by Brian Murray
***
Dax made his way silently down the ridge towards the Kharnack camp. He had to be sure of the camp’s size and, more importantly, whether the clansmen were a raiding party. The level of security worried the warrior. Generally, the bigger the camp the less need for people on watch, especially in their own lands. However, this camp was on Rhaurien soil and Dax was surprised to find only a few men patrolling the camp’s perimeter. He found this a little unnerving as they were within a day’s ride of Ubert. To get closer to the camp, Dax took to the icy cold stream. He waded up past two guards sitting on the bank with their backs to the running water. Then he noticed the second camp just to the north.
It was laid out like a Kharnack camp but it was not what it seemed. The main clue – the horses were picketed south of the main central fire. Dax moved through the flowing water of the stream. Slowly and carefully, he placed each foot in the water so not to create any splashes. He stopped and stood stock-still. Less than twenty paces away a man lit a pipe. Dax had not noticed the man and crouched down scanning his surroundings. From the stream, he spotted two more men on watch with the pipe smoker, blocking his access to the camp. He waded closer to the bank and listened. Two of the men spoke softly and they definitely were not Kharnacks clansmen – they talked in the Rhaurien tongue. What were Rhaurns doing with the Kharnacks? The question echoed in Dax’s mind as he silently made his way back to Calac. One thing for certain, they would have to avoid this valley and these men. Dax had a bad feeling about them.
***
Calac heard a slight rustling to his left and he quickly drew his crossbow.
“There is no need for your weapon. It’s me, Dax.”
“What took you so long?” hissed Calac, letting out a fearful sigh.
“All is not what it seems down there,” whispered Dax emerging from the undergrowth.
“What do you mean?”
“This is neither the time nor the place for such a discussion. I will explain when we reach the others.” Without a further word, Dax led the way back to their camp.
***
The Dark Brethren spotted a man walking back from the stream and ducked behind some brush. Thin clouds covered the moon, shrouding the land in a heavy gloom. These seasoned Dark Brethren had been left to monitor new recruits to their sect from the Horde. They had seen smoke from a campfire but had no idea how many more men were in the camp, as their magic was being blocked. Psychically, they agreed to capture the lone young man and take him back to their camp for interrogation. They emitted a pain spell at him, but it did not render him unconscious; the man had great inner strength.
The three black-clad brethren stepped out of their hiding places and strengthened their spell. The pain spell worked more effectively if they could actually see their victim. In the open, they could concentrate on the victim, while in hiding the spell could only be cast in the general area, thus making it much weaker. Two of the brethren watched as the man punched their comrade. They saw him turn with anger and confusion in his eyes. Fear engulfed them for a moment for their magic had little effect. Even through the immense pain, the man attacked them. Reverting to physical strength, one of them hit the man on the side of the head with his sword hilt and he collapsed in a heap. The Dark Brethren woke their fallen comrade, then dragged their unconscious prisoner off to their horses.
***
Dax arrived back at the camp with Calac. Walking straight to the fire, he removed his axe harness and crouched to warm his hands. “That’s some magic, old man; I couldn’t even smell your cooking.”
“It is nothing, really,” answered Gan-Goran, who continued stirring his stew.
“Where’s Thade?” asked Dax, gazing about.
“He went to the stream to wash,” replied Zane, sitting by the fire.
Dax grunted.
“What did you see, Dax?”
“There is a Kharnack camp down there, all right. But there is also a second campsite behind it to the north. To the untrained eye it looks like an extension of the Kharnacks’ camp, but it is not. The men there were speaking Rhaurien.”
“What? Mercenaries?” asked Zane, surprised.
“I’m not sure. They look too well organised to be just ordinary mercenaries. To mirror a Kharnack camp takes some organising. These men worry me and I don’t know why. There was something about them that smelled of trouble.” Dax paused and furrowed his brow. “Where is Thade? How long has he been gone?”
“I’m not sure. He wandered off to the stream when I came back,” answered Zane, gesturing behind him.
“How long have you been back?”
“A while,” replied the prince with a shrug.
Dax reached for his axe harness and stood up. He could sense something was amiss.
Zane saw the concern in Dax’s eyes. He too rose and buckled his sword belt around his waist. They stepped out into the night, with Gammel and the Royal Lancers one step behind.
***
Thade started his trek back to the camp after washing in the nearby stream. The icy water had refreshed him and his mind was clear. In high spirits, he walked back to the camp with a skip in his step. Smiling, he looked around and seeing no one was about, he practised the Dax walk. Chest out, head slightly bowed, all movement in his shoulders and legs. ‘The bad man walk’, Thade called it and no matter how much he tried, he could not master the older man’s swagger. Chuckling quietly to himself, he turned towards the camp. Thade shook his wet, shoulder-length black hair and his thoughts drifted to Ireen and her long black hair, green eyes . . . He closed his eyes to picture her face.
A dull pain oozed into his mind. The pain grew and Thade pinched the bridge of his nose. His mental image of Ireen blurred. The throbbing intensified and he rubbed his temples. He stopped walking and opened his eyes. His vision swam as the mental hammering grew. Thade took a step forward and stumbled. The throbbing pain grew. A man dressed in black clothing stepped in front of him and two more behind him. Even though the pain dulled his senses, Thade knew danger surrounded him. From deep in his soul he fought the throbbing.
The black-clad warrior in front stepped forward and instinctively Thade punched out, flooring the man. Now blind from the pain, Thade turned to face the other two warriors. The roaring increased in his ears and he clamped his hands over them, trying to block out the sound. Unarmed, Thade charged the two warriors. A sword hilt struck him on the side of the head – the pain and noise disappeared. After rousing their comrade, the Dark Brethren dragged Thade’s unconscious body back to their horses.
***
Dax and Zane scouted ahead, looking for Thade, and found his tracks stop halfway between the campsite and the stream. Gammel and the Royal Lancers caught up with the pair and fanned out into defensive positions. Thin clouds cleared the moon, bathing the area in silvery light. Dax crouched down to scan the tracks. After a moment, he swore aloud.
“What is it, Dax?” asked the young prince.
“They have my boy,” he hissed, rising, his eyes searching the trees.
“Sorry? Who?”
“They have taken Thade. See,” Dax replied, pointing to the tracks.
“I don’t see,” admitted Zane honestly.
Dax bent down to examine the ground, explaining, “Thade was walking this way from the stream and stopped here. One man stepped out in front of him and was struck to the ground. See the indent here?” He pointed to a shallow depression. “Two more men stepped out behind my boy and he charged them but was struck to the ground. He fell here,” said Dax, pointing to another hollow in the soil. He took a deep breath and pointed. “They went that way.” The old warrior rose and took a step forward.
Zane grabbed Dax’s arm.
Dax turned his violet eyes aglow with rage. He glared down at the prince’s hand, gripping his arm. “Let go,” he demanded, his voice low and icy cold. “Now!”
“Dax, you cannot go to the camp after him.”
“Listen to me closely. You may be Prince of the Rhaur
ns and under normal circumstances, you can order me to Hell itself. But that lad is the nearest thing I have to family. Neither you nor your army can stop me from getting my boy back. And Cara would kill me if I left him behind. I can take any whip on my flesh but her mourning would kill me.” Dax paused, then coldly added. “Now step aside, or taste my blades.”
Hearing the threat, the Royal Lancers stepped forward, drawing their weapons. Dax stared at the Royal Lancers, his eyes dancing with intent.
Gammel broke the icy silence. “Prince Zane, he is right. If any of us was captured the others would have to try and rescue the man. In this, I stand with my friend. We must get Thade back.” He moved to stand next to Dax.
“It is your move, your Highness,” hissed Dax softly. “Either help or remove your hand and let me be.”
Chapter 15
“Have you lost your mind?”
King Logan sat in his chambers, shaking his head. Opposite him sat his key advisors: General Brooks, Admiral Rendel, and Treasurer Salom.
“What the hell are you saying? Help our enemy regain his throne? I am sorry, but that’s his problem, not ours,” stormed the general, his voice rising in volume.
“Brooks, have you not been listening at all? Our liege says there is a danger to our Kingdom as well as to the Empire. This is a chance for peace, man, don’t you understand?”
“Peace! Listen to me, Rendel, I have been listening and I do not like what I hear. This could all be a ruse to lead our men to their deaths. “How can we trust them . . . them . . .? Damn it.”
“So are you calling the baron a liar? It is he who brought the news.”
“We have no reports from Evlon, have we?” countered the general with exasperation.
“And my son is there,” said the King glumly.
That stopped all arguments in the room and they looked towards King Logan.
“I’m sorry, your Highness, Zane is probably fine,” said Rendel with a positive nod.
“But we do not know, do we?”
“No, we don’t,” admitted the general.
For the first time in an age, the king took total control of one of his council meetings. “I have heard enough of your bickering. We will be meeting the Chosen and his people shortly and I want to show a united front here. This Darklord person is a threat to all we hold dear and I am not telling you everything yet for certain reasons. But believe me in this, if this man succeeds in his plot, life as we know it will cease.” He paused. “We will march our army across the Steppes to the Empire and help the Chosen regain his throne. I have his assurances we will have safe conduct there and back.”
“Sire, I cannot agree with your course of action,” said Brooks, shaking his head.
Logan’s voice softened when he replied. “In that case, General Brooks, I will have to ask you to step down from your office.”
The general’s eyes widened and his jaw dropped at the king’s suggestion. That was the last response Brooks had expected.
“You have until tonight to decide. Now leave me, gentlemen. I will summon you later.” The three men silently left the room – each, like Brooks, in shock.
The king sat alone, deep in thought. He knew he had to face the Darklord, but knew he needed all of his people behind him. General Brooks was a Rhaurn through and through, and without his leadership on the battlefield, Logan would be lost. The thought of the Darklord using the ritual of resurrection caused the king to shiver. Logan decided he had to tell his general the true threat. Yes, he thought, he would tell General Brooks about the Dark Wars and the Dark One before they met the Chosen, before the general made his decision. That should win the general over, he concluded.
***
Logan rose when he heard the knock at his door. “Come in, General Brooks,” he called.
The general entered the room and bowed. “Your Highness, you summoned me?”
“Brooks, please sit down.” The general took a chair and the king walked around his large desk to sit next to his warlord.
The king looked downcast. “Brooks, we have been friends for how many years?”
“Far more than I would care to tell, Logan,” answered Brooks, smiling.
“Well, today I will tell you something only Prince Zane, I, and a few others know. It is a story that I hope will change your view on helping the Phadrine.”
“Logan, you know . . .”
The king raised his hand to stop the general continuing. “Listen to what I have to say and then you can tell me what you will or will not do.” The general nodded. “This story goes back to the great Dark Wars. Yes, Brooks, the Dark Wars did happen. It was a time of anarchy, blood, and slaughter when a malevolent creature called the Dark One ruled the lands with his evil forces. To shorten the story, a great warrior banished the Dark One from our world and severed his hand during the fight. The parts of his hand were spread across the lands. It is this simple, if the parts of the hand are joined in what is called the Ritual of Resurrection, then the Dark One will live and again walk our lands.
“Now the relics were hidden in four locations. The first is located in a grey castle in the Great Mountains. It is believed this was where the Darklord came from, with a religious sect that follows the teachings of the Path, called the Dark Brethren. The next piece was hidden in Evlon, in the Great Hall, which was once part of a temple. The third and fourth were hidden in a white temple across the scorched lands, which we believe to be the Temple of the Chosen, in Kal-Pharina. This is the route this Darklord is following. Now this could all be a coincidence, but the likelihood of that I would say is very remote.
“I must admit I too am concerned about this. However, we have two reasons to go after this Darklord. The first is for killing Rhaurns and the second is the possibility that the madman is trying to complete the Ritual of Resurrection of the Dark One. Either way, the man needs to be stopped.” The king paused and took a deep breath. “Brooks, you are my oldest friend and I listen to your counsel with care, but in this matter you need to listen to me. I need you to lead our army against this lunatic and the men under his black banner. We must help the Chosen to regain his throne and combine our forces to ensure victory. If the madman is not stopped and somehow the ritual is completed, then we will need the emperor’s help to defeat the Dark One if we can. Do you understand me?”
The general sat in shock for a long moment. He had had every intention of resigning his commission, but now carefully reconsidered. He looked into his king’s eyes. He saw the same expression he had seen when told about the deaths of the magic-masters years earlier; an expression of concern and worry much like a scared child.
Brooks sighed. “Logan, thank you for telling me the whole story and if this is no coincidence, we will indeed need all the help we can get. I will lead your army and, as always, serve you to the best of my ability.”
“Thank you, Brooks,” the king said with obvious relief. “Thank you. Now let us proceed to meet the Chosen and his people,” he added, smiling at his general.
***
The Chosen, Baron Chelmsnor, and General Gordonia awaited the arrival of the Rhaurn king and his advisors.
General Gordonia paced around the room, muttering under his breath. “How much longer do we have to wait for the man? We have been waiting in this room for hours.”
“Gordy, please relax,” advised Rowet softly.
“Relax!” snapped Gordonia. “How can I relax knowing a madman sits on your throne? I have been quiet up to now but what madness is that boy causing to our lands and people?”
“We will have to wait and see.”
“And furthermore, are you sure we can trust this king to march his army away once you have regained your throne?”
“He gave me his word.”
“Gave you his word? What are words? Air, that’s all, nothing more than breath that comes out of someone’s mouth to form sounds. They mean nothing, nothing at all, can you not see that?”
“Gordy, enough of this,” stormed the Chosen.
“I trust the man and at this moment we need his help, just as they will need our help in the future. If the Darklord completes the ritual, then we will all have to come together as a united force if we are to stop darkness from returning. We have no choice in the matter. If the king decides not to help us, then we have to rethink our whole course of action and maybe even consider not returning home.”
That was the first time the possibility of not returning had been mentioned by the Chosen, and this stopped the general’s pacing. Slowly, the Phadrine warlord sat down and nodded solemnly.
***
The king entered his private library, followed by General Brooks and Admiral Rendel. He looked sombre as he took a seat opposite the Chosen. The men studied each other, searching for clues, while servants placed fresh glasses and drinks in front of everyone.
When the servants left, the king started.
“We are all known around this table, so I will forgo the formality of rank. Rowet, this has been a very difficult decision for my people and me to make. We understand your problems at home and the possible threat that hangs over us all.” Logan paused. “This Darklord has killed both Rhaurns and Phadrines alike, and this troubles me greatly. Baron Chelmsnor, you have my greatest sympathies for your losses, and Rowet, it has come to my attention that you have lost your wife. I am so very sorry; I cannot imagine your grief.”
The Chosen nodded in acknowledgement of the king’s words.
“As I have said, this has been a difficult decision and I pray to the Divine One I am making the correct one.”
A servant knocked on the door and entered bearing fresh fruits for the king and his guests. The man placed the tray on the low table, bowed to the king and left the room.
King Logan stood and so did General Brooks and Admiral Rendel. “I, King Logan of the Rhaurien Kingdom, with the powers vested in me and with the agreement of my advisors hereby agree to join forces with the Chosen, Emperor Rowet of the Phadrine, to recover his throne and defeat this Darklord. I wish, moreover, for a long and peaceful relationship between our two nations.”
