Once Were Men

by Marin Landis

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Convergence

  “No bairn is evil. It’s ‘eir parents ‘at make em so.” - Magret the Cook.

  Melvekior would suffer none to accompany him and he rode out a day and a night after the visit from Tiriel. Bhav tried to dissuade him from this course and to take guards, but he would not. He craved time alone and cared not for ruling. Flaubert could see to the machinations and working of the Principality and he trusted Bhav to make wise decisions, more so than himself undoubtedly.

  Fallset itself was well known. Only infrequently would anyone visit, but Povimus certainly knew of it and was able to supply easy to follow directions. He warned of a Guardian but was unable to provide any more details than that. The Great Caravanway was a pleasant road to ride. Volcanium profits kept the road well maintained and free from bandits. The King's own bandits, the Tashers, patrolled, but there wasn't much in the way of 'tax collection' in the section of the road that led from Magnar through the Tarkans to the Malann Empire in the north.

  Melvekior's mission wasn't one of diplomacy or a matter of state, it had no cause relating to the Crown or his nobility. It didn't relate to his status as Heiligr, holy warrior in the service of Mithras. His quest was one born out of the love of a son for his mother. A mother he thought long dead.

  As befitted such a pursuit, he wore only light armor. A beautiful hardened leather suit, with softer leather at his joints. Not as comfortable by far as wearing simple farmer's clothing to which he was growing quickly accustomed, still it was more easy on the bones than the heavier chainmail he often wore. He didn't want to look like he was riding to war or even be perceived as a questing knight or avenging Heiligr, though that was precisely how he felt. His weapon selection was appropriately meager as well. A long knife and his trusty horseman's mace were all he carried, where normally he would have at least one more large weapon.

  He reached the minor road that turned east and wistfully changed direction to follow it to Fallset. He'd dreamed as a child of traveling to Malann, joining their invincible army and rising to greatness. In fact nothing apart from his current travails would present a barrier to this and he determined to himself that he'd seriously consider this when he'd finished with his search for the Anaurim.

  The trail became rockier and more mountainous as he went and his horse slowed quite dramatically. No birds sounded or insects chirped. The air somehow became darker though it were only midday and with it his mood. He knew little of his destination save that the caves he sought were impossible to miss and somewhere within were disciples of Noor who could direct him to the Viterorm. That seemed like a simplistic plan, but Melvekior had succeeded in the past with such directness.

  No Guardian had presented itself and he wasn't about to look for trouble, so tried to enjoy the peace and quiet. Which there was, in abundance.

  Hour passed and the terrain with it. To the north, the Tarkans, the impassable part. To the south, bare plains of short, wiry, scrub as far as the eye could see, the perpetual twilight no different. He stopped his horse and peered at a massive wall of rock. Was that a cave, he squinted and thought that maybe it was. He had decided to dismount and climb the slight hill by foot to investigate when he heard a noise. Voices, low, from ahead of him.

  He saw them, before they noticed him, engrossed as they seemed to be in conversation. At least she seemed to be talking and he walking, head down, listening.

  On the left was a woman with auburn hair that stood out attractively in this colorless place, dressed in dark colors and a hooded cloak, with the hood down. Her cloak flapped open and he noticed that her shirt was cut very low. The man was attired in a very nondescript manner and he shambled along in an ungainly and familiar way.

  It was Accus.

  "Hail," Melvekior shouted, his voice much louder than he intended. Hours of being alone in a world of quite will do that to a person.

  Accus looked up, the woman looked up and stopped walking. He smiled and waved, she merely looked. Melvekior dismounted and approached, shaking Accus's hand warmly.

  "Lady," he nodded his head. He didn't know who she was but she looked decent. She had all of her teeth and wasn't dressed like Accus's last companion, though they had a similar look about them. This one though was certainly more feminine. "I am Melvekior Martelle."

  The color drained from her face and she stepped back. Accus turned to look at her, almost horrified. "Runild, this is my friend, Prince Melvekior of Maresh-Kar, you have no need to fear."

  "What do you want here, Prince Melvekior?" She didn't use his title as an honorific, almost like an insult. Her voice was clear and cultured and Melvekior felt he could hear a spite behind them. Not so different to Finulia then. Melvekior, full of chivalry as he was, had no compunction about fighting women. He was taught to fight by a woman who beat that out of him, saying it was insulting. Ottkatla, the most potent warrior he had ever met, taught him that physical strength was one thing, but skill entirely another.

  "I have some concerns in this city. I am surprised to see you, Accus. Have you been to your temple?" He made it clear that he did not approve.

  "Yes, I..." he looked like was about to say something, but then did not.

  "Out with it, man!" Melvekior said sternly. He liked Accus and they'd been through a lot together and he even considered him a friend, but he was a Necromancer and Melvekior had thought, possibly naively, that Accus might have decided to change his ways.

  Accus stuttered a little, watched closely by the woman who started to edge behind him.

  "Hold woman!" Melvekior started to get the feeling that things were spiraling out of control. He readied himself, dropping into the Kehan in an instant.

  "I am not beholden to you, boy, you have no authority here." She spat and reached into her cloak.

  He crossed the twenty feet between them faster than she could have believed.

  She had mistaken him. Here was a spoiled noble, used to being obeyed. She was the one who played with people's preconceptions and here she was a victim to that. No knight of Mithras would lay hands upon her. She knew that. That cost her.

  Melvekior grabbed her wrist and twisted, her stiletto falling to the ground. She let out a sharp "ahh!" of surprise as much as pain and tried to strike at him with her left hand. Her stiffened fingers reaching for the soft flesh of his neck. Anticipating this, he twisted her arm further forcing her to the ground. He grabbed her other wrist in mid swipe and squeezed. She screamed again and he threw her to the ground.

  "Do not think I will not slay you, Lady. Accus will testify as to the results of attacking me or those under my protection." He unsheathed the long knife from his belt and pointed it at her.

  "I'm sorry, Lord, I merely thought you meant to harm me." Her voice was soft and childlike all of a sudden. She lay on her back, breathing heavily, her bosom heaving.

  "Don't listen to her, Melvekior, she is a snake." Accus snapped, finally sounding determined.

  Melvekior looked at him and felt proud. This man was once a treacherous type who would have slain his brother for a corpse to work his foul magics on. Now he was a loyal friend.

  "Did I not already say what would happen to you, turncoat?" Her voice back to the hard and vicious stream of spite he had heard previously.

  "Do your worst, bitch, and do you know what happened to the last Vikoira that was sent against us? Slain! destroyed! Your threats mean nothing." Both of Accus's fists were screwed into balls.

  "Accus is under the protection of the Temple of Mithras and if you or your cult of heretics wish to harm him, you'll have to come through me. If I know anything of the way you people work, you'll have failed in whatever scheme you have in mind, so scurry back to your people and explain why."

  "She seeks to enslave Tiriel, Melvekior." It was all coming out of Accus now, the admissions, the tears, the anger. He was breathing heavily and raggedly, his voice quavering.

  "What for? What do you want with Tiriel?" He shouted, towering above her. She ma
de to kick out at him and made contact with his lower leg without any real power behind the blow. It only served to make him more angry. She started to scrabble in the dirt, backwards on her posterior, reminding him of Marcus all those years ago when he insulted Ottkatla. Melvekior was more angry now than he was then. He felt a real urge to just stab this woman and be done with it. He owed her nothing and owed her church nothing. Ain-Ordra was a stain on humanity and Her followers, the worst sorts of people. Galtian, to whom he still owed a debt of pain, Finulia and now this one, Runild. He could feel an almost uncontrollable force building within him, driving him onward, the blood pounding in his ears, a need to destroy and rip threatening to take over him.

  With a strength born of rage and a speed powered by fury, he yanked her up, his hand closing around both sides of her cloak. “Take yourself away from here. Should I see you again it will be your end.” He shoved her away roughly, resisting the urge to run her through with his knife. He wouldn’t slay out of hand a person not an immediate danger and the look on her face told him that she posed no such thing.

  She took off at speed, not looking back, running the opposite way to Melvekior.

  “You’ve made yourself a dangerous enemy, Melvekior. She is a trained killer, a Shadow Assassin, raised and molded by the finest the Church of Ain-Ordra has to offer.”

  “I don’t care. I can’t just kill everyone that disagrees with me, though I know your feelings.” He watched her retreating form until the unnatural gloom covered her escape. Accus was standing behind him and he turned and grasped the man’s wrist in a warrior’s clasp. “It is good to see you, though every time I meet with you, I end up knocking someone down.”

  “Aye, and both times saved me from a wrong path. I did not want to travel with her, but I was left no choice, the things I saw at the Temple.” Melvekior looked closely at him. His eyes were sunken, as much as when they first met but this time without the aid of the black soot. His hair was unshaven and his clothing ragged. Like he’d been sleeping rough. Most unlike the Accus he remember from mere weeks ago, who was quite prissy and concerned about his appearance.

  “What things? Tell me while we walk, unless you wish to mount?” He indicated the horse.

  “No, thank you, I will walk. Melvekior, I had an audience with the First Dead.” He plainly expected that to mean something to his friend, but there was a distinct lack of horrified response. “Kvalishskaiinetta. The first person to have died and returned. Cursed by the Gods to live and suffer the pain of every violent death.”

  “Is that real? Every death?” Melvekior sounded skeptical.

  “Apparently so and had you met her, it, you would believe it too. She is exceedingly fat, unable to walk, she seeks pleasure in every way. When there is a death by unnatural means anywhere in Ain-Ordra’s sphere Kvalishskaiinetta will feel it. She knows nothing of the detail and seeks only to outweigh her pain with eating and fornicating and hearing stories.” His voice broke and Melvekior stopped and held on to Accus’s arm.

  “What is it? Did you mate with this creature?” He was aghast, and starting to understand why Accus would be so upset.

  “No, merciful Gods no I did not. She bade me tell her a story and so afraid was I that I told her stories from my youth and then stories I had read. The gibbering and ramblings she let forth were horrifying; she could not keep still or keep quiet, forever undulating and inserting needles into her skin and other things I will not recount.” He bent over double, retching to think of it.

  Melvekior kept quiet, he wasn’t skilled at offering comfort but he did know not to mirror his father’s advice in times like this. Something along the lines of “well, that was hours ago, why are you still prattling about it?” He missed him, no matter how offhand and uncaring he seemed, he was a fortifying presence. He looked every which way, instead of at Accus. North to the edges of the mountain. That’s where they would have to go now. Accus had some sort of scrying ability, maybe he could offer some guidance that way. The road was of course deserted. Hardly did anyone travel to or from Fallset. It was a gray, straight road, east to west. Nothing he could really pretend to be looking at.

  “I’m fine, sorry about that.” Accus stood. “The point of my tale is that I eventually, out of fear and desperation told of our encounter with Thacritus, an oft-time visitor here by the way, and Tiriel. Kvalishskaiinetta was very interested and spoke coherently for a good few minutes. Mostly to demand that I bring Tiriel back for her for unnamed perversions or something and I had no choice but to agree. The wretched beast then kissed me, more like slobbered at me with her cavernous mouth and I awoke in the presence of Runild. Runild also demanded that I lead her to Tiriel. I knew then I was finished with the whole lot of them, but didn’t know how I would escape. She threatened me with death, Vikoira, the predictable sorts of things. She also sought Sjarcu, but wouldn’t say why.”

  “It is good that we met then. We should seek out Runild and maybe imprison her for a time once we’re finished here.” Secretly, Melvekior was furious with Accus for exposing Tiriel like that, but he wasn’t strong willed and probably felt he had little choice. He just wanted to finish his current task and then leave this place.

  "Why are you here, Melvekior, you were the last person I expected to see here. Mithras has no temple in Fallset."

  Fully believing he could trust Accus, he related all that had happened since Bhav had returned. To his surprise, Accus, catching him by surprise, hugged him warmly.

  "I'm so happy for you, my friend. You have your family back." Accus had tears in his eyes that the knight pretended he didn't see and wanted desperately to change the subject.

  Melvekior turned to the north, hands on hips. He could tell by the cooling air that the day was coming to an end even though the sky was no darker. "Have you been here before, Accus?" he said without turning.

  The Necromancer, or ex-Necromancer as he now suspected, approached to stand next to him and join in the staring. Nothing could be deduced from this distance. "I passed here yesterday, I think it was yesterday, but I was distracted."

  "Let's go closer." He fed and watered his mount the best he could. There was no telling how long it would take to negotiate with the Viterorm. Once he had finished he lead the horse to the less rocky side of the path and tied him on a long lead to a stake he planted in the grass. He had anticipated exactly this situation and from his saddlebags he brought out four torches, brands wrapped with treated cloth. He put two of them in a smaller pouch which he tied to his belt. In the same pouch he already had a waterskin and some dried fruit and meat. They'd have to go on short rations in case it was more than a couple of days in the caves, but he couldn't imagine that they wouldn't be given a warm warning or at least fed if made to wait long to see the Oracle.

  "Here take this," he handed a torch to his once again companion and started towards the foothills. Accus followed, relieved again to be in Melvekior's presence. He'd never really had a friend before and this man had forgiven him a lot. And most definitely given him his life back.

  The Mareshian Prince stopped abruptly. "Accus, I should have thought. We're seeking out the Goddess of Magic, can you use some sort of sorcery to help us find the way to go?"

  "Aye, like I did at the mines where we found Tiriel, that would make sense. Wait until we get a little nearer to the base of the mountain."

  That goal was a little deceiving, for after a while it became evident that there was no clear base but that it was a gradual rise.

  "Hold then," said Accus and sat upon the stones and scree. Similarly to when he discovered the illusion at the Volcanium mines he chanted some almost intelligible nonsense, but when he had finished nothing had changed. There was no hidden door outline in a large rock other or ingress to the mountain revealed.

  "Damn it!" swore Accus. There is something I can sense, though I don't understand it. A sense of waiting."

  "We must wait?" Melvekior wasn't famous for his patience and already was becoming bored and that would soon le
ad to frustration.

  "Probably but not just that, something is waiting for us." Accus was pensive, trying to figure out what to do.

  "Ahoy, let us in," Melvekior shouted as loudly as he could. He took his necklace off and held it above his head. He knew that it had been imbued with some sort of magic. "Maybe this will let them know we mean business."

  "I don't see how, they wont be..." Accus trailed off but didn't need to point out why.

  Materializing in front of them, in mid-air were two enormous blue entities. Both expected there to be further solidifying of the pair of undulating serpents that floated at least twenty feet above them. There was not, they were barely there if one's eyes were to be believed, almost transparent, wispy and shimmering in the gloom, some light from within showing their pale color.

  "Show them you're not a threat," shouted Accus quickly. He held his hands up in the air, palms outward.

  Melvekior did the same and stood patiently, though his first instinct was to draw the knife he held and rush forward.

  There was a moment of peace, then a horrible rushing sensation. Melvekior's vision was blurred as his body was flung wildly through the air. It wouldn't stop, he opened his mouth to bellow his defiance but the constant rapid flow of air wouldn't allow any sounds to escape. Any panic he initially felt was replaced by anger and he started to try to twist his body free, not understanding what was happening. He pulled his arm from his side to slide it up to his belt to retrieve his knife. Slowly, slowly, he inched it up while being buffeted and thrown by wind and apparent motion.

  Then nothing, again for a brief moment, and a jarring thud to the ground. Gratefully, he wasn't expecting it so wasn't tensed for the impact. The wind was knocked out of him and he quickly got to his feet and looked around.

  Accus was next to him, his face scraped on the cheek; he'd taken a harder fall and he wasn't as hardy as Melvekior to begin with. He was slowly standing, possibly injured in other ways.

  They were in some sort of chamber, a dull blue light emanating from nowhere in particular. The room wasn't huge, but about the same size as a reception room at his palace in Maresh-Kar, the walls a smooth gray stone. At one end, the end furthest from them was an open door, through which a person walked. There was a trough to his right; he briefly wondered what it was for until Accus noisily vomited into it. That's what it's for, he thought only slightly amused.