The Steel Lord: Book 01 - BannerFall

by Jason McWhirter

  By this time King Enden and Queen Irstan had fallen to the floor, their limbs twitching uncontrollably and their violent coughing echoing in the dining hall.

  Daricon stared at the king and queen, so stunned by the sight that he did not know what to do. Within seconds Mylena was beside him. “What do we do?” Her eyes were wide with fright.

  “I don’t know,” he said grimly.

  And that was when their choking coughs suddenly ceased and their bodies stopped twitching, filling the room with an eerie silence.

  “In Argon’s name,” Mylena whispered, her hand to her mouth in shock.

  Daricon finally was able to move and he knelt down to put his hand to his brother’s neck, feeling for a pulse. There was nothing. He did the same to Queen Irstan with similar results. Shocked, he stood up, an expression of stunned grief on his face. Within moments, however, his countenance turned to one of anger.

  By this time four guards had arrived, having heard the commotion from the dining room, and were now standing beside them, their hands on their swords, and like Daricon and Mylena, unsure of what to do. Finally Daricon stood and faced them. “They have been poisoned. Follow me to the kitchen. Post guards on all exits and do not let anyone leave the palace.”

  ***

  Thalon, Ayden, and Tulk, were hiding in the darkness of the alley. Word had reached them quickly that Prince Jarak had not arrived at the dinner. That did not bode well for their plans so they had to quickly adjust them. But they had planned for every possible contingency and none of them were worried. They had an extensive network of spies within Cythera enabling them to have eyes and ears nearly everywhere. The last they had heard was that the prince was somewhere on the eastern wall. He would be heading to the palace soon and when he did he would have to pass by their location.

  “Do you think he will be alone?” Ayden asked.

  “I imagine so,” Thalon whispered back. Tulk said nothing, his massive form leaning against the stone wall. There were a few people about, but the streets near the palace were mostly empty. Most of the city’s night life was closer to Main Street, which was nearly six blocks away.

  ***

  Brant stood on the street, watching the people around him as they bustled about, eager to join their friends in the local taverns and eateries that lined Main Street. He was looking up beyond the roofline to the palace which had been built on the main hill within Cythera. He could just make out the tall towers of the palace, the white flags of Dy’ain fluttering in the night breeze. He had never seen the palace grounds before. Perhaps he should take a look he thought. He was in the mood for a quiet walk anyhow.

  ***

  Prince Jarak was moving at a quick pace hoping that he could at least make it to dinner for the last course. He was nearing the palace when suddenly three cloaked forms emerged from a side alley. He stopped, his hand resting instinctively on the pommel of his blade.

  “Good evening, Prince Jarak. Nice night for a walk?”

  It was dark and there were no torches lit nearby. But the sky was clear and the moonlight enabled him to see well enough. Immediately he turned on his towd and did not like what he saw. The man that spoke was an Aura Mage, while the smaller one was a Channeler. The big man on the left was more than likely a Merger considering the ease at which he held the giant sword in his right hand. Serix had taught him how to read auras, and a man or women with the Way carried a distinct aura pertaining to their particular skill. They were clearly not interested in a chat, their drawn blades ominously reflecting the moonlight. “Who are you?” Prince Jarak asked, drawing his sword as he spoke. The Kul-brite blade took on a bluish hue, the polished steel reflecting the blue moonlight as if it were a mirror.

  “My my, what do we have here? I did not know you possessed a Kul-brite blade,” the mage said.

  “Leave now and maybe you will not feel its edge,” Jarak said, trying to sound confident. He was nervous. The only energy he had was stored in his Mage Stone and that was only enough for one spell. And he had already used most of the energy stored in the stone that was embedded in his sword. Reaching out with his towd, he looked for anyone nearby from whom he could task. There was no one.

  “I think not,” the man replied calmly. The two men near him slowly spread out, flanking him on both sides. “Do you know who we are?”

  “I do not.” Jarak’s mind was churning. Three Aurits stood before him. He doubted they were from any royal family. If they were they wouldn’t be about to attack him. They must be commoners. He knew there were rare cases of commoners being born with the Way, but he had never met one. Perhaps it was because they were persecuted, often hunted down and banished or even killed. A commoner with such unique ability would probably not make it known.

  “We are the Shadows.”

  Now he was worried. Everyone had heard of the assassins but no one knew who they were. Now there were three of them standing before him. He would be hard pressed to defeat them alone if any of the stories he had heard were true. “What do you want?”

  “I should think that is obvious. Your mother and father are dead as we speak. You were supposed to be with them. If you had been, you would be lying on the ground next to them. That, of course, is why we are here. We have come to kill you.”

  Jarak stepped back in shock. His mother and father were dead. He didn’t want to believe it, but there was something about the three before him that led him to believe they were telling the truth. Why would they make it up? “Who is responsible for this?”

  The man’s face was hooded, but for some reason Jarak got the feeling that he was smiling. “Someone who had the most to gain. But enough talk. It is time to die.”

  Just then Jarak sensed another person nearby, his towd touching his own aura and bouncing back. The newcomer’s aura was fiery, on alert, and more powerful than anything he had ever felt except for his father’s or uncle’s. He could not task anything from him. But he had no time to ponder who the man was or why he was there, for in the next second the big man with the sword was attacking, his body moving faster than he could follow.

  Jarak had no choice but to use the last of the power in the sword’s stone. There was no way he could fight a Merger, so he was hoping that the lavender flames would disable the big assassin, and then maybe, just maybe, he could handle the mage and his Channeler. Jumping back, he pointed his sword at the attacking Merger; lavender flames shot forward, striking him in the chest and knocking him off his feet.

  Then, drawing power from his Mage Stone, Jarak wove the energy into a defensive shield. And just in time. The Aura Mage pushed his right hand forward releasing a jet of orange and red fire which slammed into the shield, dispersing harmlessly to the side.

  “Well done, Prince,” the mage said.

  Slowly the Merger staggered to his feet. His chest, protected by hardened leather armor and bands of steel, was scorched. His clothes had burnt and his neck and chin were blackened, the skin bubbling and flaking off. He groaned in pain, but when he planted his feet firmly on the ground, Jarak knew he was in trouble. “That hurt,” he hissed through clenched teeth.

  “Are you going to be okay?” the mage quickly asked his comrade.

  “No,” Tulk grunted. “But I will live. I’m sorry to say you will not,” he growled, lifting his sword towards the prince.

  “We have a newcomer,” Ayden whispered to Thalon, sensing the new aura before he did. “And he possesses the Way.”

  As if he had been introduced, Brant appeared from the darkness, his Kul-brite blade held low, his wary eyes analyzing the situation. He had arrived just in time to see Tulk attack the prince, the fire from Jarak’s blade knocking the Merger to the ground. Not knowing what was happening, but seeing a lone man facing three attackers, all gifted with the Way, he decided to intervene, the familiar anger rising within him. Obviously something important was occurring, the four men before him were Aurits. But the fight seemed far from fair. And from what he could see, this was clearly an unprovoked attack,
which angered him further. “What is happening here?”

  Thalon looked at him. “Bad timing, my friend. You see, we are about to kill the Prince of Dy’ain, and now you will have to die with him.”

  Brant gripped the hilt of his blade tighter, looking at Jarak. “Are you the prince?”

  “Yes.”

  Brant turned back to the assassins. “In that case, you will find I am not so easy to kill.”

  “He is a Merger,” Ayden said. Tulk, sensing the confrontation, tightened the grip on his blade, his feet adjusting so his weight was on the tip of his toes.

  Thalon nodded his head and the big Merger shot forward like an angry bull. Brant, his limbs rushing with aura energy, met the charge head on, his Kul-brite blade dancing before him. In the fighting pit Brant had to conserve his aura, using it sparingly and in small doses so as not to bring attention to his powers. But now he could harness its full potential. This was the first time Brant had used the full power of his aura in actual combat and he relished the feeling as energy coursed through his body, firing in exhilarating pulses throughout his muscles. Brant’s body reacted on instinct, his mind focused and his training taking over. Tulk’s blade whistled towards his head, the powerful strike aimed at decapitating him. Gripping his blade with both hands, his strong wrists directing it, Brant met the strike. The Kul-brite steel slid down Tulk’s blade, shaving metal off in a shower of sparks. Then, with one powerful forward snap of his wrists, the assassin’s sword was knocked back two feet. Without stopping, Brant stepped forward, his powerful wrists flicking his blade up and across the Merger’s throat. Tulk’s eyes widened in surprise at the speed and power of the attack. Leaning back in desperation, Tulk was able to barely avoid the death stroke. However, Brant’s blade whizzed past his neck opening a small gash below his chin. Tulk shuffled back, punching out with his left fist hoping to catch Brant off guard and give him time to readjust. Sensing the frantic attack, Brant tucked his shoulder and head, catching the blow on his shoulder guard and deflecting much of its power. The Merger was extremely strong, and the blow, despite the fact that it had merely grazed him, hurt like hell. But Brant didn’t flinch. He released his two handed grip and flicked his razor sharp sword forward and low, slicing the inside of the Merger’s thigh. Howling in pain and rage, Tulk desperately gripped his sword with both hands, and hopping backwards he brought the blade down towards Brant with all his strength. As Tulk’s blade descended, Brant pivoted to the side, his own blade shooting forward and flicking the assassin’s blade harmlessly away, while following through with a devastating arc that took the killer in the neck. Tulk’s headless body stumbled backwards, falling to the ground with a thud next to his head.

  For the others watching, the duel had taken no more than a few heartbeats, the Merger’s enhanced speed nearly impossible to follow. But when Tulk’s body hit the ground, the scene turned chaotic.

  Thalon drew more energy from Ayden, converting the energy into a spell that he could launch relatively quickly. Ayden stepped forward, ready to protect Thalon in case Jarak attacked, which was exactly what he did since he had no other options. Their swords came together several times, sparks erupting as the inferior steel of Ayden’s sword struggled to maintain its integrity. Jarak was a decent swordsman to begin with, and with his recent training with Captain Hagen, he was turning into a proficient fighter. But Ayden, trained in the streets, an assassin and killer for most of his life, had the upper hand. Deflecting the Kul-brite blade and hoping his sword wouldn’t break under the impact, Ayden spun towards Jarak, drawing his dagger at the same time and running the blade across his left arm. Jarak howled and jumped back.

  “Down!” Thalon yelled. Ayden, who had fought with Thalon for years, dropped to the ground just as an electric bolt of blue energy shot from the mage’s hand to strike Jarak in the chest. The prince’s body jolted and fell backwards, landing hard on the cobblestone street.

  But neither of the assassins expected the fierce and powerful onslaught that came next. Brant, after he dropped the Merger, kept his body moving. He was moving incredibly fast, but for a Merger things appeared to be happening at normal speed. Seeing the prince fall he growled and Fused, his sword erupting in blue fire. Targeting the mage first, Brant’s body became a blur of motion, the fiery sword sweeping towards Thalon’s mid-section.

  Thalon saw only the tracers of blue flames. In a panic, and with no time to do anything else, he angled his sword before him hoping to deflect whatever was coming his way. The mage was a skilled swordsman, perhaps even better than Tulk, but he was no Merger, nor had he expected to face one who could Fuse. After several frantic exchanges, the fiery blade snapped his sword in two; the hot steel carving through his chest down to his abdomen as if it were cutting through butter. Continuing his movement, Brant spun to the right, his sword swinging downward towards the Channeler.

  Ayden caught the movement of the sword with its blue fire, but could do nothing against such a fast opponent. Jumping back, hoping to evade the attack he knew was coming, Ayden threw his dagger side armed.

  The blade struck Brant in the thigh, nicking his flesh and dropping to the cobblestones with a clank. But the wound would not stop him. His anger, under deadly control, pushed him forward. As his fiery blade came down, Ayden desperately raised his own sword to block it. To no avail. The flaming Kul-brite blade cut through the inferior steel, striking the assassin in the face, and cleaving his head in two. When the body hit the stones, Brant cut off his aura, and the flames disappeared.

  He was tired, the full use of the Way had taken its toll. But the prince was in worse shape. As he ran to him he hoped for the best. His heart soared when he saw the young prince move, groaning in pain, but alive.

  Brant kneeled next to him. “Are you okay?”

  The prince’s chest and clothes were scorched. “No,” he groaned, getting to his knees. “Did you kill them?” he asked, looking up.

  “Yes.”

  “Who are you?”

  “It doesn’t matter. We need to get you to safety. Let me help you to the palace.”

  Jarak was shaking his head. “No.”

  “But…”

  “Listen,” Jarak interrupted. “That mage told me that whoever was responsible for my parent’s death was someone who had the most to gain.”

  “And who would that be?”

  “Well, if I were dead, which was surely their intent; it would be my uncle, Lord Daricon.”

  “You think he poisoned your parents?”

  “I don’t know,” Jarak said in disbelief. “I cannot believe it. But until I know, I am not safe at the palace. Do you have any place to hide me?” He was now standing, his face pale. He was clearly in severe pain.

  “We need to get you to a healer,” Brant said.

  “Not yet,” Jarak said, cringing from the pain. “Get me to safety first.”

  “The only place I know is outside the city.”

  “That will do. But we need to make a stop at the eastern wall first. I have someone there who will be coming with us.” As Jarak stood, he swooned from the pain, nearly falling over. Brant grabbed him, wrapping his strong arm around his waist. The prince leaned into him, his own arm around his shoulder. “Let’s go. More assassins will come after me once they learn the first attempt failed. Thank you, by the way.”

  Brant grunted acknowledgement, and together they moved as quickly as they could down the dark street.

  ***

  Brayson pulled hard on the reins of his horse, coming to stop at the peak of a hill, his eyes straining in the evening grayness as the sun sought its nightly resting place. Being a scout, his eyes were good, and his heart nearly jumped from his chest when he saw thousands of men, large muscular Saricons, moving stealthily through the grasslands beyond. What were they doing here? He was on his way to Tanwen, heading north, hopefully to find out where Cythera’s reinforcements were. He did not expect to find an enemy army moving in their direction. As far as they knew, the Saricons were days awa
y, amassing their army south of Cythera. But now it looked as if they had somehow amassed an army around them, and that they were advancing, hoping to surprise the Dy’ainians.

  “We must warn them,” he whispered to his horse, jerking the reins hard to the right to turn his horse around. Suddenly the horse whinnied in fright, and Brayson felt the beast tremble under him.

  “You won’t be going anywhere.”

  Brayson looked to his right and blanched at what he saw. A huge creature, larger than his horse, crept silently towards him, mounted by a large female Saricon carrying a long heavy javelin. Although the beast was a massive creature, it made no sound as it slowly moved forward. Its fiery red eyes and its deep throaty growl sucked away any resolve he might have to stand up to this threat. He had never seen anything like it. It had the head of a wolf but the body of a bull in its prime, strong rippling muscles flexing beneath short black fur.

  Without thinking, he urged his steed to his left, the terrified animal needing no encouragement. Churning up soil, the horse and rider bolted through the grass trying to distance themselves from this strange enemy and get to Cythera to warn them of the advancing army. But they made it only five paces before the javelin slammed into the back of Brayson’s shoulder. Miraculously he was able to hold onto the reins, his terror giving him the strength to hang on. But it mattered not. A huge form, another rider and its beasts, leaped from the shadows, the front paws of the powerful animal striking the horse and rider head on. The creature was so powerful and heavy that it slammed them to the ground, their bodies sliding across the grass, dirt and mud spraying into the air. Ripping its claws across the horse, the creature disemboweled it, while simultaneously clamping its massive jaws around Brayson, shaking him violently, and tossing him aside like a discarded child’s toy.

  Brayson landed in the grass, his body cut and broken, his mind straining to maintain consciousness. Rolling over, he looked up at the night sky, straining to breathe as blood filled his throat, dripping from his mouth onto the cold ground.