Lycenea

by Rory D Nelson

  “Why is this one wearing glasses, peasant?” asks Cleotus.

  “He is blind sir but very sensitive to light.”

  “He looks strong, but he is of little value if he is blind. Command them both to run.”

  “As fast as you can lads, run like the wind.” Perronius and Sylvanus take off and match each other for the first few strides, but Sylvanus’ club foot makes it difficult to maintain that speed. Even without his handicap, he is no match for Perronius. In as little as fifty yards, Perronius is at least a good ten yards ahead of his older brother.

  “Stop!” yells Cleotus. “Come hither, both of you!”

  “Go boys,” commands their Father. Perronius and Sylvanus stand before Cleotus. Cleotus scrutinizes them further, lifting their arms up and smelling them. Then he lifts their feet up, to ensure that they are intact. He observes Sylvanus’ clubbed foot. He points at Sylvanus. “This one is defective, peasant. He may yet be of some use though. I’ll give you twelve pence for the two of them. No more. No less. Can bargain be had?”

  The amount was less than what he had hoped for, but that amount was supposed to only be for one boy. “I can’t depart with both of my lads, Commander. Cleotus looks at Henren menacingly. He considers just taking them both, but he has no way of knowing if the man possesses any iron shooter. He could throw his scythe with deadly accuracy, but he couldn’t risk what the man held in his baggy pantalones. He refrains. “Then no deal, peasant.” He turns to leave.

  Perronius, sensing an impending doom for his family, steps forward. “Please, sir. I am of great value. I may be blind, but I am smart. I remember things. Lots of things.”

  He turns towards the boy. “So? You’re not an imbecile. So what?”

  Perronius, growing desperate, thinks of something else. “I am strong and have good reflexes. See for yourself, Commander.” He points to a rock. “That jagged rock by your feet, pick it up and throw it to me. Hard.”

  “I’ll break your face if I do, lad.” As soon as he utters the sentence, it dawns on him. If he were blind, how the hell did he know there was a jagged rock there?

  “Cause I never miss anything,” says Perronius in response to his thought.

  Cleotus picks up the rock and hurls it at the boy. Not his strongest throw by a long shot, but a shot that would have proven difficult for a boy, even with vision to accomplish. Perronius reaches up his hand a thousand of a second before it would have shattered his cheekbone and grabs the rock from the air. “Looksee. Exactly what I told you.”

  “And you can do such at will?”

  “At will. Yours to command.”

  Cleotus nods. “Ai. Set watch and warrant it so.” He addresses Henren, his voice booming. “I’ll give you fourteen gold pence for the lad, and that is the most generous off-”

  Perronius cuts him off. “Twenty-five.”

  Cleotus hesitates. He again considers absconding with the boy.

  “Twenty.”

  “Ai,” responds Perronius. “A fair sum, Father, is it not?”

  Henren, suddenly feeling emasculated and befuddled, reluctantly responds. “Ai, lad. A fair price indeed.”

  “My father does carry hard iron, Commande,” whispers Perronius, conspiratorially.

  Cleotus eyes widen in amazement. He reaches into his pocket, extracts his coin purse and counts out the twenty gold pence. He doesn’t risk shortchanging the father. He doesn’t trust the boy not to inform on him since he can read his thoughts.

  “Send your other boy, peasant.”

  “Ai.” He gestures to Sylvanus. “Get the scrilla, lad.”

  “Ai, Father.” Sylvanus carefully but quickly reaches down to the ground and picks up the money, counting it as he does so.

  “All here, Pa. As promised.”

  “Ai. Set watch and warrant it so. Now shake Cleotus’ hand, lad, so the deal can be concluded.” Sylvanus complies, marveling at the size of the Ork’s massively clawed hand. It is as rough as the tusk of a wild boar, and though the ork doesn’t grasp his hand firmly, he nevertheless feels the potential strength inside those clawed hands. It isn’t soon enough for Sylvanus to conclude the deal. And when it is finished, he withdraws his hand and returns to his father.

  Cleotus looks around and points to one of his subordinates, Persico. “Bring the shackles, Persico.” He bellows.

  Half-heartedly trying to intervene, Henren steps forward. “Do you have to do such, Commander? He’s just a lad, so he is. Comin’ of his own accord, so he is now.”

  Cleotus put up a hand. “Money has exchanged hands, peasant. He is now my property to do with as I see fit. Go about your business and be off. He is of no more concern to you.”

  A moment of silence ensues, almost as if Cleotus is daring Henren to act out of turn. He prudently refrains. The porch door opens and slams shut, ending the maddening silence and Luelyn and Padme run out to Perronius and enfold him in their arms fiercely, unable to accept the desperate circumstances, tears streaming down their faces, eyes puffy and red.

  “Luelyn and Padme, get away from him! Now,” admonishes father.

  Cleotus, in an act of unusual compassion, holds up his hand. “I will permit them a moment for goodbyes, peasant.”

  Henren nods.

  Perronius remains stoic and steadfast, resigning himself to his fate, a necessary sacrifice for his family. “No more tears, little ones. Set watch and warrant. It won’t always be this way. There is still chance I may return to you yet.”

  Luelyn, the younger one, perks up at this possibility. Padme however, sees through his thinly veiled attempt to assuage them but doesn’t call him on it, for the sake of the younger sibling.

  “Most do not last longer than two years in the mines, so they say,” says Padme.

  Luelyn sobs harshly, burying her head in Perronius’ wool sweater vest. “So they say young sister, but I am not most, as you well know.”

  “No, you’re not. Either is your need to help. Don’t help anyone. Don’t let them notice you. I wish you to come back to us. You are gifted, but they will take everything from you, all your gifts. Do you understand, little brother?”

  “Ai. So I do,” lies Perronius. In his heart, he knows he could never hide in the shadows.

  Padme removes a silver necklace from around her neck, depicting an angel, holding the baby Jesus. One year, during an unusually prosperous fishing haul, there was extra money and Father had splurged, buying gifts for the family. It was a Christmas gift and the only gift she had ever received in her life; so to depart with it, even for a moment, would have been difficult for her.

  She didn’t hesitate when placing it around her brother’s neck. “Tis the Savior’s guardian angel, so it is. It has always been a comfort to me. May it now comfort you.”

  “Gratitude,” replies Perronius hoarsely. Though he had been determined to remain stoic, his emotions began to wear him down. He wipes away the tears from his eyes.

  Cleotus’ booming voice interrupts their moment. “All right, lasses. Time to be off. We are on a timetable, so we are.”

  Persico approaches Perronius and puts the shackles on him and then loads him into the prisoner transport wagon, one which had seen better days. Dry rot infested the interior, splintering the wood in many places and giving off a moldy smell. It’s unpleasant for anyone who has to smell it, but to Perronius’ acute sense of smell, it is execrable.

  As soon as he sits down, the large Ork chains him to two large metal rings fashioned to the wall.

  They are unnecessary. Even if he could have escaped, Perronius would never have risked putting his family in jeopardy.

  Merlin’s voice wavers hoarsely as he speaks about the emotional scene of leaving his two sisters. After an unusually lengthy pause, Dante asks, “What became of your kin, Merlin?”

  “I don’t know. It remains to be seen. I spent two years at the mines of Cathrall in the most deplorable conditions one can imagine before King Menelaeus bought my freedom and placed me here. He was Dottore at the time
, but still a man with much power. He petitioned the King on my behalf and even with all the vast resources of Gilleon at his disposal, he was unable to find anything. I myself, have visited my birth home several times over the years, partly out of an act of reflection, repose, and inquiry, hoping the answers had eluded me up to that point.”

  “They just disappeared?”

  “No. There were clues, to be sure. Many leads were followed, but they always led to a dead end. In time, the trail became cold. It was almost as if they walked off the face of the earth.”

  A pause ensues, Dante absorbing the tragic story and Merlin reflecting on it.

  “You are an orphan, like me.”

  “The Brotherhood is my family now, Dante, as they are to you also. We are both well met and lucky to be among them. You ken?”

  “Ai. And when I earn my knighthood, I will be a full Brethren. It is all I wish for.”

  “You are well on your way, boy. The path is an arduous one, but one that is rewarding beyond measure.”

  “Ai.” Dante seems to consider something then asks, reluctantly. “Merlin, whatever happened to the necklace Luelyn gave you? Do you still have it?”

  “No,” responds Merlin. “I gave it to someone who was more in need of it than I. My wife, Chelsea, holds it to her heart. And the guardian angel that accompanies the piece now clings to her bosom. That piece has an interesting history. I had to do much in order to retrieve that piece many times. It’s fascinating.”

  “I would like to hear you tell it.”

  “And I will, but not now. Your recess is over. Your classroom instruction to begin momentarily.”

  “Ai. Gratitude Merlin.”

  “We are well met, lad.” Dante and Cammilia walk back out of the tavern, a hopeful smile painted on his face he is unable to wipe off.

  Chapter 22: Felinius begins his Mission

  Talonius, Jasper and The Primm Brothers- Akmed, Senegal, and Pentilus warm themselves by the large fire. Though it is spring time, the elevation in the Castalanian Mountain Range produces a blistering and bone-chilling cold front that causes one to shiver if you aren’t a pine step away from the fire. Felinius lounges in his steam tent, an invention by Merlin himself and is oblivious to the mind-numbing cold outside.

  Having an insatiable sex drive and being miles away from civilization, he had already masturbated several times, which put his mind at ease. The next day, he would find himself a suitable woman the first chance he got when he did reach whatever ratshamble place passed for civilization around these dreary parts. In the meantime, he reads from the great Philosopher, Herodutus, a book entitled, “The Numbing of the Savages.”

  Felinius would never deign to associate with Herod’s ‘cockheads’ as he calls them. Although they are well-versed in academia, they had not the least bit of knowledge of how to defend themselves, should trouble arise. And it seems that with Felinius, trouble is always a pine-step away. He will associate with them only when it is necessary.

  It seems only the animals are comfortable with the cold. The horses coo and snort lowly, digesting the meal of alfalfa wheat they had. The massive sheepdog, Wollie, sprawls out several yards from the fire on his belly, oblivious to the cold temperatures that cause the humans to shiver whenever they venture outside of the warmth zone.

  “He’s a tripe one, that’s for sure,” says Talonius bitterly.

  “Ai. He gets his special tent while we shiver our asses off out here. It’s not right. Who the hell is he anyway?” asks Jasper indignantly.

  “Ai. Have a good mind to go over there and kick his sully ass right out of his tent and give someone else a turn at some decent warmth,” remarks Akmed bitterly.

  “And your gesture would be short-lived. It might be the last gesture you make. Herod holds him in high esteem. That’s Felinius,” warns Talonius.

  “The fugtive Felinius? Condemned Felinius? The disgraced knight?” asks Jasper.

  “Ai, that’s him. The same man who cut down fifty men in his Ultima and escaped from the hell whole Cathrall. It is rumored that the experience left him even battier than he was before,” says Talonius. He clasps his hands around Jasper’s neck. “But I’m sure he wouldn’t take offense to you going over there and attempting to scully him into shape. Would he?” He asks facetiously. Talonius, Akmed, and Senegal snicker and then break out into giddiness. Jasper shakes his head in irritation and removes himself from Talonius’ derisive embrace.

  As the laughter dies out, Talonius looks at the men sternly. “But there’s something else you might consider as well, lads. If’n we get into some type of skirmish, we couldn’t ask for a deadlier ally than Felinius. It may be the only thing saving us from annihilation. You ken?”

  “Ai,” responds Jasper and Senegal.

  “You would do well to remember such,” says Talonius.

  Felinius sits in his tent, eavesdropping on their conversation and smiling to himself. At least he reckons, he will receive little in the way of lip service from those imbecilic cockheads.

  Unbeknownst to the party, except for Felinius, is a group of Sandonista trackers, who had been paid to patrol the vicinity of the Capital, Baltan. The Captain of the Guards, Aramis, is notified. He observes their foreign attire and surmises they are from Gilleon. This will be valuable news to prefect Aramon, indeed.

  Aramis rides up to Aramon’s massive castle, situated in a grassy meadow hill, looking over the city of Baltan and adjacent to the life-giving River Meade, making it easier to divert water used in the moat. A massive drawbridge descends down across the moat, separating the castle from the meadowland by over a hundred fifty yards.

  The castle’s location above the city is befitting for the aristocracy, who would not deign to live among the commoners.

  Aramon sits on Jason’s old throne, a massively petrified wooden throne with fifteen swords embedded in the nearly indestructible wood that weighs as much as an elephant. Four notable skulls of the General’s they had slaughtered are transfixed to the top of the high headrest that towers over anyone that sits upon it. It is a testament to the mighty power of the Empire.

  Aramis can be heard long before he walks into Aramon’s receiving chamber. Aramon rolls his eyes at the imposing, tactless and obnoxiously loud brute and as he walks in. Each step seems to be deliberately placed, creating an echo of his stirrups that reverberate throughout the hall.

  “I can hear you coming from a square hectare, so I can Aramis, as I’m sure our enemies can.’’

  “Apologies, prefect. I assure you, our enemies are none the wiser.’’

  “You have word for me?” He asks, trying to shake off his irritation like a wool sweater.

  “Ai, my Lord, so I do.”

  “Speak it!”

  “Travelers are approaching from the East.”

  “Not from the West? That’s odd.”

  “Ai. Foreigners. They appear to bear the mark of Gilleon.”

  Aramon perks up at that news, his eyebrows raised in a pensive expression. Unconsciously, he clenches and unclenches his fist rapidly and then rises from his throne. “Emissaries from Gilleon? Are you sure? You are not being tripe?”

  “We are Sandonistas, my Lord. And we are not tripe. It’s true. They appear to bear the mark.”

  Aramon exhales deeply and tries to cool the maelstrom building within him. He will have to be prudent and cautious. He cannot afford to be capricious like Jason had. He rubs his chin in a contemplative manner. “Permit them to come into our city. In fact, send a small envoy, allowing them safe passage. Then ascertain why are they are here. I have a feeling that their business will lead to my door. Do you ken, Captain?”

  “Ai, Prefect. A prudent measure under the circumstances.”

  “See it done.” Aramon gestures Aramis off with his hand as if he were shooing away a fly.

  Aramis bows. “Ai, my Lord. Set watch and warrant it so.”

  Felinius packs up his tent and gear. He has an overcoat, pantalones, chambray shirt and wool jacket t
hat matches his outfit he is currently wearing. He doesn’t particularly relish meeting his co-conspirator, but it wasn’t his decision. Such is the way of the Falcon. What Herod wants he gets.

  Off in the distance, Felinius hears the whinnying of horses and then the sound of the hooves, which alert the other men, who look to Felinius for some sort of clue as to whether or not this was an unexpected event or not. They find no clue from his deadpan expression.

  “We’ve been seen. They are coming,” replies Talonius stupidly agitated at the lack of response from Felinius.

  “Gratitude for your remarkable observation, Talonius. The sky is blue, and we are riding at a high elevation. Is there any other obvious facts you would like to alert us to?” asks Felinius facetiously. Talonius blushes. The Primm brothers snicker in amusement, relieved by the absence of any alarm from Felinius’ expression.

  “We’ve been tracked. As expected. They are not here to attack.” Talonius sighs in relief at the assessment.

  Aramis and his entourage approach. Aramis dismounts his horse and nods to his men to do the same. Felinius steps forward. “Greetings, Commander is it?”

  “Captain. Captain Aramis.”

  “And who are you?”

  “I am Felinius, and these are my men. This is Talonius, our Statesman Scribe, and Jasper, who is well-versed in matters of law. These are the Primm Brothers - Akmed, Senegal, and Pontilus.”

  Aramis observes the manner in which Felinius introduces his men and the way his eyes quickly dart to and from his men, ascertaining their fire power and skill level. His eyes are deep blue, intelligently menacing, with all the aplomb of a gifted and seasoned gunslinger. Aramis had seen eyes like them only once when he had actually met one of the Knights of the Round Table. This one could be trouble; a deadly combination of skill and wit. They could not afford to let him out of their sight.