Rise of the Darekian's, The

by Wood, Andrew

  By afternoon Caldar had sought out his mother, to bid her farewell before he departed, and duly found her surrounded by the usual circle of followers seated in one of the palace drawing rooms. Queen Doria was a slim elegant woman, having the same fair hair colouring of her two sons and still quite beautiful for one of her years. The young prince's arrival into the room caused the usual stir amongst the younger females in the group, and always the gentleman, Caldar greeted each in turn before settling down besides his mother. The ladies who had been mainly embroidering, sewing intricate designs while they chatted appeared to stop, as they just preferred to cast their gaze upon the handsome young man in their presence. "I just came to say farewell mother, I shall be leaving in the morning" Caldar said, "take care my son" the queen replied softly, "and try to stay out of trouble, make us proud dear" she added, before leaning over and kissing him gently on the forehead. Although to most, it would appear the queen showed little emotion towards her son's departure, one needed to act with some decorum when in such a revered position, and as such, the kiss on the forehead would be all the young man would get, though he of course would know that was his mother's equivalent of a big hug.

  Whilst there, Caldar could not resist a little match making for his younger brother, and once he had said his goodbyes to his mother, turned his attention to the young lady sitting opposite. "My Lady Sarena" he said as he stood, "just to let you know my brother Luken was asking of your wellbeing earlier," causing some of the others to giggle and the young lady at the centre of attention to blush profusely. Caldar smiled at the young woman, "perhaps your Lady would be kind enough to keep a watchful eye on my brother whilst I am absent, he does get awfully lonely, and am certain he would welcome your company." Sarena doubted her cheeks could get any redder, but still managed to keep a calmness to her quiet voice, "I would have been honoured your highness, unfortunately I myself am to return home to Forwich tomorrow, perhaps I could write to the prince instead" she replied. "I am sure Luken would like that very much my dear," the queen added to the discussion, "you do worry yourself so much over him Caldar, I shall check in on Luken after you are gone, he is a big boy now dear" his mother said. "I will miss him none the less mother, and you know he has been getting head pains again lately, it does worry me so to see him suffering." The queen stood, and although not a small woman, was dwarfed by her son, "I'll have the physician check him again, he seems to think it is just part of him growing up, now come on lets be off with you, your being here has put a halt to our sewing" she said kissing him once more. The prince bowed before those present in the room, and duly left them to their embroidery, and no doubt their small talk, which undoubtedly would now consist of Luken and the Lady Sarena. Thinking as he walked, he afforded himself a small chuckle at the thought of his brother's romantic intentions, being dissected by his mother and her circle of friends, this very topic alone would keep them chatting for a few hours more at least.

  King Sethin sat upon his throne within the large hall, presiding over the last of the day's hearings. A local farmer had been accused by a neighbour of stealing one of his cows, to which the charges were denied. Crown officials had been to investigate the charges on the farms in question, and had discovered, that indeed the farmer was in possession of an animal branded with his neighbours mark. Though the evidence had initially appeared the man charged was guilty, he produced several witnesses, who all told the hearing that the animal had in fact been won in a bet by the accused, and it appeared the neighbour was so annoyed by the lost wager, he had proclaimed the charges to try and gain the animal back.

  The king listened; shaking his head slightly as he begrudgingly took note of the evidence. The monarch was a middle-aged man with dark hair, though streaks of grey now had started to show, giving him a look older than his years. With a neatly trimmed beard also showing signs of grey, he had also put on a few pounds around the waistline due to the rich lifestyle he led, and subsequently had become a little portly, though by no means, an obese man. Thankfully for him this was the last of the day's hearings, and once finished here he had more important matters of state to attend. Not listening to who owned a cow, but matters, which, if got out of hand, could possibly see his kingdom at war. With reports of both Darekians and Besemians raiding his lands, his problems were becoming serious ones.

  As it happened the accused was found not guilty, the accuser however, he fined two silver crowns for trying to bring false charges against another citizen, as well a further silver crown to be paid to the original accused, in compensation and legal ownership of the cow that had been the focus of the case. At first, the man to be fined refused to offer payment, "throw him in the dungeons," the king shouted, "I'll not have him waste anyone else's time." Unsurprisingly the man in question soon produced the three silver coins, and a profound and crawling apology to his monarch, which had the desired effect of not seeing him imprisoned.

  Chapter 2.

  Besemia was the nation bordering Corlan's entire eastern side, over twice the size and a populace that numbered four times that of its neighbour. For many years the two kingdoms had regarded each other as strong reliable allies, especially in their dislike of the country that occupied both their northern borders, across the Ulga Mountains was Darekia. Although not a poor nation, it did not however have a seaport, and hence while it's neighbour, Corlan, had seen its economy boom, its own financial state of affairs had been left floundering. The current ruler was King Belin, who had sat the throne just over a year after the previous ruler had abdicated due to ill health. With no immediate heirs, it had been Belin as second cousin, to whom the royal line was traced. He was a short man, dark haired, clean-shaven with a sharp pointy looking nose and chin, giving the appearance his face was disproportionate to the rest of him. Not renowned for his great intelligence, he was though a most ambitious and shallow man.

  Whereas previously, the king had seemed content with the way his kingdom stood compared to others, the new ruler did not. Belin regarded Corlan with envy, and although he run the larger of the two nations, he was certain open war would only mean more ruin for his own lands. As it stood, he was the poor neighbour, with little money to spare in the treasury, and already with a populace struggling to pay the high taxes he had needed to set, as well as trying to pay off the loans and the resulting interest they incurred.

  Darekia to the north had always been a thorn in the side of Besemia, and although the mountain range offered a great deal of protection, the numerous mountain passes across, although most were guarded, though poorly, which meant on occasion that Darekian raiders struck at his northern most towns. Of late however, he had received a religious envoy from his enemy, and from him just entering discussions and making this envoy welcome, it had already meant an end to the raids. This visitor now stood at the king's side during court, whispering to him, planting seeds of doubt against a certain noble or even a certain neighbouring country. In the last month alone, three of the kingdoms nobles had mysteriously disappeared, and conveniently been replaced by those chosen as more amenable to the kings bidding.

  To further impress Belin, the religious envoy had also brokered a trade agreement between the two nations. Darekia apparently needed people; Belin was informed his new ally was very under populated, which conveniently for him was advantageous, as his kingdom was totally the opposite. What made the deal even more attractive to the king was the Darekian envoy had told him, it did not matter from where these people came. It did not matter if they were prince or pauper, worker or prisoner. In return for ridding his nation of criminals and homeless peasants, he received payment in gold to boost his treasury. Already he had rounded up and cleared his capital city of vagrants, as well as emptied the city dungeons of its criminals, then had sent the people northwards over the Ulga Mountains with the promise of a new life. What the Darekians did with the people he did not really care, it was after all added gold to his country's income and as a bonus, ridding it of its most burdensome members.

  Wit
h the added finances, he was able to recruit numbers to his army, having previously been little more than a token outfit, used for discouraging any incursion from the Darekians through the northern mountain passes. With encouragement from his new advisor, King Belin now turned his eyes westwards, and with promises of assistance if he decided to take action. Turning to the envoy, "explain if you please, how Darekia would aid me if I make incursions into Corlan," Belin asked as they sat in his study, looking at a large map laid across the table. The tall hooded figure of the Darekian spoke with a husky voice, "Your extreme majesty should decide to extend his borders, and Darekia can help in ways you could only imagine. We have the means to make such a plan much easier for you, although we would maybe perhaps have to require some form of payment for such a task." With his eyes growing big, the sheer thought of how much gold he could make, not including what he could take in spoils, should he be able to take a city like Hamalin.

  "Name your price?" he finally asked. The envoy bowed his head slightly, "all we require is you send forth more people your majesty, the more the better, perhaps you would allow the peoples of the northern towns on your border. In return we would offer aid in your conquest, and we would be keen for you to keep all and any treasures you may find, we are not interested in any such items." The king pretended to sound uninterested in the deal, trying his best not to look overly keen, though in all sound reasoning how could he possibly turn down such an offer. He would lose a few folk up north; he doubted they even knew who the king was living so far from the capital, but what he could get in return was worth such a small price.

  Father Dagon sat in his small plainly furnished room. It was a small residence in the poorer district of Hamalin, its simple timber construction, a far cry from the stone buildings that stood on the opposite side of the city. Sitting on a simple wooden chair, his eyes closed in deep concentration. He was a short man in his later years, with a slightly bulbous nose and red varicose cheeks, and almost completely bald apart from a little grey wispy hair on the sides. He dressed in a simple brown linen robe tied around the waist with a cord and simple leather sandals upon his feet. He held in his hands a pendant made of a leather cord which secured a smooth black shiny stone. As he concentrated, his eyes remaining tightly closed, he could feel the stone warming in his fingers, "I hear you master" he said aloud.

  The voice he could hear in reply was not audible to any other, but just to himself in his mind. "You know your duties Dagon?" the voice said, "I do Master" he replied aloud, even though he spoke with his mouth, the image in his mind managed to hear his words. "I am still unable to contact the one, I shall continue in my attempts, however if I do not succeed soon you will have to act as a go between" the voice added, "As you wish master" Dagon replied. "Keep a watchful eye on him, and inform me of any strange activities in the area. I am certain something is going to happen, however my own scouting has not revealed to me any clues as to what. Dark times are coming Dagon, we must be ready when they do, now go do your duties" the voice ended, "yes Master."

  Lanber was a quiet town situated in the northeast of Corlan. With a population of over one hundred and fifty, it was one of the larger of many built up settlements situated in this area. With it being a hub, a local place where the surrounding farmers, workers and families could meet, trade or sell goods and wares. A majority of its houses were stone built, mostly with thatch for roofing, though one of its two inns had been added later, and hence had a slate roof.

  A stone built church, probably a couple of hundred years old, and its aging priest, a Father Regan catered for the people's spiritual side of their lives. The main road, or rather track of hardened down mud with shingle flattened down firmly into it, divided the town down the middle. A number of smaller alleys and lanes were off shoots from the main thoroughfare, separating homes and businesses.

  In the approximate centre of the town, was a small cobbled square, where local farmers held twice-weekly markets. There were several upright water pumps, all spaced along the route, drawing water up from the deep well through pipes. This was quite a modern feature the town folk prided themselves on. The pipes and pump itself had been made by the local blacksmith, a large man named Wilson, who lived with his teenage son Levin.

  On the outskirts of the settlement was a wind-powered mill, a large stone building with large wooden slatted sails that caught in the breeze. These in turn rotated slowly, which spun several rods and cogs, which led to the millstone itself. Here local farmers came from miles around with their grain to be ground for flour.

  In the town, it was customary for children aged between six and twelve years to be sent to school. Father Regan, whom was considered the most educated, gave lessons in reading and writing two hours each morning, five days a week. These took place in the church hall, a smaller wooden built building, added onto the side of the church more recently. Once the boys had reached teenage years, they were expected to apprentice in a trade, or find labouring work, whichever was suited. The girls would be expected to learn homemaking skills, such as cooking, sewing, knitting or maybe helping in the surrounding fields if harvest times were upon them.

  Lanber was the epitome of rural life in Corlan. Its cheery people, tight knit friendly communities helped each other out in times of need. Although none of the residents could ever be called wealthy, many did live a comfortable life. There was always food on the table, and coin enough to put clothes on your back. As an added income, any surplus commodities from the locals could often be taken and sold, just several days ride southwest in the capital, Hamalin.

  It was a typical early spring day; the church bell rang signalling midday, and the end to the children's lessons. Father Regan stood in the doorway waving off the last of his pupils, before he retired back indoors to clear up. The children dispersed their way into smaller groups, heading off to their homes for lunch, before chores and play. Levin watched as he held the horses hoof, so that his father could nail the last of the new shoes he had made upon it. "Take him out back Levin and tie him up by the trough, if the poor beast is like me, he'll be wanting to quench a thirst," his father asked. Levin dutifully obliged, leading the horse by a line out of the work area and round the back of the smithy. His father had been right, no sooner had he tied the animal, than it started drinking deeply from the cool water in the stone trough beside him. After patting the horse on the neck, he was about to return to his father, when he heard screams and went running to investigate.

  Men dressed in dark uniforms, and flying a deep red banner rode towards the town. Not only was it unusual to be seeing such a number, probably fifty or more, but the flag of Darekia blowing as they rode was unheard of. The first to die was a young woman, who did nothing more than stand aside for them to pass. Thinking she was out of their way, one tattoo faced rider leant over and slashed out his sword, taking her across the throat. Others who stood further away, started screaming and running about wildly to try to make their escape from the invading horde.

  With people running around they became easy targets for the riders, who did not discriminate against who they killed. Man, woman or child it mattered not to them. The buildings on the northern edge of town were already being put to the torch, as some of the riders dismounted. These started Smashing in doors to homes, before dragging people out into the street kicking and screaming, before mercilessly killing them.

  Father Regan stood as the first riders approached the small square, waving his arms in a gesture to halt this rampage, "stop, we have little for you to take, but do not kill..." Those were his last words, a final plea to an enemy who was not there for reward, the long curved blade completely removing the head of the priest. Mothers who tried in vain to protect their children died where they stood, fathers who attempted to fight back fared little better. Having no proper weapons to speak of, a small group huddled together, wielding little more than hoes or rakes, and were no match for the sharp blades and died the same as all the others.

  Levin tried to flee, but the ri
der pursuing him was too quick, he thought his life was going to end any second, but it did not. His father, with arms like tree trunks threw one of his smith's hammers, striking the enemy on the chest. The blow was enough to save his sons life; the rider coughed and slumped forward as his horse continued trotting past them. Levin turned back to witness a scene that would haunt him always. "Run, ride...quick" were the last words he would hear from his father. The large man leapt up swinging a metal rod, striking another attacker, felling him from his horse, only to be cut down himself by another.

  Levin wanted to cry and run to aid his father, who had fallen to his knees; clearly bleeding badly, the man cast his final gaze upon his son. That look encouraged Levin to turn, and run to the rear of the property. Hoping the narrowness of the alleyway between the smithy and the building next door would deter any attacker from pursuing him, he made it around the back. The horse he had just tethered looked up at him, and he quickly untied him, pulled the line over the head on rode away from the town. He kept his head low, the tears in his eyes obscuring his view, he allowed the horse to guide him, and take him to safety.

  Chapter 3.