by Brian Murray
The Captain of the Royal Lancers saluted the vessel and then turned his men inland, heading north. They planned to reach the southern gate of Kal-Pharina in two days.
***
King Logan and the Chosen marched to the forward line, within view of Kal-Pharina. As they caught sight of the capital, the Chosen whispered, “I am home.”
The king smiled and said, “Welcome home, my friend.”
Rowet felt too emotional at being so close to his home to reply.
“I think we should camp here, Generals,” announced the king.
“Aye, that would be a wise choice,” replied Brooks, scanning the terrain.
“We will plan our attack tomorrow when our minds and body are fresh. This evening we will discuss what possible problems we could face.”
The Rhaurien army pitched camp west of Kal-Pharina. Between them and the white city, fifty thousand Kharnack warriors waited.
***
General Brooks personally supervised the building of the camp as they were in hostile lands, with the enemy surrounding them, and wanted to ensure that everything was safe. First he had the height of the earth mound increased. Then, following General Gordonia’s suggestion, the general ordered the men to cut away all trees and shrubs close around the mound, creating a wide killing ground. The men completed the camp in double time and by nightfall, the Rhaurns had erected their temporary fortress. Lastly, Brooks trebled the guards patrolling the camp and reduced their watch time so those on duty remained fresh and alert.
***
Later that evening, King Logan, the Chosen, and the two generals sat in the king’s tent, drinking Daarina.
“Rowet, what will our problems be?”
“Well, Logan, we have two problems facing us. The first is the small problem of the barbarians camped between us and the capital.” The men chuckled at the Chosen’s choice of words, ‘small problem’.
“I do not foresee that small problem as an issue,” said General Brooks, and General Gordonia nodded. “We have an army here that will move through the Kharnack army like a storm.”
“Then we have another problem – the moat around the city. I can already see that the bridges have been pulled in and we will need to get men across the moat to extend the bridges. Without that we have no means of entering the city.”
“How do you propose to do that?” asked Logan.
“While the army is busy with the Kharnacks this will hold their attention, and a small force will be able to row over the moat to the city, hopefully unnoticed.”
“I do not think that’s wise,” responded General Gordonia. “Aye, I agree we do need to extend at least one of the bridges, but during the battle it would be too dangerous. The mission should be undertaken with stealth, at night. Six or seven men should be able to complete the task.”
The men thought for a long time and Rowet spoke. “Gordy, I bow to your wisdom, but who will carry out this mission?”
“I think we should decide that tomorrow.”
“That’s enough planning for the evening,” said the king.
“In that case, I would like to propose a toast,” said the Chosen. “To Logan. My Empire thanks you for this unselfish act. Marching your men across the Steppes was a brave decision and I thank you for your trust.”
All the men raised their glasses. General Gordonia added, “To King Logan.”
“To King Logan,” the Chosen and General Brooks repeated, and drank their fiery Daarina in a single gulp.
“Ah, I see your Highness has taken a liking to our Daarina,” said Gordonia, smiling warmly.
“Yes, it is a rather nice tipple,” replied Logan, examining his empty goblet.
“I will make certain you always have an ample supply of the best Daarina available,” said Rowet with a grin.
“Thank you, that would be most decent.”
“Then it’s done.”
“Well, gentlemen, I am tired after the day’s ride, so if you will excuse me, I will turn in.”
The men bade each other good night and left the king’s tent.
***
High in the palace, Tucci looked out over his balcony, facing the western plains. He could see the Rhaurien army campfires, and cursed. Taking another black crystal, he started to rant.
“Father you are there, I can sense you. You will not take my throne away from me, for I am the Chosen. In front of you stand fifty thousand Kharnack clansmen and in my city are the Dark Brethren and my friends. You wait until you meet my friends. They will cut your army to pieces and destroy you totally. I will not miss that, Father, this time you will be slain by my own hand. This time I will personally see your blood. This time I will watch the life ebb away from your eyes. This time I will have satisfaction. This time you will know death.”
The young man fell to his knees as the drug surged though his blood.
“Father!” Tucci screamed. “I will kill you.” Hallucinating, Tucci continued to talk to his absent father. “Hello, Father how are you?” he said, smiling.
“You don’t have to say that, Father. I have been a good leader.”
“Yes, Father, I have looked after the children.”
“No, Father you will burn in the Black Mountain, not I.”
“I will not see you there, Father.”
“Yes, Father I will see you in the Mountain and we will be together.”
Tucci fell asleep on the balcony, mumbling incoherently.
Fury received his orders from Malice and left the palace after dusk. An hour later, he quietly swam across the moat and reached the other side. He crept around the Kharnack camp and continued west in the direction of the Rhaurien camp.
***
By candlelight, Logan wrote a note to his wife and daughter. His news was mixed; he had journeyed successfully across the Steppes but he still had not found Zane.
Outside the king’s tent, five Royal Lancers stood guard, and to one side of the doorway stood the Royal standard, the banner proudly fluttering in a light breeze.
***
The Chosen sat in his tent, writing a note to his daughter, Ireen, and newly adopted daughter, Megan. He wrote how happy he was to be home and the great welcome he had received from the Dar-Phadrin. He did not speak of the atrocities, nor did he mention Tucci . . .
Outside the Chosen’s tent, three Landbow warriors stood on guard with two Royal Lancers. One of the clansmen proudly held the Chosen’s flag, as it flapped in the gentle breeze.
***
General Gordonia sat reviewing the maps of the land between their camp and Kal-Pharina. He studied the hills and gullies, looking for the best site for the battle. He smiled, as he knew the land around Kal-Pharina like the back of his hand. But old age had caught up with him and he needed to make sure his memory still served him right.
Outside the general’s tent, two Royal Lancers stood guard.
***
General Brooks sat in his tent reading a report on supplies and morale. After the meeting with his king and the Chosen, Brooks had several meetings with his officers. He was surprised to find the casualties from crossing the Steppes were minimal. All the supplies had made it across the Steppes and the army camped in high spirits after being the first army to cross the arid lands in several hundred years. Now they had to defeat the Kharnacks.
The sooner the better, thought the general, then we can go home and forget about those damn relics.
Outside the general’s tent, two silent Royal Lancers stood guard, also with thoughts of returning home. Beside one of the soldiers, the Royal Lancers’ standard fluttered.
***
Dressed in black, Fury reached the ditch surrounding the Rhaurien camp. Silently, he watched the patrols pace along the top of the mound, on the camp side of the deep gully. He moved around the ditch, stopped and watched. He moved further round, then stopped again. He smiled. The warrior found what he was looking for – a blind spot. He could sneak in and out of the camp from this point. He crawled up to the top of the
mount and peered into the camp. Through the maze of tents, he spotted what he was seeking – the tent he needed to enter. With stealth, Fury slid down the other side of the mount and entered the Rhaurien camp, undetected.
***
The king received the letters and communications from Teldor and sat down to read the contents. He finished going through the reports and made any necessary notes. Then he turned to his private letters, one from his wife and the other from his daughter, smiling as he read.
***
The Chosen also received reports from Teldor, along with two letters from Ireen and one from Megan. He was hard pushed to know which one to open first. He smiled at his childish antics and opened one from Ireen first.
***
General Gordonia decided to turn in for the day. After rubbing ointment into his sore knee, he put his lantern out and made himself comfortable on his thin cot. That night he dreamt about re-entering Kal-Pharina, victorious.
***
General Brooks continued reviewing reports. Looking to his left, he saw a pile of parchments he still had to read. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he picked up the next report and started to peruse the contents.
***
After reading the letters from his wife and daughter, Logan could not resist writing a reply straightaway, even though he had just finished a letter to them. Tiredness weighed down his shoulders but the notes from his family made the king happy, though terribly homesick.
***
The Chosen laughed aloud when he read the letters from Ireen and Megan. Unable to sleep, he too decided to answer the letters without delay.
***
Fury looked towards the tent he had pinpointed and waited, watching the guards and seeing the distinct standard that flapped in the light breeze. He could not approach yet as the lantern inside the tent remained lit.
The warrior merged back into the shadows and patiently waited – he had time. He pulled out his two small black crossbows and loaded black metal bolts. He peered up towards the moon concealed behind a black storm cloud that helped hide him.
Suddenly, whip-crackling lightning tore across the sky. After a few moments’ delay, thunder rumbled. Fury allowed himself a rueful smile. He peered back at the camp.
***
The king finished writing his letters, stepped to his tent flap, and called one of his guards.
“Please have the post rider take these to Teldor immediately. Oh, and pass by the Chosen’s tent, he may also have some letters.”
“Yes, your Highness,” replied the soldier, bowing.
The king re-entered his tent and got ready to sleep. He shivered as lightning ripped across the sky, flashing briefly, creating menacing shadows on the fabric walls. Thunder rumbled. The King of Rhaurien turned out his lantern and within minutes fell into a contented slumber, aided by more Daarina.
***
The guard passed the Chosen’s tent and received letters from him. The Chosen turned out his lantern and fell into a comfortable sleep, knowing he was close to his palace, his home. Rowet did not stir, accustomed to sleeping through thunderstorms.
***
Fury saw the light in the tent go out. He carefully watched the four guards around the tent, two guards at the front and two at the rear, and periodically one of the soldiers would walk around the tent. Fury smiled again, this was all about timing.
Crackling lightning streaked across the sky, momentarily bathing the land in cold, white light. Thunder clapped louder – the storm’s centre getting closer.
***
General Brooks finished reading the final report on his fold-away desk.
He called one of his guards. “Is everything quiet?”
“Aye, sir.”
“Well, get ready, I will start my rounds shortly,” said the general, rising from his chair with a grunt.
For the next hour the general paced around the camp, checking that all the guards were in place and alert. Each set of guards snapped to attention when the general approached. He spoke to a few of the soldiers before continuing on his way. By the time the general had finished his round, his legs ached with fatigue.
“Tell the other captains and commanders I am pleased with the camp. But I don’t want any slacking this evening.”
“I will pass on your comments, General,” said one of his captains, saluting.
“Good, now leave me to sleep. I am to be woken at dawn.”
“Yes, sir.”
General Brooks undressed and turned in for the night. Within minutes of his light going out, the general slept peacefully in his cot.
***
Fury slipped silently up to the tent, and cut through the fabric. Carefully he entered the tent and completed his task. Like a ghost, the man sneaked out of the tent, across the camp and over the mound. In just minutes, Fury had come and gone.
Lightning again snaked across the sky, followed quickly by a resonant boom of thunder.
Chapter 19
At dawn, south of Kal-Pharina, the Royal Lancers broke camp and recommenced their march. They progressed north at a steady pace and planned to reach the capital by midday the following day. They marched past a clan settlement where one of the Royal Lancers spoke the imperial language and announced, “We are here on the invitation of Emperor Rowet, the Chosen. He lives, and is at Kal-Pharina.”
To the Royal Lancers’ surprise, the whole settlement cheered at the news, and wished them a safe journey. The Royal Lancers stopped for a short break to rest their horses and have some rations. Later that afternoon, with the sun hidden behind a dull grey cloud, the riders crested a small hill.
The captain in charge held a clenched fist aloft and the company halted.
Waiting on the other side of the flat-bottomed valley were horsemen in black armour.
***
Malice reviewed maps of the southern Phadrine coast and chose the valley where they would meet the fabled Rhaurien Royal Lancers. He and Chaos had pushed the five hundred Dark Brethren hard and now they waited in a perfect crescent formation, their cloaks billowing in a light breeze. They did not have to wait long. On the hill before them, the company of Royal Lancers appeared. Malice, Chaos, and the Dark Brethren waited patiently.
***
On the hilltop, the Royal Lancers looked down into the valley and gazed upon their foe. They knew they had the upper hand – they were the Rhaurien Royal Lancers. With their deep blue cloaks billowing behind them, the captain ordered the slow descent into the flat-bottomed valley.
***
Malice watched intently as the Royal Lancers rode down the hill into the valley. They did not rush nor did they go too slowly. In a column formation, the Lancers reached the valley floor and halted. The two forces faced each other. Malice’s huge stallion started to paw the ground impatiently, awaiting the order to charge.
***
The Royal Lancers waited to see if the horsemen in front of them would move, but it soon became clear that the warriors were up for a fight. The captain gave the signal to draw weapons and in a sudden, short flurry of sound, the Rhaurns drew their swords. The captain gave another signal. In a cloud of dust, the formation changed from a marching column to a huge fighting wedge. Finally, after a pause, he gave one more signal and the Royal Lancers charged.
***
Malice watched in admiration as the Royal Lancers carried out their orders in silence. No shouting, just hand signals. They changed formation to what Malice knew would be a fighting wedge. The Royal Lancers charged.
***
The captain of the Royal Lancers heading the fighting wedge felt a small twinge of panic well up from his stomach – the warriors they opposed had not moved. The Lancers closed the gap quickly, thundering on in perfect formation. The captain stared at the black horsemen. Something did not feel right. Was this a trap? Who were these black-clad horsemen?
***
Malice psychically gave the order to draw arms and in unison, the Dark Brethren drew their cavalry swords. When t
he Royal Lancers were five hundred strides away, Malice turned to Chaos and nodded. Within his silver helm, Chaos smiled, for today they would destroy the myth surrounding the Rhaurn’s Royal Lancers.
At two hundred paces, Malice gave another mental command and the Dark Brethren swiftly split into two. Without hesitation, Chaos and his half of the brethren galloped left, while Malice and his men galloped right.
The trap was set.
***
The Rhaurien captain watched in awe as the horsemen silently drew their weapons, with no apparent signals. A wry smile etched on his face as the horsemen continued to wait. He was confident that the force and speed of his Lancers’ attack would crush these men.
Suddenly, they split into two and the captain’s smile vanished. One group led by a silver-armoured warrior turned left and the other right. For a moment, the captain looked on puzzled. In all of his studies, the opposing force would always charge at them head on. These men were breaking the rules – the rules of engagement. He delayed for a fraction too long.
Just as he was about to give his order for pursuit, the enemy turned in and charged at the Royal Lancers’ flanks. Before the Lancers could change formation, the two attacking forces crashed into their flanks in a cloud of dust. Horses whinnied, steel clashed against steel, screams of death filled the air, swiftly accompanied with the coppery stench of flowing blood.
The Lancers made the crimson filling between two slices of bloody black bread. The Dark Brethren hammered their flanks and they had no time to react. The only aspect of the clash working in their favour was their forward momentum.
The captain and about one hundred Lancers broke clear of the Dark Brethren. The captain stopped and turned his horse to face the fighting. To his shock and surprise, the Dark Brethren were hacking down his Lancers with ease.
“Lancers to me!” screamed the captain, his voice a shrilling screech.
