Their faces were wide and fierce, and even while smiling there seemed to be no hint of kindness or humanity in them. Sharp teeth were hidden behind wide mouths with heavy jaws, and yellow eyes looked out from under hooded brows. The look from those eyes showed an intelligent, calculating being, not some kind of animal without a soul. Their noses were short and flat, and their nostrils were more like slits than holes.
They both had long black hair, which grew farther down their necks than a human's hair. In fact, it grew a good ways down their backs, which was a somewhat comical look, and yet somehow terrifying at the same time. They took pride in their hair and tied it back in thick braids.
In warmer weather, they would always go shirtless, detesting the restrictions of clothing. Where they were from, it was never cold, and the seasons blended together into a constant, reliable pattern of moist, hot weather. They preferred to wear only leather boots and loincloths made of long, wide strips of leather that ended below their knees. But since they had come so far north, they were forced to wear more clothing. Each had fashioned their own cloak and they both pretended to be proud of the crude clothing they had made.
But even if they were not suitable tailors, they were proud of their weapons. They had a habit of collecting knives—especially curved ones. They didn't care much for swords or spears, but they had a genuine obsession with their war hammers. The hammers were longer than an average sword, and probably ten times the weight. The heads were bulky and dangerous, and the shafts were metal, not fragile shanks of wood.
They treated their hammers as if they were true weapons of the gods, and they certainly looked the part. They were beautiful; elegant in form but not overly decorative. The finish was mostly dark, but uneven blue and purple areas showed where they had been heat treated, and silver areas showed where the hammers had met steel in battle. In the center of the head, on both sides of both hammers, was an inlaid gold medallion. Each of the four medallions had a single sentence, which when combined read:
The hammers held in worthy hands
United brothers storm the lands
And if they should avoid the fall
By hammer they shall rule them all
But hammers and cloaks were not all they brought with them. They also carried a priceless treasure that was worth more than all the wealth of all the towns they had seen combined. It was the eye of Indahinar; an orb of quartz crystal, roughly the size of a human head. It was mostly translucent, although it had some milky imperfections streaking through it, and when the light caught the surface, all the colors of the rainbow danced across it, creating a dazzling effect.
At the center of the orb was a hollow area about the size of a fist. Most of the time the orb looked a lot like a bubble within a bubble, but when it was in use, it appeared very different. When its power was called forth, the hollow center inside lit up with a view of another part of the world. That small view projected outwards and made it appear as if the viewer was there in the other part of the world. It was as if the brothers had stepped into a misty dream, although what they saw was reality and not a product the restless imagination of a slumbering mind. They could watch this vision as if they were there, although they were unable to interact with what they saw in any way.
But both brothers needed to be touching the orb at the same time for it to function. While they both held it, concentrating on the map they held in their minds, they could visit anywhere in the world. They had been watching the outside world for a very long time—long before the great barrier had sealed them away in the southern lands.
For thousands of years they had honed their skills. For countless centuries they had watched mankind and learned their languages and their secrets. They had seen their wars and famines, their strengths and weaknesses. They watched with wonder and anticipation while they waited trapped far to the south. It was tedious and agonizing, but in their long lives they had learned the value of patience. After all, they had no choice in the matter.
Gorin stood tall and stiff, sniffing the air. "We're in the new world now. I think we are in Bhoor-Rahn."
Gewin yawned. "How can you tell?"
"The river there leads out to the ocean in the distance. I can just barely make it out in the moonlight. That must be the River Heht, and that small city must be Zuhr. Besides, nothing in Vindyrion or Medora should look anything like this."
Gewin nodded. "You're probably right. I don't remember enough about Bhoor-Rahn to be able to envision it."
The brothers actually had a hard time with their memories in general. Physically, they were superhuman figures with the strength of several men, but their memories were no greater than that of an ordinary man. As hard as they tried, they were only able to remember the last thousand or so years of their lives, and only the last century with any real detail. They were aware that they were far older than that, but things beyond a thousand years slipped away from them like dreams forgotten after waking.
But their minds were sharp, and they actually did very well for the amount of information they had collected over the years. They spied on thousands and thousands of people, putting together their stories, memorizing their names, actions and motivations. It was a tremendous display of cognitive ability, and certainly no other beings but the gods could even come close to matching it.
Gewin held a rabbit in his fist, kicking with all its might to escape. He brought it up to his mouth as he scanned the horizon, and bit straight through the neck. Bones crunched in his powerful jaws as he ripped meat from his kill and chewed. He ate a few bites of the body before placing the entire skull in his mouth. With great force he bit down, popping the skull and spraying the inside of his cheeks with hot blood and brain. He handed the rest of the rabbit to his brother as he chewed.
"Where do you think he is now?" Gorin asked before tearing into the rabbit.
"Can't be far. Still near the city."
"It's still a long way from here. We need supplies."
Gewin nodded and pointed towards Zuhr with his chin. "They won't have much down there, but we can take what we want."
"No. We shouldn't be stealing. It calls attention to us. We should use money."
"So what? No one here knows who we are."
"Word gets around, my brother. We do not look like these humans do. They will be alarmed. We don't want word getting back to him about us."
"He will think we are nothing more than myth and legend. We have nothing to fear."
"We have him to fear. He will discover us in one of his books if we don't reach him soon enough."
Gewin let out a growl. "Let him discover us. He'll bring the fight to us instead of us bringing it to him. I wish the orb would just show him to us."
"We can wish all we want, brother, but it won't make it so. Show some patience. Soon enough our hammers we will have him.
Chapter 6
Rommus winced at the sound of the wooden floorboards creaking. He feared that guards would storm in at any second and run him through. His heart thundered in his chest, sending blood down to his throbbing wound on his arm. He had wrapped it to minimize the bleeding, but he was concerned about infection because he didn't have time to clean it. If he still had the powers of a god, infection would not be of any concern. In fact, he knew from his battle in the Arena that his wounds would heal on their own, and in mere moments.
On this mission he would not be so lucky, but fortunately neither would his enemy. In a few more steps, he would be close enough to kill his slumbering target, and no longer need to be so quiet and careful. Once all the officers were eliminated the assassins could hurry to the western gate and escape.
Another floorboard groaned and the officer stirred. He made some quiet sounds as if speaking in his sleep, but Rommus could not hear any real words. It was an extremely stressful ordeal for Rommus, as he had killed many men in his life, but it was always in a battle. This was totally different. He was about to kill an unarmed man. That idea did not sit well with him, however he knew he nee
ded to do it to save his country.
But beyond that nagging fact, he was terrified that he would wake this man before he could kill him, and the alarm would be sounded. If that happened before all the officers could be killed, then the entire plan would fail. All he could do at that point would be to get his men out of Taburdum through the tunnel—if that was even possible. There was a good chance that all of them would be killed.
After what seemed like an eternity of slow, careful progress, Rommus finally reached the edge of the bed. He raised his father's sword above his head, careful not to hit the ceiling and make a sound. Wind blew at the windows, rattling them ever so slightly. Clouds had parted overhead, and moonlight fell over the floor and onto the bed.
The officer snored softly. His neck was exposed. The soft blankets would offer no protection at all from the sentence the man faced, and he would never see the face of his attacker. The end would come in a painful, silent fit when the point of the blade came down through the man's neck.
Rommus found himself frozen as he thought. He knew what he needed to do, but it was too hard for him. His mind raced to think of some other solution, and for a second he considered taking this man prisoner, along with Zeke, but it was too risky. All it would take would be for this man to call out to his guards and everything would come undone. Zeke had done as he was commanded and told them where the officers were sleeping, but he was captured far away from any of his fellow soldiers. This man slept mere feet from guards on the other side of the wall. Rommus could not risk taking him prisoner too.
He needed to do it. He had to kill this man to save Medora. More importantly, he had to do it to save the idea of freedom for mankind. He kept telling himself that these men came here to stamp out freedom and kill innocent Medorans, but still he stood paralyzed. His sweaty palms gripped the hilt of his father's sword above his head. The deadly tip was aimed at the man's throat. Moonlight gleamed off the edge of the sharp blade. It had to be done. He kept repeating it in his head.
The man's mouth gently fell open and he snored louder. Icy daggers of fright stabbed through Rommus's body. He was beginning to lose his wits, and suddenly considered running away. His head swam with the agony of not knowing what to do, and not being able to move.
Suddenly, eyes opened.
"What is—"
The blade slammed home; right through the throat, through the vertebrae and deep into the bed. With his windpipe blocked by steel, the officer could not make a sound. Not even the gruesome gurgling sounds of blood bubbling up in his gullet could be heard. His spine had been severed, so his body was completely still. His jaw, tongue and eyes were all that moved. Although he could not speak, Rommus saw him pleading with his limited motions.
Rommus was racked with guilt. It was tearing him apart inside that he could not even offer this man a faster death. He could not risk the man making any noise to alert his guards, so he just stood there and waited for death to come take this man away. Rommus did not look away from the dying man's eyes. He knew the vision would haunt him forever, but he owed the man at least that. He had to grant him at least a tiny token of honor.
The face finally slackened and all life fled from the eyes. Rommus waited a moment to be sure the deed was done, and then pulled the long sword out of the bed. The neck clung to the blade as he raised the sword up, and the head and torso rose some with it. Rommus had to put a hand on the chest to pull the sword free, and when it finally came out of the neck, air from the lungs escaped passed the blade. The man's final, pitiful sigh would surely haunt Rommus for the rest of his life.
——————
All was still fairly quiet when Rommus crept back out into the night. The inept guards who had failed to properly monitor the rear of the building could be seen out front, chatting quietly with each other and even laughing. Another soldier strolled by and threw something at them in jest. One of the guards made exaggerated threatening gestures in return. Their level of professionalism was disappointing and sickening at the same time. The idea that these men could play games with each other while they plotted the murder of innocent people outside the city walls turned his stomach.
He used the distraction to slip away unnoticed. After a short while, he didn't even try to hide. He let his black Vindyri armor shield him from suspicious eyes. He hid in plain sight, sometimes even nodding to other Vindyri soldiers he saw.
The Bhoors, on the other hand, did not acknowledge or seem to care at all about his faux friendliness. They kept to themselves, and spoke only very quietly amongst themselves. Rommus could not figure out where the Bhoors had set up their barracks, but it seemed as if they had either segregated themselves or had been commanded to stay in another part of the city away from the Vindyri. The westernmost portion of Taburdum seemed to be occupied almost entirely by Vindyri.
Rommus eventually made his way over to the large fountain three blocks north of the Great Library. This was where the men had decided to meet—or at least make themselves visible to each other. None of them could tell any of the rest of them from the enemy while they wore the black armor, so it had been decided ahead of time that they would each show up at the fountain, stand there for a few seconds, and then meet under the tall bushes off to the side where no one would see them.
His heart sank as he approached the fountain. The water had been diverted, so no water flowed. Instead only still pools iced over the many concentric bowl-shaped fixtures making up the fountain. But the lifeless, freezing water was not what bothered him. The fountain itself had been destroyed beyond repair. It was more than 200 years old, and had extremely fragile details carved into the fine marble. 20 life-size statues were integrated into the design, and the entire thing stood as tall as a two-story building. The most delicate parts were carved flowers and ivy overflowing each layer and making up the majority of the artistic detail.
Almost all of it had been smashed. Only one of the statues still stood, and someone had placed a Medoran helmet on the head backwards—probably a vandal's attempt to make a statement about how Medorans were either "backward" or stupid. The rest of the statues were all knocked down, and had been smashed in several places. Almost all the arms had been broken off, and all the faces had been defiled. Just about all of the delicate marble ivy had been busted up as well. It really said a lot about the people who had come to invade Medora; they had come to turn Medora into ruins, and went to excessive lengths to make their statement.
He turned away from the silent fountain and checked his surroundings for anyone watching nearby. When he was satisfied that he was alone and unwatched, he made his way over to the bushes and ducked down inside them. Four other Medorans waited there, nodding their greeting, and at the same time, silently telling him that they had completed their task of assassinating their assigned officer.
In addition to the four Medorans, Zeke was there as well. His armor had been removed and discarded, and he had been tied up and gagged. One of the four Medorans watched his every move, keeping the point of his sword resting right under the center of his ribcage; where hard bone gives way to soft flesh.
Zeke seemed resigned to whatever fate would come to him. He did not try to escape or even struggle, and he did as he was told as soon as the order was given. It could have been that the sight of his fellow soldiers being slain by the Medorans was enough to weaken his will, but Rommus wasn't so sure. If it were him, he would act the same way, convincing his captors that he was no threat at all, and then strike when none of them suspected it. It was obvious that the other Medorans there were thinking the same thing, and none of them let their guard down around the man.
The next man to approach the fountain was Herrus. He made sure he made his presence known to the others and then jointed them under the thick overgrowth of bushes. He was still breathing heavily, and once he was safe in the shadows he took off his helmet to run a forearm across his brow. He sat there a moment before speaking softly to Rommus.
"How's the arm?" he asked.
Rommus looked down at his crudely-bandaged arm. "It hurts when I twist it. Otherwise it's mostly numb. I'll be okay."
"You'll need to reopen the wound to clean it. You know that don't you?"
Rommus sighed. "I was trying not to think about that. Maybe I'll get lucky and I won't have to."
"I don't understand it, Rommus. I was on duty at the Arena the day you fought those seven men. I was high up in the cheap seats, but I could see well enough to see what happened. I saw your wounds close themselves. Why has it not happened for this wound?"
"It was sort of a temporary thing. It's a power I no longer have."
"Be honest with me Rommus. Are you not the god of war? Is it all a lie?"
Rommus ran a hand through his hair. "I honestly don't know anymore. I at least held the powers of a god, but the powers have been stolen from me."
Herrus nodded as he thought. "You must not let the men know. The new Legion cannot know that you have lost that power."
"Why not? They deserve to know the truth if they want to hear it."
"They don't want to hear it, Rommus. They believe they are following a god—at least most of them do. If they knew you were just another human, they might not follow you."
"Then let them follow someone else. I am not interested in tricking people into following me. I didn't ask them to form a new Legion and worship me. All I ask, of any Medoran, is to fight for freedom before it is snatched away from us. If they will not follow an ordinary man, then good riddance to them."
Soul Under the Mountain (Legend of Reason Series) Page 4
