"Marked By The Gods" A Myth in Eight Parts
by ThePhallocrat (thephallocrat@gmail.com)
PART THREE
The doe turned back to look at him once again, looking for all the world as though she were making sure that he was still following. Mouse knew that the idea was insane, wondered if his days of wandering in the wilderness had unhinged his mind. And yet, he followed anyway, cautiously and with gentle steps, certain the delicate deer would bolt at any moment and fearing to get too close. His stomach clenched in pain. He had managed to find a stream to quench his raging thirst, but food had been hard to come by. He worried that if he did not find something to eat soon he'd lose all strength to keep traveling.
Would that be so bad? Since that night of ecstasy, the night of liberation, he'd found his joy at being free slowly dwindle into apathy and despair. Where was he to go? He had known no life but that of a slave. He'd spent his whole life dreaming of freedom without ever considering what that would really mean. Perhaps there was nothing left to do but lie down and die - at least he would die a free man.
And yet some instinct spurred him on, still following the doe as though she were some kind of angel. She wanted him to follow. He felt this in his gut even though it made no sense. At last the gentle creature stopped and fixed a long stare at him. Mouse felt a flutter of some kind of anxiety as her eyes met his. All thoughts of somehow bringing down the deer for food had long since fled. He could not dream of violence towards her now. At long last, after it seemed they had grown to understand one another, the doe lowered her head and nuzzled a bush gently. Then she walked away and melted into the foliage of the forest. Mouse approached the bush and found it heavy laden with some kind of berry that was tart but delicious.
He sat and ate in wonder. When his stomach was full, he found himself drowsy enough to nap against a tree in satisfied gratitude. In this way he slept soundly for the first time in days.
A sound of something running through the forest snapped him out of the sleeping world. Some time had passed, for the sun was much lower in the sky, casting long shadows amongst the trees. The running sound grew louder and suddenly a creature burst into view. It was Mouse's doe, running in terror. He could almost hear her heart pounding from where he sat. And now Mouse could hear other noises of running, her pursuers not far behind.
He scrambled to his feet just in time to see the hunters appear; soldiers, it seemed, for each was holding crossbows and wore identical armor of boiled leather. Mouse's heart dropped at the sight of them, but that didn't stop him from rushing to the doe's assistance.
"Out of the way!" one of the soldiers called out to him in annoyance.
"Over here," said the other one, "She's getting away."
The first soldier turned to see where his companion had indicated, and in that moment of distraction Mouse pounced. The soldier turned back just in time to see the former slave leaping at him, pulling them both down to the ground. The soldier cursed and Mouse snarled, and over and over they rolled in the dirt, exchanging blows. The second hunter gave a longing glance towards the escaping game, then reluctantly turned back to assist his comrade. Together, they managed to pin Mouse to the ground.
"What are you on about, eh?" one spat in his face, "You just lost us our supper!"
"I'll eat you for supper!" Mouse screamed back. The soldier blinked in surprise, then flashed a wry grin at his fellow.
"He's a nutcase!"
"He was right to intercede," came a new voice, the source of which Mouse could not yet see, "You were not given permission to hunt in these woods, Sergeant."
The two soldiers immediately released Mouse and stood up defensively. "We don't need to ask your permission, Salor. We don't answer to mercenaries."
Mouse sad up and shook his head to clear off the dizziness. He could now see the man who was speaking. He sat bareback astride a large horse, a big, bearded man in dark green cloak. A long, curved sword hung from his belt. "These woods are our home. We will consider any violation of the creatures here a violation of our contract and immediately end our alliance. Perhaps you will be kind enough to explain to your commanding officers that your actions prevented my men from reinforcing their position."
The men grumbled softly, but they relented and unstrung their crossbows. "What about this crazy hermit?" they asked, nodding to Mouse.
"Leave him to me," Salor said. At this the soldiers shrugged and disappeared the way they had come.
Mouse narrowed his eyes suspiciously at the man the others had called a mercenary, but Salor surprised him by dismounting and bowing respectfully.
"You honor my homeland by protecting the creatures of this forest," he said, "Thus I honor you and would know your name."
"I'm Mouse," he said, out of instinct, then flinched.
"Ah," the other man replied, "No wonder the beasts respect and love you. But that, I think, was not the name you were given at birth, is it?"
Mouse shook his head.
"I understand. We need not speak of it. I am Salor of the Woodsmen. It is no accident that we have met, friend Mouse. From the look of you, you have been through much. I can offer food, water, safety, and in return I ask you to join me and my men on our journey. I would hear your story, and I believe you have a role to play in what will come. Will you accompany me?"
"Where are you going?"
"Why, to help the Emperor, no less."
Mouse's face flushed with anger. "No way. I won't help that old sack of shit. His son, the Chosen Prick, had me banished to the mines. And I won't be a slave again, I won't!"
Salor laughed with sudden understanding. "Not that Emperor," he said with a smile. ______________________________________________________________________
Damek sat in his tent, brooding. That was not unusual for the Commander, of course, but today's brooding was of a decidedly different flavor. Since his dear wife had taken her silent leave of the company, all of the men in Damek's command had noticed the strange change in their officer's demeanor. He had always been taciturn and terse, but now he barely spoke at all. Instead he stared at every man who came near him, stared intently as though trying to look into the soldier's very soul. More than one soldier who bore some guilty secret, some minor of infraction of army rules on their conscience, had come close to blurting out a confession, certain Damek had discovered their wrongdoing. But the Commander did not shout or punish or indeed say anything at all, and by and large the men sensed his mood and stayed well clear.
Which explains why the recently promoted Captain who came to make his report on this particular afternoon was sweating a little more profusely than the heat of the day would suggest.
"Commander, sir," the man said, saluting as he entered the tent, "Word from the scouts. Movement through the woods, a lot of men."
Damek turned to level a blank stare at the man, silent as ever.
"Sir, they are not ours," the man continued, "And they are clearly heading towards Kadnaris, angling north to avoid the ford where our forces are massing."
The Commander narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips.
"There's talk... Sir, the men wonder if the mercenaries of the woods have declared for the False Emperor and now journey to his defense. I have a dozen volunteers for a ranging mission to catch up to these men and gather intelligence. Simply give the command and we'll take care of it, sir."
Damek's face paled, and he spoke at last. "That would be quite dangerous, would it not?"
"We're willing to do our part, as always, sir. You trained us to be the best."
There was a long pause which the Captain would almost have called hesitation if it were not that Commander Damek had never been known to hesitate about anything. "What's your name, Captain? I never bothered to ask, did I?"
To say the Captain was surprised by this question would be quite an understatement. "Bryant, sir. Captain Bryant."
"Bryant." Damek seemed to savor the name with curiosity. At last the Commander stood, shaking his head. "Alright. Very good, Captain, bring me the volunteers. I'll choose from among them."
His men were ready for this very order. Mere minutes passed before a line of soldiers was arrayed before his tent, all standing at attention and ready to charge headlong into death if necessary. All of them had seen heavy fighting at Nathar and in the campaigns before. All of them were capable men, loyal servants of the Empire.
But Commander Damek stood frozen before them, unable to choose, unable to speak or move, staring at their faces one by one, full of doubts. ______________________________________________________________________
Moments before they began the crossing, Calder started having second thoughts.
"Wait," he breathed, but it was too late. Joren took his first stride into the river and Calder, clinging to his friend's back, his arms around the big man's neck, felt the water splash up against his legs. As his sandaled feet sank into the water, strange images assaulted Calder's brain suddenly, overwhelming all other thought. The images showed a calm lake that was inside a cave, only somehow the reflection of a full moon shone on the water, which Calder could sense was unfathomably deep. The impression was so strong that for a moment he wondered if his sight had returned as mysteriously as it had left, but then he knew this was a far away, scary place. Maybe a place that wasn't real at all. The water seemed to grab at his ankles and tug at him.
A rush of panic filled him and escaped his lips in a squeak. "Stop! Stop, go back! Please!"
Joren changed his stride at once and soon they were back on shore, Calder dropping to the ground and sinking gratefully against the rocky bank. He tried to slow his breath, but he felt like somebody had pulled all the air out of him. His skin had gone clammy and he felt himself shaking.
"Calder," his guardian said, quite near by. He must have knelt down to be closer. "I know it's hard, but we have to get to the other side."
But Calder still had the fear in his veins. "But the curse... the priestess said..."
"It's not too deep here, I'm sure we'll be fine."
"The water! It belongs to him, that's what she said, remember? The God who cursed me." He shook his head, trying to dispel the frightening images of the dark lake.
"I know," Joren said patiently, "but we must cross. There's a town we must go to on the other bank. It won't take but a few minutes and then we'll be on the other side, okay?"
Calder didn't trust himself to speak, so he just nodded instead. It was embarrassing to be so afraid in front of his friend, and he didn't know how to explain what had happened in the water. Joren didn't seem to be afraid of anything, so Calder didn't want to be either. But thinking of the dark water surrounding him, falling into the power of the God who had, for some reason, marked him out for a curse... it was too much.
Joren's rough hands were suddenly there, holding him steady. "Calder, are you sure you can do this?"
He wanted to say no. He wanted to beg Joren not to make him. But he didn't want Joren to be ashamed of him. He wanted to be a brave man too. He grit his teeth. "Yes."
He heard Joren sigh, then felt a large hand ruffle through his hair affectionately. "You are a bad liar," the man said, a smile in his voice, "Come on, there's got to be a bridge across this river somewhere. We'll find it."
Calder blushed. "But won't that take a lot more time?"
"What's the matter? Eager to get rid of me already?"
Calder responded by throwing his arms around his friend, holding him so tight that it was almost as if.... as if he had nothing else in the whole world to hold on to. _____________________________________________________________________
The first lesson impressed into every newly commissioned Royal House Guard is considered the most important: from now on, you are deaf. The bodyguard of the Imperial family is expected to be ever vigilant against threats, but anything said or done in their presence is to go unnoticed, unremembered, and very certainly undiscussed. This was the first and greatest discipline of a bodyguard, and those attached to the Emperor's service were paragons of this virtue.
Thus it wasn't much of a surprise to Rannell Kent that, despite the screaming and shouting emanating from the Emperor's grand pavilion, the faces of the guards stationed outside betrayed no hint that anything was amiss. Though Kent, as Guardian of the Flame and personal protector of the Prince, had received the same training, he was finding it more difficult to remain unaffected by the argument raging between father and son within the tent. Perhaps this was due mainly to the fact that the shouting was almost entirely coming from Tytus, his youthful voice pitched high with indignation and rage. Kent found himself more concerned to hear his liege's distress than he expected, caught himself fidgeting and pacing nervously. Only a fool would seek to intervene in an argument between the Emperor himself and his headstrong son, but Kent found himself wishing to do exactly that. He felt certain his presence would help the Prince stay calm, and, despite his training to the contrary, he could not help but pick up fragments of the conversation.
"I will not hear you," the Emperor said flatly, no trace of emotion in his voice.
"You will not?" the Prince screeched, "I will be heard, Father!"
"Enough. You ask why you are not granted command of our forces, and then comport yourself like a child. You answer yourself. You are dismissed."
"I will not--"
"You are DISMISSED." The Emperor's voice was powerful, echoing throughout the tent with such force that even the guards standing watch near Kent jumped in fear. After a long silence, the Prince appeared from within the tent and stormed off, red faced, not even daring to look at his Guardian. Rannell Kent turned to follow his liege when the Emperor's stern and commanding voice echoed out again. "Get in here, Kent."
At this the supposedly deaf guards glanced in his direction, their expressions clearly sympathetic and pitying. The Guardian of the Flame took a deep breath and then entered the Emperor's presence.
Physically, he was a less than imposing man, but Kent was not fooled by outward appearances. The balding man before him was reforging an Empire that could last hundreds of years and had emerged triumphant over his equally formidable brother, and he had done it all while paying the proper devotions to the Lightbringer, with additional lip service to the other Gods. Thus, when Kent went to one knee before him, it was as much out of genuine respect as out of necessary formality.
The Emperor motioned impatiently for the Guardian to rise. "Do you have any children, Kent?" he asked irritably.
Only the one we both share, Rannell Kent thought to himself. Aloud, he said, "None of my own, Your Grace."
The Emperor's eyes narrowed at that, as if he had guessed Rannell's thoughts. "Ah yes, that's right. You aren't married yet, are you?"
Kent shook his head. There was a hint of a mocking tone in the Emperor's voice that set him on edge immediately. "My devotion to my duties has not allowed it."
"Your duties... Yes, of course. Your duties." The Emperor leaned forward, a peculiar look of intensity on his face. "And how fare your duties? I placed my son and heir in your hands. I asked you to educate him, to make a proper Emperor of him. And how, would you say, is that going?"
"He has won many battles and turned the tide of the war, Your Grace," Kent replied carefully, "And, if I may, it was the God who brought me to the Prince's service, not you."
"Yes, yes. But you were charged by the God the Flame to make a man out of my son, and still he proves himself merely a child."
That was not exactly the wake Kent would have interpreted his mission, but he tried not to let his discomfort show. "I agree the Prince's behavior in the last few days lacks wisdom, but I have seen great improvement since I first began instructing and protecting him."
"Have you now," the Emperor said flatly, then paused to clear his throat. "I would not normally question a man of your Faith, Kent, but I must say I find your methods rather peculiar, if reports are to be believed."
Rannell Kent could feel the tension in the room rising and was forced to use all his training to present a calm appearance. "Rumor has a way of exaggerating things, my lord."
The Emperor slammed a fist down on the arm of his chair. "Speak plainly, Kent, like a proper soldier. Are you fucking my son?"
Kent was so startled that he found himself rising to his feet. "Your Grace!"
"My Grace, nothing! Are you? Because if so I must say it's the strangest kind of religious education I've ever heard of!"
The Guardian of the Flame tried to force down the lump in his throat, reminding himself he had done no true wrong. "The Prince has formed an... attachment to me. In way a I did not expect."
The Emperor laced his fingers and stared over them coldly. "I am not a stranger to how the world works. You are his mentor. He wants your approval. These feelings are childish, but not unheard of. But to indulge him in this fascination will, it seems to me, only make matters worse. You have shared his bed, then?"
A moment passed while Kent considered his response. "When the Prince commands me, I obey."
The Emperor's bushy eyebrows shot up and his voice twisted into sarcasm. "Now that is some impressive loyalty, Rannell Kent. Such devotion! How reassuring to know my son has such an obedient servant. Tell me, Guardian, if I commanded you to sink to your knees and suck on my cock this very moment, I suppose you would obey that too?"
For the first time Kent felt himself truly lose composure. His face began to burn and he had no choice but to look away.
"For the boy to love you or even lust after you is in its own way understandable, if a frustrating weakness for one of my blood. But for you to return those feelings is inappropriate. By all the Gods, Kent, you should know better. You are still quite young for a man in your position but I thought you wiser than this. You have compromised your authority over your charge and placed his education in serious jeopardy. You have lost control of the situation, letting yourself become distracted my royal son's royal cock.... or royal arse... Gods, I don't even want to know! This affair must end. I am withdrawing you from your position as the Prince's Guardian."
Kent felt a surge of panic take him by surprise. "Tytus is Chosen of the Flame! You know what the priests of the Temple of Light foretold. My place at his side was given to me by the Lightbringer through the words of his chosen servants, and even you cannot simply strip that away from me!"
"And if I write to your superiors at the Temple of Light and explain that their chosen Guardian has developed a taste for the flesh of young princes? What do you suppose they'll say to that?"
Rannell Kent had no response. For weeks he had been convincing himself that, technically, no sin had been committed. Perhaps that would be true if Tytus was just an ordinary young man, and Kent an ordinary soldier. It was politics, as usual, that messed everything up. He felt a fool for thinking that indulging the Prince's demands would go unnoticed and unremarked.
"Tytus sought intimacy," he said, "He demanded it. I obeyed, believing that within the bonds of that intimacy my teaching would have greater impact."
"You deluded yourself," the Emperor broke in. "Be reasonable, Kent. This is for your own good. This whole matter will quickly be forgotten, and you still have a promising career ahead of you. Honestly, I cannot force myself to be too angry with you. My son has a way of getting what he wants. Had I known of your.... preferences, I would never have let you be put in such a difficult position."
"I don't know what you mean," Kent insisted suddenly, "I simply obeyed Tytus when he commanded, as is my duty. I do not return the feelings he has for me."
The Emperor sighed and turned away, his thoughts already turning to another matter. "Perhaps you really believe that, but the truth is plain to see, Guardian, even if you have hidden it from yourself. That's three times now you've called your liege and Prince by his first name alone." The Emperor stopped long enough to let his point sink in. "You are dismissed."
Rannell Kent lapsed into a stunned silence for several long minutes before finally snapping to attention, bowing formally, and backing out of the tent away from the Imperial Presence. Outside, the looks the two guardsman gave him suggested that they had continued to forget their ingrained training prohibiting eavesdropping.
Kent, still breathing furiously and flushed in the face, stared down each man until they looked away in shame.