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

From the mouth of the drunken Ingaevone came the slurred words, “Cthulhu can kiss my hairy ass…him and all of his children…what’s the worst he can do, kill me?” Then a chuckle echoed in the enormous chest covered by plates of dragon skin armor. At his words, even more of the regulars exited the area near Gorias. Those that enjoyed the hearth nearby also fled.

  Hjordis stared at the drunk, seeing Gorias’ face almost obscured by wild auburn hair littered with gray, a bushy beard and unkempt mustache. “What say you, lush? How did you get so far north unto refined Albion across the channel from our fair Transalpina? Fighting more wars for money or suckling that bitch queen of the Prytens?”

  “Why should I tell a punk like you?” Gorias replied, his words sloppy and falling like wet footsteps. “I’ll cut your balls off and feed them to your mother.”

  To this, Hjordis laughed, but Thynnes didn’t.

  Gorias wore a feral grin, saying, “But by the looks of you, they’ve been in her mouth before.”

  Hjordis’ rage exploded and he drew his khopesh. Not a fool, and well aware of the tales of Gorias, the young champion held his ground.

  He never had long to wait, for the massive figure jumped into a standing position, sending the table and depleted drinks flying. Hjordis would’ve lost the bet with Thynnes, for Gorias could unsheathe the twin swords from his back. Boots planted firm, the Ingaevone looked the picture of his legendary fury on the battlefields and bedrooms. However, he took two steps, staggered and fell hard into the next table before Hjordis, busting it into two even pieces. Releasing his gleaming swords, the huge man rolled over and faced up, letting loose a cough, whiskey dripping from his lips. His bleary eyes stared up into the legs of the champion of Transalpina as trembling hands reached up, then fell flat to his heavy waist belt.

  With another laugh, Hjordis said, “This is the grand fighter of the ages? Ha! This will truly add to my…”

  Whatever Hjordis planned to say was lost in a high-pitched scream, as Gorias’s right hand darted up between the young man’s legs. The Ingaevone pulled a small dirk from his belt and quickly jabbed it into Hjordis’ groin. With a twist of his thick wrist, Gorias destroyed the manhood of the King’s champion forever. A splash of crimson spewed from between Hjordis’ legs as he dropped his sword and took a single, quivering step. Blood covered Gorias’ face, and he never acknowledged its presence. Thynnes read hilarity in Gorias’ expression as Hjordis screamed, clutching a ruined crotch.

  Gorias sat up like a shot, head impacting with Hjordis backside, sending him tumbling over, sprawling into the seat Gorias just occupied. Gorias moved slowly, climbing to his knees, and took up his swords. Scarlet drops fell from Gorias’ nose and chin as he leered at Thynnes. The aged General, red hair faded to ivory, far older than Hjordis, showed his wisdom and a lack of concern for his fellow soldier. He held his ground and never drew steel at the man with blood running from his face. Gorias turned from him and rose to his feet.

  “True, I’m older now,” muttered Gorias, voice still thick with drink. “Nearly six hundred years have I trod this miserable planet and still, I run into little pukes that want to die more than they want to screw.” Gorias gripped his sword pommels and raised his weapons, unsteady in his stance. “You don’t have to look me in the eye, fool. Look on forward. Die like the bitch you are.” The great swords fell, penetrating the chain mail under shirt, burying themselves in Hjordis’ spine. The blades lodged there and caused the champion’s right leg to spasm. Gorias cursed and pulled up the swords, carving the champion of Albion open almost to Hjordis’ neck. A boot on the younger man’s thigh, Gorias pulled the blades from Hjordis and let the dead man fall away.

  Many peeking in the bar windows clapped their hands or slammed the drinks they took with them down in approval at the action. Several stood near the hallway leading to the back door. Thynnes pondered that here in Albion, they found it funny as hell anyone would slay the champion of the Transalpinan folks, their natural enemies, so easily.

  Gorias holstered one of the swords, stumbled to the bar, grabbed a flagon of wine that a hefty patron suddenly wanted nothing to do with. He raised it high, toasting, saying, “Wodan takes the piss out of the Elder Gods every day.” He drank deep then lowered his head and mumbled, “Wodan pisses on me.” Gorias then turned to Thynnes, and grinned, face still painted with the blood of Hjordis’ groin and fresh flowing red wine. Gorias then fell to his knees, dropping both his swords and the drink. He took a few strides on his knees as Thynnes left the spot where he stood. Gorias soon fell at Thynnes feet. He rolled over and moaned, “Jenna…” and passed out.

  The bar tender and many others applauded again. While Thynnes wore a frown, the barkeep asked him, “Should I summon the constables or the palace guard?”

  Hands on his belt, Thynnes gave a heavy sigh as he looked at the prostrate form of Gorias and the corpse of the King’s champion. “No. I’ll summon my soldiers.”

  ***

  Gorias awoke from salty spray in his face and to the weight of heavy chains on his limbs. Panic set in at first, but he felt a strange sense of calm spread over his mind. The open air did that to most Ingaevones. Rolling over, he wasn’t tethered down to the small rear deck of the ship as it bounced in heaving blue waters. He flipped over again, not of his own power, smashing into the side guard of the ship.

  “Good, you’re awake,” came the rough voice of Thynnes to Gorias’ ears. “That’s why I had you brought up from the hold, to see if the sea would bring you around.”

  Gorias flexed his arms in the chains and tried to brace himself as the long ship dipped low. The columns of stout men rowing to either side of the vessel proved skilled, for they knew how to work in tandem with the rising and falling of the ship. A slender blonde man wearing the Transalpinan Stallion insignia on his loose fitting gypon steered the vessel, probably a drakkar, Gorias guessed, from the side sector. The waters that did spray over the sides missed the men as their rhythm dictated they swayed in another direction. Rolling over from the force of the drop, Gorias looked down the center path of the ship that ran between the rowers, then again at the man who steered, standing to the side of the ship.

  “Wodan’s ass, where are we?” Gorias wondered, eyes blinking several times.

  “The seas, north of Albion, beyond the Pryten wilderness, even east of the Asgardian realm.”

  Gorias stared, trying to claw at the boards under him. “But there’s naught but the edge of the Earth in that place.” He spun again and cursed. “What am I doing here?”

  Thynnes grinned, his stark teeth showing through his white beard. “You are in the process of escaping.”

  “What say you?”

  Thynnes motioned to one of his men. “Bekan? Free him.” He then said to Gorias. “The chains only bound you to keep you stable in the hold. I over estimated how much of the potion to give you in the holding cell. Perhaps it interacted with the whiskey in your guts, and that is why you slept so long.”

  As Bekan helped Gorias out of the cumbersome chains, Gorias eyed the young man in Transalpinan soldier’s leathers. “I recall a dungeon, a dank place…”

  Thynnes nodded as he held onto the rear railing. “Yes, that was your home for a time after word seeped out about Hjordis.”

  Gorias tried to steady himself on the deck, but his boots slid. He ran both hands across his face and then to his hair. “Hjordis, I remember now.” He then glared at Thynnes. “Why am I here? I should be dead or in torture for that.”

  “You are dead,” Thynnes said with a wink. “You died in your sleep and were thrown to the sea. That’s what the King of Transalpina believes.”

  “But Hjordis was kin to the King, a compatriot of yours?”

  Nostrils flaring, Thynnes said, “He was a prick, even if he was my future brother in law. You did Albion a favor, Ingaevone. The world is better off without him.” He paused and gave Gorias a dour look. “My world, any
how. Let us go below, Gorias.”

  The two men went to the hold under the deck of the heaving ship. There was barely room for the two big men to recline across from each other in the cramped quarters of the General.

  Thynnes said, “Better to talk here out of the elements and away from the men. They are my loyal soldiers, but I cannot risk a loyalist to the crown betraying me. We are in a proper place to dispose of such a jackass, though.”

  As he attempted to get comfortable on the gunnysacks behind him, Gorias said, “You have no anger I slew this champion of the King? I see. I saved you the trouble, didn’t I?”

  With a shrug, Thynnes said, “Yes, you did. We were off on this mission to Kalaallisut for his Majesty Peverall to solve a riddle, anyhow. Your sword is as good as our champion’s any day, once you sober up. At least it better well be. Plus, after this mystery is solved, I have other matters in mind.”

  “You gave me a potion to get me out of the dungeon?” Gorias blinked, attempting to reason everything together. He smoothed down his wild beard as he said, “Then drag my ass all the way to Hyperborea?” Gorias shook his head and even slapped his mane of auburn hair a few times. “I recall the prison…but why? You want me in your debt? I must warn you, the threat of death to me or execution is not that daunting anymore.”

  Thynnes nodded. “I‘ve heard you are losing your zest for life. The bards sing tales and stories are told, Gorias. I like the ones where you are younger and kill all the whores in the Irem brothel.”

  “You can’t please everyone, General.” Gorias thought for a moment. “Besides, those women were all under the spell of a damned wizard. I could care a fart in a fighting helmet what the bards say.” Gorias reflected for a moment before saying, “I once knew a man who claimed to be from beyond Hyperborea from a land called Zobna. He told drunken tales of a volcano at the top of the Earth, of a place called Yaanek or was it Yarak? I get all of that Cthulhu myth ass backwards.” Gorias’ voice trailed off and he sighed heavily. “They say a god is imprisoned up there. Hell, there’s always a god someplace, huh? I forget his name.”

  Thynnes chuckled and then turned serious. “I’d love to hear all of your tales in time, Gorias, son of Ambiorix.”

  At his father’s name, Gorias’ eyes snapped to attention. He remained silence, though. This General knew much about him, indeed.

  “However, I have my own plans. I want to kill the King of Albion after this present task concludes.”

  “Yeah?” Gorias snorted. “Good for you. Most kings should hang.”

  “I don’t want my baby boy Javan growing up near a realm ruled by a freak like Silex, King of Albion, no matter how educated and erudite the society is getting to be. I have daughters a-plenty and one son. I have enough to worry on besides what sort of society they will have to find husbands in.”

  “Yeah, I’ve heard of that King, that he fancies little boys as well as goats, Siamese twins and the lot, but I thought those were just ribald bar tales.”

  Thynnes grimaced. “I wish that was so, but the truth is grimmer still. However, my strategies are growing amongst the few men I could trust. You killing the champion removed one obstacle from my path. I must carry out duties for my sovereign, though, before my trap can be sprung.”

  Gorias coughed and gave him a nod. “You fancy yourself a suitable replacement for Silex? Best of luck with that.”

  Thynnes took a flask from his over cloak and unscrewed the cap. “Eh, there would be a knife waiting for my back in time. I haven’t worked all the details out just yet. Hell, I even was even willing to get the champion on the Albionese throne and pull his strings, since I lead all of the military. By Rhiannon, that’d be a joke on the old rapist.”

  Gorias extended his hand and demanded the flask. Thynnes gave it over. Gorias drank a swig. “Hard to live with yer hand up a man’s ass, though.”

  “True,” Thynnes conceded and took the flask back. He drank again, then said, “But I need muscle, a new leader that men will follow.”

  “Damn, I shoulda died in the whorehouse at Irem or with the pirates at Transalpina. So, you want me to kill this King of yours?” Again, he demanded the container. Again, Thynnes handed it over to him.

  “If you like,” Thynnes said with a hearty laugh. “That’s a matter for another day.”

  “What was all that blather about children of Cthulhu?”

  “We’re going to this godforsaken realm to see what has befallen a colony of Albion farmers at the edge of Kalaallisut at Brattahlid. We’ve sent many knorrs with supplies, then drakkars full of men to see what befell these others. Still, no word came, save for one drakkar that returned with one man aboard.”

  Gorias looked around. “One man piloted one of these big bastards? Now who is stroking who?”

  Thynnes shook his head from side to side as he took the flask of wine back. “No, the gods sailed him back to us.”

  “The gods have a shitty sense of humor.”

  “By luck or design, he returned to us. The young man, a sometimes rower and infantry man called Vilborg, was mad as could be, though in the arms of Rhiannon. He told a tale that a great giant lives in the land he visited, coming from north of the settlement. Vilborg said this giant could eat men whole and crap out children of Cthulhu.”

  While he rubbed a series of scars on his furrowed forehead, Gorias smiled. “Now who is the drunk?”

  Casually, Thynnes related, “The kid was mad and had to be put down. No poultice could be made for his mind. Anyway, King Peverall has sent his stoutest men on this journey. We are just to see what’s there, but not get ourselves killed. Many in Transalpina lost family members who have never returned from this venture. We must secure knowledge of their demise or fortune.”

  “This sounds like a farce. Why deceive me? Don’t try to sell fake scat to a manure salesman, General Thynnes.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

  “Why would you take the words of a mad-boy so seriously?”

  Thynnes reached into his tunic and produced a small roll of parchment. He handed this to Gorias, saying, “I don’t know if you can read, but it doesn’t matter. I can’t read it either, but the oracles swear it’s part of the fabled Pnakotic Manuscripts.”

  Gorias frowned at the parchment.

  The General said, “And I need not tell you the implications of such a thing? How would he get his hands on such a manuscript? Only worshipers of the stygian depths would have such a parchment out in a raw country, for this isn’t a land of scholars and librarians we go to.”

  Gorias handed him back the paper and snatched the flask back. Up ending it, he soon said, “There’s no good to be had from this place and that damned paper.” Mouth transforming into a savage cave, Gorias muttered low, “I thought I destroyed all of these scrolls at Jericho.”

  “What? You saw something preserved by the Atlantean high-priest Klarkash-Ton?”

  “Never you mind…that piece there must be from a copy. You know the stories passed around of the ice monsters and creatures that live on the top of the Earth?”

  “They even tell those tales of the Lord of the Pole down where you come from? They say your tribe came from Thule.”

  “I’ve been everywhere, General,” Gorias snapped, hands digging into his knees. “I hear fairy stories everywhere I go. That’s why your damned colony is lost because they didn’t heed the old tales. This modern world forgets the stories of the ice ages, of the stories in the Pnakotic Manuscripts of the white flame and his rage.”

  Thynnes smirked and said, “Aphoom-Zhah. That’s the name the kid said.”

  Gorias frowned and then cursed, for the flask was empty. “Aphoom-Zhah, son of Cthugha, is prisoner in the northlands, set there by the Elder Gods themselves.” He wiped his mouth before saying, “Your village is excrement by now.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “If Aphoom
-Zhah is real, then his followers are as well. The Gnoph-keh’s were said to be created by Aphoom-Zhah…and they eat people. We better turn back.”

  Thynnes wore a forlorn look. “There were a few sub human, bestial humanoids that the first settlers hunted for sport. This was near the base of the mountain range called the Eiglophians. I think they called them the Voormi. Some say they cried out to Azathoth and Cxaxukluth to save them.”

  “Sweet. We are twenty kinds of fucked.”

  “Bah, pagan scum, all of them.”

  Gorias’ face shuddered. “I’m a man of the Earth, General. I’ve seen many bad things and monsters best left in the caldron of creation’s waste hole. I slew a spawn of a Tsathoggua in the black kingdoms once, conjured by a Sultan’s wizard.”

  Thynnes roared with laughter. “Oh, you jest me now! How did you do that?”

  Gorias shrugged, eyes on the ceiling as if he saw the past played out there. “Mastodon stampede, but I digress. We better be stopping for a look see at this land and sailing away, if you are intent on going. There’s a reason no civilized or barbarian race lives in these lands.”

  Thynnes grunted and sat forward. “I’ve heard the tales of Aphoom-Zhah as well, Gorias. If he was imprisoned by the Outer or Elder Gods as the tales say, and has no form, what did this madman see?”

  Gorias shook his head once as if he’d been struck. “Maybe he found a crack in the prison of the Gods.” He then sighed. “Did you bring my weapons?”

  With a nod, Thynnes confirmed, “Your swords and daggers are here, helmet as well. That’s some piece of work, all scooped out from a dragon body.”

  “Good. I’d hate to meet Wodan unarmed. I’ve always had this vision of him throwing me off the rainbow bridge for dying stupidly.”

  As Gorias started to rise up, Thynnes asked him, “Who is Jenna?”

  Blue eyes burning at the old General, Gorias seethed, “Where did you hear that name?”

  “From you,” Thynnes retorted, unafraid. “You said it in the bar and mumble it in your dreams. Was she your lover?”