Banner Lord

by Jason L. McWhirter

  “And if they did?” Jarak asked.

  Angel smiled. “They may rebel. I have spies within the corps that could help with that.”

  “That was part of my plan. I was hoping you could help me with a few other things as well,” Jarak said.

  “Anything, my King. As you know I am a leader in the Turari Order. Our purpose is to spread Argon’s word and to serve your royal house, which has long been a defender of the Argonian faith. My entire order is at your service. What do you need?”

  “We need supplies for the army, as well as weapons.”

  “That can be arranged. And quite quickly if you have coin.”

  Jarak reached into his cloak and brought out a large coin purse. He opened it and dumped the contents onto her desk. Over forty Kul-brite nuggets danced across the wood surface, the light from the room's lanterns making them glitter like diamonds. “Will that cover any expenses?”

  Angel’s eyes widened. “It will.”

  “Can you use your ships to bring the cargo north along the coast? We will then unload them and caravan the goods to Bygon.”

  “That can be arranged. I will need a week to gather the supplies.”

  “Good. And another thing. I want to get my hands on the Saricon exploding devices,” Jarak said. “Can that be done?”

  “They are called tynells and they are very dangerous,” she said.

  “I know. That is precisely why I want them.”

  “I can see you have a plan.” She thought for a moment. “I think I can procure some.”

  “Good. Include them in the food shipment.”

  “I will do my best.”

  Jarak nodded. “And you're right, I do have a plan, and your network will be an integral part of it.”

  “I am hoping to be of great value. I too have been planning. Banrigar, before he was killed, had gotten word to me that you were alive. Ever since then I have been waiting for your return.

  “I can see why you hold the position that you do,” Jarak commented. “Do you have a pen and paper? We have much to discuss.”

  Angel smiled and removed several sheets of parchment and a quill from a drawer. Dipping the quill in the ink, she looked at him, the quill poised above the blank paper. “What is your plan?”

  ***

  Three weeks later, in the middle of the night, there was a knock at Jayla’s door. It was late and she was already lying in bed, her thick wool blanket lined in plush cotton pulled high to her neck to ward off the winter air. She had recently added a log to the fire and the flames licked at the logs, casting a flickering glow throughout the room but doing an inadequate job of warming her old bones. She wasn’t really old, at least she didn’t think of herself as old, but she was nearly sixty. Few would guess that at one time she was one of the few female soldiers in the Gilian Infantry. Before that, she had worked with her mother and father at a small inn they owned. It was there she had learned to cook from her mother. A tragic fire had taken their inn, as well her parents, and with nothing else to do she had joined the king’s infantry at the age of eighteen.

  She was a hard worker and very tough, working her way up to captain by the time she was twenty six. She was young; lean, strong, and beautiful. And it was her beauty that had gotten her in trouble. A superior officer had tried to bed her, and when she refused he struck her. She was not one to take a hit without fighting back, which was what she did. The officer had obviously not spent as much time as she had training and carried more fat than muscle. She beat him up pretty badly, and despite her insistence that he had attacked her, she was sentenced to be banished from the kingdom. After that she found work cooking in several other establishments, gradually moving east until she finally ended up in Kael. It was there she had been found by the Turari Order, and recruited to be a knight. She was already a devout Argonian, which was the first prerequisite. But even with her military skills it still took her a full year to complete her training to be a knight. She then traveled all over Kael, Gilia, and Dy’ain, spying and protecting various members of the royal houses who supported the Argonian Church. As she got older, she was given jobs more suitable for her age. She spied and collected data, funneling the information back to the Turari Magistrates with whom she was working. Finally she had been recruited for her most important mission, a mission that had lasted the past twelve years. Infiltrating the Dormath royal family at Lyone, she had become Daricon Dormath’s chef. At first her job was just to report on the comings and goings of the garrison as the fortress was the gateway to Kael and the Saricon invasion there had made Lyone a place of constant war. Then, over time, she began to suspect something amiss. She couldn’t put her finger on it but something didn’t seem right with Daricon and his wife, who was clearly part Saricon. But she couldn’t prove anything, not until she found the secret shrine to Heln. At that point it seemed pretty obvious that Daricon Dormath was a traitor. And now her fears had come to fruition, and to put salt into the wound she was still his chef. But she would find a way to make him pay for his treason.

  The knock sounded again and she got up and went to the door in her long cotton robe. “Who is it?” she said through the door.

  “It’s a nice night for a walk,” came the reply. It was their code phrase.

  She unlocked the door and one of the guards handed her something, departing quickly down the hall without another look. She shut the door and relocked it, moving to her side table near the fire. She unrolled the parchment, grabbed the water jug on the table, and poured it over the thick paper. Within moments, where the water had soaked into the paper, words began to appear. She had no idea how it worked; some members of the order much smarter than she had obviously devised some sort of ink that reacted with water in order to become visible. She read the letter, her heart beating quickly.

  Jayla, it is time to move forward. King Jarak’s army will attack in exactly seven days from today, three hours before dawn. We must secure the inner palace, and to do that, your part must succeed. The king and his warriors will join you. Wait for the signal. Your success is paramount to ours. Be strong, Argon will guide you.

  Jayla lowered the letter and breathed deeply. She had not noticed that she had been holding her breath. Finally, the time was upon them. She took the letter and tossed it into the fire, watching it burn with eager anticipation. But she had to admit that she was nervous. They had a great task before them, one that would surely result in many deaths. She looked forward to restoring the rightful king to the throne, but she worried for her people and her kingdom. Would they be able to defeat the Saricons? That was a question that she knew would keep her up late into the night.

  ***

  By the time the second army had arrived, supplies and more weapons had come by caravan from a small coastal town north of Cythera. Angel had come through admirably, for among the supplies she had promised was a wagon full of tynells. There were ten in number, each one a little larger than a man’s head. There were bags of grain and beans as well crates of swords and shields. They were not of the highest quality, probably purchased from Argos or Yalara, but they would do well enough to outfit any men who arrived to fight who had no weapons of their own. Jarak had sent five of his twelve remaining Dygon Guards with a small contingent of men to secure and transport the goods. Under the cover of night, they offloaded the cargo from the boat, which was moored at a small coastal town chosen by Angel’s spies. Not all of the towns were occupied by Saricons, and once they got past the few that were, they were home free to meet up with the main army.

  More men throughout Dy’ain had joined his army, bringing those volunteer numbers to three thousand. Some came with weapons and armor, and some did not. A handful of nobles had sworn their allegiance to the fight as well, bringing with them various Aurit skills. Most were older who had never before seen combat, but there were a handful who were retired officers and they knew their business. They would be put to good use in the war to come.

  It took them another week to organize the army, dis
tribute supplies, and plan the next part of their attack. Jarak had sent out scouts and a week later they returned with the news that the Saricon army from the north was returning to Cythera via the coastal road. It looked as if they were reuniting with the main army in Cythera for the main confrontation.

  Before they left Bygon they had to deal with the unfortunate business of what to do with Ari. Two nights before they were to leave Jarak called Ari to appear before him. The young boy had no idea that his seeker stone had been found, and when he entered Jarak’s tent, he was very much surprised to see not only Jarak sitting at the big table in the middle of the room, but also Serix and Endler standing on one side of the king, while Brant and Cat stood on the other. Ari looked at them all, his innocent expression melting away like a wax candle before a dragon’s breath. He knew something was wrong and it was clear he had concluded the worst, that his stone had been found.

  “My King,” he stammered, “you sent for me?”

  “I did,” Jarak replied. “We have grave news to discuss. Do you know why you are standing before us?”

  “I do not,” he said, his voice breaking. It was obvious that he did.

  “This is a military tribunal, Ari. We know you gave Brant the seeking stone. We know you led the assassins to us, the end result being the death of three Dygon Guards.”

  Ari’s façade crumbled under the weight of the accusation. Tears streamed down the side of his face as he dropped to his knees. “I did not want that to happen,” he lamented. “I had no choice, you must believe me.”

  “We all have a choice,” Jarak said.

  “Ari, you have committed treason. An act punishable by death,” Serix added.

  Brant looked at Serix in shock. He had been asked to join them when they confronted Ari but he had not been told it was a trial. Nor had he been told that his offense was punishable by death. He shifted his feet in agitation and narrowed his eyes, his hand moving towards his sword. Cat sensed his uneasiness and rested her hand on his muscled forearm. Her touch and her expression said don’t.

  “I-I, I’m sorry, I, was forced to do it,” Ari cried, his frantic eyes searching theirs.

  “How were you forced?” Endler asked.

  “They recruited me when I was young. They took my parents and said they would kill them if I did not spy for them.”

  “How long has this been going on?” Jarak asked.

  “Since I joined the service of Master Rand.”

  “That was over six years ago,” Jarak said. “You really think your parents are still alive?”

  Ari was crying openly now. “I don’t know! They said they were and that when the war was over I would see them again! They must be alive!”

  “That is enough!” Brant growled, stepping forward. “He is just a kid!”

  “He is fifteen years old,” Endler said. “One more year and he would be eligible to fight. He knew what he was doing and he must be punished.”

  “They were holding his parents lives over him,” Brant said, his frustration evident.

  “Even if that is true,” Serix replied, “he still chose to aid our enemies in an assassination attempt against the king. We lost three of our best men because of his actions. I’m sorry, but our laws are clear.”

  Brant was just about to say something when Jarak interjected. “Brant, if you were in his shoes, would you have done the same thing?”

  Brant looked at Ari who was pleading for mercy. It broke his heart but Jarak had him. He would never have chosen to have others killed to save a few, even if it were his parents. “No, I would not have.”

  “He must be executed,” Serix said.

  “I agree,” Endler added.

  Brant rested his hand on the pommel of his sword and stepped before Ari. “There must be another way,” he pleaded. He looked to Jarak, his eyes asking for another way.

  “You would draw your blade to protect a boy who tried to kill you?” Serix asked.

  “No,” Brant growled, more in frustration than anger. “But there has to be another way. Ari is just a boy who made a bad decision, one made when he was nine years old. Can’t you see, he was manipulated, molded into a spy when he was just a kid. He is not a killer.”

  Jarak stood up. “I disagree with you…partly anyway. I agree…he was made into what he is by our enemies, and perhaps you are right, that he is not a killer. But nonetheless he has committed a heinous crime against us all. Relax, Brant. There will be no bloodshed here tonight, not while we have so much yet to spill.” Brant took his hand off the hilt of his sword and stepped aside, his relief evident. Jarak directed his eyes to Ari. “Ari, I’m sorry that this happened to you. But you made the wrong decision, despite your age. You could have come to us at any time to ask for help, and yet you did not. Despite the law, I will show you mercy. You are banished from the Kingdom of Dy’ain, never to return. If you do return, you will be summarily executed for treason. Do you understand?”

  Ari was still crying but he had calmed down some. He stood up and wiped the tears from his eyes. “I do.”

  “You will be given enough food to get you to the Kaelian border. After that, you are on your own. You will leave at first light. Take him away,” he ordered two guards who were standing near the entrance of the tent. They stepped forward and led Ari away, his downcast eyes avoiding those he had betrayed.

  Brant looked at Jarak and nodded his head in acceptance of his decision. Then he strode from the tent behind Ari. Cat stepped closer to Jarak and placed her hand on his arm. “You did well.”

  He smiled weakly at her. “I hope so.” It had obviously been a difficult decision for him to make.

  ***

  The journey from Bygon to Cythera would take nearly two weeks with an army their size. On the third day, one day past Amorsit, the army made camp across an expansive snow covered clearing. The steppes of Dy'ain were mostly rolling hills of grass, but interspersed among the grasslands were small pockets of forest. They had been marching all day through one of these forests, surrounded by snow covered trees. Finally the road opened up onto rolling hills as far as the eye could see. It took several hours for the army to spread out and set up camp. Orders were given and the three main armies went about their duties. The Marastians kept to themselves as did the Varga. Most had never seen a Varga and all they knew of them was their fearsome reputation as deadly warriors. Needless to say the Marastians as well as the Dy’ainians stayed clear of them.

  Jarak’s tent had been set up in the middle of the Dy’ainian army camp. He spent time walking among the men as they took their meals, talking with them and trying to make himself visible. He had remembered what Serix had taught him nearly a year ago when they had fought against the Saricons that had crossed the Pelm River. He wanted the men to see him as one of them, fighting alongside them, sleeping in the snow with them, and eating the same beans and bread. When he returned to his tent he found Lord Rathiam waiting for him.

  Jarak smiled as he approached. “Lord Rathiam, what can I do for you?” They had talked many times since he had brought the army around the Devlin Mountains to join up with him. Lord Rathiam had done well in preparing Jarak’s second army at the ruins and well as build the siege engines he would soon need. Jarak had expressed his gratitude several times already.

  “I wanted to show you something,” Lord Rathiam said. “It will not take long.”

  Jarak noticed that he carried a canvas package tied with rope. “Please, come inside,” Jarak said. They entered the tent, which was big enough to accommodate the large table that had been placed in the middle that was now covered with maps and ledgers. In the corner of the tent his sleeping furs lay next to a ring of stones surrounding a pile of red embers. “There is some wine on the table. Help yourself,” Jarak said as he stacked a couple more pieces of wood onto the coals, blowing on the fire to coax it back to life.

  “No thank you, I will not stay long. I’m sure you are busy.”

  Jarak stood up and faced him. “Aren’t we all,” he
said. “Now, what would you like to show me?”

  Lord Rathiam set the package on the table and untied the string, opening the canvas. Then he pulled out a white piece of thick cotton and unfurled it. “I have had people working on these for five months now. We now have a hundred of them complete.”

  Jarak stepped forward and took the cloth from him. It was shaped liked the flags that used to flap in the wind on the top of every spire in Cythera. But this one didn’t have the Dormath family insignia. Intricately embroidered onto the white fabric was a beautiful rendition of the symbol that graced Jarak’s chest plate. The blue stitching on the symbol created a stunning contrast against the shimmering white cloth. “It is beautiful,” he whispered.

  “A new king needs a new banner.”

  “I don’t know what to say,” Jarak said. “You have done all that I have asked and more, under the most difficult of circumstances. I am honored to have you at my side.”

  “And I you, my King. You have brought us all hope. We have a purpose. Your father would be very proud of you.”

  Jarak nodded his thanks. “I want them on poles tomorrow. Can you arrange that?”

  Lord Rathiam smiled. “It would be my pleasure.”

  ***

  On the fifth day they were met with a welcome surprise. Around mid-day a scout returned with news that a cavalry unit was riding hard from the west, and they were heading straight towards them. The good news was they weren't Saricons. In fact, the scout said they looked to be Kaelian soldiers.

  They were easy to spot, appearing like a black herd racing towards them, in stark contrast against the brilliant white of the snow covered plains. Jarak halted the army and rode forward with Serix, Endler, Brant, Cat, and the remaining twelve Dygon Guards who were now Jarak’s personal guards. When the riders neared they slowed, and one man in particular rode forward as his riders spread out behind him. It looked to be around a thousand men.