As the fighting commenced throughout the city it became obvious that Malbeck would eventually prevail, and this knowledge did not escape the king and his elite guard whose job was to protect him. They fled through a secret tunnel into the mountains as the city was ransacked and destroyed. No one who remained in the city was left alive. Furious at the king’s escape, Malbeck immediately ordered his forces into the woods in pursuit. But the king and his small guard managed to elude the enemy, while small groups of fleeing knights continued to use hit and run tactics against the invaders, giving their king time to retreat further into the Tundrens. At one point in the fight, Gullanin thought he had the king slain, but the annoying Blade Singer intervened, shielding him with magic that deflected his lightning attack. A Blade Singer with the king, that was not to their advantage. But even her skill with a blade, and her magic, would not keep the Hounds of Gould from their prey. King Kromm was a dead man.
***
Dandronis was a farmer turned soldier, a private in the Tarsinian army. Why did they want him to lead? At least that is what he thought as he looked at the fifteen warriors before him. These warriors were all privates; their lieutenant had recently been killed as they tried to evade a patrol of orcs. They escaped the patrol and had been running frantically deeper into the Tundrens. When they felt confident that they had eluded the orcs, they stopped to rest. They knew they needed a new leader and had unanimously chosen him.
Dandronis was a good man, a silent man that people seemed to trust, although he was not sure why. His family had died of the scratch fever, a fever that caused horrible welts that itched immensely, and in the victims’ delirium they would scratch their body so frantically that they would soon be covered with bleeding and festering wounds. They would often have to be restrained so they would not claw themselves to death. If the victims managed to survive the fever, they were still likely to die from infection or loss of blood. It was a horrible thing to witness. Dandronis had to watch his wife, son, and daughter succumb to the disease. After that, nothing would satiate his anger toward Shyann, once his goddess. How could she let this happen? Twice a year, on the winter and summer solstices, he had left her corn, barley, and potatoes in thanks for his harvest. Even when food was scarce, he left her something, and this was how she repaid him. He grew solemn and withdrawn, filling his days and nights with drinking and brawling in the town’s local tavern. He had no desire to farm, and he could no longer bear to live in his own home. He was falling apart. That was when he decided to join the king’s army, a place where he could direct his anger, and focus his energy, to lessen the pain of his loss. That had been four years ago.
Dandronis turned out to be a good soldier. He was strong and an above average swordsman, but his real strength was his courage. He was utterly fearless, and pain for him was just an inconvenience. He had already lost everything he cared about, including his sense of self. The light inside him had been extinguished, leaving behind a shell of a man who had no interest in making friends, who didn’t want anything for himself. Most of the time he was a perfect soldier, hardworking, strong, quiet, fearless, but at times his demons took over and he succumbed to fits of despair and anger that manifested itself in bar room brawls and fights which kept him from being promoted. But there was something about him that commanded respect from the soldiers of his modrig. Somehow they saw him as a leader, their leader, and so he was elected.
They all voted for him to lead, a position he did not want. Like everyone else, he didn’t know what to do. Things had not gone well for them or their comrades. Two days ago the alarm had been sounded within Tarsis, and thousands of soldiers awoke to find themselves fighting for their lives. They fought furiously to defend themselves and their people, but it was to no avail. Thousands died that night, and the few that didn’t barely escaped with their lives. Pockets of resistance formed and fought the orcs and goblins as the beasts chased them into the forests, but nearly all of them perished, and as far as Dandronis knew there were only small groups of survivors left, groups like his own. No one knew what had befallen their king, but they did know that he escaped and he was alive, as of two days ago anyway. They were part of the surviving group that had stayed behind to slow down Malbeck’s patrols as their king escaped. There were several hundred of them that were fighting a series of skirmishes against the invaders, but they couldn’t hold back the orcs and goblins, and after their officers had been killed they were all forced to split up into smaller groups as Malbeck’s army attacked them. It was disorganized, and the chaos forced what was left of the king’s warriors farther and farther apart. Their group fought all night until finally the stragglers that were still alive escaped Malbeck’s skirmish lines. The question on all of their minds was, now what do we do?
“I am a soldier, I do not want to lead,” Dandronis had adamantly announced. Dandronis, tall and lean, wore hardened leather armor over a chain mail shirt, the traditional footman’s garb in the Tarsinian army. Covered with the sweat and grime of battle, his overall appearance was haggard. His hair was cut short, almost to his scalp, and his facial hair was also trimmed close, so that he constantly appeared to have several days of growth. Piercing turquoise eyes dominated his face. They had no give in them. Looking into them was like looking at an impenetrable wall of iron, a wall that you could not easily crack. When peopled looked at him they saw something in his eyes that said, move on, this is not a man to trifle with. The joy that had once been there had disappeared with his family’s lives. His square jaw looked too big for his head, giving his face the appearance of a block of stone, which matched the feeling in his heart.
“That is why we want you to lead, Dandronis,” one of his men announced. “You just want to fight. You have never desired power or glory. Besides, you are the best fighter here and you know it,” said Tyful, a short and stocky veteran soldier.
“You are our best chance for survival,” added Lypus, a young recruit who had recently joined the army.
“I know how to fight, but to lead? Come on, Tyful, you have more experience in these matters. Why don’t you lead us?” asked Dandronis.
“Because I was not voted to lead, you were. Dandronis, we can do this together, I will help you. You were voted to lead and under our laws you must do so. You know this to be true.” Dandronis gripped his sword hilt in frustration. He knew Tyful was right. Their military laws were clear; if the sanctioned leader is killed in battle and there is no person of rank to lead, the men in question must pick their own leader, and that leader must lead to the best of his ability.
“Alright, I will lead, but I will take council with you all before I make a decision. Is that clear?”
“Yes sir!” all the men replied in unison.
“Good. Now, what do we do? The forests are filled with Malbeck’s minions. We do not know if King Kromm is still alive or where he is located. Our options are limited. Any ideas?”
“Sir, we have to assume that our king is still alive. There is no better fighter in Kraawn, and the elite Tarsinian Knights, plus the Blade Singer, guard him. There is a good chance that they have evaded detection,” Tyful said hopefully.
“Besides, we cannot go back to Tarsis. Our homes are destroyed,” added Willock, another young recruit with long scraggly blonde hair. Willock was tall and powerfully built. He looked like he had some tribal blood in him from one of the barbarian tribes that lived deep in the Tundrens. There were at least ten different tribes that were scattered throughout the northern regions of the Tundrens, all tall, fair skinned, with long blond hair. They were as big as mountain bears and as tough as the unforgiving lands in which they lived. Willock was a spitting image of the fearsome barbarians.
“Then we try to find our king?” asked Dandronis. The men all looked around at each other and there was silent agreement apparent on their faces. “Okay, does anyone have any tracking skills?” The warriors looked around at each other for several moments before one man spoke up.
“Aye, I do,” replied a veter
an warrior, Kye. “I hunted these hills when I was a boy and my dad was a trapper. He taught me some skills, although I would not say I’m an expert.” Kye was heavily muscled, thick around the belly with wide shoulders. His black hair was long and thick and he wore an unruly beard that was wet with moisture from the evening air.
“Your skills will have to do. What supplies do we have? Any food, bed rolls, tinder boxes?” asked Dandronis.
The men went through their packs that they had hastily packed the night they were attacked. Some didn’t even have time to grab anything other than their weapons. As they laid out their supplies it became apparent that their situation was pretty grim. They had two tinderboxes, five bed rolls, some dried hard bread, salted ham, and a bag of oats. It was enough food to last several days. The men looked at their meager possessions and then eyed Dandronis uncertainly. He didn’t like their stares; it was as if they expected him to fix their problem. He hadn’t asked for this, but he decided he would do his best to get them out of their predicament. He just hoped that he would find some orcs along the way, so he would have someone on which to take out his frustration.
“This will be difficult. We will have to try to track our king in woods that will be swarming with the enemy. Along the way we need to hunt and gather food or we will starve. I don’t know about you, but I’d sooner die by an orc’s sword than starve to death in these cold mountains. Our chance of survival is slim, but we have no other choice. Are you with me?”
“Yes sir,” the men replied with new purpose in their voice.
***
Kromm knelt by a small fire that had been hastily built at the base of a rock wall. There were four other fires along the wall giving off a bit of warmth to the remaining Tarsinian Knights. The group consisted of forty men, in addition to the Blade Singer, Queen Sorana, the king’s wife, their son, Prince Riker, and the Tarsinian court wizard, Addalis. Building the fires was risky, but winter was approaching and the cold was sapping what little strength they had left after all the hard fighting and their subsequent flight as they evaded Malbeck’s forces the last two days. Kromm decided that a fire and warm food were necessary under the circumstances. Hopefully the rock wall and the dense forest before them would shield most of the smoke and light. It was risk, but a justifiable one.
Kromm was a giant, several heads taller than most other big men. Lean and strong, one could see the striations of his muscles beneath the skin of his long arms and legs. His thick muscular neck, broad powerful shoulders, and huge thighs were in relative contrast to his narrow waist. Long blond hair framed his clean shaven face, giving him the appearance of youth even though he had seen more than forty winters. His sky blue eyes perpetually shone with an inner determination. It was whispered among his men that he shared blood with one of the barbarian tribes that lived among the Tundrens surrounding the lands of Tarsis. Kromm’s lineage, being rather important for a king, was widely known. But there was a commonly told story that one of his ancestors had a secret liaison with a barbarian chief and bore a child that was brought up as a prince. Such an act was not allowed, of course. The king, a long dead ancestor to Kromm, raised the boy as his own to save their name from disgrace. No one knew if the story was true, but Kromm certainly bore a striking resemblance to the tall and powerful blond haired barbarians
Kromm’s armor consisted of a silver chest plate with matching shoulder guards, all bearing the Tarsinian mark, a decorative T, which had been engraved into the expensive metal crafted by the best dwarven metal smiths. The mark had been the Tarsinian family emblem for many generations. His hands were covered with supple leather gloves that stretched tight over his thick forearms all the way up to his elbows. Attached to the leather were steel plates cinched tight and strapped down with strong leather straps. Underneath the armor he wore a steel shirt that hung to mid-thigh made with interlocking links of chain. Around his narrow waist was a thick leather belt adorned with silver pieces of steel from which hung a long hunting knife. The king’s legs were covered with thick but supple leather breeches, and strapped to each thigh was another silver plate of armor. His breeches were tucked into knee-high boots made from boiled hardened leather shaped perfectly to his feet.
The king was tired, and covered with dirt and spatters of blood that he could not wash off, luckily, none of it his own. Yet despite his battle fatigue, he continued to radiate power and authority. His very presence on a battlefield uplifted his men and gave them courage. His size, strength, and charisma commanded complete and utter respect from all that stood before him. It was rumored that he had not yet met a man, or beast, that could defeat him in single combat.
Sitting with him at the fire was his queen, Sorana, Allindrian, the Blade Singer, Kromm’s general and leader of the Tarsinian Knights, Farwin, and lastly the court wizard, Addalis. Queen Sorana, tall and lithe, had the grace of a dancer. Her golden blonde hair was pulled tight into a braid that was wrapped around her head and fastened at the back with jeweled pins. Her elegant face was considered beautiful, but she was not particularly curvy or voluptuous, the physical attributes most commonly admired by men of royalty. And though she appeared stunning when attired in sparkling jewels and draping gowns, she felt more comfortable in clothes most often worn by common women, which was closer to what she was now wearing. She wore form fitting leather breeches, dyed black, and her torso was covered with a tight green cotton shirt laced up around her small breasts. Over her shirt was a light green wool tunic cinched tight with a brown leather belt that matched her knee high woodsman’s boots. Draped over her shoulders and pulled tightly around her for warmth was a forest green woolen traveling cloak lined with cotton. Strapped to her waist was a curved short sword that was bladed on one side. The razor sharp blade was made for her by the dwarfs at Dwarf Mount as a wedding gift.
Queen Sorana had been raised as a commoner and was accustomed to strenuous physical activity; in fact she was partial to it. She had spent much of her time riding the grasslands flanking Tarsis or hiking deep into the Tundrens on hunting excursions with her husband. She could hold her own with a sword and she was skilled with the light woodsman’s bow that was leaning against the rock wall next to her.
Lord Farwin also wore plate mail common for a Tarsinian Knight. Around his shoulders draped a wool traveling cloak. His shoulder length hair was thick and dark, highlighted by streaks of silver. A bushy mustache covered his upper lip. He appeared younger than his fifty winters, and he had fought with King Kromm for more than twenty of them. The king trusted Farwin with his life. He was a hard, stern man, but his men respected him as a leader, because he was demanding, yet fair, nor did he ask more of his men then he would of himself. Like his men, dirt and grime was encrusted on his sweaty body. His right arm was wrapped with a strip of brown wool that had been ripped off his own traveling cloak. Blood had soaked through the wool, staining his arm red, but the wound was not severe and he ignored it.
Allindrian sat cross-legged next to the fire, her long thin sword gently resting on her thighs. The unique blade was slightly curved, and at the base of the blade, where it fastened into the hilt, were a series of shapes cut into the steel. It was an intricate design of triangles cut into the metal, decreasing in size as it extended up the blade. The spine of the blade was left untouched by the designs and it too was razor sharp. The tip of the blade also had a triangular shape cut into the metal. Normally, a sword smith could not do this because it would weaken the weapon. But this blade was elven made, forged by Tsillerian Cho Andorin, an ancient elven blade smith whose weapons were unmatched in beauty, strength, and power. Even the dwarves accepted her weapons as masterpieces. A Blade Singer’s sword was also enchanted by Ekahals, elven wizards who knew the old words of magic, giving them more power than any other wizards in Kraawn. These shapes cut into the blade gave the weapon its incredible lightness, as well as its unique singing sound as it spun through the air.
This blade would not sing for just anyone, however. In order to make it sing, its own
er must wield the blade a certain way, a way that had been developed and taught only to Blade Singers, sword wielders who train for many years. Specialized positions and movements, combined with techniques for maintaining complete concentration and mental control, would bring out the true power of the blade. The blades are magically linked to each Blade Singer, allowing only the blade’s owner to unleash its full potential. The blade itself is unbreakable, and the vibrations of the singing enable it to cut through any substance known in Kraawn.
Allindrian wore clothing typical of a ranger, forest green breeches and light elven chain mail under a green tunic covered with elven symbols. Around her neck draped a flowing brown elven cloak that enabled her to be virtually invisible in the forest. Her brown leather boots, laced tightly up to her knees, and the matching leather gloves similarly laced around her forearms, had been magically enchanted, enabling her to run and climb without making a sound.
Addalis, the fourth member of the tired group by the fire, was a wizard whose family had served the Tarsinian royal family for many years. He had short brown curly hair and he wore a trimmed beard that was separated into two short braids. He was still young, just thirty five winters, but already powerful in his own right. He had been groomed and trained since he could walk to master the arcane arts in order to serve the royal family. Wizards were rare. In fact, it was difficult to find any outside of royalty. The time and cost it took to master the art was so great that most people could not undertake the training without the backing and funds associated with royal families. Court wizards were typically tied to the royal family through bloodlines. They were usually lords themselves, passing on their skills and knowledge to their own sons who could then continue to support the royal family with their magic. Addalis’s face looked older than his years. It was not uncommon for wizards to look older than they were; prolonged use of magic had a way of speeding up the aging process. But ironically, that same magic could also be used to prolong life if the wizard had the skills to do so.
The Cavalier Trilogy: Book 02 - The Rise of Malbeck Page 6
