Thrall

by Steven Shrewsbury

  “I think that the men with Tolin aren’t armed as such,” Gorias said. “They have wooden, obsidian, or bone weapons or primitive bronze arms. The art of being a blacksmith is hard to come by in their sector of the world. It’s a rare craft. However, the Foundry of Syn will be their strength. They’ll receive better arrows, swords, and shields. The barbarians are well armed with clubs, stone tools, and hard-ons. Usually, that’s enough for them to get by. However, against a trained army with steel, well, no.” He waved his arms as if to dismiss the city. “All of these mercenaries, damn, if they just had a show of force Tolin’s ranks would flinch. Most of the mercs are armed with steel acquired abroad.”

  Maddox looked at his grandfather with intensity. “What are you thinking?”

  His face toward the billowing smoke from the foundry, Gorias said, “Such a waste to squander so many lives. But it’s all about the blood, son. Tolin wants more blood for his master, no matter how conflicted he is within his heart.”

  Tammas spoke timidly, “Sir, who exactly is this Nosmada?”

  The words fell like a dead rat, and Gorias waited a long time before saying, “A man with a lot of murder on his hands. He wants something that I don’t think even a god can give. He’ll take down countless lives in search of it. Come along, you all. We need to ride before the rains start up heavy again. The sun is poking at the clouds. There’s enough light to ride by now”

  *****

  When the rain slackened, Tolin extolled his captains to start assembling the wagons. Though they knew this wasn’t the proper action in such weather, they obeyed fast. As they brought the carts out from under their heavy canvas covers, the rain started to fall again in earnest. Tolin went into a frenzy, but soon stopped his actions. He leered at the well-traveled roads getting wetter still. Stomping a boot and forcing the wet soil down, Tolin looked to the sky and cursed God to his face.

  Captain Karter motioned for the men to return the wagons to their places and they complied, glad that he would take the brunt of General Tolin’s wrath.

  Approaching Tolin, Karter bowed and said, “Sir, perhaps we can just detach the men and march to the foundry, carrying a round of the weapons? We shall cast away the weapons we have when we obtain the new ones. Who is there to assail our machines left behind? The barbarians have no use for them, and we can leave enough men to dig in fast in case of such an attack.”

  Tolin brooded silently.

  Karter pressed on. “The carts cannot pass on these roads. If we detach a great score of the army, it can march in the roughs beside the road or in the lesser ruined places.”

  “I am vexed unto my soul, such as it is,” Tolin spoke words hemmed in blood and fury, but his seething hate was quelled under his heaving breast. “Something as simple as water is stopping our advance.”

  A trooper added, “And that of the Northern forces, sir. They cannot move forward, either.”

  Tolin’s anger appeased. “That is true. We must wait. Time is not on the side of those barbarian fools. They are more than a minor worry, but a cancer to be dealt with. The festering abscess that is barbarism must be destroyed and bled for our master. There are so many more of them than us. That doesn’t concern me, due to our abilities. They marched right unto my door for the bleeding. Nosmada will be pleased after the victory.”

  Karter gave him a nod. “You fear not those behind the walls of Khabnur?”

  “Not really, once their walls are knocked down, they will flee,” Tolin replied. “They will overrun their Paramour who sits in his castle.”

  Tubal approached, bowed low. “Sir, Zillian has contacted us. Lord Nosmada wants to know of our situation.”

  A bemused look locked on Tolin’s hideous face and he gave a grunt as a response.

  Walking toward the tent that held the mirror communicator, he said to his troopers, “Yes, men, I would tell that fragile little bitch of my condition.”

  They all laughed as their leader stepped into the tent, swaggering, and stood at attention before the mirror. The grim visage of Nosmada glared back at him. Tolin showed no fear.

  “Report, General,” Nosmada ordered.

  “We are stuck in the mud, Lord Nosmada,” Tolin said. “The heavy rains come and not all of our sacrifices can stop them. Our carts will be stuck if we try to move. The timetable will simply be stretched is all.”

  Nosmada nodded. “More days? There’s no other way, I see. At least the barbarians cannot attack you.”

  “Not very effectively, no.”

  “Any news of La Gaul?”

  While the wrinkles in Tolin’s forehead rippled, his temper didn’t explode. “The old man is nowhere to be seen, Lord. Perhaps he got his gold for services to Lira Rhan and departed. That is his usual way of operating, is it not? Indifference is a trademark of La Gaul’s.”

  “Could he be an issue?”

  His teeth ground, but Tolin said in a curt voice, “That is the question, is it not? He is but one man. I have thousands. What could he do to me?”

  “Indeed. One man can make a great difference, but La Gaul is past being a real threat.”

  “That is our sincere inclination.”

  “Zillian senses the presence of the Draco-Lich.”

  “Really?”

  “It’s far to your north.”

  A great deal of snide remarks regarding Zillian sprang into the mind of the general, but he let it pass. Invoking the presence of the Draco-Lich was a swipe at him for his practices.

  “Let us hope the undead dragon does not like the rain, either,” Tolin quipped, causing his men to struggle to maintain their straight faces.

  Nosmada’s eyes narrowed. “Petty personal conflicts cannot interrupt the grand diagram. I’ll not have my moment stolen because of a damned egomaniac and personal business. If this Mitre is really behind all of this…”

  “Why would you think that?”

  “Zillian isn’t omniscient, but she sees a great deal darkly.”

  Tolin wrenched his hands as if Zillian’s throat were in his grasp. “What is it you speak of?”

  Nosmada related information concerning Mitre Stillwell and the exchange of soul jewels.

  Tolin’s face never betrayed an emotion. “Stillwell is a grubby monster. I would take pleasure in removing his ego before I eradicate his life.”

  “Did you know,” Nosmada spoke in a kindly voice, “that the Draco-lich never attacked the barbarian force? No, he found sustenance elsewhere.”

  “Lord.” Tolin smiled. “Sometimes one has to scramble eggs to make them edible.”

  *****

  After the image of Tolin faded, Zillian staggered back into Lannon’s waiting arms. He let her recline on the bench and she gasped heavily, hand between her withered breasts.

  “Curse him for all time,” Nosmada muttered bitterly. “He plays little boy games…child games with ME!”

  “He cannot help himself,” Zillian said. “I do not hope to defend him, my Lord, just explain him. What was once Tolin La Gaul is a loyal warrior.”

  “Because Tolin bears the soul of a wyrmling dragon, yes, yes. Curse me again for trusting in such a man for so long. Who would guess such a thing would all come to a head at once?”

  Zillian shrugged her tiny shoulders and looked at Lannon. “Like the aged tale of the woman nursing a snake back to health only for the snake to bite her and kill her. Tolin can do no less than his nature asks. He’s a dragon, after all. Did we expect manners and stable behavior?”

  “The blood of the caravan and that gained in Khabnur will be what fills the void of my soul,” Nosmada raged. “He won’t stop me now.”

  Nosmada left cursing, but Lannon knelt by the aged woman. His hand on her cheek, he watched as her hand stayed in the folds of her robe, attached to her chest. Lannon blinked, for he thought he saw something between her breasts move under Zillian’s fin
gers.

  *****

  The rain increased as the four rode out of the last set of walls at Khabnur, but Gorias insisted they set off for the village of Oliverian anyway. They rode off the beaten path and away from the muddy roads. The dead plants from winter provided some turf for their mounts. While Tammas and even Maddox groused at the deplorable conditions, Kayla pulled her rain slicker close and never said a word.

  The rain lessened at times, but continued steadily as they rode into the edge of the village. No signs of life offered themselves to the party.

  Gorias said to Kayla, “It has been ages since I rode through this area of Shynar. What sort of community did you say this was now? Full of older folk?”

  “Yes, to a degree,” she said as they passed the first of many mundane cottages. “Many of the older people retire here, but it isn’t just a group of elders. There are many warriors who laid down their swords and decided to settle here. Quite a few aging Prelates as well have come to contemplate their gods. These wouldn’t be easy pickings to casual raiders. The lady I knew with the scarlet spider tattoo could conjure magic in her most ancient of days. The old men still were full of piss and vinegar.”

  “I know how they feel ‘bout half way.”

  “They are very close to Khabnur anyway, Grandfather,” Maddox said. “That city is a fortified stronghold and an easy spot to run to in case of invasion. I just cannot see what worries you about all of this.”

  Tammas ground his teeth, trying to still his chattering. “It is quite claustrophobic, though. The streets are narrow and the houses so close together. Where is everyone?”

  They rode through the village and Gorias gestured at each house as they went. The small, brick homes remained silent. A few oozed smoke, but not many. Several had doors that looked crudely rent from their greased hinges. Aside from this, the residences were in fine repair. Their fences and even their wells were painted bright colors to reflect a sun that hadn’t showed so far that day.

  A few small shops in the middle of the town remained shuttered. Their striped awnings flapped and resisted the rain, but no merchants, rude or otherwise, came out to greet them.

  “Something came through here,” Gorias said. “Can you deduce how I figured it out?”

  Tammas chuckled then appeared embarrassed when they all looked at him “Well, if there was a raiding party, wouldn’t there be bodies all over?”

  “Indeed,” Gorias murmured. “Give the virgin a star.”

  “Then where is everyone?” Maddox said, frowning. “If they were raiders or barbarians, wouldn’t they have burned the damn place down?”

  “It’s raining,” Kayla retorted.

  Stare full of venom, Maddox went on. “Surely, if they were afraid they would have ran to Khabnur.”

  “You’re asking all the right questions,” Gorias said.

  As he threw off rain, Tammas gestured at a long brick building. On the stone steps of this edifice lay many robes. “Those appear to be priestly vestments.”

  Gorias agreed. “Kayla said some Prelates lived here. Looks like all of their prayers couldn’t stop them from being taken by whatever it was that vacated the community.”

  “What tottering, flap-mouthed assheads,” Maddox said. “Why didn’t their prayers work, Grandfather?”

  “Maybe their gods, or God himself, gets sick of hearing it,” Gorias said to astonished faces. “Don’t be so surprised, kids. Ever heard spoiled rotten brats keep asking for more? I’d get sick of that, too, omnipotence or no.”

  “That is hardly fair,” Tammas said.

  Gorias looked to the sky. “He doesn’t have to be fair. He’s God.”

  Kayla pointed her bow’s tip at the end of the muddy street. “Is that the answer, Lord La Gaul?”

  A shadowy shape broke the dim light in the road. While they couldn’t see clearly what stretched out before them, they could all smell something dank and alien to their senses. They heard a thump and felt the ground tremble. Numerous figured melded in from the wings of the village and joined the immense shadow.

  When the images grew clearer, Maddox said, “I guess that’s where the people went.”

  Gorias shook his head, spattering rain away. “No, son, somehow I doubt it. This place is dead, but they aren’t the makers of this bloodless destruction.”

  The creature in the middle of the street wore the silhouette of an elephant, but stood much larger than a common pacaderm. Brown hair covered the beast and its tusks curled around at savage angles, swathing his massive trunk. Atop this great brute rode an enormous, hirsute man in crude buckskins, who pointed a spear at them. This weapon held a stone head.

  In front of the mammoth strode several dozen barbarian warriors. They swiftly closed in around the riders as a few more hairy elephants stepped into the street, flanking their kindred.

  A clap of thunder echoed as if God himself slapped the earth.

  CHAPTER XV

  Brock and the Barbarians

  *

  “Whom do you serve?” Gorias called out with dire force to the huge man on the mammoth.

  The barbarian snapped back, “Serve? I serve no one.” The voice, deep and brutal, matched the man. “I’m Brock Lloydson, chief of the Bellgades, tribe of southern most Vynlain. I never send lackeys to ask questions. I do it myself.”

  “A man who knows what he wants. I respect that,” Gorias said, uncaring if the man Brock heard him or not.

  “You are indeed the one they call Gorias La Gaul. Still alive. So the pickets watching you in the city aren’t drunk or lying.”

  “I am he, Brock.”

  Tammas whispered, “They have spies in Khabnur?”

  Gorias frowned at the bard. “Shut your mouth, kid, or the next song you sing will be out your ass.” He cleared his throat and felt a cold coming on in his lungs. “I think I knew your father a hundred years ago when I killed the Nephilum collecting girls at the Zenghaus keep.”

  Brock snotted up a glob of phlegm and tried to spit past the tusks of his mount. He failed. “Probably.” His tone wasn’t of a man impressed, or angry, or really caring. “We of the Bellgades have all heard that story. They take children to the spot where your twin swords gutted the Son of God himself. Often did I wonder if the sword scars on the aged altar were just a fake indentation, if such a man as you ever really existed.”

  “I see.”

  “I thought you would be taller.”

  “I am. It’s this damn horse.”

  The barbarians laughed, looking the old one over. Brock said, “I never thought I’d see one such as ya here in this armpit of the world. I heard ya were here. Good health be unto ya, warrior. I’m lucky to see ya before I die.”

  Gorias wondered why such a man would contemplate death at a young age. Probably, he thought, because for such savages death could be any day.

  “What are you doing in such a godforsaken place? You are awfully far from Zenghaus. Are you racing Tolin for the weapons at the Foundry of Syn?”

  “Come back to our camp and we’ll talk about it.” Brock said and snorted. “What are these little ones here to ya? She has plenty a’meat on her.”

  The barbarians practically smelled the air as Kayla jutted out her bottom jaw.

  “They are with me and leave it at that.”

  “Even the runt?” Brock joked, pointing at the bard.

  “He plays for his supper and treats. No risk killing a man like that, is there?”

  “I suppose not.”

  Gorias relied on them knowing the old barbarian proverb: that if there was no risk, there was no glory in anything. “Is the entire town empty?”

  The barbarian leader gave a nod. “Yeah. It wasn’t us that clear ‘er out, though. Oh, we planned on scavenging Oliverian for supplies and women, but we found it as such.”

  Kayla spoke up, “There
are no whores in Oliverian.”

  Brock never looked at her, but addressed Gorias with confidence. “You let your bitches speak? Ya got balls, hero.”

  Gorias shrugged. “It’s a crazy age. She’s no bitch to me. You respect women who can fight.”

  Brock laughed then eyed Kayla. “So ya say, eh? They’re all whores to us, eventually.”

  They went with the barbarians out of the small town. Soon they saw a great multitude of them awaiting outside Oliverian. Maddox leaned in to his grandfather and asked, “Why do they need us if they are so many?”

  “Who said they needed anything of us? They may plan to kill our asses quite badly, real soon here. It’s been fun getting to know you better, by the way.”

  “Thanks,” Maddox said, glancing back at the others. He held out his hands as the rains let up a great deal.

  Gorias stared ahead at the growing mob of savage humanity spreading out before them. “Tammas, don’t wet yourself. Riding with Gorias La Gaul will get you killed.”

  “The moment we met I thought I would die. Every extra second I live is a benefit.” Tammas sounded hurt.

  The rain stopped as they rode on. Several huge fires appeared as the camp grew visible. He wagered them partially covered and kept dry from the deluge. The fires peppered the expansive barbarian encampment. Gorias followed Brock to the one in the center of the pickets.

  Many unrefined men and women held rabbits on long rods into the flames before consuming the flesh half-raw. Gorias took a canteen from his saddle and drank of it then dismounted. Many of the savages swilled stale wine in skins.

  Brock gave out a guttural laugh and waved at his party. “Perhaps not the royalty that has contracted ya for service in the past, huh, La Gaul? Ya were never one picky fer money, or so the legends say.”

  “That’s true enough. How do you know an old man like me is still looking for money?”

  Brock took a drink, sat down on a fur mat near the fire. “Whores cost money. We all have our fatal habits. Ya are weak for loose women at a cost.”

  Gorias walked over near Brock and warmed his hands by the fire. “We all have our hobbies, even in our advancing stages.”