Chapter 8: The Temple of Malicoe
Author's Note: There's little in the way of sex in this particular chapter. With where the story currently is, there just wasn't any room for it in this section. If you're just in it for that, you may want to revisit a previous chapter. I'll make up for the lack of sex in Chapter 9. Enjoy!
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It was only a few hours after dawn. The sun was now bright enough in the eastern sky to burn off the fog that remained in the foothills of the Sorellan interior. As they moved further toward the mountain, his visibility became better until the entire countryside was open to his eyes.
Barak kept a steady hold on the reins of his horse. One false move in this kind of terrain could quite easily spell their doom. He looked down from the path they were following to the nearby edge of the current hill. If he took his eyes off of it for a moment, one bad step by the horse could send them careening over the side.
It was something he thought about often once they reached the hard terrain of the Sorellan interior. Realistically, death could find them at any time, but he much preferred a short death from a musket to a long drawn out one from falling off a cliff.
Instinctively, his eyes sought out the wagon in front of him, struggling up the narrow path while being drawn by four horses in two pairs of two. The most harrowing part of their entire journey was making sure the wagon stayed on the path and making sure those horses stayed healthy. There was no way they could move that amount of treasure as quickly on their own, let alone meet all the physical demands of moving a heavy wagon full of gold up a mountain. Yet, that was what they needed to do.
"Otis, pick up the pace," Barak yelled at the man in charge of the main wagon. "And for the love of all that's holy, hug the hillside!"
The man did as he commanded, and the wagon lurched forward along the narrow, rocky path. Behind him, Barak looked around to scan the countryside they'd just passed through. Most of it was green, lush and fertile like he would expect from the coast. Apart from some groups of ex-soldiers and the occasional robber, much of the countryside was beginning to show signs of calming down.
That fact made him grimace. For this plan to succeed, they needed to move quickly and let the chaos of the surrounding countryside hide their steps. If Heron and his creatures started to bring some peace to these lands, their chances of reaching the coast with Daimanos' gold and the temple treasure greatly diminished. At that point even escaping with their lives intact was almost ludicrous.
Regardless, he continued on. There were enough surprises left behind for any followers in their wake that he was sure they'd meet their deadline. His man, Melitos, was a capable fellow if not completely unscrupulous. He could still be counted on to do his job for the right amount of gold. Right now, they needed all the time he could buy them with their slow going.
It hadn't started out that slow of course. They had made excellent time on the well-maintained roads leading out of the East Sorellan capitol yet hauling this much gold greatly reduced their speed. They had long since reached the point where any respectable person would have ditched the horses due to the state of the path but Barak couldn't care less about that. The beasts were there for a job and that was it.
What happened next showed no clearer indication of this lack of sentiment when the horse of one of his men got its leg caught in a deep hole on the way up the path. The beast made a hell of noise as it buckled, nearly throwing the man to the ground before he had a chance to slide off. In the next moment, the horse completely collapsed, nursing a clearly broken leg. The beast still tried to get up once more, but its mobility was already severely compromised.
Barak said a silent prayer that it wasn't one of the horses hitched to the wagons. That would have delayed them significantly.
"Manos, get back on your feet," said Barak to the man who was still trying to dust himself off. "I want you to get on with Spiros' horse."
"Share horses with Spiros?" questioned Manos, giving a look of disdain.
"It's either that or walk," said Barak with a shrug. "You just say the word if you don't mind walking all the way up the mountain from here. It bothers me not."
Manos let out a deep breath as he jogged to catch up with Spiros. Barak just about stopped his horse and let the two men behind him pass by while he hung around the rear with the wounded animal. As soon as the main group was just about out of sight, he stopped his horse and leapt off before walking toward the wounded one. He put his hand against the beast's face and listened for the sounds of labored breathing from the animal. It wasn't a pretty sight. There was only one thing that could be done in a situation like this where time was of the essence.
Getting back to his knees, he removed his musket from the rack attached to the back of his horse. The morning air was quickly pierced by the sound of gunfire, causing a small flock of birds in a nearby tree to scatter. Once he was satisfied with the results, he secured the weapon back on the horse, threw his leg over the animal, and hurried to catch up with the main group.
It wasn't the best solution, but it was the easiest. It was also the only thing that made sense given their current timetable. If they weren't loaded down with treasure and on the coast at dawn at the appointed time, they'd miss their ship. And if they missed their ship, the time spent trying to find one of out Sorella would surely let Heron's troops catch up to them.
Barak clutched at his breast pocket and made sure the letter was still inside. He took it out, his eyes scanning over the contents for the hundredth time since receiving it. The letter belonged to his paymaster, the organizer of this little scheme with the intention to completely destroy the Sorellan people and occupy their island.
Daimanos had been a fool, and like most fools, he had chosen not to ally with Barak's new paymaster when he had the chance. The paymaster did the next best thing: he approached Daimanos' government to see who inside could be persuaded to work in his favor in exchange for payment. Even though it had taken some convincing to make Barak ultimately betray his own people, he knew that all that really mattered in this world was money. And at the end of this little excursion, he was set to become a very wealthy man. Wealthier than even Daimanos.
Barak smiled grimly at the fate of the foolish king. Charging into battle with that oversized sword of his, he'd been beaten by the very man he'd so unwisely tried to betray. As if that wasn't enough, all that he'd worked for to become the only king of Sorella evaporated once he was skewered by Easterbrook's bayonet.
Barak had watched it all happen.
He was also the one who didn't stick around to see the consequences. Disappearing quickly into the forest, he managed to steal the first horse he could find and ride at a gallop all the way back to the East Sorellan capitol city. Luckily for him, his new paymaster's envoy was still in the palace, the very man who convinced him to do this one, little task before becoming endowed with all the riches he could want. By stealing Daimanos' treasury, he could deliver a golden fortune that was capable of changing lives. Even still, his paymaster wouldn't be satisfied with just the dead king's gold.
Barak shivered as he remembered the order to ransack the Temple of Malicoe as well. The ancient temple contained one of the largest treasures he'd ever heard of with countless artifacts from the legendary age of Sorella and its first kings. That treasure alone could make a man wealthier than his wildest dreams, enough to buy up entire countries and islands at will or to spawn his own fleet of battleships.
Even still, the very idea unnerved him. He'd heard all the stories growing up. The curse that existed for mortals who tried to touch the treasure. Those were great fables and fairy-tales, his new paymaster had said. Besides, once he delivered the gold, he'd have no time for curses as he got to enjoy all the pleasures that it brought with it. And for once, he would truly escape Sorella and set up his own home far away, protected on his own island and in his own grand house, enjoying the money until the day he died.
That was the dream at least. They only had to get up this damn mountain to make it happen. And prevent that lame king Heron and the fool Easterbrook from catching up to him. He wanted to be the one sailing away on the warship right as Heron and Easterbrook reached the coast and realized they were powerless to intervene. Especially once they got sight of the powerful, Swabian warship carrying him away.
For it was the Swabians that were his new paymasters. The Swabian Lord Avila was his new partner, and the one who had given the order to steal all the gold from Sorella. Barak had to admit his plan was a good one. Once weakened by disorder and civil war, the island would be unable to rebuild itself without any money in its coffers. Unable to tax a broken population and facing a starving people and looming crisis, the Sorellan people would be ripe for conquering. And there would be far too few of them to resist this time.
It was an interesting new method for them. For too long, the Swabians had been known to take what they wanted by force. Island after island fell to their might until their empire was by far the largest one in the entire Vector, dwarfing the lands of the ill-fated Galicians. Yet, they'd run into one tiny hiccup along the way. Forty years ago they'd tried to conquer Sorella by force, but had been thrown back with the might of Sorellan fire.
