Black Rim

by B A Fleming

  Trajunus nodded at this. It had been forward thinking on his part. Dispose of the sons and marry off the daughters to those who would serve his future.

  Chapter 16

  “I poisoned the whiskey. Which was easy enough. You were too lazy to get up to fetch it, so I had plenty of time to mix it in.“

  The man spat out frothing blood from his mouth as he tried to vomit.

  “That will ease the pain a bit, but it won‘t do you any good,“ his killer regailed him. “It was much easier for me when this band of cutthroats arrived. I didn‘t even need to convince them, just point them in the right direction. The man with the plan who can just sit back and watch his enemies kill each other.“

  Thargus stood two paces into the large reception room. An uncle of Trajunus sat upright, dead on a large sofa chair, foam dribbling slowly from his mouth. A small glass of whiskey sat on the table next to him.

  The recipe for the fermentation of this liquid had been handed down over generations, although only a small few in the Empire enjoyed the taste of the alcohol, preferring wine as the staple of the rich.

  The servant entered a minute later, and Thargus quickly called for her to raise Trajunus. His uncle had been killed. The most powerful merchant of Agrippa was now dead, and things were far worse in the court of Corone than he could have imagined.

  Thannon appeared a short time later, finding Trajunus sitting on a chair across from his dead uncle. Thargus stood near the window, half glancing out, half looking back at his Despotate.

  “Shit!” he commented. “How?”

  “Someone poisoned his whiskey,” Thargus half waved, half answered. He walked across and sat on the chair near Trajunus. Four servants arrived and Thargus directed them to remove the body. Another two carried the chair away to be destroyed, as was part of their tradition. A similar chair was placed in another part of the room a few minutes later. Thannon sat and looked across to his Salararius.

  “Seems our journey just became more difficult,” observed Thargus. Trajunus remained in silence. The warrior looked across to Trajunus, then Thannon, then back to Trajunus. “I’m thankful that your mother has been able to escape, for I believe we can assume that all of our allies are now dead.”

  *****

  The new day had brought renewed energy from both sides of the battle of Bhagshau. Lord Polan and King Daikin peered out the window of a high tower, assessing the devastation of the city. The southern and western parts had remained largely untouched by the battle, but the northern sector especially would need to be destroyed and completely rebuilt.

  Birger watched on from the walls as Canute violently hacked into his opponent. His injury had hardly slowed him down, cynically laughing as he killed the black clad men. He now loved the close quarters of the guerilla style urban battles, and often took the initiative.

  Two slashes, dodging, another stab, deflecting strikes and stepping with his solid weight, willing to elbow, kick and poke where openings presented themselves. Canute felt his wrist being grabbed by a Warang, their grip felt like an iron clasp. The movement of the soldier prevented him from directly slashing the sword back, so he used the back of the hilt and hit the mans’ arm with such a force that he dropped his blade. Canute quickly finished off his opponent.

  Halsten had joined his older brother as their two platoons moved towards each other through the streets. The younger Vasa royal parried a blow off to the side as he adeptly stepped out of the way of the main blow. His attacker was a brutish looking man with brown waving hair that hung down over his shoulders. He was particular unkept, with darker skin than the average Hardularian and a thickening beard, as if he hadn’t shaved in several weeks. The hair had become mattered with dried blood and dirt of the battle.

  Wudi had lead his men up through the side street towards the wall. The Warang had opened up a path and he took advantage of the gap in enemy soldiers to charge through.

  They were headed for the north-western gate, as it was the smallest of all of the city gates, and often used by the merchants, servants and garrison soldiers.

  They knew that the gate must be opened and looked at each other as they formed up an arrow shape, slowly advancing step by step towards their target. The two Vasa platoons now stood in their way. The seconds passed slowly, as Wudi knew that the quicker they were able to get to the gate, the more chance of success they would have. He could see the garrison soldiers above running across to prepare for the battle, others carrying vats of oil.

  The garrison soldiers looked organized and focused on their imminent resistance of the enemy, as Legati Caius stood amidst them yelling orders. Ocolan and his men snuck through the shadows several hundred yards away from the action, almost under the noses of the garrison soldiers above them, who hurried along the wall to give back up to the garrison.

  Wudi fought his way back from Canute and Halsten, almost pushing some of his men in front of him to take the challenge.

  He realized that they were royal blood by their attire and although he may have been able to take down one of them, the other would have surely taken his life.

  Less than ten minutes later, Ocolan ran along the top of the outer wall. He kicked the first three archers in the head as he passed them, knocking them down on the oncoming troops. The forth saw what was happening and took a shot at him. He barely sidestepped the shaft as it passed by his right shoulder. Wudi sounded a slow retreat and his men formed up, stepping backwards one strike at a time.

  Ocolan vaulted over the wall, only to be faced with a surprised guard. He executed an upper palm thrust and then drove his dagger down through the mans’ neck, killing him instantly. The other guardsman grunted in astonishment as a redirected stroke knocked him off balance and he stumbled to the side.

  Ocolan then struck at his wrist, the blade deftly slicing through his leather glove and severing the skin into the bone, dropping his sword as the door guardsman fell on his buttocks. Ocolan could see fear in his eyes, even in the darkness of the shadows, as he put his other hand up with a slight whimper.

  The Warang leader struck him before glimpsing down the stairs. An arrow shot through the darkness, taking out the second Warang in line. Ocolan sought to move down the stairs, but backed up into his small squad behind him. Although his vision within the darkness was limited, he quickly made out three sets of eyes upon him.

  Canute resurfaced from inside a dwelling where two Narthal laid dead, using a recently found war axe he had picked up from a Narthal warrior. With renewed enthusiasm, he sheathed his sword and charged at the enemy soldiers who had appeared around the corner. The axe swung as Canute grinned, the blade of his opponent passed his face as he struck across the back of the wrist, piecing the soldiers’ leather glove and opening the flesh. The man screamed, dropping his sword. In a backswing, Canute struck at the back of the soldiers’ neck, half turning to look for his next opponent as the blade connected with bone. He hobbled out into the alley.

  Crixus appeared next to Canute.

  “My liege, it is time for you to retreat. Your father wishes to ensure your safety for the future of your kingdom.”

  “My father is the King!,” replied Canute sternly.

  “That he is my lord, but it does not mean we will always be. We must …… prepare for all uncertainties. He asks for you to fight within the walls.”

  Canute was someone who could watch a man die as calmly as another could watch a man eat, but he needed to listen.

  “Step back please sire,” re-enforced Crixus.

  Ocolan saw that his men had caused a fair amount of damage, again taking out more than twice their number, but now they were being overwhelmed. He pulled them back, jumping over smaller sections of the wall onto rooves, or carts, directed to now support Manchur, who found himself with less than fifty men now caught fighting over a hundred Morean soldiers.

  Manchur sliced through the left leg of a Morean. The soldier collapsed, dread in his eyes as he knew what was to come. Manchur quickly dispatched the
warrior, who had put up a good contest. He looked across to his left, noticing Warang falling back from the battle. The Moreans that they had been opposing were now being re-enforced by another platoon that he saw turning towards his regiment.

  The space between the walls that they were attacking was thin and there was little movement for Manchur to retreat without losing many men. Two more attackers jumped towards Manchur as he side kicked one, allowing himself to work on the other whilst the first recovered from the strike.

  Crixus recognized Manchur. He had watched the royal lead his men into a small skirmish several times before in the pass. Crixus leapt forward to engage him, slashing across. Manchur been focused on the Morean in front of him and hadn’t noticed Crixus enter the fray only moments before he was struck on the left arm. He screamed as he turned to counter. Crixus looked at him and smiled.

  “Royal carnage!” he grinned and smirked as he sought to strike again. “Narthal dog!”

  Manchur rolled out of the way of the second strike the way his father had taught him, even though at the time his father had thought he had not listened. Rolling to land on his feet again, sliding a strike of his own into the Salararius right side. Crixus, more powerful and larger than the Narthal, expelled air as the strike hit, turning slightly as the blade dug through part of his flesh and part armor, near the bone.

  He countered, striking down at the young warrior, who defended with his right arm and blade. He had been weakened by the loss of the use of his left arm, but could still defend himself. Manchur used his footwork to sidestep two more quick swipes, which seemed more for show and measuring the distance than to actually cause harm. Manchur now slowed the pace of the dual.

  The Salararius jumped forward, looking to catch him off balance, the ruse partially worked as Manchur stepped to his right slicing at the warriors’ shoulder moments after the blade had barely missed his chest. The strike obvious weakened Crixus sword arm, who stepped slightly back. Manchur leapt forward to strike. Crixus lowered his sword, then quickly lifted it, like a stake Manchur landed heavily upon it, the blade half a foot through his armor, upward into his stomach. Manchur dropped his blade as his right arm dropped to his side. The Salararius smiled, not noticing the hand blade that had shot up under his neck, entering his head under his jaw, below his right ear. Both sagged, almost in unison.

  Soze ducked behind a door as an arrow lodged into the wooden framework. Several of the Caitawalaan soldiers near him on the wall had fallen to a group of five Warang who had attacked from another direction when their commander retreated. The Warang soldiers ducked across the alleyway to secure a better position. Soze sized them up and then took a second glance.

  “Those little shits!” he murmured to himself under his breath. He signaled across to Gameard, pointing out the Warang that stealthy hid between shadows. Soze then pointed at the closest Warang’s lower right leg that was exposed in the half darkness. Gameard fired, and the warrior fell, wailing in pain.

  Within a few minutes Gameard had brought down two of the other Warang and the other two fled further along the street. Soze and Gameard stood over their detainee, who had crawled his way back into the shadows.

  “Should I just wring your neck now you little bastard?” yelled Soze, as they turned away from him and both jogged into another side street, along with the group of troops that had followed them.

  Another squad of remaining Vasa soldiers slowly made their way in through the keep gates. Ten royal guards oversaw who entered, checking each person’s eyes as they approached. The Narthal had historically dark colored eyes and it was an easy method to quickly check the heritage of all those who entered. Both the Morean and Hardular kingdoms did have some dark eyed people, but their populations mostly were more lighter colored, blues and green eyed.

  Nathe led a platoon of Caitawalaan soldiers, with Dwane bringing through a smaller squad of Anil soldiers.

  The Catheridge knights had the smallest proportion of soldiers compared to experienced fighters, so several of the more senior swordsmen had been shared with the battalions of the other duchies. Nathe and Dwane now led a double strategy attack on several Narthal positions to the east of the castle. Nathes’ men were steadfast in lowly pushing back Narthal via a solid, though calculated move along four streets at a time, with Dwane’s smaller teams cleaning up the enemy soldiers that tried to flank them.

  Casperi, Aryz Coun and Thais appeared upon the wall of the Morean garrison. Even with the seemingly unflustered Legati Caius in charge, it had been a weak point the previous day and their friendly allies were relieved to see the company of the famous princess.

  She held her bow next to her leg, searching the streets and invading soldiers. Casperi and Aryz Coun noticed another group looking to breach the wall almost a hundred feet along. A group of Narthal archers peppered the wall as Thais and her Morean peers fired back. Another Narthal squad charged the wall where Casperi was.

  Casperi froze. Something in the air had changed and he instantly sensed it. He had a wisdom for the variation in the moment. Something was not right, or at least different enough from seconds before that the air had disturbed enough for him to shift his weight uncomfortably, crouch slightly, and mentally prepare for any unforeseen assailant.

  The attack came a few moments later, from his back and to the right.

  This was an experienced fighter, picking the hardest corner of his body to defend, he felt the man move towards him before the blow was within a second of him, stepping forward and spinning to block with his sword as the first strike came down hard on where his shoulder had been.

  Many others would not have been so lucky, and would have been struck down, none the wiser of their attacker and dead before the blade had even cut halfway through their bone. Casperi had experienced the same move from Canute during the Summer Games a few months before.

  The Narthal obviously had an elite group of warriors, and some of which could turn a blade or two. There weren’t many moves that Casperi didn’t recognize from the whole valley as the elite fighters were scattered and few. None of these men bore any resemblance to anyone known to him, although after a few days of battle he now recognized the preferred styles of fighting by these intruders as they poured over the wall again.

  Casperi stood, breathing heavily as a group of Moreans came forward to fight between him and the Narthal.

  The soldiers of both sides were evenly matched, except one, who deftly stepped, ducked and struck, dispatching more than a handful of soldiers in less than a few minutes.

  Casperi had rested for those minutes and approached the fight where the best warrior seemed ready to overcome yet another foe. Casperi stepped in. Blocking both men as he slightly signaled the Morean to step aside.

  Casperi blocked the Narthal warriors’ first slice, turning his blade slightly to jackknife the strike. The soldier stepped back, adjusting the power of his assault to reduce the uneasiness. He parried against Casperi, circling his next strike to strike from the left.

  The princes’ training from the Imuhagh kicked in and he skip stepped across to turn and block the strike, undercutting his rebut with a cut of the attackers’ left knee. The man collapsed and Casperi struck his right arm as he fell in front of him. The warrior half swiped as Casperi sliced across his face, before swinging his blade back and plunging it into the Narthal warriors’ torso.

  Casperi felt the end of the blade descend through muscle and rebound off the bone. It had pieced the rib cage and sliced into the internal organs.

  The mans’ eyes rolled back as he entered shock. His arms weakened and his sword dropped loosely to his side.

  “Commander Basan!” called one of his colleagues, before that soldier was taken down as well.

  Thais had made her way around to the western side of the Morean garrison where Birger was relieving one of the captains as they both were working with several of the soldiers to take out attackers. She could hear the yells from back where Casperi was and with a nod from the younger
royal, turned to go back towards her brother. She rounded the corner to see a gargoyle flying in to pick up a soldier, throwing him against a wall. He fell lifelessly to the ground.

  She ducked back behind the wall momentarily before pulling an arrow from her back and quickly drawing her bow. She stepped out into the clearing and fired a black rim arrow as the gargoyle hovered above three more soldiers. The arrow sailed through the air, a faint blue trail behind it. The gargoyle shattered into hundreds of pieces upon impact, as the men were showered in small nuggets of stone.

  She ran across to the wall, looking at the invading soldiers climbing ladders. Thais screamed out, leveling her hand out. An orange flame exploded and all of the ladders around her, and the men upon them, disintegrated. Many of the soldiers at the base of the wall collapsed.

  Their captain looked up at her. He yelled out to the archers and they turned their arrows towards her. Thais opened her hand again as half of them fired arrows into their shoes and the other half dropped their bows to the ground. Her surrounding soldiers had regrouped and recommenced firing on the advancing soldiers as a small shower of rain washed across the city.

  A gargoyle landed on top of two soldiers, crushing their bones with its weight before removing the head of one with one strike and shoving its hand through the skull of the other.

  Casperi ran at it as it snarled at him. He leapt up in the air, lifting his blade up and behind his head in a move he had practiced many times, but only used once beyond the arena. He brought his blade down on the gargoyle as it raised its stone arm up to block, the Black Rim shattering the limb and then through the neck, and torso.

  The rest of its body disintegrated with the strike. A cloud of rubble and dust quickly settling upon the ground.

  Casperi turned, looking around for another. He spied it along the wall, crushing soldiers that tried to defend themselves. He ran across, ignoring one Narthal warrior who charged towards him, Casperi casually clashing swords as he ran past. A nearby Hardular soldier jumped in to continue the scuffle. Casperi tuned the corner, slicing at the creature, it’s back turned to him. The wings and back disintegrating with the touch of the sword.