by Brian Murray
***
The men stood in silence, watching Tanas as he disappeared into the dust raised by the fighting. Dax excused himself and caught up with the blind warrior.
“Stop, we need to talk,” called out the older man, grabbing Tanas’s shoulder.
Tanas had known someone was following him but was in no mood to talk. He spun around, drawing one of his swords and pointing it at Dax’s neck.
“If it would make you feel better, go ahead and try. But first, let me . . .” Without breaking his stride, Dax slapped aside the younger man’s sword and threw a mighty right uppercut.
Tanas’s body arced in the air and landed with a thud, puffing up more dust. He lay on the ground, dazed, and rubbing his chin. “What do you want to know?”
“I have no time for stupidity nor your personal whimpering. The old man with you, is he Gan-Goran?”
Tanas paused for a moment, considering whether he could take the man; slice his calf and then stab upwards. No, wait, he thought. “No, the man is Gan.”
“Is he a master-magiker?”
“What?”
“Do not play games with me,” boomed Dax, “answer the question.”
“Maybe.”
Dax now lost patience. Reaching down, he grabbed Tanas’s coat and drew him close; his voice a cold harsh whisper. “Listen to me. If he is who I think he is then I owe you a debt. The man Gan-Goran is my friend and there are very few people I would call that, but he is one. Now answer the damn question, before I lose my patience and tan your hide.”
“You could try, old man,” retorted Tanas stubbornly.
Dax let Tanas go and stood menacingly above him.
“Yes,” answered Tanas finally with a heavy sigh. “He is a master-magiker.”
“Then I owe you a debt of gratitude,” Dax replied, holding out his hand.
Tanas paused for a moment, unaccustomed to people thanking him. He cocked his head to one side and slowly his hand crept forward. Dax gripped the young man’s wrist and smiled, then pulled the Tanas up and gripped him in a bear hug. “I think that makes us friends,” announced Dax.
Tanas tried to smile but grimaced in the man’s hug. “Thank you, I think,” he whispered hoarsely.
“Good, let’s go and see Gan,” said Dax, releasing Tanas, who staggered sideways on unsteady feet.
***
Thade watched as Dax went after Tanas, then turned to face the Chosen, whose mouth was hanging open in disbelief.
“You should have thanked the man, your Highness.”
“The insolence of the boy,” stormed General Gordonia. “How dare he speak to you like that? I should have his head.”
“No, Thade and the boy are quite right. I disrespected his honour by not acknowledging what he has done for me. I was unduly rude to him and will apologise.”
“Apologise?” squealed the general in disbelief.
“Yes, Gordy,” said the Chosen firmly. “My daughter and I owe him a debt I do not think I can ever repay. Here, and even in my own home, I am but a man and a father.” The Chosen turned to Thade. “Thade, I sent my daughter to you and Dax, as I knew you would keep her safe for me.”
“You honour me, your Highness.”
“Enough of the titles, here and now I am a man without a throne. My throne was taken from me by the treason of my own flesh and blood but there will be a day of reckoning. However, at this moment in time I am Rowet, a father whose daughter believes I am dead. She must be the next to see me alive. Please, can you take me to my daughter?”
Thade was confused for a moment, then mentally pictured the group that had asked for his help. Yes, there were two women; one must have been his beloved Ireen.
“I believe she’s safe. She is at the gorge exit, by the bridge crossing the river.”
“Well, I think it is time to see my child. Once I have seen my Ireen then I will return to my empire and reclaim what’s truly mine.”
“Your Highness . . .”
“Rowet, please Thade, just Rowet.”
“Aye, sorry, Rowet – what is this about your throne?”
“I will explain all after I have seen my child.”
Thade nodded and led the way.
***
Ireen, Megan, and Gan-Goran waited with the baron on the far side of the bridge. If they needed to make a run for it, they could gain some distance by being across the bridge.
Ireen waited impatiently, her eyes searching in the direction of the gorge exit. Then . . . The first man to emerge through the dust was the big man with the fiery red hair, leading two horses. Behind him came Tanas and Dax, having a conversation.
As they started to cross the bridge, more men riding horses appeared from the gorge. In front rode Thade. Ireen’s heart rose with delight. She had recognised him earlier but the dust had dried her throat so she was unable to call out. Following him were men in armour, but they were too far away for her to recognise the livery. She stepped forward. Her heart started to pound when she saw several men surrounding a single tall, black man. She stepped forward again, her heart racing faster. It was the uniform of the Phadrine. One of the men at the front wore something she recognised: the general’s colour. Then the General of the Chosen’s Imperial Guards, or ‘Uncle Gordy’, as she called him, came into view. Her voice was stuck in her throat. Emotion would not let any sound out. Then the central figure materialised through the dust.
“FATHER!” she shouted, racing forward.
The man in the centre of the soldiers dismounted from his horse and ran forward. Halfway across the bridge Ireen stopped, and so did Rowet. Tears streamed down her face, but she did not dare speak, in case it was all a dream. “Daddy?” she whispered.
“Aye child, it is I.”
“You’re alive! Is it really you?”
“Come child, I need to feel my daughter’s embrace,” said Rowet, beckoning Ireen to him.
Ireen raced forward, leapt into Rowet’s open arms, and buried her face in his neck.
“Daddy, Daddy,” she whispered, over and over again through her sobs.
“It is fine my child, your father is fine.” Rowet could not help himself; the emotion of the ride, the worry, and the loss of his wife, overwhelmed him. Seeing his daughter again, he also saw the image of his wife. He closed his eyes but could not keep the tears from rolling down his cheeks.
In his mind, the Chosen relived his last night in the palace: In Ireen’s room, full of smoke, he fought with her would-be-assassin, plunging his blade into the man’s heart. In the commotion outside, he raced down the smoky corridor to his own bedchamber and rushed through the open door. Once inside he paused and stared at his bed in utter shock.
The sheets had been thrown off his wife. It looked like she was sleeping – her long dark hair tied back, her face serenely calm. Only the crimson stained sheets told him all was not well. Tears filled his eyes and he stumbled to the bed where he fell to his knees, dropping his sword. He spoke softly to his wife, stroking her long hair trying to wake her, not wanting to believe the obvious - her eyes would never open again.
The Chosen leaned forward and whispered to his wife, “I love you.” He kissed her cheek and continued to stroke her hair. At that moment the Chosen, Emperor of the Phadrine, wanted to die. Then, sensing movement behind him, he turned, not bothering to reach his sword and defend himself. Standing in the smoke-filled doorway was his friend, Gordonia.
“She is dead,” announced the Chosen softly, turning back to his wife.
“There’s treason afoot here, Roo. We must get you to safety.”
“She is gone. She is dead. What’s the point?”
“You are our Emperor.”
The Chosen shook his head. That was not a good enough reason. General Gordonia stepped in closer to his friend; he knew exactly how to get a reaction from him. “What of Ireen? She’s not in her room.”
The Chosen turned to his warlord, his eyes now aglow with anger – gone was his mourning. “What of my daughter?” he hisse
d coldly.
“She’s our future. We must make sure she is safe.”
The Chosen turned back and kissed his wife on the cheek one last time. “Goodbye,” he whispered. The powerful leader of the Phadrine rose, gathered his sword and turned to face his friend.
“I am ready. Let’s go and find my child.”
“We need to hide for a while and leave when it is safe.”
They left the bedchamber through a hidden door, accompanied by the Imperial Guard, Morrich. The Chosen paused and looked over his shoulder at his wife one last time. His mind was filled with two thoughts; one for his daughter, the other of vengeance. The secret passage they entered did not lead directly to the stable but to the private gardens. Normally, Ireen’s room would have been the emperor’s bedchamber, but Rowet’s wife loved to watch the sunsets, and so he had chosen this room. For three days the men, joined by three others, remained in the darkness, waiting for an opportunity to escape. When the time came, Rowet took care to hide his face as he rode through his city. He wanted to remain unrecognised – only when the time was right would he announce his survival, and seek revenge.
***
Rowet dragged himself back to the present, and hugged his daughter close. “Ireen, I need to talk you about your mother.”
“What of Mother?” she asked, her voice choked with emotion.
The Chosen walked with his daughter a few paces along the bridge, then stopped. Tenderly, he touched her face as she stood in front of him. His eyes betrayed him as tears started to well up and tumble free. Now more than ever he missed his wife.
“What?” asked Ireen, seeing the hurt in her father’s eyes.
“I could not save her,” admitted the Chosen, bowing his head to avoid eye contact.
Ireen could feel his pain; the most powerful man in the Empire, her father, could not save his wife, her mother. She buried her face in his chest and hugged him fiercely. Her father circled his arms around her, as both tried to draw strength from the other.
More tears flowed as father and daughter were locked in the emotion of loss.
***
Thade stopped at the bridge, dismounted, and waited, giving Ireen and her father some privacy. General Gordonia bumped into his shoulder, trying to pass.
Thade grabbed his arm. “Leave them alone for a while,” he said softly.
The old general glared down at Thade’s hand, and then locked eyes with the former gladiator. “He is my emperor and I’m his bodyguard. It is my duty to be at his side, always. Now release me, boy.”
“General, I have always liked you, but leave them be. It would not be right if we caused a scene, now would it, my friend?”
The general looked at the two in the centre of the bridge and felt very lonely. They were like his family; he remembered the day Ireen was born, and had shared in the Chosen’s pride. He turned to face the former gladiator and whispered, “This time you’re right, but stop me again, and I will kill you.”
“‘Try’ don’t you mean, old man?”
“Enough of the ‘old’, boy!” replied the general, forcing a smile.
Thade smiled in response and released the old general. “My friend, welcome to my land. Here, today, we are comrades. Now tell me what happened to the Chosen.”
***
Tanas and Dax walked out of the gorge and crossed the bridge, chatting to each other. Megan dismounted Essie but held onto her reins. The horse, upon hearing her master’s voice, stepped forward, dragging Megan along with her. Tanas stopped walking as Essie nuzzled into his chest. He rubbed her nose, smiling, “I knew you would come through for me again.”
“That was the stupidest thing I have ever seen!” snapped Megan.
“I was trying to save your life. Which I did,” countered Tanas, not knowing why he was suddenly angry. He snatched Essie’s reins from Megan’s hand.
“You could have died in there, you oaf,” she replied, slapping his chest.
“Well, neither of us stood a chance if we both rode on Essie, so I was trying to buy you some time.”
“Why?” demanded Megan.
“Why what?”
“Why would you risk your life for me?”
“Why not?” replied the blind warrior, turning to leave.
Essie stopped him from walking further by standing her ground. “Why?” asked Megan again.
“Because I care,” replied Tanas, turning to face the young maiden. In response, his horse gave a flick of her head, and pushed Tanas towards Megan.
“Damn, stupid animal,” snapped Tanas. Essie snorted at her master and ambled off to munch some grass. Tanas’s anger evaporated as he felt Megan’s warm breath on his neck.
“Thank you, Tanas,” said Megan softly.
“For what?”
“For caring.”
“Aye, well Essie and I have been through a lot. I would have missed her,” he said, smiling.
Megan leaned forward then and kissed Tanas softly on the cheek.
“What was that for?” asked Tanas surprised.
“Hopefully it was for lying or, it was for caring for your horse.”
“For the first and only time I lied to you,” admitted the warrior.
“Good,” said Megan, smiling. She kissed Tanas on the other cheek.
Unsure of this physical contact, Tanas felt uncomfortable. He knew people were around and did not want them to hear him talking to Megan, preferring privacy. He laced his fingers into hers and led her to one side, out of earshot.
“Megan.”
“Yes.”
Tanas bowed his head, the brim of his hat hiding his face. “I am not used to being close to anyone. I have always been seen as a freak, or a special fighter. I have never been . . . Well, what I am trying to say is that I am . . . I am not experienced with relationships. I mean I have tried, but I . . . I am not good at them. You see, I am shy and people do not give me time to . . . Well, you know, show them the real me.”
Megan stepped forward and lifted Tanas’s chin with her hand. Stepping in close she removed his hat, knocking it back, letting it dangle from the string looped around his neck. “I’m not good with relationships either,” she announced. “I have only ever had one and my husband was killed before our marriage was blessed. I would like . . .” The rest of the sentence was left unsaid, as she kissed Tanas on the lips. “Let’s take our time and make sure we do not make any mistakes.”
“One question,” said Tanas.
“Anything.”
“You do like honey, don’t you?”
Megan’s sweet laughter filled the air.
Chapter 9
The Rhaurien Kingdom lay to the west of the Phadrine Empire; a land of fertile rolling hills, stretching from the arid desert of the Phadrine Steppes to the western coast, and from the southern coast to the Great Mountains in the north. The Glass Mountains cut through the length of the Kingdom, north to south, acting as a natural defence. In the north- east of the Kingdom stood the great Dashnar Forest, a vast, dense forest of massive knotted trees and thick brambles, with many hidden rivers and lakes. A man could get lost for years in the forest, and there were many tales of travellers who had entered, never to be seen again.
The people of the Kingdom, known as the Rhaurns, were a race whose history was built on the legends of great warriors such as Alan D’Asher, a general of the Axe-Wielders; Matal the Swordsman, and Funsti, Conqueror of the Plague. With such a prestigious history, the Rhaurns were a very proud, honourable race and had never been conquered.
In the dim mists of history many key events were no longer celebrated or even remembered. One such event was the Dark Wars, the battle against the Beasts. The older Kings decided that the battle nearly two thousand years, ago was best forgotten, and so the Kingdom’s written history had been changed or destroyed. Instead, great heroes were worshipped and written about with awe. One such story was of how Alan D’Asher fought against the Rafftons prior to the Dark Wars, saving a child-king and becoming a celebrated hero. B
ut the hero who saved all the nations was forgotten and the Silver Warrior’s saga was lost to most. However, there were a few who still remembered . . .
Rhaurn men were hard, their women beautiful, and their bloodline a mixture of many ancient races. Their skin was olive coloured and their hair dark. Their eyes ranged in colours from brown to green, though true Rhaurns had storm-grey eyes. Their ancestors had been great architects and many of the buildings, erected thousands of years before, still remained – a testament to their craft and skill.
Their liege, the king, ruled the Kingdom through inheritance. The current ruler, King Logan, had ruled the Rhaurn for ten years. He was a shy man and not the best decision-maker, and curbed his weakness by gathering in his court a group of men and women to advise him on every important issue. The only solitary decision he had ever made had cost the lives of virtually every trained magiker in the Kingdom. In his first year of office, he had sent his magikers north into the Great Mountains, to repel a threat against the Rhaurns. The master-magiker had advised against sending the magikers, arguing that the cost in lives could be immense. They had successfully repelled the threat to the land, though most had perished in the magical battle.
But once again his band of magikers was growing. Afraid of repeating such a devastating episode, the king now always sought counsel on all decisions. He constantly worried that his lack of leadership would tarnish the public perception of him. However, his people loved and respected him, regardless. He was their liege and they would follow him to Hell if needs be.
Rhaurien, like Phadrine, was a rich nation, both economically and historically. Yet each hated the other. They tolerated one another only as long as each remained behind their respective borders. Trading between the two nations was limited and mainly restricted to Evlon, where spices and cloth were freely traded. The price in the Kingdom for Imperial spices and silks was high, and smuggling had become a lucrative venture. Trading in weapons and armour was illegal and if caught, traders were hung for treason. More affluent homes in Rhaurn could boast expensive Phadrine swords, which they displayed as decorative ornaments. It was not known how many Rhaurn weapons were in the Empire, but it was thought to be relatively low, as the Phadrines believed their weapons were superior.
