A Coronation of Kings

by Samuel Stokes

  Tristan let out a pained laugh. Turning to Syrion he spoke slowly. ‘There is a great deal afoot...war is upon us...we could sorely use your help.’

  ‘And you shall have it, but first I must do as justice requires. That ingrate on the wall, It was him that murdered our father and did this to you was it not?’

  Tristan nodded the painful memories of his father’s death stirred within.

  ‘He will not see sunset,’ Syrion declared firmly. Addressing Halmir he continued ‘See my brother to safety and ensure your men give me a wide berth, I will not be trifled with. ‘Turning to face the walls where Falen had been but minutes before, Syrion channeled his will. Unleashing his powers violently, Syrion lashed out at the crenellated walls. The masonry shattered explosively at the impact, shards of stone flying every which way in the aftermath of the blast. The soldiers sheltering behind it howled in pain as the stone fragments tore through them.

  Syrion took to the air and gracefully closed the distance between the market and the top of the now obliterated wall section, landing lightly he headed for a nearby entrance. The wounded enemies were of little concern as he strode purposefully through the archway into the Wolf sanctuary.

  Halmir and Sven exchanged glances as the young magi disappeared from sight. ‘He reminds me of Tristan… I like it.’ Sven declared smiling at the Wolf misfortune. ‘Damned glad he’s on our side.’ Halmir responded bending down to lift their injured leader. ‘Come, Sven, give us a hand let’s get him to safety.’ The two councilmen gingerly lifted their tortured leader and made for the safety of their subterranean stronghold.

  *****

  The warriors of the guild poured into the Black Citadel, Ogryn leading the charge. Several guards moved to block the entryway, but they were cut down like wheat before the harvester’s scythe. Ogryn unlimbered his axes from beneath his coat and accounted for two of the guards before the third disappeared under a pile of angry Guild Warriors. Their orders were clear, any Wolf that resisted was to be put to the sword, and those who surrendered would be imprisoned so they could be of no further hindrance.

  Servants and attendants ran screaming through the Citadel. They feared the inevitable raping and pillaging that was to come. Conquering hordes had always taken their spoils in such a manner. Today would be different; the guild came not to enslave but to deliver. Any warriors caught plundering or abusing the innocent would join the Wolf.

  *****

  Syrion swept through the citadel. The guards were sparse many of them were marching for King’s Court or had already fallen at their posts; others still had been obliterated as Syrion assailed the battlements.

  Syrion moved deeper into the citadel, entering a well-furnished corridor he came upon some maids huddled under a bench. They tried to shift further under cover, but Syrion had already seen them. Moving quickly to the bench he stooped down. The women wailed in terror. ‘Shhhh,’ the young mage intoned. ‘I mean you no harm, where will I find the one they call Falen?’

  The younger of the two lifted a shaky hand and pointed down the plush hallway. ‘My thanks.’ Syrion spoke softly tipping his head as if to bow, before he stood and moved down the hallway they had just pointed to.

  *****

  Falen slammed the door to his quarters shut and bolted the door. ‘What are you doing that for?’ Hitomi inquired incredulously. ‘You’ve seen the power he wields, what good is a bolt against him?’

  ‘Shut up, I can’t think’ Falen retorted. ‘If what he said is true and he is Tristan’s brother, than he will want justice for his father’s death.’

  ‘You killed Marcus, personally?’ Hitomi’s respect for her betrothed increased considerably at the revelation.

  ‘Three years ago when we raided Listarii manor, I killed Marcus and burnt the manor to the ground. I had no idea there was another son. No one knew.’

  ‘Is there a way out of this chamber?’ Hitomi asked, desperately analyzing her predicament.

  ‘Of course, in the wardrobe there is a trapdoor beneath the carpet it leads to a false wall near the servants’ entrance to the Keep. We can escape through there.’ Falen paced nervously as he spoke ‘We will need supplies and disguises, we cannot be recognized.’

  Hitomi followed Falen across the room. ‘My love, we have no hope of escape together. The two of us will be easily spotted. Not to mention the sorcerer and his tricks, who knows the limit to his powers? We’ll be lucky to make it out of the palace alive.’

  Falen’s heart sank ‘You want to split up?’

  Hitomi grabbed Falen and kissed him deeply. As she pulled her lips away from his she tilted her head in pity ‘Something like that.’ Before Falen could register what was happening Hitomi grabbed him by his leather jerkin leant into him and shoved with all her might.

  Falen staggered backwards off balance, the sudden force of his fiancée throwing him off balance. The confused Falen staggered two steps before crashing into the window with enough momentum that his body shattered the fragile glasswork.

  Falen sole heir to the Wolf mantle clutched madly at the sky as he tumbled through the shattered frame. Falen screamed in terror as he plummeted downwards. The fall ended abruptly as his body struck the cobblestones in the courtyard several floors below.

  Without a sign of remorse, the Lady of the Mizumura adjusted her skirts and headed for the trapdoor Falen had mentioned, her frustration at her thwarted dreams of royalty gnawing at her soul as she stalked angrily from the room.

  *****

  As Syrion approached the door, he heard a tremendous crash followed by a piercing scream. Hastening for the door he tried it and found it locked. With a sweep of his arm the door exploded inwards, blasted forcefully from its hinges by the arcane powers that assailed it.

  To his astonishment the room was empty; moving through the room Syrion spotted the shattered window. Its panoramic view of Belnair must have ordinarily offered a tremendous sight, now its shattered remains spoke of the struggle he’d heard but moments ago. Moving to the window he glanced down into the courtyard. There broken on the cobblestones below he could make out the form of his prey, blood pooling around the still body. There was no movement; from this height his death was certain.

  Conflicting feelings welled up within the young mage. He had hoped to bring his father’s killer to justice, but someone had arrived before him and robbed him of the satisfaction. Evidently the earlier scream had belonged to Falen. It was unlikely he had thrown himself from the window. Syrion searched the room but found no sign of anyone else.

  From behind him the Astarii heard footsteps rushing towards the chamber. Turning to face the door he spotted the ox-sized man who’d led the assault on the gates. Still brandishing his axes now slick with blood he strode into the room. ‘Where’s Falen?’ he demanded gruffly. Syrion gestured to the broken window. The giant strode to the window and looked through. ‘Well done, Wizard, I like ya style.’ He declared clapping Syrion on the back. ‘Precisely what the little weasel deserved. I wouldn’t lose any sleep over it.’

  Syrion simply nodded unsure what to do with such a compliment, undeserved or otherwise. ‘How fares the assault?’

  ‘All but over,’ replied the giant happily. ‘Within the hour all resistance will be weeded out and crushed. It seems the Baron stripped the garrison bare to lay siege to King’s Court.’

  ‘What is King’s Court?’

  ‘King’s Court? You jest surely? It’s the capitol… you don’t get out much do you?’

  ‘This is my first time…out, so to speak. Take me to my brother, I must speak with him.’

  *****

  Deep below the surface of Belnair the Guild Halls were quiet, with the warriors storming the Black Iron keep of the Wolf the halls below were almost deserted. Korosu moved with purpose born of urgency. He had been amongst the Guild Warriors preparing to storm the Black Iron Keep when he had seen the battered and bloody Tristan carried away from the executioner’s platform.

  His Mistress’s orders were clear
, in the event an opportunity presented itself he was to kill Tristan Listar. The wounded Lord would be an easy target, the commotion on the surface above provided an excellent opportunity to be rid of him. My mistress will reward me handsomely, he thought to himself. Korosu gave a rare smile, the assassin was pleased at the thought of being in her good graces after such a prolonged absence.

  Korosu was still wearing his guild warrior garb and was able to move through the passageways unchallenged. The time he’d spent amongst the guild as a spy had taught him a great deal. As assassins, the Shadow Stalkers knew no equal, but there was an organization behind these thieves that had turned a slipshod group of miscreants into a force to be reckoned with. Much of that stemmed from this Tristan Listar; if he was to fall, the Shadow Stalkers would once more dominate the underworld of Valaar. His Mistress would be very pleased indeed.

  Korosu made his way to Tristan’s quarters where he was sure the injured Lord would be resting. He had looked terrible when the warriors had borne him past earlier. Korosu could only imagine that he would be bedridden for days.

  Korosu arrived at his destination to find a pair of guild warriors stationed at the doors. Korosu squared his shoulders and marched confidently towards the door. ‘I bear a message for Tristan from the Keep.’

  ‘I’m sorry, but it will have to wait, orders from Halmir. No one in or out until he returns.’ The guard insisted.

  ‘I must insist.’ Korosu persisted ‘It is extremely important that I speak with him at once.’

  The guard lifted his hand. ‘I’m sorry but he is asleep, you’ll need to come back later.’

  ‘I understand,’ Korosu said turning away. ‘I’ll return later.’ As he spun to head down the corridor he threw his hands open, a pair of knives slid out of their concealed place in his sleeves. The blades dropping easily down into his waiting hands. Instead of walking away he continued to turn and bought the blades across the throats of the two guards who died noiselessly, unable to cry out as their blood pooled on the passage floor.

  Korosu stepped over the bodies and opened the door. The room was dimly lit but even in the semi darkness he could make out his target. There asleep on a simple bed in the centre of the room was Tristan Listar.

  Korosu made his way quietly over to the bed. The Wolf had done a real number on the young Noble. Cuts and abrasions were scattered amongst the bruises covering his face. Unlike the Wolves’ attempt, the knife would be quick and painless. Quickly Korosu sheathed the knife in his left hand so that he could stifle any screams or cries of alarm.

  Swiftly Korosu lifted the knife in his right arm and plunged the dagger down into the sleeping man’s chest.

  Chapter 29

  Sven spotted the rapidly descending knife. From his hiding place in the cloak cupboard he had watched the assassin enter. Without hesitation he kicked open the door, raised both hand crossbows and fired them into the looming assassin.

  The assassin stopped, startled by the noise. One bolt took him in the back, the second missed entirely as the assailant turned. The bolt clattered noisily off the stone wall of the chamber. The Assassin brandished his drawn knife to meet the new threat as Sven launched himself out of the closet drawing his own blades.

  Even wounded the assassin was lithe on his feet. In seconds another knife had been drawn and he moved towards Sven, wicked blades slicing through the air. Sven ducked the Assassin’s lead knife only to have the knife in the assassin’s left hand slice across his thigh, his battle leathers took the worst of, it but Sven still felt the blade’s bite.

  Where most would recoil, the spymaster stepped into his attacker, startling the Assassin. As he moved, Sven drove his left knife into the assailant’s thigh, the blade dug deep and was buried to the hilt. Sven left it where it was and continued to move. Sweeping his now empty left hand down, Sven grabbed the Assassin by the ankle and ripped him off his feet.

  Korosu stumbled as if to fall, but nimble as a cat the assassin tucked and rolled to his feet. Spinning to face his wily foe he felt a second sharp pain bite into his chest. Glancing down he could see the hilt of a thrown knife buried in his chest.

  Korosu looked to his foe only to see him pull another set of knives from beneath his cloak. Anxiously Korosu willed his hands to respond, but his strength was waning as his lifeblood pooled on the cold stone beneath him.

  The guildsmen stood before Korosu brandishing both his knives, with neither remorse nor hesitation he plunged them into Korosu’s chest. ‘Rot in hell, you traitorous rat.’

  Korosu fell back onto the stone floor, thoughts flashed through his mind even as his strength departed. Never again would he see his mistress or look on her beauty...

  ‘My Lady...’ were all his pained lips could manage as his soul slipped into the abyss.

  From behind him Sven heard a familiar yet pained voice ‘Sven...what in hell are you doing here? And what’s with all the noise?’

  Turning to face the waking Tristan he smiled and replied, ‘My apologies for the interruption Tristan, it appears there was yet an assassin hiding in our midst.’

  Tristan raised himself up on his elbows and glanced around the room. Spotting first the assassin lying dead at Sven’s feet, then from his place on the bed he could make out the guards lying dead at the door. Evidently the assassin had entered there, how then had Sven managed to intervene? As he glanced around the room he spotted the open cloak cupboard, and raised an eyebrow. ‘Sven, were you watching me sleep?’

  ‘Pardon the intrusion, My Lord, I knew we had been struck from within during the assault, those perpetrators were never caught. Injured as you are, I feared for your life.’

  ‘Thank you, Sven, once more your diligence has saved my life.’

  ‘I told you, Tristan; I will not fail you nor desert you. Rest easy now. I will watch the door.’ Glancing at the Assassin lying on the floor he added, ‘I’ll take the garbage with me.’ The spymaster grabbed the assassin by his boots and dragged him unceremoniously out of the room before gently shutting the door.

  Tristan lay back on the mattress, wondering what he’d done to engender such devotion. He shook his head to clear his mind, but fatigue would not be so easily discarded, it overtook him quickly. In minutes he was snoring once more.

  *****

  Dariyen, First Captain of King’s Court stood silent on the walls. The giant stone curtain wall of King’s Court was a testament to willpower and engineering. The stone had been quarried and hauled to the capitol before being individually finished and positioned. The labour had taken the better part of a decade to complete, but the first king of Valaar had intended the walls to endure for aeons.

  Positioned on a gently sloping hill King’s Court towered over its domain. An imposing natural harbor and its defensible position had made it a natural choice for the capitol. Trade had caused it to flourish into a bustling metropolis. Indeed, all roads ran through King’s Court.

  With the Golden Throne vacant, the King’s Council held power throughout the land.

  Whether that would still be the case in a week would be another matter. The sight before him bought fear into his steeled heart.

  They had been there when the sun came up, row upon row of steel clad soldiers arrayed in battle lines before the walls. The banners snapping crisply in the morning breeze. The heraldry was easily read from the wall. Clearly visible on the eastern flank the War Host of the Wolf stood arrayed for battle.

  Their black cloth and dark steel armour easily identifiable even at this distance. A large command pavilion signaled the presence of Baron Gerwold, a formidable foe and hungry for power he would be the driving force behind this assembled army. From his position on the wall Dariyen estimated some twelve thousand Wolf were encamped around the city, easily half again the men at his disposal.

  To the west the emerald green of the Mizumura fluttered in the wind. A host of tents and soldiers stretched out in a veritable sea of green. Interestingly enough his spies numbered them at only six thousand swordsmen.
Well under the estimated strength of the Mizumura. Perhaps Velas was less confident in this Endeavour, unwilling to throw his entire strength behind Gerwold’s mad bid for power.

  To the north the Baron of Fordham was encamped, ready and eager to ride Gerwold’s coat tails to glory he’d mustered ten thousand men at arms and four thousand militiamen. Fordham was a flamboyant fool of a man, Dariyen was confident the Baron would struggle to make it out of bed in the morning. Were he in charge of the siege, Dariyen would have rested easy. With his strength added to Gerwold’s prowess, the threat to King’s Court intensified exponentially.

  The troops at King’s Court had been on alert for the better part of a day. Words of warning had arrived from Belnair the day before. A warning was one thing, but it was another matter entirely to see the insurrectionists mustered as they were in the King’s Fields, an almost boundless sea of men and steel. There had not been bloodshed on these fields in centuries, that would soon change.

  ‘Captain, riders approach with a white flag.’ A watchmen shouted from somewhere nearby.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘At the eastern gate. A dozen riders under a flag of truce.’

  ‘Ready my horse I will meet them.’

  *****

  Gerwold sat patiently in his saddle. His plans were coming together perfectly. Despite the recent setbacks there now sat encamped around the besieged capital over thirty thousand men at arms. Gerwold estimated his forces to be at least four times the standing garrison at King’s Court.

  Doubtless the elements that resisted his plans expected the siege to be delayed by their recent activity. By boldly pushing forward Gerwold had thrown them off balance and stood ready to claim the Golden Throne.

  The pragmatist within told him he rested on the precipice, should he take King’s Court he would be King of Valaar. Should he fail on the fields of King’s Court, his people would lack the food necessary to make it through winter, Belnair might never recover and he would most certainly perish, executed for treason or inciting civil unrest.