The Steel Lord: Book 01 - BannerFall

by Jason McWhirter

  “He was hit by some sort of fiery spell, like a bolt of lightning.”

  She ran into the nearby kitchen, came back with a pair of shears, and went to work on his tunic, cutting along both sides until she could remove it without bringing it over his head. She frowned with concern at what she saw. Jarak’s chest was badly burnt, with raw red blisters spreading from his chest to the underside of his chin.

  He looked up at her, his face reflecting his severe pain. “How does it look?”

  “We need to clean your wounds. It’s going to hurt.” Then she looked at Brant. “I will get the hot water. I need you to get me the roll of cotton that I keep in the pantry.” Moving quickly, they both went about their tasks.

  In a few moments they met back at the table, a bowl of hot water in her hand. She also held a clear bottle filled with brown liquid. “I need you to drink this,” she said to Jarak.

  “What is it?”

  “It’s made from the bark of a rare tree far to the north. It will numb your wits and ease the pain.” Jarak was shaking his head but she cut him off. “Trust me, you will want it. I need to wash your burns to remove any dead tissue and skin. Then I will clean them further with alcohol before I bind them. It will be quite painful.”

  “We need to hurry,” Brant said. Ari came running down the hallway with a large bag slung over his shoulder. Brant could not tell what was inside but it looked to be pretty full. Rath stood behind him. He too had a small bag and now carried a short sword at his belt. “Good, glad you are here. Now grab another bag and fill it with as much food and water as you can carry. As soon as we clean the prince’s wounds we are leaving.”

  Ari ran into the kitchen to gather supplies while Rath went with him to help.

  “Here,” Rylene said holding the bottle to Jarak’s lips. He looked skeptically at it, wrinkled his nose, and took a deep drink. “Two more,” she commanded. Following her orders, he took two more large gulps.

  “Help!” Cat suddenly screamed from the entry.

  Brant drew his sword. “Get him cleaned up! Hurry!” Then he raced towards the front door. Cat’s sword was drawn but she was backing up from the door as something heavy repeatedly pounded on it. He slid quickly over to her on the smooth stone floor. “What is it?”

  “I don’t know! Probably Saricons!”

  Brant growled, digging deep for his aura as the door was forced open by five hulking men who stormed in and spread out into the foyer. They smiled when they saw them. “Only two?” one of them said in Newain. “There is not much sport in that.”

  Brant looked at Cat and he could sense her anxiety. But he felt only anger. It wasn’t a new feeling for him, but this time it was different. Before his anger had been wild and uncontrolled, but now it had a target, a focus, and he was able to draw upon it without losing his control. This was the second time he had seen a Saricon, once in the arena, and now here. But this time he faced five. “Take the one on the left.”

  “What about the others?”

  Brant’s hard eyes found hers. “Leave them for me.”

  The Saricon who had spoken sensed something wrong. Normally, their victims were terrified and begged for mercy. But not these two. In fact the man looked excited and eager to fight. He suffered a brief moment of doubt, but then he smiled, his hesitation vanishing, the plausibility of one man defeating four almost laughable. He was a war leader, trained to kill since birth, and his lineage had provided him trace amounts of the Fury. Sensing something different in the young man before him, he drew upon the Fury, urging the rising energy into his limbs.

  That was when Brant charged, his aura energy pushing him forward like a charging bear, blue fire flaring from his Kul-brite sword. The leader’s eyes suddenly flared blue, but before his smile could even turn to an expression of shock, Brant’s sword had split his head in two, from ear to chin, the fire in his eyes extinguished like a candle in a gust of wind. As the axes and swords of the others sought his body they encountered only air.

  Cat quickly pushed away her initial fear and charged forward, her sword raised high. The warrior in front of her was large, even by Saricon standards, which was why she was baiting him with a high strike. He smiled smugly, lifting his axe to deflect her blow, as he raised his right foot and kicked out at her chest. Cat, having observed Brant’s slide across the smooth stone, instinctively used that to her advantage. At the last moment she dropped her body to the smooth pavers and slid under and through his legs, her sword flashing out and slicing the ankle of the Saricon’s support leg. He howled in pain and rage and dropped to his knee as Cat sprung up from the floor behind him.

  Knowing the attack was coming, the Saricon whipped his heavy axe around with one hand hoping to catch her off guard. But before his blade made it around, she snapped her foot forward and struck the warrior in the back of his head. The strike jerked his head forward, thwarting his attack and forcing him to bring his left arm forward to catch himself from falling. The next thing he felt was a searing pain as Cat rammed her blade into his back. He fell face first onto the stone floor. Cat ripped her blade from his back and turned to help Brant. But it wasn’t necessary. She turned just in time to see Brant’s fiery blade cut through the sword of the one remaining Saricon, then quickly slicing through his shoulder and into his chest, cleaving his heart and lungs. Withdrawing the blade, its fire dissipated into the steel as the big warrior hit the floor. Brant was streaked with blood and the fire of battle still burned in his eyes.

  Cat looked at him, and then to the four bodies lying on the floor, their blood pooling around them. “When this over I can’t wait to hear your story.”

  “Let’s survive first. Hurry, more may come. Let’s get the prince and get out of here.” They both ran into the kitchen to see Rylene wrapping clean bandages around Jarak’s chest. He was barely conscious, like a drunk not quite asleep nor fully awake. Ari and Rath stood beside her, the two bags of supplies lying at their feet. “Are you finished?”

  “Just about,” Rylene said.

  “Good. Rath and Ari will take the two bags. Rylene, fill a bag with as much of the healing supplies as you can carry. Cat, you help me with the prince.”

  “Where are we going?” she asked.

  “The stables.”

  They made their way as quickly as they could to the stables, the distant screams and the sounds of battle spurring them forward. There were only three horses so they saddled them all. The largest, a bay stallion, would carry Brant and Jarak. The two sturdy mares would each carry Cat and Rath, and Rylene and Ari respectively. They strapped on their saddlebags and filled them with grain, tying down sleeping blankets and the two bags of provisions that Ari had collected. From the weapons rack in the barn Brant took two crossbows, giving one to Cat, along with a handful of bolts.

  “How will we keep the prince on the horse?” Cat asked.

  Brant frowned. He had been mulling over the problem the entire time they were preparing the horses.

  “If we can position him behind you, Brant, then we can tie his wrists around your waist. It won’t be comfortable for either one of you, but it should allow him to stay mounted,” Rath suggested.

  Having no better idea himself, they gave it a try. First, Brant lifted Jarak’s prone body and draped him over the horse’s back just behind the saddle. While Cat held his body in place, Brant mounted the animal. Then, with Rath’s help, Cat was able to maneuver the prince’s legs to straddle the horse. To help, Brant turned in the saddle and lifted his body upright by grabbing the neck of the new shirt and cloak they had dressed him in. While Cat held his lower body and Brant held him erect, Rath stood on a stool and used a length of rope to tie his arms around his waist. But that didn’t work. As soon as they let go Jarak’s body slumped down and he nearly fell off, taking Brant with him.

  “Tie them around my neck.” Brant ordered. “That way it will keep him upright and I can hold his arms with one hand while I use the reins with the other.”

  They did what he sugg
ested and that seemed to work. “I hope we don’t have to run for it,” Brant said. A hard gallop would likely cause Jarak to slide off and they both would tumble to the ground.

  Ari mounted his mare and Rylene jumped up behind him. She was not an experienced rider and her expression betrayed her trepidation. “Brant, there is an animal trail along the river’s edge. It is hidden by brush and goes for many miles. I think that is our best chance of getting out of here without being spotted.”

  “Can the horses navigate it?”

  “They can.”

  “Lead the way then. And be quiet.”

  Without another word Ari rode into the darkness with Brant and Cat close behind him.

  ***

  Tongra Taruk stood on the balcony looking out over the balustrade. The lingering sounds of battle could still be heard from the city below, the intermittent screams of women amidst the shouting and battle cries of the warriors. A few skirmishes were still being fought as the Saricon invaders found pockets of resistance. A massive battle axe leaned against the railing beside him, its blade caked with dried blood. He drank from a gold cup, the Kaelian wine washing away the taste of battle.

  Standing beside him were Lord Daricon and his wife, Lady Mylena. They too sipped wine as they gazed down at the city below. Mylena, now dressed in armor and her face smeared with blood, no longer looked like the submissive wife. Long ago, when she was but fifteen, she had been planted where Daricon would find her. Her beauty was unparalleled, and Kahn Taruk knew that Lord Daricon would not be able to resist her charms. It wasn’t fair really. He didn’t have a chance. You see, Lady Mylena had a very unusual skill, more rare even than the Fury. She had been born with the Tinge, allowing her to manipulate the emotions of others to a slight degree. But Mylena was in fact a crossbreed, adding relevance to her cover story that she told long ago when Lord Daricon found her. The story she told long ago was that her mother was raped by a Saricon and that she was the product of that rape, raised by her father, a minor Kaelian lord, as if she was his own. Her Kaelian side did have traces of noble ancestry that could be traced along her mother’s line. Her crossbreed heritage was not a lie, but she had never been raised by her Kaelian father. He had given her up when she was born, not able to look at her pale skin and blonde hair. Raised in an orphanage, she was later found by the Saricons, by Kahn Taruk. Unknown to Daricon, she had been placed before him long ago knowing that she would be able to infiltrate House Dormath. A blending of her Tinge ability, along with the Way, had molded her into something that had never been seen before. She could harness her own aura, like a Merger, using it to give her more speed or strength, or to increase her Tinge ability. This gave her even more power to manipulate the emotions of those around her. Consequently, her Tinge ability was far stronger than normal, but her Merger skills, since she was not of pure noble blood, were weaker, though they gave her a slight advantage in both strength and speed. And so it was, over the years, that she was able to slowly and subtly turn Daricon against his own brother. It had taken some time, close to eight years, but it had not been so difficult. He had long harbored some feelings of resentment and jealousy towards his older brother, feelings of insecurity born of being the younger son of the royal family. And then there was the frustration of being sent to Lyone to spend his life in relative solitude. For the most part he was able to bury or ignore those resentments, dutifully accepting his role in life. But Mylena was adept at digging them up, bringing them to the surface, and encouraging them to grow and fester until his mind became hers.

  “What’s it like betraying your own people?” Tongra Taruk asked him.

  Daricon took another sip from his cup, pausing briefly before answering. “I thought it would be more difficult. But it’s just progress. No kingdom lasts forever.”

  “And the murder of your own brother and the queen?”

  “He lived in the light long enough. It’s my turn now.”

  “Our turn,” Lady Mylena said, her voice soft and sensual, as she leaned into Daricon’s shoulder. Despite the treachery of her role in transforming Daricon into a usurper, she did in fact love him. They had developed a closer bond and a deeper love over the years, strengthened by their common purpose and connection with Heln. Once she had broken through his will, converting him had been easy, filling his mind with the benefits and power he could achieve by following the Saricon god.

  “What’s next?” Daricon asked.

  “Once we destroy the last remnants of resistance, we will kill everyone who does not convert. Then we will have a coronation ceremony crowning the new king and queen of Dy’ain. You will be a figurehead, the symbol of leadership, someone the Dy’ainian people can look upon and not see a foreigner. But do not forget. I am the Tongra of Cythera.”

  “That was the deal,” Daricon agreed. “What of Tanwen and Kreb?”

  “Our armies will take those cities as well. Then I will place two new Tongras there to rule.”

  “What of the prince?”

  Tongra Taruk shrugged. “We have not yet found him. But we will.”

  Despite the fact that Daricon had grown to like Jarak, he did not understand why he couldn’t have killed him earlier when he had had the opportunity, and he voiced his concern. “I do not understand why you did not allow me to kill him earlier. I had many opportunities.”

  “By all accounts he was a just a spoiled boy with no real sense of duty. Our main target all along was the king and queen. The plan was to take the city first and then kill the prince. If you wanted him dead so much, why did you save him when you were ambushed on the road?”

  Good question Daricon thought. The truth be told he had grown to like Jarak, and perhaps, if he were being totally honest, there was a part of him that hoped his death would not be necessary, that perhaps he would not become an impediment to their plans. But over time Jarak had grown into a strong young man of noble character, and that hope had soon succumbed to reality. “I reacted out of instinct, and I would be lying if I said I did not care about the boy.”

  “And now?”

  Daricon shrugged. “His death is necessary. But I could have killed him many times after that ambush. Why did you not order me to do so?”

  “At that point it was too much of a risk,” Tongra Taruk said. “If you were suspected of foul play, then you would not have had the opportunity here, to kill your brother. The king and his wife were the target, not the prince. He is young and untried. He is of little consequence.”

  Daricon pursed his lips in thought. He wasn’t so sure.

  ***

  Ari had been correct. The dense brush that grew along the river’s edge shielded them as they slowly rode west. It was slow going as the trail was narrow and often blocked by overhanging branches, forcing them to duck and twist in the saddle to avoid them. It was particularly difficult for Brant as Jarak’s limp body shifted randomly, pulling him off balance, while the rope around his neck eventually rubbed his skin raw. In addition, the darkness of night forced them to move more slowly and carefully, hoping the horses would guide them to safety. The moon’s glow provided pale intermittent light as voluminous gauzy clouds drifted lazily across the star filled sky. Finally, after several hours, they had passed the Saricon lines and emerged from the brush onto the rolling grasslands. The sun was beginning to rise and they needed to lengthen the distance between themselves and Cythera.

  As they rode up a gentle hill, the sun’s morning rays chasing away the cool night air, Brant stopped as Jarak stirred behind him. “The prince is awakening. Help me take him off.”

  Everyone dismounted and Rath and Cat moved quickly to Brant’s horse, easing the prince’s moaning body off as Brant lifted the rope from around his neck. Laying him gently on the grass Cat untied the rope around his wrists as Jarak’s eyes fluttered open. Brant dismounted and joined them.

  “How do you feel?” Cat asked.

  Jarak sat up slowly and cringed in pain. “I’ve felt better. My chest feels as if it’s still on fire.”
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  Brant stood behind Cat, his silhouette framed by the rising sun. “Can you ride? We need to put more distance between us and the city.”

  “How long have we been riding?” Jarak asked.

  “A few hours,” Rath replied.

  As Brant looked up the hill a sudden sparkle caught his eye. As he scanned the hill more carefully he saw it again, the sun’s light reflecting off the tip of a javelin. Leaping forward, he drew his sword. “Get behind me!”

  Four Saricons fanned out as they moved through the grass, weapons drawn. One carried the javelin, two carried swords and shields, and the fourth wielded a large two handed axe. They must be a scouting party.

  Seeing the men everyone positioned themselves defensively behind Brant. Cat drew her sword and moved several paces to his right. Jarak stood on wobbly legs and drew his own sword, his stance pitiful as he hunched over in pain.

  “What do we have here?” the Saricon carrying the axe said in Newain.

  One of the swordsmen smiled. “Looks like we have some stragglers.”

  “Sorry,” the man with the javelin said, “but we have our orders.” He lifted the weapon and prepared to throw it at Brant, just as his comrades charged.

  Brant growled as he guided his aura into his legs, sprinting forward with incredible speed. In the arena he had had to use his powers sparingly so as not to draw attention to them. But now he had no such restraint. Merging his aura allowed him to not only move incredibly fast, but it also heightened his other senses, including his vision. He could have easily dodged the javelin hurtling towards him but he was worried it might strike someone behind him. So he flicked his sword down and away striking the javelin and redirecting it harmlessly to the grassy ground. The Saricon had barely enough time to draw his sword before Brant’s Kul-brite blade sliced deeply across his chest, dropping him to the ground. Spinning on his right leg he then reversed direction and charged at the sword wielding Saricons who were nearly upon Cat and Jarak.