Chapter Ten (Hunted)
Geillard was a small man, pale, with soft, petite features that made him appear to be a hermaphrodite. And at the moment he was thinner than a beggar. The remaning followers of the defeated New Religion were not treated well in Karfondal. He huddled beneath a crude statue of Trialos, the unfriendly sounds of the city at night terrifying him now that he knew he was without a god and without a guard to defend him.
He swallowed a dry sob threatening to escape his throat. He had so recently been the most powerful man on this Plane of Existence. He had been Emperor of the Seven Nations, higher even than Barthus, Hierophant of the New Religion. He allowed a thin smile of triumph to creep into his face. Barthus was dead now, destroyed by the gods of the Pantheon and their lackey, the bard Paedur. But not Geillard. No, Geillard was alive, though the bard's last words to him caused him to tremble in his bed of straw every night, brought terrible nightmares to haunt the rare sleep he received. After the Hierophant's body had been consumed by the flames, the hookhanded creature had turned to Geillard and said coldly, "I will return for you."
And deep in his soul, where he hid away hid darkest nightmares and most dreadful terrors, Geillard knew it was true. The bard was still alive, oh yes. He had been there that day, in the courtroom- his courtroom- during Geillard's botched attempt at assassinating the imposter. Kutor, his bastard half-brother.
Geillard had not even attempted to kill the bard. He had seen those eyes, deadly mirror-like eyes, and had known that Paedur was not one to be killed by any mere crossbow bolt. But he had missed Kutor, and now the self- styled Emperor knew of Geillard's continued existence. Strangely, the fact that Owen, Weapon-Master and his fierce slave-companion were searching for him did not terrify Geillard. Even the prospect of having to escape Fodla did not frighten him, and he knew all too well how deadly she could be.
It was the bard that terrified him.
At night, as he huddled in his cold pile of damp straw, in a darkened corner of the ruined temple, an image flashed through his mind. An image of a creature, tall and covered in dark fur, eyes burning with a cold flame and wielding a scythe dripping blood. He knew it was only a nightmare, but its uncanny resemblance to the bard often paralyzed him with fear.
Gathering his tattered cloak about him, Geillard crept to his meager bed, so cold now he was without the use of dozens of willing concubines.
A chill wind ruffled the straw around Geillard's face. He shivered and grunted in his sleep, trying to ignore it. Suddenly, he jerked upright, his inner sense screaming danger. He squinted at the doorway of the temple, trying to make out if there was something there. It was like a shadow, like black upon black- and as it stepped inside, silhouetted against the starry night sky, Geillard choked back a scream.
It was the bard.
He advanced threateningly on the trembling man, hook flashing brilliantly in the cold moonlight. His eyes were flat and hard, and Geillard could see his own petrified visage mirrored within them.
All semblance of dignity was gone now. The once-proud emperor cowered at the bard's feet, whimpering, quivering in terror.
"Please, don't kill me-"
Paedur's voice was soft and lethal. "What makes you think I want to kill you?"
Geillard stammered over his answers, which were a mixture of pleas for his life and an affirmation of his wrongs.
Paedur smiled at him, head tilted to one side. Suddenly the smile left his face, and he held up a hand for silence. "Come."
Stumbling after Paedur, Geillard knew without a doubt that if he did not obey, the bard would kill him.
Paedur stopped, turning around and staring intensely at the man who had almost run into him, as if a sudden idea had entered into his mind.
"You were at the monastery, correct? The monastery of the Order of Ectoriage?"
"Yes."
"How did you escape?" the bard hissed.
Geillard swallowed with difficulty through a throat that was suddenly dry. "I faked my own death."
Paedur nodded slightly, and something moved behind his eyes. "I thought as much."
While the bard was temporarily distracted, Geillard took advantage of the opportunity to slip Paedur's knife out of his boot and thrust it into his chest!
Paedur started at the sudden pain, and looked down at the knife. Geillard's blow had been weak, and the bard's leather jerkin had absorbed much of the blow, but the tip of the blade had pierced his skin, going deep enough to hurt but not to harm. Pulling the knife out, Paedur touched his hook to the wound, healing it instantly, and then grabbed the retreating Geillard by the cloak, slamming the fabric into the ground on the point of his hook. He placed the end of the dagger in the hollow of the terrified man's throat. Geillard struggled in a futile attempt to escape, and Paedur hissed angrily, "Try to move and I will kill you. If it weren't for the fact that I am curious to see what our barbarian prince turned Emperor will do to you once you are in his clutches, you would already be dead. Now, I am only going to say this once, so listen carefully. If you try to escape again, whether it involves harming me or not, you will wish you had died at that monastery. Do you understand?"
Whimpering slightly, Geillard nodded. The bard smiled wickedly.
"Good. Now, I think we should be going. You have an appointment with the Emperor."
Geillard was a small man, pale, with soft, petite features that made him appear to be a hermaphrodite. And at the moment he was thinner than a beggar. The remaning followers of the defeated New Religion were not treated well in Karfondal. He huddled beneath a crude statue of Trialos, the unfriendly sounds of the city at night terrifying him now that he knew he was without a god and without a guard to defend him.
He swallowed a dry sob threatening to escape his throat. He had so recently been the most powerful man on this Plane of Existence. He had been Emperor of the Seven Nations, higher even than Barthus, Hierophant of the New Religion. He allowed a thin smile of triumph to creep into his face. Barthus was dead now, destroyed by the gods of the Pantheon and their lackey, the bard Paedur. But not Geillard. No, Geillard was alive, though the bard's last words to him caused him to tremble in his bed of straw every night, brought terrible nightmares to haunt the rare sleep he received. After the Hierophant's body had been consumed by the flames, the hookhanded creature had turned to Geillard and said coldly, "I will return for you."
And deep in his soul, where he hid away hid darkest nightmares and most dreadful terrors, Geillard knew it was true. The bard was still alive, oh yes. He had been there that day, in the courtroom- his courtroom- during Geillard's botched attempt at assassinating the imposter. Kutor, his bastard half-brother.
Geillard had not even attempted to kill the bard. He had seen those eyes, deadly mirror-like eyes, and had known that Paedur was not one to be killed by any mere crossbow bolt. But he had missed Kutor, and now the self- styled Emperor knew of Geillard's continued existence. Strangely, the fact that Owen, Weapon-Master and his fierce slave-companion were searching for him did not terrify Geillard. Even the prospect of having to escape Fodla did not frighten him, and he knew all too well how deadly she could be.
It was the bard that terrified him.
At night, as he huddled in his cold pile of damp straw, in a darkened corner of the ruined temple, an image flashed through his mind. An image of a creature, tall and covered in dark fur, eyes burning with a cold flame and wielding a scythe dripping blood. He knew it was only a nightmare, but its uncanny resemblance to the bard often paralyzed him with fear.
Gathering his tattered cloak about him, Geillard crept to his meager bed, so cold now he was without the use of dozens of willing concubines.
A chill wind ruffled the straw around Geillard's face. He shivered and grunted in his sleep, trying to ignore it. Suddenly, he jerked upright, his inner sense screaming danger. He squinted at the doorway of the temple, trying to make out if there was something there. It was like a shadow, like black upon black- and as it stepped inside, silhouetted against the starry night sky, Geillard choked back a scream.
It was the bard.
He advanced threateningly on the trembling man, hook flashing brilliantly in the cold moonlight. His eyes were flat and hard, and Geillard could see his own petrified visage mirrored within them.
All semblance of dignity was gone now. The once-proud emperor cowered at the bard's feet, whimpering, quivering in terror.
"Please, don't kill me-"
Paedur's voice was soft and lethal. "What makes you think I want to kill you?"
Geillard stammered over his answers, which were a mixture of pleas for his life and an affirmation of his wrongs.
Paedur smiled at him, head tilted to one side. Suddenly the smile left his face, and he held up a hand for silence. "Come."
Stumbling after Paedur, Geillard knew without a doubt that if he did not obey, the bard would kill him.
Paedur stopped, turning around and staring intensely at the man who had almost run into him, as if a sudden idea had entered into his mind.
"You were at the monastery, correct? The monastery of the Order of Ectoriage?"
"Yes."
"How did you escape?" the bard hissed.
Geillard swallowed with difficulty through a throat that was suddenly dry. "I faked my own death."
Paedur nodded slightly, and something moved behind his eyes. "I thought as much."
While the bard was temporarily distracted, Geillard took advantage of the opportunity to slip Paedur's knife out of his boot and thrust it into his chest!
Paedur started at the sudden pain, and looked down at the knife. Geillard's blow had been weak, and the bard's leather jerkin had absorbed much of the blow, but the tip of the blade had pierced his skin, going deep enough to hurt but not to harm. Pulling the knife out, Paedur touched his hook to the wound, healing it instantly, and then grabbed the retreating Geillard by the cloak, slamming the fabric into the ground on the point of his hook. He placed the end of the dagger in the hollow of the terrified man's throat. Geillard struggled in a futile attempt to escape, and Paedur hissed angrily, "Try to move and I will kill you. If it weren't for the fact that I am curious to see what our barbarian prince turned Emperor will do to you once you are in his clutches, you would already be dead. Now, I am only going to say this once, so listen carefully. If you try to escape again, whether it involves harming me or not, you will wish you had died at that monastery. Do you understand?"
Whimpering slightly, Geillard nodded. The bard smiled wickedly.
"Good. Now, I think we should be going. You have an appointment with the Emperor."