Minutes later, as he finished gingerly climbing down from the roof top, he cautiously walked in the direction that he expected to intercept Cassius, Pesino, Kate, and Asterion’s path, wearing his under clothes and carrying his sword and battered pack.
He came around a corner, moving faster than he had before, as the spring water’s power repaired the injury his ankle had suffered. Just feet away was the approaching group of friends; they were startled by his appearance, and Asterion raised his fist menacingly before realizing who he faced.
“Marco! Where are your clothes?” Pesino asked immediately. “That was one of my favorite dresses!”
“I left it on the roof of a building back there,” Marco pointed with his sword.
“How did you get here? Where are those soldiers?” Cassius asked.
“I used my powers,” Marco answered briefly. “They won’t bother us. Let’s go west and find sanctuary.”
“And clothes,” Kate added with a smile.
The reunited group continued on, dodging around obstacles and dangers, hearing the sounds of conflict growing louder and closer throughout the city.
“Stop here,” Marco cautioned when they reached a crossroads. There were random groups of men running down the street, looters taking advantage of the growing lawlessness in the city. As Marco’s group watched, a squad of black clad soldiers went marching past at double speed, heading east, and ignoring all the chaos that was evident around them.
“It’s getting dangerous,” Asterion said softly.
“Look, who are they?” Kate asked, as a group of soldiers in blue uniforms appeared.
“Those are from Barcelon!” Marco smiled as he spoke. “If they’ve gotten all the way here to this side of the city, we must be winning the battle!
“Let’s keep going,” he suggested as the Barcelon soldiers continued their pursuit of the retreating men from Docleatae’s army.
Fifteen minutes later, Marco – now walking with only a trace of a limp – and his friends reached a large group of soldiers from Barcelon and Marseals. Several of the Barcelonan officers recognized Marco; he was given a uniform and then he and his friends were escorted back around the city to where the headquarters were set up in a large mercantile warehouse near the harbor.
“Our hero!” Duke Siplin shouted as he looked up from a map-covered table that several people were studying.
“Welcome back, my lord,” he told Marco, breaking away from the other leaders of the invasion to come grab Marco warmly by the shoulders.
“Who are your guests?” he asked. “Is everyone well? We saw your men take control of the Acropolis. And we heard you fought an extraordinary battle against the greatest, most powerful sorcerer for the Docleatae.”
“You’ve done very well, Marco,” Iasco spoke up, suddenly emerging from the crowd around the table of maps; her small size had hidden her from view. “And now, thanks to this victory, you are about to embark on an even greater adventure.”
Chapter 6
“Bring your friends and let’s go someplace to chat,” Iasco directed Marco. “Have we taken many prisoners yet?” she asked one of the officers who was studying the maps of the city.
“We are apparently collecting large numbers in the northern part of the city. They got cut off from the escape route in the south,” the man responded.
“Hold on to some of them,” Iasco said. “Come along,” she said to Marco, and she swept out of the large storage space they were in. Marco observed a pair of women detach themselves from spots around the exterior of the leadership group and silently glide over to escort Iasco. And then he saw the translucent image of Mitment come into his focus as she stepped away from a dim corner where she had positioned herself.
“Don’t keep the lady waiting, heroic sorcerer,” she said as she waved to Marco, then took her spot in the group that was walking away.
Marco looked at Duke Siplin. “Excuse me my lord, but Lady Iasco calls,” he apologized.
“I wouldn’t wait as long as you’re waiting to follow her, if Iasco had summoned me,” the leader of Barcelon said with a grin. “Get along now; we’ll have time to talk later.”
Marco and his friends went after Iasco, and after a short walk she turned into an office, a room that had a window facing inward towards the storage space that the army now occupied, as well as a window that looked towards the city street outside the building.
“So who do we have here, Marco?” Iasco asked. “Won’t you introduce us?”
“These were my companions on the quest to gain a scale from the Echidna,” Marco replied.
“Lady Iasco, chief priestess of the Cult of Ophiuchus, may I introduce Pesino and Asterion,” he motioned to the pair, “and Kate and Cassius,” he motioned to his other friends. “We met Asterion along the way.”
“So she’s your other wife?” Mitment asked.
Marco looked at the spirit, as it dawned on him that he was in fact now married to two women. “But that doesn’t really count,” he protested.
“What doesn’t really count?” Kate asked.
“Oh, are you talking to Mitment?” Iasco asked. “It’s so good for her to have a companion who can see her for a little while again.
“Who’s Mitment?” Asterion asked.
“She’s not as pretty as Mirra, but she’s an attractive woman without a doubt. You’ll be pretty busy with the two of them to keep happy,” Mitment told him.
“What is she teasing you about now?” Iasco asked. “I can see by your expression that she has managed to rattle you.”
“Who is she talking about?” Cassius asked.
“There’s a spirit in the room, one who cares for Iasco and Marco very much,” Pesino said calmly.
“That’s not true!” Mitment nearly shouted. “She can’t say that about me!”
“Our friend, Marco, is the Marquess of Sant Jeroni,” Lady Iasco turned to the four visitors. “And now that I reflect on the name Pesino, and see what a lovely woman you are, I am reminded about something in Marco’s story, something related to the golden collar around his neck.”
“Oh my word,” Pesino said, as she turned bright red.
“I’ve never seen you blush before,” Asterion commented. “What’s got you so rattled?”
“Come here, the two of you,” Iasco motioned to Marco and Pesino.
She took Pesino’s left hand and Marco’s golden right one, then placed the two together. Marco laced his fingers between Pesino’s and squeezed them tight, as he smiled at his friend. Iasco placed one of her hands on top of the others, and her other hand beneath them, squeezing them together.
“By the power vested in me as the priestess of Ophiuchus, I sunder the ties that bind the two of you together. May you each find happiness in the other relationships you enjoy,” the priestess intoned solemnly, as Marco and Pesino each felt a gentle pricking in their hands.
“Okay, so you’re not a bigamist anymore,” Mitment said to Marco.
Marco ignored her, as he turned to face Pesino, whose hand he still held.
“You will always be my favorite first wife,” he said solemnly as they wrapped their arms around one another and hugged tightly. He felt a small portion of genuine sadness at the loss of the vestige of a relationship with the fascinating woman.
“I’ll always be glad I met you Marco; who knew we’d end up like this when Neptin assigned me to accompany you?” She replied with a soft laugh.
“What is this about?” Asterion asked.
Pesino and Marco released their clinch, and she stepped back to take Asterion’s hand. “We ended up getting married to meet some peculiar local requirements in Fortburg, dear. Nothing ever happened other than we were good friends, and Marco got to wear that torq,” she explained.
“Now,” Iasco spoke up, “things are happening quickly, and I’ll need to send Marco on his next assignment. What would your friends like for us to do with them, Marco?”
“What do you mean?” Marco asked, as confused by
the question as the others were.
“Do they want to stay here in Athens? Can we help them settle in? Would they like to go back to some other city? We can provide transportation for them,” Iasco explained.
“Why don’t you send Pesino to live in Barcelon? That way Mirra will know your first wife is always close by,” Mitment suggested.
“Let’s all go back to the Lion City,” Kate proposed. “I’ve got friends there, and we can all find jobs. It’s a safe city, and there are canals and all kinds of beauty.”
Pesino looked at Asterion. “I remember it a little bit. It would be a pleasant city to live in,” she agreed.
“The Duke will help you get settled,” Marco vouched for the city, slightly relieved that Pesino would not be in Barcelon, within Mirra’s awareness. “Count Colonna would be happy to help you too,” he added.
“We’ll make arrangements for everyone to be placed on a ship to go to the Lion City,” Iasco settled the matter. “It will be a few days before we depart, so you’ll have time to gather your belongings and prepare to make the transition.
“Now, if all of you will please say farewell to Marco, I need to have a few words with him, then send him on his way,” she said.
“Where are you going Marco?” Kate asked.
“I’ll discuss that after you leave,” Iasco answered, hinting that it was time for the friends to depart.
“We just got to see you, and we’re already being separated; this is sad,” Pesino said. All the travelers gathered around Marco in a group embrace.
“Thank you for rescuing and taking care of me,” Marco said. “I’m so glad to know that you’re alive, and I’ll come see you someday in the Lion City, I promise.”
“Gallene, show these folks to the Lion City encampment, and find rooms and arrangements for them under my name. Make sure the guards know they are our guests; I’ll talk to the Lion City leaders later to settle things further. Thank you all for the help you’ve given Golden Hand,” Iasco said as she dismissed the guests.
Marco watched them depart with mixed feelings. He’d had little time to talk to his friends; he was glad to know they were alive, but he wished he could have learned something else about them.
He stopped looking out the window as they disappeared into the crowds that were walking upon the street, and he turned to see Iasco scrutinizing him intently.
“Come to me Golden Hand,” she said softly, opening her arms and drawing him into a tight hug. “You won this battle for us. When you defeated their strongest sorcerer and placed your men up on the Acropolis, you broke their spirit,” she told him. She tightened her hug upon him for two long seconds, then released him.
“Have a seat, my son,” she pointed to a chair, then studied him further once he sat down. Her voice had a poignant tone.
“What is it, Lady?” Marco asked, uncomfortable under her scrutiny.
“Does Mitment have anything she wishes to tell me?” Iasco asked.
Marco looked over at the spirit. “Things have been easier than expected since the war began,” she responded as she shook her head.
Marco looked up at Iasco and grinned. “She said she’s delighted to be reunited with me; my presence makes all the difference to her. She’s happier now.”
“How could you say that?” Mitment screeched.
“I expected that would be her reaction,” Iasco said calmly.
“Lura,” Iasco turned to the other guard who remained in the room. “I want you to go find a dead soldier from Docleatae, and bring him back to me. He needs to be just a little larger than Marco, and I want his uniform. Oh, and he should have a complexion as close to Marco’s coloring as you can find. Would you go fetch one, please?” Iasco told the girl, whose eyebrows shot up at the request, before she silently left the room and disappeared into the crowd in the street outside.
“What is a dead soldier going to do?” Marco asked.
Iasco walked over to Marco, and placed her fingertips on his temples, as he looked up at her.
“You are going to go to sleep now, Marco,” she said softly. “Your eyes are going to close, and you are going to breathe slowly, as you fall asleep.”
Marco felt a tingle in his scalp, and his eyes closed, as he reacted to the powerful suggestion that Iasco implanted.
Mitment stared in surprise, and stepped closer to watch.
“Marco, when you wake up, you will be a prisoner from the army of Docleatae, captured on the north side of town; you will remember nothing of your life in the Lion City or Barcelon, or any place else you’ve been in the past year. You will be with the other soldiers who are prisoners being returned to Docleatae; you will speak their language as your own. You are to make sure that you can return to Foulata, the capital of the king. Find a way to get there.
“You are a poor country boy from a village in Rurita, who joined the army to give your family money. You were injured in the battle and don’t remember anything, Golden Hand,” she explained.
“But once you get to Foulata, if you hear my voice call your name, you will remember everything, and you will know what to do,” she finished, and removed her fingers from his head.
“What are you doing to him, my lady?” Mitment softly asked, wishing that she could make herself heard by Iasco.
Iasco stood still, looking down at Marco, shaking her head slowly from time to time, before she left him and walked to the window, where she looked out, wiped tears from her eyes, and stared into space until her guards returned an hour later, one of them hauling a dead body over her shoulder.
Chapter 7
“Strip the uniform off him, and give me your sword,” Iasco said in a flat tone to Lura. The woman immediately removed her blade from her scabbard and handed it to Iasco without comment, then knelt by the dead man and methodically stripped off his uniform.
“Let me see the body,” Iasco said, then made the guards gasp as she lifted the dead man’s right arm and methodically sliced the flesh just above the wrist.
“You don’t have to watch this if you don’t want to,” Iasco told the women.
“What, what are you doing, my lady?” one of them timidly asked.
Iasco nimbly flipped the blade about and made a series of incisions. She put the sword down, then covered the carved flesh with her own hands. There was a low hum, and a dim glow, then Iasco easily peeled the skin from the man’s hand as though it were a glove.
“Golden Hand’s hand is golden, as his names implies, and as you’ve noticed no doubt. It needs to be covered so that his identity is not discovered,” Iasco explained. She lifted the right arm of the unconscious Marco, then released it so that it floated in air, while she raised the ghastly covering and laid it atop his enchanted hand. Iasco waved her hand over Marco’s, and the skin from the dead soldier adhered to Marco instantly, covering the golden flesh that marked him as unique.
She picked up the sword and lightly scored Marco’s scalp, then rubbed it to make blood run onto his forehead. She looked at him carefully, then reached down to his wrist and carefully removed the silver bracelet he wore, the wedding gift that had been given to him by Mirra at Sant Jeroni on their wedding day; she smiled a sad smile momentarily.
“Now, let this sword become unnoticeable, not worth observing by anyone who looks at Marco, not worth spending any time on if it is noticed,” she added as she momentarily grasped the sword while she clasped Marco’s concealed golden hand.
“Here, take him to where the prisoners are kept, and leave him with them,” Iasco told her two guards as she released her hold on him and stepped away. “Slap his face hard when you’re ready to leave, and he’ll wake up,” she instructed. “Now take him and go,” she told them, giving an order, and the two women immediately did as instructed. Iasco walked over to open the door and held it for them, and stood watching them for a long time, even after they were out of sight.
When she finally closed the door and stepped back into the room, Mitment saw a tear running down her cheek.
/> “Pray that he remains alive, Mitment,” Iasco said to her unseen guardian. “Though if we ever see him again it will likely mean that one or more of us is about to die.”
Chapter 8
When Marco woke up, he was sitting in the dirt and his cheek was stinging. He momentarily saw the backside of a pair of women walking away, and then the crowd blocked his view and a man next to him was softly kicking him in the thigh.
“Get up off the ground,” the man told him.
Marco looked up in a daze. The sun was overhead, behind the man’s head, leaving Marco blind to any details of his appearance, other than the black uniform he wore, the same uniform that the dozens of men milling around wore. He pushed himself up and stood, looking around again.
The man who had spoken to him was gone. There were guards stationed all around the group of men in black, guards who wore yellow uniforms and carried long pikes with wicked looking blades at their tops.
“What’s your name? What unit were you in?” a man spoke to Marco.
“My name’s Marco. I don’t remember my unit,” he said.
“Looks like he got hit in the head,” another man said, pointing to the dried blood that streaked his forehead and hair. “Where are you from?”
“I think I’m from Rurita?” Marco asked more than he answered. The place name sounded right, and yet it didn’t for some reason.
“I’ve heard of it; didn’t know we had anyone from there in the army,” the man told him. “I’m Wilh; this is Bram. We’re part of the Davec unit, not terribly far from Rurita,” the man said as he motioned towards the first soldier who had spoken to Marco.
“That’s a mighty shiny necklace you have there,” another prisoner spoke to Marco. “Is that gold?”
“Gold?” Wilh said scornfully. “The boy’s from Rurita; there’s no gold there!”
The Southern Trail (Book 4) Page 4
