by Brian Murray
The hundred or so Royal Lancers waited behind their captain for further orders. The captain saw one of the silver-armoured warriors and some of his men peel away from the fighting to face him. With their black cloaks billowing behind them, they charged.
“Attack!” yelled the captain, raising his sword. With blue cloaks flailing behind them, the Royal Lancers spurred their horses into a gallop.
***
Chaos saw a number of Lancers break through the initial attack, and ordered some of the Dark Brethren to break clear from the fighting and chase them. He was not surprised when the Lancers stopped and turned. Chaos smiled when he heard the captain give the order to charge. For a brief moment he thought the men may flee, but the captain seemed game. Within moments, the two companies clashed and the slaying commenced. Chaos swiftly killed the captain and five other lancers, as he ploughed through their formation, his sword a blur.
***
The captain’s charge was a hopeless gesture. Soon, the five companies of the fabled Royal Lancers lay dead on the dusty valley floor – none injured; all dead. The Dark Brethren lost only thirty men in the fighting and Malice gave thanks to the Dark One for their victory. No gloating or celebrating followed; they had no time to waste.
Minutes later, only death remained in the flat-bottomed valley. Death . . . and reddened dust swirling in the air lifted by a southern breeze that carried the scent of rain.
***
The morning horn sounded as dawn broke over the Rhaurien camp. The beginning of the new day was grey and overcast, but the rain had relented. General Brooks completed his rounds of the camp and satisfied himself that everything was in hand. As he walked back to his tent, speaking to one of his captains, he saw General Gordonia emerge from his tent.
“Good morning, Gordy,” said Brooks, who had started to take a liking to his imperial counterpart.
“Good morning to you, Brooks. Have you broken your fast?”
“No, not yet.”
“Would you care to join me?”
“Aye,” said Brooks, smiling. The two generals set off to dine together.
“What do you think the day will bring?” asked Brooks.
Looking up at the sky, Gordonia said, “Well, at least it should not rain. So this day should bring a momentous victory.”
“That’s what I like to hear,” said Brooks, slapping his new ally on the back. “Victory.”
***
The two generals completed their morning meal and were walking back to the king’s tent, approaching it from the rear. They paced quietly around to the front. One of the guards stepped forward and said in hushed tones, “General, the king has not yet risen.”
Brooks stared at the man with a questioning frown, for the king rose every morning at dawn.
Gordonia leant in close to Brooks. “Maybe he had one or two more glasses of Daarina after we left,” he suggested.
Brooks chuckled and agreed. “Probably.”
“When he wakes, come and fetch me.”
“Yes sir,” said the guard, snapping to attention and saluting.
The two generals walked past the Chosen’s tent. He too remained asleep and the generals left the same message. As they walked back to Brooks’s tent, Gordonia suddenly stopped.
“Something is wrong,” said the imperial general, rubbing his chin in thought.
“What do you mean?”
“We are preparing for battle and neither of our leaders is awake. This is the first major conflict for both and they still sleep. That troubles me.”
“Are you going to wake them?”
Slowly, General Gordonia turned and looked at the Chosen’s tent. His mind raced. He pictured what he had seen during the morning. His eyes widened.
“The king!” screamed Gordonia. “THE KING!” He charged back to the king’s tent.
“What is it?” shouted Brooks, running next to the general.
“His tent has a slit on the side,” spluttered Gordonia. “I should have realised sooner.”
Brooks started to fret for his sovereign and begged his old legs to move faster.
The Chosen stepped out of his tent, rubbing sleep from his eyes and saw the two generals running towards him.
“Morning gentlemen, why your haste?”
“King Logan’s tent has been slashed,” shouted Gordy, rushing pass.
The Chosen absorbed the information quickly and ran after them, easily overtaking the two older generals. He arrived at the tent first.
“Be so kind as to wake the king,” he requested, breathing heavily.
“I am sorry, your Highness, but I cannot do that,” said the guard softly.
“Out of my way!” shouted General Brooks, shouldering past the guard to enter the tent.
A deafening, silent pause followed. Time itself seemed to slow.
Suddenly, a shrilling scream of grief tore through the morning air.
Chapter 20
Admiral Rendel continued to sail east, heading for the Phadrine Peninsula. He had left the Grey Sunset and the Floating Lancer moored outside the port of Calcaloin, guarding the mouth. At dawn, he approached a rocky headland as a thick fog descended, smothering them. So dense was the mist the admiral could not see the end of the Gliding Falcon from the wheel. He ordered the captain to place two men at the front of the ship and another in the eagle’s nest. Rendel had checked his maps and knew hazardous rocks hid just below the surface, giving natural protection for the peninsula, and he had to make a choice.
Erring on the side of safety, the admiral ordered the vessels to give the peninsula a wide berth to avoid the rocks. Heading south, he sounded his bell. He set up a simple system – one clang for north, two for east, and so on. Three rings to let the other vessels in his fleet know he wanted to turn south and they should follow. He listened and heard the three clangs echo back along the small fleet. After a short while, the admiral decided to turn east again, hoping he had cleared the rocks. The bell rang out twice, from the east.
The admiral had sent a man up front to scout out the depths of the sea around them. To many this seemed pointless, as the sharp rocks would tear through the Gliding Falcon’s hull before an alarm could be raised, but it gave men some comfort. Rendel reduced sails and communicated to the other vessels to do the same.
For the next hour, the Gliding Falcon sailed slowly east. The admiral gave the order to turn north. The bell sounded once, north. Again, for the next hour the Gliding Falcon edged forward slicing through the choppy sea. Then, to everyone’s relief, it broke free of the fog.
The admiral had judged it perfectly. To the west, in the distance, the shoreline appeared. He called for full sails, as they had to make up time. The Gliding Falcon sailed on to Sal-Daarinda with the rest of the fleet behind, all emerging safely from the fog.
***
General Brooks appeared from the king’s tent, his expression thunderous. He glared at the Chosen and General Gordonia with pure malevolent hate.
“My king has been assassinated,” he announced coldly.
The Chosen gasped and shook his head. “But how?” he muttered in disbelief.
“You should know, your Highness,” sneered Brooks. “A crossbow bolt in the eye. Guards, arrest these two men and have their men cornered.”
“But General, we had nothing to do with this,” insisted the emperor.
General Brooks stepped forward and cursed. “You tricked us into coming into your damn lands. Quite clever of you to have our army cross the Steppes safely and then strike. How many men are following behind us, your Highness? How many men are in the city waiting for us? When did you make your pact with the Kharnacks? This was a very good ruse, but it ends now. As warlord for the Rhaurn Kingdom, and without any communication from the king’s heir, Prince Zane, I must assume command of the army. And when I am finished with your precious city, it will be no more.”
“But General,” pleaded Gordonia, “we had nothing . . .”
“And to think I trusted and started to like these me
n,” hissed Brooks, almost apologetically. “Take them away.”
The Chosen and General Gordonia were dragged away, the general still protesting their innocence.
“Guard, have the healers see to his Highness’s body and send all the divisional captains to me. We are going to war,” ordered Brooks, striding back to his tent with his head bowed.
***
The Chosen and General Gordonia were both held in the Chosen’s tent. Outside, ten Royal Lancers guarded the emperor and his warlord. Rowet still could not believe what had happened.
“How could this have happened, Gordy? We were so close.”
“I have no idea, Roo, but I think the assassin must have come from the city. Everyone we travelled with knew the king was your ally. This must be your son’s doing!”
“My son does not have the courage to order such a strike, it must be that damned Darklord,” hissed Rowet vehemently, trying to calm his rage.
“So what are we going to do? We cannot reason with Brooks in his present emotional state. He has just lost his king, his friend.”
“I don’t know, Gordy,” replied the Chosen, shaking his head. “All we can hope is that we live through this.”
***
In his tent, General Brooks assembled all the divisional captains and commanders. They waited for him to speak. The general looked up, slowly considering his words. “As you may already know, our king has been struck down by the foulest of means. He was assassinated in his sleep.” The general paused, allowing the information to sink in. “I believe we have been bought here under the most treacherous deception. But now we are here, we will show these Phadrine sor how we take revenge. I want all units ready to march within the hour. There will be no excuses; there will be no slacking. We will wipe the ground with those barbaric Kharnacks today, then take Kal-Pharina on the morrow. Captains, ready your troops, we have a war to win.”
The captains filed out of the tent and hastily gave their orders. They now had a fight to win – a fight for vengeance.
***
As the troops prepared for battle, General Brooks visited the Chosen’s tent.
He entered. “Why did you do it?” he simply asked.
“General Brooks, I do not think you will believe me when I say we had no hand in this treason.”
“Treason. How can you call it treason? You killed your enemy. That’s not treason, that’s war.”
“It is treason when an ally is killed in friendly lands.”
“Treason,” snorted the general, his fists clenched, his knuckles white. “I think not. That was an act of war, a war that I will finish.”
“General, think about it. Who gains more by the death of your king? It throws the camp into frenzy. I gain nothing by killing King Logan; I only lose. Can you not believe me? I did not have a hand in killing my friend.”
“Well, you know the saying, your Highness,” the general sneered. “Keep your friends close but your enemies closer. You will not leave this tent and you will be judged after we take Kal-Pharina. I will personally judge you, sitting on your own throne, your Highness.”
“General, do not let your anger cloud your judgement. Think, man, I gain nothing. I do not regain my throne, you will destroy my city. I gain nothing.”
The general did not listen, and left the tent.
War loomed.
***
As the hour lapsed, the Rhaurn army prepared themselves. The Royal Lancers sharpened their swords and readied their horses. The heavy cavalry armoured their horses and themselves, and sharpened their lances. The foot soldiers and axe-wielders sharpened their swords and axes. The archers strung their bows and were issued arrows.
On the hour, the Rhaurien army was ready for battle and waited for the order to march.
***
Zane and his five companions passed through the rolling, green hills of the Empire at a swift pace. They hid themselves twice from large bands of marauding Kharnacks but did not have to draw their weapons. After three days of continuous travel, the group crested a hill and to everyone’s relief, they finally looked down at the Rhaurien camp. It was a hive of grey tents with men scurrying around, their armour glistening in the sun.
“Praise be to the Divine One,” whispered Thade, smiling.
“I can see my father’s standard,” said Zane happily, pointing to the centre of the camp, beaming a smile.
“And I think he is readying his army for battle,” muttered Dax stolidly.
“Well, we’d better not stand here watching. Let’s go and see my father.”
The group filed down the hill, their hopes high. They had been through a lot together and now it was time for the prince to resume his role at his father’s right hand.
They approached the bridge crossing the camp’s ditch and were called to a halt by the guards, who already had their weapons drawn.
“Who goes there?” demanded one of the guards.
Dax answered. “His Highness, Prince Zane of the Rhaurien Kingdom and his companions.”
The information took the guard by surprise and he turned to his comrade, who shrugged.
“Is that the prince?” whispered the first guard.
“I don’t know,” answered the other with another shrug.
“Better escort him to the general.”
The guard turned to the six men and ordered, “Dismount and come with me to General Brooks.”
“I want to see my father,” insisted Zane forcefully.
The guard ignored the prince and walked ahead leading the friends.
“What’s going on?” asked Thade, dismounting.
“I’m not too sure, but something does not feel right here,” answered Dax in a concerned voice.
The guard escorted the six men through the camp, while all around them soldiers were looking and pointing at Zane. The few men who knew the prince by sight bowed as he passed. Soon the guard asked them to wait outside a tent, as he entered.
Zane snapped, losing his patience, and pushed past the Royal Lancers on guard.
“I am Prince Zane and you will let me enter immediately.”
The guards drew their swords. Simultaneously, Dax drew his axes and stepped beside the prince menacingly.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” hissed Dax coldly.
At that moment, General Brooks emerged from the tent.
“Prince Zane, it is you,” said the general with relief, then remembering to bow. “We thought you lost or dead. It is good to see you alive.”
“Thank you, General Brooks. I am tired and would like to see my father.”
“Come in first, please, we must talk. Your friends can refresh themselves and get food, but we must talk first.”
“I will be back soon,” said the prince, and followed the general into the tent. Dax and the others turned around and started to walk to the food tent, when Zane screamed, “NO!”
Dax turned instantly, redrawing his death-dealers, and charged past the guards. He entered the grey tent to see the prince sitting, his face cupped in his hands.
The rage in the man’s violet eyes caused the general to step back.
“Zane, are you all right, boy?” The familiarity used by the warrior shocked the general. “What have you done to him?” stormed Dax, his eyes becoming hooded.
“Nothing, I had to tell him his father, our sovereign is dead – killed by those Phadrine sor.”
“What? King Logan dead?” asked Dax, visibly shocked.
“Aye, and the prince has arrived just in time to lead our forces for vengeance.”
“Get out,” hissed Dax coldly.
“I will not.”
“Get out!” stormed Dax, as Thade entered the tent.
Seeing the cold anger in Dax’s eyes, Thade turned to the general. “I would do as he says, general, he’s not known for asking something three times.”
The general looked into the warrior’s blazing violet eyes, then down at his battle-axes. Quietly, the general scurried out.
“Well played,” said Thade, relieved, following the general outside.
Dax put his axes down on a nearby table and sat next to the sobbing prince. Placing an arm around the young prince’s shoulders, he spoke softly. “Zane, I mourn your loss as much as you do. Our Kingdom has lost their king, moreover, my friend has lost his father.”
With reddened eyes, Zane looked at the older man and saw true concern there. He nodded a ‘thank you’.
“Now, you know I am a man who speaks my mind and sometimes it hurts, but listen to me. You are now king and you have your army here ready for battle. You must put aside your grief. Leave that for another day when you are with your kin in the privacy of your palace in Teldor, for now we need some answers. General Brooks has also lost his king and a friend and we need to be sure that what he is doing is for the right reasons. I know what I am saying sounds harsh and cold, but you must take up your father’s mantle and step forward.
“You are a strong man, Zane. You know I will follow your command to the death. Your father would not want to see you being weak at a time of need. I will go now and find out what has happened. You wait here and I will come back soon.”
“You know something, Dax?”
“What’s that, Zane?”
“I hate you for speaking so honestly. Sometimes, can you just lie?”
“Is that an order, your Highness?”
“Do not ever ‘your Highness’ me, Dax. You’re my friend, and it will always be Zane to you.”
“Aye, Zane, I am your friend. I will return soon.” Retrieving his axes, Dax walked from the tent with purpose in his stride.
***
Outside the tent, Dax went directly to General Brooks.
“Tell me, what happened here?”
“Who are you to order me, commoner? You are not even a soldier.”
Dax grabbed the general by the tunic and dragged him close. “My name is Dax, I am King Zane’s Warlord. Now answer my question. What happened here?”
The guards around the tent drew their weapons and immediately Thade, Tanas, and Gammel drew their swords. Dax did not take his eyes off the general, ignoring the guards.
The general held the warrior’s violet gaze and saw murderous intent there.
“Those Phadrine pigs assassinated our king,” he hissed.
