by Andrew Wood
There were two windows that let in sufficient daylight to illuminate the room. In the centre was a large table, covered in bits of material and patterns. The man flustered about as Fabian told him what he wanted. Two shirts, some new trousers and all as soon as the man could make them. The tailor did have a small selection of clothes pre-made that he kept for the town folk. Fabian did take a few of these items as well. A plain linen shirt, not normally associated with the quality worn by royalty, and some underclothes. Jamal was surprised when Fabian suggested he also take his pick from the items. Moreover, he also insisted the Tailor take Jamal's measurements, and ordered more fine quality clothes for him as well.
Fabian took out four of the gold coins from the purse they had escaped with and placed them on the table. "If you can get our stuff made within a few days, I'll see you get a little extra," he said. Jamal watched as the tailor's eyes lit up at the sight of the gold. They both turned as somebody else walked into the room. "This is my apprentice Jona," the tailor said introducing the newcomer.
Jona smiled at them both. Probably no older than they, with brown hair, thin of build and a little taller than both Fabian and Jamal, he spoke with a very effeminate voice. The tailor asked his apprentice to measure Jamal for the clothes Fabian had ordered for him. It was apparent the tailor was only really interested in making the garments for Fabian. Those for Jamal would likely be made by the younger man. Even though he was very grateful for Fabian buying them for him, he would have been content wearing the uniform he was currently wearing.
After what Jamal thought was far too long for Jona to measure the sizes needed for his clothes, both he and Fabian left the tailors. With a couple of small bundles under their arms, they headed back to the house. The two guards fell in behind Fabian as they did so. Jamal thought at least it appeared that they were staying put for a few days. He doubted a town like this would be high on anybody's list of targets for an invading army, and he was almost certain their next would be the city of Ulreta.
With that sombre thought in mind, Jamal wondered just what they were going to do. Did Fabian plan to keep the soldiers here for long, or did he intend on venturing further to the main city. He was quite certain that the king would expect every available man to fight for the defence of their nation, and not to be camped up in some out of the way town. With this thought playing on his mind, he decided to ask. "Fabian, are we planning to stay here long, or are we just stopping a few days before moving on?" he asked.
Fabian stopped walking and turned to face Jamal. "I will be honest with you," the young royal said rather sullenly. "I do not know what to do. I have never had to be responsible for other people before," he added. Jamal left it at that for now. He realised how much life had changed for Fabian of late. He was uncertain whether the young royal had properly grieved for the loss of his father. He was aware the two were not particularly close, but even that should not mean he felt no pain over his death. He was not certain how well Fabian would cope with the pressures of leadership, although the Captain appeared a friendly helpful character. He was sure Fabian would need the wisdom of this man to advise him.
As they walked back into the house, the guards remained outside by the doorway. "Do you think perhaps you should discuss with the Captain about your plans for the soldiers?" Jamal asked as they entered the dimly lit hallway. Fabian shrugged his shoulders, clearly more interested in the bundle of clothes in his hands. "I think I need to change into one of these shirts first. It's not my normal thing, but it will have to suffice until that tailor gets my new ones made," was the reply he got. Fabian darted ahead and up the stairs. Jamal was left with little option, but to follow him.
Jamal walked into Fabian's room. The young royal had already removed his shirt and was untying the bundle of clothes he had just purchased. Whilst putting his arms in the sleeves of probably the cheapest shirt he had ever worn, Fabian turned to Jamal. "Are you not getting changed?" He asked. Jamal was not sure quite what to say. "I should probably keep my uniform on Fabian. I am a soldier after all, and I don't think the Captain would take too kindly to me wearing fancy shirts," he ended up saying.
Fabian cast him a look and stepped up to him, "Come on Jamal take that awful tunic off," he said. Jamal sighed before doing as was asked. He stripped his tunic off and put on the linen shirt. He had to admit it did feel much better having clean material against his skin. "I'll get it laundered so I can change back later," Jamal said wondering if the women in the kitchen would do such a thing for him. "Why do you want to change it back?" Fabian asked, straightening the collar for him. "I am a soldier remember," he replied.
Fabian stopped and just stared at him. "Not any more. I want you to become my advisor, and personal guard. Father used to have them...You will be mine," the young royal added making it sound more of an order than a request. Jamal managed a few "but... but..." but Fabian was clearly having none of it."I am a prince, Jamal, and you will do as I say...anyway wouldn't you rather stay with me than camp out with the rest of the soldiers?" Fabian said attempting to make light of the fact, he was ordering his friend to do something he clearly was not too keen on.
Jamal sighed, "Look Fabian...I am really flattered, but I think my advice would not be worth listening too," he said trying to talk his way out of the situation. Fabian was clearly having none of it, and played on Jamal's feelings. "Please say yes Jamal, I am so alone...and I value your friendship...please say yes," he said stepping right up to him. Jamal felt he had little option but to agree, and smiled "Okay, I'll try."
Chapter 17.
Dane and Camden watched on, from their position on the bridge. The wounded were being treated as best they could and the dead were being lined up for burial. They both stood in silence looking at the scorched wasteland before them. Several dark shapes still smouldered, though whether that shape was the corpse of a man or beast, was difficult to tell.
Moving along the riverbank toward them was the small group of riders that had caused the immense destruction. As they neared, Dane could see two of the riders at the front, dressed differently to the others. One in particular looked very familiar; a face from the past. "That cannot be," he uttered as much to himself as to anyone in particular. Camden was clearly looking at the same figure, "I know," he uttered in reply, "That surely cannot be who I think it is." Dane chuckled, "I guess you're thinking that is Prince Luken riding our direction." Camden just nodded, "Well I assume it is his son, but talk about looking like your father."
By the time Luca and his band of soldiers had reached the bridge, there was not a Zulani to be seen. They had made a hurried retreat, and Dane knew that soon they would have to track them down and destroy them before they had chance to cause any trouble. With the power the young man approaching could wield there was nothing to stop him from going on the offensive. As strange as it felt, he actually felt sorry for the man. Dane had just witnessed the awesome power at his disposal, and yet, he knew only too well how that power had caused the death of the man's father.
As the two groups met, Dane stepped forward, bowing his head. He looked up at the young man on the horse, fair haired, just like his father had been. Had Dane not known for a fact that Prince Luken was dead, he would have sworn he was in front of him right then. He had known the prince briefly just before he had died and the man before him now looked the absolute spitting image of him. "I am Luca, this is Oliver," the new comer said looking down from his horse. "I think we owe you a debt of gratitude my Lord," Dane said not quite certain of the title he should use. Luca was the son of a prince; did that make him a prince also? Alternatively, was he a young lord? He was not sure.
Luca did not reply, he was still shocked by what he had done. Once he had felt the power surging through his body he had felt the need to push harder. He still felt a little drained from the ordeal, but already felt able to repeat the fete if the need arose. He got down from his horse and Oliver did likewise. His friend held his arm, as Luca felt a little unsteady on his feet. Perhaps he wa
s not quite as refreshed as he had first thought, and that it was probably best to keep things easy for now at least.
As Luca walked into the camp of soldiers, the sound of cheers filled the air. If truth were told, he felt a little embarrassed at being the focus of attention. The Elite guards fell in around him, as he made his way through to the command tent. Refreshments were ordered for their special guest and friend, before they discussed what to do next.
Luca was not entirely sure why it was him to whom everybody looked when they spoke. A group of officers all stood around the table in the centre. Upon that table, lay the map of the local area. Each man in turn added his opinion on what to do next, and each one made Luca the focus of their attention. All the time something was niggling on Luca's mind, and it was only after everybody had spoken he realised what it was.
In the riverside dock area, there had been no more than half a dozen or so of the massive ships. The fleet he had spotted out at sea, using the bird as his eyes had seen at least a score or more. "Dane," he asked, "Did all the enemy come from just the boats on the river?" he asked. The commander nodded, "Yes my Lord." His mind quickly began running the possible reasons as to why less than half of the ships he had seen out at sea were now on the river. The obvious reason was that the enemy also intended to invade Darekia. The only flaw with this was the number of ships. If the vessels outside could hold the size of landing force he had just routed, then sending that many to Darekia would not be required. It was common knowledge that the nation defeated in the last war had no army to speak of, which left him with just one other thought.
He stepped forward, "Dane show me on this map, an area where our coastline might permit a landing." His mind had reasoned that the Zulani force landed here must only be a part of their planned invasion. Another force was probably already gaining that important foothold, whilst they stood chatting about it. "I suppose the beaches near our border with Darekia could be used," Dane eventually replied to his earlier question. "It would mean them running their ships aground, but judging by the way they just landed here, I doubt that would bother them." Luca nodded, "Then that is where we must go."
Luca listened in whilst Dane chatted with his other officers. Taking a sip from the drink he had been given, he suddenly realised all these men did not need to travel with him. For the first time he decided he needed to take charge. "Dane," he said interrupting the man talking. "You say that several smaller groups of enemy soldiers broke away from the main force before our arrival?" Luca waited for the commander to respond to the affirmative before continuing. "Then I want you and your men to hunt them down. Have a think of likely targets and split your men up if need be to find them. I will travel with my guard to this beach. It is likely that is where the other group are retreating back to."
Luca stopped and looked around those within the command tent. He thought somebody might speak up and tell him he was talking nonsense, but none did. He felt a comforting hand upon his shoulder, knowing it to belong to Oliver he did not flinch. Without saying anything, he felt, as Oliver was pleased with the way he had taken the lead and spoken up. In all honesty, Luca had surprised himself at how he had done so. It was certainly not in his normal character to do something like this.
Happy that Dane was organising his own men, and his own guard was being allowed to rest, another thought occurred. "The injured," he muttered. He cursed as he realised that men could have lost their lives unnecessarily. "How many injured have you got?" he asked interrupting Dane once more. "Quite a few," was the answer, "Why do you ask my Lord?" Luca replied a little harshly, "Because Commander I should be healing them. Not stood here sipping tea and wallowing in the cheers."
Despite Dane requesting Luca rest a little longer, the two walked quickly out of the command tent and across the camp. Oliver naturally was also at his side. Luca admonished his own stupidity for not thinking of the wounded sooner. He had been overwhelmed by all the cheering and being treated as someone special, neglecting the poor men that had been wounded in the fight. "Are you sure you are up to healing my Lord," the Commander asked again. "Your father could heal people from the brink of death, but at a great cost to himself," he added.
Luca assured the man, he was much more skilled than his father was in every way. If that made him sound bigheaded, then so be it, he thought. "I can help them Dane," he reiterated his point further. Dane held his hands up as if to say he wasn't arguing, before leading the way to the worst of the injured. Luca did not need to ask for water. Dane had seen the use of magic to heal before, and was already one-step ahead.
The first of his patients was a man bandaged heavily around his chest. His breathing was laboured and raspy. Luca could guess the man had been stabbed in the torso and his lungs were slowly filling with blood. Luca's diagnosis was confirmed once he poured a little water over his patient and placed a hand upon him.
He firstly repaired the wound to the left lung, using his magical skills to knit the flesh back together. Once that was achieved, he similarly healed the entry wound. Now all he needed was to remove the blood from the lung. As this was a liquid, he could control its flow. He rolled the injured man onto his side, and asked Oliver to assist him. His young friend held a bowl at the mouth of the patient, as Luca replaced his healing hand upon him. The man coughed and spluttered as the blood from his lung was forced upwards and out of his mouth.
Luca and Oliver then moved on to the next patient. This time the man had several deep gashes, as well as several thin puncture wounds to the abdomen. This had obviously been caused by one of the ape like creatures that had attacked first. The wounds were easy enough for Luca to heal, though there was also some small amount of infection to be cleared as well.
After several other patients, all of whom had stab wounds of one type or another, Luca was starting to feel weary. The worst of the wounded had been healed, but there were still plenty more that needed his help. Oliver placed a hand on his arm, and looked longingly at him. "Luca Sir, I think you should rest now," Oliver said softly. Luca did not argue, and just nodded, knowing Oliver better than anyone else, knew exactly how he felt.
The two friends left the wounded and headed back to the tent that had been put up for them. It was a little larger than the basic two man canvas ones issued to the common soldier. It was large enough to stand up in, and had two sleeping rolls already in place. A small simple table with two stools were placed in the centre. Upon the table was a cloth covering a few plates. Oliver lifted the cloth to see what had been left for them. On the plates was cheese, meat and several slices of bread. There were also several pieces of fruit for afters, if they wished.
Luca sat upon one of the stools, and immediately started eating. Suddenly he felt absolutely famished. He helped himself to more, and Oliver appeared quite happy for him to eat more than his own share. Realising he was making a pig of himself he immediately apologised. Oliver just smiled, and did help himself to a little of the food on offer. "You should rest Luca Sir," he said between bites. Luca knew his friend was right, and nodded. "I think we all need to rest Oliver. Tomorrow we must push on again," he replied.
Throughout the camp, the soldiers at last also managed to rest. Having spent the last couple of days either preparing to fight or actually fighting, it was time for many to wind down. Guards still had to patrol the perimeter and surrounding area, and scouts had been sent to track the direction of the retreating Zulani. For now however, many of the Corlanian men savoured their victory, and the arrival of the young man who had been their saviour.
In their small groups about camp, talk was naturally about the young man who could summon walls of flame forty feet high. They were all only to aware that had this man not arrived when he had, they would almost certainly have been defeated. As it was, they were savouring victory, and with such a man fighting on their side they certainly hoped to savour many more. Rumours of who this young man might be, spread around the camp like wildfire. Some reckoned it was Prince Luken back from beyond the grave to de
fend his lands. Some thought it was the son of the fallen prince; others thought it the son of the King, who had sent his own guard along to escort him.
Those unfortunate not to have survived the battle were lined up for burial. Over a hundred Corlanian men would not be returning home to their families. Another hundred would do so with the scars of battle for their troubles.
Further up the coast, on the beaches near the border of Corlan and Darekian, six large ships stood. Grounded on the sandy shoreline during the high tide, they now remained whilst the waves around them rescinded. The crew and precious cargo of soldiers and beasts had already disembarked and were already making camp some half mile inland. This was the second stage of the northern landings planned by the Zulani. The first having set shore at the old capital Hamalin, before striking east and then south. This second wave was to run parallel southwards to that force. The third and final landing, of the remaining craft left in the fleet would sail a little further north and land in the nation known as Darekia.
Once the final landing was in place, the slow pincer like movement of troops would remove those who opposed the Zulani rule. With footholds in Murati, Corlan and soon Darekia the empire was growing. Once these three nations had been subdued, it would only remain for the country of Besemia to taken, then this part of the world, like others before it, would belong to the Zulani.
In Corlan, the remainder of the Zulani landing force that had fled Hamalin, moved northward to join the second force. The robed figure of the priest, flanked by his two enormous bodyguards was still unsure as to what had just seen his force routed. They had the Corlanian forces at the point of breaking when something inexplicable happened. A small, almost insignificant group had appeared on the hilltop, what had happened then was something he was still unsure about. Once he was certain his much smaller force was safe from this strange power, he would need to contact the imperial leader back in Zulani.
