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

by Emery, Ben

  Chapter Fifteen

  Count Orna Dondillis, the second in his family to bear the name, arrived early the following day, his army of heavily armoured pikemen at his back, standard bearers flying the silver anvil and golden field of the city of Gerder. He wasted no time in making his way to the Ebbal Tower and the offices of the Ministers, striding through the wide double doors and into a far larger crowd than he had expected; most of whom he did not recognise. His blonde hair was thinning, a fact he hid by cutting it shorter than he used to, and was matted to his furrowed brow by the sweat from the march to Meddas.

  ‘Took your time getting here, Dondillis,’ Reiga greeted the Count as he entered.

  ‘Some of us have real armies to prepare, Captain. Not just a rabble of bandits,’ Dondillis replied flatly, no hint of jest in his voice. The captain smirked, but said nothing. ‘Strange to see so many people here,’ he continued, looking around at the assorted group before him. His gaze immediately fell on the behemoth, who held his attention for several seconds, before finding the Wandeer. ‘Vedeon? Is that you? What is going on here?’

  ‘Everything will be explained soon enough, my lord,’ Vedeon informed him.

  ‘Indeed it will,’ Minister Canael followed on. ‘Count Brettar, I believe you have something you wish us all to hear?’

  Before the Count could open his mouth, Lannian cut in.

  ‘Whatever he has to say can wait.’

  The fury in Brettar’s eyes at this interjection was seen by almost everyone. Lannian continued unaware.

  ‘Ten days ago, the Blacksand warriors entered Auprem’s lands in numbers we have never seen before. We were taken by surprise; Maeoraph’s men have raided around the city before, but this time he brought an invasion force numbering in the thousands. As we speak, my father is preparing our army to defend against them, but it is likely they will be outnumbered and overpowered. That is why you are all here.’ He stared around the room at the assembled leaders of the Free Cities. ‘Auprem needs your assistance. My father has always been there for you, now it is your turn to be there for him.’

  ‘Real stirring stuff,’ Reiga mocked, to the visible irritation of Lannian.

  ‘Thank you for catching us all up to speed,’ Minister Canael said, in an attempt to be diplomatic. ‘Count Brettar, would you please say your piece?’

  ‘Thank you, Minister,’ Brettar replied, still glaring at Lannian. ‘We are all aware of the situation facing us at Auprem. However, there are other plans in action of which we have all been in the dark.’ He took a step back and waved the General forward. ‘This is Arkus Galarus, General of the Caldoan Legions, at least, until recently. He has information you all need to hear.’

  Galarus stepped forward into clear view of everyone before he spoke.

  ‘My lords,’ he began, ‘I will get straight to the point. As Count Brettar said, there is more to this attack than you know; the siege of Auprem is but one arm of a larger assault orchestrated by King Rural. The king believes he is following an old Wandeer prophecy, and to fulfil it will wage war on the entire world. I am sure you have heard of his war against the Tribes; all that is left of the Ironhand and Torncloud are their champions stood behind me. Rural now seeks the destruction of the Free Cities. Alarum and Maeoraph have been bought and paid for, and the former marches with the Legions to the north, through Valgaard and into your lands. This attack in the south is a diversion; you must send your armies north.’

  At this, there were outbursts from Dondillis, the Ministers and Lannian. Brettar, already aware of the situation, and Reiga, who had been informed over several drinks the previous night, remained silent.

  ‘Quiet down! Quiet!’ Minister Canael tried to restore order to the room.

  ‘You would leave Auprem and her people undefended? Allow them to fall victim to these foreign invaders?’ Lannian snapped at Galarus. ‘What proof do you have of what you say?’

  ‘We overheard a conversation between the Bastard, Maeoraph, and one of Rural’s Kingmakers.’ the General answered.

  ‘So your word, then?’ Lannian threw his arms up in disbelief. ‘The enemy is at our city gates and you would have us risk the fate of Auprem on your word?’

  ‘We risk the fate of all of the Cities if we don’t believe him,’ Brettar observed calmly.

  ‘And I suppose you do believe him?’ Lannian turned on the Count.

  ‘What would the General have to gain by lying to us?’

  ‘How should I know?’ Lannian screeched, arms still flailing wildly, desperately trying to rally support. ‘Have you become a coward in your old age, Brettar? Is that why you refuse to march to my father’s aid?’

  The unmistakeable rasp of a sword being drawn from its scabbard silenced the room. Lannian turned to see Reiga, his broad scimitar half drawn, the torchlight dancing on the steel blade. The young man’s face drained of all colour in a second, and he hurriedly apologised to the Count.

  ‘Forgive me! Please, I misspoke.’

  ‘You are under a lot of pressure, boy, I understand that, but never forget your place,’ Brettar said softly. ‘Your father is a good man; I would hate to have to send his only son back to him in more pieces than he arrived.’ He nodded at Reiga, who dropped his sword back into its sheath with a faint click.

  ‘The General speaks the truth,’ Reiga spoke, still eyeing Lannian carefully. ‘Over the past months the number of Vahc ships in the Inner Sea has doubled. We keep sinking them, but more and more are seen each day. They are preparing for something, and we can be their only target. The timing is a little coincidental, don’t you think?’

  ‘It means nothing,’ Dondillis countered. ‘I have just marched my army from the north, and we have neither seen nor heard of any indication that the Legions are marching for Valgaard.’

  ‘They are waiting,’ Galarus explained, ‘for your forces to be committed to the south. That way they face no opposition. My guess is they will wait at least a fortnight after Maeoraph’s assault. We still have time.’

  There was a period of silence while each considered what had been said, with only the hushed whisperings of the three Ministers to break it.

  ‘We do not have another choice!’ Minister Skirn raised his voice over the others, who lowered their heads in deference to his point. Skirn turned to face the others in the room. ‘The alliance between the Free Cities has never wavered, and the threat against Auprem is immediate and undeniable. Our armies must march south, to repel Maeoraph’s invasion. When that task is complete, then we may see to any threat that Rural may or may not pose.’

  Brettar only nodded, turned on his heel and made for the door. The others followed him silently, until they were out of the room.

  ‘I am sorry, General,’ Count Brettar said quietly to Galarus as they left the offices of the Ministers. ‘The other leaders have spoken; the majority rules in favour of supporting Auprem.’

  ‘Can’t you divide the armies?’ Jaxon asked, as though the idea were an obvious one.

  Brettar shook his head. ‘Not committing our full forces to the defence of one of the Cities would not sit well with the others. When the Free Cities were first established, free of the reign of the First Kings, it was agreed that, if nothing else, our armies would always defend each other. That agreement has been upheld for centuries. As ready as I am to believe what you have told me of Rural and his plans, I would be risking the isolation of Crimstone should I be the one that breaks this pact.’

  ‘Then we will not ask you to do so,’ Galarus assured him. ‘Though any assistance you might be able to provide would be greatly appreciated.’

  Brettar looked about him. Lannian had stormed off ahead, eager to return to his father with news of his success, and Dondillis had remained behind to discuss a matter with the Ministers. Reiga, who walked with the group, was the only other within earshot.

  ‘I can spare perhaps fifty men,’ he whispered, so much so that Galarus had to lean in to hear him. ‘Call it an escort to your next destination, where
ever that may be. If anyone should ask, evidence of bandits was seen on the road here. I will make sure Miran is among those to accompany you, should he desire a change of scenery.’

  ‘Won’t you need him to lead your army?’ Galarus asked.

  ‘My dear General!’ Brettar grinned, raising his voice again. ‘What on earth do you think I’m here for?’

  Later that day the forces of the Free Cities dismantled their camps and prepared to march to the defence of Auprem. Dondillis’ heavy pikemen circled around to the south of Meddas to join the Crimstone archers and the pirate swordsmen of Bannerbridge. They were joined, in turn, by the modest army of Meddaean light spearmen.

  Brettar bade farewell to Galarus, Miran, who had been happy to go with them, and the rest, wishing them all the luck he could muster. None had yet questioned the Count’s decision to send an escort with the General and his men. After all, what difference would fifty archers make to the fourteen hundred that would still accompany the other Cities’ forces? The fifty men in question had been handpicked from a larger number of volunteers; many of whom were recognisable as those that had lost to the behemoth in arm wrestles at the Count’s feast over a week ago. Each of them had been apprised of the situation as Galarus understood it, and informed of the monumental task ahead of them, should Rural lead his armies though Valgaard. This had deterred none of them.

  Vedeon, meanwhile, had presented Count Dondillis with his new armour, who, overjoyed at the mere sight of it, hastily removed his current attire with the assistance of his servants, and donned instead the decorated golden suit.

  Galarus had never seen a man look so happy to be dressed up in such glaring battlefield regalia. The effect of the sunlight on the Wandeer metal was staggering, the silver anvil upon his chest gleaming brilliantly, until he shone like a beacon amidst the dull grey backdrop of his pikemen. Though garish, the General could not deny how impressive the Count looked.

  At once, all elation fell from Dondillis’ face, as he realised, having expected to return to the armour at Gerder after the campaign, that he had not brought the necessary payment for the Wandeer smith.

  Vedeon held up a hand to stop him, insisting he could have it for now, in good faith, and that their business could be delayed until such a time when they were both less preoccupied. Dondillis once again looked like an over-excited child at the news, and heartily shook the Wandeer’s hand, promising additional payment for the Flameweaver’s kindness.

  After the last goodbye was said, and the last hand shaken, Galarus, and those that had chosen to follow him, headed north, along the same road that had brought Dondillis and his army to Meddas. The route was easy, and wound and undulated through emerald valleys, often following the course of small rivers, and occasionally rising over the low hills of the Sennerlands. They passed through a number of tiny villages, and others much larger, but were always greeted by the same wary and curious expressions of the locals.

  The General moved his men on quickly, fearing the delay at Meddas may have allowed Rural enough time to overcome Valgaard’s Great Gate already. The archers, lightly armoured and well trained as they were, maintained the pace with ease, and even the Wandeer, unused to such arduous travel, kept up without complaint.

  As they neared the edges of Meddaean influence, they entered a village known as Wailta; a busy and well-kept little place, at the centre of which the road forked ahead of them. To the northeast, but a week away, was Gerder, and to the northwest and by no greater distance lay Gerder. The days had been growing noticeably colder as they had traversed the Sennerlands northward, but here, even from the outskirts of Wailta, they could visibly see the change in the landscape.

  In what Miran referred to as the Harshlands, the bleak expanse that stretched out beyond the small bustling village, the full trees and lush vegetation they had passed were quickly replaced with blackened hills and dusty soil. Out of the protection of the valleys, the company became battered by the cold winds that streamed down from the Allorian Mountains, and large campfires were lit by the Wandeer every night to warm the soldiers that slept around them on the stony ground.

  The legionaries still had in their possession the small tents Terran had given them for their journey across the desert, and these they eagerly offered to Vedeon and Isella. Galarus insisted upon sleeping outside with the archers that had followed him, as did the rest of the group. Though the terrain was uncomfortable, between the blankets and the fires, they were not cold.

  When they found themselves upon a stretch of high ground, the mountains themselves were visible in the distance, looming menacingly as they hurried toward them; the natural barrier that separated the Gerderian lands from those of Caldoa, and where the battle that could halt the tide of Rural’s advance would take place.

  It took twelve days, at as brisk a speed as they could manage, to reach the eastern gate of Valgaard. Though called the Great Gate, there were in fact two gates, identically built, to the east and the west, between which sat the small settlement and the only route through the mountains. The solid wooden doors, each more than a foot thick and twice the height of any man, stood across the road, and were often left open for traders and the like. The walls into which they were set, however, were by far the most impressive and daunting feature of Valgaard. Almost as tall as the mountains themselves, and carved of the same dark, almost black, rock, they were supposedly impenetrable. Several metres thick at their thinnest point, and crowned with square battlements, they were a mighty obstacle for any army that wished to breach them. At least, Galarus hoped they would be an obstacle. There were no signs that Valgaard had fallen to the Legions, no dark smoke billowing from razed buildings, nor bodies of the fleeing littering the roads.

  As they approached the open doors, a lone sentry upon the wall above them called out an inaudible signal to someone out of sight. The General led his small band of soldiers through the gate, halting them just inside. A group of four were moving across the ground toward them, no doubt the local authorities.

  While he waited for their hosts to greet them, Galarus took in his surroundings. He had never been to Valgaard before, and had only seen the Great Gate from the western side. The road upon which they stood continued ahead of them, straight through the centre of the valley, toward the opposing wall and beyond, to the plains of Caldoa. The flatland either side of the road had been cultivated for farms, and pasture for the few livestock that could be seen grazing idly on the frozen earth. There looked to be no homes on the valley floor, only granaries, sheds and storehouses. The abodes of the people of Valgaard were instead built into the slopes of the mountains themselves. Even above the height of the walls, doors could be seen interspersing the dark rock face. On either side, narrow streets and pathways had been carved into the stone, stretching the length of the valley, while steep sets of stairs ascended to the upper levels. Walkways of wood and rope crisscrossed between the north and south slopes overhead, allowing access from one side to the other without having to descend to the ground first. The place seemed too quiet to have witnessed an army pass through, deserted almost, and Galarus feared that they had been wrong to come north, that Rural’s plan might have changed. That was until the group of locals reached them.

  ‘By the mountain; reinforcements at last!’ said the foremost man, seemingly the one in charge; a silver-haired and ruddy-faced individual whose pot belly strained against the confines of his armour. He eyed up the General and the fifty-eight others he had brought with him. ‘Is this it? Where are the rest of you?’

  ‘Too few to be reinforcements,’ sneered a thin, one-armed man to his right. ‘They look more like Caldoan spies to me!’

  Galarus edged his hand toward his sword, until the thin man broke into an ugly grin.

  ‘Draiden! You prick! I thought it was you!’ Coran called out from amidst the group, as he and Attais quickly strode forward to embrace their old friend.

  ‘Forgive me, General,’ Draiden re-addressed Galarus more seriously. ‘I was just havi
ng a bit of fun with these two, and…’ he stopped mid sentence and his hand flew toward the mace at his belt, his eyes fixed on Marrew and the behemoth. ‘What are they doing with you?’

  ‘Calm down,’ Galarus reassured the maceman, stepping forward. ‘They are our allies now. They share our cause, and are here for the same reasons we are.’

  Draiden relaxed slowly. ‘Big bastard took my arm,’ he grumbled, still glaring at the behemoth.

  ‘I understand, but there are more important things to dwell on than the past.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Attais agreed. ‘For starters, what are you doing here?’

  ‘Saving the world, lad!’ Draiden replied, most of his cheer returning. ‘Saving the world!’ He met the gaze of Jaxon and Placatas and nodded respectfully to them. ‘So much for retiring from the army, eh? I just started a nice quiet life in the mountains and half of bloody Banmer knocks on my door spoiling for a fight!’

  Galarus stepped forward to interrupt the reunion, as pleasant as it was to have an ally among the Valgaardians. ‘What can you tell us of the situation?’ he asked bluntly, eager to return to the matter at hand.

  ‘This way.’ Draiden jerked his head back down the road up which the locals had come. ‘Might I say, General, it is good to see you still alive. And all of you in such fancy new armour!’ He had been drawn to the Wandeer craftsmanship since he had first laid eyes on it. ‘Anyway; just shy of a month back a band of refugees turned up: veterans from the slaughter of Legio. They caught us up to speed on what Rural had done.’

  ‘My parents?’ Attais interrupted, hesitantly.

  Draiden shook his head. ‘Sorry lad. Your father was Dagier, wasn’t he?’

  Attais nodded.

  ‘They didn’t make it. I’ve heard the others talk of him; from what they say he fought like a madman; killed scores of the bastards. Those that made it to us here said that it was due to him and a handful of others that they were able to escape at all. He died a hero.’