The King's Tribe

by Kai Widdeson

  “No, we wait,” he says. “We need to go after Breyden.”

  The fighters are among the colony soldiers, they slash and roll between the feet of their Halpians. The archers have noticed us too now, but our people are too involved in the conflict that they cannot target us without risking hitting their own men. They return to the outside where it would seem there is a considerably larger supply of targets. One of the archers falls to the ground, Robyn and her group must be inside the city now as well.

  Randall charges past us, leading the second group. My mother is at his side and Astera and Horas follow closely behind them. As they run towards the path that we had come from, the children emerge from behind their door and join their number.

  One of them falls to the ground, the archers finally have targets that they can take aim at. I watch as an arrow flies from one of the narrow slits in the gatehouse, narrowly missing Sage Malach as he hurries after the others. The group passes around the building and disappears.

  With no one else left, Orrian drags the two of us after him. We bound up the remaining steps leading into the courtyard and turn to enter the great hall opposite the gatehouse.

  Dammit. Another group of soldiers wait for us there. A couple of tribespeople have already engaged with them. Together we charge forwards, leaping over the few steps that lead to the hall’s entrance. Swords clash around us.

  Orrian skids onto his knees, sliding between a pair of colony men and slashing at their legs. The strike brings them to the ground and Orrian ends their suffering simultaneously. He slides one knife back against his waist and risks picking up both of their swords. He keeps one and passes the other to Damion who rushes to meet the soldier closest to us.

  Orrian and I join him. Randall was right, everything changes in the heat of battle. I must protect the man at my side as he protects me, I will never be able to do that if I’m struggling with myself. I let my training come into practice, I don’t think about the men I cut down or the wounds I inflict. As each new challenger approaches me, it becomes easier and easier to kill the next.

  I don’t question how I still stand. The battle rages all around us now, attacks are coming from all directions but somehow they miss or are blocked as they are challenged by another. Orrian had been right, each member of the tribe is easily worth every three from the colony.

  New light floods the yard as unbelievably heavy wood splinters against stone. The tribe did it, the bridge has been lowered. Three of them emerge from the gatehouse and begin mercilessly cutting down the archers on the walls.

  The first of the footsteps thud against the bridge over the moat, I dare to glance back. What remains of the villages’ swarm abandon their cover from behind the nearby buildings as they fearlessly join the tribespeople. Of course, Thoren leads the charge.

  There is no longer any separation between our conflict at the steps of the hall and the battle raging in front of the gatehouse. Any soldier formations have been lost in the chaos, every man can only be concerned with the opponent they face and no one else.

  I draw my blade in a wide arc and slash against a soldier’s stomach. I am blocked from tending to him as a different metal clad guard steps over him to advance. I barely manage to raise my blade before our two swords clash in the air, I slice down the metal and force the sword from his grip. As he straightens, I kick him powerfully in the chest and send him sprawling. I leap down on top of him and cut downwards.

  Something whistles through the air above my head and I roll to one side, springing to my feet out of fear of being trampled. The killing blow sails harmlessly past my shoulder and smacks against the breastplate of my previous victim. The soldier pulls his weapon free but not quickly enough, Jaq appears from the chaos and runs through him with his spear. I get one momentary glance of Jaq’s blood splattered determination before he disappears among the bloodshed once more, Tharrin has joined his side.

  A hand places on my shoulder and I twist as I rise, driving my blade over my head towards the new foe. Orrian dips his shoulder as he swings his head so that my blade passes harmlessly by his tattooed ear. Damion protects our rear as he pulls me along by the arm.

  We have a clear line into the grand hall, everyone fighting on the steps is currently engaged. As we run, another two soldiers emerge from the inside. How many of them are there?

  Orrian flicks his wrist, a flash of silver flies before his knife buries itself in the first soldier’s neck. I approach the remaining guard, my arms shudder as I block his blow. Our blades are crossed in the air as we both fight for control. Damion dives past my side and tackles the man by the waste. Orrian has already run past us as Damion buries his blade deep in the soldier’s eye.

  Together we enter the hall, very few tribespeople have made it this far. The hammering of steel on steel echoes around the high walls. Looking up, I realise that the whole roof is one enormous painted sculpture. Long wooden benches line the sides of the walls beneath intricately painting figures watching the violence unfolding beneath them.

  Damion leads us down the centre aisle, a plush, grand chair stands raised high alone at the far end. The throne. The large velvet cushions are a deep blood red and swirling gold twists its way decoratively around the outside. Of course, no king sits in it now. I suddenly have the strangest desire to burn the thing.

  We chase Damion past the rows of benches and the lines of kings carved into the wood of the walls, until eventually we stand directly in front of the throne. Damion shifts to the left and flings open a heavy door. More bloodshed stands in front of us.

  We have come out onto an open hallway with arches on either side. The sheltered walkway is one of four, creating the edges of a large paved open area in the middle, off to our left. Several duels clash at the near side of the area, more still battle on the path before us. Through the stone arches to my right, the wall rises high above us behind a small green garden.

  As I watch, a small group of three sprint across the rampart of the inner wall. Two of them wear little clothing, green designs ink their bare skin. The third member of the pack comes to a stop and readies her bow while the tribespeople continue onwards, knives catching the sunlight before them.

  The breeze gently catches the chestnut hair that cascades over her slim shoulders. Eyes born from the forest align themselves with the arrow shaft, their sharpness matches any blade. The arrow tip slices through the wind as Robyn releases the bowstring. Her first victim falls to the ground below. Mesmerised, I lose myself, almost as surely as the next three soldiers who I watch fall to the ground in rapid succession. She is relentless, so sure of her aim that she has sought out her next target before the previous has even fallen to the ground.

  Robyn turns to me, next arrow already poised and ready. She finally pauses, so slightly that had I blinked I would have surely missed it. In that moment we find each other and the battleground separating us disappears so that I may as well stand directly before her.

  Robyn looses her arrow. My breath catches in my throat as the wind of the feathers caress my cheek. I turn to a colony soldier clattering into the pavestones, pierced through the sternum.

  Orrian and Damion have already moved several paces ahead and are slowly cutting a path through the chaos. I don’t look back as I move to catch up to them, but I can’t help but notice the soldiers around us who continue to fall at the hands of my saviour above.

  Several of the soldiers here are armoured differently to the masses back out in the courtyard. Their armour looks thicker and patterns and designs protrude from their bloody plates. Their helmets are not as simple and they all stand taller than Orrian. Some even have the faintest traces of dirty gold on their shoulders and in the centres of their chests. These guards are not like the others.

  The grass has been tainted red as warriors lay broken on the ground. More villagers are still rushing in with their spears from a path off to the side. One of them sends a soldier backwards crashing into a delicate fountain. The top of the stone structure comes cras
hing down onto the man below, water reaching high before raining back down to muddy the ground at their feet.

  Orrian pushes us forwards, swinging his blade as he clears the path in front. A soldier charges him from the side and he ducks, sending the soldier flying over his back and into the path of an approaching village spearman. It’s Rhys. I catch his eye as he throws himself back into the conflict.

  We push against the stone sides as we leap over dying men and brawling opponents. Damion points ahead at a doorway further into the castle. One man stands before the entrance, waiting for any challengers to attempt to get past him.

  It’s Becker, he is dressed similarly to the ornate guards fighting around him. The scar I last left him with has scabbed over nastily. I cut deeper than I realised, not that I have any remorse. He spots us instantly, staring past the few remaining struggles between us. A villager becomes lifeless at our feet as his killer rises before us. The soldier swings his blade desperately but Orrian stays out of reach and it collides with the stone brick. The forest king never stops moving, kicking the soldier in the jaw and continuing as he passes out.

  Finally, we stand before Becker. He grins at me but says nothing, showily swirling his blade around him before bringing it to a stop before us. I hold Orrian back as I step in front.

  We both increase our pace as the distance between us reduces. I move faster in my light clothing, it’s time to use everything that Orrian’s taught me. He’s heavily armoured, which means he’ll be slow. I can kill him this time, I know I can. I will do what needs to be done, justice will be served, I will not let him stand between us and ending this war. He’s only a few steps away, we both raise our swords and I ready myself to slide beneath his strike.

  A blur lunges through one of the archways and collides into his side. The two men go sprawling into the courtyard, weapons flying from their grips.

  Arthur.

  Avlym’s leader rises to his feet whilst his long-term foe struggles against the weight of his armour. Arthur looks down emotionlessly at the worm before him, his spear is ready at his side.

  Becker reaches for his sword. Arthur thrusts downwards with all his might.

  A steady trickle of blood escapes Becker’s lips as he fumbles at the shaft disappearing into his heart. His whole-body shudders as Arthur pulls his weapon free. More blood spills from his mouth as he raises his head one last time, his fingers twitch feebly, and he collapses dead against the stone.

  Arthur reaches the entrance at the same time as us. Through the archway a spiralling staircase disappears into one of the towers above.

  “Go!” he shouts over the anarchy, “I’ll hold them off!”

  Orrian nods and we duck past him and towards the bottom of the stairs. Orrian and Damion dart upwards, I cannot help but give one last look at Arthur. His back blocks the entrance as a pair of soldiers approach him. He readies his spear and charges both of them, screaming with everything he has.

  I continue up the staircase, no more guards wait to block our entrance. Upwards and deeper into the castle we go. I force myself to not stop at the windows as we pass, through which I catch glimpses of not only the war occurring on the ground but also the entire city sprawling outwards towards the distant wall.

  We must be nearing the top, now that I’m not amongst the fighting my exhaustion is finally catching up with me. Several hours of tiring action must have passed since we had hidden in the bushes. We continue up further staircases, without Damion we would have never found our way through here.

  With each hallway we pass, the decorations and finer details on the walls begin to increase. Red and gold cloth now covers the floor. I notice with satisfaction that with our filthy boots we have surely ruined it. After all, these feet have been pressed against the walls of a certain chute that I doubt any of the royals have ever strayed too close to. Finally, after being led up a wide set of steps with a sculpted but entirely unnecessary bannister, we stand at the end of one final hallway.

  Half a dozen of the heavily armoured guards stand facing us. The King’s final defence. They draw their swords as we stop and face each other.

  A pair of large painted doors stand at the far end and no others lead off to either side. At the edges of the fabric on the floor are two rows of life-sized sculptures. Each of them has the same crown resting on their heads. Some have swords in their hands, others books or crosses, but they all look down the hallway towards us. They crowd the hallway, their plinths lined up perfectly with the fabric. There may be six soldiers facing us, but the space isn’t wide enough for any more than two of them to approach us at a time.

  Damion is forced behind as I stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Orrian. It’s three against six, but we’ve come too far to go back now. We both start forwards, the first of the guards move to meet us.

  Orrian shifts his blade into his other hand whilst we run, reaching behind his back with his free arm. His hand flies out in front of us and the last of his knives is released from his grip. The incoming soldier doesn’t have time to raise his gauntlet before the blade buries itself in his face, finding the gap in his helmet. The guard dies immediately, his armour crashes to the ground and trips the soldier behind him.

  I strike the only soldier remaining at the front, he blocks my blow and I bend backwards to avoid the swing that would have torn across my chest. The tip of his blade rips through my shirt before removing one of the arms of a nearby stone king. Damion has moved in behind me and jabs at the soldier’s exposed side, he falls to his knees with a grunt. I end his suffering as Damion moves to meet the next soldier.

  Orrian has used the soldier who tripped to give him a boost as he jumps through the air onto a soldier nearest the door. I cut down the tripped soldier as he tries to rise and tackle the last free guard before he can aid his companion against Orrian.

  We’re too clustered for any of us to swing our blades freely. I throw myself into the side of Damion’s attacker to avoid the thrust that comes from my own. I’m too slow and the sword catches me as it travels past, cutting deep between my ribs.

  Someone falls behind me as I take advantage of the soldier in front being off balance. I drive the hilt of my sword upwards into the soldier’s chin, he falls to his hands. My blade pierces the back of his neck and his redness flows into the carpet. As I pull out my weapon, the head of the guard behind me crashes into my calf. I groan as my knee smacks against the hard stone.

  Orrian has forced his opponent back against one of the doors and pins him there just long enough for his blade to stick into the wood on the other side. The man falls as Orrian releases him, pulling his blade free. Orrian doesn’t look back. He reaches for the nearest iron ring and pulls one of the painted doors open. Sword high and ready to deal with whatever waits for him.

  I rise to my feet and stumble after him, my free hand pressed firmly against the pulsing wound in my side. If a similar force waits behind those doors, he won’t be able to take them on alone.

  The door leads to a spacious room with a set of large windows opposite which overlook the city. Orrian has already locked swords with Prince Arron to my left. The forest king kicks out and sends the prince crashing into a desk at the far end of the room.

  The rest of the royals’ huddle in terror behind an older man who’s rising and drawing his sword. King Breyden.

  Among the royals is a young lady, a princess. No, it’s her, the princess that visited Avlym. Time has sharpened her features since we last met, she’s not a small girl anymore. Her eyes find mine and there is little behind them but fear and worry. So, she does feel after all, when it’s her life in danger and not some villager, her safety and not some random serving boy’s.

  Her expression is terrified and pleading. Of course, she won’t know that I won’t hurt them, as much as they might deserve it. That’s not me, although she doesn’t know that. There’s no doubt in my mind that she doesn’t recognise me, I doubt she’d even recognise Avlym. I leave her to the rest of her family and turn back to the r
oom.

  Orrian has left himself completely exposed as he rains a series of onslaughts on Prince Arron who desperately blocks as he tries to struggle to his feet. The prince has his decorated blade held in front of him, patterns etched into the blade’s edge and golden ribbons entwining themselves around Arron’s hand. I watch as King Breyden crosses over to defend his son.

  “NO!” I shout, putting all my weight behind my shoulder as I drive it into the king of the colony.

  King Breyden is knocked off his feet and his back slams into the wall beneath the windows. My sword goes flying out of my grip and slides into the post of an extremely large bed. I snatch it away from the cowering family as the king picks himself up onto his feet.

  The figurehead of endless pain and misery stands before me. He is dressed in entirely golden armour and has both hands clasped around the hilt of a mighty sword. Like his son, his head is not protected by a helmet, but a crown rests atop his slick silvery hair. The resemblance is clear, layers of wrinkles disturb his forehead, but his features are identical to Arron. He has the same hooked nose and high cheekbones. Whilst his skin is cracked and hardened, his eyes are young, alert, and filled with fiery hatred.

  Orrian and Prince Arron continue to struggle behind King Breyden as he approaches me. His mighty sword swings out towards my neck in one great arc. I recognise that I would never be able to block a strike that powerful and I crouch as the blade passes clean through the bedpost above me. I roll towards the door as the fabrics forming the roof of the bed frame collapse inwards.

  I land on my feet as the king advances again. Meanwhile, Prince Arron has managed to force Orrian back into a corner and is attacking him relentlessly. As Orrian intercepts a strike from the colony’s heir, he powers his free fist into the man’s exposed cheek. The prince stumbles and now it is back to Orrian to lead the offense.

  King Breyden swipes for my legs, I pull them out from beneath me and dive beneath his exposed side. He howls as I drive the tip of my blade deep into his armpit.