Draconis' Bane

by David Temrick

  “The 7th is ready and able sir.” He replied eagerly.

  “And you?” Tristan probed.

  “I’ll follow.” The Captain admitted.

  “That’s going to have to do for now. Let’s go find something to eat. We’ve got some bloody plans to draw up.” Tristan said grimly as he rose and exited the tent.

  Devious Plot

  The next five days found Tristan and the 7th Infantry striking into three of the remaining four camps. A few bruises and scrapes had thus far been their only concerns. They were only a couple of hours away from Irudin now. The temptation of a warm soft bed had more than one soldier, Tristan included, looking off into the distance at the tallest tower of Irudin keep. The sun had set moments ago and everyone could clearly see the lights of the town and the tower itself on the horizon.

  Over the last few days Tristan had found a new respect for the old Captain. He was a no nonsense man of little words, his men need only be told once what to do and they sprang into action. Grudgingly, Tristan found himself admiring the man. True to his word the Captain had obeyed all of Tristan’s commands, bringing suggestions to his attention and generally being an excellent help and teacher in the thick of the fight.

  The scouts had just returned from their trek over to the last enemy camp just a hundred yards away and reported that they had few sentries out. Ever since they took the first encampment Tristan assumed that someone will have gotten away or regular communication would be missed. Thus far every camp had been surprised to find a small armed force capture them.

  “What do you think Captain?” Tristan asked.

  “I favor the Four Point Strike again m’lord.” Robertson replied smiling.

  After the men had taken the first camp Sergeant Frose began calling the ambush a ‘Four Point Strike’ and now everyone was calling it that. Tristan had been hesitant to use it again as he feared word had reached each camp in turn. With the light sentry compliment, the rather large bonfire in the middle of their camp effectively blinding them and presenting his scouts and archers with ample targets, Tristan was forced to agree.

  “Agreed. Divide the men up as before and let’s see if we can make Irudin and nice soft beds by midnight.” He ordered.

  The Captain grunted theatrically as he stood up from his seat near the fire. “A capital idea sir. I’ll see to the men.” He said as he walked off out of sight.

  Tristan stood and stretched. He pulled at the healing slash across his stomach, a reminder of a time when he and the Captain could barely be in the same room together. The young Prince chuckled to himself. How could two men, who would rather kill each other, work together so well? He made his way over to Captain Robertson who already had the three other forces moving along the hills.

  They made their way over to the hill leading into another valley camp and a chill ran along Tristan’s spine. He looked around, trying to find the cause for the chill, though nothing seemed out of the ordinary. The heat from the day was fading away, but it wasn’t cold at all. He shook his head, clearing his thoughts for the pending battle. In the distance he heard a bow sing as the whistle of an arrow followed. A man in the camp screamed as Tristan’s force scrambled over the hill.

  It was then that Tristan saw the reason for the scream; the arrow had struck a man in the shoulder, spinning him into the fire he was sitting in front of. He was still screaming, running from tent to tent looking for help as fire consumed him. The image burned itself into Tristans’ eyes as he rushed down the rise with the west and east forces meeting inside the camp already.

  The wounded man was effectively setting the whole camp on fire as every tent he touched burst into flames. Some of his more clever soldiers began cutting tether lines causing the burning tents to collapse on their occupants. The hair on the back of Tristan’s neck rose instantly as a ball of fire erupted from the bonfire and struck a large group of his men. His eyes focused on the fire, though he could see no one around it. At the edge of the camp though he could make out a man in a concealing robe, he waved his arms around in an arc and another ball of fire erupted from the bonfire as his men leapt out of the way.

  Tristan ran for the robed man as an arrow sung through the air. It stopped a few feet in front of the man, burst into flame and the ashes blew away in the breeze. A soldier made it to the robed man before Tristan did and before his sword fell he was thrown backwards by an invisible force and landed painfully on top of other members of the 7th.

  The Prince stood in front of the magician, his sword and dagger ready. The magician laughed and moved his hands in an arc, Tristan felt strong pressure pushing him back, he crossed his blades trying to force himself forward and the pressure stopped immediately.

  The robed man’s eye widened in shock and he waived his arms around in another arc. Tristan rushed forward and drove the hilt of his sword into the magicians face. His hood flew back as his head snapped back and he crumpled to the ground; unconscious. Around him Tristan could hear his men cheer as they gathered up the last of the enemy survivors.

  It was then that Tristan noticed a chain around the magicians’ neck, a large silver chain with a roaring black dragon pendant. Tristan pocketed the pendant and then sheathed his sword, knelt and used his dagger to cut a strip of the robe off the magician and bound his hands behind his back. He lifted the man over his shoulder and hauled him back to the bonfire, where he dropped him unceremoniously in the dirt.

  “How many did we lose?” he asked.

  “Twelve in that fireball and another three by their soldiers, two more are mortally wounded and won’t make it through the night.” Captain Robertson answered.

  “Damn.” Tristan answered his head dropping.

  “We lost Halvorsen.” He added.

  “Damn.” Tristan slumped down, sitting on a log. “Get the men organized and whatever prisoners we have ready to move. I heard some horses, let’s see what we can find to make our trip faster.”

  “We head for Irudin?” Robertson asked.

  “We head for Irudin.” Tristan answered.

  Two hours later a ragged band rode into Irudin town. They had found a wagon into which they crammed all of the surviving prisoners while two of his injured soldiers drove the team of horses. The 7th had also found ample mounts for their surviving members. Tristan took the largest of them as he draped the still unconscious magician over his lap. After a quick word with the guards at the gate they were given an escort through town while a runner was sent to the keep to rouse the Baron.

  The keep drawbridge lowered and Tristan felt the hairs on the back of his neck begin to rise again. This time, he realized what it meant and drew his sword and drove the hilt into the back of the magicians head again, rendering back into unconsciousness. The hairs immediately lowered and he smiled grimly despite his anger at himself for losing so many men. The gate swung open to reveal Gerald standing in his nightshirt. Tristan laughed out loud in spite of himself.

  “Wake you did we Dana?” He asked.

  “I’m running out of room in my dungeons young Prince.” Gerald replied sarcastically.

  “You’re just going to have to build more of them then.” Tristan replied laughing as he dismounted, allowing the magician to slide out of the saddle and land painfully on the ground.

  “Who’s this?” Gerald asked, indicating the unconscious prisoner.

  “That’s what I intend to find out.” Tristan replied. He turned to Robertson. “Please see to the men Captain. They’re going to need plenty of rest; we’ve got the return trip yet.” He instructed.

  “Sir.” Captain Robertson replied, and then he saluted and marched off to see over his men and the prisoners. Tristan grabbed a handful of the back of the magicians’ robes and turned to his former teacher.

  “Now, might you recommend a place to question our robed friend here?” Tristan smirked.

  Gerald returned the smile and motioned for the young Prince to follow him as he led him down into the dungeons, far below the keep. Tristan had never se
en these before. He assumed the dungeons outside along the keep wall were the only ones Irudin possessed. Dragging the unconscious magician behind him, Tristan descended another staircase into a solitary room. It held many contraptions, both large and small along all four walls.

  Behind them, Tristan heard footfalls as the torturer entered the room, covered from head to toe in black cloth. “In the seat if you please my Lord.” He said in a deep voice.

  Tristan complied, dumping the mage into the chair and then pulled up a chair of his own as two more guards entered the room, closed and bolted the door behind them.

  “He’s a magician.” Tristan informed them.

  The torturer nodded once to the young Prince and then turned and opened a cabinet on the nearest wall. He pulled out an amulet, a large red gem set inside a silver circle on a thick chain, which he put around the magician’s neck. He then proceeded to prepare the tools of his trade.

  He pulled out a small vial of white liquid from the cabinet, which he put on a small table he brought over next to the magician. Tristan noticed that various sharp and lethal looking objects were also arrayed on the table. The torturer walked over to the corner and stoked the fire in a small brazier built into the wall. He pulled a few instruments down from the wall and put them into the fire.

  Tristan watched, fascinated but also strangely hesitant as torturer uncorked the vial and waved it under the magicians’ nose. Instantly the magicians head snapped back as he tried to shake the smell out of his nostrils. He eventually came around completely and began to look around the room he was in.

  “What are you doing with Terum soldiers?” Tristan demanded.

  Their eyes locked and Tristan tried his best to look calm, crossing his arms and leaning them over the back of the chair facing the magician. The robed man’s eyes drifted to Tristan’s sword hand and his eyes widened, he tried to get up but he’d been tied down by the guards while the torturer was preparing. The magician stopped his squirming and focused his eyes on Tristan, obviously attempting to cast a spell. Tristan made a move to get up, but the torturer motioned for him to sit, and then pointed to the amulet, which had begun to glow. The magicians’ eyes narrowed as if he’d finished his incantation, the amulet flashed slightly and then went dark again.

  Perplexed the magician tried in vain three more times until he finally looked down, seeing the amulet there he grunted. His head snapped up and he spit at the Prince, Gerald made three strides over to the magician and back handed him clear out of his chair. The torturer sighed as he motioned for the guards to lift the mage back into his chair. He looked at Tristan, who nodded his approval as he picked up a pair of pliers from the table. The guards finished chaining the magician to the arms and legs of the chair.

  The torturer grabbed a hold of the mages hand, bent it back painfully and clamped the pliers on the nail of his middle finger, in one swift motion he yanked the nail free. The magician screamed out as the color drained from his face. His heavy breathing was interrupted by Tristan’s renewed question.

  “What are you doing with Terum soldiers?”

  The mage shook his head violently. The torturer walked calmly over to the fire and pulled out a red hot pointed iron. He walked back and grabbed a hold of the magicians hand again, slowly digging the iron into the tender flesh revealed under the removed nail. The mage screamed before passing out from the pain. The torturer waved the vial in front of his nose again. When the magician regained consciousness the torturer nodded at the Prince.

  “What are you doing with Terum soldiers?”

  ~

  A few hours later the magician died, but not after revealing everything to them. He had been sent as part of a force of soldiers. They were given little instruction, just told to stay at their designated camps until they were called into action. Tristan and Gerald were now discussing this in the Baron’s council chamber. It was much like Kevin’s, only more elaborate and there was a great polished marble fireplace where a fire danced merrily. A tray of food and wine had been brought in and placed on the table.

  “What do you make of that?” Gerald asked regarding the information obtained from the magician as he tossed a pendant the dead mage was wearing onto the table.

  “Well, we know there are similar camps along the Eastern Road, from your soldiers’ reports and now confirmed by the magician.” Tristan began. “What’s this?” he asked holding up the pendant.

  “It’s the only thing the magician had; he was wearing it around his neck.” Gerald answered.

  Tristan examined the pendant, a roaring dragon carved out of atacamite, which was attached to a silver chain. “Anyway, what bothers me is how clumsy it was done.”

  “How so?” Gerald asked.

  “It was just so poorly planned, you’ve got twenty some odd companies out there acting like bandits and generally making a mess of the countryside.” Tristan explained.

  “Isn’t that the point?” asked Gerald.

  “I don’t think so. It’s just so…random. It doesn’t make sense, what’s their purpose?” He asked. “To cause trouble? We’ve got plenty of our own trouble without a thousand men wandering around the main roadways.” Tristan explained.

  “There’s the matter of the embezzled funds.” Gerald persisted.

  “True. But why embezzle money from businesses that are already being robbed by the bandits and yet still making profits?” Tristan asked. “Wouldn’t it serve their purposes more to either rob the businesses blind, or call off the bandits and embezzle more money?” The young Prince asked exasperatedly.

  “Because that is not their true goal.” A familiar voice called from the doorway behind them.

  “Father!” Tristan announced with a smile.

  King Dion stood in the doorway, looking windswept and travel weary. Tristan stood and walked over to embrace him.

  “Your mother and Euri are here as well.” His father began as he strode into the room and sat down at the table. He accepted the offered glass of wine from Gerald, picked a couple chunks of cheese and wrapped a slice of meat around them then wolfed them down.

  “We need to talk, so you can visit them later.” His father said between chews. “I’ve had word that your failed assassination attempt is creating panic in Terum. They assumed you would die and we would observe the old traditions.”

  “Old traditions?” Tristan asked.

  “It’s traditional for the funeral to take place at the first full moon.” Gerald commented.

  “Exactly. You were attacked the day after the full moon, and you lay unconscious through another. The plan was to wait until you died and then spring the trap.” Dion concluded.

  “I’m confused.” Tristan said.

  “Until you and Kevin arrived in Irudin the plan was to hold Kenting to siege, bringing troops around it and into lands already held by their companies of men. An enormous army would then march from Golshy Pass and stage from Irudin to strike north into Metao.” His father explained.

  “How did you learn all this?” Tristan asked.

  “A spy was caught and tortured. He knew far more than your magician would have.” He said, taking a gulp of wine. “After you and Kevin ruined their staging point they had to come up with a new plan. Everyone seems to have been in the dark about it though. The various companies of Terum soldiers just started carving out little kingdoms of their own as soon as they stopped getting orders from Samuel.” He chuckled.

  “The east is mostly cleared of Terum soldiers my lord.” Gerald offered.

  “The west has a small fort and a small company left.” Tristan reported.

  “The stragglers in the east and the remnants in the west are being seen to already.” His father stated. “The Terum conquest is crushed and we’ll likely go back to sending envoys to each other and tossing a few stones.” He scoffed.

  “So, why are you here then?” Tristan blurted.

  His father turned to face him, smiling; “You did very well, I’ve spoken with Captain Robertson. He was most i
mpressed.”

  “He hid it well enough.” Tristan answered darkly.

  “Yes, well, he’s an old and proud man. Such men rarely accept someone one quarter their age giving them orders, let alone taking their suggestions.” His father said matter-of-factly. “Even if they are Princes.” He laughed.

  “I also lost seventeen men.” Tristan brooded.

  “That’s leadership, you can plan all you want, but once the battle begins all of the plans in the world won’t help ensure victory.” His father commented. “I need you to take on a new mission…”

  Tristan looked up from his wine glass where he had been lost in thought.

  “What might that be?” He asked with a crooked smile.

  “You’re going to Guis.” His father said after swallowing another bundle of cheese and meat.

  “Why?” Tristan asked, confused.

  “Well. All your training was supposed to have prepared you for assuming command of your own keep.” His father began.

  “My own…what?” Tristan asked shocked.

  “I sent you along with your brother hoping you’d learn a few things.” The King chuckled. “But to be honest, with the staff already in Durshire you’ll have all the help governing you’ll ever need.” His father continued. “I’ll give you a month to settle in and then you’ll need to visit the court in Guis.”

  “But…why?” He blurted.

  “Why Durshire, or why visit our allies?” His father asked.

  Tristan’s shoulders slumped, a smile coming to his face. “Fine, fine…it’s useless to argue isn’t it?”

  “More or less.” His father replied smiling while Gerald burst out laughing. “By the way old friend, I’ve brought Hanna with us.”