The man remained silently pensive.
Her tinkling peal rang throughout the room again, and she said, “Manannan it is!” and turned and left the room.
A boulder splashed behind the galley far to the rear—then another. He was gripping the gunwale shouting, “Boulders! They are shooting boulders at us!” The third one connected! The ship exploded into splinters from bow to stern.
The smell of food nearby reminded him he hadn’t eaten in a long time. His attention returned to the room, in which he lay, with a crackling fire and a beautiful woman tending to him. Lydiana had returned carrying a tray loaded with roasted boar, boiled potatoes, and a freshly baked loaf of soft warm bread. She sat the tray on a nightstand by the bed and went over to a shelf and removed a bottle.
“A vintage red wine. Forty years old,” she said as she crossed the room, uncorking the bottle.
“A big strong warrior like you doesn’t need a cup. Just take the bottle and drink it. I bet you are used to taking whatever you want.” She licked her lips and cast a wanton glance at him.
“Once you have eaten and rested a little more, I will give you a bath; and we can see if I am right.
“Tomorrow you will meet the lord of the realm, Thannhausefeer. He is hosting a competition. Warriors from all over come to pit steel against steel. The last man standing will be generously rewarded by my lord with all of the gold and jewels the champion can carry away in his ship.”
“I saw no ships on the shore, woman.”
“They only arrived yesterday. Thannhausefeer wants to meet you on the morrow. He is a great admirer of warriors such as yourself, and I am sure he will want to see you compete in his games.”
“And if I refuse to fight?”
Silence filled up the room like the belly of python that had just swallowed its prey. The crackle of the fire even seemed to get quieter as if it were sentient and wished to hide. Lydiana fixed her burning blue gaze on him. “Manannan, my lord is a generous man; but his anger is terrible.”
Her eyes softened, and she went over to him and gently ran her hands across his chest and torso and down to his groin. “But let’s not worry about that right now. Let’s get you cleaned up and nice and relaxed for tomorrow.” She smiled at him—a smile he did not return.
* * *
Manannan marveled at the colossal archways, doors, and vaulted ceiling as Lydiana led him down the corridor to the great hall where the Lord of the Realm held court. The roof was supported by columns that raised the ceiling high into the sky—at least twice the height of any castle he had visited until now. The hall was abnormally wide, and he guessed that the walls were nearly twenty feet thick. Torches the length of spears blazed in sconces high up the walls beyond his reach. He could hear the clash of weapons down the hall.
“What strange architecture,” he commented.
Lydiana’s eyes narrowed, and she smiled as if enjoying a private jest. They hadn’t gone far when she veered off to the left into the monumental archway opening into the great hall.
Two men were engaged in conflict—broadsword against battle-axe—and droplets of blood and sweat were flying; but that did not interest Manannan so much as what sat in the center of the table stripping meat from a human femur. The man was at least twice Manannan’s height of six feet, and his massive girth filled out the Giant’s scintillating golden throne that was wider than Manannan was tall. Men—some of them armed and armored—sat in long-legged chairs to either side of the Giant observing the games. They looked like dolls on a shelf sitting alongside the behemoth. The Giant, engrossed in watching the two men hack each other to death, paid no heed to Manannan and Lydiana.
“Thannhausefeer?” Manannan asked her.
“Indeed!” Lydiana replied. Her azure eyes beamed, and she grinned—her cheeks like apples.
The Giant’s red, square-cut mane was a shock of tangled hair held back by a massive leather band encircling his head. The head band held a large polished oval of azurite centered in front. Cold blue eyes bore into the two warriors endeavoring to deal death to each other. Thannhausefeer’s crimson beard fell down his chest and was braided at the ends by ornaments fashioned from the stringed bones of human fingers. Enormous steel sinews rippled under the deceptive roll of fat that partially concealed them. He was dressed in a silver-studded black tunic that fell below his waist and white wool britches. His boots were made of stitched animal hides and were as big as panniers. Red spiked leather gauntlets covered his forearms. He wore no crown; he needed none to proclaim himself the master of his demesne.
Thannhausefeer’s golden throne was embedded with rough-cut jewels. Sapphires, rubies, amethysts, and numerous others glinted in the dim sunless light that filtered through the window high above in the dingy hall. The Giant carried no weapons on his person, but a broadsword the length of two horses hung on the wall behind his gleaming throne. Logs crackled and popped in the tall fireplace on the south wall of the chamber, vanquishing the winter chill.
A young bearded blond warrior wielding a broadsword bled from myriad wounds and gasped for breath. His axe-wielding opponent’s visage was obscured by a silver-studded executioner’s hood made of black leather. The hooded figure was splattered with blood, but most of it wasn’t his own. The armor the swordsman had entered the contest in was of inferior quality to that worn by the axe-wielder and had been mostly hacked away by now.
“At him, Kurlick! The fight isn’t over until one of you falls!” Thannhausefeer’s voice rolled like thunder and reverberated through his chamber as he continued to gnaw the remaining meat from the femur.
At the Giant’s command, the yellow-haired warrior hastily looked for an opening and took it. With all of his remaining strength, he moved in with a disemboweling thrust. His opponent had anticipated his next move and side-stepped the man’s broadsword just in time. Twisting and coming back through with his battle-axe, the Executioner severed the man’s head from his body with one blow. The head spun through the air and landed on the table in front of Thannhausefeer.
“Yes! That’s it!” The Giant’s laughter rumbled throughout the hall, shaking the feasting table as he pounded his fists on it. Thannhausefeer fervourously smeared droplets of blood on his face from the decapitated head. He reached into a large copper cauldron sitting on the table next to him and threw gold coins at the feet of the axe-wielding Executioner.
“Congratulations, Donthar! Three victories yesterday and two so far today. You may yet live to sail away in your ship with enough wealth to buy your own kingdom!”
The Giant pounded his fist on the dining table again and shouted, “Arrival!”
Four raven-haired beauties in brightly colored gowns appeared from the corridor to the right of Thannhausefeer’s throne and started to carry away Kurlick’s head and body.
“I marked the page for that one in my book. I knew he would fall next. See that the meat is prepared strictly by the guidelines that I have set forth, or you know what will happen.”
The women hurried away.
Thannhausefeer turned and acknowledged Manannan and Lydiana for the first time since they had entered his chamber. “Ah! A new warrior enters the game! You are just in time for the chance of a lifetime. What is your name, Champion?”
The man stood studying Thannhausefeer in silence for a moment. He noticed the Giant begin to fidget and become irritable, but it did not faze him.
“I am Manannan,” the warrior said after a long pause.
“Where are you from, Manannan, and how did you hear of my games?”
“I came from the sea.”
“The sea?”
“The ship I was sailing in was wrecked. Everyone drowned but me. I know nothing of your games but what I just saw.”
“Well, no matter, Manannan from the sea. Sit with us awhile and observe. I am sure you will find what we do to your liking if you have yourself ever shed blood for a living, and by the look of that sword you carry and the scars on your face, I am certain that you have.
“Bring mead and a plate for our new guest!” Thannhausefeer called over his shoulder.
Manannan relaxed his hand on his dagger hilt. “I don’t eat the flesh of my own kind, Giant.”
“Neither do these men who sit with me, Man from the Sea.” Thannhausefeer’s face reddened, but otherwise he showed no emotion. The Giant spoke with obvious restraint; his voice dropped lower, and he added, “Be careful not to fall in battle in this hall.”
* * *
The two champions squared off, warily circling each other in the middle of Thannhausefeer’s chamber. One was bald, save for the horse tail of hair done in the manner of a circus mare sprouting from the top of his head. His name was Tarkatha the Bull. Clad in only a loincloth and low boots of animal hide, he brandished a wicked curved scimitar in his fist. His yellow skin glistened with oil. Tarkatha snarled, and his nostrils flared around the large golden ring set in his nose.
The other man was Prince Pellipedes of the Sathzarian Isles. He had gone in secret to Thannhausefeer’s castle. Though the Prince was learned in the arts of war, Pellipedes’s father, King Diodedes, forbade him to ride into battle. Pellipedes didn’t care about a ship-load of treasure: he only wished to impress his father. The Prince, well trained in the double-sword art of A’Tom, wielded a blade with each hand. He was dressed in mailed hauberk, colorful silken finery, and a green silk band, which encircled his head. Every lock of light-brown curly hair was in place, and he had a thin mustache; but by the whirling sword dervish he presented to his opponent, all present could tell the Prince was no mere dandy.
Tarkatha feinted, and Pellipedes jumped back slightly, though his expression remained calm and his blades kept whirling. Pellipedes’s blade licked out like a striking serpent, and rivulets of blood fell from Tarkatha’s upper arm. The Bull seemed not to notice and answered with a slash aimed at Pellipedes’s midsection. The Prince jumped back again. Tarkatha closed in and slashed. This time the point of his scimitar connected with Pellipedes’s abdomen and tore through mail, raking the Prince’s skin.
Pellipedes came in, twin swords spinning; and Tarkatha artfully dodged having his arms shorn from each side of his body. The Bull looked as though he was performing a dance to avoid the Prince’s flurry of steel. Tarkatha aimed another disemboweling thrust, and the Prince backed up to avoid having his innards spilled on the floor.
Manannan was so engulfed in the combat taking place before him that he didn’t notice himself and Thannhausefeer as they sat side by side, swilling mead and slamming their drinking jacks down in unison as though it were choreographed.
Tarkatha blocked Prince Pellipedes’s left-hand blade with his scimitar and slammed a booted foot into Pellipedes’s face when the Prince went for too wide of a stroke with his right-hand sword. The Prince stumbled, trying to regain his balance, and fell. As Pellipedes leapt to his feet, Tarkatha moved in and slit the man’s throat with the point of his scimitar. The Prince fell back to the floor gurgling as the blood jetted from his jugular.
“Outstanding!” Thannhausefeer boomed. “Here we see age and experience has just vanquished extreme martial skill until now untried in the face of death!
“Arrival!” the Giant bellowed, and the four dark-haired beauties appeared again. “This one is to be prepared for his funeral, but I don’t think that is what Tarkatha has in mind.”
Thannhausefeer addressed Tarkatha the Bull, “You have done well, warrior; and I keep my promise to you. You shall have Pellipedes’s body to do with as you like while you bed the one of your choice tonight.”
Tarkatha looked at the four women who had come to carry away the corpse, and with a quick snapping motion of his arm thrust his index finger at one of the young women. She couldn’t have been more than sixteen years old. The girl began to tremble.
“You will go with Tarkatha and Pellipedes’s corpse tonight, Rose-Athelind!” the Giant croaked like an enormous bullfrog.
The girl fled back through the corridor weeping.
“Remember: there is nowhere you can run to escape my will, woman!” Thannhausefeer’s laughter reverberated through the chamber. He turned his head, looking back through the archway where the girl had just run. “I make good my promise to Tarkatha this night!”
Manannan quaffed deeply of his cup and sat back relaxed in his chair to the right of Thannhausefeer. A gong sounded at the back of the chamber, and a man appeared in a black studded tunic much like the one Thannhausefeer wore. The man’s closely-cropped black hair set above a low forehead that had sustained a number of sword gashes. His face was smeared with dark-blue and green paint of woad that did little to conceal the scars deeply etched into his countenance like a roadmap to Hel. The warrior wore leggings of animal hide and a scabbarded sword and dirk. He stood at attention in front of Thannhausefeer and his table of warriors—all, Manannan had surmised, there to compete for the shipload of wealth the Giant had promised the winner.
“Care to cross swords with General Krothess, Manannan from the sea? I think I need to see some proof of your martial skills before we go much further. The way you are swilling my mead supply, I soon shall have none left if I do not find a diversion for you.”
The warriors sitting at the table laughed in unison at the Giant’s jest.
Manannan drained his cup and squinted his eyes at the General, smiling lopsidedly. He slowly got up from his chair beside Thannhausefeer and walked around the table to meet General Krothess.
The wind whistled off Manannan’s blade as he whipped his sword from its scabbard. General Krothess drew his sword and stepped into a fighting stance. Krothess made the first move with a blow aimed at Manannan’s head. Manannan ducked the general’s blade and drove Krothess back and back, raining blow after blow upon the General’s sword. Krothess threw up his blade just in time to keep Manannan’s blade from splitting his skull. Momentarily the two warriors stood pressing steel on steel. The stench of the General was overpowering. He smelled like an amalgamation of sour clothes, dung, and rotten wood.
The boy stunk of sour clothes and was a whole head taller than him, but he still gave a good account of himself. He had suffered the big boy’s taunts and torment for far too long.
He heard his mother calling his name to come to supper as he hit the bully with a stick he had hidden in the woods in anticipation of the fight with him that afternoon. The big boy lay on the ground, unconscious and bleeding. From then on, he never saw him in the woods surrounding his house again.
I just heard my mother calling my real name, but I was so busy fighting that I didn’t hear what it was, realized Manannan.
Manannan braced himself and shoved the General backwards. Before Krothess could regain his bearings, Manannan slashed through Krothess’s hands where they gripped the handle of the man’s sword. The General’s left hand was ruined, and he shifted his sword so that he only wielded it right-handed. With a stout blow, Manannan knocked Krothess’s sword back so that the man was unprotected and cleft the General from collarbone to sternum on the return. General Krothess fell to his knees, blood frothing from his mouth, then headed over.
Manannan cleaned his blade on Krothess’s clothes, and returned it to his scabbard. “You might want to wash that one well before you eat him, Giant. He stunk pretty bad.”
Thannhausefeer sat in silence, his eyes shifting back and forth from Manannan to Krothess’s corpse on the floor of his great hall.
“Arrival!” the Giant boomed.
* * *
Lydiana lay asleep next to Manannan. After the two of them had sated their lusts she quickly dozed off. Manannan was spent, but his mind raced back through time trying to force open doors to the past for the answers he needed.
Lydiana had offered herself, nay, forced herself upon him. As he had taken her from behind, he looked down at her. When she turned her head to look back at him, it wasn’t Lydiana but the Woman in White who had brought him from the shipwreck to Thannhausefeer’s castle. The woman gritted her teeth; covering her entire back w
as a tattoo of a large wolf. His eyes moved from the wolf to her perfect pale visage; her ruby lips smiling up at him.
“To show you I will always remember you…” she moaned.
Mannanan jerked awake and sat up in bed. Lydiana mumbled something and rolled over only to fall back asleep.
I am not Manannan! She just said my name. But who am I?
The harder he tried to come away with what he needed to know about himself, the more the woman’s voice receded into fast-fading dream. The tattoo of the wolf spread out across the woman’s back was the last thing he remembered as he slipped yet again through the gates of slumber and behind the wall of sleep.
Steel on steel clashed! Horses’ whinnies and neighs blended with the screams of men. Battle-axes shattered helmets, and fine-pointed blades pierced corselets and spilled vital organs upon the ground. Maces crashed into skulls, and brains seeped out onto the frozen earth. Every minute, men died in scores. The tide of battle had turned against them. Realizing this, he threw his head back and shouted to the sky. The pain was at first excruciating, however brief, then he fell to his knees and his perception changed. His senses were heightened to ecstasy, and everything around him moved in slow motion.
“Wake up, Manannan!” Lydiana shook him.
“What did I just say?” He was trying to remember the words he had called out in the throes of nightmare.
“I don’t know. You were speaking some sort of gibberish. It sounded like a chant. You aren’t a sorcerer are you, Man from the Sea?” Lydiana pounced on him playfully, revealing her ample alabaster cleavage. She licked his lips, sticking her tongue in his mouth.
“Today is the final day of the games. Thannhausefeer will want to get an early start. And if you are lucky, you will sail away with a shipload of treasure at dawn on the morrow.”
“And if I am unlucky, woman?”
Lydiana looked down and cast her glance away from Manannan.
“Will you come away from this island with me, Lydiana?”
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