Black Rim

by B A Fleming

  He turned to look around. The Narthal soldier had followed and now jumped at him. He sliced again. The blade carving through his assailants’ arm. The man screamed as he fell to his knees, Aryz Coun, who had dispatched other nearby attackers, cut his head off as he landed.

  The other soldiers caught on as Thais and Casperi worked along the walls destroying the remaining gargoyles. Several men had sacrificed themselves as they kept the stone creatures busy for enough time whilst the young Catheridge warriors made their way along. Archers followed them, providing cover as they moved along the wall.

  As sections of the streets had been cleared, Gameard’s men had been busy within the walls. The remaining barrels of old oil had been rolled out and set inconspicuously amongst the unused merchants wagons and bags of wheat which had been saved from the fires. Vuvic set four of his archers in position, with two archers assigned to each barrel in case one fell.

  As the sun began to set a large wave of enemy soldiers charged and broke through the eastern gates. Their cavalry rode in. Vuvic called a pause, his soldiers firing on the horsemen as they awaited their orders to use the barrels, which had dried once again during the past few hours. Ten minutes of battle passed, as men fell on both sides, and then the Narthal foot soldiers finally entered the gates. After they were allowed to file in for ten seconds then Vuvic gave the order for his archers to fire.

  The fire oil exploded. The eruption was far greater than any had expected and the sound thundered through the castle. Shards of wood and balls of fire pierced the armor of the enemy soldiers as they screamed in pain.

  Many of the remaining enemy horses reared up, trampling fellow soldiers in fear, trying to escape the fires and noise as their riders struggled to control them.

  Ocolan followed the soldiers, who lead him through the battle. Of the five that sort to escort him, two had fallen to arrows by the time they had reached the body of Manchur. The Narthal solders lifted the fallen royal upon their shoulders. Ocolan raised his hand toward the wall where Vasa soldiers were firing upon them. Hacon called a halt to his men’s’ attack as the Narthal retreated from this section of the battle. Ocolan tipped his head slightly to the Prince for the act of the gallantry. The Vasa soldiers stood guard and watched as Ocolan led almost two hundred men away into the streets. A general retreat was called through the battle and within the hour all fighting had ceased.

  Chapter 17

  Ocolan stood in front of the remaining captains and commanders. Although not of royal blood, he had earnt the respect of the troops through his skills, and length of service.

  “Why did we stop? We had the advantage!” yelled Dralan as he limped into the tent, his head heavily bandaged with his whole right eye now removed.

  “This was not my battle Dralan, it was yours. Your brother is now dead and I choose to fight the Hardular no longer. Your revenge against these people is not mine. My mission is to take Morea, and that is what I plan to do.”

  Dralan struggled to stand. His injuries had weakened him immensely. He hissed at Ocolan although the soldier knew that the dragon warrior was in no shape to retaliate.

  “Go home Dralan. Take your brother with you and the other wounded, then join us in Morea when you have sufficiently recovered,” Ocolan had already commenced the plan to remove them from the Bhagshau battle even before Dralan had entered the room.

  The dragon warrior sneered at him, turning to leave. His head ached from the large wound and as much as he disliked it, Ocolan was correct. Their invasion had failed and Thais had struck against him. He would need to be more careful next time he faced her. Dralan stormed across the camp grounds.

  “Prepare the wounded!” he yelled as he entered his tent.

  The Bhagshau garrison riders spoke quietly to each other, as if sensing the danger. A third laughed, confounded by their constant distress. They had been sent through the swamp to relieve the small guard in the nearby township. An arrow pierced his back and the two that had been talking spurred on their mounts with nothing but a slight glance between them. The horses snorted with alarm as they raced along the stoney path, although both died less than twenty seconds later.

  The road was wide enough to accommodate two riders side by side, but not much more. Ocolans’ troops had carefully made their way up behind the three guards through the low swamp trees. They had increased in size towards the range wall, where the ground had dried out.

  The Narthal scouts gave the signal and a few minutes later they were joined by over two hundred remaining Warang troops, led by the great warrior. Ocolan and several of his captains viewed the scene. Within fifteen minutes ride they would arrive at Turmoil, the small town of merchants. He ordered his men to leave the townspeople alone, only to defend themselves if needed. The moved forward.

  As Ocolans’ troops passed through the village, several Morean soldiers jumped forward to attack them and were easily dispatched. Some of his Warang held out silver and bronze coins, pointing to various sacks of wine, bread, and berries, which caused another frenzy, this time in trade as other merchants realized the opportunity and ran forward holding their goods up to the passing customers.

  An hour later the Narthal soldiers’ setup a small camp above the small township and to the side of the trail.

  Ocolan sent four men back across the swamp before dark and another eight up the hill to scout their options.

  Wudi and Eji led their various battalions across the back roads of the swamp. They had lost over a third of their original troops. Dralan had watched them leave, now on horseback, leading the remaining five hundred or so injured Narthal soldiers in a procession towards the tunnel and home.

  He rode unemotionally, a small contingent of partially wounded soldiers directing the caravan, reporting back to Dralan, who barked the occasional order to them, otherwise lost in his own thoughts as he closed in on the tunnel. By the end of the day they had setup camp in the entrance, thousands of feet of stone expanding above them.

  Dralan sat near a fire setup for him on a slightly higher rise against the wall. He stared out across the valley towards Bhagshau, as the sky darkened, thick clouds rolled across the sky from the west. He tried to transport himself to the statue in Kogu, but his injuries limited his magical powers. After a small meal he fell quickly asleep, still struggling with the pain.

  *****

  King Daikin surveyed the scene, Thais stood next him along with Lord Polan, Canute, Casperi, Halsten and Hacon. Legati Caius had been called to join them. Commander Vuvic, Frin, Nathe and Birger lay in the wards in various states of injury.

  “It seems that our invaders seek the Morea,” offered Daikin to Legati Caius, turning to look at him.

  “I believe your summation to be correct, sire,” replied Legati Caius with a glum stare.

  “Being the most senior of the remaining Moreans, what would you like us to do?”

  “Sire. This is your kingdom.”

  “As a soldier, Legati Caius, what would you do?”

  “Act in the best interest of your kingdom, sire. Morea continues to possess the resources to defend itself.”

  They all stood watching the Narthal in the distance, making their way up the Bhagshau road to the Hardular Pass.

  Gameard spoke with Thais and Casperi a short time later.

  “Two birds were released this morning, my lady,” commented Gameard. “One of my men has been shadowing some of our Moreans here in Bhagshau.”

  “Where did the birds go?” asked Casperi.

  “Vasa, my Lord. I believe someone was awaiting a message there.”

  “Do you think it meant something then Gameard?”

  “These were the men that were involved in the illicit trade, my Lady. I would not be surprised if something else was afoot.”

  The houses and streets to the north of Bhagshau castle were filled with tired soldiers, wheeling carts through them, door to door, loading bodies of the two armies onto separate carts. The Narthal soldiers would be buried near the tunnel that scou
ts had since discovered, the Hardular and Moreans in a new cemetery, specially allocated during the past few hours.

  The fires had now all been doused by the thick rain that had begun to fall, and the acrid smell of burnt flesh filled the air. Just as many men vomited as those who did not as they made their rounds.

  Most of the northern quarter and part of the eastern streets smoldered from the remnants of fires.

  Over thirteen blocks by five wide would need to be completely torn down and rebuilt. Other soldiers carted water, washing down the streets as best they could where the rain had failed to clean away the debris, picking up weapons to be returned to the royal armory. It would be two days before the King would allow the remaining residents to return to their homes.

  Most of the Morean troops had returned to the garrison, cleaning out bodies and blood, as was the case in parts of the castle. The first boats headed out across the Great Lake, piled with tired troops and those of the injured that could travel. Apart from a doubling of the guard, the streets and castle fell silent early into the evening as most sought to catch up on the sleep that they had lost during the past week.

  Upon the decree of King Daikin, several solders were awarded the status of Riddar, knight of the Realm. The King looked forward to awarding the honor to the list of soldiers chosen.

  If a barony was to become unguarded, the lands themselves would be awarded to a Riddar. Nathe, Soze, Gameard, Curran, Edgar, Frin, Vuvic and several others were all to be bestowed this honor. One step lower than a Prince or Duke, they were considered royalty and a member of the court of their residence.

  *****

  Vasa Castle was in chaos. The few remaining guards searched the castle, room by room. The Princess Lapse had not appeared for breakfast, which was not unusual, as she was known to be somewhat reclusive, but to not be seen all day drew concern from her mother and her handmaidens.

  If Lapse had left the castle for any reason, she would have informed someone. The Queen sat in the main dining room, a central location, as the various search parties regularly reported back to her as she systematically managed the process.

  Tethys and Cheinjus removed their helmets. They had formed in as two of the relieving guard at the Hardular Pass.

  Tied up in the back of their wagon, Princess Lapse tired from struggling, slept soundly. The two Salararius kept moving, along with two other guards. They made their way along the Pass road towards Waterfall. Their plan was to move as quickly as possible so as to catchup with the others of the Brotherhood of the Sword.

  *****

  The Salararius sat around the table.

  “I fear that the Brotherhood of the Sword has lost its allegiance,” suggested Thannon.

  “I think that you are correct. Zador cannot be trusted.”

  “Neither can Crixus and possibly Botan. We need to measure our loyalties, both those of our countrymen and the Hardular.”

  “Which is why I left Crixus in the valley. He cannot serve me here. For Botan, he had been ready to leave for some time. He just needed the right push. The Hardular, surprisingly, seem even more loyal to a fault than our own.”

  Thannon stood up to leave. His old friend knew that they had put their own lives in jeopardy by the decisions they had made.

  They both agreed that Trajunus had been fortunate until now, but they would need an alternate story to not draw attention to themselves, or to their Despotate.

  *****

  Grechous approached the new Morean Commander of Armies, Mimas.

  “They will be on their way soon.”

  “That, they will.”

  “Send the couriers to pass on the message. If all has played out as planned we must be prepared for the young Prince to follow our Despotate.”

  “Will your troops be ready?”

  “For two children? I met this young warrior once. He is a good swordsman, no doubt, but he is not unbeatable. No one is unbeatable.”

  “I have no interest in fighting. I will protect your interest within the battles of intellect.”

  “Then we still have use for each other.”

  Chapter 18

  Chacha entered the throne room as Emperor Koguryo sat, vacantly staring out the darkened windows. The shadows of the candles covered anything of view.

  “You called my lord?” asked Chacha. Koguryo waved the servants away. Chacha turned to watch them leave as Koguryo observed them as well.

  “I have some grave news to share with you, old friend,” spoke the Emperor as the doors heavily closed. He was known to deliver his messages directly, often to the shock of those who stood in front of him. Chacha nodded uncomfortably, having been in attendance more than any other in audience with Emperor Koguryo.

  “Our son, Manchur, has passed.”

  Chacha nodded and dropped to his knees, weeping. Only these two men and Koguryo’s first wife had known that both Manchur and Shigeru were sired by the advisor.

  Chacha had been one of the few who had known Koguryo to be the Blue Dragon, Zenath, and kept this trusted secret to all others.

  The Emperor had expressed concern to him and his first wife at the potential of their children inheriting the powers of a dragon. Koguryo felt that this could taint their rule and corrupt their right to power.

  He loved his first wife. She had been his first concubine when he had arrived in court. He had asked her to make the sacrifice of sleeping in the bed of his advisor in order to produce an heir. The birth of Shigeru had caused her death amidst his birth, and Koguryo mourned her for two summers.

  Koguryo rose from his throne and walked down the stairs, crouching to hug his friend from the side, the man falling slightly into his embrace whilst crying. After more than five minutes, Chacha started to pull himself together. Koguryo rose, turning to walk back up to the throne. He sat down again and considered his advisor.

  Koguryo sighed deeply as Chacha still sat upon the floor, wiping his face, slightly looking up to his Emperor on occasion as he continued to compose himself. Manchur had been a son to both men and both had watched over him as he grew. Chacha had supported his Emperor as the named father, although the care for his children did not dwindle in comparison to his acknowledgement in their raising. As the role of an Emperor, it turned out that Koguryo actually had far less involvement in the raising of their two boys than Chacha, who was able to wander off to their abode when he wanted, more often than not.

  When the Emperors’ first wife passed away, Chacha took over in directing the raising of the young boys.

  Koguryo had left the palace for more than three months, two days after his wife had been buried. Chacha took control, organizing everyone, from the castle servants, the carers for his children, to the royal court and the army.

  “How did he die?” asked Chacha, slowly standing.

  “He was struck down by a warrior in battle with the Moreans. He died leading his men.”

  Chacha shook his head solemnly.

  *****

  “If we hit them quickly, we can halve their numbers and give ourselves a chance,” the newly appointed Warang commander indicated.

  “We’ll need to station at least two men over that side though, to cover any that jump on their horses and try to ride get away.”

  Ocolan considered the soldiers’ observations. He had trained the young man and the past five minutes had solidified his decision to promote him. They carefully climbed around the rough pass. A small amount of rain had fallen in the past few hours making it more slippery and treacherous than would normally be expected. The lookout was a perfect little canyon between three large diagonals of stone, with the seven Warang staring down the bridge and road in their respective direction. The body language of the Morean guards didn’t give a hint of looking above or around them.

  Ocolan now sat on an outcropping, behind a small boulder, around fifteen feet above one of his soldiers that was keeping watch.

  Although he was in the perfect position to take out several of the Moreans that marked the Gr
eat Turmoil bridge, that was not his job, so he crouched, watched and waited.

  The rain sodden sentry on the Bhagshau side of the bridge spun to walk back in the direction he had come from. He was on his half hourly march. He turned, and before he could take another step his neck snapped. He fell to the ground, and the figure that had been hidden in the shadows moved forward. Higher up, another assassin quickly made his way along the landing, taking down three more guards as he passed through the tower and down the stairs. He stopped for a few minutes, within the darkness of the lowest level.

  A forward regiment of Warang hung against the shadows of the cliff face just off the Great Turmoil bridge. It thundered below them, giving the advantage. The sound of the water had removed the effective use of that sense in defending the Hardular Pass.

  Within minutes the signal had been given and black clad warriors were streaming over the bridge and a skirmish commenced. A few minutes later, Morean soldiers flooded out of their garrison stations into the Pass road.

  Chaos broke out as four of the enemy were struck down with arrows. Some of the Moreans raced to where their weapons laid. Most were taken out before they had time to defend themselves. Ocolan watched as two guards ran straight for the horses as the trouble erupted. They sped past several of their comrades that were heading into the battle, and before the Warang had time to act, they were gone.

  The young Warang commander grunted as he was hit from above by a large stone, landing heavily against the rock wall. Although dazed, the man slashed out with a dagger drawn from his left boot, but it was in vain.