The Gate - An Ancient Connection

by B. N. Crandell

  “But that is madness! They’re orcs, they will kill our duke the first chance they get.” Bertraud stood firm with his arms folded.

  “I won’t tell you a third time Bertraud, step aside.” Sergeant Keazan took an intimidating step forward and Bertraud reluctantly took a step to one side. Bertraud looked at them both with disgust and so O’tukka glared back at him and got some satisfaction out of seeing the man collapse to the ground shaking.

  “That was uncalled for, Great Shaman O’tukka,” scolded General Krak’too as guards nearby drew their weapons. Sergeant Keazan turned around to see what the disturbance was about and his eyes found their way to Bertraud still trembling on the ground.

  “Will he live?” asked the sergeant turning to face O’tukka.

  “He will. He just has a weak mind. He’ll be up and annoying others again in a few minutes.” Sergeant Keazan smiled mischievously at O’tukka as he turned to the armed guards and ordered them to stand down. Turning back to General Krak’too he beckoned them forward.

  “There are many who would not blame you for acting so,” said Sergeant Keazan when they were well away from the door. General Krak’too continued to look at him sternly though.

  As they walked through corridors lined with statues and expensive looking paintings, they saw a servant. Sergeant Keazan asked the man of the duke’s whereabouts. After being informed that the duke was in his personal study, the sergeant asked him to run on ahead and inform him that General Krak’too was here to see him. The servant hurried away while Sergeant Keazan led them on at a leisurely pace.

  The door was open when they arrived and the sergeant made them wait in the corridor as he stepped inside and informed the duke.

  “Thank you, sergeant,” O’tukka heard the duke say, “show them in please.” They walked into the room and over to some chairs at the duke’s desk.

  It was a reasonably large room with bookshelves bursting with books lining the rear wall. A large painting of an elderly man with similarly intense eyes as the duke hung on the wall behind him — O’tukka assumed it to be his father.

  The leather chairs were comfortable to sit on, while the lush red carpet underfoot felt soft and well padded. Duke Angus sat behind his solid timber desk with confidence, but a friendly demeanour.

  The man had the look of a soldier about him even so dressed in his fine clothes — a highly decorated, royal blue top with long sleeves and a black cape showing a hint of a dark red, silk top underneath around the V neckline and central ties joining the top together.

  “I trust that you were treated well on your way here general,” he said when they had made themselves comfortable.

  “Aside from the small altercation at the Castle doors which Great Shaman O’tukka was the cause of, we were not harassed in any way.” General Krak’too gave O’tukka a brief look as he spoke to the duke.

  Duke Angus’s eyebrows rose at the remark but he did not ask the general to elaborate, no doubt realising he’d find out in good time.

  “The reason I came to see you earlier today, general, was that I had the terms of our agreement put into writing for us to sign. It is a custom of ours to do such things so that in times of dispute the written contract can be referred to.” Duke Angus rolled a scroll out on his desk and placed a weight at the top and bottom of it.

  “It is the same in our culture. I’d be happy to sign the agreement, but be aware that I can’t read your language very well.” General Krak’too lowered his eyes and let them drift over the scroll briefly.

  “I will happily read the words to you if you’d trust me to do so without deceit,” said Duke Angus.

  “I trust you.” Duke Angus lifted the weights, picked up the scroll, unrolled it and began reading the terms. Once he had finished, General Krak’too said that he accepted them and would sign to it which he did, followed by Duke Angus signing below the general’s mark.

  “I have a duplicate to sign for your own records,” said the duke as he rolled up the scroll and placed it to the side.

  “That won’t be necessary, Duke Angus. I would rather not have anything in writing that could be easily stolen and used against me. I trust that you will keep yours locked away safely.” The last was said firmly.

  “Of course, general. I understand your concern.” Duke Angus placed the duplicate down next to the other scroll.

  “I have news for you too,” said Krak’too. “The Ta’zu have attacked and captured one of our border cities. They did so quickly and with minimum loss. We haven’t been able to determine their reasons for doing so, but I have a bad feeling about it.”

  “You think the Ta’zu are coming for the Gate?” asked Duke Angus catching on.

  “It’s a strong possibility. We need to close it as soon as we can. How many of your wizards can you assemble?”

  “Master Pilk is working on that problem right now. He has been held up by a self-important wizard, but it is now under control. He is at the academy as we speak getting support. I should have more news by the end of the day. Do you have any news of our captives?” It seemed to be the same in every culture ; high intelligence seemed to go hand-in-hand with high self-opinion.

  “I’m sorry to say they were all killed. It appears as though they attempted to travel south along the border and were detected by the Ta’zu and killed.” O’tukka tried hard not to react to the general’s lie. Duke Angus bowed his head and remained silent for a time, a gloomy look painted on his face.

  Do you have the support of your entire army yet?” asked the duke despondently, finally breaking the silence.

  “Not yet, but that might not matter. I have had an idea that with your help we can close the Gate within days.” The duke raised an eyebrow at the general’s words.

  “That sounds good, general. You have my full attention.” Duke Angus leaned forward in his chair, all trace of despondency gone and now a look of intent interest.

  * * *

  Gerard blocked the incoming strike at the last possible moment and twisted his body to avoid the follow up attack. He kicked out with his leg forcing Sylestra to twist away. She came straight back in at him with impossible speed given her off-balanced position. Gerard jumped back beyond her reach and jabbed with his sword aiming for her heart. A less agile opponent would have impaled themselves on the end of his sword but Sylestra went into a backflip and kicked with her feet connecting solidly on his sword hand.

  He managed to hold onto his sword but it put him in a bad position for her next attack; the woman was simply relentless. Once again he had to give ground to avoid a killing blow, but he was able to push her wooden scimitar away using his dirk as he lunged with his long sword. The strike was awkward though as his arms crossed over and Sylestra was able to easily dodge it.

  They had been going back and forth like this for many minutes and were both sweating profusely. Most of Gerard’s moves were in defence, but occasionally he was able to push the woman back. This was their fifth bout and Sylestra had beaten him each time, although none as easily as the first, while he could not manage a touch on her. Gerard had never fought an opponent so skilled, but he was starting to enjoy the challenge.

  Sylestra stood back out of his range and started to skilfully circle around him like a great wild cat. While the gambeson was still restricting his movements, he was starting to get used to it and adjusted his fighting style according to its limitation. He wouldn’t dare remove it as some of the blows he had received from Sylestra had been severe indeed.

  Sylestra darted in suddenly and went to her knees as Gerard swung his sword. By bending her head back and curving her body, she was able to slide underneath the strike. Straightening her back and neck mid-slide, she was in a position to swipe her scimitar at his legs with such force that it took his legs out from under him. By the time he had collapsed to the floor, she was up again and standing over him with her scimitar pointed at his heart.

  “You are defeated,” she said curtly.

  “You were lucky I didn’t k
nock your head from your shoulders with that move,” said Gerard trying to catch his breath.

  “Luck did not come into it. I know my abilities and act accordingly.” Sylestra stood aside and waited for him to regain his feet. “Let’s finish our session here. You have fought well enough and I will send a clothier to you tomorrow to get your sizes and make you a better fitting gambeson. For now, I will see that you are escorted to the baths where you can get cleaned up.”

  Gerard took off his gambeson and returned it and his weapons to the racks where he had found them. Sylestra accompanied him to the door and handed him over to two guards that had been waiting outside. They led him to a huge circular room not too far away. A large round bath was sunken into the floor in the middle of the room surrounded by eight smaller baths equidistant from each other.

  High overhead a glass dome in the centre of the roof allowed plentiful light into the room. Dark, polished stone pillars held the roof in place with statues of beautiful women leaning up against them with strips of material barely covering their nudity, holding bowls tilted towards the pools with water continually flowing from them. Steam rose from the water of each bath revealing the heated water if the room’s humidity hadn’t already.

  Each bath had two scantily clad women standing nearby, with the central one having four. Three of the outer baths were occupied — two containing a human and one an orc. The women were assisting with scrubbing their bodies or washing their hair.

  “Which bath do you want?” asked a guard in the orcish language. Gerard was not thrilled with the idea of having a bath with an audience, but he figured it was better than his last place of captivity where he had to wash himself with a bucket and a rag, so he chose the furthest one away from the other occupied baths.

  As he approached, the two women came near and made a move to undress him.

  “That won’t be necessary,” he said taking a step back. “I’ve been undressing myself now for the majority of my life, so I know what I’m doing.” The women looked at each other with bewildered expressions, but eventually took a few paces back and let him undress himself and step down into the bath. The two orc guards took up positions against the nearby wall.

  By the time Gerard had sat down in the bath, one of the women had collected his dirty clothing and taken it away. His fear of having to walk around naked from this point on was put at ease a short time later as he noticed another occupant step out of their bath only to be clothed by a thick white robe that had been brought to him by an attending woman.

  Gerard had to admit to himself that the bath was very relaxing. The warm water was obviously treated with bath salts that let off a pleasant smelling aroma. His tense and worn muscles immediately began to ease as the water swirled around him.

  The woman that had stayed near his bath came over to him with a wash cloth, dipped it in the water near him and reached out to start washing him.

  “That’s OK, just give me the cloth and I’ll take care of the washing thank you,” said Gerard reaching for the cloth.

  “We do not please you?” said the woman innocently.

  “Yes, you please me very much, but I’m of the habit of washing myself.” Gerard took the cloth from her and began cleaning himself with it.

  “As you wish,” said the woman a little harshly. The other woman returned with a white robe and hung it on a hook on the wall near where the guards were standing. Noticing Gerard washing himself, she turned a sour look on the other woman.

  “You let him wash himself?” she asked, her voice tinged with anger.

  “He would not let me,” replied the other woman.

  “You seek to test us?” said the first woman looking at Gerard.

  “I’m not testing you,” he replied calmly. “I just come from a different culture where we wash ourselves.” He wasn’t sure if this was the culture of the Ta’zu or whether it was just a privilege of the Palace, but he didn’t know how else to put it.

  “Supreme Mistress Sylestra will be very angry with us for allowing such a thing,” said the first woman as she approached the bath.

  “I will explain it to her, she’ll understand.” Gerard wasn’t sure whether Sylestra would understand or not, but he wanted to calm down these women who appeared quite agitated.

  “You are the supreme mistress’s current partner. You need the full treatment or she will be angry.” Gerard had no idea that a sparring partner would be treated so well. The women’s agitation had him thinking that perhaps they may be in trouble if he didn’t allow them to do their duty so he relented and let them wash his upper body and oil his hair.

  Once he was sufficiently clean, he stepped out of the water and allowed a woman to wrap the robe around him. The other woman escorted him down a short passageway and into a small room with a low burning fire in the far wall. A number of padded, wooden chairs were lined up facing the fireplace with two more scantily clad women standing behind them with towels in their hands. All the chairs were vacant which told Gerard that either the others he had seen earlier leaving the bathing area had been dried already and left, or there were more rooms such as this.

  The woman escort left him at the door and the two orc guards took up positions on either side as the women with the towels beckoned him forward. Gerard walked around the chairs and sat down on one that had a woman behind it. When he was seated she began drying his hair, while the other woman started drying his lower legs. Gerard prevented her from going too far up, saying the fire would dry him soon enough.

  Once his hair had been dried, the woman produced a brush from a drawer positioned against the wall and began brushing his thick, shoulder-length brown hair. The other woman collected a small metal bowl of shaving soap, a brush and a shaving knife. She started brushing the shaving soap generously over his shaggy haired face. When the woman had finished brushing his hair, the other woman began shaving him skilfully with the sharp knife.

  By the time Gerard left that room, his hair had been brushed to perfection leaving it shiny and wavy; his face closely shaved and a soothing balm rubbed into it; his fingernails and toenails trimmed and filed and he had been lightly sprayed all over with a masculine smelling fragrance. He felt like a member of the royal family.

  In the next room he was given clean clothing to wear — a silk, golden button down shirt with black velvet pants along with some softly padded indoor shoes. He felt ridiculous. How could he be returned to the dungeon like this? He’d be a laughing stock forever after among the men and dwarves.

  Once the women had fussed over him enough and were finally content with what they saw, the two orc guards led him to a cozy dining room. Heavy drapes covered the windows allowing no sunlight to penetrate. The dining table had a golden candelabrum in its centre holding three burning candles. Taller candelabra stood in the corners of the room casting a flickering light. Gerard had no idea what time of day it was, so perhaps the sun had already gone down, although he didn’t think they had sparred for that long.

  He was shown to his seat at one end of the small table. Once he sat down, the orcs took up position guarding the door they had entered in. Gerard had a look about the table and quickly realised it had only been set for two.

  He was some time sitting there silently, feeling the eyes of the orc guards burning into the back of his head, before Supreme Mistress Sylestra entered. Gerard turned at the sound of the door opening and had to stop his jaw from dropping to the floor.

  Her dress was made of black silk and hung off her right shoulder, while her long, shiny black hair draped over the other. The diamonds shaped like a rearing snake on the front of the dress caught the yellow candlelight and reflected it hypnotically around the room. The tight fitting dress flared out at the bottom and when Sylestra turned to dismiss the guards, the dress was almost entirely backless and a short train dragged on the floor behind her.

  Colourful makeup enhanced the alluring beauty of her face; her luscious lips were a bright red while purple and blue surrounded her turquoise coloured
eyes with a thin black line appearing to elongate them. Long pointy fingernails had also been painted the same red as her lips.

  Once the orcs had left the room and closed the door behind them, Sylestra elegantly and seductively walked over and sat down at the other end of the dining table.

  “I thought your custom was to rise when royalty were on their feet around you,” said Sylestra with a crooked smile.

  “What do you know of our customs?” asked Gerard once he had caught his breath back.

  “A lot more than you may be aware, but I will forgive your discourtesy this once.” Sylestra picked up a small brass bell off the table and rang it.

  “I’m honoured, my lady.” Gerard noticed Sylestra’s face flinch at his choice of title.

  “You can still not call me supreme mistress after our day together and the treatment you received at my request?”

  Women carrying small platters of food hurried out of a side door.

  “You still have my friends locked up in your dungeons. Forgive me if I choose not to see you as anything other than an enemy.” Gerard’s voice was somewhat strained as he thought of his friends’ discomforts after what they had already endured.

  “I have given them a choice. They will come to view me as more of a saviour than an enemy in time.” The smell of hot food wafted past Gerard’s nostrils and he immediately realised how hungry he was.

  “I highly doubt that. And what of me?”

  The women continued to place platters along with a large tureen delicately on the table, seemingly ignoring the tense conversation.

  “You have the same choice, of course. You can forget about your old life and your old world and serve me and be highly rewarded for it.”

  “Soup, my lord?” asked a serving women courteously. Gerard turned to regard her and nodded, allowing her to fill his bowl while he continued his discussion.

  “You want me to forget about my old life? I have a son who likely thinks me dead. How do I just forget about that? If you had children you’d understand. I can’t just forget about him.” Gerard’s voice was raised and it echoed off the stone walls.