‘Halmir, please fetch them at once,’ requested Tristan.
‘At once, Tristan,’ Halmir responded before turning and running at a frantic pace in the direction of the infirmary.
The wounded Dwarf turned, and leant against the stone wall, the sword still protruding from his stomach. With great effort, the Master Mason slowly lowered himself to the floor.
Ezras tenderly approached his wounded friend. ‘You know, Ferebour, you are one stubborn little stunty.’
‘Shut up, Ezras, and get me a drink while you’re at it,’ the wounded Dwarf exclaimed, his expression twisted into a pained smile.
‘Anything you need, my friend.’ With that, the subdued brew master made for the cellars.
‘Ferebour?’ Tristan asked hesitantly.
‘Yes, Tristan. What is it?’ the Dwarf responded slowly.
‘For someone with a sword lodged in their belly, you are remarkably calm and collected. How is that even possible? I’ve seen men die from less.’
‘Dwarves are not just short men, Tristan. Our lore tells us that the Allfather carved us from a mountain when the world was formed. It will take much more than this to break me.’
‘How can you be so certain?’
A profound sadness crossed the Dwarf’s face. Tristan had never seen Ferebour so affected. ‘Men have tried, Tristan, before I came to live here...The storm may beat upon the mountain but the mountain never yields.’
Tristan wondered at the Dwarf’s meaning, but seeing his friend’s pained expression, decided it was a discussion best left for another day. The two waited quietly for the surgeons to arrive.
Chapter 24
The Black Iron Keep.
Gerwold watched with unfettered rage. He was yet to receive a report but from his vantage point on the keep’s balcony, the signs did not bode well. Thick oily smoke rose steadily into the sky. It seemed to be pouring out of the sewer culverts in large volumes - the same culverts and entrance ways where only an hour before his men had entered.
His instructions had been clear. Utterly destroy the Guild of Thieves. Whatever this new menace was, it was not of his soldiers’ making. From his place on the citadel, he could make out the forms of wounded soldiers being carried back towards the citadel for treatment. From this height, it was impossible to see what ailed them, but those who could walk seemed to be doubled over, coughing and wheezing - no doubt a result of the thick smoke billowing out behind them.
Anger welled up inside the Baron. For two decades he had plotted this rise to power. Each tiny incremental step in his plan executed with precision and care, step by step, until his ascension to the throne looked all but certain. The weight of forces arrayed behind the Wolf made the coming conflict seem a mere formality.
Like an avalanche, they would sweep aside the defenses at King’s Court and take the throne by force, if necessary. Everything he stood to gain, now hung in the balance as the son of his vanquished rival skulked in the shadows nibbling at his heels like in insatiable rodent scrounging for scraps.
Long had he felt the unseen hand of opposing forces frustrating his effort, but they had always seemed more discreet, mere annoyances here and there. But in the end, hardly worth a mention, as his grand scheme rolled towards fruition. For the past few years, however, those attacks on his interests had increased in frequency and intensity.
The firing of his fields would be a major setback as winter set in. Food would become increasingly scarce. Hunger would breed dissension and rebellion at a time when he needed the loyalty of his subjects behind him as he drove for the throne. All of a sudden his schemes that appeared certain to materialize now teetered precariously on the edge of a precipice. Without correction, all would be lost.
His rage focused on a singular target - Tristan Listar. This morning’s assault should have been sufficient to grind his rebellion to powder, but unfortunately the sinking sensation in his stomach could not be shaken. Whatever had occurred in the sewers, it seemed certain he would be disappointed.
There was a knock on the door of his chambers that brought the Baron out of his thoughts. Striding quickly across the room, he threw open the door. Standing before him were two soldiers: one Wolf guard wearing the singed remnants of a corporal’s uniform; the second wearing the tattered remnants of the Mizumuran House Guard - it’s once bright green colors now tattered and soiled. They were a singularly pathetic sight.
‘What is this then?’ the Baron demanded. ‘Explain yourselves at once!’
The corporal threw himself on his knees, hoping the reverential gesture would spare him the Baron’s wrath. The Baron’s temper was legendary and the corporal had scarcely spent moments with him in his entire career and never in a setting as such as this. The thought of bearing the bad news to the Great Wolf himself was not a thought he relished.
‘Enough of that! Cease groveling and start speaking! Where is your commanding officer? Captain Carrows led the assault, did he not?’
‘Indeed he did, my Lord, but he has fallen, along with many of our menthe corporal coughed and spluttered as he tried to clear his lungs. ‘Carrows led the assault as intended. We fought through the sewers to their stronghold and stormed the halls themselves. Captain Carrows confronted the brigand, Tristan Listar, and sought to bring him to justice.
The rat was prepared for us. He knew we were coming and triggered some type of trap. The sewers were soaked with something. We couldn’t smell it because of the stench, but when they set it ablaze, it burned like nothing I’ve ever seen. The tunnels were a firestorm. Those that didn’t burn to death in the blaze perished from lack of breath, choking on that infernal smoke that you can see pouring into the sky. Scarcely one in ten survived to regain the surface.’
‘One in ten? We sent thousands of men into those sewers and you are telling me that they are all dead?’
‘Almost all of them, my Lord. Of your officers, I alone survived to bring you word...’
The Wolf lord turned from the door and lashed out in fury, striking a priceless vase resting on a nearby stand. The vase hurtled from its resting place into the wall where the delicate ceramic shattered into thousands of tiny pieces. Turning back to the messengers, he inquired further. ‘So they burnt the place to the ground rather than surrender. I would not have thought Tristan one to waste life so cheaply.’
‘Milord, there is no indication that they perished in the blaze. In fact, we have reasons to believe the substance was distributed only throughout the outer tunnels. We have no way of telling yet, but with the degree of preparation exhibited, I believe their losses to be limited -possibly to those we killed fighting in the sewers before the blaze.’
‘Which were?’
‘A few dozen, Milord.’
‘A few dozen?’ the Baron seemed fit to explode.
‘Baron Gerwold,’ the green-clad soldier interjected, hoping to raise his spirits. ‘The Mizumuran contingent experienced a little more success. Our agents were able to kill a number of their guards and open an alternative route into the catacombs.
We stormed their halls with two companies of soldiers. Unexpected as we were, we moved quickly through the halls killing hundreds of them. Guided by our agents, we fought our way clear to their Council Chambers before we were forced to retreat. The cost in lives for the Guild will have been immense.’
‘That is certainly something,’ the Baron said nodding. ‘Is the entrance still open? Could we use it for a further assault?’
‘I’m afraid not, Milord. These brigands are indeed ruthless. One of them blew the supports in the corridor and collapsed the tunnel. The entryway is buried under rubble and ruin from two city blocks. I am sure it could be excavated, but it would be a considerable undertaking of both time and manpower.’
The Baron waved his hand gesturing for them to depart, unsure he could bear much more of their tidings without losing it completely. The two survivors shuffled off down the hall. Turning to a nearby guard, he barked, ‘Fetch Falen and Hitomi at once!’
>
‘At once, my Liege!’ The guard snapped a salute and took off down the hall.
Gerwold pondered as he waited. Thousands of warriors had perished in the inferno and he had scarcely afforded them a moment’s thought. In his youth, he’d have given his life for his men. Now, they were merely a resource to be expended to ascend the throne. His youthful idealism has led him to seek the throne in the hope of ending the bureaucracy and corruption that strangled King’s Court. As king, he would protect the rights of every peasant or such had been his childish ideal.
Now, from the far side of the stream of life, the Baron reflected on the choices that had led him here. It seemed for every piece of strength gained, he had been forced to sell a part of his soul. As he looked in the mirror, gone was the youthful zealot with a heart set on reform. In its place, he saw something he loathed - a man willing to trade thousands of lives for a little more power. He had become the embodiment of the corruption he’d sought to remove.
The thought angered him.
The doors of the chamber swung open and Falen and Hitomi entered. Falen was the first to speak ‘Father, I’ve heard. First, our fields and now this - our garrison is severely diminished. It will take time to re-gather our strength.’
‘Indeed, which was likely their intention, Falen. By feigning an attempt on our Lady’s life, they baited us into their snare. Fiendishly planned and perfectly executed, it has set us back months. Of course, every day we delay, their strength increases, and with every success, support for their insurrection grows, whilst our own influence is diminished.’
‘Do we have any other choice?’ Lady Hitomi inquired. ‘My guards are decimated. Without them, I doubt I could even make it home in safety. ‘
‘We do have another choice,’ the Baron ventured.
‘What is that, Milord?’ Hitomi asked.
‘We attack. Seize King’s Court before they have the opportunity to harass us further,’ Gerwold proposed. ‘We would have the combined might of the Wolf, Mizumura, and Fordham against the standing army of King’s Court. Even with our losses today we could carry the day, providing we can keep Tanamere and Sisaron out of the fray.’
‘How would you do such a thing?’ Falen asked.
‘We would have Fordham lock Sisaron in place. By denying them passage at The Brooks, Sisaron cannot come south in strength. The rivers will prevent their passage, even if they circumvent Fordham and head to the south-west, they will still be held at bay by the Mizumura. Tanamere, likewise, cannot come east overland without facing the Mizumura and the Riverhold. Either course will require time and it is time they will not have.’
Hitomi interjected this time, ‘What about by sea? Tanamere are just as likely to take to the waters to make better time. Their navy is considerable and we could not hold them there.’
‘Likewise the Wolf have little in the way of vessels to stop them. We will require the aid of Pestalar. Together, the Pirate Lords control the only navy on the Boundless Sea that could contest Tanamere. I knew we would require assistance to strike against King’s Court so I have purchased their favor. It was not a cheap exercise but I have gained standing with several of the Pirate Lords. Together, they hold sway over many of the pirate fleets in the Boundless Sea. They will ensure no aid reaches King’s Court from the ocean.’
‘Very clever,’ noted Hitomi with appreciation. ‘The Tanamere will be blindsided, I am sure.’
‘Thank you. I am confident Tanamere will fall into their grasp which will allow the Mizumura to deploy much of your forces to aid us in the field. You must maintain enough strength in the Riverhold to hold the Sisaron at bay, but the remainder of your forces should be sent with haste to King’s Court.’
‘We are at your command,’ the Lady asserted, voicing her continued support of the undertaking.
‘Excellent. I suggest we strike at once. Our foes will be resting on their laurels and scarcely expect us to act in the wake of today’s rout. We will organize our forces and strike for King’s Court within the week. If we delay, we will only lose more men to Tristan’s machinations. Lady Hitomi, I suggest you send word to your father to organize your forces. I must insist, however, that you remain with us. Travelling now would almost certainly leave you prey to these brigands. They would use you as a chattel to keep your father out of the coming conflict. I suggest you organize your forces from here where Falen can ensure your safety.’
The lady nodded her assent.
‘What am I to do, Father?’ Falen asked.
‘You are to lead the defense of Belnair. As soon as I depart with our forces, the garrison will be susceptible to whatever hostile elements remain in the city. You will need to ensure our ancestral home remains safe. While you are at it, you will find and kill Tristan Listar.’
Falen clearly wasn’t thrilled to be absent at the siege of King’s Court, but with his father’s temper still simmering at the surface, it was unwise to do anything but agree. ‘I will deal with him, Father.’
Gerwold nodded his approval. ‘Publicly, it must serve as a warning to any other would be rebels. We have much to do. Be about your business quickly. We will lay siege to King’s Court within the week. See that nothing else interrupts our efforts.’
Gerwold watched as Hitomi and Falen swept out of the room, his eyes following the Princess’s shapely form as it swayed tantalizingly down the corridor.
Chapter 25
Amongst the peaks of the Eternal Mountains.
Oblivious to the machinations afoot throughout Valaar, Syrion perched peacefully on the face of a cliff, in the heights of the Eternal Mountains. It was a place so remote, perhaps only the gods had looked upon it. Here, high in the peaks of the Eternal Mountains, the Dragonhost were fabled to reside.
This place was known as the Eyre to the Tolan. Syrion had been taught as a youth that it was forbidden for a mortal to enter the Eyre. The Tolan told stories of those who had met a grisly end for trespassing too near the Eyre.
In light of his mother’s recent revelation, he had an entirely different theory that he wished to test. Syrion had mentioned nothing of his plan to his mother. Elaina was overly protective and had gone into a panic as he had recounted his incident with the slavers aboard the Mistress of Misery. In the weeks since his first transformation aboard the ship, he’d mastered the ability to shape shift between his human and draconian forms. Now with a thought the transformation was almost instantaneous.
Syrion’s other powers seemed strengthened as well. It was as if his very nature had changed. His mastery over the elements was increasing with each passing day. At times, Syrion felt almost at one with Creation as its teeming energies surged around him.
As his prodigious skills increased, his previous trepidation and fears melted away. In their place a tremendous curiosity was forming. A curiosity of the outside world, Creation, the Heavens, and all things beneath them, but before he embarked on indulging those curiosities, he intended to witness the truth of his mother’s words with his own eyes. ‘I must see the Dragons,’ he determined.
Syrion had set out early the previous day. Making his way slowly up the treacherous mountain. It was slow going, but Syrion thought it wise to continue to conceal his own true nature. Flying into the Eyre as the Great Golden Drake was perhaps not the subtle entrance he was hoping for.
Instead Syrion had climbed all day, taking his time to carefully work his way up the mountain. From time to time, the perils of the trip had necessitated using his gifts to bridge particularly precarious paths that could have led to an unpleasant fall. Syrion took care to ensure he used a cloaking spell that would make him almost invisible to the naked eye.
From his own experiences, he knew that Dragons had remarkably sharp eyesight but even they would struggle to spot him from their place in the skies. The air shifted cleanly around his spell, concealing his presence.
Camping out in a cave, Syrion had rested the night away. The peace of being high above the world, only sporadically interrupted by the beating
of mighty wings as the Dragonhost came and went on their patrols - ceaseless sentinels protecting Tolanis from the outside world.
As morning came, he resumed his climb. Finding a spacious ledge, he perched and waited patiently for that which he sought. After several hours he was rewarded by the sight of a majestic sapphire dragon sailing towards the Eyre. Soaring on the morning thermals, it glided gently towards the cavernous entrance to the Eyre.
As the mighty creature approached, it fanned its wings to slow its approach, gracefully landing at the cavern’s edge. The sapphire dragon disappeared inside the portal. Syrion quickly followed, springing up onto the ledge and into the cave.
The cavern was immense and different from anything he’d ever imagined. Instead of the rough-hewn cave filled with nesting dragons he’d once pictured as a child, the cavern before him was large and well-finished; with smooth walls and floors hewn by talented craftsmen so the stone was polished smooth. Its surface was inlaid with delicate inscriptions and precious metals. Beautiful mosaics adorned the walls and in a far corner there were tables and chairs, as well as a door which led deeper into the mountain. Of all the things he’d dreamed of, the scene that lay before him was furthest from his childish imaginations.
The workmanship was incredible, but above it all, the focus of his attention was the majestic dragon before him. Its brilliant hues dazzled his eyes and captivated him. Then before his very eyes, the dragon began to change shape, in a matter of moments the majestic drake had disappeared and he was staring at a shapely young woman in a flowing blue dress, her golden hair reaching down her back.
From his vantage point, Syrion could not see her face but in his heart he had known. T’was Althea with her golden locks and beautiful blue eyes and his heart skipped a beat. Moving further into the cavern, Syrion struggled desperately for something witty to say.Captivated by her beauty, his wits deserted him, followed swiftly by his feet. Slipping on a loose stone, Syrion tumbled into the Eyre.
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