A Coronation of Kings

by Samuel Stokes

  The fire continued to grow, the flames licking higher and higher. As the flames grew, the entranced Wolf seemed to realise the encroaching danger. An order was shouted from the wagon and the Wolf quickly fanned out and began moving towards Malus. Malus remained unconcerned with the approaching soldiers, content to focus on his conjuration.

  As they drew nearer, one of the Wolf called out, ‘You, sir, are blocking our way. We have no quarrel with you. Will you not yield the road?’

  ‘No quarrel with me, you say?’ Malus called loudly, concluding his incantation. ‘This night you took from me a dear friend and one of the great men of our age. The blood you have spilled this night cries to the heavens for vengeance, and I...’ Malus’ voice shook with righteous indignation as he declared, ‘I will answer its call!’

  The Wolf now dangerously aware of Malus intent, began to move towards him, but it was too late. Malus stretched his arm back as if to lift the shimmering ball of flames and hurled it towards the approaching Wolf pack. As it soared through the air, it grew in size. What began as a small ball of flames, became a roiling inferno of balefire. By the time it hit the ground in front of the Wolf, it was monstrous, consuming all before it. The hapless soldiers scattered in an effort to avoid it but their efforts were in vain.

  The all-consuming fire tore through their ranks incinerating the Wolf as dried grass perishes before a prairie fire. The blazing fire rolled onwards until it crashed into the lead wagon. Falen and a few lucky Wolf managed to leap clear, before the wagon too was consumed in the blaze.

  Tristan watched as Falen rolled across the ground attempting to extinguish the flames that were clawing at his clothes. As soon as the last embers flickered out, he was on his feet barking orders to the remaining soldiers, sending them scurrying into the safety of the woods by the highway.

  The soldiers fanned out and began making their way towards where Malus had last been seen. Great trepidation was evident on their faces as they approached the hilltop, seeing the way open before him, Tristan decided to take advantage of the confusion.

  Drawing the crossbow, he took a bead on the driver still sitting on the second wagon. There was a quiet twang and the bolt caught the driver in the back. The driver slumped noiselessly to the side, unnoticed in the chaos that was unfolding. Slipping off the bough he had been resting on, Tristan hung by his fingertips for a moment before dropping quietly to the dusty earth.

  Moving quickly to the second carriage, Tristan slid aside the canvas and climbed into the wagon. Tristan stopped dead - he had been steeling himself for this moment, but the sight of his Father, bolts still protruding from his blood-stained armour, brought tears to his eyes. Tristan longed to stay but knew in his heart that the Wolf would soon return.

  Moving to his father’s side he went in search of the amulet Malus had spoken of, still wondering why they would bother with such a trinket. Tristan brushed aside his father’s hair and found the silver chain he sought. Gently Tristan pulled it up and over his father’s head. As the amulet slid out from beneath his armour, Tristan gasped. What had once been a dark rough-hewn red stone was now bright red and seemed to radiate with an inner light.

  Tristan quickly fastened the amulet around his own neck and slipped it inside his tunic. Whispering a goodbye to his father, he took a last glance at the man who had raised him and protected him against the world. Tristan lovingly closed his father’s lifeless eyes. Feeling lonelier than he had ever felt, he slipped out of the back of the wagon.

  As Tristan hit the ground, he came face to face with one of the Wolf. The man’s eyes widened, but before he could open his mouth Tristan grabbed his sword and without even taking the time for it to clear the scabbard he used his left hand to slip it from his belt as he brought the whole scabbard up in a sharp motion across the surprised man’s face. There was a sickening crack as the man’s neck snapped and he collapsed.

  Tristan stood for a moment staring at the man whom he had just slain. Tristan could afford no more thought for these murderers. ‘We’ll let the Allfather decide his fate,’ he muttered to himself.

  Without another thought, Tristan tore into the undergrowth and made for the rendezvous place he had discussed with Malus.

  Tristan heard the shout of alarm ringing behind him as he disappeared into the undergrowth. Someone had spotted the slain soldier; Tristan glanced over his shoulder and to his relief could see that no one had followed him into the woods. The remnants of Malus’s fireball threatened to set the woods ablaze and the Wolf were not excited at the prospect of re-entering the inferno.

  Tristan steadily worked his way towards the agreed upon rendezvous point. The adrenalin was starting to wear off and with it the fatigue of the night’s efforts were starting to set in. Tristan pushed the fatigue from his mind. There would be time for rest later, for the time being his mind was focused on Malus and the thousands of questions coursing through his mind.

  The revelation that his mother yet lived had shaken him to his core. All these years he’d spent without her only to find out now she was alive, and that he had a brother. It was a comforting thought in the sorrows of the past few hours, but he wondered at Malus’s cryptic answers. Why would she have left him alone to be raised by his father? Why had he never met his brother? There were so many questions that needed answers.

  Tristan worked his way up the knoll only to find Malus sitting there waiting for him. At the sight of Tristan, Malus sprang of the rock he was sitting on. ‘Did you get it, boy?’

  ‘Of course,’ Tristan responded drawing the glowing red stone from under his tunic.

  Malus eyes widened as he saw the now bright red stone shining in the pre-dawn light. ‘My word, I never knew.’

  ‘Never knew what?’ Tristan asked.

  ‘That it was a Soul Stone,’ answered Malus. ‘I have never seen one before. I have only read about them. Your mother must’ve forged it for him.’

  ‘What’s a Soul Stone? … and how would my mother have forged such a thing? She was a simple peasant girl from Listar.’

  If Malus wasn’t in such a somber mood, he might have laughed.

  ‘Your mother was far from a simple peasant, Tristan. She may have lived in Listar, but she was not from here. I do not have all the answers you seek, but this much I know. Your mother is a being of great power. She fell in love with your father and lived in Listarii Manor until your birth. We were blessed by her talents, even though many never knew her true nature. She taught me much of what I know of the elements and the power that controls them.’

  ‘My mother knows magic?’ Tristan asked incredulously.

  ‘In a way I have never before seen,’ answered Malus ‘It was as if it were a part of her very being.’

  ‘What do you know of my brother?’

  ‘He took after your mother, so she left to raise him somewhere safer, away from the superstitions of simple folk. It is difficult for people to tolerate that which they do not understand. Your mother feared he would come to harm.’

  ‘Do you know where they are?’ Tristan inquired.

  ‘I know they sought refuge, but I have not heard from your mother in many years. I intend to start my search in Tolanis in the Eternal Mountains. Hopefully, I can find some trace of them there.’

  ‘You mean ‘we’?’ Tristan corrected. ‘Hopefully, we can find some trace of them.’

  ‘No, Tristan, one of us is sufficient to find them. You have work to do here. The Wolves are moving to seize the throne. They must not be allowed to succeed or all your father has fought for will be in vain. You must continue what your father started.’

  ‘How? I have no army or means with which to wage a war.’

  I’m sorry, Tristan. I do not have all the answers that you will need, but you can do this. Take refuge in Belnair. There are forces within the city who oppose Gerwold’s tyrannical rule, they will be sympathetic to your plight. Find them and a path will open before you.’

  Tristan nodded slowly as Malus’s words sunk in.

>   Chapter 5

  Tristan and Malus had parted ways hours earlier, Malus travelling northwest towards the mountains seeking the mysterious Tolan. Tristan had made for Belnair covering the last few miles as the sun rose, a fiery red giant splitting the dawn sky. On any other day, Tristan would have stopped to revel in its beauty, but today he was in a hurry, desperate to be inside the city before the weary garrison could be relieved by a fresh watch.

  Mindful that his life would be forfeit if the Wolf were to discover him, Tristan kept a low profile. Should his presence be made known even here in the heart of their lands, he would disappear and never be seen again. The plague, or any of the other virulent diseases that swept the land, would make a convenient excuse for his premature death. His continued survival depended on his ability to blend in amongst the Belnairian. Once he had found lodging and some way to earn a living, he could focus his attention on the Wolf and their machinations.

  Tristan was carrying his weapons and a pouch of gold, but little else. For the first time in his life, Tristan faced the world alone and it was a thought he did not relish. Slipping past a weary gate guard, Tristan made his way towards the merchants’ quarter, hoping to purchase some more appropriate clothing. He’d stashed his leather jerkin in the woods outside the city. The Eastern Star of the Listarii upon it would have been a dead giveaway to even the densest of city guards.

  As he entered the marketplace, the enormous scale of Belnair gave him pause. The city was a monolithic stone behemoth rising out of the earth. It provided a stark contrast to the woodlands that separated it from the provincial estate of Listar. Belnair was the second largest city on Valaar. Only the capital, King’s Court, boasted a more burgeoning populace. Much of the eastern realm’s taxes passed through Belnair’s gates, granting the Wolf both power and prosperity.

  As Tristan made his way through the throng of bustling people, the crowd pushed its way through towards the farmers’ market, eager for the morning meal. Up ahead, he could make out the tailors’ district. Angling his way out of the pressing mob, Tristan strode quickly towards one of the more modest establishments.

  A bell tinkled as Tristan opened the door. Looking around, he found himself in a room surrounded by piles and piles of clothing. There were bolts of cloth and outfits for every occasion. In one pile were aprons and trousers for the tradesmen that fed the city’s industry. On another table there was street wear for the aristocracy, the regal attire mimicking the latest fashion from the capital. After a few moments, a kind, elderly gentleman came through a curtain at the back of the store.

  ‘Ah, good morning! I’m sorry to have kept you waiting. It’s not often we have customers at this hour.’ The proprietor spoke quickly, obviously taken off guard. ‘Where are my manners? You must excuse me. I am Gabriel the Tailor. How can I be of service?’

  ‘Gabriel, I was accosted on my way to Belnair. Many of my supplies, including my wardrobe, were stolen. Fortunately, I still have my purse and now I find myself in need of your services. I need new clothes to replace those stolen by the scurrilous thieves.’

  ‘Ah brigands, the plague of the land, sir. They are the bane of us honest folk. How much of a wardrobe were you planning to purchase? A change of clothes? Perhaps two?’

  ‘Two changes should be sufficient for now,’ Tristan answered.

  ‘Alright then, if you’ll remove your cloak we’ll measure your fit.’

  Tristan hastily removed his cloak and laid it carefully on a nearby table. As Tristan turned, Gabriel was staring at him.

  ‘That is a fine sword, sir. I’m not surprised the brigands would bother you carrying such a weapon.’ Gabriel raised an eyebrow, a knowing look revealing his opinion of the obvious fiction.

  ‘Gabriel, I would prefer not to speak of it -the sword was a gift from my late father.’ The sorrow evident in his voice, was real enough and Gabriel took mercy, deciding not to press the issue.

  Gabriel was a master of his trade so within a few minutes he had taken Tristan’s measurements and disappeared amongst the stacks of clothing. A few moments later, he emerged with a pile of clothes and thrust them into his arms. ‘Take these and try them on. I think you will find them to be a good fit.’

  Tristan disappeared into the changing room and began trying on the clothes. True to his word, the clothes were a remarkably good fit. Tristan settled on a set of green trousers and a white tunic and set aside another set for a change of clothes.

  Tristan emerged from the changing room and Gabriel admired his work, fussing about him for a moment. ‘They should wear well as they are all homespun and should hold out just fine against the rigours of the day.’

  ‘How much do I owe you, Gabriel?’

  ‘Two silvers, sir, for the lot.’

  Tristan reached into his pouch and pulled out a gold sovereign, in the currency of Valaar, a sovereign was worth five silvers. As he placed it in his hand, Gabriel began to protest, but Tristan closed his palm around it and added ‘for the clothes... and your discretion.’

  ‘Understood, sir, you were never here.’

  ‘Any idea where I could find some work?’

  ‘If you have a skill or trade, try the market. If not, head for the farms outside of town. They are always in need of day labourers.’

  Tristan thanked him for his help and bundled his clothes into the travel sack before he tossed it over his shoulder.

  As he headed for the door, Gabriel called out ‘Safe travels, Milord.’

  Tristan nodded to the insightful tailor before heading out the door.

  Belnair was wide awake now; the throng of pedestrians gave the streets a mind of their own. Tristan made his way out of the tailors’ quarter and made for the merchants’ market hoping to gain some employment for the day, and ease the strain on his remaining gold.

  As he made his way through the crowd, a street urchin slammed into him. The scruffy child apologised before picking himself off the ground and running on his way. Always suspicious, Tristan patted himself down. To his relief, his pouch was still secured safely. Patting his tunic, terror pierced him to the core... the Soul Stone was gone.

  Tristan spotted the urchin vanishing in the distance and took off after him. Tristan pushed his way through the crowd after the lad. The boy couldn’t have been more than twelve summers and already a thief. ‘What is the world coming to?’ Tristan asked himself.

  Tristan was gaining quickly on the boy, his longer legs making the difference. The boy risked a glance back and spotted Tristan before ducking out of sight. At the first sign of his pursuer, the boy took flight again, this time ducking and weaving through the traffic to avoid being spotted. Tristan pursued as best he could, rather following the disturbance in the crowd than the boy himself. After a few blocks, he spotted the youth sprinting into a side alley. Tristan followed him into the narrow street and to his great satisfaction it was a dead end.

  The boy took one look at Tristan and leapt behind a pile of garbage. Tristan called, ‘This will end much better for you if you come out and return what you stole from me.’

  The declaration was met with silence. Tristan slowly approached the pile and let out a deep sigh. You have to be kidding me, he thought to himself....

  There, buried behind the pile of refuse, lay one of the many entrances to the sewers beneath Belnair.

  Chapter 6

  Tristan let himself gently into the sewer culvert and found himself on a narrow ledge, barely a shoulder’s width wide. Below him, in the trough, was a stream of waste - the stench of which was almost enough to send him back up the ladder for the fresh air. Remembering the stakes, he stopped and listened. Hearing footsteps heading down the passage, he took off in pursuit, but with a little more care and quiet than his prey. His training in the forests surrounding Listar had taught him to move stealthily - when stalking a deer, one cracked twig could make all the difference.

  For what seemed like an eternity, Tristan followed the urchin through the sewers assailed on all sides by foul odour
s and scurrying vermin. Certain of his safety, the thief had slowed his pace. Towards what and where he was going, Tristan was unsure, but it was readily apparent that the thief was not lost. More likely, he hid amongst the waste to avoid the town guard who would have required serious motivation to venture down into the filth.

  Tristan rounded another corner and came to a halt. There in front of him, no more than ten paces away, was the thief opening a heavy door. The door swung open and light poured out. Fearing he’d be locked out, Tristan sprang forward. The thief spun, startled at the sound, but Tristan was upon him. Upon tackling him through the open door, the pair of them tumbled to the ground. With the advantage of size and surprise, Tristan quickly pinned the youth against the cobblestones.

  ‘The stone you stole, where is it?’ Tristan demanded angrily. His knife was now out and resting against the lad’s throat. ‘I have no desire to kill you, boy, but that is all I have left in this world and I will do what I must. Feeling the press of the steel, the youth gasped and spluttered. ‘It’s around my neck.’ Tristan quickly pulled the chain off the boy and threw it over his own head, settling the gem beneath his tunic.

  ‘Well, isn’t that interesting, a rich boy not afraid of the smell down here.’ The taunt came from behind him. For the first time, he realized they were not alone in the room. Tristan looked up to see two men in cloaks getting up from a wooden table in the corner. ‘Gentlemen, I have no quarrel with you. I only wanted back what was rightfully mine.’

  ‘Well, that’s unfortunate because no one wanders into our den and returns to snitch. That pretty little stone is going to cost you your life, boy.’ Gesturing at the knife Tristan was holding, ‘That little knife may scare the kids, but it’s not going to do you any good against one of these,’ the brigand responded, drawing a long sword from his scabbard. His companion likewise drew his sword. Tristan reached beneath his coat and drew his rapier, ‘How about this one then?’