The King then sat back down on the throne with a groan and for the slightest of moments his guard dropped and she saw the weariness in his face.
“But making my army stronger is making me weaker. There’s a certain irony to it, don’t you think?” asked the King.
“Then stop with these…things. The Kingdom would be lost without you, my King.” answered Ingrith.
“The realm is under threat and our enemies are close. They lurk within the citadel, hiding in the shadows. As you know the Captain of the Guards was slain in the street, your street, and I want to locate the perpetrator and bring him to justice.”
“An unfortunate incident, my King.” she said calmly.
“Indeed,” replied Gomorrah narrowing his eyes. “Who is he?”
“Just a boy, a street thief, my King. Wounded in your arena and cast out onto the streets. His name is Leonidis.”
“Son of Narius,” murmured the King thoughtfully. “The last time I saw him he had no face. Then he is a fighter not just in body but in spirit. Bring him to me.”
“My King, the boy fled Unfortunate’s alley before we could apprehend him.”
“She lies.” hissed Mordechai stepping forward with his face contorted in anger.
“I am surprised to see your dog and hear him speak, my King.” snapped Ingrith.
The enchanter blanched and the King laughed coldly.
“I see there is still venom in your bite, old woman. Know this; I will slay every one of your children, man, women and babe if Leonidis is not located and brought before me. You have until sunset tomorrow and then I will start killing your kind until he is found. Is that understood?”
“Yes, my King.” she said sternly.
Gomorrah waved her away with a flick of his wrist and Ingrith bowed low, then turned on her heels and began walking from the room when suddenly the King called out after her.
“Do you believe in the Old Gods?”
“There is only one God, the Great King above all Gods, my King.” she replied smoothly.
“Very good.”
Bowing once again she left the throne room.
“I do not trust her, my King,” whispered Mordechai sidling up close to him. “She is a believer. I can see it in her eyes. Instead have her brought to Vossler the Cruel. A couple of days on the Breaking Wheel and she will tell us his whereabouts I am sure of it.”
“You will not break her with torture. She is loyal to her people and it is a trait I admire in her. The old woman will not see her children suffer. That is how you will break her.”
“My King, you must reconsider.”
“You forget your place, enchanter!” roared Gomorrah slamming a meaty fist down onto the arm of the throne.
Mordechai flinched away from the Kings anger and lowered his head.
“It will be as you say, my King.”
“But have someone follow her. I want to see where she goes and who she speaks to.”
“Yes, my King.”
Chapter Twenty Seven
Llewelyn
Her face was buried into his shoulder and he could feel her hot breath on his neck as he lay there in the darkness listening to her breathe with her arm draped over his bare chest and one slim leg wrapped over his body. Relaxed as Akkadian was, tonight sleep would not come and he stared up at the ceiling lost in thought. He gently lifted her leg from over him and she squirmed a little under his touch but did not wake as he got up out of the bed. Standing naked he looked back down at Isabella and stared at the silhouette of her beautiful thighs, slightly apart on the bed and his bright blue eyes ran the curve of her figure seeing the rhythmic rise and fall of her body. Already he felt his loins begin to stir and he turned away and walked to the open balcony and shivered as the cold air caressed his skin. Akkadian could picture bending her over the balcony and a smile played about his face and he glanced back into the room.
‘Let the girl sleep.’ said the voice in his head.
He looked back out at the town of Llewelyn as a gentle breeze tugged at his shoulder-length blond hair.
“Where are you, Magdalenian?” he whispered. “Are you in my head even now? Are you manipulating me, am I nothing more than a pawn in your game of Gods and men once again?”
But there was no reply and neither did he expect one. He would reveal himself on his own terms as he always did. Akkadian recalled the very last conversation he had with Magdalenian so long ago now. It had taken place shortly after the fall of King Idra and both men met on the same hill that a few days before had been blood-soaked and strewn with the bodies of those that had died in the great battle.
“We should not play amongst men, Akkadian.” Magdalenian had said.
“I do as I please and do not submit to your boundaries or restrictions.” he had replied.
“You enjoy the attention they give you?”
“Is that a shameful thing, Magdalenian, to lust after stimulation and excitement? At least I am honest with my intentions. Yes, I am addicted to it so why should I not bask in their adulation? I will not be denied it. I am Akkadian, the deadliest of the Old Gods and I have the power to do as I like and no-one can challenge me, not even you.”
“We need to let the people heal, to re-build. Our presence amongst them damages them. It is time we stepped away.”
“I have no intention of stepping away, not whilst I have an endless supply of whore and duels to face. In case you haven’t noticed, Magdalenian, you have dissention in the ranks. Dar Thadian wants to rule over them with a bloody iron fist. Hephaestus loathes them as much as he defends them and you remain skulking in the shadows accessible only in their time of need, whereas I like to embrace polytheism and have nothing better to waste my time upon than my adoring worshippers. You go hide because there is no difference between an invisible God and a non-existent God. Me, I prefer to exist.”
“I wish I could persuade you otherwise.” said Magdalenian with sadness in his eyes.
“You cannot.”
“Then exist, my brother.” he had said laying a hand on his shoulder.
Those had been his last words and Akkadian had long felt a pang of regret at their parting. For many years he lived like a King, rich and wealthy, feasting lavishly on luxury foods and wine and bedding only the most beautiful women. Many thought him eccentric and others insane, whereas philosophers rejected his claims as a God calling him an imposter and his followers were met with increasing hostility, challenging his validity and viewing him with suspicious eyes. But then the new laws against heresy came about, implemented by the then King Davon and it became one of the most feared crimes in the land. As a God he had many faithful followers who devoted their life to serving him but with the passage of time their numbers dwindled. Some died from old age, others abandoned him through fear of persecution and scattered far and wide whereas some just their faith in him. Those few that remained and that still worshipped Akkadian as a protector, turned on him, men that were easily swayed by the promise of coin and he was handed over and brought before the court of the King. As an accused heretic he was given every encouragement to recant but he wouldn’t and was locked away in a windowless cell, his freedom taken away as he waited to be burnt at the stake. The night before his execution one of the guards responsible for watching over him, believing him falsely imprisoned, helped him escape under cover of darkness. When his escape was eventually discovered the next day, the King ordered all the prison guards put to death. Akkadian evaded capture but the world he lived in now was a very different one. The statues of the Gods had been torn down and broken in pieces and their names consigned to breathless whispers. Shrines were desecrated and worship of the Old Gods was declared a corrupt practice and punishable by death. He still remembered with a heavy heart the day he had stood in the shadows and watched as the people pulled down his own statue which had stood at the northernmost part of Tarlath and replaced with a huge bronze statue of the King in its place. He had liked that statue of him; it had been a good likeness.
So Akkadian took a different form, changing appearance as a means of escape and liberation and with each new generation people forget their God, forgot to teach about him to their children and their children to the next generation until only pockets of the faithful survived.
Since then he had long since forgotten the amount of identities he had assumed or the places he had inhabited. He had roamed the lands, selling the quickness of his sword to the highest bidder and meeting every challenge. Undefeated in every contest through generations of conditioning and training Akkadian became unequalled in combat and envied by many. But over the centuries he had grown tired of being a mercenary fighting for wages and without any true competitors he had lost his enthusiasm and his thirst for the challenge waned. Bored, he had indulged heavily in whores and drinking which invariably led him into trouble through loss of coin or sheer inebriation and blasphemous boasts. New Kings were crowned and the people placed their faith in their new ruler but to Akkadian it meant nothing. Like all powerful and greedy men, they soon fell into conflict and Kings came and Kings went, new dynasties rose and dynasties fell, pledges of fealty and declarations of loyalty broken with warfare frequent. That is how it had been for centuries and Akkadian knew that is how it would always be. Now here he was in a town that days before had sought to behead him with a new threat on the horizon under a new King.
Feeling melancholy he ran his eyes over the dark, silent town and had decided he was definitely going to wake the whore when suddenly a voice sounded in his head and he recognised it instantly.
“It is time, Akkadian.”
“Well, that has cheered me up no end. I was just reminiscing about the old days. But what a deliciously inappropriate time to reveal yourself, Magdalenian,” he said looking around the balcony with a grin. “May I be the first to say that I’m embarrassed that you can actually see my buttocks under moonlight after all this time.”
“I need you now more than ever.” ghosted the voice of Magdalenian.
“You can see me naked, right?” he asked with a frown. “Did you see me having sex? It was wonderfully erotic. No self-respecting woman can resist this face and body.”
“Ride for Tarlath at first light and meet me there. Seek me out on Unfortunate’s alley.”
“I had a feeling this night was going to get very interesting. Shall I fetch the Axe-Hound?” he asked hooking a thumb over his shoulder. “The man has missed you terribly. Last I heard of him he was rutting and grunting with a whore like a pair of half-starved wilder beast. She was truly a splendid specimen, the likes you have never seen before.”
“Time is of the essence, Akkadian. When they come they will do so with talon and fire.”
“She had breasts the size of saddle bags,” muttered the swordsman cupping both hands and looking down at them with a grimace. “With thighs that could crush a man, honestly, I thought she was a man. Maybe she was. That could be an awkward conversation to have.”
“First light.” repeated Magdalenian.
“How I have missed our kinship. You saved my neck didn’t you? Sent Dar Thadian to me? For that you have my gratitude. I have gotten quite attached to this form in recent years. Tell me, why would the Axe-Hound follow me other than to gouge your eyes out and take a crap down your throat?”
“Tell him Goru is waiting for him there.”
Then the voice was gone and Akkadian was left there alone once again on the balcony. First light was some hours away and he glanced over his shoulder into the room at the naked form of Isabella and felt his lust grow. With a smile he turned and walked into the room.
Chapter Twenty Eight
The seaport town of Marvao
A cold wind had sprung up buffeting Agamemnon’s face and tugging angrily at his tousled hair as he slowly, cautiously crept closer to the edge of the ledge and peered out below them. The Meldling was still feeding, its huge clawed hands pinning the body of the horse down to the ground whilst it tore violently at the meat. Its maw was covered in blood as it fed on the carcass and the swordsman stood transfixed as the creature’s great jaws buried itself into the horse’s abdomen devouring its intestines and other innards. Occasionally the Meldling paused from feasting and looked up at them, its yellow-gold eyes radiating its ferocity as it bared its enormous fangs and uttered a low guttural growl before returning to the horse and ripping off large chunks of flesh. For a long moment, he merely stood staring out over the ledge shivering uncontrollably until a tiny, scared little voice called out to him from behind during a brief lull in the wind.
“Agamemnon!”
As if hearing his words another gust of wind rocked him on his toes and blew into his face making his eyes sting as thin tendrils of icy sharp needles searched his clothes looking to rob his skin of any remaining warmth. He blinked rapidly then wearily looked back over his shoulder at Anya who was huddled with her back against the wall of the boulder, her face pinched with fear and terrified eyes fixed on him.
“I’m scared!” she cried, her eyes wide in terror and the corners of his mouth pulled back.
Agamemnon didn’t answer her. Instead he gazed around the flat ledge of rock protruding out of the side of the boulder that they found themselves on. It was a platform not much bigger than a small table, 4 feet wide and 6 feet long seemingly cut out of the stone from thousands of years of buffeting wind and rain eroding the material of the boulder side forming a shelf. He glanced towards the edge of the rocky platform then scanned the horizon. All he could see from where he stood was the mountain range and the boulder strewn narrow trail which led into the seaport town of Marvao. The distance was so tantalisingly close yet the port may as well have been on the other side of the world.
“I’m scared.” she repeated with a whimper.
Looking back he stared at Anya who was sat with her short legs drawn up to her chest shivering whilst gazing into the distance in a trance-like-state. The wind picked up again and Agamemnon flinched as a gust blew some loose dirt into his eye and he squinted, shielding his face with his hand. He glanced towards the sky and licked his lips nervously. Soon the sun would dip below the horizon shrouding them and casting the land into darkness. Moving to the rock face his eyes scanned a series of crevices in the stone above them and he reached out and grabbed a small handhold in the boulder and started to pull himself up.
“No, no, don’t leave me, no!” cried Anya, her voice barely audible above the twisting and turning wind.
“Just stay there!” yelled Agamemnon.
Stretching out his leg he found a foothold and tested the weight of the edge with the tip of his feet. Satisfied he hauled his body up and began looking for a route up to the top of the boulder but the more he looked he realised there wasn’t as many natural looking crevices leading up to the summit. Cursing under his breath he dropped back down to the ledge and pulled out one of his daggers and began chipping out handholds in the rock but his blade quickly grew dull against the hard surface and he discarded it to the floor in disgust. Removing his sword he sagged down to his haunches besides her with the blade cradled across his knees.
“What do we do?” moaned Anya burrowing hers head into his chest.
“I have failed you, Anya,” he whispered staring off into the distance. “There is no outcome other than death.”
“There must be!” she insisted breathlessly looking up at him with blue-tinged lips.
“If we stay up here trapped we die. We could go a few weeks without food if we are lucky so long as we have water but there is none. If thirst does not take us first, then the weather will freeze the blood in our veins until we can’t think clearly. Or maybe exhaustion will be our undoing and one of us accidentally rolls over the edge in our sleep. It will be a vulnerable slow death or a quick painful death.”
“Stop talking like that!” she whimpered with a strangled sob. “Maybe it will leave us.”
“No,” Agamemnon muttered in a low voice. “It will wait for us to be at our weakest. Until we have to make a choic
e. This is our last stand.”
Anya began crying against his chest and he murmured to her softly, stroking her red hair back and forth. Then his eyes rested on the knife with the blunt blade that he had cast aside onto the ground.
‘You could end it your way.’ said the voice in his head.
He stared grimly at the weapon and imagined drawing the blade quickly across her throat and holding her until she bled out peacefully. It would be mercy killing compared to what waited for them. Then he would plunge it straight through his heart. Clenching his jaw Agamemnon closed his eyes tightly but then the voice inside his head whispered once again.
“Who are you?”
Blanking the question he continued lightly caressing Anya’s hair with slow movements of his hand.
“Who are you?” repeated the voice more firmly.
“I am Agamemnon.” he whispered still with his eyes closed.
Then suddenly the voice boomed loudly, seemingly everywhere and this time sounding powerful and authoritative.
“Who are you?”
Startled his head snapped forward and he opened his eyes blinking rapidly.
“I…I am Agamemnon.”
“Wrong, I do not see Agamemnon before me. I see a broken, defeated man.”
Anya lifted her head up and looked at him quizzically through tear-stained eyes.
“What is it?” she asked meekly.
He slowly got to his feet with his sword in his hand and looked around the ledge then ran a hand through his hair shaking his head.
“I have lost my mind.” he mumbled.
“You are clouded by doubt,” continued the voice in his head. “Remember who you are. Courage, you must find the courage. You are the legendary Agamemnon, the master swordsman and you have never tasted defeat. Find yourself.”
“I cannot beat the creature.” he said looking down at the sword in his hand.
“Then don’t beat it. Kill it!”
Four Gods Page 18
