The King's Tribe

by Kai Widdeson

  “No, why would they?” I reply confused.

  “Never mind, no reason,” he says. I know that he’s hiding something from me, but I decide to let it go for now, clearly, he doesn’t feel like enlightening me just yet. I also don’t want to push him too far, it’s clear he stuck his neck out for me a bit and so I choose to let the question go for now, storing it in the back of my mind and replacing it with another.

  “What does Halpian mean?” I ask.

  “Hmm?” Orrian emerges from his own thoughts.

  “You said you call the colony men Halpians, well what does it mean?”

  “We have a legend of the demon, Halpha. He is supposed to be the greatest predator and the beast that will one day eat the sun. Stories often describe him as a giant insect, sometimes a scorpion, in others a centipede. It is prophesied that one day our greatest champion, the Akanian, will face Halpha, and if they lose then the apocalypse will arrive. The world will plunge into total darkness and Halpha will live for eternity.

  When we first saw the colony, in their metal armour cutting down our people, they were like Halpha himself. A swarm of shiny backed killers who sought to end us, and if they find us then our apocalypse will come.

  All the stories tell of Halpha being a single beast, sometimes with an army of lesser creatures, but the demon is itself one. Hence, Halpians. The colony are the lesser creatures of Halpha, it’s as good a name as any,” Orrian finishes.

  I pause, allowing the story to sink in. I sure hope that Orrian’s gods and demons are as inconspicuous as ours, I don’t fancy my chances against some monstrous scorpion any time soon.

  Lightning fast, tiny feet race past us, earning a warning from Horith. The young boy heads straight towards the young guard where after a brief scolding the two begin whispering. The child occasionally shoots glances over at the pair of us and from his gestures it would appear that the child is questioning the tribesman. After the young guard visibly puts an end to the discussion, the boy growls in frustration and takes off again, but not without giving the guard a final kick to the shins.

  “Now I’ve got a question,” Orrian says, “How did you know? Before you ran from Edwyn, how did you figure it out?” he chooses his words carefully, it’s still too soon to talk about openly and emotions are still running high just barely below the surface. But we both know what he’s skirting around, how I knew that his people had killed my dad.

  “The runes,” I mutter, “You’re spears had the same runes on them.”

  Orrian nods as if it’s now obvious.

  “Why do you have them?” my curiosity asks, eager to branch off into a slightly less sensitive topic.

  “You see that man over there?” Orrian points to a particularly frail man far from us, I only now notice that he is the centre of the small group of people around him as he huddles inside several layers of robes. “That’s Sage Malach. He’s the last sage left now, meaning that he speaks the ancient tongue.”

  “The runes.”

  “Yes, they give us power. The rest of us know a few of them, those we see on all the weapons for example, but there is much more to the language than just those. All our scripts, our stories, were written in the ancient tongue and passed down from generation to generation. The sages are the only ones who can interpret them. As for the ones that I know, the ones on our spears for example, gift us with accuracy and strength, they ask the gods to guide them through the air.” Orrian continues.

  I nod, unsurprised. From everything I’ve learnt about Orrian’s people they seem much closer to their gods and legends than we are to ours. Whilst our own in Avlym are mentioned and occasionally prayed to, they are normally only approached in desperation and their absence has caused most of our faith to wander.

  I sit with Orrian throughout the day, calming him over the upcoming fight and then remain next to him in silence whilst he’s preparing himself. Whilst it’s hard to tell the time in this place, we must stay this way for several hours, we both know that evening is nearing.

  The young boy from before returns several times throughout the day, sometimes alone and sometimes accompanied by a similarly sized companion. All attempts at further questioning leads to one of my two guards warding them away and each time they curse and take off, not even trying to hide their displeasure.

  The cavern around us is a peculiar mix of bustling activity and quiet nothingness. Food is prepared, stocks are organised, and construction work is constantly undergone, but for the most part the tribespeople are left to sit milling around. Whilst they huddle and rest, sometimes cold and in pain, sometimes livelier and louder, they all share the same air of waiting about them. There is no denying that the day is just an obstacle in the way of the coming evening where the real events will commence.

  As much as Orrian tries to sit still and calm his breathing, he cannot help but shift regularly beside me whilst anxiously fidgeting with the pendant around his neck. To try and divert his attention, I ask what it is.

  “My father passed it to me when he became king, it’s a symbol for the heir to the throne,” Orrian reveals.

  “So why do you still wear it?” I ask, Orrian is king now.

  “Habit. It’s the last thing that they gave me, and our crown is lost so it’s all we have left,” says Orrian. I silently scold myself. I have managed to take his mind off the coming fight if only for a second, but I didn’t want to remind him of his loss.

  We both turn to look as Horith shouts in surprise and complaint, hobbling past him is Edwyn, oblivious to the guard’s protests. His wound has been cared for, but he still presses his hand to it as he walks, the faintest smearing of red seeping through the leaves and ointments to mark his fingertips. I also spot the green paste coating parts of one of his palms, covering the wounds that I inflicted.

  “Edwyn!” Orrian exclaims.

  “My king!” Edwyn returns the greeting a little too loudly, the sudden courtesy of the proper address is not lost on Orrian either who looks at the hunter questioningly as he bends to sit next to us.

  “Ryfon’s caught me up to date, I’ve heard about tonight,” Edwyn explains.

  Ryfon is the medic who has been tending to Edwyn all this time, dressing his wounds and being responsible for keeping him in the realm of the living. I have heard the name a few times but had never actually met the man, having only been told about him when I’ve asked Horith and Jaq about Edwyn’s state.

  “He’s a traitor, I’ve half a mind to go up there and finish this business now,” Edwyn growls, looking above to the ledge where Faelyn lurks. Of course, the threat is empty, not only would Edwyn struggle to make it past the guards but even if he did succeed, he’d be exiled. Whilst he might not mind a more permanently solitary life of hunting by his den, Orrian could never truly be respected as king if his opponent had been so dishonourably murdered.

  “Yes, he is,” Orrian says passively. These last few minutes he has slipped into silence, contrastingly however, possibly because he has been bed bound all this time, Edwyn refuses to stop showering him with support.

  “I reckon you’ve got him, he’s too skinny and you’re faster too. You’re stronger and you’re faster, you can beat-” he begins.

  “Edwyn,” Orrian interrupts

  “-you just need to stay out of range. Wait ‘till he swings and then duck inside, once you’re in don’t stop until he surrenders-” Edwyn continues.

  “Edwyn!” Orrian shouts, “Just, not now.” I can visibly see the stress on the young king’s face, he’s definitely gone a slight shade paler. The fight is not long away now at all, whilst his intentions may be pure, I doubt Orrian wants Edwyn’s last minute advice if it’s going to ruin all of the day’s mental preparations.

  “I’m sorry,” Orrian apologises before pausing for a few seconds “tell me something else.”

  “Like what?” Edwyn looks mystified, still clearly uncertain as to the reason behind his king’s discomfort.

  “Here. How did you find this place?” Orrian
suggests.

  “Your dad prepared it for us-”

  “What?!” Orrian exclaims, dragging his attention back towards the conversation.

  “Yes, it had been a mine decades ago. Nylian and his father used to exile people here so that they could still be useful to them. When the Halpians started getting more aggressive, your dad asked Jaq and a small group of others to rediscover it and convert it into a haven just in case. And thank the gods he did,” Edwyn reveals. “We had to make a couple of changes, finish things off to make it liveable, but it gave us shelter those first few days and then we had time to work on it as we needed. The worst bit was discovering which bits we could and couldn’t live in, after so long without people most of the supports had rotted and the tunnels would occasionally collapse.”

  “I can’t believe he didn’t tell us,” Orrian states, his voice laced with hurt.

  “I doubt he’d think we’d need it if I’m honest, and he couldn’t have many people heading up here or they might have been spotted. Only a small group knew about it, including Faelyn.

  When the fire broke out, he was one of the first to get free from the village. The rest of us ushered the families and the elderly to him and Horith. Eventually they got cold feet and wanted to get away while they still could. I suppose I can’t blame them for that, but I had to drag Jaqquin from rushing back in there.” I look over at Jaq, still observing everyone and maintaining order. Here was Edwyn, the man who had taken an arrow for me despite being a stranger, talking about him with immense pride and reverence, I had been right to trust him.

  “It was slow going getting everyone through the mountains, it took a couple of days of sleeping in the open with some of us standing guard, it’s amazing they didn’t catch us to be honest, the fighters who held their ground back at home must have died well. The children were exhausted and throughout the journey Ryfon was tending to wounds on the move. We had to keep bringing up the rear or the less abled would have been forgotten, Faelyn and his men kept storming stupidly far in front. We were stretched thinly, had the colony caught up they would have easily been able to cut us down one by one.

  Amazingly, we got here without any confrontation, we lost a couple to the journey and their injuries but most of the survivors made it here in once piece. Unfortunately for us, by the time we ushered the last of them through the caves, Faelyn had already had time to establish himself, setting himself up on the top ledge and ordering some close companions to set about organising everyone.

  He did an alright job as well, I’m not complaining about that. He kept everyone fed and warm as he could, even if he did make sure he got a little more of the food than he deserved, but overall, he did ok.

  He’s being dumb now mind, yes, he kept us together when no one else could, but now you’re back he should’ve stepped down. I think the power’s gone to him, and now he thinks he can take on all the Halpians! Pah!” Edwyn snorts derisively. “He was alright at leading until then. If he wasn’t such a bloody fool, he could’ve been useful.”

  Edwyn talking about Faelyn as if he’s already been defeated has not gone unnoticed by either of us, Orrian’s blood that had slowly been returning to his face has withdrawn again, although it is touching to see such undying faith behind the hunter’s eyes. Orrian had told me that the duel was between the two opponents themselves to ensure that the right person won, clearly Edwyn’s opinion on who the right one was had solidified the future into a certainty for him. If only Orrian could have that same confidence.

  I am constantly adjusting over the next hour, struggling to find a comfortable sitting position with my hands tied. I try to shift discreetly and Orrian gives me a slightly apologetic look whilst I’m at it. Edwyn made another couple of half-hearted attempts at giving Orrian some advice about fighting Faelyn and launched into the beginnings of a couple of would-be motivational speeches. But it’s not what Orrian needs and he responds with little enthusiasm until Edwyn gets the idea and joins us in our resumed silence.

  At some point a small portion of food is brought down from the single flight of steps for us to pass round. Horith and the young guard each claim their portions, but Orrian refuses his and passes it off to one of Ryfon’s patients. It requires some effort to choke my tiny morsels of hare down, not for the quality of food but rather my sudden loss of appetite. It could very well be that my life is on the line tonight as well, a fact I am becoming all too aware of as the hour draws nearer. Orrian knows all this though, it wouldn’t do to voice my concerns and strengthen his torment.

  The cavern has filled ever so slightly as well, others in the higher alcoves have left their beds to begin gathering on the floor and a couple of unfamiliar faces can be spotted weaving in and out of the crowds. From the way Edwyn greets a few of them I would guess that they are similar roaming hunters who have returned for the big evening, presumably scouts were sent out to retrieve them throughout the day. It would have been risky for all of them travelling here, but this is something everyone needs to be a part off. Who knows? If Faelyn should prevail, this is where all of them, hunters included, will likely make their last stand.

  Suddenly the noise rises considerably. Above us, a tall, slender, figure has begun descending the stairs. Besides the watchers at the top by the entrance, who now stand over the edge peering down, all guards and people still in the higher levels of the cavern follow the fighter downwards. He begins to lead a line of supporters towards where we stand. With each step closer the mutterings rise until eventually they become words, before finally evolving into shouts. Some are cheers, most are not.

  Orrian, myself, and Edwyn stand together, a larger group slowly forming behind us. Jaq moves over to join us with his fellow guard, eager to make sure that their alliances are known. Similarly, Horith is among the first waiting at the foot of the steps, bellowing his cheers as loud as anyone.

  Orrian radiates a calm power as he watches his opposition nears. The boy in him has gone, I now rub shoulders with a king.

  As a path in the crowd forms, leading to a large cleared area at one end of the cavern with the chosen weapons waiting, Faelyn passes the last step.

  It is time.

  CHAPTER TEN

  The two fighters slowly circle each other, each on the balls of their feet, knees slightly bent. Orrian holds a medium length slightly curved sword whilst Faelyn wields two slightly shorter straighter blades, one in each hand. I notice that none of the weapons involved have any runes carved into them and put the question to Jaq beside me.

  “This is between the two fighters alone, they can’t be aided by the gods,” he mutters back, not taking his eyes off the still prowling combatants. They are two predators each stalking the other. Horith shoots me a dirty look at my question, it’s just another reminder that I don’t belong here.

  Orrian’s necklace still bounces against his bare chest as he moves. Given what he’s told me, I suppose that the victor of this fight will determine its owner.

  I stand on the inner edge of the ring of spectators without anyone in front of me. Considering that my fate will be a spoil for the victor, I have accordingly been given a front row position between my two guards. All apart from the sickliest encircle these tribal gladiators, on the ground the spectators reach all the way back to the walls, with the remaining lining the staircase for a better view.

  Opposite us, Ryfon stands alert. He will be needed immediately once a victor is chosen to tend to their wounds.

  Faelyn lunges slightly with a testing thrust from his lead hand, Orrian effortlessly swats it away.

  The two never break eye contact.

  Orrian strikes, aiming the tip of his blade towards his slender opponent’s abdomen. Faelyn nimbly steps to the side as Orrian’s attack passes harmlessly next to his ribs.

  He now has open access to Orrian’s unguarded back. Taking the opportunity of the young king being off-balance, Faelyn arcs his nearer sword down towards the base of Orrian’s neck who thankfully manages to bring the flat off his own we
apon over his head to knock the attack off course.

  Orrian swiftly turns, avoiding a jab from Faelyn’s other blade, to face the hopeful usurper once more. The circling resumes, with Faelyn yet again taking advantage of his longer reach to keep Orrian at a comfortable distance.

  I flinch as Faelyn leaps to cut down at Orrian’s legs, the feint works, as Orrian lowers to block he leaves himself exposed to Faelyn other arm, already on the move, which slashes deep into his left shoulder blade.

  The first blood of the fight has been drawn, bringing about a small commotion in the otherwise silent crowd. The tension is palpable in the silence, disturbed only by the occasional gasp.

  Orrian grits his teeth as he worms his way free, I can’t help but grimace as his back turns towards me. The cut has been made and the fight must go on, Orrian has no option but to battle through the pain and continue facing his opponent.

  For the first time I see panic in his face as he desperately brings the blade forcefully in a high trajectory down towards Faelyn’s sternum. A careless attack that was unlikely to ever reach its target, it is caught in the defensive cross formed by Faelyn’s two swords before Faelyn pushes him free. Orrian’s last attack has me worrying, hoping that the wounds he has received so far have not resulted in him panicking and becoming uncalculated for the remainder of the fight. He needs to somehow keep a clear mind if he’s going to triumph.

  After his sword is freed from Faelyn’s cross, the older man drives a hard shoulder into him, not giving him a chance to regain his balance. My champion steps back gasping, dizzily trying to regain his senses.

  With visibly increased confidence at his opponent’s state, Faelyn advances slashing, pushing Orrian back further towards his own people as he struggles to defend against the incoming onslaught. He stabs at the prince, no longer aiming tentative pokes he fully leans into the strike.

  Which is his mistake.

  Orrian drags his sword across to intercept, hooking the threat in its slight curve. In one fluid movement, he twists the hilt and Faelyn weapon is freed from his grip. The sword goes scattering into the crowd. As Faelyn cries out in shock, Orrian has stumbled past him back into a more central position, readied himself, and faces his opponent.