Banner Lord

by Jason L. McWhirter

  “It’s been great here,” Tobias answered excitedly as Jana stepped in and hugged Brant. “Uncle Borgan and Auntie Marin have been amazing.”

  After releasing Jana he held her at arm’s length. “And you, how have you been?”

  Jana smiled. “It has been good. We have been working hard and Borgan and Marin have treated us well.”

  “That is good. I hope you have earned your keep,” Brant said.

  “Oh they have,” Borgan said as he came towards them from the bar. He shook Brant’s hand. “They have worked hard, there is no doubt about that.”

  “Good,” Brant said. “And I thank you again. Everyone,” Brant added as he stepped to the side to indicate Jarak, Serix, and Endler, who by now had stood up from the table. “This is King Jarak Dormath, Lord Rilonan, and Lord Ral. They will be staying here tonight before they depart for Cythera in the morning.”

  Nobody said a thing as they stared in awe at their esteemed guests. It was Tobias who spoke first, stepping towards the king, his face now serious. “You are my king?”

  Jarak smiled. “I am.”

  “Will you avenge my father’s death?”

  Jarak’s smile disappeared as he knelt next to Tobias. “I will. Did you know that the Saricons killed my father as well?”

  Tobias shook his head. “No. Its hurts inside, doesn’t it?”

  He placed his hand on Tobias’s shoulder as everyone looked on. “It does. I promise you, I will avenge both of our fathers.”

  Tobias nodded, a lone tear dripping down the side of his face. “I wish I could help you.”

  Jarak smiled. “You are. Work hard, be good, and honor your father. That’s how you will help me.”

  Tobias wiped the tear from his cheek. “I can do that.”

  Jarak patted him on the shoulder and stood. Borgan stepped forward. “My King, welcome to my inn. Can I bring you all food and drink?”

  “Please, that sounds wonderful after a hard day of riding,” Jarak said as he looked around. “You have not seen any Saricons for over a week?”

  “No, my King.”

  “That is good. Now, let us all sit and eat. In times of strife it is important to take advantage of the few opportunities we have to enjoy one another’s company. I would like you all to join us at our table. And I am paying in Dy’ainian coin. And don’t try to argue,” Jarak added as he saw Borgan about to protest.

  They enjoyed a delicious meal of slow roasted duck, potatoes and onions, and finished it off with a honey tart. Throughout it all they drank Borgan’s best wine and ale. The night was slower than usual so Thea, Borgan, and Marin were all able to join them for brief periods of time throughout the meal.

  “So you want to take the children with you?” Borgan asked as he sipped from his wine goblet, enjoying one of his brief reprieves from his many duties. The evening was winding down and there were only a few patrons left, nothing the other server, a young man named Torgay, couldn’t handle on his own.

  “I did. But now that the Saricons have left I am not so sure.”

  “They may come back,” Jarak cautioned. “They have a large army stationed north of here blocking the roads to Tanwen and Kreb. That army may return to Cythera soon. If so, they could pass through here.”

  “And the destruction would be complete knowing that Jarak’s army had passed through,” Serix added. “We are bringing war with us, and my guess is that any town that has offered help or resistance will not be spared. I would not want to be here if they did head this direction.”

  “They may travel to Cythera by the coastal roads,” Brant added.

  “Perhaps,” Serix said, saying nothing more.

  “But wouldn't bringing the children with you…with the army, be even more dangerous?” Borgan asked.

  Brant wasn’t sure what to say. Perhaps his desire to get the children was more selfish than practical. “You may be right,” he sighed. “It’s just that… if they are close to me, I can protect them. I have spent the last five months worrying about them, and you,” he added, his eyes lingering on Thea for a moment. “I feel helpless if I am not close enough to shield them from the Saricons.”

  “I understand, Brant. But I still think they are better off here,” Borgan continued.

  “What if they were to come with you now,” Thea suggested. “Then, when your army,” she said, glancing at the king, “passes through here on their way to Cythera, you leave them here when you bring the fight to the invaders.”

  Borgan pursed his lips. “That is a sound plan. What do you think, Brant?”

  Brant thought about it for a moment. It made sense. “I agree.”

  Borgan set his cup down hard on the table. “Good!” he exclaimed. “It’s settled. Now, who wants to try a culgen berry cordial I have been working on?”

  There was a chorus of agreement as Borgan got up to get the bottle and glasses. Thea stood as well. “If you will excuse me,” she said, “I want to check on Torgay to see how he is doing.” She excused herself and moments later Brant stood and left the table as the others were talking quietly.

  He followed Thea to the kitchen door and called her name. She turned and smiled, stepping closer to him. “What is it?”

  Brant hesitated, not sure where to start. He was so confident in battle, but when it came to women he felt like a little kid picking up a practice sword for the first time. “I was hoping,” he started, “that you would come with me when I take the children tomorrow.”

  She stepped closer still. “Come with you? Why? My home is here.”

  “I know,” Brant said. “It’s just that I’m worried for you. What if the Saricons return? They will destroy this town.”

  “What would I do with King Jarak’s army?”

  “There is much work to be done…cooking and serving just as you do here. You would have plenty to do. It would just be for a short time…maybe a month. When we return to town we could drop you off with the children.”

  She reached out and put her hand on his strong shoulder. “You want to protect me?”

  “I do. It is the one thing I am good at.”

  Thea smiled. “I’m sure you are good at many things.” She placed another hand on his other shoulder. She was close enough that he could smell her. It was an interesting combination of jasmine soap and wood smoke from the cook fires. “Where would I stay?”

  Brant blushed. “Like I said. I want to protect you.” He hesitated. “You would stay with me and the children.”

  Thea smiled. “In that case, then yes, I will come with you. Let me run it by Borgan first.”

  “Are you serious?”

  She stood up on her toes and kissed Brant on the lips. “I am. Now go and enjoy the rest of the evening. I will join you shortly.”

  The next morning Brant, Thea, Jana, and Tobias left for Bygon. Brant, with Jarak’s help, purchased several horses in town, and once supplied they were well on their way. Jarak and his companions departed in the opposite direction, east, toward Cythera. It would take them a week to cover the distance and as they got within four days of the city they left the main road to avoid Saricon patrols, traveling instead through grasslands now covered with a layer of snow. Though being off the road in ankle deep snow slowed them down some, it enabled them to avoid running into any patrols. Their extra effort paid off and on the sixth day they crested a hill and saw the white city below them, nestled against the coastline of the Bitlis Strait.

  They gazed for a few moments in silence at their city, now a Saricon stronghold. “What now?” Endler said, his voice breaking through their melancholy silence.

  “We wait until dark,” Jarak said, his face set. “Serix and I will fly us in under the cover of night. Once there, we make our way to the Black Cat.”

  Serix and Endler nodded.

  “There,” Serix said, pointing to a flat rooftop along one of the dark streets of the Stye, Cythera’s poor and dangerous neighborhood. They figured there would be less Saricon patrols there, and besides, it was close to
the brothel. The air was swirling around Serix and Endler’s lower body as Serix held the Channeler under his arms, clasping his hands around his chest. Jarak was flying by himself, the air slowly dropping him to where Serix had pointed. Serix dropped Endler first to the rooftop and then withdrew the magic of the spell just as he made contact with the roof several paces away. They both landed well and had quickly scooted to the edge, their hoods pulled low to cover their faces. Jarak cut off the energy from his mage stone too soon and found himself dropping a full pace and a half. He hit hard and rolled, trying to lessen the impact. Nonetheless the impact on his shoulder as he rolled across the clay tiles was painful.

  “You okay?” Serix whispered as Jarak joined them on the edge of the roof.

  Rotating his arm, Jarak checked to see if he was seriously hurt. “It’s fine. Just a bad bruise. Let’s go.”

  Together they hung from the edge of the roof and dropped the last of the distance to the ground below. The alleyways of the Stye were dark and dank with the smell of refuse. It was a dangerous place, the home of cutthroats and ruffians who were known to prey mainly on drunks and strangers who unknowingly took a wrong turn and found themselves in the Stye. Some of the wealthier sections of Cythera were only several blocks from the Stye, separated by two main streets. Those streets were guarded heavily, but it was not uncommon for strangers to unknowingly venture into the Stye. The three of them were armed warriors, and they carried themselves as such. It was easy for a criminal to recognize a victim, and the trio did not look like victims. They hoped their more formidable carriage would be enough of a deterrent to avoid any conflicts in the Stye.

  Jarak led them through several dark alleys before venturing out onto the main street that led to the Black Cat. There were people about, but not like it used to be before the Saricon occupation. The few that were out walked briskly, heads down, eager to get to their final destination. There wasn’t the typical energy that Jarak remembered. The Saricon occupation was like a suffocating blanket, covering the city and dampening its old lively bustle. Jarak hated to see his home like this, and he found himself angrily gripping the pommel of his sword. Keeping their heads covered, they walked casually, avoiding stares and trying not to look suspicious. The first Saricon patrol they passed didn’t even notice them, the four man group moving past them without a second glance. They passed several more patrols, one much larger, the eight man team rudely shouldering people out of their way. Not one person said anything. Keeping their eyes low they skirted the invaders as if they were a plague. Finally Jarak turned down the alley that led to the front door of the Black Cat.

  Standing at the entrance was a bearded man in mail armor, a long sword and dagger at his belt. His nose was bent and swollen on the right side, as if it had been broken on more than one occasion. He nodded at them as they approached. “What can I do for you gentlemen?”

  “We would like entrance,” Jarak said with authority. “We need to speak with Madame Angel. It is very urgent.”

  “And who might you be?”

  “Merchants from the north who want to do business with her,” Jarak continued.

  “From the north? I’ve heard that Tanwen and Kreb have been destroyed. Have you been there?”

  “We have. And yes, the two cities were burning. Not good for trade, which is why we are here. Normally my brothers and I don’t venture this far south, but we have goods to move and we were hoping Madame Angel would be interested.”

  The warrior pursed his lips in thought. It made sense and he stepped out of their way. “Once inside, ask for a man named Vorn. He can you bring you to the Madame.”

  Jarak nodded. “Thank you.”

  Once inside Jarak had a strong feeling of déjà vu. He had been to the Black Cat on many occasions, and all of them, despite how much fun he had, seemed frivolous now. He barely even noticed the scantily clad women mulling about and went directly to a big guard, who seemed to have noticed them immediately and was walking towards them. He wore well-made plate armor and carried a short sword. He looked every bit the warrior and Jarak had no doubt that he could use the blade he wore.

  “Good evening gentlemen,” the guard said, his voice deep. He stood half a head taller than Jarak. “You seem to be looking for someone. Can I help you?”

  “We are looking to meet with Madame Angel and the guard outside said to find a man named Vorn. Is that you by chance?” Jarak asked.

  “It is. What business do you have with the Madame?”

  “We are traders from the north hoping to interest her in our wares,” Jarak answered.

  “I see,” Vorn said, looking them over. He seemed skeptical, seeing something in them that didn’t quite fit the ‘trader’ mold. “You do not look like traders,” Vorn said, his eyes wary.

  Jarak tilted his head in confusion. “And what do traders look like?”

  “Not like you,” Vorn responded confidently. “Your hands are callused and you carry yourselves like warriors. It is my job to read men, and my gut tells me that you are lying to me.”

  Serix looked at Jarak, his expression worried. The one thing they didn’t want to do was make a scene. When they entered he had noticed two Saricons sitting with a couple of girls. They glanced at them with interest as they drank wine and fondled the two girls who were sitting in their laps. They had foreseen that it was a likely possibility that they would not be allowed to see Angel, and they had come up with another plan just in case. It was a little risky, but they had no other option. They certainly weren’t going to fight their way to the Madame. “Show him,” Serix suggested.

  Jarak reached into his pocket and withdrew a ring, handing it to Vorn. “Show her this. She will want to see me.”

  Vorn looked at Jarak’s signet ring. Jarak saw a slight flash of surprise and then it was gone, his face deadpan again. “Give me a moment,” he said.

  “We better take off our hoods,” Endler whispered. “The Saricons are looking at us.”

  Jarak was reluctant. There were many people who worked at the Black Cat who might recognize him. “Go ahead. I’ll keep mine on,” he suggested.

  Serix and Endler removed their hoods and stood before Jarak, shielding him from the view of the Saricons. They were approached by a server in a tight black dress and they sent her away, telling her they were waiting for Vorn. And they didn’t have to wait long.

  Vorn reappeared quickly. “Please come with me.”

  They followed him across the room to a stout wooden door reinforced with bands of black steel. Using a key at his side he unlocked the door and motioned for them to follow him. Once inside the hall he relocked the door and led them down the hallway. There were several side doors but he ignored them, stopping at the end of the hall. A steel door blocked them and Vorn withdrew another key, and inserting it into the lock he opened the heavy door. They followed him inside to a plush but comfortable office. Standing by her desk was Angel, and she was smiling when they entered.

  “Gentlemen, this is Madame Angel,” Vorn said, stepping to the side.

  “Thank you, Vorn. If you will excuse us please,” Angel said.

  Vorn looked at Jarak one more time before he left, his face now reflecting something different. He wasn’t suspicious anymore. In fact he had looked at Jarak with a hint of reverence. Perhaps he had guessed his identity. After all, who else would have House Dormath’s signet ring? Once the door was shut behind them Angel stepped towards them as Jarak removed his hood. “It is you, isn’t it?” she said.

  “If you mean you referring to the king, then yes, I am Jarak Dormath, the rightful king of Dy’ain.”

  “I cannot believe my eyes,” Angel said. “You know I remember seeing you here several times. You look different now.”

  “That was a long time ago,” Jarak replied. “And I am different. This is Serix Rilonan and Endler Ral.”

  “Well met. How did you know to come here?”

  “Banrigar told us who you are,” Jarak said.

  Angel smiled. “How is h
e? Why did he not come?”

  “He is dead,” Jarak replied.

  Angel’s smile disappeared. “I’m sorry to hear that.” She moved back behind her desk. “Please, have a seat. I’m sure you have much you want to discuss. Can I pour you some wine?”

  “Please,” Jarak said as they all sat in the comfortable chairs facing her desk.

  She poured them a glass of wine and leaned back in her chair. “So, what did Banrigar tell you?”

  “Not much,” Jarak began. “We knew he was of the Turari Order and he said you were as well, and that we should find you. But that is the extent of it.”

  “Well, I am a Turari Magistrate, leader of the order in Dy’ain.”

  “I was hoping your position was influential,” Jarak responded, clearly impressed.

  “How can I help you? What is the plan to take back the city?”

  “How did you know that is our plan?” Serix asked.

  She smiled. “I have spies everywhere. I know you have an army of over ten thousand strong at Bygon. I know there is another army over three thousand strong traveling west of the Devlin Range with the intent of crossing back into Dy’ain to join you. I also know that, despite my shock, you have two thousand Varga ready to fight beside you.” She folded her hands on top of her desk. “Why else would you be amassing an army if not to attack?”

  “I need information,” Jarak said.

  “That is my business,” she replied as she reached for her glass.

  “Do you know how many men the Saricons have?”

  “I do,” she said matter-of-factly. “They have an army of over six thousand strong blocking the main roads from Tanwen and Kreb to here. In Cythera there are over sixteen thousand Saricons plus an additional three thousand Dy’ainian Legionaries that your uncle has been recruiting.”

  “Why would they fight for him?” Endler asked.

  “It is their job,” Angel replied. “They are soldiers, and a soldier follows their king, and for them that king is Daricon. After the occupation thousands of captured Legionnaires, the ones that would not submit to Heln, were executed. The few that were not killed in the initial assault, or who did not escape or submit, were recruited into the new army. They do not know you are alive.”