrons laughed and Gerid nearly missed her retort, "If you let me down, you goon, perhaps the ale."
The man's friend laughed and asked, "You gonna let this tramp do that to you, Brisal? She's half yer size for Turas' sake."
Brisal turned to his friend as he wrenched the tray away from the girl, "Some men like their women rough, Orttes. I like her spunk. Now," he added turning his head to face the barmaid still caught in his embrace, "how about that kiss and I'll forg
et you hit me?"
The girl struggled again, shouting, "Let go of me!"
Gerid could see the tavern owner turning red with anger. The man refused to leave the protection of his bar, however, even if it was his daughter being harassed by the hulking soldier. Others in the bar seemed unhappy with the spectacle, but none would help her. In fact, some made to move silently away to the sides of the room.
It was while Gerid was still deciding whether he should get involved, since he was an ambassador for his king after all, that the chair beside him fell over in a clatter as James jumped up and crossed the floor to confront the man. The second warrior, Orttes, stepped forward to meet James' charge.
"Where do ya think you're goin' shorty?" he demanded.
"Release her. The girl has already said that she wants nothing to do with you. Let her go and she'll bring you something to drink, if you can behave long enough."
The second warrior grabbed James by his shirt and lifted the young man completely from the floor. "We do as we please around here, boy. Now sit down before I decide to hurt ya."
The man-at-arms’ eyes flared angrily, "I'll not sit idly by while you treat this girl badly."
James may have been about to say more, Gerid never knew. Instead, the young man was flung halfway across the room where he landed hard atop a table. The impact broke the thick, wooden furniture and left the man-at-arms on the floor too dazed to move. Orttes started forward for the fallen man, while his giant friend simply laughed.
"Get him, Orttes. Show him what we do to sailor trash here in Tseult."
His friend drew a knife, long and deadly, and looked ready to stab the dazed young man. It was a deed that never had a chance of happening as Gerid stood up so quickly that their table flew forward and upside down onto the floor. Sword bared and his compatriots rising weapons drawn to back him, Gerid leaped over the upturned table to face Orttes.
"Leave here now," Gerid stated through clenched teeth as his anger threatening to unleash in bloodshed.
The man stepped back a pace and drew another blade even longer than Gerid's cutlass. A thump announced that Brisal had dropped the serving girl to draw out his sword as well.
A sudden commotion from the doorway brought another three men into the tavern. They were clad similarly to the ruffians, Brisal and Orttes. Seeing their mates outnumbered by one, each drew his sword and stepped into a line of steel to either side of their friends.
"A fight?" asked one man.
"Leave it to Brisal and Orttes to find some fun for us," another added with a grin plastered to his face.
The third simply nodded.
Gerid put out his arms to push Finneas and Ferrin behind him, before moving a pace closer. "There is no need to fight. Brisal released the girl and my friend will recover soon enough after his rashness. Why don't, you gentlemen, just relax and enjoy the inn's food and drink? The musicians are quite good here."
One of the new men laughed, "I hate musicians. Hey, Brisal, you think this guy's a coward?"
"Could be. Pretty big to back down so quickly, eh, Havel?"
"Yep," the musician hater answered. "Where you from, whity? Can't be from Kloste. They wouldn't step down after gettin' here. Malaiy's got too many arenas to have such a coward. Must be from Rhearden."
"Could be from Desdemona," put in the only one who hadn't spoken. "They have lots of cowards there. Couldn't find any to fight me when I went there last year."
"Nah," Brisal replied once again, "they look different in the face, Zeffus. They look more like weasels. He's got to be from Rhearden, I tell you."
"I'm not a coward," Gerid finally replied calmly.
"Challenge `im to the arena," the one standing next to Brisal suggested.
Brisal cocked his head to the side a moment before nodding, "Good idea, Havel. Hey, coward, you willing to go to the arena?"
"I am not a coward. What is the arena you’re speaking about anyway?"
Ferrin moved closer to inform his commander, "Some of the western countries have an arena where men fight for sport. They might box or spar with staves. The most popular fights are those that are settled by blood combat."
"Blood combat?" Gerid asked raising an eyebrow slightly. "First blood?"
Ferrin nodded, "Yes, but the most popular fights are until one man is unconscious or dead."
"Guess which kind of fighters we are, coward?" Brisal laughed. His fellows echoed beside him.
"When?" Gerid asked ignoring the comment of coward once again.
The simple statement stopped the laughter. The men began to appraise the giant from Rhearden and his men. James moaned and sat up from the wreckage of the broken table. Gerid looked at the man responsible for the predicament he was in now and sighed.
Brisal chuckled, "I tell you what. I'm a sportin' man. How about tomorrow afternoon? Have a night to drink and rest before we fight to the death."
"You fight to the death. If I heard the options correctly, we can simply fight until one man is unable to continue."
The men all laughed again. Their spokesman Brisal nodded, "Like I said. You won't be able to fight after I kill you. Your men and you will die tomorrow afternoon."
Gerid shook his head. "I'll fight. My men have nothing to do with this."
"Uhn uh," Orttes spoke first. "The kid started it and you three joined. You're all in it according to the rules."
Gerid turned to Ferrin, who simply shrugged. The captain looked eager for the sport despite his opponents' size, some of whom were even bigger than Gerid. "What weapons?" Gerid sighed in answer.
"Swords and shields or anything that you like. You are the challengee."
"Shields and wooden practice swords then," Gerid answered smiling. He would do what he could to prevent any needless deaths.
His opponents grumbled at the idea. "What kind of fight is that?" asked Havel.
"Coward," stated Zeffus quietly. The man looked relieved despite his single word.
Brisal shook his head and turned to the only man who hadn't been named. "Muggel, is that even possible? How can you fight to the death with practice swords?"
Gerid answered instead, "That's the beauty of such weapons, Brisal. You'll have to try harder to kill. You can still beat a man to death with a heavy wooden sword, can't you, or are you and your men too weak in the arm to try?"
The thought made small smiles cross the large arena fighters' faces. "I like it," Orttes said quickly. "A tougher match for us. No easy kills by a lucky thrust."
"We also fight as a group," Gerid added before the men could enjoy the idea too much.
Brisal simply nodded, "No problem. More fun that way.
"It's settled Rheardman. Meet us at the east arena. You can't miss it. If you do just ask someone to point it out to you. We'll see you at middle of the afternoon."
The fighters turned away discussing the tactics of practice swords even before they had left the tavern.
The barmaid, Jesel, came from somewhere behind Gerid and asked sarcastically, "Are you nuts, Rheardman? They'll kill you in the arena."
Gerid shrugged. He noticed that the other patrons were nodding their heads at the girl's remark. "It was too late to change their minds before they even entered here, I think. How often do they come in here looking for unsuspecting sailors who don't know your rules anyway?"
The girl was taken aback by his question. "Not that often," was her meek reply. "They usually only cause a little trouble, have their drinks and leave."
Gerid ignored the girl and picked up James who still sat in the wreckage of the table. After helping the young man up to his nearly steady feet, Gerid turned to the girl again. "Bring our round of ales, Jesel. As it is, we've found ourselves needing sleep even more. The least you could do is supply a few drinks."
The girl nodded without a word and turned back to the bar. The first notes of a guitar signaled the musicians trying to restore a semblance of order. Gerid sighed and picked up the table that he had overturned earlier. They would need a plac
e to set their drinks, after all.
Chapter 30- A Pair of Ruses
The ragged farmer pushed back the limp brim of his hat and looked up at the outline of the castle of Hala still half hidden by the outer walls from him. A dark beard streaked with grey here and there served to cover half of his face. Like the castle, there was also strength hidden in the face behind that beard. Sensing the men accompanying him without showing themselves to be, he sighed. There was only so much a man could do to conceal what he really was.
A brief touch upon his elbow caused the farmer, bearing his sheaf of wheat, to look at the young man who had moved close enough to speak with him.
"My lord," he whispered, "are you sure that you want to risk yourself this way?"
"I'm never sure anymore, Duncan," the man answered quietly. He eyed the people moving up the road to enter Hala's gates to make sure that no one was listening to them before adding. "Not since Merrick tried to kill me."
"The doctors at the hospital might recognize you and then we would lose the greatest tactician on the North Continent, sire,” his younger companion said worriedly. “Maybe you should reconsider. We can send someone else to the lieutenant assuredly?"
The elder man shook his head adamantly, "Great tactician, indeed. If I am so great, why did I fall for Merrick's ruse that night?"
The younger man shook his head hard enough to shift the mop of blond hair on its top. Still maintaining a whisper, he answered, "You couldn't have known that woman wasn't really in trouble. She was bait for you because Merrick knew that the foremost knight of Cadmene would never let an innocent woman be attacked and not try and help her. Entering that alley wasn't the best idea as you've pointed out before, but you couldn't have known that they would be waiting and ready."
The High King: A Tale of Alus Page 30
