Rise and Fall (Book 1)

by Joshua P. Simon

  “Do you know who I am?” asked the mage.

  And he has an ego at that. Gotta love a mage with an ego. Well, at least I should be able to stall him while I try to think of a way out of this. “Can’t say that I do, but I’m assuming I should, right?”

  The mage chuckled. “Always full of jokes, aren’t you, Commander?” He smiled. “Don’t look surprised. I know who you are. Our little meeting was not mere chance.” He paused. “But to your question, I don’t expect you to remember me. It was very long ago. I was only a boy.” The mage’s forehead wrinkled and his voice took on an edge. “But I haven’t forgotten you or your band of mercenaries, especially that old man, Krytien.”

  There was something about the look in the man’s eyes that caught Jonrell off guard, something familiar. He couldn’t place the mage but it was obvious the yellow-robed figure was well acquainted with him and his crew.

  So a mage with an ego who appears to be bent on revenge. What a great morning. “Ah, so you’re saying you’re familiar with our work? Good,” said Jonrell, trying to be indifferent. “You mentioned Krytien. Perhaps I can reintroduce you two. He’s quite fond of mages who’ve taken such an interest in him.”

  “No. The old man will get his on my terms, not yours. You are simply the bait to bring him to me.”

  “You think so? I’ve already killed two of your men. Who’s to say the rest aren’t going to join them?” He leveled his sword, pointing it at the center man’s throat. “I think I’ll start with this one.” The man gulped as he squeezed the hilt of his sword.

  The mage laughed again. “So full of confidence, and yet the odds are not in your favor today. But don’t fear. As I said, I prefer you alive for now.” The mage removed his hands from his sleeves, and a small glow crawled along his skin. “However, if you won’t come quietly, I can kill you now and worry about Krytien later.”

  Jonrell paused as a man emerged from behind an oak tree some distance behind the mage. He was unlike anything the commander had ever seen with skin as black as night. He was well over six feet tall and seemed to be carved from granite as slabs of muscle flexed with each silent footfall. Most surprising, the man wore no clothes. He held a large rock in his hand and his eyes were focused on the yellow-robed mage, inching ever closer with the grace of a panther.

  A rock isn’t much but I guess it will have to do. He’ll probably die before he gets within five feet but maybe the distraction will be enough to give me a chance. Just need to keep him talking. “One Above, this is getting ridiculous. Will you just tell me why you want me and Krytien dead? Otherwise, let’s get this over with.”

  “You killed my family, both my father and mother while in Thurum. It was at Asantia!” yelled the mage.

  Jonrell’s eyes widened ever so slightly as he did his best to hide his reaction. The look in the mage’s eyes suddenly made sense. Asantia had been one of the darkest times in the Hell Patrol’s history, and many of those memories still haunted his dreams. One of those images that had etched itself into his mind was that of a young boy cradling the bodies of his mother and father, staring at Jonrell with hollow eyes as he walked by.

  I’m not surprised he never learned to move on, even if his parents deserved to die.

  “Well, I can see how that may bother you,” said Jonrell trying to keep the mage’s attention as the black man continued his approach. “But that was years ago. We killed a lot of people in Asantia, and last I remember, they were trying to kill us. It’s called war.”

  “No!” cried the mage. “That mage Krytien burned my mother alive as she tried to save my father. They were killed in cold blood. And that’s not all…” The mage fell in a slump as the black man’s hand crashed down on the back of the yellow-robed figure’s head with the sharp crack of shattering bone. The five bandits turned toward their leader.

  Jonrell rushed forward, sweeping his sword across the center man’s unprotected neck, severing his head.

  Well, no one can say I didn’t warn him.

  The man to Jonrell’s left swung his rusted blade upward wildly. The sword sliced through the air. Jonrell easily moved away from the attack and carved into the man’s torso.

  The sound of fighting came from behind, but Jonrell had no time to look as another bandit came at him. More skilled than the previous men, he parried the first combination of attacks before dipping his blade too low. Leaving himself unprotected, Jonrell stabbed him in the chest and the man crumpled to the ground.

  Jonrell spun, expecting another assault. To his surprise the last two bandits were dead and the black man stood over them holding one of the rusted swords in his hand. Despite helping Jonrell only moments ago, he looked ready to spring into another attack. The black man twisted his feet in the dirt, shifting his hands around the sword’s hilt.

  What is his problem? He kills three men to help me and then acts like I’m next. Does he really think a naked man is going to intimidate someone in full plate? The black man lowered his gaze and the knots on his shoulders flexed. Well, maybe it will a little. Jonrell then realized his own position and that he too had faced the man in anticipation for an attack. The commander lowered his sword slowly and straightened his stance. “Thanks for the help. Do you have a name?” he asked, trying to break the tension.

  The black man frowned and said nothing.

  Ok, that didn’t work. Maybe try a different language. Jonrell tried again in several other tongues he had picked up during his travels but each was met with the same response. Then it hit him. Idiot. Look at his skin. It’s much darker but it makes more sense than anything else. He tried Byzernian, thankful for the recent practice he had while traveling with Wiqua. “My name is Jonrell. Do you have a name?”

  This time the man responded, finally relaxing a little. “Kaz.”

  Kaz. It’s a start. Though at this rate we will be standing here until sundown. Jonrell decided to take a risk and sheathed his sword, removing his gauntlets afterward. He extended his hand slowly to the man. “Thank you for the help.” After a moment, Kaz lowered his sword as well and extended a free hand in return.

  One Above, the raw power in his grip. Jonrell smiled as their hands released, but Kaz did not reciprocate. Jonrell decided not to let the silence drag. “Which island in Byzernia are you from?” he asked.

  Kaz seemed confused by the question and responded in a thick accent, his pronunciation barely recognizable to the commander. “I have never heard of this Byzernia or any island related to it.”

  “Oh, ok,” said Jonrell surprised. “You are much bigger than any Byzernian I’ve seen, but you resemble the people from there.” He paused. “Though that isn’t an exact match either. Where are you from?”

  Kaz seemed hesitant to answer and his brows furrowed. “I….I do not know.”

  “You don’t know?” The commander glanced down at the naked man and decided to ask the next most obvious question. “Well, do you mind if I ask how you got to Slum Isle? You aren’t exactly dressed appropriately to be traveling alone and unarmed.”

  Almost embarrassed Kaz responded, frustration lining his voice. “I don’t know that either. I awoke some hours ago, and other than my name, I can’t recall anything specific from my past.” Just then, Kaz staggered a bit and the point of the sword went into the dirt. He used it to brace himself.

  Jonrell reached out catching Kaz’s arm, helping him regain his balance. “Are you ok?” he asked.

  Kaz touched his head and when he brought his hand around, Jonrell saw blood in his palm. “Just dizzy.”

  “You were injured in the fight.”

  “No. It happened before I awoke.”

  “Hmm,” said Jonrell, scratching his beard. “I’ve seen a well placed blow to the head affect people’s memory before. It might be that’s what happened to you.”

  Kaz said nothing.

  “Well, uh, let’s assume that’s the case until we find out otherwise. Why did you help me? You’re injured and aren’t exactly dressed for the part—not that I�
�m complaining or anything.”

  “I was not sure whether to watch or help.” He turned to the man in yellow robes. “Then I saw the shaman and made my choice.”

  I almost forgot. I don’t know if Kroke could have pulled that off so easily. Wait a minute. What did he call him? “Did you say a shaman? I’m not familiar with that term.”

  Kaz looked at Jonrell as if he were a dumb child. “Those who use sorcery.”

  “We call them mages.” Jonrell shrugged. “You know, I command a group of men and we could use someone like you,” he said looking down at the dead men. “In fact, that’s what I’m doing. Recruiting. Are you interested?”

  “What would I be doing?”

  “Mostly what you did today, but sometimes the job calls for other things. I’ve got a couple of people who might be able to look at that head wound of yours.”

  Kaz stroked the goatee on his chin, and then shrugged. “I accept.” Then he bent down and began stripping the bodies of their clothing and armor.

  Jonrell understood and began helping, but there was little success in finding a perfect match. “You’re not exactly a common size,” he said while pulling the boots off another. “These should do for now though. I’ll make sure you get a better match once we get to Mudhole Bay.”

  Kaz grabbed the boots and slipped them on. He had already taken the trousers of another which seemed to suit him fine. He decided against a shirt or armor as the leather was brittle and the fastenings too small for his frame. Instead he picked up an old shield one of the men had carried and strapped the scabbard for the rusted sword across his back. “I’m ready.”

  Jonrell nodded. Even half-dressed, Kaz looked like a man who stepped right out of the legends of old, a warrior in every sense of the word. “You wouldn’t know if there are any others like you waking up around here, would you?”

  Kaz tilted his head. “What do you mean?”

  “Nevermind. Just wishful thinking is all. C’mon we have a bit of a walk ahead of us.”

  * * *

  During the hours it took to make it back to camp, Jonrell tried to learn more of the man who accompanied him. He had little success. By the time they had arrived Kaz remained a mystery to him. Jonrell had asked plenty of questions, hoping that something would click and help Kaz recover his memory. But Kaz could provide little more than a shrug or an “I don’t know.” After some time, Jonrell ceased pressing the man as he saw his frustration mounting.

  Once Jonrell directed the conversation to what the Hell Patrol was and why they were on Slum Isle, small pieces of the warrior’s past finally trickled out. When Jonrell would talk about the interaction between him and his men, Kaz was silent and indifferent. When the conversation moved to tactics of war and combat, Kaz spoke up, asking pointed questions and providing well thought out advice. With such insight, Jonrell concluded that he was definitely a soldier and more than likely a leader of sorts.

  Probably one who did not really know or understand his men. Amcaro would smile if he knew that I still used those lessons on analyzing a person’s behavior.

  Despite glimpsing a small piece of Kaz’s life, bigger questions remained that Jonrell doubted would be answered any time soon. Where is he from? What army was he in? How did he get here? Why is he here?

  “Where have you been?” exclaimed Krytien, scowling as he approached. He looked at Kaz, but only for a moment before continuing. “I’ve got five men out looking for you!”

  “Calm down. I ran into some bandits and a yellow mage. Apparently he knew us, you and I in particular. It was about Asantia.”

  The mage’s face went pale and he shook his head. “Will that place ever stop haunting us?” he asked to no one in particular. Then he added. “And you got away?”

  “Yeah, but they killed my horse first.” Jonrell turned gesturing to Kaz. “And I had some help.”

  Krytien switched to a rare dialect from a distant part of Mytarcis, trying to hide his comments. “You sure found a big one. I’ve never seen someone of his color before. Where is he from?”

  Jonrell answered in Cadonian. “His name is Kaz. I have no idea where he’s from and apparently neither does he. I’ll fill you in later. The only language we have in common that I can tell is Byzernian and even that can be a struggle. It’s like his language is some strange variant of it.”

  “Odd. Could he be from one of the inner islands? No one really knows what the culture there is like.”

  “Possibly, though he is quite the contrast from Wiqua if that’s the case.”

  “I guess we’ll have to wait and ask him later. I sent him out with some of the men to search for you in case you were injured,” said Krytien. He then looked to Kaz and extended a hand while switching to Byzernian. “It’s good to meet you, Kaz. My name is Krytien.”

  Kaz looked down at the mage’s hand but only scowled in return. “I will not touch this man. His robes may be faded but I can still smell a shaman.”

  “A shaman?”

  “It’s what he calls a mage.”

  “Yes, I know. It’s just that word hasn’t been used in hundreds of years and that was mostly during the Elder Age.”

  “Interesting,” said Jonrell. “He apparently has a thing against those who practice the arts. I think the only reason he initially helped me was to kill the mage trying to capture me.”

  “Oh joy,” said Krytien.

  The two men had been speaking Cadonian so Jonrell turned to Kaz, switching to Byzernian. “Look, I really don’t care what your opinion is of sorcery or of mages or shamans or whatever.” He pointed to Krytien. “What I do care about are my men. If you join us, then you join all of us and that means that you will fight with us, not against us. Now you don’t have to like everyone to do that, but you will do it. Understand?”

  Kaz looked over the mage with disgust and after a few moments of scratching his bearded chin, he conceded. “Fine. You keep strange company but I will stay.”

  “Good,” said Krytien trying to ease the tension. He leaned off to one side and noticed the wound on Kaz’s head. “I can take a look at that for you if you would like. I know some minor healing…”

  “No,” said Kaz cutting in. “I will take care of it myself.”

  Jonrell shook his head. “No, you won’t. If you don’t want sorcery, we can treat it the old fashioned way.” He looked over the camp of men who tried to look busy while eavesdropping on their conversation. The only one who cared not to hide her motive was Hag. Ha. She’ll do. “Hag, get over here.”

  The old woman mumbled something under her breath about working too hard but waddled over anyway. “What do you want me doing now? I was busy, you know.”

  “Yeah, you looked like it,” said Jonrell. “This is Kaz. I need you to clean and treat his head. While you’re at it see what you can do about a few of the other scrapes and cuts he has.”

  “And why am I the one stuck doing that?”

  “Because he only understands Byzernian and you’ve become pretty adept at speaking the language since you and Wiqua got together. Also, because he also needs to eat and unfortunately, you’re in charge of meals. But most importantly, because I said so.”

  She grumbled under her breath looking Kaz over. “I guess it can’t be all bad. At least he’s easy on the eyes. Maybe I can get me a younger one on the side, huh?”

  Jonrell shook his head and Krytien made a gagging sound. “You should be happy with what you got now. Besides I don’t want you scaring him off. I got a feeling he’d give Glacar a run in sheer power. It’s a rare thing to find someone like that,” Jonrell said with appreciation.

  “I was only joking,” said Hag waving a hand. “Besides, I have all the man I need.” She turned and spoke to Kaz in Byzernian. “C’mon, big boy. Let’s get you looked at. Just keep your hands to yourself.”

  Kaz turned to Jonrell looking confused. The commander laughed. “It’s fine. She’ll take care of your head and get you something to eat. We’ll be back on the road in a couple of hours
and I’ll catch up with you then.”

  The warrior nodded and followed Hag. Jonrell smirked at the contrast between the two as they walked off.

  “That was mean,” said Krytien.

  “Probably. But he has to learn sooner or later to trust us and that means everyone. Maybe after an hour with Hag, he’ll regret turning you down.”

  Chapter 11

  Elyse exited the council chambers in a hurry, leaving Gauge behind to distract those vying for her attention. The patience of her advisors waned with each meeting as the pleas for each of their causes grew louder. No longer were they indifferent toward her procrastination or her silence during the council meetings. Reminders that, as queen, she had decisions to make became more prevalent and less subtle each session.

  Elyse wanted to act, but a great deal of her trepidation stemmed from a lack of confidence in her abilities. Despite all her studying she felt as though she had barely scratched the surface of things she should already know.

  I can almost hear Jonrell saying “I told you so.”

  Living on so little sleep for so long was becoming counterproductive as well. She often fought to stay awake during the day, missing key bits of information that Gauge filled her in on later which added to the belief that she wasn’t fit to rule. Then at night, she frequently reread the same passages over and over, unable to concentrate. Gauge had grown concerned with her behavior, hinting that the stress appeared to be taking a toll. He offered to take on more duties in an effort to ease her load, which Elyse, seeing few alternatives, reluctantly granted.

  How does he find the time to do so much?

  Although she struggled with her own insecurities, a greater reason for her indecisive behavior was an effort to stall.

  Elyse had made an important decision some weeks ago after listening to Adein and Vicalli’s arguments. Without anyone’s knowledge, including Gauge, she sent a company of nearly a thousand men from Cathyrium to Duke Conroy in order to aid in his defense of the High Pass. She felt that it had been the best way to judge if what Adein had previously said was true. If not, she figured that the troops, sent on her behalf, would deter Conroy from any further questionable behavior.