Stories Thread

[_Tristan_]

The Paladin and the Sorcerer
Zagreb, 1093

“Methodios !!” The cry roused Methodios out of the dreamless slumber he had fallen into… The strain of the least few months had finally taken its toll…

“Methodios !!” Standing up from his makeshift bed, in a bale of hay in the shade of some trees, in a field just outside the gates of the city, Methodios recognized Bjarki’s voice.

“Over here…” he answered, his voice slurring a little. Taking a swill of water from his gourd, he stepped out of the shade. “What do you want ?”

“You had better come and see that for yourself,” said Bjarki, the veteran warrior, a sombre look on his face.

“Lead on”, said Methodios, clasping a hand on his comrade’s shoulder, wondering about the secrecy.

Methodios followed Bjarki to the other side of the town square. Few people could be seen in the streets. Though the arrival of the kataphraktoi had freed the town of the tyranny of Gulya and his men, the townsfolk still didn’t know what to make of this new and ominous presence.
Kovacs had proven true to his word and obtained from the city councillors that they proclaim their allegiance to the Empire. Trouble had erupted but was quickly put out once the leaders had been arrested. It was discovered that all the men had taken profit from Gulya’s governance of the city.

Over the last few days, Methodios as sat as judge to many a trial of those men: his sentence was always the same, either they relinquished their hold on the riches acquired during Gulya’ reign and swear their loyalty to the Empire, or they were driven out of town, their holdings seized.

Bjarki was coming back from checking on one such expulsion of a rich merchant and his family.

Led by Bjarki, Methodios made his way through the town, thinking about the improvements that would have to be made in the future. Already he had laid plans to the construction of roads towards the neighbouring Imperial provinces. Soon he would see to the building of barracks for the town militia he wanted to set up.

Finally, they arrived at what was an apparently wealthy townhouse, its two-stories overhanging the cobbled street.

The door was guarded by Adrastos and Antonios, slouching near the door, playing a game of dice. Bjarki entered the House followed by Methodios. Cloths and small personal objects were strewn over the ground, a telltale sign that the eviction had been accomplished, and diligently it seemed.

“Come this way”, Bjarki beckoned, opening a door leading to what seemed to be a basement. Torchlight could be seen flickering at the bottom of the steps.

Half way down the stairs, a strong smell of wine assailed Methodios’ nostrils.

“I’m in no mood for a drink, Bjarki” Methodios said, sullenly.

“That’s not it... Though were it not for the thirst that drove us here...” Bjarki said, a wry grin on his face.

The stairs opened in a large cellar occupied by several large barrels. On one side of the wall, the floor rose up in a slope to double-doors that were used by the former wine-seller to roll his goods in.

Methodios could see that most of the barrels had been tapped, wine spilled upon the floor.

Seeing Methodios’ glare, Bjarki gave him a slight smile, hunching his shoulders “Yes... We have sampled the goods... Fine wine, he was selling that man... But come over here...”

Bjarki led the way to the back of the cellar. Instantly, Methodios noticed that something was out of place. One of the barrels stood open, its facing turned against the wall on hinges. More torchlight came from the once secret room. Crawling through the fake barrel, Methodios emerged in a small room, lit by a single lantern dangling from the ceiling on a short chain, his blood turning cold in his veins. A rack and an unlit brazier were set in a corner of the room, with strange tools displayed on a nearby wall. Dark flaking stains could be seen on the rack and floor.

“A chamber of torture” Methodios said, his voice breaking from the horror of the sight.

Turning away from the horrendous instruments, Methodios noticed that flickering torchlight came thorugh one of the three doors that stood ajar on the other wall. Opening the door, Methodios entered the cell. An odour of decay and filthy straw assailed his nostrils. Hilarion was there,. kneeling on the floor by a lying man, the scowl on his face was even more marked than usual.

The man was lying on the side, his chest seemingly immobile. Dressed in tatters of what seemed to have been quality clothing, his body was covered inn grime and scabs. A metallic glint around one of the man’s finger caught Methodios’ attention. It was a signet ring bearing a single tower and a star. The man had to be of noble birth to carry such a ring, Methodios mused.

“Is he alive ?” Methodios asked, in a croaking whisper.

“Yes,” Hilarion answered “but only slightly. He’s missing two fingers on his left hand and an ear. He has several wounds all over the body. Some of them seem to have gone foul. The fever’s got him. He won’t be long from this world.” Looking intently at Methodios, Hilarion asked “Shall I put him out of his misery ?”

“No, if we found him now, I think Fate has still something in store for him. It means the Norns have not yet decided to cut his thread. Bear him out and find someone to heal him.”

While Hilarion got out of the cell and the adjoining room, Methodios was left to consider the man. Who was he ? Why was he confined thus ?

“Bjarki… Where is the proprietor of this devil-ridden house ?” Methodios asked, with a growl in his voice.

“We drove him out of town two days ago… Seeing how fast he ran, I’m not sure we can catch him…” Bjarki answered, seeing what Methodios wanted.

As Hilarion came back with four men bearing a stretcher, Methodios turned on is heels and headed towards the exit. Finally reaching the street, he relished the feeling of the warm afternoon sun on his face.

“Once they take the man out… Search the place for any clues to his identity, then burn the place… I don’t want a timber of it left standing…”

******

Two weeks later.

The man had remained unconscious over most of the last two weeks. He had awaken a few times from fever-created nightmares crying out in what Methodios had identified as Italian though he had been unable to discern any meaning from the gibberish coming out of the man’s lips. Nothing had been found of his identity, he remained a total stranger.

Two days ago, the fever had finally abated. Hopefully the mystery that had been nagging at the back of Methodios’ mind would soon find an answer. What had brought this men to that cell and to such a treatment ?

As if summoned by Methodios’ thoughts, Nikolas entered Methodios’ study after knocking on the door. He had settled into what had been the former mayor house, nothing out of the ordinary though it was the best Zagreb had to offer in the way of accommodation. It was large enough so that all of his men could have quarters in the same house and it had a stable in the back where the horses could be stalled.

“Our guest has awaken. I thought you would want to talk to him.” Nikolas said.

Pushing away the reports he had been reading, Methodios rose and followed Nikolas to the room that had been put to use as a sickroom for the former prisoner.

The man sat in bed when Methodios entered. Paleness, sunken cheeks and rosy scars were the signs that his full recovery was still some weeks away. Still, Methodios felt relieved to see that the man had survived his ordeal. Had his mind survived also ? he wondered.

“Good morning… Do you understand when I speak to you ?” Methodios asked.

“Yes…Where am I and who are you ? The last thing I remember is pain and darkness…” the man answered in an lilting Italian accent, though in perfect Greek.

“You are in Croatia… In Zagreb, to be precise. I’m Methodios Tagaris, Byzantine Comes, a Count in your lands… I govern the place in the name of the Roman Emperor, Aleksios Komnenos. We found you I the cellar of some house, where, it seems you received some rough treatment.”

“Zagreb… So that is where they have taken me…” A wan smile spread across the man’s face. Looking up at Methodios, he said “I thank you for my rescue my Lord. Were it not for you, I may have died in that cell. I am Giuliano Strozzi, Venetian knight.”

The man took a sip of water from the cup at his bedside. His thirst quenched, he began the telling of how he found himself in these pitiful situation.

He told of how he had been escorting a convoy to Ragusa, funds to the Venetian Councillor holding the castle. The man had argued for peace with the Byzantines when the news of taking of Durazzo had reached Venice. Being a faithful vassal of the Councillor, Giuliano had ridden with his retinue towards Ragusa. He went on to explain that more than a vassal he was also betrothed to the daughter of his liege. En route from Venice, he and his men were ambushed. Before he could do anything, he was taken down from his horse, bound and gagged while his men were slaughtered around him. He was laden in the back of a wagon and led to the cellar where he was found. There, he was questioned about the plans his liege had towards Constantinople. Finally, seeing that Giuliano didn’t have the answers their masters were looking for, they had hoped to ransom him back, cutting two of his fingers and his ears as proof of their hold upon him. But the plan fell short. From what his jailors told him, Giuliano had gathered that the Councillor, seeing the opposition to Byzance rise in Venice, had changed his mind. New political alliances were born and the Councillor’s daughter married to another elderly Councillor, the news of Giuliano’s death used to rescind the betrothal. He was then no more useful to his jailors than a pile of dung and had been left to rot in his cell. Only the arrival of Methodios’ men had saved him from certain death.

Taking another sip of water, Giuliano laid back unto the pillows, seemingly exhausted.

“And here I am, at my enemy’s mercy once again…”

“I am not your enemy… Though I may be the enemy of your country if they should cross our borders… You’re free to remain here and get better… Once your health is back, you are free to leave… You have suffered enough, it seems to me…”

“I thank you for your offer…” Giuliano said, visibly relieved. “I know of only one way I can repay you for saving me : take me in your service. I owe you my life. I will gladly give it for you. From what I have seen of you and your men, we see the world the same way… I can be of use to you… I cannot go back to Venice… I’m dead there… If I ever get back, it will be to take my revenge on those who betrayed me. We could help each other with this task…”

“Giuliano, welcome among the Athanatoi…” Methodios said, clasping the man’s arm.

******

Zagreb, 1095

It was a disgruntled Methodios that dismounted his horse. The whole ride back from Constantinople he had replayed in his mind the heated exchanges in the Magnaura.

It left a bitter taste in his mouth… “What got into me ? I’m a soldier not a politician… those men have tongues that lash more viciously than any sword… There was truly no chance for me to get elected… I’m not even noble… I must truly have been abandoned by God.. Even the Basileos sees nothing in me but a lone wolf….” were the thoughts that ran through his mind.

He had gone alone to the capital, entrusting the keeping of Zagreb to Bjarki and Giuliano. The man proved to be a good man, fair and just, though he took religion a bit too seriously for Methodios… He had sojourned in Rome some years before and had even met the Pope. He cherished the benediction he got that day, often telling of it as the reason behind his rescue by Methodios.

The two men were standing in front of what had become the Governor’s place. Seeing the dark look on Methodios’ face, they greeted him simply.

“Welcome back… How went the Senate talks?” Giuliano asked.

Methodios barged into the House, barely acknowledging his comrades. “Just a bunch of fools, yammering away...”

He went directly to what had become his study in the past months. He stopped dead when he crossed the threshold.

There was a man sitting behind Methodios’ desk. The man wore a dark-cowled robe and several pendants were glittering from tongs tied behind his neck. His hands were invisible, seemingly withdrawn into the ample sleeves of his garment, his arms crossed on top of the desk. His head was bowed forward, as if he was asleep.

Sensing a threat, Methodios’ hand went to his dagger but Bjarki’s own hand came to rest on his arm.

“The man is no threat, but you should speak to him…” Bjarki said, respect for the man in his voice. “He showed up two days ago…He knew your father…” With these words, Bjarki left with Giuliano, leaving Methodios to wonder about the man in the cowl.

As Methodios stepped nearer to the desk, the man lifted his head. The man was old… A fire-red beard with streaks of white covered the lower part of his face but the most striking element were his eyes : deep blue pools of icy water. A large scar contorted his face, going from the corner of his left eye to the corner of his mouth, giving him an almost mocking smile. The man was no Byzantine… He came from much further north…

“Who are you ?”

“Though my name will tell you nothing, I am Snorri the Taleweaver… I am a skald, a sorcerer and for some a fool… To you I can be what you wish…”

“I have no use of you” Methodios answered gruffly.

“That you do not yet know… But I know many things… Your father had use of me… He would consult with me before a battle… I wish he were here to tell you of how many times I saved his life… I can talk to the Gods.. Not the God that has forsaken you… The Old Gods.. The Gods of your Viking ancestors… For you may hide your origins behind that Greek name your parents gave you but I know the truth that lies within your heart… How you prayed before their altars because it was what was expected of you, not because of real faith… I know how in the deep of your soul, you long for the tales of battle of your father… The glory of dying on a battlefield with mounds of enemy’s corpse at your feet… The need for recognition from your peers even if they are not of your blood and never will be… The feeling of loss from seeing the men you craved to serve turn their back on you… All this I know and much more…”

Shaken by the man’s words, Methodios was taken aback. The man had never met him and yet his words mirrored almost exactly his own thoughts.

“How can you claim to know me so ?” Methodios asked, a tremor in his voice.

“Like I said, believe me or not, I can talk to the Old Gods… They have taken interest in you… you are destined for great things…” Taking out a leather pouch from his belt, the man emptied it on the desk. Small ivory pieces with dark engravings that Methodios recognized as Nordic runes spilled out of the pouch. “See, these runes are the messengers of the Gods… From them I can learn many things that would remain hidden for any other… With these, I can foretell your future though I must admit that at this point it is somewhat foggy… The Gods are arguing among themselves about you…”

“Did my father believe in this sorcery ?”

“Believe… Yes, he did… Though he would never have admitted it…And this is no sorcery…”
“Here… Let me show you…”

Gathering the ivory fragments into his hands and lifting them above his head, Snorri began making incantations in what Methodios recognized as Norse language. The few words he learnt from his father were no help in understanding the strange guttural sounds emitted by the sorcerer. Here and there names stood out “Thor… Odin… Loki…”

Then he dropped the stones on the desk. They clicked and finally settled. Looking at them intently, Snorri intoned in a cavernous voice, seemingly in a trance “Storm clouds are gathering over the Eagle’s nest… The Eagle has flown too high in the sky and know forks of lightning seek to strike him down… The Tiger has gone too far from his lair and he is now cut off from it… The lightning will seek to destroy the Tiger too… Will you fight Tiger or will you run ?”

Silence reigned after these last word. Snorri’s voice still rang in Methodios’ ears… Snorri had abruptly come out of his trance, his eyes focusing on Methodios.

“It seems the Gods still believe in you to have granted me the vision…”

“What can I do of all this gibberish ? I can see who the Eagle and the Tiger stand for but what of the storm and the lightning ?”

“This is for you to interpret… I am only the messenger… The meaning of the words is yours to discover… Trust in the Old Gods to show you the way…”

As if summoned by Snorri’s words, rumblings could be heard in the heavens. Soon after, flashes of lightning could be seen through the latticed window at the back of the room. Darkness had fallen outside though it was only the middle of the afternoon.

“See…The Gods will show you…”

Bjarki ran into the room, a harried look upon his face.

“Methodios, we have a problem… Our scouts have located an impressive force of men. They are headed this way… They’ll be here in only a few days if they keep up their pace…”

“How many of them ? Who are they ? Venetians ? Hungarians ?”

“No, they seem to be only rabble with a few professional soldiers thrown in but they number more than 1500… We can’t defend the city against so many…”

“You’re right… I don’t think we can… I’ll write to the Megas and the Emperor… I’ll try to get funds to hire some mercenaries… It is our only hope to stand against them…”

Turning to Snorri, who bore a smug smile (who was it his scar ?) and mouthed “the Gods”, Methodios remembered the words of the sorcerer.

“Will you fight Tiger or will you run ?”

******