The Last Praetorian (13 page)

Chapter 9: Friends and Foes on the Forest Road

The quiet winter woods echoed with a dull terminal scream. Gaurnothax convulsed and died in the snow. A deadly silence followed. Eyes appeared in the woods all around Tarion. A pack of enormous shaggy white wolves padded out of the trees, sniffing and growling. A great elk with a rack of horns ten feet across stepped onto the road behind him. The glistening white shape of a hart poked his head from the holly where Gaurnothax laid in ambush. A small group of forest pixies, garbed in green, brown and white fluttered in the air above Tarion’s head, tiny bows in their hands.

“Gaurnothax must’ve hit me harder than I thought,” he mumbled, but when his head cleared from the concussion, the animals were still there. “This is quite the gathering,” he started to say, but as soon as he moved, everyone scattered back into the forest. The sounds of the wild returned. Gaurnothax was dead and the forest moved on without him.

Tarion shook his head and tromped into the woods in search of his sword. A call stopped him. He’d forgotten about Hrolf. The man leapt out of his hiding place and ran to Tarion.

“By Thor’s hammer, what did you do that for?” Hrolf cried, running up to him. He pulled at his yellow beard, his cheeks red with fear. “Why did you have to kill him?”

“I’m sorry for saving your life if that’s what you mean,” Tarion said testily, renewing the search for his sword.

“I thank you for that, friend, but really I’m not worth all that much; I’m certainly not worth the trouble this is going to cause.”

Tarion’s surly response was, “We had a bargain; Gaurnothax broke it—believe me when I tell you, my actions will stand up in any Imperial Court.” He laughed, though as usual it wasn’t that pleasant a sound. “Still, if anyone’s to blame, blame yourself: for trying to save me from the lycans. One good turn deserves another.” Tarion found the sword and stomped back to the road.

“Did I? That’s right; you’re the stranger who tried to organize our defense!” Hrolf followed him. “That was a right frightful
night, but now I suppose it’s over and done with. Time is moving on again.”

“So you knew about the Dragonheart curse?”

“A man can’t spend an age hobnobbing with Alexandrus without learning a secret or two.”

“That didn’t save him unfortunately,” Tarion sighed sadly, sheathing his sword.

“Alas no, I lost some good friends up there,” Hrolf lamented. “That’ll haunt me in more ways than one.” The large man shrugged and looked very unhappy for a man who’d been saved from the jaws of a dragon. “Sorry about this, it’s not you I’m worrying about sir,” he swallowed and at a gesture from Tarion continued his story. “The thing about Gaurnothax is that he had an agreement with the duke; Lord Wilhelm isn’t going to be happy about this.” He pulled at his beard. “You see, he wasn’t so happy with me to begin with. I organized the expedition to Roma.” Hrolf looked truly anxious, which was a sight for such a large man. “I took two thousand men from Trondheim and not just ordinary men mind you. These were the hardest, crustiest adventurers of Norrland—better than any five men-at-arms apiece. The duke knows it!” He dug in his bearskin coat and took out a drinking horn. After uncorking it, Hrolf took a long thirsty swig out of it. Shaking his head with a faraway look in his blue eyes, he shrugged. “Now I return to Trondheim with none but myself. I shouldn’t wonder that I’ll end up as a guest in the castle; and not in one of the comfortable rooms, mind you!”

Tarion could understand Hrolf’s misgivings. He clapped the man on the shoulder, and said, “Don’t worry about young
duke Wilhelm. I’ll vouch for you and the service of your men! I am sorry indeed for their loss; Roma is grateful for their sacrifice.” He sighed, speaking as much to himself as Hrolf when he added. “While Duke Wilhelm drank wine in comfortable chambers his betters died in Roma for the defense of all we hold sacred—I won’t forget that. Don’t worry Hrolf, if the duke brings this up then I’ll make him answer for it!”

“I imagine you will,” Hrolf said, fidgeting nervously. He finally admitted, “I heard all that, about who you are that is. I’m a traveling man, sir, so I know about traveling in secret. If that’s
your desire, your secret is safe with me.” He handed Tarion the drinking horn

Tarion took it and smiled sincerely, “Thanks, just call me Tarion. We’ll leave all the Imperial connections behind for the time being.” He took a long pull from the horn. The ale was cold and malty, just what he needed after a sharp scrap with a tempestuous dragon. He handed the horn back “I was honest with Gaurnothax, I’m here on family business. I’d like to keep everything else under my hat.”

Hrolf scratched his beard, a doubting look in his eye. “But that voice in the woods—”

“What voice,” Tarion interrupted with a wooden expression.

“Right,” Hrolf sighed, taking another long pull at the horn.

Tarion changed the subject, gesturing toward Gaurnothax. “Has this happened to you every day of the last age?”

Hrolf actually laughed. The full-throated sound filled the evening woods. Pointing down the road, he said, “All these years I’ve been trying to get to my wife and daughter, only a league away. I never made it once.” He took yet another drink and corked the horn. “It gets old, spending every night in a dragon’s belly.”

“I imagine it does,” Tarion said
. Then he actually smiled. “You’re a stout man Hrolf. Seeing as I got you this far, I’m going to make it my personal quest to ensure that you get home to your family tonight. It’s the least I can do for your service to the Imperium!”

“Well now that sounds grand friend,” Hrolf exclaimed, slapping Tarion on the shoulder.

“Afterward, if you can direct me to an inn I’ll consider our slate even and part as friends.”

“You’re not going to stay at the castle?”

 He went to Gaurnothax and retrieved the crown he paid for Hrolf’s ransom. “I’m travelling as would anyone else, paying my way as I go. I don’t want to attract any more attention if I can avoid it.”

“That’s the last I’ll say of it then,” Hrolf apologized. “Dark times these are, truly dark times, but if I may make a suggestion,” he seemed sincere
. Tarion nodded for him to continue. “If you don’t mind plain fare and a plain room I have the best common lodgings in Trondheim. If you’re willing, you’re my guest for as long as you wish to stay.”

Tarion shrugged, figuring his father was as safe in the dragon’s lair as he possibly could be. “That sounds perfect Hrolf, I’ll be happy to spend the night by a warm fire with a mug of ale!”

 Hrolf laughed and collected his sword and a large saddlebag. Throwing the bag over his shoulder, he chuckled to himself, “Mother will never believe it!”

They set off down the road. Evening was coming on and a darkling silence fell over the woods. It wasn’t cold or windy but rather serene. To the south, the Godsbridge began to glow in the sky. Tarion felt like talking. “Tell me about the agreement the
duke had with Gaurnothax.”

Hrolf shrugged. “Friend, Roma enjoys more civilized climes. Even before the fall of Ostheim, this was a wild province. It’s not so much that Gaurnothax was a threat to people, although you see he could be, as much as he was a necessary evil. Dragons like Gaurnothax are all that stand between us and wicked giants, snow monsters, goblins, trolls, ogres and white dragons of the mountains. Gaurnothax wasn’t a benevolent soul by any means, but he was a neutral lord of these lands. We paid tribute for passage and he kept the road clear of monsters. That’s life in the untamed part of the world.”

They walked in silence for a while until the road bent to the right and came out from under the eaves of the forest. To the left they saw the mountains marching on to the sea. The waters were dark but flecked with red from the dying sun, like rose petals scattered over a vast dark floor. Patches of forest stood between the road and the cleared fields outside the walls of Trondheim. The western flanks of the walls and towers glowed crimson in the setting sun. Already the lamps of the city flickered in the darkening eve.

“I never made it to this sunset,” Hrolf smiled, as they turned a corner.

Tarion opened his mouth to comment, but something the size of a small tree sped between them. It thumped into the ground five yards ahead. It was an arrow the length of a man.

“Blast, I missed!” cursed a deep guttural voice from behind them.

They looked behind to see a party of three blue bearded snow giants on the road. One was busy knocking another huge arrow. The other two stood in a rude chariot harnessed to four growling polar bears.

“They shouldn’t be down from the mountains,” Tarion exclaimed, shocked that the snow giants should be here. This was hill giant country.

“No time for talk; it’s time to run!” Hrolf urged.

Tarion didn’t need to be convinced.

Hrolf led them into the woods on the right, shouting, “Into the trees! The chariot can’t follow us through them. We’ll cut off a loop in the road. Maybe we can get beneath the walls before they cut us off.” They ran into the woods for about thirty yards and turned back north toward the city. They’d gone only a hundred feet further when Hrolf pointed back to the road.

“It’s going to be close, but at least they didn’t bring their winter wolves!” Hrolf muttered, but then a chorus of howls broke out behind them.

Tarion pushed Hrolf ahead. “I’ll hold them off while you run for the gates.”

“It’s another mile at least, even cutting through the woods,” Hrolf gasped, drawing his sword. “We’re done for!”

Tarion drew his sword and unlatched his wrist-blade. It sprang out with a sharp clack! He jogged through the woods about ten yards behind Hrolf. Soon, four shaggy shapes caught up to him. They dogged Tarion, ignoring Hrolf, growling and snarling as he dodged in and out of the trees. He held them at bay, but they were slowing him down. Tarion was about to stop and fight when a buzzing caught his attention.

Dozens of pixies flew out of the twilight armed with bows and javelins. One of them flew next to Tarion’s ear and said in a high voice, “Keep running, Tarion, you’ve done enough work for one day. We’ll handle these wolves!”

“You know my name!”

“How could we not? Gaurnothax’s spirit is singing of you through the ethers!”

Tarion groaned inwardly, but the pixie turned his attention to the wolves. The tiny warrior notched an arrow and fired. His companions joined in and everywhere pixies were firing hardly to be seen arrows and casting needle thin javelins at the wolves. The wolves, despite their enormous size, were yelping and biting at the pinpricks as the pixies targeted their noses and their eyes. Before long, they fled into the woods, howling.

Tarion ran on, but the pixie urged him to quicken his pace.

“Keep running, Tarion, you still have to reach the safety of the gate; I don’t know if there are enough of us to handle three adult snow giants.”

“Why should you care?”

“We fight the Destructor too!” the pixie said seriously. “Save your breath. Hurry now, run!”

Tarion sped through the woods, quickly catching Hrolf. He urged the larger man on as they broke out into the open. The gates were a quarter mile away over fallow fields and deep snow. A quarter mile farther back on the road, the snow giants bellowed.

“We’ll try and slow them down!” the pixie yelled over the rush of wind. “If the men of Trondheim aren’t asleep on the walls you might make it, good luck!”

The pixie flew off with his comrades.

They ran as hard as they could through the deep snow, but it was apparent that they’d never outstrip the chariot. Tarion looked back. To his delight, the chariot started to weave back and forth. The bears jostled each other, rocking the chariot from one wheel to the other with the giants hanging on for dear life. The pixie archers were concentrating on the bears and the bears didn’t like it one bit.

“Hah! We might make it after all!” Hrolf laughed.

One of the giants grasped the rail and exhaled in the direction of the bears. Even in the deepening evening, Tarion could see a cloud of frost spread over them. The bears didn’t mind, but it obviously hampered the pixies. The freezing breath forced the flitting forest warriors to retreat. The giants were back on course. The gate was still two hundred yards away, but the giants were only a hundred yards back. Tarion saw the futility of running and stopped.

“Save yourself, Hrolf!”

Hrolf stopped and took his place next to Tarion, drawing a broad eighteen-inch knife opposite his sword. “I suppose I’ll have to wait to get home in the next life!”

Chapter 10:
  Karkedon the Wicked

“My place is with you, Dread Lord,” Navernya said with an evil grin. Then she laughed, running a blue nail down his massive breast. “I would control the fates if I had your power, but I don’t. I therefore check my ambition to a lesser seat—though not far below your own. I may not own your throne, but I own your ear in the bedroom.” She reached up and kissed him. Laughing again, she said, “I am as content as a Deviltress may be.”

“You’re strong enough to rule all of all Hell, Lady!”

“Yet not strong enough for dominion,” Navernya said and she let her white hair flow through her fingers in sensual sloth. Her eyes glowed like blue fire through translucent ice. “I am more powerful with you, than without you—besides; Hell is such a lonely place. I’ve already realized my ambitions, my dear Dread Lord.”

“Then fear Alfrodel’s Prophecy,” Naugrathur said.

“Nothing may threaten you, Dread Lord. Even Father Time bends his knee to your will!”

Naugrathur shook his head. “You are wrong, my dear. Many are the voices and prophecies of the past but Alfrodel provided the key. He allowed the Wanderer to escape Limbo—contest me, he will. It is unavoidable.”

Naugrathur went on, passing many a closed door. He came to a great cavern. Two hulking mountain trolls guarded the entrance. They wore black iron armor and carried enormous pikes. Awkwardly, they bent their knees to the stone and bowed their heads. Naugrathur told them, “Bring me a score of immortals clad in white, that’s how he likes them.”

The trolls grunted and ambled off. Their slow shuffling footfalls echoed stonily in the corridor. On an iron hook hung a pair of gauntlets and a whip. As Naugrathur put on the gauntlets, he glanced at Navernya and told her, “You’d better stay here, my Queen.”

Naugrathur uncoiled the whip with a great crack, striding into the cavern. With a wave of his hand torches sputtered to life, casting an eerie flickering glow around the immense cave. At the far end was a huge black shadow.

The Destructor approached the shadow without concern, but Navernya held back and hid against the cave wall.

“Ho, Karkedon! Awake, a new age of slaughter beckons!”

A rumbling growl shook the cavern and a long black stalk crowned with horns rose from the bulk of shadow. Two ruby red eyes blinked beneath the horns. They towered over the Destructor.

“You disturb my slumber, Dread Lord and as you chained me to my bed for an age I say get you gone!” A curl of red flame flickered from his nostrils. “The citadel of Roma was my promised bed; instead I am here! Get thee gone! I will wake when I will!”

The Destructor cracked his whip and said, “You shall do my bidding when I demand it. I am master here!”

“So you say and so it may be while these chains bind me,” Karkedon told him. “Yet loose me and we may see otherwise, if you dare! I’ll wager you’ve a hot and bitter taste to you, Dread Lord, but I’ll cool my belly afterwards with an icy mint—aye, I see you skulking back there Navernya! Don’t think your whore-frost will keep you from roasting sweetly under my flame!”

The Destructor snapped the whip at Karkedon’s face and the dragon pulled back with a hiss. “You’ve lost your manners, Karkedon! Don’t you recall who tamed you? Don’t you recall who chained you to this bed with his bare hands? It was I, your lord and master!” The Destructor stepped directly beneath Karkedon’s head.

“That was an age ago,” the dragon growled angrily, thrashing in his chains. “The Dragonheart’s doldrums fed my wickedness and as sure as I am Karkedon the Wicked I shall be avenged for your bondage!”

“I see no anger in your eyes Karkedon, where is this supposed fury?” the Destructor challenged and he lashed the dragon mercilessly. The long whip flogged Karkedon’s tail and haunches and the dragon flew into frenzy, spouting fire in pain and anger, leaping back and forth against his chains. The cavern shook with his rage.

“There, that is more like the pup I raised!”

“Loose me and you shall see how well you raised me, I swear it!”

“So be it!” the Destructor said and with a snap of his fingers, the locks that held Karkedon’s chains burst open.

Karkedon’s head hurtled like a missile at the Destructor. Flames trailed his yellow fangs, a bassoon howl reverberated from his lips and madness glowed in his eyes.

He leapt deftly aside and Karkedon’s head thumped into the floor. The dragon pulled back and struck again. This time the Destructor batted the huge head aside with a mallet fist.

Karkedon roared with mad fury and struck a third time.

The Destructor leapt aside and pounced. He took the dragon at the neck, right behind the horn-shrouded skull and he pinned Karkedon to the floor. His left gauntlet reached out like a great clamp and locked on Karkedon’s jaw. Then with slow yet unrelenting force, he cranked the ebony head back. All of Karkedon’s great power availed him nothing. For all his thrashing and flailing the Destructor forced his head farther and farther back.

“Yield, Karkedon,” the Destructor said evenly. “I shall ask you but once!”

The dragon was silent and he cranked the dragon back a bit more. There was a creaking in Karkedon’s neck and the dragon wheezed, “I yield!”

The Destructor released Karkedon and stepped back.

The dragon raised his head and shook it. For a moment, he loomed over the Destructor and then he prostrated himself before the Dread Lord, but there was still a dangerous glitter in his red eyes.

“Greetings, master, what is your bidding?”

Naugrathur nodded, accepting the change for what it was—a temporary victory at best. He clapped his hands and the trolls led a score of elven maidens into the cavern. Chains of ruddy gold bound their slender wrists. Naugrathur turned his back on Karkedon, no longer concerned the dragon might attack. He addressed the elves.

“You ladies had life under my dominion and yet you trod upon my sacred order with your selfish desires. So shall you pay the price,” he said with gravity. He went along the line of girls and read them their crimes: “Infidelity after an oath of binding; neglect of your offspring; seduction of your sibling’s betrothed; theft of your mistress’s life,” and so it went for each of them. They listened with bowed heads, knowing there was no mercy, knowing that the judgment was final and that their fate was horrible.

Naugrathur went to the first girl in line and took her small face in the cradle of his immense hand. “And you, fair Nalya, wife of Caradoc of great Renown. How could you break your oaths with so admirable a husband and with such small waifs left behind in the home? Despite my ages of experience, I refuse to understand you!” He broke the chains between her and her fellow prisoners and himself led her to Karkedon.

“Feast now, Karkedon and grow strong, for slaughter is in the offing!”

Karkedon smiled and engulfed the girl in a single bite. He allowed her to live for a long horrifying moment, chortling to himself as she struggled within his maw. Finally, he bit down and the muffled cries ceased in a squelching, terrifying crunch.

Karkedon licked his dripping lips and clutched the end of the golden chain with his claw, drawing the doomed girls to their fate.

Naugrathur turned and left the dragon to his grisly feast. He did not hear the cries; his mind was already on the next tasking in his dominion. He was silent as Navernya congratulated him on his re-conquest of Karkedon. Naugrathur pulled his cloak around him, as if in deep thought, but in reality, he hid the uncontrollable trembling of his left arm, the one struck by Thor’s hammer on Vigrid. The arm and shoulder ached with the effort he put forth on Karkedon. Though he was the mightiest physical presence in all the planes of existence, Karkedon pushed the Destructor to his very limits.

“I will retire and rest, for the moment, there is still time,” he thought. He was about to suggest that Navernya join him in the tower, when a dissonant bell sounded seven times. The
transparent visage of Loki, the mischievous Duke of Pandemonium, greeted him in the darkness.

Navernya erupted in unrestrained fury.