Drachenara

by T. G. Neal

  Vaelen brightened at this. He knew his father fought in the war, but he never knew that his ties extended to the King. He smiled and nodded. “That sounds like a good plan. Did he say anything about Mikael?”

  Rolyat frowned, and Vaelen regretted asking. “Nothing more than business as usual.” He said and rose from the table. “Come, let’s have audience with the King.”

  Aurelia looked to Vaelen and Keneya, and the three rose to follow Rolyat out into the city streets. At this time of day, parts of the city were already practically in night, thanks to the structure of the city, and its high cliff to the west, a cliff at whose peak rested the castle, atop a journey of seven-hundred steps. This time of day the city began to slow again, so their journey – again on horseback – took them less time than it could have, though it still took an hour to traverse the cityscape that Mreindale had to offer. As their journey progressed, their conversation varied from the weather, to the smells of food, to the sounds of the city. Particularly between Vaelen and Aurelia, who had never visited. The heavy pang of loss stung, though, at the thought of Mikael leaving them behind, and it reopened old wounds for Vaelen and Aurelia, who only recently still lost loved ones.

  Vaelen held back somewhat from the others. Rolyat knew where he was going, and Keneya, too, knew, and they rode at the front. Aurelia rode directly in front of him, only maybe two or three feet ahead, but it was just enough for him to catch himself looking at her without her knowing. In the beginning, when he was only training her with a blade he would often look at her and admire her for her beauty – but he knew that he had no chance. He was no highborn man. Now, though, he caught himself considering what would happen in their world of danger and loss, if they could just settle down away from it all.

  “Do you ever find yourself considering not fighting?” Aurelia asked, breaking Vaelen’s thoughts.

  Rolyat looked over his shoulder. “I don’t see it as fighting, though that’s what it is. I see it as protecting. I may have stepped down from the Paladaeis, but I see myself as no less of a protector, and I firmly believe that is what the Maker intends for me to do.”

  Keneya shook his head. “Never. It’s all I’ve ever really known.” He inhaled and exhaled. “It was the only choice I ever really had.”

  Vaelen nodded. “Sure.” He looked down at the saddle. “It’s all I’ve known, but I wouldn’t mind settling down and sleeping restfully, without worrying if I, or the ones I love might perish.” He looked directly into Aurelia’s eyes when he said it. He smiled and nodded. “Maybe become a farmer.”

  Aurelia looked down and smiled. “You’re teasing me.”

  Keneya laughed. “A farmer? Not the way you wield that greatsword, Vaelen. Unless you plan to use it to reap your harvest.”

  With that, the whole group laughed. When the laughter died down some, Rolyat chipped in again. “Sure, I mean one day, I’d like to think I wouldn’t have to fight anymore. Perhaps maybe I could turn my abilities to healing only. Or maybe I’ll die an old man with a hammer at my side.”

  “And I, a dagger in my hand,” said Keneya. “But I’ll be a lot older than you round ears.”

  Vaelen smirked. “That you will.”

  And onward they rode. The clopping of the horses’ hooves resounded through the city streets. Aurelia’s thoughts kept her going back to what Vaelen had said. In her mind’s eye she could see the two of them settling own on a nice small farm and having a baby. A baby? She suddenly asked herself and snapped out of it. But a warmth did strike her at the thought, and she tossed a glance back at Vaelen, who returned it with a smile.

  A few hundred feet from the rise to the castle was a platform. Built into the surrounding area, several troughs and lashing posts were set up for guests. There, the group would tie off their horses and make the walk to the castle from there.

  When they arrived at the steps to the castle, the look up the carved stone was daunting. It would take them forever to make the climb, as intended, and it made for a truly impenetrable fortress. The stairs were rather unremarkable for the first fifty or so, occasionally lit up by a stone pillar with a fire burning atop in a brass container. After the first fifty, the sides of the staircase became a straight drop off to the cliffs fifty or sixty feet below, which then fell several hundred feet to the ocean.

  With each step of progress, the view of the grand mechanical elevators that lifted cargo and people to and from the cliffs and down to the massive docks could be seen. The intricacies of the machine were indistinguishable at this distance, but still – to know that such advance machinery existed was amazing. Since their construction, a peace offering from the Dwarves many years ago, Mreindale had gone from advanced human civilization, to a monetary powerhouse, and it stayed that way ever since.

  During the climb, conversation was sparse. Not necessarily winded but saving their energy for the conversation that would take place at the top, they maintained silence. Once reaching the top, however, the bright orange of the sunset was reflecting on the water below them, but the sun itself was hidden behind the castle, whose monolithic image obscured the sun from view. The doors were open, but just inside stood two lines of well-armed Royal Templars. The first one stepped out of line and approached the group. “Declare.” He said, firmly.

  Rolyat looked back at his friends and nodded his head. “I am Rolyat, former Paladin, and speaker for the Silver Sort. We are here for business with the King regarding our services in the preparations for war.”

  The Templar nodded his head, turned and walked away.

  “And now we wait,” Keneya said, walking to the edge of the large balcony-like platform they stood on. The banisters were waist high, and only offered a place to lean to look over and examine the water, some five-hundred or more feet below.

  Vaelen looked up and down the castle, back down the stairs, and inside, getting the best view he could for where they stood. “This castle is enormous.”

  Aurelia agreed, taking a sip from her water skin. “It makes Drachenara’s keep look like a larder.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far,” Vaelen said with a slight smile.

  “She’s right, you know.” Keneya said.

  Rolyat held his hand out, ushering them to lower their voices as the Templar returned, another man behind him. The Templar stopped stiffened and announced the man. “This is The Right, adviser and right hand of the King. He is acting on behalf of the King currently.”

  The Right reached out to shake Rolyat’s hand. “I’m to understand you’re representing the Silver Sort?” He asked.

  “That’s correct,” Rolyat answered.

  “Excellent. What services are you offering?” Asked The Right.

  “We’ll do individual protection, group protection, scouting, asset protection, on up to fighting in combat.” He looked down at a pouch on his side. “We were sent by Daja Uruk to speak with the King.”

  The Right’s whole demeanor changed. “Daja Uruk? Oh. Oh, you’re that Silver Sort! Please come with me.” He said, turning and leading them forward. For safety’s sake, the Templar’s followed with them. He led the group forward, through the entrance, and on into the main hall. Just beyond, The Right excused himself, and returned some few minutes later with the King in tow. “May I present, King Tivanis, his Grace and ruler of the nine.”

  The group hit their knee, but the King quickly ushered them to rise. “The Right informs me that you are here representing Daja Uruk. Is that so?”

  Rolyat rose and stepped forward. “Aye, Your Majesty. He had received word that you were in need of good soldiers, and to be frank, sir, we’re the best.”

  The King didn’t chuckle, nor did he smile. He did, however sit back in his throne and look at the group. “I do need good soldiers,” he said, scratching the white beard that grew on his chin. “Are you aware of why I prepare for war?”

  The group collectively shook their heads, but Rolyat answered “No, Your Grace.”

  Tivanis leaned forward and looked at the floor, si
ghing before he spoke. “Drachenara is under the rule of those who seek to usurp me. They have built and army – it would appear that they have been building an army for some time in Stormvale, unbeknownst to me until recently. My son—“the King choked up, and had to regain his composure, “My son perished at the hands of the Drache family.”

  Aurelia covered her mouth, memories rushing back into her mind of her parents’ murder.

  Vaelen looked to her and felt the same pain, but he repressed his physical response. He stepped up and spoke. “Your Grace, if I may, my name is Vaelen Wraithson— “

  “Wait.” The King said, holding his hand up. “I knew I placed your face. Your eyes. You’re the spit and image of your father, Wraith.” He smiled. “Your father, I, Daja Uruk, and Saden Drache all served together during the war.” He looked lost in memory for a moment, before returning to the present. “How is it that the band of mercenaries under the hire of my once good friend, Daja Uruk, and the son of my other friend Wraith, have come to me?”

  “Fate, Your Majesty?” Vaelen said rhetorically, then he continued. “My father was the chief among the guard for the Drache family. He perished he same night as the Bren and Brenness. I escaped…” he trailed and looked back at Aurelia. “I did not escape alone. Your Majesty, this is Aurelia Drache, daughter of Bren and Brenness Drache, and sister of Jorvig Drache, the one whose plot to unravel the Brendom you have discovered.”

  When Vaelen made his announcement, the Templars surrounding them all drew their weapons. Vaelen did as well, hefting the large greatsword, ready to defend her at a moment’s notice.

  The King rose from his throne and shouted. “Put down your weapons! All of you!”

  Following their King’s command, each Templar sheathed their sword, and Vaelen returned his sword to its frog last. He turned back to the King, “Please forgive me, your grace. You must understand. We only survived the slaughter at the keep by leaping from the waterfall— “

  Before Vaelen could finish, one of the side doors to the keep burst open and a man carrying a letter walked in. “Your Majesty, we must speak at once.”

  “Forgive The Left,” the King said, straightening in his throne. “What is it? Do not fear for our friends here to overhear, they are here to help.”

  The Left looked at the group standing before the King incredulously, then continued. “This message arrived by hand, by a member of Subterfuge. How it arrived so suddenly, even I do not know. It was penned by a Sergeant at the Drachenara border garrison. It reads: ‘One man returned from conscription mission in Drachenara. All other slaughtered in streets. Similar uprisings reported in Greyvale.’”

  The King’s face grew red and he started to swell with anger, but he stopped and pursed his lips, rubbing his eyes with his thumb and forefinger.

  “That’s not all, your Majesty.” The Left began again. The King looked up. “Reports from reconnaissance in the area say that Lucandis has joined the Alliance in the North, and rumors are that they claim to declare war.” He took in a deep breath and exhaled. “The people seem to support a new regime spearheaded by Miliria and Jorvig Drache.”

  Suddenly all the emotions the King had suppressed seemed to return to him all at once. His eyes grew tired and the wrinkles set in his skin seemed to deepen. His mouth turned downward in a mixture of anger and sadness. He began rapping his fingers on the armrest. The Left, The Right, and the Silver Sort stared at him. He clenched his eyes shut, then reopened them, rising to his full height. “Muster the troops. Begin rallying in Midland. Draw all border garrisons back to the rally point you select, Right. Left, infiltrate their ranks. Bring your greatest spies to Midland at the forward camp.” He paced left and right on the giant stone plinth the throne sat upon. “Our time here has been great, and our conversation delightful before this news. As King, I request the service of the entire Silver Sort. Return to your master, Daja Uruk, and inform him that he will be paid the price he requests, and that I expect all of his mercenaries to fight with the same honor as those who stood before me today.” He looked dead at Rolyat, then continued pacing. “I request that two of you stay with me, to prepare local conscripts for battle. The other two of you may return to Daja, to inform him.”

  Vaelen and the others bowed their heads in reverence of the King. By the time they left, night had fallen, and their sight of the city before them was delightful. The torches that burned in the distance lit the city up magically, belying the impending chaos that had become a weight on the shoulders of the four.

  When they reached the base of the stairs they chose to set out on their journey that very night. It wasn’t so much a question as who would stay and who would go. Rolyat and Vaelen would teach any new recruits the basics of open combat. Keneya and Aurelia would first send a Jackdaw, informing Daja of their impending obligations, but would begin their journey back to Quardanis that very evening, to set out collecting the spread-out mercenaries who belonged to the Silver Sort.

  Vaelen stood with Aurelia at the city’s entrance, where she prepared her horse to leave. She had loaded the basic necessities, as had Keneya, and was nearly ready when he approached her. He placed a hand on the haunch of her horse and he looked at her. “How far we’ve come in such a short time.” He said, smiling.

  “How far we’ve yet to go.” She said. Then she tightened a strap on the horse and looked up at him. “We have to stop them, Vaelen.” She said, clenching her jaws. “We can’t let them do to the world what they did to us. My brother… his wife… they all have to be stopped.”

  “You’re right. But can you take Jorvig’s life if you had to?” Vaelen almost wished he hadn’t asked the question.

  “I don’t know.” She said, closing the gap between herself and Vaelen, and resting her head against his armored chest.

  He wrapped his arms around her. “I’ll see you soon,” he said, pulling away. “You’ve got to go.”

  Keneya mounted his horse just beyond where they stood and tugged at the reins.

  Aurelia backed away, bearing a sad smile. “Soon.” She said, climbing up on her horse and riding away into the night.

  As he saw them disappear down the dark road back toward the desert, Rolyat approached Vaelen. “This is going to be a war to split the Brendoms again,” he said. “There is no doubt. Are you ready?”

  Vaelen looked at Rolyat, then back out into the night beyond the gates of Mreindale. “No.” He said quietly, gruffly. “But, then, I don’t have a choice.”

  After as best a rest as Vaelen could seem to get, he rose the next morning and dressed himself, tying his armor in places he normally requested help with. He sat on the edge of the bed in the tavern, the same he’d slept in two nights before, and he looked at the bed that Aurelia had slept in. Something about how empty it was made him feel uncomfortable.

  When Rolyat was ready, full plate armor and all, Vaelen was waiting for him by the door. The two made their way out into the early morning sun. In Mreindale, even the early mornings were hot. The moisture of the sea and all the nearby fresh water sources beyond the wall gave off such humidity, that a most prevalent haze was noticeable, though it would dissipate shortly, when the sun topped the wall and gave enough light and heat to dry the air some.

  Rolyat knew well-enough where they were going, and Vaelen followed him. This was still a foreign place to him, though he could comfortably make it home. True, Vaelen had joined a band of mercenaries, but nothing felt more right that doing his duty and serving the crown. He wasn’t sure that any of his other comrades felt the same way, but either way, they would earn coin for doing it. As they traversed Mreindale, bound for the garrison, Vaelen allowed his thoughts to wonder. He tried to measure time and place where Keneya and Aurelia were by now. He imagined them somewhere in the desert, making occasional stops at oasis water reserves, refilling, and going on their way, much as they had on their way down. He also hoped that they didn’t encounter bandits, same as they had before.

  Vaelen could hear the sound of blades clashin
g before he knew they were at the garrison, and it had taken them a decent ride just inside the wall, before they reached it. Perhaps half of an hour to make the distance. Enough for him to get good and awake, and enough for him to clear his head to prepare himself for a day of training recruits.

  When Vaelen and Rolyat passed through the garrison gate, they could see the lines of raw recruits, and some vetted soldiers all facing the same direction, swinging their blades against straw-and-burlap-padded posts in unison, by the call of a Lieutenant. Less than ten feet in the door, and stabling their horses, they were greeted by a large man who stood easily a foot taller than both of them, wider stance, and broader shoulders. He nodded his head low for a moment, then returned to his full height, clapping his hand on his chest in a respectful salute. “Gentlemen. I am Commandant Kelor Broadsblade.” Vaelen and Rolyat returned the symbol of respect. “I am told my predecessor did not enjoy Mercenary involvement with the crown, may he rest in peace, but I do not believe as such. We are all just men trying to make our way in the world, yes?” He smiled a genuine smile, a refreshing reaction compared to others they’ve had. “I welcome you two. While you are amongst my ranks, you are both Captains. You come in high regard from the King and The Right, and though I am unaware of your qualifications, with such support, I can’t very well deny you, can I?” He smiled again, and he continued forward, walking towards the lines of men.

  Rolyat looked to the barrel-chested man and nodded. “Indeed. I appreciate your candor, and your honor, Commandant.”

  While Rolyat walked on the left of the Commandant, Vaelen walked to the right. “As do I.”

  “You’re both educated men. Rolyat, I see you bear the mark of a Paladin. Sometime soon, you will have to tell me why you chose to leave the Paladaeis.” He looked to Vaelen. “And I’ve heard your story, Wraithson. Perhaps you will earn your father’s name.” He continued walking toward the recruits. “Through local conscription, we have filled the ranks of the 1st, 2nd and 3rd Legions. They haven’t been filled since the last great war, when our King achieved his mantle. However, they are filled with over half new recruits. Men and women from the age of fifteen, to men almost in their fifties – and some volunteers who were older. We were fortunate enough to get some veterans of the last war, though they are old, and some feeble, they will fight hard.” He stopped to watch the men and women, boys and girls use their weapons in a flurry of attacks. “After their swords – which they are being graded in – they will be sent to range, beyond the wall, to test for their skill with a bow. Their skills will be measured, and they will be appropriated. My training commanders will come to you as you are needed.” As he finished what he was saying, a Lieutenant approached him with a leatherbound ledger in his hand. The Commandant turned back to Rolyat and Vaelen and bowed his head. “Now is time for strategy. I am entrusting a deal of the training to you men. Good luck, and may the Maker be with us.”