Thrall

by Steven Shrewsbury

  Again, La Gaul walked through his mind. He cursed the old man for his very presence. “Why here and now? Bah, a curse on you, La Gaul, from all the demons in Hell and in the name of Almighty God himself. You’re a weathered, broken elderly man. You cannot stop my dreams or destiny now.”

  He stopped walking and talking, for if anything he was practical. It occurred to him that he was not fully convinced the old warrior held no threat.

  Looking across the foundry production floor, he spat. “God damn you all.”

  *****

  General Tolin rode back to his army. He understood their progress was measured and had inched along since he left, per his orders. However, he expected to find them more advanced than he did when Tolin rode west of Khabnur.

  Reining his horse in, Tolin looked all over for his forces, knowing they were near from the firelights reflecting off the clouds in the distance. “Where are they? Why have they not advanced?”

  “I’m sure there is a good reason, General,” Captain Karter said.

  “There better be.” Tolin brooded and kicked his mount.

  As he rode on, he recalled the dreamy communion he felt during the ceremony. A smile played on his hideous mouth, thinking of the tune in his head from the being who touched his mind.

  “Father of the dragons is going to love you

  Fulfill your dreams, your nightmares too

  Give you an embrace that is going to last.

  Wrapped in his wings and claws so fast

  Now they all, fly on

  ‘Neath the moon, stars and the sun.

  They all fly on

  Searching for one more soul to be won!”

  They were a few miles from the army when the pickets met them. Karter pointed at the ground and sighed. “By the looks of it, they advanced a ways and had a run in with another force. Small, but enough to get their attention.”

  Tubal looked around as well. “A minor skirmish stopped the army from advancin’.”

  Tolin saw what they meant. There were large prints left by another set of pickets, feeling out the army of Nosmada. However, these prints were not those of horses. They were large, deep, and round.

  “Barbarians,” Tolin said like a curse word. “They probably would draw glee that one of their own is known unto the mind of Nosmada. Oh yes, blood kin of the aged barbarian fighter Brock is amongst them. What do they care if we kill a few people? They decided to ride south and arm themselves and attack us just out of spite. Don’t they know they are walking into a bloodbath?”

  Tubal dismounted, looking at the heavy tracks then at the general. “It is a good thing we have those steel weapons in Syn.”

  “To Hell with a bunch of barbarian dolts,” Tolin said, looking north. “I have played a rather important card. I can feel lives seething out of the earth. Those damned barbarians always talk of their kindred and how everything is in the blood. We shall see about that, eh? We will see whose blood is superior.”

  In the distance, thunder rolled…or was it laughter?

  *****

  Ringing out a rag in a basin, Gorias finished his bathing ritual. Seldom did he remove all of his armor as he did now in the high room of the whorehouse. In-between swipes, he took draws from a tall flagon filled with wine. The scent of Madam Wilkens still lingered in her private bedchamber. He drank to this and to her memory.

  Sitting on the luxurious bed, he looked at his armor all laid out on the dresser, cabinet, and floor. After he ran a rough skinned hand over his scarred chest, he realized how vulnerable he was to an attack without his armor on. Early in life he wore little covering. Now, he felt death close by without the dragon skin near to his own.

  When a soft knock came to the door, he said, “Perhaps that is death now.”

  The door latch clicked and the wooden structure swung inward. Gorias gripped the handle of his heavy dagger, but relaxed at the sight of Kayla Rhan.

  Carrying a tray, she shrugged. “I wondered if you wanted some food. We found some jerked beef and nuts still edible.” She sat the tray on the desk beside his armor. Pausing, she looked at the dragon skin then at him.

  Gorias stood up, naked as the day he was born. “Thank you, sister.”

  She gave his body the once over. By the lack of trail dust and radiant skin, Kayla looked to have taken a bath since they arrived as well.

  “You aren’t too proud, are you?”

  Gorias dropped to the bed and swung his legs back onto it. “I ceased being that way a long time ago, dear. I’m not quite dead yet.”

  She stood beside him. “Are you warm enough? Can I fetch you more blankets?”

  He closed his eyes and sighed. “I’ll survive. Damn place is getting mildewed. Like everything else, this house is rotting away.”

  “How is your back?”

  “You mean from the ride here or for the ride I was expecting to get?”

  She laughed lightly. “I never knew if you could do that much anymore. From what you said before, I mean, you were more of a lay back and enjoy kind, you know…”

  “I enjoyed what didn’t require me to use my back?” Gorias chuckled, jaw raised confidently. “It still works, kid. My back and everything else.”

  “I’m no kid.”

  The back of his hand touched her bare thigh. It was soft and his thumb rubbed it. She didn’t draw away.

  “That you are not.”

  She reached behind her neck and undid the clasp there. Her full breasts fell free, but not very far. Still youthful, they held their place as she shoved her tunic off her body. Sliding down her undergarment, she let her hands touch the sides of her waist. It was a peculiar move, but one performed to stop her hands from shaking.

  Gorias watched her curiously, saying nothing.

  She climbed onto the bed then placed herself between his legs. Her hands ran up his thighs. Her lips quivered and Kayla’s arms shook.

  “What are you doing?” Gorias sat up, eye to eye with her.

  She leaned close to his face as one hand gripped his hard manhood. “Hopefully, not making a fool of myself.” He touched her hand on himself and it stopped shaking so much.

  “Easy, dear,” he said gently.

  Their lips met as her arm flexed, making him eager. Kayla’s breath quickened when their tongues met. She looked down as she worked him and her eyes glowed. Kissing him again, harder this time, she pressed her nipples to his rough chest. His strong hands ran up her belly and to her bosom. She stroked his long self against her belly.

  Gorias thought the tough, hard-edged girl felt as soft as silk in his hands.

  He then lay back and let her do as she wished. Her dark hair splayed about his midsection. She groaned deep as if a climax came to her before any of it started. In time, she climbed atop of him and discovered if his back still worked or not.

  *****

  In the dead of night, sounds at the side of the house roused Maddox La Gaul. Bolting out of the bed, he grabbed the handle of the heavy broadsword he’d obtained that day. Slipping into the side exit of the looming house, he looked across the connection to the stables.

  Heavy footsteps approached from behind. “You placed the mounts in the stables after we entered, correct?”

  With a stifled yawn, Tammas replied, “Yeah. Why?”

  “It’s a tad more active out there than I care for.”

  Tammas watched Maddox with a frown as the grandson of Gorias returned to the kitchen area. In this spot they had stored much of their gear. He put the huge sword down and reached for his own. After strapping this weapon to his side, he looked at his grandfather’s materials.

  “What is it?”

  “Bring your bow and back me up,” Maddox said, yet never made a move to the side door. Instead, he grabbed two handles out of Gorias’ pack. Both youths blinked at the same time, half expecting to see
the famed gleaming swords of the fable. Instead, these two swords, well made of steel and perhaps the same size as Gorias’ blades, were common weapons.

  “Why does he have those?” Tammas said, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

  “I can’t understand him all of the time. Come along. I can’t swing a broadsword in a stable.”

  “Why…”

  Maddox leered at Tammas. His blue eyes burned with the same fire as his grandfather.

  Brandishing the two swords, he stepped lightly out the side door and crept into the stable. Glancing back to make sure Tammas had an arrow notched, he moved forward.

  Between the slats in the boards, he could see two men inside. They were beginning to lead the horses out when Maddox stepped into the moonlight. Scraping the swords against each other, he said, “Deliverance will come.”

  One of the men was dressed in heavy leathers and armed. This one jumped at the surprise and went for his weapon. Before he could draw it out, Maddox slashed the air with the swords, striking the man’s wrist. As the hand went tumbling into the straw and his scream split the night. His backstroke hit more flesh. Once the blade crossed the man’s throat, he screamed no more.

  The other man in the stable was much smaller and cried out in terror when he heard Maddox words. He fell beside Gorias’ great white horse and broke wind. Terrified of his death, he vented his bowels.

  “Not La Gaul,” the man mumbled and stood up.

  Maddox smiled. “There you are wrong.” He turned to Tammas. “What is the crime for horse thieves?”

  Tammas swallowed as the grandson of Gorias la Gaul continued to smile.

  Once back in their rooms, Maddox settled in to rest. He knew that no one would disturb the mounts again, not after the warning he placed outside the stables.

  Tammas peeped in. “Did you have to do that? Was it necessary to hang him up, headless, by the stable with the horse thief sign on his chest?”

  “Yes.”

  CHAPTER XIII

  Rhan’s Request

  *

  Kayla lay beside Gorias all through the night. His huge arm wrapped around her while she nestled her head close to him, hand on his scarred chest. Certainly not the first time the warrior had held a contented young woman next to his body, but he found himself happy she proved true to her outward nature and never spoke a word afterwards. As with most females he knew, he assumed she’d want to converse and share emotions after the act concluded. No, not this one, he thought. She expressed her feelings and downright worship of him during the session. He then stroked her hair, thinking of how she burst into tears during orgasm, screaming out she loved him. He believed her. She was something he seldom found--something that scared him. But as with most things he feared, he would never stay close long enough for it to hurt him.

  Damn, he thought, she made me think of emotions after the act…

  Still, the arms of sleep came unto him and he drifted away. Deep fell the slumber, but his dreams were seldom blissful. Gorias dreamt he was a young man again, sitting in a tavern with the enigmatic Ezran Gavreel. While he drank bitter beer, the stranger Ezran downed honey mead.

  “They are burning that beautiful woman at the stake,” Ezran said, gesturing at the open windows of the saloon.

  The tavern owner had thrown open the shutters to reveal an act of execution outside. A grubby man ordered many on the exterior deck to sit down so the tavern goers could enjoy the view without rising.

  Beyond the high stake and pile of corded wood arose the serene mountains of Cilicia. The snow-capped peaks, a sight Gorias hadn’t seen in centuries, looked down across the tangled growth of glens surrounding the edge of the hamlet. The stabbing stake couldn’t spoil the beauty of those mountains. Gorias could feel cool wind on his beard.

  “Oh, the black widow?” he said, watching the town guards drop torches and the flames spread. “She killed every husband she ever had and a few that never married her.”

  “The very same.”

  “She deserves to die.”

  Ezran raised an eyebrow and took a drink. “You slept with her?”

  Gorias drummed his fingers on the table then nodded. “Of course. It was long ago.”

  “And you feel nothing watching her go to the flames?”

  Gorias swished the contents of his drink. “I wish they’d close the damned shutters and block out the cold.”

  “Interesting set of ethics you have.”

  “If I cared for every woman who said she loved me, I’d have to grow an extra heart.”

  Ezran smiled. “That would give you one and a half then?”

  “Stop right there or I’ll tell you how much the mountains look like teats.”

  The curses then screams of the black widow sounded out while Gorias motioned for another drink.

  Ezran reflected with curiosity, “I wonder why she killed so many men? Just to gain a living from their estates? Why then the string of murders of clients and others?”

  An ample chested wench refilled Gorias’ mug. “You ask so that you can tell me. She was a crazy woman. So many are, but then not many males of the species are stable, either.”

  “Most work at things in life, even if it is a bad thing,” Ezran said. “Thieves, murderers, men at arms, or even farmers. They have goals or quests, you understand? They have rituals, strategies, and endings planned out. A free spirit as yourself, you must chart for the future at times.”

  “At times.”

  “Even an unbalanced individual keeps going after his or her goal to make life bearable. It keeps a person alive to keep fighting for something or someone. That struggle, that fight for a goal, is the point in their existence. Once they reach their goal many go to pieces, my friend.”

  “You think too much,” Gorias said. “I’m at peace, even if that squirrelly cunt is afire out there. I’m making good money based on my victories and reputation. Someday, they’ll come for me in droves. Ridding the world of bad men is good work and a task I’m not soon to run out of stock for.”

  That day faded, falling under the crush of many other days and other death screams. The choir of slit, gaping throats singing his name, was a familiar sight if not a favorite he awoke to often. Like the name of the smoldering black widow, these images grew fuzzy in time and faded until they lost their ability to induce emotion.

  He awoke feeling himself in the mouth of Kayla. Her determination demanded he arrive as he soon did, somewhat angered he couldn’t recall most of the waking act. Gorias blinked and fell back into slumber. It didn’t last long.

  A great many scenes flooded his dreaming moments. Centuries of life and many faces he wished would never return often assailed him. This time he awoke to a fully clothed Kayla Rhan shaking him.

  “You must arise and get dressed,” she said with desperation in her voice. “My mother is outside!”

  “Damn, sister, I’m a little old to worry about a line like that.”

  Gorias coughed as he swung his legs out of the bed. In his nostrils lingered the smell of Kayla, the smoke of spent candles, and the mysterious scent of sawdust & stale ale.

  Her hand on her belt, she wore a wry smile and said. “I will go and speak with her. Lira’s guards are amused by Tammas morning songs.”

  “Glad someone is.” Gorias he rubbed his eyes. “They wake me up. I prefer your method, though.”

  He donned his clothing and dragon skinned armor in thrice the amount of time it used to take him. He then washed his face, over and over. After going downstairs to perform his morning necessities, he joined the group outside.

  Lira’s sour frown showed her displeasure. The tall woman stood with a compliment of guards bearing helmets, shields, and corselets, plus a half dozen hard-eyed looking men Gorias guessed as mercenaries.

  Hands on her hips, wrapped in her usual aloofness, Lira Rhan glared at him. Her gua
rds seemed to hold their breath as the legendary warrior strode out of the whorehouse.

  “I am unaccustomed to waiting, Lord La Gaul.”

  “Yeah, and I’m not used to be roused this early without sex involved. If it’s a fight you want, we may as well get it over with. Need I remind you of how your last visit to this place turned out?”

  These words from La Gaul made Maddox and Tammas exchange a glance and nearly run for the whorehouse. Gorias could see by the lazy manner of Kayla that she had assessed the troops and felt no malice in them.

  Maddox frowned at Tammas, who trembled openly.

  Lira stepped away from her guards and looked at her daughter. “No need for violence. I see my daughter is alive after this venture with the Cult of Wyss.”

  Gorias leaned on the hitching post nearest him and sighed. “Nothing gets by you in the morning does it, lady?”

  At his words, the guards and mercs broke into smiles. Truly, they weren’t used to seeing their superior treated in such a way. Gorias wasn’t positive if any of these men were amongst those who met him before, but knew what power his celebrity carried. These men would forget how tired Gorias looked and recall his taunts and armor more than anything else.

  “I hear the rising of Wyss was broken up. For that, our leader is appreciative.” Two of the guards brought forth horses laden with supplies and many bags. “There are goods and gold enough to make even you happy, La Gaul.”

  “Well, thank you kindly. It wasn’t all us, but we will take the payment.”

  Lira stepped toward him. “I have heard the tale of the rising and how General Tolin and his men appeared at the site.”

  Gorias frowned, inhaled the damp air. “That so? How do you come by this information?”

  “One of Tolin’s loyal troopers drinks too much,” she said, raising an eyebrow. “He let his tongue get loose and told the tale in town.”

  Gorias rubbed his chin, scratching the heavy beard there. “What the hell are they still doing away from the army of Nosmada? It isn’t a wonder they aren’t at your fore-gates by now?”