Date: Wed, 3 Jul 2013 17:48:35 -0400
From: M Patroclus <thephallocrat@gmail.com>
Subject: Marked By The Gods, Part 3

"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.