He had never seen such an expansive and detailed map in all his life, each of the peaks and valleys in the hills painted with remarkable detail. He outlined with his eyes the paths they had walked to get to Avatasc several weeks ago.
It’s hard to believe that so much time has passed already.
“Greetings, Your Majesty,” said one of the lords, a brownnose if he had ever seen one.
Nathan nodded back.
The others took the first’s lead and sought his attention. “Sire,” they all said.
Aisic shot fierce looks at any who did not greet him. Nathan raised a hand. His finger drew along the southern border of the Solvena Plains from the marshes toward the forest.
“They have taken everything past here, from Kydia to Garland, and believe me when I tell you, they’re coming our way. Remember, this army is not just conquering but ransacking; they are burning everything they can get their hands on. But the real problem is this: they have Melkai marching with them. I must stress how dire this situation is getting. In some regions, there are more Melkai than there are callers to summon them.”
“How is that possible?” one of the lords asked.
“The barrier to the Melkairen has weakened enough to let them through. Soon it will crumble entirely. In order to stop this, we will need to complete the Kairen Key, and to get the key we will need to cross the Avatasc-Terratheist border.” Nathan scanned their expressions. If anything, the fear from his words should undermine their skepticism and bypass their questions. “Our own forces have gone as far as the Avatasc border to defend it, but I believe soon an offensive will be necessary or otherwise we will be lost. We must cross that line.”
“How do we know they’re coming here?”
“How do we know they have Melkai?”
“How do we know?” they all asked at once.
Nathan was already prepared for their counterarguments. He drew a knife out of his belt.
“Because . . .” He cut one third of the map away with his blade. “According to our messengers, Avatasc is the last place in the lands that isn’t currently on fire. I think that you land barons know that fire kills crops, and this one, my lords, is spreading.”
Nathan had seen sketches from the messengers—the burning forests, the sacked villages, the armies of men and Melkai—and he wanted them to be as afraid of the threat as he was. It worked. Their expressions changed, their faces falling. The fear achieved its intended effect on all but two of the nobles: Lord Ronund and Lord Wilkow.
“Preposterous! Scandalous! Outrageous!” Lord Ronund shouted, jowls wobbling.
Nathan knew there would be one, he even knew which one. In fact, he had planned on it. His mother had warned him of Lord Ronund.
“These . . . fear tactics will not work on me. I have served this council for ten—”
“And gotten fat off it,” one of the only slender nobles, Lord Wilkow, said to a murmur of laughter.
This was why, in secret, Nathan had bribed some of his soldiers.
“Tell me, Lord Ronund, do you compel respect and trust in your men?” he asked.
Lord Ronund went red in the face. “I don’t see how this is any of your business—but yes, I trust them implicitly.”
Nathan smiled and gestured to the map, having purposely placed it down so one corner faced him. “Do you recognize this signature, my lord?”
Lord Ronund looked down and his red cheeks went pale.
“As you will see, my lord, it was your commander that made these reports and drew up this map, and did a quite good job of it, if I do say so.”
The other nobles laughed at this, and fury filled Lord Ronund’s glare. “You will not have any of my men!”
Nathan shrugged. “Nor do I need them. They’ve already risked their lives enough and will be handsomely rewarded for it . . . by you . . . if you want to keep their respect, that is.”
“You haven’t heard the last of this!” Ronund stormed out of the war room.
Nathan glanced at Aisic and shrugged. “I don’t know what he’s so upset about. I just pardoned him from the war. I thought that’s what he wanted.”
Aisic inclined his head. “Some people will always find something to be upset about, even when they get what they want.”
“Very well, you can have our men, soldiers to fight back against this horde,” another fatter noble, one who Nathan was told owned fruit farms, spoke.
His name was Lord Conner, and he seemed to speak for the rest of them, as the others nodded along with his words—even Lord Wilkow.
Both Nathan and Aisic smiled at this, entertained by the idea. “We don’t need warriors. We are not going to sacrifice more men for this fire. What we need are escorts.”
“Escorts?” one of the bearded old men asked, his voice hoarse.
Aisic spoke this time, using his low baritone and size to get the message through. “You will only use what men you can to keep the Avatasc border steady, but we don’t want this war to continue or escalate. We want to dissolve it. For that, we will need to make a peace treaty, but so far none of our offers have been heeded or replied to, only more fighting and more fire. What we need is a way to be certain that this treaty will get through to the king. Therefore, we are going ourselves. The reason we have asked for you to come here today is to request for your escorts and your promise that what we have done for this country will not be reversed during our absence.”
They all nodded. With the irrigation system in place, their produce had grown twofold and they learned that what benefited the many also benefited the few, unlike what the last king had claimed.
“But sire,” one of the younger lords called and the others shot looks at him. “Should a king really be sent to the front line to be a simple messenger? What will this do to the hierarchy, to the soldier’s morale?”
Nathan looked over his shoulder to say one more thing before leaving. “If anything, sometimes the king must go to the front line to win the morale of his men.”
He turned back and walked out, confident they would obey him. Fear would likely keep them on the right path he had started off for them until they both returned.
Coming out of the war chamber, Nathan and Aisic made their way through the long castle corridors.
“I think we got through to them,” Aisic said solemnly, “but I’m not sure about the fat one.”
Nathan shook his head with a laugh. They were all fat really, except for Lord Wilkow. They spotted each other’s grins and moved into the throne room where Nathan casually spun and fell back onto his throne.
The room had been cleaned out after their battle. It took a while to clear away the rubble, the snake carcass, and then to convince Aisic in his dragon form not to eat the Snake King’s corpse. Nathan was sure the poison of his corrupted pale body would have stirred up something unsettling in his stomach.
Aisic paced back and forth on the green carpet. “So? When are we planning to go on this little life-risking journey you have in mind?”
“Tonight,” Nathan said, caught up in his own thoughts.
“Why tonight?” asked Aisic, voice harsh with impatience.
“I want to leave under the cover of darkness.” Nathan exhaled sharply. “I don’t want my people to think I’m abandoning them.”
“Alright, I’m going to go check up on the battalion to see if our defenses are ready in case we’re a bit premature on our predictions.”
Aisic left the hall.
Nathan hoped Aisic didn’t think it was cowardice that kept from leaving right away; he wasn’t afraid of battle. He had to rid himself of such fear during his fight with Kissick, proven by Taiba revealing his true form.
As he met with his mother and those who had been disenfranchised by Kissick, the shadows stretched through the great hall, and his head continued to ache from his need to move.
Taking off his glove, he summoned Taiba to keep him company. Nathan was glad he was no longer trying to si
t on his shoulder as he did as a lizard.
“You feel it too, don’t you, boy?”
Taiba barked in reply then spun in place before lying down on the green carpet. He placed his muzzle on his folded legs and waited loyally next to the throne on the newly lowered dais. The platform had been taken down after Serraba had destroyed the top half of it. Nathan preferred it, allowing him to see his constituents up close instead of looming over them.
The dawn rays shone through the open door as he waited for the coming evening. Two silhouettes appeared in the corridor, striding toward the throne room. They were warriors . . . no, more than that . . . they were Senadonians. Warriors judging by their body structure and the way they held themselves; Senadonians because of the three slit tattoos under their left eyes, a signature of their race. The focus in their eyes was the only aspect about them that didn’t look exhausted.
Seemingly when they needed them the most, two men from the legendary warrior race had finally returned to Avatasc.
Then Nathan’s heart stopped as the older one shouted, “New Senadon has fallen!”
Chapter 19: The Senadonians
A long time ago, the Senadonians were considered the greatest warriors in the Ramannon army. They fought side by side with the other races of the lands, and on the battlefield, they shared no equal. They were bred to be warriors, to be fast and strong and ambidextrous so they could wield two weapons at the same time.
However, they had a secret. For hidden behind their glory they were protecting something from the rest of the lands: the remaining Kairens. They would go on to rule the lands in place of Ramannon’s empire. At the time, however, the Kairens were hunted for fear of their powers.
When this secret became known, the tables were turned for the first time, and Senadon became an enemy of the land. They were attacked on all sides by the Ramannon army, and after Ramannon’s downfall, they made a long journey over the Jile Mountains to the other side of the world to found New Senadon. Due to their bloodline mixing with the Kairens whilst hiding them, a few descendent were even able to summon Melkai.
Master Morrow had taught Nathan all of this in his history lessons. Now two Senadonians had come before him, and Nathan couldn’t help but grin excitedly.
“Get some water!” Nathan demanded.
A few guards left to retrieve jugs of water.
He led the Senadonians into the large dining chamber where they could sit and rest. He looked them up and down, shaking his head in disbelief. They were very different, one young and one old. The older one was past his middle age, the younger one closer to Nathan’s age, and they both looked road-weary. The water arrived and they slaked their thirst. Not a single word had passed their lips since their first proclamation, as though waiting for someone older to show up.
“You’ve returned,” Nathan started, raising his hands to wave away the obvious nature of his statement. “But under what cause? I can see from your state alone that your circumstances may be as desperate as our own, but . . .”
The old one changed his expression from a grim frown to a smirk. From what Nathan had read, Senadonians didn’t commonly let people see their emotions, so this shift in expression surprised him.
“As desperate as yours?” the older one intoned.
“Yeah, okay. Sorry, but you do not know desperation yet!” the younger one finished, sounding suddenly hostile. “You haven’t been forced to abandon your home yet.”
“Why?”
The younger one continued, still panting. “Over the mountains . . .” He waved in the direction of them. “New Senadon is gone!”
“The last of us have taken refuge in the Old Senadon fort.” The older one held him back with a hand, his rough face stern. “But let’s not be informal. My name is Tarros Kahin, and he’s Durian Tolbit. Yours is?”
“I’m King Nathaniel, King Nathaniel Armalon.”
“King Armalon?” Durian asked, eyes widened skeptically. “You?”
“That’s correct.”
Aisic rushed into the dining hall, exhaling sharply when he saw the Senadonians.
Nathan raised a hand in his direction. “This is my protector, Aisic.”
“Who are they?” Aisic asked.
“I think it would be better if we explained fully what happened.” Tarros looked to his younger companion. “We were attacked by Terratheist forces, thousands of men. We didn’t stand a chance.”
Durian handed Nathan a tattered brown journal, already opened to its last page. “This is a journal from one of our war scribes. It might help you get a better idea of what we’re dealing with here.”
Nathan looked down at the parchment. Despite the writer’s odd mix of rough handwriting and flowery prose, he could still make out what it said:
Splinters are appearing on the main gate. The barricade is loosening. Several soldiers are trying to brace it. Our archers are raining down arrows and picking off the enemy, but the Terratheist soldiers are stubborn and almost unlimited in number. The castle walls are high, but they are streaming off the ladders like cockroaches, drawing their swords and then drawing our blood. Our elite battalion is making major dents in their forces, but we still need reinforcements.
Someone behind me calls for Advanced Summoner Tarros. By the sudden intense pounding at the gate, it is clear that no human is working the battering ram. It’s a Melkai. Behind us, the water in the fountain ripples with each strike made on the gate. People are backing off from it now. A cloaked caller has arrived.
The gate smashes open, both sides of the door hitting the fountain on either side of Tarros. A chimera with a lion’s head enters. It charges through but stops before Tarros. Drawing everyone’s attention, including the Melkai’s, the caller raises his open hand.
Tarros plants it on the stone floor. The pact item he is using is a necklace. A circle of blue flames appears, and his giant wolf leaps from the circle, from the Melkairen, and lands on the chimera. The wolf is biting at its neck, and they collide with the stone walls.
Soldiers are now flooding through the open passage. Tarros is now working with the soldiers to slay the first encroachment.
I scale the walls to assess our enemy. Behind them are hundreds of soldiers, just waiting for the order to attack, and as each minute goes by, they claw into the castle through the opening. There are too many of them to hold out.
The caller’s hood has been torn off. I was wrong. It was not the Advanced Summoner but his apprentice. The soldiers are asking where Tarros is, but Durian only points to the walls.
Tarros is standing there, sword facing the sky. From it, a flame appears and grows above him, wings forming as it flies into the dawn sky. It circles the entire castle, a line of flame raging from it toward the enemy below: A phoenix. It continues to fly above the armies spread over the land, turning the very earth black with its flame.
Not a scream escapes from the burning soldiers. The army is not willing to give up, and the battle is raging on. Just glimpsing the amount of the soldiers out of that gate, I can tell ours is a futile effort. Other Melkai are breaking through the outer walls. We aren’t getting out of this place alive.
While Nathan had been reading, Taiba had put his head in his lap and began to whine, clearly concerned with the mounting horror in his expression. Nathan had known that New Senadon had been attacked, but the reports hadn’t said how outnumbered they had been.
“We were taken over by midday,” Durian said. “We barely had enough time to let the others escape before we all fled into the mountains. The assault was from Terratheist, and we plan to confront the king, but we will need your help.”
“I see . . .” Nathan looked up from the journal, having just reread a passage referring to the Senadonians’ Melkai. “So, both of you are callers then?”
They nodded, and Durian said, “Picked that up, did you?”
“What a combination. Senadonians, callers and warriors . . . the best of both worlds.” He turned his
attention to Tarros. “But I don’t understand. Surely, you were prepared for an invasion.”
“It didn’t matter. We could have had several fortified walls with moats a dozen yards deep surrounding the city and it wouldn’t have mattered. There were far too many of them.”
“B-but you’re Senadonians.”
Durian smirked. “I see our reputation precedes us, Master.”
Tarros nodded. “And has been blown out of proportion by our absence. Listen, we are here to follow the teachings of our predecessors. They wrote that the quickest way to defeat an enemy is to strike their heart. That is our aim.”
Destiny seemed to pull at the corners of Nathan’s lips.
“Why are you smiling?” Durian demanded, sounding suddenly agitated. “You don’t think we can do it?”
“I have received no news from Terratheist since this war began. Indeed, I having been waiting for a reason to travel there to see what in the Melkairen has happened for myself.” Nathan gestured at the two of them. “I was just thinking your timing couldn’t have been better, as we ride for Terratheist tonight.”
Durian’s eyes shot to Tarros, and the old Senadonian nodded.
Tarros flashed a grin. “Fortune smiles upon us.”
“On us both,” Nathan agreed. “You two are better than any soldiers we have here; you will be my escorts to Terratheist. We are going to be some damn aggressive messengers.” He punched the table in his determination and turned to see Aisic was also grinning. “The sun is setting, when will you two be ready to head out?”
They looked at each other and nodded. “Whenever you are.”
“Good. Let’s go now then!”
He got out of his chair and made his way to his chambers with Taiba following him. As he entered the wide suite with its four-poster bed, he returned his Melkai to the glove and gazed down at it. His sister’s glove was smooth against his hand. Lifting his travel pack, he rubbed his hands together. Touching the glove felt like he was touching Taiba’s fur wrapped around his whole hand. Finally ready for his journey, he swiftly made his way back through the corridors toward the courtyard.
War of Kings and Monsters Page 15
