by Brian Murray
The Rhaurien capital was Teldor, situated on the western coast. The city was an ancient trading port whose palace resembled a fortress. Access to the sea was by a low, restricted cove surrounded by formidable, treacherous cliffs. Rocks, many submerged in the sea, were scattered around the cove mouth, making entry into the port very hazardous. If a ship became trapped and sank among the rocks it could block access to the port for a long time. A high outer wall made of dark grey stone protected the three sides of the city exposed to the land. Although not very long, the wall restricted growth and was not easy to defend, thus buildings within the city were limited and highly priced. Over the years, the city became crowded with many dark lanes and alleys, especially in the poor quarters. A higher inner wall surrounded the royal barracks and the fortress-like palace. As with the outer walls, this wall was constructed from grey stone and because it was shorter, it was easier to defend. In its history, no army had ever breached the walls of Teldor, and the city thrived in safety.
***
The king sat in his private chambers after a day of formal court, his blue eyes showing weariness. He looked ten years older than his true age, with worry lines crossing his brow, partially hidden by the simple gold crown that held his once pure black hair, now turning grey-white from the stress of sovereignty in place. The King was a small man with small shoulders and slender limbs. He avoided wearing armour, as he felt it looked ridiculous on his frame, and he rarely wore a sword strapped to his waist, for it hung awkwardly against his slim legs. Today he wore his usual attire; a simple tunic of royal blue with gold trim, and deep blue slightly baggy leggings tucked into his calf length boots. His ankle-length cloak, hanging behind the door, was of thick royal blue material which he held together when standing, to hide his legs from public view.
Beside the king stood his son, Prince Zane, who would inherit the throne when the time came. He was twenty-three years old, with pure black shoulder-length hair, tied neatly at the nape. Unlike his father he was tall, and looked everything a warrior should be; with broad shoulders tapering to his waist, supported on strong thick legs. Zane also had the stormy-grey eyes of the Great Rhaurns, inherited from his mother. Educated in history, economy, etiquette, swordplay, archery, battle-strategy, and politics, he excelled in all. His people and his peers loved Zane, as he was mature beyond his years and had easy common mannerisms, which annoyed his father but made him naturally likeable. He spoke to anybody and everybody at their own level, never condescending or rude. This gift was totally natural, also inherited from his beloved mother. This meant Zane could fit in comfortably at the most formal receptions, in a rough alehouse, or on the docks. And all the women loved him – a compliment he did not and would never abuse.
In front of the king’s wooden desk sat three men. Firstly, General Brooks, the king’s military advisor, a short, powerful man, who had worked his way up through the ranks of the king’s army. The white-haired warrior was respected and almost worshipped by the men under his command, and was firm but fair. He set a clear line which the men knew not to cross, without incurring the consequences. To the left of the general sat Captain Zorain, head of the City Watch. He was a gruff, matter-of-fact man who took no nonsense from anyone. He had dark, wild hair and a dense, wiry beard covering his cheeks. A huge man with massive wide shoulders, he dwarfed the smaller general even when sitting. The city of Teldor was his domain and he made sure it remained safe for all. On the general’s right sat the Kingdom’s treasurer, Salom. Salom looked like a typical administrator; a small man with a baldhead and round, metal-rimmed glasses. He always carried a parchment or two and knew nothing of the world outside his domain, which was finance. He was a proud man, proud of his work and proud of his King. Nothing got past his scrutiny and as no corruption would seduce him, he was perfect for his job.
The king had his eyes closed and he pinched the bridge of his nose; the day had been a long one. Several hours after dusk, and his day was still not over. He opened his eyes and smiled at the men who waited patiently for him to start the meeting. Meetings in his private chambers were for sensitive issues he did not deem necessary for the entire court to hear or discuss. The king looked to his left and his smile broadened as he glanced up at his son. Pride swelled inside the king, and he knew when the time came that Zane would be a great king, even greater than himself.
Zane looked at his father and smiled back, with his own unique, crooked smile. He watched the king’s face turn serious when he faced the men sitting opposite him.
King Logan spoke. “Captain Zorain, how is my capital?”
The captain cleared his throat before he spoke. Zane, as always, suppressed a laugh, for Zorain had the highest pitched voice the prince had ever heard, especially from someone so large. Looking at the captain, one would expect a deep-bellied voice, but Zorain spoke in a high whine.
“Your Highness, I cannot report anything different since our last meeting. Teldor is surprisingly quiet and there is very little trouble at the docks or Downtown. I cannot explain it, but my sources are saying a move is about to be made by one of the gangs. At this time, I cannot tell you which one is leading the move.”
The king thought for a moment. “Are you sure a gang war is brewing?”
“Sire, I cannot confirm what the underlying problem is, but we do believe that something is about to erupt.”
“If my capital is quiet, then there must be peace,” replied the king sternly.
“Your Highness, I think . . .”
The king raised his hand to interrupt Zorain. “Captain, you are doing a splendid job and I think the increased patrols by your City Watch, upon which we agreed, are having the necessary affect.”
Zane watched intently as he saw the captain wanting desperately to interject, and his father not allowing him to.
“Salom, are Teldor’s revenues stable?”
“Your Excellency,” started the treasurer, flicking through several parchments, finding the right one and scanning its contents. He reported, “The revenues from Teldor are on the increase and I think this is due to people feeling safer and so spending more.”
“But, Sire . . .” started Zorain. Again, he faced the king’s raised hand.
“I will sit with the treasurer and see about rewarding your men.”
“Thank you, Sire, but I must say . . .”
“I acknowledge your gratitude, and I thank you and your men for their sterling work. You are excused, Captain.”
The captain appeared astonished but without further argument, rose and bowed to his liege. He turned to the prince and gave a discreet nod, then left the room.
The prince looked puzzled as the man left. “Father, will you excuse me, I need to have a word with Captain Zorain before he departs.” His father waved his hand dismissively as he now talked finance and administration.
Outside the door, the prince ordered a page to stop the captain of the City Watch and ask him to join him in his private rooms.
Moments later, there was a knock on the prince’s study door. “Come in, Zorain,” called Zane. The huge captain ambled into the room, bowed, and waited for the prince.
“Zorain, you know you don’t have to stand to attention. Sit yourself down, man.”
The City Watch captain eased his massive frame into a chair with a heavy sigh.
“A drink, Zorain?”
“Aye, that would be pleasant, your Highness.” Zane flashed the captain a stern look of displeasure as he poured two goblets of watered wine. “I’m sorry Zane, I’m just tired.”
“You know I hate formality in private. We’re friends, Zorain.” The captain nodded. “Now, what’s the problem in Teldor that you were trying to explain to my father?” asked the prince, placing a goblet in front of Zorain and sitting down next to him.
“Zane, I’ve lived in Teldor all my life and I have been in the City Watch for twenty years. I know something is wrong.”
“What is it?”
“That’s the problem, Zane. I don’t know
what it is. Something is amiss, very amiss, but I can’t quite put my finger on exactly what’s wrong.”
Zorain always thought of Teldor as his city and in his city, he had jurisdiction over the army; even General Brooks was under his command unless the king proclaimed martial law, which had not yet happened.
“Please Zane,” continued Zorain, “speak to your father. I’m grateful for his reward, as my men have been working very hard, many on double duty, however, I can’t shake the feeling something dark is settling on my city and I’m worried.”
Zane held the captain’s gaze and saw honest concern there. “I will talk to him, Zorain,” promised Zane, “but we will need to find ways to support your suspicions.”
“I know and I have the wheels turning. But one thing I will tell you, my worries do have some basis.”
“How?”
“Two of my spies have turned up dead and two more are missing. More worrying is the increase in the numbers of residents visiting the Temple of the Path.”
Zane thought for a long moment, then announced, “I think it’s time I see the problem first hand. Later tonight, I think.”
“Be very careful, Zane.”
Zane flashed his crooked smile. “Always.”
***
Zane returned to his father’s chambers as the men finished their discussion on city administration and the budget for the City Watch.
“Now, what news of the rest of my Kingdom?” asked King Logan.
It was General Brooks’s turn to speak. “We’ve had no news from Evlon nor the outpost of Ubert for the past couple of weeks.”
“What about the revenues from them?” the king asked his treasurer.
“We have not received any taxes from Evlon for the past month,” announced Salom, checking a parchment and frowning as if he had only just noticed the problem.
“That is strange,” commented the king, as he leaned back in his chair and tented his fingers. “Baron Chelmsnor is usually very punctual with his reports and contributions. What do you think, General?”
“As previously mentioned, there have been reports and rumours from the Great Mountains that the Kharnacks are joining forces. Maybe they’ve attacked Evlon and Ubert.”
“What are the reports from our other outposts along the border of the Great Mountains?” asked Zane, frowning.
“Are there reports of an uprising from the Kharnacks?” his father asked sharply.
“What has happened to Evlon?” pressed Zane.
“We do not know,” answered the general, turning to face the young prince.
“Well, we need to find out what is going on in Evlon. What do you suggest, General?” asked the king.
“I would suggest we send a company of Royal Lancers to Evlon and find out if the good baron is having any problems. If there are problems between here and Evlon, my men will do away with them, permanently. When they reach Evlon, they can assist the baron with any problems he may be having.”
“Good,” answered the king, in a satisfied tone.
“What of the threat from the Kharnacks?” persisted Zane.
The king answered again, his voice rising. “I will not repeat myself, Zane.”
“Do you not think we should investigate these reports as well? I mean, if they are correct, sending only a company of Royal Lancers will not achieve anything.”
“If and when these reports are confirmed, we will act accordingly, but right now we only have a problem with revenues from Evlon being late.”
“But . . .”
“The matter is closed, Zane,” snapped the king, glaring at his son with disapproval.
***
When the meeting finally adjourned, Zane left his father’s private chambers, but the problem of Evlon and rumours of the Kharnacks uniting did not sit well with the young prince. He thought the general and his father had taken the news too lightly, unwilling to admit to possible problems. It would take over a month for a company of Royal Lancers to march to Evlon and return with any news. More importantly, the prince had pressing problems closer to home. After his private discussion with Zorain, together with other information he had been secretly gathering, Zane believed that something very strange was happening in Teldor.
The prince reached his room and changed out of his royal-coloured court clothes, into his street clothing. These consisted of a dark grey woollen undershirt, a brown leather jerkin, black leather leggings, and matching calf length boots. His street clothes were not appropriate attire for a prince; they were well worn and did not carry the royal crest, and he could blend in without common folk being aware of his rank. He pushed two daggers into his boots, and strapped on his short double-bladed battle-axe. Finally, he clipped a small black crossbow and a quiver of bolts to his axe harness, gathered up his cloak, and exited his room through the secret wall panel.
The secret passages in the palace led to various locations outside. Only the prince had investigated all the passages and tunnels thoroughly, knowing every bend, turn, dead-end, and exit. He had even found three exits, not included in any of the palace plans in his father’s library. He used one of these exits, bringing him out near the docks by the poorer area of Teldor known as Downtown made this even easier with its drab buildings, narrow streets, and scant lighting.
Zane headed for the Flying Vessel, an alehouse on the border of Downtown and the docks. Silently, he moved through the streets. Suddenly, he stopped. He thought he had heard a noise behind him. Zane paused for a long moment but heard nothing more, so continued on towards his destination. He stopped again; a slight scraping sound now came from in front of him. This time he hid behind some empty crates and waited. It was not too long before he heard whispering voices. The prince closed his eyes, strained his hearing, and could just make out what was being said.
“Where did he go?” said one male voice.
“I don’t know,” replied another.
“Which way should we go?”
“I don’t know.”
“They’ll not be pleased with us losing him.”
For the first time that evening the prince felt fear, as it seemed they were following him. They were not just plain muggers, bashers, or thieves; he had the feeling they knew exactly who he was and where he had come from.
“Should we go back or wait?” asked one man.
“I don’t know,” answered the other.
“You’re not much help, are you? Can’t you answer a bloody question without ‘I don’t know’? Our people will not be happy with us. We have three choices, move on, go back to the bolt-hole and wait there or report back.” There were several minutes of silence. “What should we do?”
“Go back to the bolt-hole and wait there,” replied the second man.
Movement sounded to the prince’s left, followed by silence. Zane remained crouched motionless for several more minutes, straining to hear. He was not sure if there were only two of them, but the two who had spoken had gone. It was a few hours before midnight and he had to move soon or risk being outside most of the night. With great care, Zane darted silently down a dark alley. He paused at the next turning and listened. No one followed him. He had two choices now: continue on to the Flying Vessel or head back to the palace. He reasoned that he could not return to the same passageway he had used to leave the palace. His thoughts were full of questions and problems, all tumbling over each other. Who followed me and why? How do they know about the bolthole? Who are they reporting back to? Zane quickly made a decision and sprinted off.
***
The Darklord arrived in Kal-Pharina as a thick black storm cloud glided in front of the moon, smothering its silvery light – an ominous sign. His army’s journey across the Steppes had gone without incident. They had left a great swathe of carnage when they crossed the greener lands east of the Steppes closer to the capital, their wake of devastation, slaughter, and destruction like a wide volcanic lava flow scorching the land black. Every town and village they passed, they had razed to the ground, and lik
e the townsfolk of Evlon, every man, woman, and child was butchered in a murderous frenzy.
The Kharnacks camped outside the city moat while the Darklord and his Dark Brethren marched through the city; up the steep climb of Palace Hill, straight to the Chosen’s palace, stopping at the white marble steps. Waiting at the top was the newly appointed emperor, Tucci, and Fury, flanked by the Dark Brethren – who had taken the palace. Most of the Priests of the Chosen and the Imperial Guards had been hunted down and slain after Tucci’s coronation. Any who remained alive had either fled the capital or hid with people loyal to the religion, mainly Dan-Phadrin.
Tucci smiled as he saw his friend’s army arrive in his city. Now, he thought, his reign would commence. His legacy would be known throughout his land and held in history for all time. He would be immortalised in his people’s memory, his name never forgotten, like his grandfather the Blood Emperor. Tucci had taken Fury’s advice not to arrange a citywide fanfare for the Darklord; instead, he organised a private welcome. The people of Kal-Pharina were told to remain in their homes under a citywide curfew and advised that a public announcement would be made shortly.
Tucci watched as the black coach drew up at the base of the steps. Two warriors, dressed like Fury, dismounted first and took up positions each side of the carriage’s blackened door. Then the Dark Brethren dismounted and took up defensive positions around the carriage, with two men standing on each step either side of a black carpet that flowed down the stairs. Every man remained alert and it seemed an age until the door opened. From the dark gloom within the coach a covered arm reached out. One of the silver-armoured warriors offered his arm and the Darklord took it with a nod of thanks. The Darklord emerged from the carriage and everyman bowed, with their hands on sword hilts. The hooded man seemed to glide up the black-carpeted steps and as he progressed, the Dark Brethren on each level would drop on one knee and bow deeply in respect. When the Darklord reached the top, Fury stepped forward and bowed his head low.
