The Last Praetorian (16 page)

Dacia swatted at her mate, “Setris, what a thing to say and during dinner!”

Setris’s queer expression was distracting, but Dacia’s observation stirred Tarion’s curiosity. “I don’t mind, Dacia, I’m actually suffering from a bit of the Doldrums. I left my old life and I’m starting a new one today. I suppose I haven’t really made the transition.”

Setris gave Tarion a close examination. “You do realize that’s the mystery, don’t you?”

The glint in the pixie’s eyes sharply reminded Tarion of Gaurnothax’s expression. A sickening chill settled in his belly. “No, I’m afraid I don’t,” Tarion replied as truthfully as he could. “What is it you see that I don’t feel?”

Setris flew around the man, investigating him swiftly but minutely. “It’s hard to put into words and that’s saying something for a bard. You’re like a thundercloud on a clear day, a mountain in the middle of a plain: you’re something obviously out of place, Tarion but still part of the world. What you use as a
name is strangely vague. In the lingo of the Gods it means ‘the Shadow of Oneself;’ in elvish it is simply ‘the One.’”

“
Amongst the Norse mortals it means ‘Wandering Spirit,’” Dacia said.

Tarion felt his brows contract in consternation. He knew what was coming next.

Setris smiled grimly, for a pixie and said, “Tarion means ‘One of Destiny,’ but it’s not considered proper to be used with a person, because it insinuates a dark destiny, great maybe, but dark.”

Tarion looked himself over and forced a laugh, “Now I ask you—do I look like one of destiny? I’m a man barely thawed out from the cold.”

“You have a point there, Tarion,” Setris smiled. “Still, there’s a great deal about you that’s begs explanation.”

“Such as?”

“How often do you see a Norseman marching around the wilds with a run of the mill coat and common chain, but underneath he wears a tunic in Praetorian purple with gold thread?” Setris flew down to Tarion’s wounded arm. Standing on his gilded vambrace the pixie began pointing things out. “You wear the signet ring of the Praetorian. You bear a silver cap embossed with the heraldic runes of the Praetorian, signed by the silver smith to the emperor, Honorius. Your wrist blade is hardly something you can find at an armorer’s shop—there’s Brokk’s rune plain as day—and then there’s one last thing.”

“I really need to take more thought next time I travel anonymously—what else?”

Setris flew down and tugged at the leather of his boots. “They’re not bad, mind you, in fact they’re as good as mortal hands can craft. These are not a legionary’s boots. Even the wealthiest adventurer doesn’t get boots cobbled by Patracolus of Roma. I see his stamp right on the heel! The spurs are hardly Norse ware either. Those boots have been through hell, though. I mean that literally. There are demon blood burns, dragon blood from different noble lines and what looks to be the blood of a God if I read it right! You wouldn’t be in the market for a new pair, would you? I’ll make you a good deal.”

“I thought you were a bard!”

“Barding is feast or famine. I’ve got to do something to make my way.”

Dacia scolded him, “Setris, no business during our dinner, shame on you!”

“Sorry dear,” Setris said sheepishly.

She shook her lovely head, but looked at Tarion with sorrowful eyes. “Is it true Tarion? Was Julienna really your mother?”

Tarion sighed, but he nodded. “I bore my father back from the mountains. I will lay him to rest when I rebuild the temple of Gotthab. Hopefully, that will bring my mother out of the woods so that they may find peace together. That’s why I’m here. I didn’t come to Trondheim to bring Ragnarok!”

“People of destiny rarely have the luxury of controlling our lives,” she said sadly. “I knew of your mother.” She cradled her tiny head in her hands and closed her eyes. Cocked her head to the side, she nodded, “Yes, her spirit is still here. If I can help, I would be honored to aid you in reuniting your parents.”

“Thank you,” Tarion smiled. “Now please, don’t let me interrupt your dinner any longer.”

Setris took his seat, but he whispered, “Keep me in mind, Tarion, about the boots!”

“I will,” the man said, “and by the way, happy anniversary to you both. Setris, you’re a lucky man!”

“Thank you!” Setris beamed, happy with the compliment.

“You’re such a charmer!” Dacia blushed, equally taken.

Tarion settled back more carefully this time and left the couple to their dinner. He thought to himself, “Wonderful, I wonder how long Setris will keep my secret safe? So much for travelling anonymously, I might as well have worn my armor and had my herald trumpet me into town!”

He had no time for further reflection. A curvaceous young girl carrying a platter of food and a pitcher of ale came bouncing up. She was pretty; she was very pretty. A tumble of dark hair cascaded over her shoulders. She was lusciously pale, with beckoning brown eyes and an impish grin.

She refilled his tankard and said, “I imagine you’re thirsty; so here’s your ale.”

She laid out his food and said, “I imagine you’re hungry; so here’s your food.”

Then she sat impudently on his lap, wrapped her arms around his neck and cooed, “I imagine you’re lonely; so here’s a lovely girl named Aubrey wondering what else a handsome knight would be wanting after slaying a dragon?”

CHAPTER 13: Eyes of the Most Perilous Kind

Tarion stared at her dumbfounded. He was far too surprised at her sensuous assault to reply. Part of his mind realized she was having fun with him, but even then, he couldn’t come up with a single thing to say. Women didn’t do this to the Praetorian of the Imperium.

Tarion warred against the Destructor since he was fifteen and he never had the opportunity to deal with social disasters—such as the advances of pretty women, especially pretty young women. His mind raced furiously. He could’ve laughed, rolled his eyes, given her a playful squeeze—any number of things—he did nothing.

“What’s the matter, have you forgotten how to talk?”

“No,” he stammered reflexively, desperately trying to think of something witty to salvage his pride and at the same time trying to avoid glancing down the front of her blouse. He failed miserably at both of his tasks.

“I’m Aubrey,” she said, staring into his eyes beneath perfectly arched brows. “Say hello Aubrey, it’s nice to meet such a lovely girl such as you—especially on my first evening in town.”

“Pardon?”

“Say hello Aubrey!”

“Hello Aubrey,” he obeyed. He wanted to get up and leave the tavern. Maybe he’d walk back to Gaurnothax’s lair and sleep there. Hopefully, some creature of the night would waylay him enroute and put him out of his misery.

She smiled and laughed, “It would be polite of you to comment on how beautiful I am; in fact, I’m the most beautiful girl in Trondheim, don’t you think?”

Tarion took that as an invitation to look her over thoroughly, which he’d already done more than once, but it gave him time. He decided to take as much time as he needed in order to reply in a complete sentence of more than a single word of one syllable. Eventually, he forced a smile and said, “I think you’re the most beautiful girl in Trondheim.”

She laughed and batted her eyes. “And you travelled all the way from Roma, braving the Doldrums, dragons and innumerable perils just on the rumor of my beauty and charm?”

Tarion stared at her. Whatever she’d said went right over his head, through the tavern wall and landed in the sea with a deadened plop.

“Where are you from, Tarion?”

He didn’t know what to say. The truth certainly wouldn’t work.

She sighed and shot a hard look at him. “Do they teach you how to talk to ladies when in Roma or do they just show you how to slay dragons, be brave, stoic and charmingly stupid?”

Tarion closed his eyes, praying to the Creator, providence, or anyone else who might listen, pleading for them to turn Aubrey into a dragon, a demon, an ogre—anything but a beautiful girl with a sassy wit.

#

Loki,
Duke of Pandemonium, one of the nine planes of Hell, went into choking spasms. Ale frothed from his immortal nostrils. A sharp, searing pain stabbed up under from his ribs and into his heart. Clutching his chest, Loki almost fell off his seat. Still, there was nothing ominous about the attack, as his wild laughter soon made clear. It was Aubrey’s baiting of Tarion. The latter’s discomfiture took years off Loki’s condemned soul.

He got up and sauntered to the bar. Furge had no choice but to wait on him. Loki reached over the counter, grabbed a handful of the giant’s apron and used it to wipe the ale from his face and blow his nose. “I saw you
talk to Tarion about me,” Loki told the giant, who was thrice his size and yet trembled like a young sapling in a storm. “One ill turn deserves another, I always say, so I’ll invoke your doom here and now.” He looked the giant straight in the eye and plopped his tankard on the bar.

“That doom,” Loki announced gravely, “is to ensure that my tankard is ever full!
Now, if you please!” It took Furge a moment to realize Loki’s cruel joke. Then he hurriedly filled up the duke’s tankard and scurried away—making the sign to ward off the evil eye.

“
So much for fun, I’ve business to attend!” he sighed. Loki closed his eyes and projected his thought to Durnen-Gul. Loki’s vision of the waking world blurred, but in his mind’s eye the image of his lord and master, Naugrathur the Destructor, became terrifyingly clear. The Destructor stopped what he was doing and met Loki’s mystic gaze.

“Greetings, Dread Lord,” Loki said with his mind. His vision included the dungeons wherein the Dread Lord stood, including the comely figure of Navernya.

She stamped her dainty feet so hard that even with his mystic sight Loki saw an angry sheen of ice spread beneath her.

“How could you enlist the Trickster’s service before my own?”

Loki enjoyed the consternation of his beautiful but dangerous rival. The presence of the Destructor, however, was imposing enough to restrain his normal vulgarity and he waited.

“Calm yourself, my devoted Queen,” Naugrathur said, turning his fiery gaze on Navernya. “Tarion is now at the center of this. We are not the only ones interested in the Wanderer. Thor will be sent to watch over our intrepid
Praetorian, of that we can be certain. Who else should I put on the Thunderer’s trail but his old companion?”

“
Who indeed, my Dread Lord?” replied Loki, seeing his opportunity. His leering smile strayed appreciatively to Niflheim’s Queen. “Greetings, oh icy Navernya, alas, I would rather interrupt you in a more private moment and so devour your loveliness with these eyes, but duty calls. I’ve found him, Dread Lord.”

“Where?” asked Naugrathur.

“The snows of these wastes bite at my privates,” Loki answered truthfully. “However, the exertion was not without reward. I’m ahead of Thor, having ascertained his destination through my native cunning—second only to your own. I’m in the quaint town of Trondheim. If you recall, this is the self-same city which grew to prominence when Flavius Aetius the Renowned arranged the fall of Ostheim.”

N
avernya sneered, saying, “Your hold of history is admirable, Loki, but where is Tarion?”  

“My, how positively catty you are, Navernya!” Loki laughed. “How now, I wonder, with appropriate humility, do you put up with her, Dread Lord?”

“On to your business, Loki,” Naugrathur said patiently.

“As you wish, Dread Lord,” Loki said, knowing that his mischievous brilliance was the only reason the Destructor endured him. Loki’s glance turned cunning and his voice sank to a whisper. “My Dread Lord, I am standing not five paces from him. He’s great friends with the innkeeper, has already disturbed a couple of pixies and attracted the perilous ardor of the barmaid! Considering the interest Lady Freya has taken in destroying Tarion’s life, I’m rather surprised the tavern hasn’t been struck by an earthquake yet.”

“Kill him!” Navernya exclaimed.

“What, me; you can’t be serious! His weapons are of Brokk’s forge, dangerous even to Gods and Devils. I can’t attack him openly and sneaking up on Tarion makes him decidedly angry—what with his knightly sense of fair play and all. I’ll do a great many things before I take that rash course, I assure you!”

“Coward!” the Ice Queen exclaimed.

“Your estimation is of great comfort to me, dear lady!”

Navernya was about to issue a scathing retort, but the Destructor held up his hand and she was instantly silent. A long moment passed. Loki plucked up his courage and said, “Tarion is running from himself, Dread Lord. He’s left behind the Praetorian and come to Norrland in search of his mother Julienna or rumor of her. Left alone he’s harmless. Let the Wanderer come to him, I say. Tarion can’t and won’t do anything to stifle your plans. He’s too busy running away from his past to be any danger to our future. Still, that’s not softened his temper or his sense of right and wrong—both points make him extremely dangerous.”

The Destructor nodded and said, “Watch him and wait, Loki. The Wanderer will come to Tarion or, and this is what intrigues me, Tarion may take matters into his own hands. If he leaves Trondheim, the Wanderer will be forced to follow. Keep a close eye on him! For now, Tarion is our key. I would rather have him safely locked away here in Durnen-Gul and thereby make the
Wanderer’s task that much more difficult. Pay heed and cause what mischief you may. If you can bring Tarion to a portal by devious means, then do so. Otherwise, watch him and keep me informed.”

“As you wish, Dread Lord,” Loki smiled and he stuck his tongue out at Navernya before severing the mystic connection. Her final expression was payment enough for his troubles.

Loki thought about his tasking; he didn’t like it. Even he didn’t know the truth behind the struggle between Naugrathur and the Wanderer, but his brilliantly conniving mind suspected many things—the thoughts made him shudder. If he was right, Tarion could be a powerful player in this and that could be to Loki’s advantage—assuming he survived Naugrathur’s revenge, Tarion’s temper and the Wanderer’s justice, of course.

“That little incident concerning the betrayal of Roma was so long ago, although it seems like yesterday!” Loki told himself, calming his own nerves by gulping down his ale. He took a deep breath, crossed the bar and looked down at Tarion.

Aubrey was still on his lap. “You invited company, my dear,” she told him with a sigh. “Really, Tarion, is this how you learned to seduce beautiful girls?”

“I’m not seducing you Aubrey,” he told her firmly.

“Why not?”

Loki laughed and they both looked up at him. “Don’t worry about that lass, he’ll come around!” He winked at Aubrey. “Would you mind if I had a word with Tarion? He’s far more comfortable slaying dragons than courting beautiful women. Perhaps I can set him at ease so that he can appreciate your obvious charms!”

“Yes, I’ve been trying to get the story of Gaurnothax out of him but with no luck,” the girl said sourly.

“Gaurnothax, my word lady don’t ask him of Gaurnothax!” Loki said loud enough for the whole room to hear. “Rather ask him of Morax the Mountain King!”

“Morax!” she exclaimed, looking as surprised as Tarion looked put out. “I see there are more stories of manly daring do to tell! I’m all a flutter.”

“That’s not a tenth of it sweet lady,” Loki corrected her with a mischievous grin that made Tarion shudder.
He pointed to the painting on the wall and laughed, “No doubt you’ve fantasized about the knight rescuing the damsel; the one on the wall beside you.”

“What girl hasn’t?” Aubrey sighed.

“The living man he has you, lovely lady, on his lap,” Loki whispered in her ear.

“That explains it,” she
frowned, getting up off his lap. “He’s probably got elven maids and princesses on his mind. He doesn’t have time for barmaids.”

“Don’t lose hope, Aubrey,” Loki laughed. “Tarion has renounced both elven princesses and the daughters of
emperors. He’s here in Norrland because this is his Mother’s land and he wants to forge a new life. Isn’t that right Tarion?”

Tarion took out his pipe and lit it from a candle. “You’ve certainly got me pegged Loki, except you forgot my favorite pastime: slaying traitorous Gods! Is there anything else you need to tell me before I finish what I started in the
citadel? You don’t have Ancenar to stop me here!”

“Oh my, it seems I’ve stirred up some misunderstandings,” Loki smiled. He patted Aubrey on her backside. “Why don’t you run along now lass, I’ll clear this up and then he’s all yours.”

“I hope so,” Aubrey smirked, tousling Tarion’s hair. “I’m much too charming to be rejected—even politely. I expect to drive you mad when I come back, Tarion.”

“I don’t
think that’s going to be a problem,” Tarion growled as she sashayed into the throng.

Tarion looked up at Loki. Even Loki couldn’t read the expression, but he guessed it was a mixture of relief, humiliation, desire and pent up rage. He’d have to play this carefully. Loki could deal with Tarion, even taken advantage of him, to a point. Beyond that ill-defined line, his fury was quite as dangerous as Thor’s temper
. That was saying something for a mortal.

Loki noisily dragged up a chair and whistled in the direction of Aubrey. “Lovely girl, Aubrey; she’s Hrolf’s daughter, you know.”

Tarion groaned and muttered, seemingly to himself, “She’s too young, too sassy and far too adorable to give me a moment of peace.” He turned a hard eye on the God. “Now then, Loki, what is it you want?”

“Actually, it’s what I can do for you—for a price of course,” the Trickster grinned, poking Tarion in the chest with a long thin finger.

“That makes it simple,” Tarion said, spreading his arms wide. “I’m no longer on the empress’s retainer. I can’t even afford this ale I’m drinking.”

Loki gave a sharp yelp of laughter and slapped the table with his hand. “Gold isn’t my price. We’ll figure out something later.” the Devil-God shrugged and took out a fist sized blue sapphire. He started tossing it about, rolling it along his arm and spinning it on the tip of his long thin fingers. He noted with satisfaction that Tarion never took his eyes off it. Still, he had to give Tarion something he wanted; the man was too smart and if he felt played, he’d make good on his threat to finish what he started at the
citadel.

Loki shuddered, but controlled himself almost instantly. Absently, he said, “So, what did your father tell you when you met him in the mountains?” The question was enough to put Tarion off. The man was momentarily confused. Tarion did not like to be confused.