Lyssandra & The Return of Lyssandra

By Richard Johnson

Lyssandra, a prostitute and Witch, seeks to find love with a displaced Irish Noble who is mourning for the death of his wife and children. During their tenure, they meet and fight the bandits, vampires and dragons which are common in that part of the world.
Set among the turbulant times when the Ottoman Empire sought to conquer SE Europe, these stories constiturte the first and last in the series.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Richard Johnson
• Release date: Aug 7, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476352220

Book preview

Lyssandra

and

The Return of Lyssandra

By Richard Johnson

Published by Richard (Rick) Johnson (Desert Dragon Productions) at Smashwords.

Copyright December 2006 Richard Johnson

ISBN 9781476352220

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

CONTENTS

LYSSANDRA

PROLOGUE

FIRST MEETING

AMAZONS AND WHORES

CRIME AND PUNISHMENT

ROMANIAN PLANS

PARADE

DRACULA’S CASTLE

THE FIRST NIGHT

NIGHT THE FIRST, CONTINUED

THE SECOND NIGHT

THE THIRD DAY

THE THIRD NIGHT

****

RETURN OF LYSSANDRA

INTRODUCTION

CONSPIRACY

LYSSANDRA

JASON ARRIVES

MEDITATIONS

REVELATIONS AND PLANS

JASON’S STORY

FIRST BATTLE

ISKANDAR

VILLAGE OF THE DEAD

FELIX, THE KEEP AND A VERY ANGRY DRAGON

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

LYSSANDRA

By Rick Johnson

PROLOGUE

Lyssandra was stumbling and the Christian struck her again to force her to move on. At least they who had remained behind to be captured had delayed the Christians until The God and the rest of the Coven could escape. Now, she faced days of torture then burning at the hands of a people who declared that their own god was love. Hopefully, those who had escaped would manage to get her drugs to die quickly or to dull the pain and those who escaped would have to leave Arabel before they were betrayed under torture. But where would they go? Catholic Serbs ruled Kosovo, Catholic Slavs ruled Hungary to the north, Greek-Orthodox Macedonians were to the south, Catholic Albanians to the west and the Mohammadan Ottomans to the East. Greek Catholic would burn Witches as easily as Roman Catholic but the Mohammadan? They accepted both Christian and Jew so long as neither fought another and both paid taxes. Would they accept Witches too?

The prayers and songs ended, slowly but end they did. The Christian chants about killing Witches were the hardest to endure for the Christian god was jealous of the followers of his Parents. He had slept with his mother and demanded that She leave Her Consort for him. When She refused, he had run into the deserts of Palestine and formed the Jewish people and set them to destroy the Temples of the Goddess. Then, centuries later, he raped a virgin maid to bear a son to the world to destroy everything that was left. But the Romans had arrested the white christ and then released him for some reason. The white christ then fled to France with his prostitute lover and left his war of rebellion in the hands of Paul, the Pervert, who had built a church of such power that, 1500 years later, the new Roman Empire of Christ was continuing the will of Jehovah, killing the followers of his Mother and Father. Lyssandra being only the latest of a long line of victims. Better the Christians kill each other for heresy and leave the Pagans alone, she wished.

She looked up, fearing to hope and saw the patrol. All on horse and all armored, their Captain demanding of the priest. No one made demands of the catholic priests unless they had a wish for the stake so this one must be powerful indeed. She heard hatred in his voice, a hatred that was barely controlled. Please Goddess, give him the inspiration he needs to save us, she prayed.

Back to Contents

FIRST MEETING

I was patrolling the road with a dozen men. We had arrived in Arabel only the week before, a Mercenary Company on contract to the Prince, no, the Boyer, to keep the peace and to help defend this land from its enemies, of which Kosovo had many. Nominally Catholic, Kosovo was surrounded by Roman Catholic, Greek Catholic and Muslim, no, Mohammadan as they were called here-now, all of which sought this prize. Plus there was constant strife between Serb, Slav, Greek, Albanian and Turk which was why we were here. Foreigners, mostly from other religions, we would have no loyalty to anyone or any temple other than the Boyer who paid our wages and so would be more trustworthy than the local militia who would be torn between church and state.

After settling in, I had taken a room inside the walls as was my right as a Captain then taken patrols out on all the roads to see the countryside and become familiar with my charges. Five hundred men served in the Company, divided into smaller companies of a hundred each under five Captains to control and protect a land that stretched from Albania to Romania, from Greece to Hungary. Five hundred thousand may do the job but… well it was better here than Indonesia, the thought of Lujon still hurting. For three years we had lived and loved and slowly she had dulled the pain of Kore’s death until she left me for DuQuesne, a sailor, a simple employee. That still made me mad even here, halfway around the world and it was this anger than made me stop the procession.

Christians were always having some procession to some invented saint. Who was it? Pope Gregory in 601, almost 900 years ago who said that his priests were to steal Pagan Temples, destroy our Statues and Art, set up a cross and invent a saint and holiday to match the old Pagan God. Thus they destroyed the Great Temple to Cernunnos in Paris and used the stones to build Notre Dame Cathedral. Invented saint Brigit to cover for the Goddess Bride that they had defiled. Who knows what this was to but I was angry enough with my memories to cause trouble. The curse of the Irish is to wallow in guilt and anger and seek a fight with others to avoid the fight with yourself.

Priest, what goes? I demanded, my sword and Title being all the authority I needed to enforce my will.

Begone, the priest demanded. You interfere with the business of the Church!

I am LORD Jason Obrien, BARON Innis, I spoke, emphasizing my titles to this peasant, CAPTAIN of the Fourth Company of the Free Company of Olaf Redbeard. And my authority extends to any who I suspect of injury to this country so answer before I drag you and yours back in chains!

The priest started to speak then Erik was there, a dagger at his throat, whispering, Priest, I am no papist so speak politely or loose your tongue.

The Sergeant moved back a bit as urine ran down the priest’s leg to stain the road. Still, fear was a weapon greater than steel and Erik knew how to use it. He had learned that lesson well as a Protestant heretic in the Chamber of the Inquisition in Wurzburg.

These people are Witches and we take them to Arabel to burn for their crimes. He managed to stammer. The dozen with me were riding along the procession, intimidating the people for abusing a few naked and unarmed witches was one thing, facing an army armed, armored and horsed quite another. And the Christians, a moment before proud in their abuse of power, were now seeking to pretend that they had no idea of where they were or what they were doing.

I thought about this for a moment. Technically, this was a catholic nation and in matters of religion the church had sole authority. But still, justice belonged to the Boyer, not a priest and I needed to find a way to save these people without taking their place. I rode to the first prisoner, bleeding from multiple beatings and asked, Man, this priest says that you are a Witch. Is that true?

He started to answer when his captor struck him, only to receive the butt of my lance across his head. Struck to the ground, I drove the lance butt into his belly again and again, demanding, I asked a question and by preventing him from speaking, you defy me AND the Prince. Do that again and I’ll pull your limbs off between four horses. Now, turning back to the prisoner, please answer my question. Sometimes, senseless violence helps to ease my mood.

The prisoner looked down to the man gasping for breath as he vomited blood and bile then, hope began to spark within. A moment ago he was dead, now, if he spoke properly, he may just live. My Lord, that is what the priests call us. We are but simple people, praying to our own Gods and wishing ill of no one.

Damn! I thought. A confession. Better that he had lied. At least help me to save you, you fool. Now what? Then inspiration, And man, do you pay your fair share of taxes?

My Lord, we give what the tax collectors take.

I laughed, having been in the middle, trying to collect the taxes of my own people and avoid paying my own taxes to my king. So be it. Listen up! I am sworn to keep the peace and defend the people of Arabel and this country. So long as you are citizens who pay your taxes, then you are entitled to my protection. Release them!

Under the spears of the riders, the people rushed to cut their prisoners free, prisoners who immediately ran naked into the nearby woods as I sought to buy them time. Listen up. I care not if you worship God, Allah, Isis or Satan. I care not if you are Serb, Slav, Turk or Greek. I only care that you live in peace. And if ANY OF YOU do this again, I will personally drag you back to answer to the Prince with a rope tied to my saddle and the other end a hook up your arse! And priest, listen well, worry about the souls of your own and leave their bodies to me or I shall nail you to your own altar and burn your church to the ground around you! I looked around and seeing the witches gone and safe, commanded, Release them! and then continued on down the road.

***

That evening, over dinner I reported to my Commander, Olaf, it was a good day. We had some prisoners released from the christians and captured some bandits who were attacking a caravan. Erik is taking the bandits to the goal and the merchants are setting up at Mladen’s warehouse. Silk from Venice if you can imagine that. That alone will pay our day’s wages.

Redbeard finished his tankard, belched and wiped his beard that gave him his name then said, Jason, I made you a Captain because of your Rank and Title and experiences in Ireland against the English. I care not how many of these christian priests you abuse, Freyr knows they’ve burned enough of my own Temples in Iceland. But this one has the ear of the Prince and can cause us trouble. I am to drag you to him to answer for your assault. Let’s go and better be for you to work on your apology now.

Accompanying my Commander, I explained, You knew I was what I am when you took me on.

Yes, but I was hoping that we’d be here a while before you caused me trouble. At least saving that merchant will help you.

Along the way we were joined by Felix, another of the five Captains who worked for Olaf. Commander, Lord Obrien, I heard about your incident and wish to support my friend. Besides, we have not yet finished our game though I shall win in six moves.

Six! I said, Felix, you think highly of your skills.

No, My Lord, I am just realistic. In the woods as a guerilla fighter against overwhelming numbers, I bow to your skill. But Chess is a game of armies upon open field and there I am the better. Still, only our Commander and you give me a decent game and I’d hate to loose either of you.

We were passed into the palace, actually another fortress within this walled city which had known rule by Turk, Albanian, Serb and Solvene a dozen times this century alone, to meet with the Prince. He really wasn’t a Prince, more a lower rank Boyer but this was his land and so he could call himself anything he wanted. I myself was Tierna which could be anything from Baron to Prince depending on how many swore me fealty so I understood this well, unlike Olaf who being Dane, swore to none but his own king and that only when convenient. Olaf and I didn’t like each other for racial and religious distrust had been bred into each of us over the centuries, but we did respect another and sometimes, that was enough.

We entered, bowed, doffing our hats and Olaf called out, Hail Prince Viktor, I am here at your request. Olaf never allowed people to think they commanded him. It was his Icelandic independence that encouraged him to believe in Democracy, a strange concept here.

Viktor looked up and motioned us forward. Lord Innis, I have a complaint against you from Father Goran. It seems that you not only interfered with the Church ridding us of some of the local Witches, you also threatened his very life. I should like to hear you side if I may. The priest started to sputter then ceased immediately as Viktor raised his hand. The Prince looked an effeminate fop and was rumored to be gay or at best, bi-sexual with an unhealthy attraction for sheep but he had a reputation for those who angered him to die in embarrassing and painful manners in dark alleys. The fact that the man was fair to most of his people only made him tolerable. Arabel was a trading city on the crossroads and in war, a prize. In peace, a place where a man could grow wealthy if he respected differences and was mostly honest.

Bowing again, my hat over my heart and my hand noticeably away from broadsword hilt, I began. My Lord, I am sworn to your defense and the protection of your people. So when I saw one group abusing another, I investigated. Please forgive my ignorance of your customs but what I did was to your benefit for the more taxpayers that die, the less money to your noble coffers and this potential poverty risks your self and your city.

It was known that Viktor was a faithful Catholic but his position forced him to tolerate the Moslems and Jews within his realm. Plus he resented the tithing that the church demanded for Viktor was also a greedy bastard who spent more on one pair of shoes than most earned in a year. I must commend your desire to protect me but please, in the future, try to avoid threatening the representatives of God. I must insist that you apologize to Father Goran and make amends. Viktor knew that both Olaf and I were pagans and this was simply a means of showing his power over us and appeasing the Church which wished us both burned.

Of course, My Lord. You are correct as always. Then turning, trying to bite back the bile I felt, then I smiled as inspiration again appeared. "Father Goran, I do most humbly apologize to you for any discomfort I