by James Fuller
The worn wagon rode slowly toward the center of the small army that waited just ahead of the tree line. The two warriors that manned the horses were ragged, their bodies showing obvious sign of starvation. Defeat was clear upon their features and within the depths of their eyes as they slowed the wagon to a stop, in front of a hundred eager enemies.
“What do you want?” Andras asked as he watched both men climb from the wagon.
One of the warriors stepped forward, his head bowed low. “We come offering our surrender.” The savage’s grasp of language was better than most.
Laugher broke out among the ranks of Mandrakes defenders. Andras let the laugher continue for a moment before raising his hand to silence them. “Surrender?” He scoffed. “I have never heard of your kind ever doing such a thing. Why would you do so now?” He eyed them hard.
“We have been defeated, great warrior Lord, by you and your fearless warriors,” the barbarian replied humbly. “We see your strength and accept defeat in sight of it.”
“What makes you think we will accept your surrender?” Andras countered sharply.
“Our fate is in your mighty hands, great Lord,” the warrior replied, slumping to his knees.
“Tell me, what good would it do us if we were to let you leave our lands alive?” Jarroth cut in coldly. “You will just regroup and attack us again.”
The warrior shook his head. “No, great warrior. We promise our tribes will leave your land and never return. Nor shall our children or our children’s children. Of this, you have our word.”
“You expect us to believe the word of a savage?” Andras nearly laughed.
The warrior waved to the savage waiting by the wagon and the man pulled back the tarp revealing the three bound, unconscious figures within and several gasps rippled through the soldiers. “To prove our word true, we bring to you an offering of our spiritual leaders.” Within the wagon were two wild haired priestesses and one priest.
Andras mulled over this for a moment. “Upon your word and the word of your children and children’s children, if we allow you to surrender, your tribes will not return?”
“You have our word, great warrior Lord,” the warrior replied.
Andras pulled his dagger from his belt and tossed it down in front of the savage. “Prove your words with the blood of your spiritual leaders.”
The warrior retrieved the dagger and stood as his counterpart hauled the three prisoners from the wagon bed. Without thought of remorse or even a moment of pause, the warrior slashed the fine blade across all three throats, spilling their lifeblood onto the ground. Once he was finished, he dropped the dagger to the earth and turned back to Andras, awaiting approval.
“Ride back to your tribes and let them know we accept your terms of surrender.” A gasp of surprise and murmurs exploded from his men. “At dawn on the morrow, every one of you will walk from the gates of Mandrake, naked and unarmed. You will gather in the eastern field. Once we have determined no one remains within the castle walls, we will escort you back to the wastelands and may we never see your tribes again!” Both warriors nodded and clambered up into the wagon seats and made haste back towards Mandrake.
“You cannot be serious about this,” Jarroth bellowed out. “We cannot just let them ride free, after all they have done.”
“It is only a matter of time my Lord, before they are all dead within the walls from hunger,” Jacob added. “What are a few more weeks?”
Andras’s grin was full of malevolence. “Why wait weeks for something we can achieve at dawn?”
Both Jarroth and Tomas looked from one another to Lord Andras, confusion plain across their expressions.
“I understand not your meaning,” Master Tomas replied.
“At dawn you will,” Andras confirmed. “Now send men out to gather what reserves we have within the area and have them gather here. Tomorrow I want a full army to stand tall and superior to our enemies as they walk stark naked in disgrace before them.” With that Andras heeled his horse and rode back to camp.
“Why do I get a bad feeling about this?” Tomas said to Jarroth.
Jarroth nodded. “I too feel a stirring in the air that I do not like.”
The dawn was crisp and a light frost covered the grassy fields around Mandrake castle. An eerie calm had settled over the scene that unfolded before two thousand fully armed and armored soldiers. Two steady columns of malnourished, filth-stained enemy, both male and female, trudged with matted-hair heads down in defeat, to the eastern field - where they were herded like cattle into a tight circle to await further orders.
“Look at them all,” Tomas said in surprise as the steady lines continued to flow from the gates. “There must still be four thousand of them, perhaps more.”
“Had things turned out differently, they could have held Mandrake for months and long outlasted us,” Jarroth added in amazement.
“But they did not,” Lord Andras said as he rode up behind them adorned in his finest armor and cloak. Even his horse had been cleaned, its mane and tail garlanded, as if for some grand spectacle. “It had been a bloody few months, but we have prevailed against these heathens yet again. Superior tactics and dedication have once more proved the victor.”
Finally after the flow of enemy stopped, three scores of soldiers entered the castle and made a quick search, ensuring not a single barbarian was left. When it was confirmed, a soldier was observed on the battlements, waving a long banner.
“Now let us get this over with,” Andras muttered, kicking his mount forward towards the large circle of enemies, his son in tow.
The savage who had come to them the day before with the message of surrender stepped forward, his head lowered. “We have kept to terms.” He lifted his head and looked up at Andras. “All we want to do is go home, great warrior Lord.”
Andras dismounted his fine golden mare, straightened his sword belt and cloak and then strolled up to the emaciated savage, who humbly dropped to his knees as Andras neared him. “You swore a blood oath upon the lives of three of your spiritual leaders that you, your children and your children’s children would never raise weapons and return to this land again. In front of your brethren and mine, do you so swear such a thing again?”
The savage licked his dry cracked lips. “I swear it true,” he yelled out for all those around to hear him.
“Then rise and let us be done with each other,” Andras ordered. The savage pulled himself to his feet eagerly and was about to speak once more when Andras’s sword swung from its sheath and buried itself within his chest. “KILL THEM ALL!” Andras roared as loud as he could.
For several long heartbeats, all that could be heard was the ringing of steel freeing from sheaths. It was quickly overtaken by the screams of unarmed men and women being butchered like cattle.
Jarroth and Master Tomas stared on in surprised horror as four thousand naked barbarians were mercilessly cut down.
Andras and his son rode back towards them, his face deadly calm as he stopped before them. “I told you we would not let them get away with what they have done.”
“There is no honor in this butchery,” Jarroth muttered, turning his eyes from the loathsome display. “We tarnish ourselves with such an act.”
“Do you think they would have done any less to us if the roles were reversed?” Andras asked coldly.
“We are supposed to be better than them,” Jarroth countered.
“I promised your Lord I would butcher every last one of them that had touched his lands,” Andras replied. “A promise I never intended to break.” Jarroth had already turned his horse and was riding away.
Chapter 19
Meath carefully moved through the rocks and brush near the cave of the long dead dragon. His steps were precisely placed, so as to not leave a trail for anyone to find and follow.
He soon found the large flat stone he had been looking for but made no move for it. He glanced around behind him and listened intently for any suspicious noises, his eyes mis
sing nothing. When he was satisfied that he had not been followed, he reached down and lifted the stone with his free hand and searched beneath, until it found the tightly wrapped bundle. He grinned and placed the stone back down upon it, content that it was still there. As far as he could tell, Zada and the others had completely believed his story about Hector escaping with the dagger. A lie he needed them to continue to believe. Normally, he would not have risked such a venture, but he had seen many others come this way and he had to be sure the dagger was safe and his lie intact. He had no idea what they would do if they discovered the truth and he didn’t care to find out.
A noise off in the distance pulled Meath from his thoughts. He turned quickly to hone in on the direction - his footing slipped, he braced his hand against the shale and caught himself before he fell. The sharp rock cut deeply into his palm and he stifled a pain-filled curse. He clenched his hand shut and moved from the dagger’s hiding place, knowing if someone was about he did not want them to find him there.
He made it back onto the landing in front of the dragon’s cave and with a quick look about was relieved that no one was around. He looked down at his hand and thick blood dripped from his tightened fingers. The wound was deep and he knew he needed to have it attended to. He took two steps toward town and stopped, looking back at his hand. His powers had grown by what seemed like tenfold since he had taken Hector’s Gift days before. The last few days, he had been distracted and had not really tried to focus on healing with Tabitha, for fear of giving the truth away.
Meath placed his uninjured hand over the other, already he could feel the sensation of his innate abilities course through him, eager to be used. He focused that energy, drawing a picture in his mind of his wound mending closed, yet after several moments still nothing had happened. He calmed himself and took a deep breath, closed his eyes and tried once more, remembering the words Tabitha had told him time and time again. Clear your mind, focus your energies on the task, and release them slowly to its purpose. He repeated the words in his mind and visualized the wound mending itself closed. He exhaled slowly and pushed his powers out just as measured. An eerie prickling sensation assaulted his wounded hand, but he kept focused until finally the sensation ceased.
He opened his eyes to see that the blood had stopped dripping from his palm. He wiped what was left from his hand, exposing the freshly mended flesh beneath. His eyes widened as a soft gleeful chuckle escaped his lips. “I finally did it.”
He flexed his hand and moved his fingers around; his hand still hurt, but the wound was fully healed. He looked out over the valley that made up Salvas, his proud grin fading as reality set in. It was time now, he would wait no longer.
“You cannot go in there!” Kilten bellowed out. “Stop, Meath!”
Meath ignored him, pushing open the door to the study Zada often worked in within the Alma-Mater.
Zada lifted her startled gaze from an ancient tome. “Meath, what is it? What is the matter?” She questioned seeing the fire in his eyes and sensing purpose.
“I am sorry, my Lady, he would not listen to me,” Kilten apologized awkwardly but Zada held up her hand and quickly dismissed him.
“I am ready,” Meath stated when the door closed once more.
Zada closed the tome. “Tabitha informs me you still have not been able to heal even a minor wound yet. So how is it now that you believe you are ready to go off and face Astaroth and whatever minions he may have acquired?”
Meath moved over to a mirror hanging on the wall. His fist smashed the glass and without a second thought he ran a glass shard across the top of his hand.
“Meath, what are you doing?!” Zada exclaimed but her protest halted as the blood flow slowed and then stopped before her eyes.
Meath held it out for her to see, the wound nothing more than an angry red mark where it has been. “I said, I am ready.”
“There is still time to prepare…not a lot, but some.”
Meath’s eyes hardened. “I will wait no longer; I am ready to end this. Make it happen.”
Zada sat up straight in her chair and watched Meath walk from the room. “So you are,” she whispered.
“Are you sure about this?” Titus asked, his tone filled with uncertainty.
Zada paced her garden fretfully. “Likely he is not, but the time draws near and before long, it will be too late regardless.”
“But there still is time, my Lady,” Titus prompted. “Best use said time to ensure his capability and prepare him further. Donner should be returning soon and will be able to finalize his training.”
Zada was shaking her head. “He will wait no longer, Titus.”
“It is not up to him!” Titus scoffed. “You are the Lady of Salvas… you are the one who gives command.”
“Is it not? It is he who needs to do this? It is his life he risks.”
“Well yes, but...” Titus tried to regain his conviction. “Our lives are also held in the balance.”
Zada chuckled bitterly. “And you think he cares at all for any of our lives? No, Titus, do not confuse his reasons for doing this. He does this for himself. His mind is set - to impede upon it would likely only hinder him.” She sighed. “Tomorrow, he will leave Salvas and begin his hunt for his brother, but he will not be going alone.”
Meath sat alone on the grassy hillside watching as the sun slowly began to descend behind the mountains. His thoughts were darkening along with the coming night, even against the glorious spectacle of colors and hues lighting up the sky before him, his rage taking him.
Tomorrow, he would finally leave Salvas after all these long months. He would exit the magical, enchanted land and be back into the world he had been ripped from. It seemed so long ago now, yet the wound still tingled. Tomorrow, he would begin the hunt for his brother, Astaroth. Tomorrow, he would start the quest to avenge his fallen friends and his fallen love. He dared not say or think her name, knowing it would only pain him further.
He still had not known if he would return to Salvas if he survived, or if he would see if Ursa was still alive and go back to him. No, he knew he would not go back; he could not, not now. It would hurt too much. He dismissed the thought once more. He needed to worry about the task at hand and not what path he would walk afterwards.
The rustling of grass behind him stirred him from his thoughts and he turned to see Tabitha. The soft wind tussled at her golden hair as she moved towards him.
“I am sorry; I did not mean to disturb you,” she said, her eyes glistened in the fading light of day.
“You did not disturb me,” Meath replied. “I was hoping you would come.”
Tabitha sat down beside him, gazing off distractedly at the array of mingling colors above. “I heard the news.”
They sat in silence for what seemed like forever before finally Meath spoke, breaking the silence. “Tomorrow I leave Salvas,” he paused as he fought with his words, “I do not know if I will survive against Astaroth.”
“Do not say such a thing,” Tabitha gasped, tears marring her soft cheeks already. “You will win, you have to.”
“If I do survive, I want you to know, I will return…for you.” The words left his mouth and he was just as surprised as she was by them. And for the first time he did not feel the stabbing pain of betrayal. She was dead, he could do nothing to bring her back - all he could do now was avenge her and lay the past to rest.
“Do you mean it?” Tabitha asked, her voice barely more than a whisper.
Meath leaned in and placed a tender kiss upon her lips. “I mean it,” he whispered, his lips finding hers again as they slipped back into the grasses.
Meath made his way to Zada’s cabin, on the outskirts of Salvas. She had asked him to be there at first light for final preparations before he was to be sent out into the world beyond the protective veil. Had he known how to leave, he would have already. It was the only reason he was going to see her.
He had been surprised she had so easily agreed that it was time for him to st
art his quest. Her agreement bothered him slightly, yet whatever she was not telling him, he too had his secrets to play close to his chest now.
He had packed light. His bag only contained a woolen blanket, a small length of rope, enough food and water for four days and a small pouch of coins Zada had given him. He wore a simple dark olive green cloak and his sword and dagger rested easily at his side, their blades honed to perfection.
The door to Zada’s house cracked open as he got there and to his surprise, several people stepped out before Zada herself. Titus was first, the expression across his brow was of deep concern. Tabitha wore a deep scowl as she exited the house, but when her eyes rested upon his her expression changed to one of longing and fear. Next was Daden, his eyes were hard and his jaw set - he did not bother looking Meath’s way.
“Meath, I am glad you are here. I was just about to send for you,” Zada said as she came out behind the others.
He eyed everyone with a hint of suspicion. “I was not expecting a going away party,” he joked, with only a hint of sarcasm.
“It would not seem right if at least a few of those who have grown to know you were not here to send you off on such a journey,” Zada offered.
“I thank you for the sentiment, but the sooner I leave, the sooner this deed can be finished and I can return,” his eyes lingered on Tabitha for a moment.
“So you have decided to return once this is over,” Zada exclaimed happily. “The news is uplifting to my soul. You will not be alone on your quest; we have decided it best if you were accompanied by someone.”
Meath cocked a brow and his eyes fell on Daden. “Him?”
Zada nodded. “Daden will join you on your hunt for Astaroth - between the two of you, you should be able to flush him out of hiding and bring him to justice before he can further his plans of destruction.”
Meath could tell by Daden’s demeanor that he was not thrilled by the prospect either. “I think it would be better if I went alone. He will only hinder my efforts.”
