by Bill Mays
“The resistance will come. Have faith in our King. When has Airos ever not come through for us?” The duke spoke with reference to their many adventures over the last twenty years.
“True, we have been through a lot together, the four of us. Many an adventure left me doubting that man only to have him come riding to the rescue. Those were the days, before we all decided to become responsible and help Airos build Kandair into the kingdom he knew it could become.” The smug wizard gave the last part of the statement a sarcastic undertone.
Markston chuckled, “I have to admit I was surprised you signed on for the job.”
“When the rest of you left me, what was I to do? I suppose I could have found another group of overzealous, bullheaded young fools to ride with; but by that time, I was too old to start over. I don’t make friends easily you know. Was I going to settle down and raise children? What woman could I stand for more than a fortnight; and for that matter, what maiden would have a man as arrogant as I? No, I had few options, besides you needed me here.”
“That is one fact I can’t deny, my friend. Arrogant or not, you are the thing holding us together right now. Without your magic, we would have fallen weeks ago. I can’t tell you how relieved I was when you showed up after we had written you off as dead.”
“I can’t tell you how relieved I was that I wasn’t slain. That undead beast was a force to be reckoned with.” Callivar lifted his head and looked out the small window to the room. “Have you spoken with Airos or Lusariss recently?”
Markston shook his head sadly. “Not in over a year directly.”
“Me either. I had hoped to visit with them after my arrival in Kandair City. We both know how that turned out. To think we used to be near inseparable. I have yet to even meet Lusariss’ new bride.”
The wizard’s eyes were puffy and red from lack of rest combined with taxing his abilities to the limit on a daily basis. The slender man had grown thin from not eating. When he did find a moment to relax all he wanted to do was sleep.
“I miss our adventures. Those were the days,” the duke smiled wistfully. “Have you heard any word from Dimitri?” Callivar shook his head from side to side. The topic of his young pupil made him nervous. Markston thought he actually worried about the boy. “He’s a fine young man, you know. He’ll make an excellent court wizard some day.”
“The boy is well and helping the addled one last I heard, and yes I know. He’s a finer man at his age than I’ll ever be, not that I’m complaining. Some of us weren’t meant to fit in. I do wonder about the others I sent ahead with him. For some reason the gladiator and that lady stick in my mind. I believe they were a sign of what was coming. I should have questioned them further.”
A loud explosion drew both men’s attention to the tiny window. A ball of magical flame erupted just over the outer wall to the fortress city. “They test us again,” Markston sighed. “How many mages does the Dark Lord have under his influence?”
“I’ll have to show them how it’s really done -- again.” Callivar stood and stretched away his tiredness. “I do hate to see those minor magicians throwing around a good spell without the proper training.”
“Callivar,” the duke drew the thin man’s attention before he left the room, “Take care. I meant what I said earlier. We do need you here.”
“Of course you do,” the haughty wizard grinned, “Of course you do.”
* * * * * * * * * *
The shouts of his soldiers were all around him. It made his head hurt more than it already did. Archers prepared to fire from the walls down on the new wave of Drackmoore’s soldiers and goblins, which swarmed around the heavy iron gates. The goblins were new to the siege. Other more gruesome creatures had come with them. It was not a promising sight. That only meant the Dark Lord had rallied more foes to his cause. How he longed just to take a break. Callivar was not a young man. He had been at the forefront of the battle since his tangle with the undead beast many months past. He was lucky a passing hunter had found him near death at the bottom of the Stardust Gorge. The man carried him back to Talipax just before the full force of the Drackmoorian army washed over the land. There had been little time to nurse his wounds. Callivar’s magic was needed. A second burst of fire rocked the walls.
“That is about enough fledgling,” the thin wizard mumbled to himself.
He climbed to the highest point on the wall. It offered him a clear view of his opponents far below. He spotted the Drackmoorian mage. The man stood confidently with his scaled black cloak flapping in the breeze.
“Another war mage,” Callivar sighed.
He was growing tired of the dark land’s persistence. This was the third such spell-captain they had sent to attack Talipax in the past two months. They were getting younger and less experienced with each new man. Though he hated to halt the young mage’s study of the magical arts so early in his career, it just could not be helped. One war mage was worth a hundred soldiers in battle, maybe more if he was any good. It was time for the man to learn a very important lesson. Know thy enemy, and in this case that meant the young mage’s superior. The advisor to the duke began a chant that started deep in his throat as a faint rumble and ended in a shout spewing through his tight lips. Energies gathered around the fair-haired wizard. Blue and green sparks leapt in random arcs about his body. They grew in intensity and gathered together funneling their combined strength up his right arm. Callivar extended the crackling arm and felt the numbing pulse surge through his fingertips. A huge bolt of blue-white electricity shot forth striking the Drackmoorian war mage in the chest. There was a flash as the mage’s magical-force shield shattered and his body was hurled twenty feet backwards. The powerful spell did not end there. From the fried corpse of the mage shot smaller bolts of electricity in every direction. The tentacles of magic fanned out in a sixty-foot radius laying waste to all in the vicinity. Many enemies fell to the explosion of energy.
The Kandairian archers cheered for their captain. His spell had not only halted the magical assault, but also disrupted this entire wave of attack. Drackmoorian soldiers and goblins scattered to escape the wrath of the blue-cloaked wizard standing high on Talipax’s wall. Callivar managed a slight smile as he turned to leave his perch overlooking the siege.
“They had better clap. That is one of my best creations. I love that spell,” he mumbled to himself with pride.
His job was done for now. The attack pulled back to regroup. As soon as he passed from sight into the corridors leading from the high wall, he slumped to the floor. He had called upon powerful magic and his body was in desperate need of rest.
“Just a while longer,” he grunted and pulled himself back to his feet. “We each have our parts to play. I must hold out until Airos can come to the rescue.” His private contemplations were interrupted by a soft-spoken voice.
“For all our sakes I hope that is soon, my friend.” The duke stood with his mighty bow, Festoon, slung over his shoulder. “Well done, get some rest. Now it is my turn to watch the wall.”
Arrows flew and fires burned through the night. Markston’s enchanted bow added many foes to Drackmoore’s long line of deceased. The battle for Talipax never slept and never let up.
* * * * * * * * * *
The nomads of Waynan were known for their fierce battle skills and their riding prowess. The queen had been very grateful to hear that these southern neighbors had come to Kandair’s aid. There was a long-standing camaraderie between the nomads and the loose knit communities of old Kandair. Though they were few in number, the nomads had helped balance the scales in the skirmishes erupting over control of the country’s southern regions. More than half the area was covered in plains. This gave the Waynan natives a strong advantage over the Drackmoorian troops. Originally, the huge tornado storms had ripped through the resistance forces, slaughtering their entire elite troop of knights, slaying several of their battle mages and decimating any hope of pushing the dark land soldiers from their homes. Over the last coupl
e of months, none of the magical storms had come. It was a welcomed reprieve. It actually gave them time to construct some semblance of an army again to reclaim Kandair. The nomad riders were working as messengers, too. Their speed was unequalled allowing for swift communications between camps. Word of the goblin siege parties was spreading. There were also rumors of worse creatures enlisting in the Dark Lord’s army. Measures would have to be taken to protect the remote settlements along the central stretches of the country.
A young, dark-skinned nomad arrived at the small town of Bromin. The town hid from view, tucked neatly between two cliffs and a forest. It also served as the secret headquarters of the Kandairian resistance.
“Two more outposts have fallen to the goblins,” the messenger announced between pants. His voice was thick with the Waynan accent.
“Not good … hmmm … not good at all,” the old man muttered. “Spread the news.” The youth ran off to do as told. “I fear we cannot wait any longer, your highness,” Vergehen spoke with conviction. “The longer we dally, the weaker our grip gets on this land. You will have to lead them. There is no other choice.”
“How many times must I point out to you that I am no warrior? I cannot ride into battle. Airos is the fighter. I am his wife, nothing more.” The auburn-haired woman looked to the old man with a stern gaze.
“Airos is not here, and you are the queen! You must not forget that!” Vergehen raised his voice in anger. “You were not raised in the courts and I’ve seen you ride with skill! Lusariss is off gathering allies. Duke Markston and Callivar are held fast in their city surrounded by enemies. His majesty is silent for too long now. I have lost touch with his special messengers completely. Both commanders, Carpious and Manifor, are missing as well and the princess …” The old man’s voice trailed off stealing his bluster. “You are the only one left. No, it is not fair to ask this of you, Your Highness, but we need a leader, a leader that people will rally round. I would do it myself if I thought for a second your subjects would follow, but we both know an old man like me won’t be enough to inspire confidence. There is no choice.” The wizard quickly moved to comfort the woman who seemed anything but a queen at the moment. She was little more than a tailor’s daughter from another land with immeasurable duties heaped upon her weary shoulders. “If we could just free Markston, then the people would have another leader. We will have a warrior to build their confidence and a force to draw in more allies. One battle without any mistakes and you can relinquish some of these duties, Kathraine. I will be at your side the entire time. My skills are here to protect you.”
“Of course,” she whispered softly. “Let us make the proper preparations.”
“Thank you,” Vergehen whispered back. “Soldier!” He called over one of the queen’s personal guards. “Fetch a messenger, and a fast one. We must spread the word. The queen soon rides to battle for Talipax!” The young soldier hesitated, his eyes wide with surprise. He glanced at Kathraine in shock. The regal woman did not meet his gaze.
“My lord, allow me the honor of finding the messenger and spreading the word,” Dimitri asked humbly. The boy was excited to hear they were finally making a move to aid his master.
Vergehen stared at Callivar’s young apprentice. “What a pleasant surprise. You do your master proud, son,” the old man mumbled. “Go then, and let all know that Queen Kathraine will lead us to victory.”
Vergehen the Wise spoke with strength and conviction. No one could see how much it all pained him. He knew the woman had suffered much over the last few months, her throne ripped from beneath her overnight, the responsibilities of a kingdom at war dropped in her lap, her husband lost to only the gods knew where, and her daughter claimed in the fall of the castle. It was a wonder she still held her sanity. It did make him realize one thing, though. Kathraine Allustare was a strong woman. She was a woman he was proud to call queen.
- Chapter 13 -
A Message of Importance
Flade patted the young soldier, Petre, on the back gently. It was a small consolation. The ranger then moved to take the lead again. They needed to get moving before anyone else happened upon them. Dalia could sense the young man’s pain, but there was nothing she could think to offer that would be of any use. Arianna said a quick prayer over the dead Drackmoorian bodies. Normally, she would not have bothered; but Petre’s presence opened her eyes to the fact that many souls on both sides of the war were trapped by the merciless will of the Dark Lord. This journey was opening her eyes to many things she never bothered to notice before. Petre watched the brief prayer the priestess offered and felt a deep emptiness in his heart. There should have been something stirring in him, should there not? Why was he here? Where did he fit into this war now? Where did he fit into the world? He felt the sting of tears in his eyes; but he was not sure what they were for, the dead Drackmoorians or his own predicament. Mani wanted to console the youth, too, but the boy had brought this on himself. Either these trials would break him or they would make him stronger. At least the incident had erased all doubts of Petre’s loyalties. Petre sat quietly and replayed the incident in his head.
Movement through enemy infested territory was not easy. There was little time to think when the Drackmoorian troop spotted them. Seven soldiers were upon the small party in the blink of an eye. Flade rejoined them in time to add his blades to the fray, but the others were doing quite well without him. Even their two new members were making a mark. The battle had been fast and furious and ended just as quickly as it started.
Petre moved after the brief prayer to take a seat. He felt tired and sick in the pit of his stomach. He mulled over his contemplations in bewilderment. He looked away from the dead bodies and tried to collect his thoughts. He had slain a man, a man from his own country. He did not know the man, but did that matter? The former Drackmoorian soldier sat on a log quietly debating his recent actions as he stared at his bloodstained sword on the ground.
“I thought you were a soldier?” A harsh voice cut through his private thoughts.
Petre looked up to meet the angry face of one Jillian Pandle. His eyes were red-rimmed and puffy. “What does that have to with anything?” He asked solemnly. His sword lay discarded as if he never wanted to touch it again.
“You’re looking like your favorite dog just died! We fought, they attacked us, and we won. It’s the ugliness of war. Soldiers see death every day. They don’t regret what they have to do. Pick up your sword and fall in line with the group! You’re acting like that was the first man you’ve ever had to kill.”
The girl’s anger seemed unfocused, almost as if she were speaking to the air. It was hard to tell if she was trying to convince him or herself. Truth be told, she did not know the answer to that either. Jillian was angry with the youth. She did not want him to have the right to mourn. She did not want him to show any weakness. It somehow made him more human and less a monster. She so desperately wanted to hate him and blame him for the death of her father. When she looked back into his dark eyes, a realization hit her.
“That was the first person you’ve ever killed, wasn’t it?” Petre nodded sadly. Jillian moved to sit beside him on the log. “Me too,” she whispered softly. “Besides goblins I mean, if you count them as people.” The girl pulled her long ponytail over her shoulder and began twirling it through her fingers absently. “It was so hard, worse than I ever could have imagined. It’s a horrible thing to look a man in the eyes and kill him …”
“But, you seemed so sure of yourself?” Petre was a little surprised.
“I was scared silly, but I can’t afford to show that to them,” the girl whispered as she nodded towards the rest of their traveling party. “Look around you,” she made a quick gesture at the Kandairian soldiers and Mani. “They are trained warriors and knight attendants to the king and priestesses granted powers by their faith. They have skills with blades and scouting the wilderness and battling monsters of the wilds. I’m a tavern worker with an old bow my dead Pa gave me; and you, y
ou’re an enemy farm boy someone handed a sword. You don’t have any room for weakness either. We only drag the others down when we do show it, so shape up and stop moping around like some whiny child that got his dinner taken away for acting up.”
The girl punched Petre hard in the arm then stood and strode away without looking back. The youth sat and stared at the girl in shock. At first, he was unsure how to take her words. The former Drackmoorian soldier realized she was right, though. He was here by his own doing. He decided that this was the way to atone for his past wrongs. Nobody forced him to come along. There was no time for him to falter. Petre picked himself up and shrugged off his self-pity. He thought of his home and his family briefly. He prayed they were all right. He then moved to rejoin the procession as they filed into the woods under Flade’s guidance.
“Impressive character that girl shows,” Ganze commented as he and Dalia watched Jillian leave the youth’s side. He had a knack for evaluating people at a glance. His instincts were usually right.
“More forgiving than most,” the lady replied evenly. The statement was not wasted on the former guide as Dalia strode away without another word.
* * * * * * * * * *
Days passed quickly as they made their way into the open southern plains. Flade pulled back to travel with the group. His scouting was less a factor while crossing the open land. He was not that knowledgeable on the terrain anyway. A pack of hungry wolves closed in on their camp the first night out. The ranger moved amongst the snarling animals and somehow convinced them to depart. Dalia watched closely as the man calmed and communicated with the pack. He seemed to understand them and they in turn understood him. It was as if he were one of them. There were many who were able to communicate basic feelings to animals with proper training, but Flade possessed something more than that. His skill with the wolves and the other creatures they had encountered before was somehow more in-depth. That was the moment when it all made sense to the lady. Flade had a latent talent. The intense blue eyes, the uncharacteristic physical appearance among the desert people, and the strange and immense familiarity she felt for the man all came together. Dalia felt foolish for not putting it into perspective sooner. Though she was unsure how she should approach the topic, she needed to speak with him about his heritage. The lady suddenly felt less alone in the world. She wondered how aware Flade was of his talents and how far those talents stretched. Latent people were unpredictable. The whole idea made her tingle with excitement. It reminded her of her days back at the school helping others develop and learn. She had just begun her duties as a junior teacher. Perhaps she could even teach Flade a few things. Dalia reeled her thoughts back in. First things first, she was getting way ahead of herself. Not everyone accepted his or her lineage so readily.
