by W. D. Newman
CHAPTER 6
BELLATOR
Warm winds, coming off the hills to the north, brought with them the smell of lavender. No matter where you were in Faerie, there was always a pleasant fragrance in the air and each of the twelve major cities had their own distinct aroma. The calm, relaxing scent of lavender meant that they were nearing Jupiter. Since the capture at the capitol city of Venus, Bellator had been moving at a relentless clip to make it to his namesake city. They had travelled all day and through the night. It was a welcome site when they crested the final hill and the great metropolis sprang up before them. However, Jupiter was not as Bellator remembered it. The soaring white structures with the blue slate roofs were unchanged, but thick stone battlements had been raised around the perimeter of the buildings. Marcus knew that Bellator would return one day. Venus foretold of it in his mystical final prophecy. Marcus also knew that Bellator was too prideful to rule from the capital city and that, upon his return, he would establish his throne in the city he had helped build over a millennium ago. The elves had not been idle during that millennium; the ramparts were thick enough for twelve horsemen to ride abreast and stood fifty feet above the cobbled streets. All of the trees and shrubs had been removed from around the outside perimeter so that no one could approach undetected. A solitary horn blared from the south watch tower. They had been spotted.
“They think to keep me out with walls?” Bellator asked with amusement.
Marcus studied the immortal standing at his side. At nine feet, Bellator was two feet taller than Venus. The thick shock of dark hair that hung about his massive shoulders framed a handsome face with black soulless eyes that never blinked.
“We know that we can never defeat you,” Marcus answered. “Of the twelve, you are truly the greatest. Therefore, you will find no armies here to stand before you; only walls.”
“Come then, let us see; how strong are the gates of Jupiter.”
They walked the rest of the distance to the city unchallenged. The horn had died away and an almost tranquil silence greeted them at the entrance, where they found the gates shut tight against them. The massive doors were fashioned from moonsilver; the strongest and most precious metal in all of Faerie. Bellator placed his palm against the double gated entrance and stood there quietly for several seconds, with his head cocked to the side as if he were listening for something. Then, with astonishing speed, he punched the fortified gates with his other hand. His huge fist crumpled the gates and tore them loose from the hinges that were buried deep within the stone jambs. The mangled gates flipped end over end as they tumbled down the main road leading into the city and crashed into a tall building at the end of the street. The building teetered on its crumbling foundation and then came crashing to the ground in a cascade of white stones and blue tiles. Bellator waited patiently for the dust to settle and Marcus stood quietly beside him. At last, Bellator spoke.
“Where is everyone?”
“They have fled to the hills and to other towns and cities. The horn was the final signal for the last few remaining here to leave. You have no one here, but me, to do your bidding.”
“That will change when Garrick arrives.”
“Perhaps.”
Bellator glanced down at Marcus, a faint trace of annoyance on his face. He started to reply and then stopped and studied the Keeper’s face.
Marcus could feel him probing his mind, seeking, searching, and looking for something. Did he know of the prophecy? What of Ben? Did he know of Camelot? He suspected that he did not, but nonetheless, he threw up a dark impenetrable wall in his mind to keep the Immortal out. This was the real reason the city was evacuated; to keep Ben a secret. The walls around the city were part of the plan for keeping Ben hidden from Bellator too. They were not built to keep the immortal out, but rather to keep everyone who might know something about Ben or Camelot away from him. Marcus could literally feel him on the other side of the barrier in his mind, pushing, trying to penetrate, and trying to seek out his innermost thoughts. Although he was no match for Bellator in physical strength, he was his equal when it came to the powers of the mind and they had to keep Ben, the prophecy, and Camelot secret at all costs; at least until the appointed time.
Finally, Bellator withdrew from his mind and marched off down the street, looking neither left nor right. Marcus hastily followed him through the twisting avenues as he made his way unerringly to the Council House in the center of the city. Each city had a Council House located in the center and all roads within the city eventually led to the Council House. The Council House was also the most magnificent building in each city and the personality and characteristics of the city’s founder were reflected in the architecture and style of the building. The Council House of Jupiter was enormous. A long flight of steps led up to a deep circular veranda that ran the perimeter of the entire structure. The fluted columns that framed the veranda and supported the domed roof were like ghostly redwoods; thick and tall, soaring up to dizzying heights. The ceiling of the dome had scenes from bygone years painted with vibrant colors and astounding detail. The actual building, which sat beneath the dome, had no roof; only walls, so that no matter where you were within the building, you could admire the mural and breathe the fresh air of Faerie. You could also enjoy the sweet aroma of lavender, borne on the gentle breezes that constantly blew through the city. The scented air had a calming and soothing effect on all who breathed it. Marcus often wondered if the Creator, in his wisdom, gave lavender to Jupiter because of Bellator’s warrior-like spirit. Whatever the case, it was one more advantage, however small, that they had in their corner and right now they needed every edge possible.
Bellator climbed the steps to the main entrance. He instructed Marcus to wait for him by the door as he disappeared into the building. A few minutes later he returned, carrying with him a great white throne that he positioned at the top of the stairs, facing out, so that he could look over the main roads that led to the inner city. He had fashioned the throne shortly after the founding of the city, but he never got the chance to use it. The Creator rebuked him for his pride and forbade him to sit upon it. The Creator also decided to leave the throne enshrined at the Council House as a reminder to the elves of the folly of pride.
“What now?” Marcus asked, as Bellator took his seat upon the throne.
“Now, we wait for Garrick to meet us,” Bellator answered.
“Garrick is not bringing the sword, Venus hid it away…”
“Venus gave it to you,” Bellator interrupted. “I caught a glimpse into his thoughts when his guard was down and I saw Excalibur hidden deep in his memories. It was difficult, but I got the truth from him. He resisted for many years and fought valiantly, but I won in the end. I always win, do I not?”
This news of an attack on Venus shocked him, but Marcus was able to maintain his composure. “Yes,” he answered, “you always win.” The Keeper’s mind was racing. Venus knew of Ben. He had even met Ben before he left Faerie to join the other Immortals. Had Bellator been able to pull that bit of information from his mind as well? Did he know of the final prophecy? If he did, he was doing a good job of concealing it. Marcus had no choice, but to assume that he did not know and to play along with whatever game the Immortal was playing. Like dragons, the future where Immortals were concerned was hidden from him. There were bits and pieces that occasionally came through, but they were quick flashes of the future, displayed for a fraction of a second and then snatched away. It was like being in a dark room on a stormy night; you can’t see anything until the lightning flashes and, when it does, you see everything in stark relief against the darkness for a split second and then it’s gone again. The future was difficult to discern when all of the possible paths were revealed in great detail, but it was impossible to discern with tiny bits and pieces. Not only was it impossible, it was also very dangerous. He felt the push against the wall in his mind again. This time it was a soft
probe; a single light touch. Bellator was checking to see if the barrier was still in place. After he withdrew, he spoke again.
“Your brother loves you and will do anything to save your life. He will find the sword and he will bring it to me.”
“You are making the assumption that my brother will be able to find the sword. If I was entrusted by Venus to guard the sword, do you think I would tell anyone, even my own brother, where I hid it?”
“No, I do not suspect you have told anyone. But I have faith in your brother’s ability.”
“As do I,” Marcus answered quietly.
Bellator turned and looked long at the Keeper. Marcus returned the stare for few seconds and then finally bowed his head in submission and humbly stepped back away from the Immortal. He did not think Bellator would kill him until he had retrieved the sword, but there was no sense in taking chances. His main role, as he saw it, was to keep Bellator alone and pacified until the others were able to retrieve Ben and deliver him here for the final showdown. The sword was long gone from Faerie and Camelot. Merlin had taken it to Earth with him centuries ago. Somehow, according to the prophecy, the sword would return. Also, if he interpreted the prophecy correctly, Merlin had a role to play in this as well, but he could not understand how, for Merlin was surely dead.
“You may go now, but do not attempt to leave the city. Although you can keep me from your thoughts, you cannot hide from me or shut me out entirely. I expect that Garrick will seek you out when he returns. Bring him straight to me as soon as he arrives.”
Marcus nodded. “Before I go, is there anything else you need?”
For a moment, Bellator looked puzzled. Then it dawned on him what Marcus was asking.
“I require no refreshment or rest. I will be sitting here when Garrick arrives. Bring him to me as instructed, whether he has the sword or not.”
Marcus bowed and left the Council House. He made his way to the south tower, where the watchers had sounded the alarm by trumpeting their arrival. However, the watchers were not left in the tower for the purpose of sounding an alarm. What good was an alarm to an empty city? No, the alarm was just a cover up. The watchers were really in place to take care of the city’s messengers and the south tower was chosen because of its strategic location. In order for Marcus to communicate with Garrick, he had to be as far away from Bellator as possible, because the greater the distance between him and the Immortal, the weaker the link between their minds. The south tower was the furthest structure from the Council House and everything, so far, was going according to plan.
Marcus flew up the stairs to the top level of the tower. Inside, in the center of the room, was a large planter with a columnar trellis that spiraled to the ceiling. A thick wooden vine climbed to the top of the trellis and arched over, spilling down to the ground like a weeping willow. The drooping limbs were laden with fragrant blooms of red and orange and, darting about the room, going from bloom to bloom, were dozens of brightly colored honey birds. Marcus crossed the room and sat at a small writing desk that was tucked into a corner by the window overlooking the main road. He retrieved a tiny quill and a small bottle of ink from the desk drawer. When he removed the stopper from the bottle, the fragrant aroma of honeysuckles quickly filled the air. He held out his finger and whistled quietly. The bird nearest him, a shimmering green bird with blue wings and a yellow breast darted over and lit upon his finger. Marcus gently grasped the bird with his other hand and laid it down upon its back next to the inkwell. The bird closed its eyes and made a soft purring noise that sounded much like a cat. The Keeper grasped one tiny wing and spread it out beside the bird. The feathers underneath the wing were thin and white, much like a piece of paper. Marcus dipped the quill into the bottle of ink and began to scribble marks across the bird’s wing. He would make a mark and move the wing, make another mark and move the wing. After several marks were applied, he would put the quill down and blow on the wing to dry the ink and then spread it out and make more marks. When he was finished, and the ink was dry, he examined the inside of the wing to make sure that the message was unreadable. When he was satisfied that it could not be read or deciphered upon close inspection, he picked the bird up and opened his palm. The tiny creature flew up into the rafters and the sweet aroma of apple blossoms filled the air. The honey bird lingered overhead for a brief moment and then zipped down to hover in front of the Keeper. As the tiny wings beat a rapid cadence, the marks on the underside of the wings formed a miniature message that was perfectly legible as long as the bird was in flight.
Marcus examined the message and, once satisfied with its content, opened the window beside the desk. He watched as the bird darted through the opening and disappeared in a brilliant flash of green and yellow. The ink on the bird’s wing was harmless and would vanish within a day or two. The ink was also scented with the aroma of the place where the bird was supposed to go. Plum blossoms was the aroma associated with the Merlin tree which was located about a half day’s ride from the lodge below Mount Gazafar; the last home of Venus and the mountain that overlooked the capital city. A mobile garrison had been erected near the tree and there were a battalion of elves stationed there that could ride into war at a moment’s notice. This message, however, was not stopping at the garrison. This message was going to Camelot. Things were in motion now. A showdown was coming.
*****
