Banner Lord

by Jason L. McWhirter

  No one said anything for a few moments as they digested what Kivalla had said.

  Finally Orin spoke, changing the subject as if doing so would make it all go away. “So, Prince Jarak. What is the plan?”

  “We will rest here tonight. We leave at first light to Tanwen. My guess is that these Saricons were an advanced scouting party. Behind them is probably a Saricon army marching towards Tanwen as we speak. We need to get there first. So get some sleep tonight, we leave at first light.”

  When morning came they were packed and ready to depart. The inn had plenty of food stores and there were even horses out back. They assumed they were property of some of the patrons that had been killed the night before. There were enough supplies and horses for all, and as the sun’s rays began to warm the chilly air, they were well on their way.

  Halfway through the first day Rath rode up next to Banrigar. There had been a night not long ago when Banrigar had helped Rath at a local pub, defending him against some drunken ruffians. They had then spent most of the night together, drinking, talking, laughing and getting to know each other. Rath was curious to know how he had ended up with Kivalla.

  “Hey, Banrigar, I meant to ask you yesterday but things were pretty chaotic. How did you end up at the inn with Kivalla?”

  Banrigar looked at him, his expression stolid. “I ran into him near the docks during the attack. We commandeered a boat in which we escaped, and have been traveling together ever since.” Banrigar didn’t want to tell him just yet that he was a Turari Knight. Nor did he want to inform him that the night they met at the bar was no coincidence. Part of his job was to protect the royal family, and to do that he needed to know the people that were close to them. The Order was there to protect as well as root out any possible spies. Rath was Jarak’s closest friend, and thus came under the scrutiny of the Turari Knights. Catching Rath’s confused expression, he added, “I was afraid to leave him without any protection. Besides, everything I had was at Cythera. I had nowhere else to go.”

  His response seemed to satisfy Rath. “I’m glad you both made it out.”

  “And I you. How did you get out?”

  “Jarak, Brant, and Cat showed up at my door. We snuck out that night following an animal trail along the river.”

  “Who is this Brant?” Banrigar asked. Brant and Jarak were riding at the front nearly forty paces away. There was no way they could hear their conversation. He didn’t trust the man yet. It was disconcerting that a stranger had somehow gotten close to the prince. Though by all accounts he had saved him from death the night Cythera was attacked. He would just have to keep his eyes on him.

  Rath shrugged. “I don’t know much. Seems he is a Merger who became one of the Ull Therm.” Rath caught Banrigar’s surprised expression. “I know, hard to believe. I’ve never met an Ull Therm myself, but he has the scars and the brands to prove it. And he can fight. I’ve seen it myself. He escaped the pits and lived with Kulvar Rand for over a year. He was trained by him as well.”

  Banrigar shook his head. “I’m glad he is on our side.”

  Rath smiled. “Me too. How long will you stay with us?”

  Banrigar shrugged. “I don’t know. At least to Tanwen.”

  “We need warriors,” Rath continued. “I’m sure Prince Jarak would commission you.”

  Banrigar smiled inwardly. Technically he was already commissioned by Prince Jarak. Now that the king was dead, Banrigar’s writ was automatically transferred to Jarak. He knew he needed to speak with Jarak in person, but he had to find the right time when they were alone. “I’ll think about it,” he said. Rath, sensing the big warrior was done discussing the issue, rode on in silence.

  They rode their horses hard each day, taking advantage of every possible amount of daylight. On the fifth day, just as the sun was setting, they made camp on the side of the road next to a small grove of bonnet trees. They were old trees, taller than most, with thick gnarly branches that curved above them creating a near perfect shelter. It was obvious that other travelers had used the camp before as there were remnants of a stone rimmed fire pit in the middle of the grove. After securing, feeding, and watering the horses, they made camp around a small fire and ate a cold meal of dried meat, bread, and a hard cheese that was beginning to show traces of mold.

  They had tied Aldgar to a tree just beyond the firelight where he had quietly sat down and eaten his meal. The Saricon thus far had not been a problem. He had hardly spoken ten words the entire trip and he had done exactly what he was told.

  Prince Jarak looked back and saw the big warrior pull his knees up close to his body, wrapping his arms around them as he lowered his head. It was obvious he was trying to stay warm. Winter was approaching and soon the first snows would fall. The evenings had become increasingly cold and despite their warm clothing the falling temperatures had made sleep more difficult.

  Jarak got up from the fire and walked over to the warrior. The Saricon looked at him with his brilliant blue eyes as Jarak untied the rope that secured him around the tree. “Come,” Jarak said, as he led him to the fire. “Sit down and get warm.”

  Everyone scooted closer as Aldgar sat down. Jarak threw a few more branches onto the fire and sat down next to him.

  “Thank you,” Aldgar said.

  Jarak nodded, but said nothing. They were all tired from the constant riding and stared into the fire, lost in the hypnotic dancing flames.

  Finally Ardra spoke as she stared at the Saricon. “Why did you save me?” she asked. The two had spoken little but she had caught the Saricon staring at her on several occasions.

  Aldgar shrugged. “You were helpless. Unable to defend self. Torga going to kill you. That not right.”

  “Thank you,” she said.

  Aldgar stared at her and nodded his head, his eyes lingering on her for a moment before looking back into the fire.

  “Why now?” Serix asked. “You killed an officer, your own people, and you say it was because Ardra was helpless? This is war and surely you had other chances to be altruistic. Why did you choose to wait until now to act?”

  Aldgar was silent for a few moments, as if searching for the right words. Then he looked at Serix. “It like a slow buildup of anger. That night it came to the surface. When I saw Torga about to kill her, it rose from inside me. I acted. Tired of killing innocents.”

  “What of Heln?” Jarak asked. “Won’t he be angry with you?”

  “Perhaps. But how do I know his bidding? What if we,” he said as he tapped his huge chest, “are not doing what he want? We are warriors. We should fight only warriors. I cannot believe Heln wants me kill women and children.”

  Kivalla chuckled and looked at the Saricon. “She is a Gyth.” He thought it was funny that he saw her as a helpless woman. Clearly he was not aware of a Gyth’s reputation. The Saricon looked at him, his penetrating eyes puzzled by the laughter. Kivalla decided to elaborate. “If she had not been debilitated, you would not see her helpless. Gyths, females as well as the males, are deadly adversaries.”

  Aldgar looked at Ardra again, appraising her anew. Then he shrugged. “It is same with our women. Strong warriors. Either way, she could not defend self.” He shook his head. “I not believe Heln want us to kill like that.”

  “I should think,” Kivalla reasoned, “that your victories are the justification for such actions. I know your leaders spout such propaganda. Is it not true that your Tongras preach that the success of your people is evidence of Heln’s guidance?”

  “Yes,” Aldgar said. “But do you not say same? I know Dy’ain, Kael, Gilia, Layona…all Argonian. Do your leaders preach same message? You too have had victories and seen your faith spread across Corvell. Is not success proof, taught by your prelates, that your path is also true?”

  Kivalla smiled. “You are correct.”

  “How can both be right?” Aldgar asked.

  “Perhaps neither are,” Brant said.

  Everyone looked at him as if he had just said the craziest thin
g, except for Kivalla, who was still smiling. He enjoyed a good debate.

  Aldgar shrugged. “I do not know. But I cannot kill innocents because I’m told to. Not seem right to me.”

  “What can you tell me of the Tongra that took Cythera?” Jarak asked.

  “His name is Kahn Taruk. One of our best. Fierce fighter, strong tactics. He very powerful.”

  “Has he come for the Kul-brite?” Kivalla asked.

  Aldgar nodded his head. “Yes. Conquer lands, control steel. Want all to be Helnians. It is what we do.”

  “Was it my uncle who betrayed us?” Jarak asked.

  Aldgar looked at the young prince, his expression impassive. But his eyes were sorrowful. “I’m sorry, young prince, but yes, it was king’s brother who betrayed him. He now king of Dy’ain. But Tongra Taruk is power behind throne. An army nears Tanwen now.”

  Jarak stared into the fire. He had been pretty sure it was Daricon who had betrayed them. After all it was the only possible explanation. He just didn’t want to believe it. It was so hard for him to accept. His uncle had been like a father to him the past two years and he had felt he owed him much. But the reality of what he had done began to fester within him more and more the longer he thought about it. He had trusted and respected him. How could he have so betrayed his family? He clenched his jaws in anger as he thought about the betrayal.

  “Where do you come from?” Rath asked, hoping to change the subject.

  “Far west, across sea. A land we call Torvalla.”

  “I didn’t think a ship could cross the vast sea to the west,” Rath said.

  “Their ships can,” Kivalla interjected. “They are three times the size of ours, capable of carrying three times the men and supplies.”

  Aldgar nodded. “Kivalla is right.”

  “Do you have family?” Cat asked.

  Aldgar looked into the fire for a few moments. “Mother and father died in battle.” He shook his head. “No one else.”

  No one spoke further, their minds drifting to their own families, or to the loved ones they had lost.

  Early the ninth day they reached Tanwen. Riding over a gentle hill they could see the city below them nestled up against a tributary of the Sar’am river before it emptied into the Bitlis Sea. White flags bearing House Dormath’s symbol hung from six tall spires, billowing violently in the strong winds that gusted from the north through the Rygar valley. The city's walls were not as massively built as those of Cythera, but its thirty foot perimeter wall was more than enough to protect the northern border of Dy’ain.

  A patrol of Legionnaires found them and guided them through the city gates. The city was on alert; guards patrolled the battlements and the wood and iron gate had been securely locked, which was not typical for mid-day. Normally the town was a bustling center of brisk trade as merchants and farmers were free to come and go, selling their wares to the city's populace. The Legionnaire patrol had told them that scouts had recently arrived with the grave news of Cythera’s fall as well as the fact that an army of Saricons was only three days from Tanwen. Jarak had been right.

  They were quickly led through the city’s main street to the Chamberlains council building. It was a large stone building surrounded by ornamental trees, their limbs now devoid of greenery, and the delicate pink and white flowers of summer, for the winter was nearly upon them. Before the entryway stood a statue of Jarak’s father which had been commissioned twenty years ago when Jarak was born. It was a magnificent depiction of his father, dressed in full battle armor sitting proudly on a majestic warhorse. He hesitated briefly before it, staring at his father’s face before following the Legion captain up the steps and through the stout doors.

  Jarak had met Lord Rathiam only once, many years ago, but he knew he had been the Chamberlain of Tanwen for over twenty years. His father had spoken well of him on many occasions and Jarak knew he would be a valuable asset. Dozens of Legionnaires hurried to and fro, apparently on urgent business as they were led by the captain of the patrol that had found them. They glanced at them curiously, wondering who this travel worn group was, dragging a tall Saricon prisoner behind them.

  The council building’s main entrance led to the hall where the Chamberlain went about his daily business. It was there that they met him. The room was spacious and supported by eight columns that rose straight up to the ceiling as tall as large trees. There were four of the eight columns at each corner and a large rectangular table occupying the middle. At the far end of the room was a set of wide sweeping stairs that rose to a large dais occupied by a simple throne of stout timbers. Behind it, adorning the huge wall, was a plum colored tapestry with House Dormath’s symbol stitched in gold and silver thread. At each column stood a guard. Six Legionnaire officers along with an older man in a long robe stood at the large table, analyzing several maps and ledgers scattered across its surface.

  Lord Rathiam wore a long robe of blue with silver stitching, cinched tight by a gold and silver belt from which hung a long sword. A chain of gold hung from his neck and attached to it was his Chamberlain’s key, a gold key symbolic of his right to rule Tanwen as a representative of House Dormath. A gray beard, trimmed and immaculate, hung to his chest, and his hair, long and gray like his beard, was pulled back tight and held by a silver crown, with a simple loop in the front that rose slightly above the plain band around his head, and was adorned with a perfect etching of House Dormath’s symbol, inlaid with turquoise jewels that sparkled in the light.

  When he saw Jarak approach he smiled broadly and moved around the table to greet them. “Prince Jarak,” he announced. “I am relieved to see you in the flesh. I have feared the worst since word arrived that Cythera had fallen.”

  They shook hands warmly. “And I you, Lord Rathiam. We have traveled hard to get here.”

  “We have much to discuss. But first, let us eat, you must be famished.” Lord Rathiam summoned several guards nearby, instructing them to have servants bring food and drink.

  “I’m afraid there are a few things that cannot wait,” Jarak said, his sober expression catching the Chamberlain’s attention.

  “What is it?”

  “Lord Rathiam, my father and mother were murdered. The king and queen are dead. A Saricon army approaches as we speak.”

  Lord Rathiam stepped back. “I was hoping that perhaps your father and mother had survived the attack. You bring me dire news. I’m so sorry for your loss…for our loss. How did it happen?”

  “It was Lord Daricon.”

  This time Lord Rathiam was clearly in shock. “What! Why would he do such a thing?”

  “He wanted to be king. My only guess is that he has been working with the Saricons for years,” Jarak responded. “They surprised us that night. Our attention had been diverted when the Saricon army had arrived at our shores half a day’s ride from the city. They came in many boats, some huge and of Saricon design. As we prepared, a second army, unbeknownst to us, somehow attacked from the rear, occupying the gate and keeping it open. That army must have intercepted all the scouts we sent to you for help. Both armies converged on us and overran the city. We were not prepared.”

  “How did they take your father’s palace?”

  “They had infiltrated it with highly trained men who were placed inside the city.” Prince Jarak had not been privy to any of this information. But during their recent week long trek everyone had shared their own version of what they knew. Kivalla had seen the initial attack on the inner palace and had shared that information with Jarak. Unfortunately he had also witnessed Captain Hagen’s final valiant act and had to share that information with Cat. It was not a pleasant discussion, but he was happy that he had at least resolved for her the uncertainty about his fate, and was able to provide a lasting image of her father, describing his heroic act in great detail. “I can only assume that Daricon had his hand in that part of the plan.”

  Lord Rathiam looked painfully thoughtful. Processing this new information was obviously extremely difficult.
“I have known him for years. He was a great man. I find it hard to believe.”

  “I share your sentiment. But all the evidence, which I will share more with you shortly, points to him. Besides, our captive here has confirmed my suspicions.”

  Lord Rathiam looked back at the big Saricon. “Obviously we have much to discuss. You are our king now,” Lord Rathiam said, bowing his head.

  “I am,” Jarak responded. “But the formalities can wait. We have more pressing matters. Send word to your commanders. As you said, we have much to discuss.”

  It wasn’t long before everyone was sitting at the table, a warm meal in their stomachs. Ari, along with several other servants, left to bring their belongings to temporary rooms that were being prepared for them. Aldgar was escorted by several guards to a prison cell.

  Everyone else was there along with Lord Rathiam and Commander Sempis, leader of the Legion in Tanwen. Commander Sempis was a short man, thick in the chest with short, but powerful muscular arms. His dark brown hair and beard were streaked with silver, and he appeared to have been, at one time, a formidable warrior. He wore silver armor embossed with House Dormath’s symbol and his black cape was tied around his neck by a silver clasp, in the center of which was a round polished black stone. Despite his age and bulk, he looked as if he could still wield the double bladed axe that was strapped to his back, which he unslung before taking his seat next to Lord Rathiam.

  They quickly made their introductions and Jarak wasted no time getting straight to business. “I’m sorry to set aside pleasantries but we have limited time and much to discuss. As you know, Cythera has fallen and an army of Saricons marches towards Tanwen. As I said before, my father and mother were murdered by Lord Daricon, who now sits on the throne. According to my source he is merely a figure head. The true ruler of Cythera is a Tongra of Heln by the name of Kahn Taruk.”

  “My King, again, I’m shocked and sorry to hear this news. Your father was a friend of mine,” Lord Rathiam said.

  “You have my sympathies as well,” Commander Sempis added, his voice deep and strong. “He was a great king, and an even better man.”