Thrall

by Steven Shrewsbury

  “If we cannot use the wagons on the roads, then we cannot load them with the weapons. Granted, we can carry out twice what we need per trooper.”

  “Yes?”

  “Then how can we carry Mitre’s payment of gold and jade to him?”

  “How indeed?” Tolin mocked surprise. His long face drew into a ruthless scowl. “Piss on that ogre. He dies.” He approached a map of the region, laid out on the oblong table. It detailed the city of Khabnur and the surrounding towns. Chalked in were the movements of Brock’s barbarian horde. He turned to his officers unified behind him and proclaimed, “Tomorrow, all of them die. Every last mother’s son and then some. One could almost start a kingdom in this place, if one was of a mind to do it.”

  “If we encounter La Gaul?” Tubal said.

  Anger bubbled free over his face. “Do not kill the old fighter. If he is seen on the field, and I am not there, bring him unto me.”

  Hands behind his back, Karter said, “What of his entourage?”

  “Shear off their damned heads. I care not for their souls, only for that of La Gaul. He must not die before I get to him, do you understand me?”

  A few of the troopers fidgeted at these words, curious what he had in mind for the legend.

  Tolin walked outside where his horse awaited him, regaled and ready for battle. Like the rest of the mounts being readied for the coarse trip, chanfons and crinets covered their heads and necks. Light peytrals shielded the horse’s chest against attack.

  On the back of the saddle, next to the bedroll, sat the tiny wooden box from Tolin’s private materials. He wiped a hand over it. “And they say I can only kill you once, La Gaul.”

  *****

  Lannon gripped the handle of his sword. He stared down, not wanting to elevate his gaze toward the Chamber of Redemption.

  Nosmada sat in the center of his funnel shaped hollow and stared at the gloomy sky. The sun wasn’t visible. The marked man sat in a meditative pose.

  Lannon faced Zillian, who peered through the single door into the chamber.

  She rubbed her chest and whispered, “What is on your mind, young man?”

  After a few steps back from the doorway, he went to a knee to face the elderly woman sitting on an outcropping in the stone wall. “Will it ever be enough for him?”

  “Dear boy, you are a man of few years. You do not fathom all there is to know. Nonetheless, you have served your master well. You see the depths of his pain and woe.”

  Lannon released the handle of his short sword. He stared at Nosmada then at the walls of the great chamber. Each spot withered and quivered. Not one inch of rock could be seen. Leeches, bodies bloated with blood, covered every inch of stone. His own blood ran cold, for he could hear what Nosmada was doing. He sang.

  Chilled by the words and attitude his lord displayed, gooseflesh appeared on his muscular forearms. Forcing this eerie feeling from his mind, he heard the song stop and Nosmada begin to speak.

  “You find this all so hard to take in?” Nosmada said in a rather kind voice. “Do you not comprehend what’s in the blood everything needs and desires? You see how the rain falls and spreads out to give life unto the earth? Not one part of humanity realizes the water returns to the sky, reloads in the clouds, and is wrung free from them to replenish the earth again. It’s a wonderful image, no? Has not God in his infinite wisdom blessed us all with such a system?”

  Lannon’s mouth grew dry and he looked at Zillian. She stared down.

  Nosmada continued. “Water changes its forms and alters itself, yet it still is a part of the world, one with the Creator’s plan of redemption. Feeding, strength, and rebirth--it is all the cycle of life. It’s the same with blood. You’re given blood through your mother and you live on. You impart blood to your kindred and they continue on in life for you, an image of you, an extension of you. But in time, your own blood fails and you must return to the dust where all men were spawned from. And yet, you left blood, you let the flow carry on, thus, completed a part of the ultimate program of God.”

  Lannon noted Nosmada never used the word “gods” as most men did. He referred to but one deity above.

  “Why else would God require blood in sacrifices, for blood to touch the very ground, the Earth itself, to purify? In this pious act of bloodletting, there is great power. It purifies, renews, and shows obedience to a paternal force; no matter how much some want to desire to worship something else. Animals by the score can be sacrificed and bled as homage to God above. The most persuasive form of magnificence unto God is the surrender of human blood.”

  Again, Lannon felt cold in a warm environment. He couldn’t hide his disquiet, yet kept listening to his dark lord.

  “Giving of human blood and the lives therein obligates the God of all gods to return the glory unto the man who makes such a sacrifice. This is the most exalted form of intercourse between God and man, the moment of human sacrifice. The reason? Not only does the blood cleanse the sin away, the badness of the one releasing the blood, but the spirits go free as well. You see, as with rain that never ceased to survive, the spirits of those bled return unto God who prepared them. A spirit cannot be destroyed, Lannon. Returning lives for a life, showing respect for your Creator, surely, he will offer forgiveness for the taking of a life…a single damned life…”

  *****

  Lira Rhan stood at the apex of the temple where Gorias and his group previously watched the armies move. Her keen observation took in all as the day brightened around the noon hour.

  One of her guards approached, saluted. “The army of Nosmada is starting to stir, Magistrate.”

  Her words rang methodical. “Yes, I can see that from here. Most of them are starting to take advantage of the break in the rain. Any word from Gorias La Gaul?”

  “The men are seeking him, ma’am. They disappeared into Oliverian and there is no sign of life there. The rangers think they are amongst the barbarians.”

  “Was my daughter left in Oliverian, per Gorias’ request?”

  “Not that we can see, ma’am.”

  “Thank you. You may go now.”

  Listening to the footsteps fade away, Lira looked at the small dagger in her hand and wondered if her courage would be enough. She would never be prisoner to Tolin, nor on his master’s plate.

  *****

  Mitre Stillwell slept deeply and without dreams. A gallon of whiskey will do that, even to a cross-breed bugbear. His lunch-time naps were famed in the Foundry, for even the Beholders and Minorc security force took their breaks then.

  In the Foundry of Syn, the afternoon shift was about to begin. The Minorc overlords prepared their whips and the gossip started to roll. The Beholders passed on their current fantasies into the minds of the workers. This sparked jealousy and resentment at each other, not where it should go.

  All throughout the rigors of arduous work, the sweat rolled and the weapons were born.

  Mitre Stillwell, hugging an enormous pillow as if it were his own very soul, slept with what passed for a smile on his face. His peace was as unremitting as the labor of those in the vicinity of him.

  *****

  Over the edge of the barren desert, a hideous laugh echoed out for all in the barbarian camp to hear. This rolling voice came from the ruins of Larak. This voice was singing as well.

  The shimmering gray light at the edge of the encampment warbled and many rubbed their eyes. Surely, that wasn’t just a man who walked out of thin air? Many thought it was a trick of the light. No matter to the savage group, they sent men forward to confront this stranger.

  Gorias held up a gnarled hand. “Hold! I know him. He’s not with Nosmada by a long shot.”

  “What’s this man to appear from the air?” Brock said. “Some kinda accursed wizard?”

  As the figure moved closer to them, heading directly for Gorias La Gaul, the old combatant said
, “No, far from that. His name is Ezran Gavreel. I see him every so often.”

  The serene man in white smiled at him.

  “I’m getting almost weary of his face, though.”

  Ezran didn’t flinch at the bellows of the dragon behind him. The herd of mastodons nearby trumpeted and snorted, showing their unrest.

  “I’d say good afternoon,” Gorias said. “But something tells me it’s going to be anything but a fine day, eh?”

  “Days are what we make them,” Ezran said.

  Not acknowledging the rest of the men around him, Gavreel folded his arms under his pale white cloak. Gorias stood next to him as he looked in the direction of the singing echoes. They stepped away from the others and Brock didn’t pursue them. The other barbarians let them be as well. The youths with Gorias stepped up near, but gave them some space.

  With a small laugh, Ezran said, “Give the barbarian horde time and they will start to mock the song.”

  “Probably.”

  “Still, it would be an improvement over their uncouth war songs. Do you recall that tune?”

  Tilting his head and concentrating, Gorias confessed, “No.”

  “I bet your bard would know it.”

  Gorias adjusted the plates of his armor. “I wager he would, but get to the point.”

  Tammas joined them and listened. “It is the Litany of Love by Carlato Wyss.”

  Gorias asked, “How does it go?”

  Tammas cleared his throat and sang,

  “Say that you love me, never resist.

  Tell me you adore me, never to desist.

  Come unto me, for as long as you exist.

  I love all my children, come hear my song.

  O adore all my boys and girls, all the day long.

  Be one of my kind, I’ll never treat you wrong.

  There is no resistance, give it to your lover.

  We are all one family, give it to your brother.

  Bring all your kindred, give it to one another.”

  Gorias snorted. “I never did like songs about that. All that love stuff makes me want to puke.”

  “I wonder why a dragon would be singing the tunes of a dead cult leader?” Ezran said.

  “You know or you wouldn’t be hanging around here.”

  Tammas gaped at Ezran then Gorias. “Who is this man?”

  “A wayfaring stranger.” His nostrils flared as he snapped at the boy. “Leave us alone.”

  After the boy sulked away, Ezran said, “You have plans to make a man of him, do you now?”

  Gorias gaze focused on the pallid face of Ezran. “You’re peeping into my thoughts.”

  Ezran sighed. “It’s late in the day for such particulars, no?”

  “I reckon. I’ll give him a chance to be a man really fast here.”

  “What do you think of Brock’s plan for infiltrating the Foundry of Syn?”

  Gorias smirked and suppressed his laughter. “It’s downright insane and foolhardy, but full of balls. I love it.”

  “And all in the hands of children. Barbarians, truly, but still children.”

  “Brock thinks such a bloody venture will make men out of them.”

  “Indeed,” Ezran said, looking at the sulking Tammas, then Kayla, and at last the ruins afar off. “It would. The girl loves you, by the way.”

  Gorias’ expression remained unchanged as he compared the song the dragon sang in the distance to the words Tammas just sang. “Yeah, I reckon so.” The damp air from the rain was fading and the wind of the desert felt warm in his lungs.

  “Is that old hat to you, being admired by young girls? She is a sturdy woman for certain, but…”

  “Why talk of love or sex so much and harp on it? It’s just life. You need to make a big case out of every such event that happens? So what?”

  “Some say it’s overrated, love. The brethren of mine that took unto themselves wives and fell…many regret it, but they cannot restore themselves unto their appointed place.”

  “Life’s a bitch, huh? Always easy to be sorry after the act is over.”

  “I am glad to see you still here, Gorias La Gaul.”

  “Kinda pleased to see you, in a peculiar way.”

  “We keep our promises.”

  “I never doubted that.”

  “Such is your faith.”

  “Yeah. But these idiots, they’d die if I was here or not. They are out to get even with Nosmada’s troops for the hand mortification thing and just because they are also desirous of weapons.”

  “Also very true.” Ezran wrinkled his nose. “They are not my concern this day. You are.”

  “Good. That sounds anomalous coming from one of your ilk--that a bunch of humans killing each other isn’t your concern.”

  Ezran looked back at Brock as the barbarian howled orders to his troops. “Humans kill each other every day. It is a bad trend started by a really bad man. Their petty wars aren’t under my scope of want.”

  “All of these forces clashing together, what if it really aids Nosmada’s cause? Have you thought of that? You have tunnel vision over the dragon. You care not if Nosmada’s plans will be fulfilled by this massacre?”

  With no emotion, Ezran said, “But it won’t, don’t you see? Nosmada is delusional in his dreams. His desires are based on fallacies. This entire grand dance of death, all of his collection of blood and incantations that brought the leeches into this realm, it is pointless. The lives of a few thousands sinners cannot compare to what will happen if that Draco-Lich is allowed to fulfill his program.”

  Gorias sighed. “That’s what I feared. If he can truly translate the Daemonolateria and leave it in the hands of humans…”

  “There’ll be no stopping the demonic horde from invading Earth from the Abyss,” Ezran finished. “And do not say he, say Carlato Wyss. It is him arisen from the dead yet clothed in the flesh of a dragon, such as it is. Once his agenda is complete, the incalculable losses will be beyond my power to save.”

  “That thing will do worse than all of the curious hands of elders across time.”

  “They will exterminate all human life, the homunculi of the Creator.”

  “You could slay them all,” Gorias said. “It’s well within your strength. You could rise up and destroy the Draco-Lich, all of his followers, and then smite both armies for good measure.”

  Ezran regarded the barbarians. “Not that the world wouldn’t seem more pleasant afterwards, but you know that is not how things work.”

  “It’s within your ability.”

  “But not my appointed function, is it? This episode, this world, is a proving ground. That is what you all were given your miserable lives for. Prove you are worth his time and effort. Prove that he was right by loving you enough to give you life. Prove that you have the courage to save humanity. Show him you are not just trash and worth the right of existence.”

  Ezran turned his back to Gorias, walking into the desert. Then he simply vanished.

  Tammas and Maddox joined him swiftly.

  “What was he?” Tammas’ voice nearly broke.

  Gorias frowned. “If you think he was a winner, you should speak to demons. Come along. We have plans to make.”

  CHAPTER XVII

  Going To War

  *

  “I think you are making a gigantic blunder,” Maddox said, staring at his grandfather, who stood in front a multitude of Brock’s barbarian children. Tammas was amongst the children, appearing taller than usual.

  “You think badly at times,” Gorias muttered and fixed the strap on Tammas’ helmet under his chin.

  “Sending Tammas off with those kids to infiltrate the foundry is sending him to death.”

  Gorias eyed Brock, who was drinking again, and then looked at the army of children, clothed in skins. �
��Any of you plan on dying?”

  A roar flittered out from the young army, showing their confidence and bravado.

  “See? They aren’t afraid of this.”

  Maddox frowned. “I think you’re missing the forest for the trees.”

  The aged man glared at his grandson. “And I think you are as well.” He stepped away from the savage brood as Brock repeated instructions to the young warriors. “There are greater things at play here than just these tiny lives.”

  Maddox swallowed and gave a fast nod. “I understand that, sir.”

  “Do you? Of all of them, I hoped you would have learned what really is at play here. Why do you think the demons beyond our eyes desire to destroy this earth and all of its souls so much?”

  “To get even with God?” Maddox hands ran down the armor.

  Gorias raised both eyebrows. “Basically. When God imparts life or souls, each are a piece of him. If the demonic horde can cast them into Hell, they see it as destroying a little bit of him. They cannot corrupt him, but this is a scant victory for them.”

  “You would think God would have better children than us to worry on.”

  Gorias laughed and slapped both sides of Maddox’ face as if to wake him up. “He is determined to give his children every chance. I fear that one day he’ll grow weary of us and wipe the earth clean of this rabble called humanity. He’ll probably start over.”

  Tammas suited up in a looser outfit than he usually wore. It was light armor and leather for the most part, scavenged by Brock’s men in Oliverian. He also wore a small helm from the gutted men in Nosmada’s army. The bard winked, secure in his undertaking.

  “You must follow through on your element, son,” Gorias said to Maddox gravely. “It is very crucial that you do exactly as I have instructed you.”

  “I hope that I can, Grandfather…”

  Gorias grabbed him by the jaw, thrust his head up. “No, boy, there’s no such thing as hope. You cannot hope for anything. Action requires courage. Men filled with hope are mooning for other men to take action. There are no more sidelines. No more playing at being Gorias La Gaul in a sand box full of kids. This is war for the entire earth and you are going to play a key role. You must allow me time to do as I must.”