Four Gods

by Sebastian H. Alive

  “How did you do it?” asked Leonidis at the beaming cripple.

  “We had an understanding. In that instant when he looked across at me and our eyes locked, we both recognised something. He can go home to his wife and children and have a hot meal later; I cannot. He does not have to worry about starving; whereas I do. His life is safe and secure; mine is not but although our circumstances are very different we are all still the same and he knew this.”

  “Can we go now?”

  Damascus sighed and pocketed the coin but he could see that he was visibly uncomfortable surrounded by so many people.

  “Then let’s go to a less populated area but on one condition.”

  “Which is?” asked Leonidis.

  “You approach your first giver when we get there. You’ll do just fine, trust me on this.”

  “Fine.” he replied in an exasperated voice.

  “Ingrith will be pleased.” said Damascus with a light-hearted chuckle.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Llewelyn

  Dar Thadian downed the rich, heady ale in a single gulp then slammed the tankard down onto the table top. Discarding the empty container he swept up a second and drank almost the entire contents before belching loudly and wiping the back of his mouth with his hand. Akkadian looked at him for a moment from underneath his hood then quickly moved his drink protectively towards him. A burst of loud, angry voices erupted in the tavern and two men who had been playing dice with five others were now rolling around on the muddy beer-soaked floor and throwing punches. One of the men staggered to his feet, his face flushed and swollen and his friends discouraged him from backing away from what he had started. He darted forward and aimed a kick at the other man’s midriff which was greeted by raucous cheers. Half turning with a triumphant smile on his face the man didn’t notice his opponent drunkenly lurch to his feet and pick up a chair. With shouts of warning he just turned around in time to see the wooden stool come down towards his head and raised his arms to defend his face. His forearms took the brunt of the blow shattering the chair and he staggered but did not fall. Then the two men dragged each other to the tavern door and the fight spilled outside followed by their friends. The tavern keeper, a surly-looking old man with a bald, liver-spotted head and badly discoloured teeth wiped the counter with a dirty cloth and glared at the smashed stool and muttered something under his breath.

  “This is one of your more laid-back taverns.” commented Akkadian keeping his head low and taking a drink from his tankard.

  “Fight then drink.” grunted Dar Thadian draining the rest of his ale then looking over at the swordsman’s tankard eagerly.

  Akkadian caught the eye of the barmaid and signalled for another round of drinks and a few minutes she weaved through the crowd and slid two fresh fully brimmed drinks onto the table and have him a friendly smile. He palmed a couple a coins across the surface of the table then paused and looked up at her. She was young, full-figured with long red-hair, full lips and beautiful green eyes.

  “My you are quite a vision and certainly more so after my second tankard.” said Akkadian flashing a winning smile.

  She didn’t look intimidated as she leant over the table scooping up the money whilst showing him her ample cleavage and then looked back at him unabashed.

  “You have a nice smile,” she purred. “I’m wondering if you’re as handsome underneath that hood.”

  “Terribly handsome,” agreed Akkadian sincerely. “And even more so when naked because it brinks out my dimples. Tell me; just what is a beautiful girl like you doing in an immoral cess-pit of thieves, brawlers, drunkards and cut-purses?”

  “I’m waiting for a real man to show me a good time. Is there anything else I could do for you?” she asked suggestively.

  “Would it be rude of me to put forward for consideration that I would like to bed you?” asked the swordsman cheerfully.

  Smiling the barmaid turned to leave then looked back at Akkadian.

  “Ask for me by name later. I’m Isabella.”

  She then stared at the huge back of the giant who was sat hunched and cradling his tankard.

  “You’re a big boy,” called Isabella over to him. “Old Betsy would ride you for half the price. She likes her men big.”

  Then she was gone and lost within the revellers of the tavern leaving the swordsman grinning happily.

  “My powers are simply extraordinary!” Akkadian gushed.

  “Your powers will cost you coin,” grunted Dar Thadian. “She’s a whore.”

  “Must you always dampen my good mood? Now let’s not get into any heavy deep conversation that will make us both maudlin. Let us just drink and relax.”

  The swordsman took a long, slow sip of his ale then looked across at the giant.

  “The silence is unbearably uncomfortable. So why did you massacre that entire village of men, women and children?” he asked pleasantly.

  The giants eyes darkened angrily and the muscles in his jaw clenched at the question.

  “I felt a chill in the air then.”

  “I should stave your head through that wall.” growled Dar Thadian.

  For a few long minutes there was an uncomfortable quiet and the swordsman didn’t think the giant was going to respond but when he did his voice was strangely soft and melodic.

  “I know what I am. I’m a killer; it’s what I’m good at. Magdalenian knew this then as he knows it now. He needed me. You all needed me and then you all turned your back on me and now you need me again.”

  Akkadian didn’t say anything, his face devoid of emotion as he stared fixedly at the giant who looked back through narrowed eyes as he continued speaking.

  “The war had been going on for years and thousands had been slain and the land was in ruins. Many had given up the fight against King Idra yet I still stood, defiant till the last with axe blades that would not dull. We were their last hope and we had our orders, orders given by Magdalenian. We would stand in the final battle and we would not be bowed. When the King fell and I took his head Magdalenian said it was over but it wasn’t. The people were tainted by the king; they still followed his ideals and beliefs. We should have ruled over them but Magdalenian would have me put up my axe and I couldn’t allow that to happen. The stain of his cowardice would have Idra’s people walk free, to re-group and elect a new leader so they could revisit their atrocities against the innocents. I would slay a thousand, thousand souls before I allowed that to happen so in doing what I did, do you think I’m a monster?”

  “Does it matter what I think?” whispered Akkadian staring at the sadness in his eyes tinged with the edge of insanity.

  “Not really,” grunted Dar Thadian. “My judgment would not bend to your opinion anyway. Now, with the onset of war you bring me back again to face another tyrant, to kill more people. So I ask you, who is the monster? Is it Magdalenian or myself?”

  Suddenly Akkadian flicked his eyes beyond the giant as four men entered the tavern and went straight to the surly-looking tavern keeper at the bar and began talking. The old man with the dirty cloth glanced nervously in their direction and the swordsman hissed between his teeth as the four men turned and surveyed them from across the room.

  “This was maybe not such a good idea after all.” he muttered to the giant.

  Dar Thadian ignored him and carried on nursing his tankard still lost in thought as the four men left the bar and began walking towards their table. As they approached Akkadian caught a flash of a steel scabbard underneath the lead man’s long dark cloak and he eyed him coolly. All of them looked like tough, hardy men but the man with the sword was dangerous. He carried himself with confidence, smooth in his stride and well-balanced almost exuding his strength. His face was rugged with a thin white scar on his forehead and he had dark close-cropped hair with eyes that were cold and unwelcoming.

  ‘A born warrior.’ thought Akkadian with admiration.

  As he stood before them with his three accomplices behind him his eyes raked th
e huge muscular back of the giant who remained fixated on his tankard of ale at the table then he looked over to the hooded swordsman.

  “You are the man they call Akkadian?” asked the man with the scar in a deep gravelly voice.

  “Correction, I am the God they call Akkadian.”

  “You are no God!” snorted the man.

  “And who are you that approaches my table and interrupts my drinking?” queried the swordsman with a frown.

  “I am Bartram.”

  “Well Bartram, I like your sword. May I have it?”

  “You shall have it pushed up to the hilt in your gut.” the man sneered resting his hand inside his cloak on the weapons pommel.

  “You are not King’s men, so then who sent you?”

  “Compliments of Meeran.”

  “That little weasel!” spat Akkadian looking incredulously over to Dar Thadian. “Is there no depths that man will sink to? I’m slightly offended.”

  “Are you ready to die?” hissed Bartram tensing.

  “Hold on, hold on,” said Akkadian raising his voice and holding his palms out. “I am well aware of the stares from your men and the people in this good tavern and feel a demonstration is in order to prove my Godliness and I realise sometimes situations such as this lends itself to a more physical approach.”

  “You are not a God.”

  “I am indeed and I shall prove it,” replied the swordsman convincingly. “I will break your nose without even touching it. Can we all agree that would be a minor miracle?”

  “I would have your hand before the blow had even landed.” snapped Bartram.

  “Even so I am willing to take that risk.” said Akkadian pulling back his hood and flexing his fingers theatrically.

  “Your death will be slow for your insolence. This I promise you.”

  “Are you ready?”

  Bartram fixed his eyes on the swordsman who slowly reached out and took a sip of his ale before placing the tankard back onto the surface. Palpable silence had descended on the tavern as all eyes were locked on the two men, one poised with his hand on his sword and the other seated at the table unarmed and with a smirk across his face.

  “Break his nose, Axe-Hound.”

  Dar Thadian lunged up from his chair and threw an elbow into Bartram’s face. There was a sickening crack that echoed throughout the tavern and the man’s eyes glazed over and he collapsed wordlessly to the ground in a heap to the stunned stares of all the onlookers. Then there were a few dissatisfied groans from the watching crowd and they turned away and resumed drinking.

  “Told you,” remarked Akkadian shrugging his shoulders at the remaining three men who were stood there unsure what to do as the giant glared down at them with his huge fists clenched. “Now if any of you men need further evidence of my supreme power then I can guarantee you that I can pull your arms off and beat you to death with the wet end without even laying one finger on you. Care to see?”

  The men shook their heads numbly and staggered from the table leaving the unconscious man sprawled on the floor at the foot of their table.

  “I think our time in Llewelyn is coming to an end, Axe-Hound.” mumbled Akkadian pulling his hood back up and rising to his feet.

  The giant grunted then drained both tankards on the table as the swordsman knelt by the prone figure on the floor and relieved him of his weapon.

  “I do like this sword.” he said hefting the blade for balance and rolling his wrists a couple of times.

  Taking the man’s scabbard he belted it around his waist and sheathed the sword before looking up at Dar Thadian.

  “We’ll come back later for another tankard or two.” he said with a wink.

  “I thought you said we were leaving.” growled the giant with a heavy furrowed brow.

  “No, I said our time is coming to an end, as in not quite yet finished.”

  “Why come back?”

  “For sex you dullard.” remarked Akkadian rolling his eyes.

  Chapter Twenty

  South

  The horse slowed to a canter as the rider sagged forward in the saddle pushing his weight up against Anya. Too tired and overcome with fatigue, he closed his eyes then lost grip of the reins. As Agamemnon began to topple sideways he wearily tried to clutch at the horses mane to keep his balance but his body dragged him down and he fell heavily onto the mossy grass of the woodland floor with a grunt. Anya looked back frantically as the horse trotted slowly around a bend losing view of the fallen warrior behind a screen of densely populated trees. With a whimper she leant forward and wrapped her arms around the animal’s long neck clinging on desperately but as she did so her cloth doll slipped from her fingers, tumbling down the horse’s barrel and onto the ground.

  “Jolecia!” cried Anya with tears springing to her eyes as she gazed over her shoulder.

  After a few more yards the horse came to a standstill, lathered and heaving and too tired to move anymore with its head hanging low. Anya carefully lifted her leg over the side of the animal and clambered down. Running over to the fallen doll she scooped it up into her arms tightly. Biting her lip she looked in the direction of Agamemnon then back at the horse which was tossing its head and flinging foam-flakes right and left. After a few seconds Anya ran back to the horse and reached up and took its reins in her hand.

  “Please come.” she said pulling on the leather straps and urging the animal to turn around.

  It didn’t at first but then she tugged a little harder and the horse turned obediently and broke into a slow, clumsy canter as she led it back down the trail towards Agamemnon. When Anya spotted him he was still in the same position sprawled awkwardly on the ground in a deep sleep. She tied the reins to a nearby tree and bent down over the swordsman and shook his shoulder but he wouldn't wake. With panic she pulled at his arm and he restlessly moved his head back and forth but try as she might she still couldn't wake him.

  “Wake up!” she cried.

  After a few minutes of trying to rouse the swordsman Anya sat on her haunches, elbows on her legs and palms under her chin unsure what to do. Her stomach growled reminding her that she was hungry as she scanned the woodland nervously. It was getting late and she could see the evening sun low in the sky through the canopy of the trees and soon it would dip below the horizon and she would be in darkness. They had travelled hard and rested little and even she had rested he had remained alert and watchful. Avoiding the skyline and staying downwind they had rode tirelessly south travelling through woodland where possible and crossing streams to mask their scent. At one point Agamemnon had made her wash in a cold stream to rid herself of her body odour and travel dust. Anya hadn’t resisted, she had been too tired and too hungry to do so. Now here she was, in a place she didn’t recognise and journeying to a destination she didn’t know with a man that she barely knew but that man was risking his own life to protect her and willing to give up everything he had in doing so. Her linen night dress had been discarded and now she was sat miserably in ill-fitting, itchy boys clothing with her red hair unkempt and tousled and the rations of food taken from Ansk exhausted and nothing more than a distant memory. Her legs and neck ached; she had back pain and saddle soreness from rubbing in the seat area and hunger gnawed at her insides but Anya didn’t complain. In fact, they didn’t communicate much at all but one look in his red-rimmed, haunted and weary eyes was enough to convince her to trust him even though she had trusted no-one since her mother.

  “He’s a good man, Jolecia. He’ll keep us both safe.” she had whispered down at her doll.

  Whilst deep in the woods they had stumbled across a boar wallow and a huge wild pig rubbing itself against the tree stumps. The animal was big, with high broad shoulders and narrow hind quarters and covered in fine bristly black fur from head to tail. It turned to face the potential threat and its nose went up, tail erect and the shackles on the boars shoulders stood on end aggressively as it readied itself for a confrontation. In an instant something had flown past Anya’s should
er and cracked against the temple of the pig stunning it to the floor and Agamemnon had swiftly dismounted from the horse and approached the prone animal.

  “Did you kill it?” asked Anya.

  It was the first words she had spoken for some time and the swordsman had looked up at her sitting in the saddle then shook his head.

  “I hit it with the butt. It still lives.” he said picking up the knife as he knelt on one leg beside the pig.

  “I…I don’t want to eat that!” she had exclaimed.

  “It is not for eating.” muttered Agamemnon placing the dagger back into his baldric.

  He removed his cloak from around his shoulders and wrapped it around the body of the boar and tied it securely with a knot. Testing the interlaced material the swordsman grunted in satisfaction then stood up and re-mounted the horse.

  “It may confuse the Meldling with the animal carrying my scent.”

  “Will it work?” she had asked hopefully.

  “I don’t know.” he said grimly before urging the horse back along the trail.

  Now as she cast her mind back to that moment the thought of roasted boar over an open fire was a deliciously tantalizing one. Sighing Anya listened to the sound of his heavy breathing and pushed images of thick cut pig meat as far from her mind as she could.

  ‘Go find some food,’ said a voice in her head. ‘He will be thankful when he wakes. Out here are berry bushes, edible greens and forest fruits.’

  She wrung her hands nervously for a few minutes, looking occasionally over to the sleeping swordsman then at the surrounding woodland.

  “But he will be angry if he wakes and I am not here.” she mumbled to herself with uncertainty.

  ‘Then be quick!” answered the voice.

  Pushing herself to her feet Anya hugged her doll tightly and took a few hesitant steps towards the trees off the muddied track before looking back at the still form of Agamemnon. Swallowing her rising panic she then wandered slowly towards the undergrowth, her eyes scanning the shrubbery and foliage.