Blood and Steel: Legends of La Gaul, Volume 1 Read online

  Blood and Steel:

  Legends of La Gaul

  Volume 1

  Steven Shrewsbury

  Copyright © 2013 by Steven L. Shrewsbury

  All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be copied or transmitted in any form, electronic or otherwise, without express written consent of the publisher or author.

  Cover art: Matthew Perry

  Cover art in this book copyright © 2013 Matthew Perry & Seventh Star Press, LLC.

  Published by Seventh Star Press, LLC.

  ISBN Number: 978-1-937929-29-9

  Seventh Star Press

  www.seventhstarpress.com

  [email protected]

  Publisher’s Note:

  Blood and Steel: Legends of La Gaul, Volume 1 is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are the product of the author’s imagination, used in fictitious manner. Any resemblances to actual persons, places, locales, events, etc. are purely coincidental.

  Printed in the United States of America

  First Edition

  Acknowledgements

  Thanks to Stephen Zimmer, Jessica Lay, Brady Allen, B.J. McPherson, Chris & Angie Fulbright, Mark Boatman, Jim Mcleod, Ron Kelly, Cheryl Lynne Staley, Peter Welmerink, Bob Freeman, Rhonda Wilson & Craig, Matt Perry, James Tuck, Alicia Justice, Eric S. Brown, Donnise, Noigeoverlord, Michael West, Cherry Wanders, Lisa Mannetti, Alex Adams, Rhonda Harris, Walt Hicks, Angela Bodine, Elizabeth Donald, Andrew Leonard, Val, Gina Ranalli, Ty Schwamburger, Mandi Lynch, DezM, Nikki Howard, Sharon Moore White, Maurice Broaddus, Mari Adkins, Dean Harrison & the Shrewsburys that like my work…Mark Sr, Jr, and Amy.

  Thanks always to my family, Stacey, John and Aaron.

  -Shrews

  Dedication:

  To Jessica Lay for her support and being the best thing to come out of Australia since

  FOSTERS and Olivia Newton-John.

  Day of Iniquity

  Once Gorias saw that the scribe Jessica sat astride her mount, a beautiful roan several hands shorter than Traveler, he reined his horse about and started trotting for the edge of town. Segesta, a quiet village composed of many brick buildings in its truly clean, metropolitan center, degenerated quickly in the outer reaches, as the streets turned rougher and the homes became made of logs.

  “One would think the external limits of a village might be where the new houses start,” Gorias related, casting a final glance over his shoulder. “It seems they build in the middle, new atop torn down older places.”

  Jessica gripped her reins and looked back as well, for a moment. “Why is that, do you think?”

  “Perhaps familiarity. Maybe folks don’t wanna leave a spot. Maybe just bein’ lazy. Who knows?”

  “Do you ever dream of the place of your birth?”

  Eyes ahead, Gorias’ voice held no emotion when he replied, “No. My boyhood home, maybe a little, but not where I was born.”

  “Do you miss family and friends?”

  “My family back there, where I grew up, are all dead. And what friends I have are scattered.”

  “Both of your parents are dead?”

  Gorias shot her a sour look. “This is gonna be a great time hangin’ out with you. Traveling alone provides a kinda silence rough diamonds can’t buy.”

  “I’d love to hear about your parents.” Jessica produced a tiny scroll, spread it across a stone tablet balanced on her saddle horn, and then produced a quill from her robe.

  “Ya write with that?”

  “Certainly. It scribes on the parchment, and I rub it in later with filler.”

  “Amazin’ I say,” Gorias deadpanned.

  “Was your father a great warrior?”

  “Yeah, but he was a chief of our folks in that region of Thule.” He gazed off into the rolling countryside and distant trees as he recalled. “We seldom fought unless for a good reason, but every so often, such an event popped up. That guy, he’d travel half a world away to get what he wanted. Took most of the village with him on such treks. He got pissed, he stomped on the reason.” Gorias eyed her and asked, “You all right? Ya look like ya got lost all of a sudden.”

  Jessica turned her face from him, and her gaze wandered in the sparse, open grasslands before them. “You’re giving me hints, not tangible tales.”

  “The tangible tales of Gorias La Gaul,” he chuckled. “I wouldn’t pay to hear that even if half drunk. All right, once we get bedded down, ya can use one of them eyes of the dragon, and I’ll show you a story about my father and mother.”

  Jessica looked to him again. “Is it a romance?”

  “There’s some love to it,” Gorias affirmed, eyebrows raised in recollection. “Haven’t thought about them in a while.”

  Jessica smiled wide, then tried to repress it, taking on a studious look. “You will place the eye to your head and pass on that vision to me?”

  “Sure. Glad to see you can’t contain your excitement. Lemme warn ya, sister, be ready. My visions, and the stuff folks told me about that forms most of the story, ain’t pretty.”

  “The eyes pick up real events seen by those there, or their blood kin in spirit.”

  “That’s the theory about those Eyes of the Dragon anyway.”

  “You sound doubtful.”

  Gorias sighed as they journeyed on over a great crest and headed down into a valley. “In every Eye of a Dragon is a negligible flicker of dragon-fire, a part of the soul of all dragons. They desire a window into the life of a person. They got to see plenty of me, so I really don’t fret over myself.”

  “But you do me?”

  “Someone has gotta.”

  Her dainty hand on her chest for a moment, she winked. “I’m touched.”

  “I’d feel pretty bad if ya got screwy in the head over the things I could show ya and your spirit is tainted by the dragon-fire.”

  “Nonsense.” Her forehead furrowed and she took on a somber expression. “The goddess Ishtar will preserve me.”

  Gorias’ smirk faded. “Good luck.”

  ***

  “This area is pretty harmless,” Gorias assured her, as Jessica spread out her bedroll near a small campfire in the darkness.

  “In reading up on this area, it seemed reasonably devoid of beastie stories.”

  Gorias stopped for a moment as he removed Traveler’s saddle. “Beasties?” he said quietly, and then stowed the saddle. “Yeah, the further inland we get, the worse that is, but we’re safe for now. The night is undamaging for now.”

  Jessica’s face lightened up, made almost angelic in the glow of the fireplace as she pulled the Eyes of the Dragon from between her breasts. “What have I to fear? I’m riding with Gorias La Gaul!”

  He turned and wondered, “Ya been nippin’ at the wine flask already?”

  She wore a hurt expression, bottom lip pouting. “I had some Brandywine, but not enough to obscure any coming vision.”

  He pondered her words and how she only feared a night monster, or a snake maybe, but not the amorous advances of one of the world’s greatest lovers. Such was life…

  “Well, get comfy and we’ll try this out,” Gorias told her, as he saw she already had a cross-legged, fitted position with a blanket about her legs.

  She was all ready to get his vision. He thought it was lucky for the gal that he was a gentleman, as while in visions folks could easily be taken advantage of. They were entranced for a long time, watching. He shook his head as if to banish the idea of attacking the
young lass during the coming experience.

  He took the tiny bag of Dragon jewels, shook one out, and frowned at it in the palm of his hand. He then sat before her, but not in the same position.

  “What?” she wondered as he groaned, pulling his cloak off and dropping to his buttocks, aimed toward the fire.

  “I ain’t as nimble as I once was. You live 700 years and try that sitting style ya got working.”

  Jessica’s eyes widened as he picked a jewel, her anticipation high.

  Gorias placed it to his forehead, closed his eyes, and then yanked it away. “Here. Go crazy.”

  She clicked her tongue in her mouth and grinned. “That easy?”

  “Ya need to lay off the Brandywine, missy.”

  She rocked her hips, swept back her hair, and placed the jewel to her head.

  And the rest was history.

  ***

  “You throw down the body of an olden woman in front of the Son of God himself, and expect information?” the deep voice wondered, before stopping to chuckle. “You truly are from the lands of the north near Thule, Chief Ambiorix. Only one from there would have the stones to do such a thing.”

  Steely fingers held the writhing body of the woman on the slab. The weathered digits attached firm to the muscled arms of an enormous man. Beneath his heavy mustache, his lips curled back and he grunted, “It’s you who sets the price of accurate tidings, Neurath. Besides, what makes you so special? There are many sons of the gods running across this planet.”

  The flickering firelight in the cavern only showed the massive outline of the giant Son of God as he leaned forward. From the shadows came the sound of nostrils flaring and the wet scrape of steel on stone.

  Though Ambiorix stood very tall, the figure nearby dwarfed him. The air soon gasped as a heavy blade passed through it. Ambiorix never flinched as the Nephilum Neurath dropped the axe head the size of a man’s chest on the stone slab.

  The naked woman wheezed and then let out an earsplitting cry, before her sobs exploded into insane squeals. Neurath clumsily dropped the axe beside the block. He reached down, picked up the skinny leg freed up from the body, and put the bloody edge to his huge mouth.

  “Good enough?” Ambiorix asked, still holding the woman down solid.

  Neurath sighed. “It will do for starters.” The giant then seized the tiny figure on the stone, careful not to drop the leg, and Ambiorix released her. The behemoth turned and hanged her on metal hooks screwed into the stone wall. As the hooks pierced through her back and protruded under her collarbones, Neurath yawned, “So, Ingaevone tribesman, what is it you require of me?”

  “What no one else can give,” Ambiorix replied, a hand on the grip of a short-sword sheathed at his waist. “I need to know where the cult of Ensibzianna hides. It’s said the malevolent son, Alagar, leads these folk at the moment.”

  Neurath sat back on a cushioned outcropping in the cave, still chewing his food, and soon said through crimson teeth, “You come to a Nephilum for such a boon? You have stones in those russet trousers, I will grant you that, Ingaevone.” Swallowing, he gestured with the leg and muttered, “Alagar, curse me running, that damnable imbecile.”

  “I know the charge of one who thinks he’s descended of the gods,” Ambiorix stated and motioned to the cave entrance. Two husky men, nearly copies of Ambiorix in large build and hirsute body, carried in a struggling figure, but this time it was an old man. They stripped him of his scarlet cote-hardie, then his gypon, and again Ambiorix held his offering down on the granite wedge.

  Neurath arched an already serrated mono-brow. “You came prepared. So the primitives from beyond the Zenghaus Mountains are learning, eh?”

  “I’d never travel this close to Shynar unless it was vital to me or my kindred,” Ambiorix said as he maintained his pinning clutch on the oldster.

  With a single nod, Neurath scooped up his axe and reared back. The old woman hanging behind him screeched and passed out at last. The axe fell, and this time the giant extracted a left forearm from the stone block. Sampling this meat and wearing a more appreciative look, Neurath declared, “Very good, Ingaevone. This mage is from afar.” Neurath then arose and hung the man on a set of hooks near to the old woman. The tongue of the aged man screamed curses unto the Ingaevone, their mothers and the offspring of fallen angels.

  Ambiorix waited patiently, never speaking.

  Neurath noted Ambiorix’s patience. The again reclining giant gnawed on raw tissue. “I admire you, primitive human. You hold your tongue.” He wiped his ruddy-skinned forearm over a bloody maw and asked, “You knew the price was blood and provender?”

  “As is the cost with anything,” Ambiorix replied with a calm voice. “All matters come down to blood.”

  Gulping with a stiff grunt, Neurath sucked on the forearm and wore a reflective expression. “Ensibzianna, aye? A cult indeed worships my half brother Alagar from the heavens. His ego is overloading his ass, truth be told.” He fanned himself with the bone, and licked marrow from his upper lip. “I know where he awaits oblations from his foolish admirers.”

  Since the pause was so long, Ambiorix sighed and turned to his men. They exited the cave and returned with another screaming contribution. Again, this woman was older, but not as ancient as the first one Ambiorix lay down before Neurath.

  Neurath’s hawkish nose twitched. “You keep the fatter ones for later? You are wise,” he snorted, watching the men place her under Ambiorix’s hold.

  This woman did not cry, but cursed Ambiorix and Neurath. “I invoke the names of Asmodeous and Azathoth to burn out your eyes!” she yelled with enormous malediction. “May Tiphereth mate with your mother! May Belial pass water in the face of your sister and all of her children fall from her belly before it is time!”

  Neurath belched a bored groan as he picked up the axe. “Mouthy one, no?”

  Ambiorix held her with great difficulty as she made signals with her fingers, blaspheming heavily. Frowning, Ambiorix said, “I’ll throw in a few more if you cut off her head.”

  With a slight snigger, Neurath chopped and she yelped. He took her left foot off and promptly placed the woman on the wall. Though wailing in agony, she still uttered profanity and curses at them.

  The old man next to her had gone unconscious from loss of blood now painting the wall. The giant eyed her, and then Ambiorix. “Maybe you are correct.” He then picked up the foot and started to pick at his teeth with the appendage’s little toe. “This cult is located in the ruins of Larak at the edge of the desert of Dundayin. This is most certainly true.”

  Ambiorix nodded, and started to turn away.

  “Tell me,” Neurath mused, teeth grinding on the cold toes amid the ear-piercing curses of the woman. “Amuse me, Ingaevone. Why does the cult of Ensibzianna enrage you enough to bring sacrifice unto a Son of God that is not of your faith? Why travel all this way from home in Thule?”

  “My god is Wodan,” Ambiorix responded with assurance. “He gives strength the moment one is planted in your mother’s belly and watches us to see if we’ll stray from the good course. If I were not smart enough to find my lost blood amongst the cult, Wodan would not show his favor to me.”

  Neurath nodded, as if lost in thought. He then supposed, “And yet you had no trepidation of bringing these ones in for me? You fear not their powers? They are all necromancers and witches, as it were, every last one.”

  Ambiorix shrugged. “Why should I be afraid? I don’t believe in their gods.”

  The cackling laughter of Neurath echoed out of the cavern as Ambiorix exited.

  Just outside the cave, the acolytes of Neurath frowned at the savages. The three women were tall, quite fleshy, and dressed in green samite robes. The youngest one stepped forward, her black tresses shaking, and said to Ambiorix, “You fancy yourselves real men? You do not know what it is to be a true man.”

  A
mbiorix didn’t reply, but one of his men, a fireplug-shaped warrior called Garretson, cursed the woman and told her, “You fuckin’ have courage because you can fuckin’ take in a giant? Wodan craps fuckin’ knives on you.”

  They climbed on their horses, but the woman persisted, wishing blight on Ambiorix. Looking down, Ambiorix retorted, “What kind of woman lays down with what is not human?”

  She snapped back, “What kind of man brings in old ladies to sacrifice for his desires?”

  “One in love?” Ambiorix shrugged. “They were just witches. They said they could tell me where my true love was located.” He then smiled wolfishly. “They lied. Take care that I find my love at Larak, or we shall be back.”

  The other plump acolyte put her arm around the cursing girl and said to Ambiorix, “She’s young.”

  Garretson pulled on his face wrap to ward off the trail dust and muttered, “She may not get much fuckin’ older.”

  The young woman said, “To give up lives for meat, just for your love, that is barbaric!”

  Ambiorix and his kindred laughed. “We are barbarians,” he informed her as they left.

  ***

  A grizzled man, ancient of years, opened the door to his home. The small abode, made of mud bricks, was the only structure aside from a grain storage bin at the oasis. Several palm trees and a long pool of bubbling water made the oasis unique on the edge of the vast desert of Dundayin. Wobbling, using a withered branch for support, the crone faced the mounted barbarian horde alone.

  “Good day, men,” the old one said, shielding his eyes to the sun. The watcher then saw several women dismount from amongst the great force. Not much smaller than the men, these sturdy-built females carried sheathed swords too. He lost count of how many walked in the pack.