The Rise of Aredor

by Claire M Banschbach

  * * *

  “Our losses were few. By my reckoning, Numair has his full force out on the plain,” Ismail told his father.

  Lord Jamal voiced his agreement. “He looks to have the same numbers as we do. He probably wants to keep the battle away from his castle.”

  Lord Rishdah stroked his chin thoughtfully. Hamíd shifted restlessly in his place by the tent entrance. Darkness was falling and there was still no sign of Emeth. Lord Rishdah turned to his captains.

  “Prepare the army to fight tomorrow. I think this will be the final battle,” he said.

  As soon as he was off duty, Hamíd went to find Azrahil. They met outside the Guards’ tent.

  “Still nothing. I talked to a few soldiers. One said he saw Emeth go down.” Azrahil held up his hand forestalling Hamíd. “I don’t know if he’s alive or not.”

  “Well, sir, it seems there’s only one way to find out,” Hamíd said.

  “Requesting permission to go along, sir.” Ahmed stepped up beside Hamíd.

  Azrahil gave a grim smile. “All right. Be back by dawn, with or without him.”

  Hamíd and Ahmed saluted as Azrahil strode off.

  “Ahmed, I feel like an idiot. I should’ve realized he was missing sooner,” Hamíd said.

  “Instead of agreeing with you and making you feel worse, let’s get going. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover by dawn,” Ahmed said.

  * * *

  Emeth came awake slowly. He tried moving his hands, but they were tightly bound behind his back. He lifted his head with an effort and took stock of his position. He was sitting in a richly decorated tent tied to the tent pole. His weapons had been taken from him and, on top of everything, his head ached horribly.

  “Lovely. Just lovely,” he muttered to himself.

  The tent flap swirled aside, and two men swept in. Emeth sized them up as they stood in front of him. One was obviously a Calorin, the other was tall and powerfully built with the black skin of the Argusians.

  “I am Lord Numair,” the Calorin said. “Since you were careless enough to get captured, you will tell me of Rishdah’s plans, his forces, everything.”

  “Not likely.” Emeth laughed.

  “I think you will come around soon,” Numair said. He gave a nod to the Argusian who dealt a punishing blow across Emeth’s face.

  “I know you are of the Phoenix Guard, so you have access to Rishdah’s plans. Tell me what I want to know,” Numair said.

  “What makes you think I would tell you anything?” Emeth spat out blood. “You’ve tried to kill my master and his family several times. That doesn’t exactly make you my friend.”

  “Why do you serve him? You aren’t even a Calorin. You are a northerner, a barbarian from the north.”

  “You almost got me there, except for the barbarian part.” Emeth twisted his bleeding mouth into a smirk.

  Numair’s lips tightened. “Why don’t you leave you pathetic master? Surely you could be someone important in your homeland?”

  “Full of questions tonight, aren’t we?” Emeth was rewarded with a series of brutal blows from the Argusian.

  Numair crouched in front of him. “I will give you a few minutes to decide whether or not to help me. Believe me, I can make your death long and slow.” With that, he stood and walked out of the tent. With a last kick at Emeth, the Argusian followed.

  As soon as he was sure he was alone, Emeth went to work. Maneuvering himself up on to his knees, he moved his right leg to where his bound hands could reach inside his boot. His arms and shoulders protested at the movement, but gritting his teeth, he continued, moving his hands along the inside of the boot until they found the handle of a small dagger that had escaped notice. Slowly, carefully, he withdrew it and sat back down. Twisting the dagger, he set its edge against the ropes. The keen blade sliced through his bonds, and he was free.

  Standing, he wiped blood from his face and considered his next move. His swords were not in the pile with the rest of his weapons. Slipping the small knife into his vambrace, he took his daggers and thrust them into his belt. Picking up his black cloak, he threw it over his shoulders, drew the hood over his head, and slipped out of the tent. Keeping away from the torchlight in the shadows, he moved slowly away until an outcry rose behind him. Numair had discovered his escape. Shouts rose around him; orders were given, and the hunt was on!

  He moved quietly out of the shadow of the tent and behind a supply wagon as a patrol hurried by. A lone soldier walked by and Emeth gave a low whistle. The soldier came to investigate the noise. When he got close enough, Emeth grabbed him and hit the soldier’s head hard against the wagon, sending the man crumbling to the ground under the force of the blow.

  Emeth quickly donned the soldier’s helmet and thrust the scimitar into his belt. Picking up the spear, he moved out cautiously. Keeping out of the torchlight as much as possible, he walked toward the camp boundaries. Passing groups of soldiers paid him no heed. He could see the camp edge and sighed in relief. Too late. He came face-to-face with a soldier. Caught in the full glare of the torches, the man could see his face through the openings in the helmet.

  “You’re not one of us!” he cried.

  Emeth swung the spear, felling the soldier and ran as Numair’s men gave chase. Another soldier stepped into his path. Ripping off the helmet, Emeth brought it crashing down over the soldier’s head, clearing his path. A group of soldiers closed in on his left. He dodged right to avoid them only to see another squad coming from that direction. Putting on a burst of speed, he ran straight for the camp boundary only to be confronted by a tall barrier. He turned to see himself surrounded.

  He placed his back against the wooden barrier and readied the spear. Captains urged their men forward to try and recapture him. Emeth fought with devastating efficiency, but he knew he couldn’t fight forever. A sword raked his arm, causing blood to flow. A spear cut his leg, and still he fought on. He lost the spear, but battered on with the scimitar. A spear haft hit him hard against the ribs, knocking the breath from his lungs. He staggered and was brought down by more soldiers. They pinned him down as Numair stood over him.

  “Bind his wounds and make sure he is securely restrained and guarded. I want him alive for now.”

  * * *

  Hamíd and Ahmed returned an hour before dawn.

  “Any sign of him?” Lord Rishdah asked.

  Ahmed shook his head. “Nothing, sir. All we found were these.”

  Hamíd placed Emeth’s swords on the low table in front of Lord Rishdah. Azrahil looked at the two young men who were clearly worried about Emeth.

  “Well, he might be alive yet. Probably bothering Numair in some way or another,” he said. Everyone smiled at the rather apt description.

  “Hamíd, hold on to those swords for now. You two are dismissed,” Lord Rishdah said.

  Hamíd and Ahmed saluted and left the tent.

  “You believe what you said?” Lord Rishdah asked Azrahil.

  “I hope it’s true,” Azrahil replied.

  “If it’s not, those two will take on Numair’s entire army to avenge him,” Nicar observed.

  “That’s what I’m afraid of,” Lord Rishdah said. “Numair will have much to answer for in a few hours.”

  Chapter 15

  At midmorning, the armies met out on the open plains. Ahmed first saw the small group advancing toward them bearing a white flag. Lord Rishdah signaled to his guards as he and Lord Jamal went forward to meet Numair.

  “Hello, brother, at last we meet again,” Numair said smoothly.

  “What do you want, Numair?” Lord Rishdah asked bluntly.

  “I think you know very well what I want,” Numair said. “I was always second to you, and now I’m tired of it. I want power and position, and you will give it to me.”

  Lord Rishdah scowled. “You know very well I will never give you anything now.”

  “Yes, but I have something that might change your mind.” Numair signaled to his soldiers. Two men came
forward holding Emeth between them. A severe look from Azrahil kept Hamíd and Ahmed in check.

  Numair surveyed the emotionless faces of Lord Rishdah and his men. “Oh, come now. I know he means something to you. You always cared too much about your precious Guard. Surely you wouldn’t want to see a son and one of your guards dead out of all this, Rishdah?”

  “No, you are right. What terms do you bring?” Lord Rishdah asked.

  Emeth stood quietly by during the exchange, working away at his bonds. Soon he was rewarded by a faint loosening in the ropes. It was just enough for him to twist a hand to fish out the small knife still hidden in his vambrace. Looking to either side, he checked to make sure his guards hadn’t noticed anything. They weren’t paying any attention to him. He sawed frantically away at the ropes when he heard Lord Rishdah ask for Numair’s terms.

  “Half your lands and herds, a place in the Sultaan’s council, as well as tribute from any who followed you.” Numair looked pointedly at Jamal who shifted angrily and laid a hand on his scimitar hilt.

  Lord Rishdah raised a hand to forestall any objections from Jamal. “Many demands for just one prisoner. And if I refuse?”

  Numair signaled again, and Emeth found himself with a knife to his throat. “He will die as will you and your whole army.”

  Emeth pulled his hands apart, and the ropes parted with a snap. Moving quickly, he knocked the blade from his throat and drove his elbow into the surprised guard’s stomach. As the soldier stumbled, Emeth grabbed the scimitar from the guard’s belt. There was a rattle as swords were drawn, and the Phoenix Guards stood ready.

  “Hate to break up the party, sir, but it looks like we should get moving,” Emeth said to Lord Rishdah as Numair and his guards fled toward his oncoming army.

  “Azrahil, give the signal,” Lord Rishdah ordered.

  The captain turned and waved his scimitar in a great flashing arc. From the front of the army, Ismail saw it and ordered the cavalry to charge. Two hundred men and horses flew toward the advancing foe. As the cavalry passed around them, Emeth took hold of the scimitar in his left hand and stabilized his wounded arm by pushing it into his cross belts.

  “You know how to use that thing?” Ahmed asked him jokingly.

  “It’ll have to do, I suppose. Don’t know how you use the great clumsy things.” Emeth replied in the same light tone.

  The remainder of the army had come up behind them. Flanked by his guards, Lord Rishdah led the three hundred foot soldiers into the fray.

  Ismail and his soldiers had cut deep into Numair’s lines, but now they were facing superior numbers, and only the arrival of Lord Rishdah and his soldiers saved them from being cut to pieces.

  Hamíd mounted a stray horse and joined Ismail at the center of the battlefield. Ismail gathered a small group of horsemen around him, and joined by Hamíd, they charged again and again, cutting through the packed ranks of the enemy. Close by Hamíd, Karif swooped down from the sky, clawing at the enemy. Emeth and Ahmed stood back to back, wreaking havoc with their flashing blades. A short distance off, Nicar and Azrahil fought beside Lord Rishdah.

  As the battle raged on, Emeth stumbled more than once, his rough treatment the night before telling on his body. In a brief lull around them he saw Azrahil surrounded by three of Numair’s men. He and Ahmed ran to help.

  As Azrahil fought off the men, a fourth crept behind him and raised his sword. In desperation, Emeth threw the scimitar like a spear. The man looked down in surprise at the sword piercing his stomach and fell. Ahmed helped the captain fight off the remaining soldiers as Emeth, now weaponless, found himself confronted by the Argusian.

  He dodged as the Argusian’s sword flashed toward him. Again and again he moved. Hampered by his wounded arm, Emeth knew he was helpless. With a savage grin, the Argusian moved in for the kill. Readying himself, Emeth ducked the blade again then lashed out strongly with his left arm, hitting the Argusian’s forearm, and causing him to drop the sword.

  The Argusian retaliated by punching his wounded arm. As Emeth staggered back, the Argusian drew his dagger and stabbed. Emeth cried out as the blade bit deep into his shoulder, and he fell. The Argusian’s smile of triumph died with him as Ahmed thrust a spear through him.

  * * *

  Hamíd and Ismail reigned in their horses, watching what was left of Numair’s army retreat. Both sides had suffered heavy losses. Less than half of their cavalry remained; stray horses roamed the battlefield as the survivors regrouped. Karif swooped down to land on Hamíd’s shoulder as they picked their way over to where Lord Rishdah stood. They found him leaning heavily on Lord Jamal as Nicar bandaged a wound on his leg. They both dismounted, and Ismail reported his losses.

  “But it seems we are victorious after all,” he said.

  “Aye, son. Numair will trouble us no more.” Lord Rishdah gestured at the crumpled body of his half-brother lying nearby. “Your brother is avenged.”

  Ahmed came running up. “Pardon, my lord! Nicar, we need you quick!” He gasped for breath.

  At a nod from Lord Rishdah, Nicar and Ahmed hurried off. Hamíd led the horses as Lord Jamal followed, still supporting Lord Rishdah.

  Azrahil held Emeth up in a sitting position. Emeth pressed a bloody hand against his shoulder as Nicar searched for something with which to bandage it.

  “Hold on, Emeth. Stay awake,” Azrahil said as he listened to Emeth’s ragged breathing.

  He managed a small nod, eyes flickering as he tried to obey the order. Lord Rishdah and the others watched in silent concern as Nicar placed a rough bandage on Emeth’s shoulder. Grey-faced and half conscious, Emeth still man-aged a crooked smile when he saw Hamíd.

  “With your permission, my lord, I’d like to get him back to camp and properly taken care of,” Nicar said.

  “Ahmed can go with you,” Lord Rishdah said.

  Spare horses were brought up as Hamíd helped Emeth to stand. Hamíd held him firmly as he swayed and almost fell.

  “I’ll be fine, don’t worry,” Emeth said in Rhyddan in response to the worry Hamíd couldn’t keep from his face. Hamíd helped him mount and then handed the reins to Ahmed as they rode back to camp.

  Hours later, Azrahil and Hamíd prepared to leave the battlefield. Lord Rishdah had left some time earlier since his wound was troubling him. Ismail and Lord Jamal had remained, directing the clearing of the battlefield. The dead were buried, weapons collected, and wounded were taken back to camp in wagons.

  Azrahil passed him a waterskin, and he drank gratefully, the warm liquid washing the ache from his throat. He was exhausted, as was everyone else. The battle and its aftermath had taken its toll on the survivors. A soldier led up horses for them. Murmuring their thanks, Azrahil and Hamíd mounted and fell in place behind Lord Jamal and Ismail.

  Back at the camp, Hamíd unbuckled his weapons, shrugged off his mail coat, and tumbled on to his cot, falling immediately into a deep slumber. He was awakened shortly before dawn. He opened his eyes to see Karif perched on the edge of the cot, fixing him with solemn golden eyes.

  The hawk butted him gently on the chin again and flew off. He landed over by Emeth and cocked his head as he looked again at Hamíd. He rose and quietly moved past the sleeping forms of Azrahil and Ahmed. As he came up to Emeth’s cot, Hamíd saw he was awake.

  “How are you feeling?” Hamíd asked in their tongue.

  “Not so good,” Emeth admitted. His right shoulder and arm had been firmly bandaged and large bruises scattered across his chest and face.

  Hamíd took down the waterskin hanging nearby as Emeth half levered himself up on his left arm. As Hamíd helped him drink, he noticed strange markings on Emeth’s left arm.

  “These your clan markings?” Hamíd asked.

  “Aye, every member of the clan has the same sign on their left forearm,” Emeth said. Outlined in intricate knot-work was a four pointed star with a circle in the middle. Inscribed within the circle was a C. “It stands for Clan Canich.”

  Hamíd looke
d again at the tattoo that took up most of Emeth’s upper left arm. It depicted a wildcat standing on its hind paws, claws and teeth bared savagely. He realized that it was the first time he had ever seen them.

  “I got that when I was fifteen. It’s the Clan emblem.”

  Hamíd’s eyes widened in surprise as he remembered a lesson from long ago. “The chieftain and his sons are the only ones to have it marked on their arms…”

  “So now you know who I am.” Emeth fell back into the thick brogue of the Braeton Clans.

  “Why didn’t you ever tell me?” Hamíd asked, a pinprick of betrayal prodding at him. Emeth knew his secret but hadn’t trusted him with his.

  “For the same reason I’ve kept it hidden for all these years. I don’t want tae be reminded of who I am, but it’s engraved intae me. Someday I might go back and face it.” Bitterness laced Emeth’s voice. “My father and I weren’t exactly on the best of terms, that’s why I left. I’ve got a few scars of my own.”

  “I’m sorry,” was all Hamíd could find to say.

  “Och, both my father and I are tae blame. I inherited his quick temper, and he seemed tae find fault with everything I did. It didn’t take much for him and me tae let fly at each other. And it didn’t help that I did things that were forbidden. I do miss my family, and even though it may not sound like it, I do miss my father. I regret a lot of things now.” A note of sadness crept into Emeth’s voice.

  “Maybe time will have changed things,” Hamíd said.

  “Maybe…” Emeth said pensively.

  Nicar pushed through into the tent. “Good, you’re awake, Hamíd. You have the next shift.”

  Pulling a wry face, Hamíd moved away. Washing and dressing quickly, he buckled his weapons back on and whistled softly. Karif flew over to take up his perch on Hamíd’s shoulder. On his way out, Hamíd laid something on the table by Emeth’s bed.