The Rise of Kings (The Flameweaver's Prophecy Book 1)

by Emery, Ben

  ‘Here,’ Placatas said, tossing a spear to Marrew. The tribesman caught it deftly and sent it hurtling into the ribcage of one of the escaping enemies. Provided with another two missiles, he rapidly dispatched the remaining routers with remarkable accuracy.

  ‘You have to teach me how to do that,’ Attais said, impressed, a hand trying to staunch the bleeding from his wound. Marrew simply nodded.

  ‘Let’s have a look at that scratch of yours,’ Placatas said to the young legionary.

  Attais turned to him and removed his hand. The spear had sliced through the flesh above his elbow, fortunately missing the bone. The blood made it look worse than it was.

  ‘They barely touched you!’ Placatas teased him. ‘We’ll clean it out and bandage it up. Might need a few stitches but you’ll be fine in no time.’

  Jaxon sheathed his own sword and dropped the second he had borrowed from a dead man, picking his way through the corpses to where the behemoth was cleaning the blood from his axe with the robes of a headless enemy.

  ‘Not bad,’ the officer said, with a feigned air of being unimpressed. ‘Maybe next time you could leave a few more for us to deal with though?’

  ‘Hmm,’ the Ironhand grunted. ‘Maybe next time you will keep up.’

  ‘Who are these guys?’ Coran called across the assembly of the dead, from where he was nudging one with his foot.

  ‘Wornsea,’ Marrew spat angrily, holding up a finely crafted necklace of gold from one of the dead enemies.

  ‘Deserters?’ Placatas asked.

  ‘Unlikely,’ Marrew replied. ‘It is probable they are out here under Saen’s orders, ambushing refugees in the hope that they would find someone valuable.’ He glanced across at the General briefly before continuing. ‘We should keep moving. There could be more parties like theirs around here, and we have little time to waste on all of them.’

  For the remainder of the journey, and for the first time since they had left Torncloud, conversation sprung up amongst the group, most of which concerned the battle against the ambushers.

  ‘How many did you kill?’ Attais had asked the behemoth eagerly. They had all been awed by the terrifying prowess of the Ironhand upon the battlefield, and more than a little happy that they had not been on the receiving end of it again.

  ‘Fourteen,’ the behemoth had replied, sounding indifferent with his own achievement of killing nearly half of their opponents single handed.

  ‘That weapon of yours is amazing,’ Coran had been admiring it for some time now.

  ‘It is called Fellammer. It was my father’s,’ the giant explained.

  ‘Your father was able to wield that thing as well?’ Coran couldn’t believe that another man had existed that matched the size and strength of the tribesman.

  The behemoth shook his head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘He carried two.’

  Coran stopped walking. ‘Two?!’ he exclaimed in utter disbelief.

  ‘He was a big man,’ the behemoth replied, as if this were a more than adequate explanation.

  They reached the village of Hanaia on the morning of the second day after the battle; the ninth day they had been travelling over all. It was a small and very peaceful place, yet carried an air of affluence that was surprising for a fishing settlement so removed from the rest of the world. The houses and roads were well maintained, and each of the small structures were neatly arranged and built with an eye for aesthetics. The scent of salt clung tightly to the air, and the unmistakeable smell of fresh fish, that would accompany any village of the sort, wafted through the wide streets. The main road that led from the outskirts of the village followed a gentle slope downward to the shoreline, where a thin strip of golden sand, dotted about with moored fishing boats, separated the land from the crystal clear waters of the Outer Sea. Small waves, barely ripples, lapped about the ankles of a short stone pier, where a single, larger vessel was tied up; a gangplank connecting it to solid ground. An enquiry at the local inn, located on the quay itself and aptly named ‘The Fisherman’s Rest’ revealed that this was indeed the ship of the Wandeer traders that they were looking for.

  ‘Ship’s name is the “Farewind,”’ the innkeeper told them, somewhat nervous at the appearance of seven armed men on his property. ‘Captain’s name is Tuugan.’

  Galarus thanked the man for the information, and led the group outside and toward the ship.

  ‘I’ll do the talking,’ Galarus informed the others. ‘Marrew, you come with me. The rest of you can wait here.’

  There were no arguments from the others. Trying to persuade a Wandeer to allow them on to his ship was not a task they would have insisted on tackling themselves. Instead, they remained, reasonably contentedly, on the beach, enjoying the wonderfully cool breeze that rolled off of the waves.

  ‘Any idea how we should go about this?’ Galarus asked of Marrew as they made their way along the pier, boots rapping noisily against the stone.

  The tribesman shook his head. ‘Terran was confident that if we mention his name and the situation, there would not be a problem.’

  ‘Here’s hoping he was right,’ muttered the General.

  They reached the gangplank that led up to the ship and waited. There was no sign of anyone upon the deck. It was not a large vessel, perhaps room for no more than a dozen to travel comfortably, yet larger than anything either Galarus or Marrew had seen before. There were no oars, nor anywhere for them to go, it seemed. Instead, only a furled sail upon the single mast in the centre. The sounds of footsteps on wood and the shifting of cargo spilled out from the bowels of the boat.

  ‘Tuugan?’ Galarus called up.

  The activity within the ship ceased, and the footsteps grew louder as someone approached, until a figure appeared at the railing.

  ‘Yes?’ the captain replied. His appearance differed little from Terran; they had the same pale skin and brilliantly white hair, though Tuugan wore his tied up in a ponytail. He appeared considerably younger than the Torncloud leader, and his voice had none of the same warmth.

  ‘We have come for your help,’ Galarus began.

  ‘No,’ Tuugan cut the General off before he could continue, and disappeared from view.

  ‘Terran sent us,’ Marrew shouted after him.

  There was a pause, and the captain reappeared at the side of the ship. He peered down at the pair of them silently, casting a look down the pier at the rest of the group who were idling about on the shoreline before speaking again.

  ‘You’d better come aboard then, hadn’t you?’

  Galarus and Marrew made their way up the narrow walkway and onto the deck. Tuugan watched them closely. There were two other Wandeer on deck with him; a man of approximately the same age as the captain, though it was impossible to tell for certain, and a girl, much younger than either, who looked to be of a similar age to Attais or Coran.

  Tuugan leant against the mast in the middle of the ship, the other Wandeer moving closer to join the conversation.

  ‘Vedeon?’ Galarus asked the other man.

  Vedeon nodded. ‘I am. Though I am unaware as to whom you are.’

  ‘General Arkus Galarus, formerly of the Caldoan Legions,’ Galarus introduced himself. ‘This is Marrew, a close friend of Terran’s.’

  ‘Ah, General, I have heard of you,’ Vedeon said warily, unsure as to why a military man had sought him out. ‘Why, may I ask, have you come to us?’

  Galarus spent the next ten minutes recounting for the Wandeer the entire story that had transpired since the assassination of Villanus; Rural making himself king, the Caldoan invasion of the Territories, Saen’s betrayal, the prophecy, and, ultimately, Terran’s plan to defend the Tribes at the cost of his own life and the instructions he had given the General.

  ‘Terran will give his life for your sake, General?’ Vedeon said, after all had been explained. ‘Are you aware of the importance of such an act?’

  Galarus shook his head. ‘No. But I would do my best to honour any man that would make such a sacrifice.
’

  ‘I am sure you would, General,’ Vedeon agreed. ‘But this means so much more than that. If the prophecy continues to unravel, then your world is about to be engulfed in a darkness it has never witnessed before. And for Terran to value you so highly, can mean only that he sees an importance in you that eludes the rest of us.’

  Galarus said nothing, only listened.

  ‘We will take you to see the Elder, General. We will provide what help we can, though I doubt our commitment to your cause will match that desired by Terran. Gather your companions; Tuugan will wish to leave soon.’

  The captain grunted. ‘They can help with this.’ He gestured to the cargo that lay gathered upon the deck; crates, barrels and baskets that the Wandeer had been tending to before the arrival of Galarus and Marrew.

  The rest of the group was summoned, and, with their increased numbers, the deck was cleared in very little time. Galarus made the introductions for his men, and Vedeon responded by introducing his daughter, Isella, who smiled politely as he did so. The gangplank was raised and strapped to the deck of the ship, and the rope connecting the vessel to the pier untied and cast off. The Farewind moved off slowly at first, though rapidly gaining speed, the sail remaining firmly tied around the mast.

  ‘How are we moving?’ Attais asked, bewildered, with no sign of propulsion aboard the ship.

  ‘Tuugan must be a Tideturner,’ Galarus explained, remembering what Terran had told him of the Wandeer. ‘He can manipulate the water beneath the boat to move it forward.’

  Attais, holding tightly to the rail, looked over the side. In front of the ship, the water was perfectly flat, as though glass, despite their being waves off to either side and in the distance. Behind the boat the sea seemed to fold upon itself, surging into the stern to carry the ship onward.

  ‘That girl,’ Coran leant into his friend and whispered, ‘she’s beautiful.’ He had been unable to take his eyes off her since he had set foot upon the deck, and now stared obviously across at her as she leant against the opposite railing, gazing out at the horizon.

  ‘Careful, boy,’ Galarus whispered to him. ‘I can’t imagine her father would appreciate you looking at her like that.’

  Coran looked around as Galarus clapped him on the shoulder. Vedeon was indeed watching the young legionary closely. Coran’s eyes desperately tried to find something less conspicuous to focus on, causing Attais to burst out laughing.

  ‘Nicely done!’ he said, as Coran reddened. ‘Keep it up! This boat trip can’t last that long.’

  Chapter Eleven

  The island of Wan’Dring was a spectacular sight, ringed with a curtain of dense cloud that hugged the surface of the Outer Sea and parted slightly to allow the Farewind through it. A defensive barrier, Galarus presumed, that would prevent any would-be explorers gaining access to the home of the Wandeer. Once through, the island itself loomed out of the waves above the ship, tall cliffs rising up on all sides but for a narrow gap, concealed in the rock face, that allowed access to a sheltered cove. Tuugan guided his boat through and headed toward a thin strip of shingle beach ahead. Several other vessels, all of a similar size to the Farewind, were moored by lengths of rope attached to narrow and unnatural stretches of rock that jutted into the water and served as small individual piers. The result was that, as the island moved through the water, it pulled the boats with it.

  A stone pathway led from the cove uphill, to the crest of a slope studded with trees, and from this point Wan’Dring was almost entirely visible. The settlement lay in a small valley, the gentle slopes surrounding it on all sides leading to the cliff tops. Each of the buildings was beautifully carved from pale stone, and the roofs composed of red tiles, similar to those that adorned the buildings of Caldoa. Broad flagstone streets meandered between structures, and a light smoke rose from the chimney stacks of workshops. At the far end of the island, opposite the wooded copse above the cove, a larger building stood, dug back into the highest hill, with a semi-circular, pillared entrance-way and an angled roof. Neat, fertile fields surrounded the village, and on the eastern and western slopes grew grape vines and olive groves, tended by tiny bustling figures. At the foot of these slopes, a series of caves had been dug, from which small carts were ferried in and out, all of them heaped high with unidentifiable ores. The sun streamed uniformly down upon the entire scene; the sky unmarred by a single cloud but for the dusty white halo that surrounded the island some distance away.

  ‘Follow me,’ Vedeon instructed the group. ‘I will take you to see the Elder.’

  He led them down the path and into the village, where each and every Wandeer they passed stared at them in disbelief. The soldiers did their best to seem inconspicuous, but as the only outsiders to have ever set foot upon Wan’Dring, it was not an easy task. The news of their arrival had clearly preceded them, as the Elder was waiting for them outside of the large building at the far end of the island, referred to by Vedeon as the Homhall; residence of the Elders.

  ‘I see your visit to Hanaia yielded some less-than-expected additions, Vedeon,’ the Elder greeted the Wandeer, a disapproving look etched on to his weathered face as he ran his gaze over the nervous soldiers.

  ‘Elder Lanoan,’ Vedeon addressed his superior. ‘This is General Galarus, of the Caldoan Legions, and his companions.’

  ‘Why are they here?’ Lanoan did not direct the question to the new arrivals. Instead, he continued to stare at them with his cold, blue eyes. His white hair fell freely behind him, the end of it reaching the middle of his back. He looked old, even for a Wandeer. Unsurprising, since he was, from what Galarus had gathered from Terran, well over a thousand years old. Yet his voice was strong, and his presence commanding.

  ‘They bring word from Terran, Elder,’ Vedeon replied. ‘The Caldoan king knows of the prophecy, and intends to see it fulfilled. When that happens, the Wandeer will not be strong enough to…’ he trailed off under a withering glare from Lanoan, quickly changing his argument. ‘Terran has deemed this man important enough to give his life for him, and important enough that he sent him here, to us.’

  Lanoan mused upon this point for a short while before speaking. ‘Terran’s ancestry puts him in greater stead than his actions do,’ he said, mainly to himself. ‘General, do you know why you are here?’

  Galarus shook his head. ‘Not entirely. I mean to stop Rural from bringing war and destruction to the world, and gaining the kind of power he believes fulfilling the prophecy will give him.’

  Lanoan smirked at this. ‘The greedy minds of men hear what they want, not what they are told,’ he muttered, entertained at the thought. ‘And suppose you stop your king? What then? You will leave the world more divided than ever.’

  ‘I…I don’t know,’ Galarus replied honestly. He had not given much thought to the consequences of the actions he intended to take.

  ‘I have yet to share the faith that Terran has in you, General, but I also cannot take that faith lightly. You are welcome to stay, for the time being, at least, until your purpose becomes clear to me. Vedeon will be your host, since it was he that delivered you here. I trust that will not be a problem?’

  ‘No, Elder,’ Vedeon replied.

  ‘Excellent. I will summon you, should I wish to speak to you further.’ With that, the group and their Wandeer escort were dismissed.

  ‘Come,’ Vedeon beckoned them. ‘I will show you where you will be staying.’

  Vedeon’s quarters were modest in comparison to some of the residences in Caldoa, though none of the Wandeer structures were exceptionally large. It did, however, boast an impressive forge attached to the rear wall. Vedeon revealed to the soldiers that both he and his daughter were Flameweavers, and that it was here that he made the legendary armour and weapons that were so highly prized throughout Banmer. Isella helped her father with some of the larger shipments, but in her own time crafted intricate jewelleries and charms to sell from her own stall; the purpose of their visit to Hanaia.

  Upon reaching the Wa
ndeer’s home, they were greeted by Isella, and the fine smell of fresh cooking. While the soldiers had been introduced to Elder Lanoan, she had prepared for them a broth composed mostly of fish, acquired from Hanaia and unloaded by Tuugan, and fresh vegetables from the island itself. It was a welcome change from the stale bread and dried meats they had had to make do with since leaving Caldoa. The men ate quickly, eager to sleep under a solid roof after the long trek through the inhospitable desert. Vedeon supplied them with Wandeer wine, which quickly served to dull their senses and fatigue them further.

  Not having any additional beds for such an unheard of occasion, the Flameweaver provided the soldiers with a surprisingly comfortable floor, and adequate bedding should they desire it. When asked as to whether there was anything else they may need, Galarus insisted that too much had already been done for them, and that they were more than happy with their conditions. Jaxon’s snoring testified to that, and a swift kick from Placatas silenced him. Vedeon smiled and bade them all a good night, despite the relatively early hour. Each curled up on the floor and slept soundly, in a wonderfully dreamless state.

  The days that followed passed luxuriously slowly on the island, and put Galarus in mind of his time among the Torncloud. A thought that turned quickly to concern for the tribesmen, who would be facing the full force of the Legions any day now, had they not already.

  In exchange for his hospitality, the soldiers had volunteered their services around the forge, and Vedeon had happily accepted, though there was not a great deal they could help with other than ferrying materials back and forth. Instead, they were more than eager to simply watch the Wandeer masterfully work upon his craft. Within the forge itself there lay a separate room, in which were kept the completed items of superior arms and armour. There were the usual wares that would be placed on sale at whichever market town the Wandeer visited; swords, spears, axes, helmets and breastplates, as well as arrows, crossbows and bolts. However, what really caught the eye, was the full suit of armour in the very centre of it all, resting upon a wooden stand. From top to toe, the whole thing gleamed gold. Remarkably lightweight, the armour was beautiful to behold. A short-winged helmet perched atop the fitted breastplate, with plated shoulder guards that flared outward to deflect attacks. A silver anvil was emblazoned upon the golden chest; the standard of Count Dondillis of Gerder, the northernmost Free City. Around the emblem, and upon the thigh guards, gauntlets and greaves, were laced curling veins of silver that wove intricate designs into the metal and made the whole thing shimmer in the light. It must have cost the Count a fortune.