Forgotten Hero

by Brian Murray

  “I don’t know, but I think not, Dax.”

  “I’m not hearing this,” exclaimed Thade, throwing up his arms in despair. “Someone get a rope. I’m going down to find him.”

  “You cannot do that,” remarked Gan-Goran as Thade removed his tunic. One of the surviving Royal Lancers brought a rope and handed it to Thade.

  “You may kill yourself going in there,” insisted the magic master.

  “Gan,” started Dax coldly, “he is one of us. Now we’re going to try and get him.”

  The atmosphere around the hole was tense. Dax watched Thade tie the rope around his waist, then turned back to Gan-Goran.

  “We are going to try. Help us or leave.”

  “This is futile,” added Gan-Goran despondently. “He would have been swept far downstream by now.”

  “That may be, but we have to try,” replied Thade, standing over the hole and peering down into the blackness.

  Dax and Zane took up the end of the rope and looped it around a nearby tree for leverage. Thade sat at the edge of the hole, still looking down. He turned to Dax and gave a weak smile. The older warrior braced himself and just nodded. Thade slipped over the edge and disappeared into the blackness.

  ***

  As Thade disappeared into the black hole, the others braced themselves. Dax and Zane looked over their shoulders as they eased the rope and Thade down. Suddenly, an echoing scream tore out from the hole.

  The current of the underground river had snatched Thade. The force of the current against Thade’s body snapped the rope violently, yanking both Dax and Zane from their feet. The rope slipped out of their grip and snaked swiftly away, moving towards the edge of the hole.

  Zane reacted first. “THE ROPE!” he screamed.

  The young prince dived forward towards the hole and managed to grab the end of the rope, as the force of the flowing water pulled him along the ground to the edge of the hole. But the young prince held defiantly onto the rope. Leaves and dirt piled up in front of the prince as he ploughed towards the hole.

  In the next heartbeat, Dax reacted. He lurched to his feet and grabbed Zane’s waist, stopping him from falling in. “Grab the rope!” he yelled.

  One of the Royal Lancers rushed forward and grabbed the rope, his feet inches from the edge of the hole. If his prince went in, so would he. Inch by inch the soldier’s feet slid nearer to the crater. Then from behind the lancer came a scream of pure defiance.

  “NO!”

  The powerful old warrior began to pull Zane from his lying position to stand in front of him.

  “Not today!” hissed the older man through his grimace. Dax reached around Zane and grabbed the rope with one hand. “Pull! Damn you, pull!” he roared.

  The three men took a tentative step backwards, then another step. Blood started to stain the rope where both Dax and Zane’s palms were torn. Steadily they shuffled backwards. Dax stepped in front of Zane, dug his heels into the ground and bunched his massive shoulders. Hand over hand, the warrior pulled on the rope. Tears of effort streamed down his craggy cheeks as his arms, his shoulders worked, burning with fatigue. Behind him, Zane continued to walk backwards, his legs taking most of the strain. For several long seconds, the three men laboured on the rope.

  Suddenly, a soaked arm appeared from the hole – a forearm, elbow, and hand probing for some leverage. A wet head appeared, then another arm. Thade looked up, his bloodshot eyes blazing with effort.

  “Zane, help him!” cried Dax.

  The prince dropped the bloodied rope and rushed towards the edge of the hole. He reached into the hole, grabbed Thade’s leggings at the waist and heaved. Thade got his torso out of the hole and rolled over, bringing his legs up and out of the hole. He was safe.

  Dax dropped the rope and rushed towards Thade, who coughed up water. Lying on his back, Thade looked up at Dax as the older warrior knelt down beside him.

  Thade smiled weakly. “I thought you said you’re strong.”

  “You’ve put on some weight, boy,” answered Dax, smiling back with obvious relief. He turned his head to look at the hole, then back to Thade. The former gladiator’s smile disappeared. He closed his eyes and shook his head.

  “Are you sure?” asked Dax softly.

  “There’s only death down there, Dax. If it was not for you and the others, I would be lost, too.”

  “He may have survived,” said Zane, his voice sounding unconvinced.

  “With only the swift current or the Talon Hunter, maybe. But both . . .” Thade let the sentence go unfinished but his eyes gave away his fearful thought – the blind warrior must be dead.

  Dax stared into the hole for a long while, then he turned to face the old man. “Can you help the injured?”

  Gan-Goran nodded and went to the aid of the others.

  Thade retrieved Tanas’s swords and looked glumly at Dax. “Maybe he lives, old horse. I will take these just in case.”

  Dax placed a hand on Thade’s shoulder.

  “You are a good lad, Thade.”

  “It’s the least I can do for our friend.”

  “Aye. Come now, we need to move on from this place as soon as possible.” Thade took one last look down the hole and said a silent prayer to the Divine One. Then he turned away and walked back to the fire to join his companions.

  ***

  Gan-Goran tended the wounded men. Captain Waid had been knocked unconscious, but he was now awake and felt well enough to travel. Gammel nursed some bruised ribs and some shallow cuts but was also fine to travel. Only two other Royal Lancers had survived the attack; the others had died bravely defending the heir to the Kingdom.

  Zane sat away from the others. This had been his first conflict and he was having difficulty, knowing that men had died for him.

  “Prince Zane, how are you?” asked Dax, sitting next to the younger man.

  “Those men died for me,” answered Zane, his eyes reddened with tears as he looked over at the covered bodies.

  “And many more men will die for you in the future,” replied Dax softly.

  “I don’t want it,” hissed the prince.

  “Zane, in your position this is something that will continue to happen, and you will have to accept it. Treat your men with respect and they will die for you. Treat them with contempt and they will let you die. I saw you risk your own life for your captain and my friend Gammel. The man was once a blacksmith, yet unselfishly you risked your life for him. Your men did the same for you. But I am not saying you have to like it or even make friends with all your men. Treat them honestly, with respect, and they will follow and die for you – not out of duty, but for you as a person, Zane – as I now would. You are a man of great courage. You would give your life for your friends. No man can ask for more.”

  Zane looked into Dax’s violet eyes and smiled.

  “Thank you, Dax.”

  “Now go and see to your men, they need to know you were worth the death of their comrades and friends.”

  Zane smiled his crooked smile again, rose and went to speak to the last of his Lancers.

  Chapter 13

  Emperor Rowet, Baron Chelmsnor, and the others removed their cloaks and waited in King Logan’s private chambers. After about an hour the Chosen started to pace around the room, his knuckles clenched so tight they lost all colour.

  “Baron, is this how your king treats his guests?” asked the emperor harshly.

  “Rowet, I do not know what is keeping him, let me see if I can get a message to him of our arrival.”

  “I would be very surprised if he does not know we are in his palace, Chelmsnor, surprised indeed,” countered Rowet.

  “That may be, but I will see what I can do.”

  Rowet took a deep breath and calmly replied, “Thank you, Baron.”

  The baron appeared distinctly embarrassed by the lack of attention he and the others had received since their arrival. He stalked to the door and opened it. To his surprise, armed guards greeted him, with weapons drawn. The ba
ron reddened, his shoulders straightening.

  “What is the meaning of this?” demanded the Chelmsnor of old, his old character flooding back. He did not receive an answer from the guards. “Do you know who I am?”

  “Baron, I would suggest you return to the room and close the door,” said one of the guards sharply.

  “I will not.”

  “Sir, please return to the room and close the door.” The guard took a step forward, his voice hardening. “Sir, please.”

  “Am I a prisoner?” shouted the baron menacingly. “I am Baron Chelmsnor of Evlon.”

  “They know who you are sir, and no, you are a guest of his Highness, not a prisoner,” answered General Brooks from behind the guard.

  “At last someone with some sense. General Brooks, it is good to see you,” said the baron, letting out a long exasperated sigh.

  “I have seen you looking better,” said the general, noticing the baron’s gaunt face and the reddened stump at the end of his right arm.

  “I have seen better times, I must admit, my friend. Please tell me, what is keeping his Highness? My guests and I have been travelling all day and night. We would like to see his Highness tonight, or ask for some hospitality.”

  The general stepped into the room and looked around, his expression blank. He turned back and faced the baron.

  “His Highness will see you in the morning, Baron.”

  “Are you not going to introduce yourself?” asked the Chosen, stepping forward, his voice full of irritation.

  The general spun round to face the tall, black man who spoke to him.

  “I will introduce myself in good time,” snarled the old warrior, his eyes darkening.

  General Gordonia lurched forward.

  “How dare you speak to the Chosen in such a rude matter, you common filth. For such an insult I should strike you down where you stand.”

  Hearing their general threatened, the palace guards rushed into the room, weapons at the ready. Swish – the sound of swords swiftly drawn from sheaths filled the room – the Imperial Guards reacting instantly, now stood beside the Chosen and General Gordonia. Eyes full of hate searched for a reason, any reason to fight. Silence hung over the room like a death shroud. A single spark could ignite the charged atmosphere into violence.

  “Now that’s what you get for telling an old war horse like Brooks to greet our guests,” said Admiral Rendel, breaking the tension. The admiral strolled between the guards and stood next to General Brooks. “I am not as obtuse as our land-loving officers,” continued the admiral, bowing. “Let me introduce myself. I am Admiral Rendel of the Rhaurien Fleet, and this . . . this fine man is General Brooks of the Rhaurien Army.”

  Baron Chelmsnor completed the introductions. “I have the pleasure of introducing to you his Highness, the Emperor of the Phadrine the Chosen, his daughter, Princess Ireen, General Gordonia of the Imperial Guards, and Megan of the Kingdom. The rest of the men are the Chosen’s Imperial Guards.”

  Admiral Rendel stepped forward and bowed to the Chosen.

  “Your Highness, it is a pleasure to meet you. I understand you have a fleet to compete with my own and that you are quite a naval strategist. Perhaps we can discuss our fleets and naval warfare sometime.” The admiral held out his hand.

  The Chosen paused for a moment, his eyes narrowed. Then he smiled and shook the admiral’s offered hand. “The pleasure would be mine, Admiral,” he replied with a nod of the head.

  “Please call me Reedie, everyone else does.”

  “Reedie, my friends and I are tired after our journey. I would appreciate the opportunity to clean myself up, before meeting your king.”

  “How rude of us, of course,” replied the admiral. He immediately called for a page.

  A young boy entered the room, his nervous eyes searching the occupants. He forgot to bow but no one noticed.

  “Please, show our guests to their rooms. The king will see you on the morrow after court.”

  “I look forward to it,” responded the Chosen, with a smile to the admiral and a menacing glare at General Brooks.

  The page took the group to their rooms in the guest wing of the palace. The Chosen noticed that there was only one entrance to each of their rooms, along a single corridor. On both sides, armed guards stood to attention, hands on sword hilts, knuckles strained and white, their hooded eyes showing their tension.

  Admiral Rendel and General Brooks were left alone in the king’s chambers. They took a seat and waited in silence for the king to arrive.

  Moments later, King Logan came from his private quarters, his eyes searching. “So what do you think?” he asked nervously.

  “Well, apart from the general here being an oaf, I think they are very civil.”

  “They’re our enemy,” hissed the general vehemently, glaring at the smaller admiral.

  “Now we do not know that, do we, Brooks? We have not given them a chance to talk. Hell, if it was up to you, you would have spilt blood there and then.”

  “As I said, they’re our enemy.”

  “I cannot believe you’re so short-sighted, but that’s what you get from land lovers,” snapped Reedie accusingly.

  “Why don’t you get back on that bloody boat of yours and disappear. We don’t need you,” barked Brooks, with saliva flying.

  “Gentlemen,” interrupted the king. “We need to show a united front when talking to the emperor. You two had better resolve your differences by the morrow before we meet again. I will not have bickering in front of him. General, you will be more amiable to our guests. I heard you from across the way; how could you be so rude to our own baron? That was deplorable behaviour.”

  “I apologise, your Highness,” said Brooks softly, bowing his head.

  “You had better apologise to the baron, not to me. How long have you known the man? He is a Rhaurn through and through and I cannot see any treason in him.”

  “Yes, you are quite right, your Highness.”

  “We will see our guests in the morning. You are excused.”

  ***

  The Chosen enjoyed a good night’s sleep in a comfortable bed. He completed his morning exercises and realised happily that the travelling had not weakened him; his stamina remained. After washing, he dressed in freshly provided clothes, noticing they were imports from the Empire. He smiled, feeling the soft leathers and silks slide over his dark skin. A single knock on his door caused the Chosen to turn. He glared at the door for a moment wondering whether to arm himself.

  “Enter,” he called, edging towards his sword.

  “Father it is I, Ireen, with Megan.”

  Rowet’s heart lifted. “Come in children, I have food coming and we shall break our fast together.” He smiled broadly at seeing his daughter in a silk dress, rather than travel-stained clothes.

  “Father, that would be wonderful. Is that fine with you, Megan?”

  Megan just nodded.

  “Megan,” said Rowet, approaching the young Rhaurn, “do not be scared of me, I am still Rowet, father of your friend. I am also the Phadrine Emperor. But with you I will always be just Rowet.”

  Megan smiled shyly. “Thank you. I have never been in such company before; a baron, an emperor, and now my king. It is just a bit too much.”

  “If it is of any comfort Megan, I too am worried about meeting your king.”

  Another knock at the door halted their conversation. Several servants entered bearing trays of food. The Chosen thanked them politely and they left, none making eye contact or speaking. Rowet noted this, but said nothing to his daughter. Looking at the array of food in front of him, he forced a smile to his lips.

  “Well Megan, as you’re from Rhaurien, you can play mother.”

  “What would you like to eat?” she responded.

  “Well, as I do not know what half the food is in front of me, I think you should tell me.”

  Both Ireen and Megan giggled. Megan started to describe the food as Ireen served. The Chosen sampled most of the dishe
s, pleasantly enjoying the meal.

  Rowet, Ireen, and Megan enjoyed breaking their fast together, then afterwards decided to take a walk in the gardens outside the Chosen’s room. There, the Chosen noticed the guards surrounding the garden.

  “Hello Ireen,” came a sudden call.

  Ireen turned to see Princess Sasha running towards her. The Rhaurien Princess was younger and shorter than her Phadrine counterpart. She had long, straight dark hair and like her brother, pale grey eyes. She was pretty and would grow into a beautiful woman – and she knew it, flirting as much as possible.

  “When did you arrive? Father didn’t tell me you were coming.” The princess’s words tumbled out.

  The two girls embraced.

  “Sasha, it is good to see you again. We arrived last night. I am not sure your father knows of our arrival.”

  Sasha looked over Ireen’s shoulder to look at her two companions.

  “Sasha let me introduce Rowet, my father.”

  Sasha curtsied. “Your Highness, it is my pleasure to meet you.”

  “Father, this is Princess Sasha, daughter of King Logan.”

  “It is my pleasure to meet you, Sasha,” replied Rowet with a warm smile.

  “And this is Megan, my friend from the Kingdom. Megan, this is Princess Sasha.”

  The two shook hands and there were smiles all round.

  Sasha linked arms with the Chosen and announced, “Let me be your host and show you our gardens. And you can tell me what brings you to our lands,” she added, with an infectious smile.

  ***

  After an hour-long tour of the gardens, the group sat to more refreshments.

  “Ireen, what brings you to Rhaurien again so soon?”

  “Our fathers are to have some discussions, though we have not seen the king yet.”

  “Yes, I know he’s a very busy man, but it is unusual for him to keep you waiting so long.”

  “Sasha,” a man called. “Sasha, are you out here?”

  “Talk of the devil, let me do the introductions,” said Sasha, springing from her seat. “Over here, Father.”

  King Logan’s eyes widened upon seeing the friendly group enjoying refreshments. The scene took him with his guard down.