Draconis' Bane

by David Temrick

  Fudi’s blade fell from limp fingers as his strength gave way. Tristan spun in place and brought his blade in a high arc aimed at Fudi’s neck. For a brief moment Tristan considered taking the older man’s life. A quiet voice in the back of his mind reminded him that the General was fighting for love as much as he was. The Prince stopped just as the blade touched the older man’s jugular. Tristan lowered his blade, breathing heavily.

  “I…don’t….want….to….kill….you.” He gasped.

  “That…is…a….shame….” The General began. “BECAUSE I WANT TO KILL YOU!” He screamed as a small dagger shot forth from a spring-loaded holster in his sleeve.

  Fudi lunged only to find Tristan’s blade beat aside the dagger. The Prince spun again using all of his speed to draw his dagger, reverse the grip and slam it into the Generals jugular. Fudi fell sideways, wrenching the blade out of the wound. A fountain of blood came pouring out of it in a high arc.

  “NO!” Screamed Akbar.

  The hairs on Tristan’s neck stood straight up and the Prince sensed there was a powerful spell being weaved. He brought his sword and dagger blades together and spun on the balls of his feet. Much to his own shock, a ball of fire erupted from the candle between Akbar and himself. The fireball rushed towards the young monarch who focused all of his will on the blades, although he wasn’t sure what it was going to accomplish.

  The fireball barely made contact with the blades and ricocheted back towards the sorcerer. Akbar tried to focus his mind for another spell as the flaming ball closed in on him. The chamber was filled with his scream as the ball struck its creator, consuming him in a morbid pyre.

  “Fudi! NO!” Mina cried.

  Tristan spun around to see Julpinu’s daughter fly from the plateau and take Fudi in her arms. She tried to stem the flow of blood from his neck, completely soaking the silken robe she was wearing. The color drained from Mina’s face as she looked from Fudi to Tristan’s bloody dagger.

  “What have you done!?” She shrieked.

  “You were supposed to die you dragon-spawn scum.” Julpinu muttered from his throne of pillows.

  “What?” Tristan replied with confusion.

  “You arrogant bastard, did you really think my daughter would freely chose to sleep with you?!” The Raj asked.

  “What have you done husband?” Peria pleaded at his side.

  “Silence woman!” He shouted at her.

  “You swore you were done with them!” She sobbed.

  Julpinu back-handed his wife and sent her tumbling from the plateau, “I said SILENCE!” He screamed at her.

  Peria lay on the floor, wiping the blood from the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand. Her gaze was just as murderous as the one Fudi had given Tristan scant minutes ago.

  “You told me you were done with them! You lied to me! They are evil!” She screamed at Julpinu.

  “They have guaranteed me my kingdom and when they finish their task they will reward me with a part of Vallius as well!” He yelled back at her.

  “LIES! They will take all that we have and kill us for our people to see!” She screamed. “You have been duped; you are not the man I married!” She accused.

  “SILENCE WOMAN!” He moved towards his wife again.

  Tristan came and stood between them, “You will not strike her again.” He said with finality.

  “Out of the way boy!” He grabbed a hold of Tristan and tossed him off the dais with surprising strength, given his ample girth around the midriff.

  Julpinu lifted his wife up by the front of her robes, his face red with rage. He opened his mouth and a shallow whimper escaped. Tristan watched as the large man toppled over, dropping his wife. Shocked, Tristan looked from the body of the Raj to his wife. In her hand was the discarded dagger of Fudi’s.

  “The dagger must have been poisoned. She barely nicked his arm.” Knight-Captain Robertson said from the dead Raj’s side. “Pretty fast acting poison if you ask me.”

  “HOW COULD YOU!?” Mina screamed.

  Everyone spun around, looking at Mina cradling Fudi’s head in her lap. Tears ran freely down her face, causing her makeup to run down and land on the dead General’s face. She looked up at Tristan, her green eyes burning with anger. Tristan could have sworn they’d been brown, he’d lost himself in them so many times he was sure of it.

  “Magic.” Tristan muttered, putting the pieces together in his mind. The Prince’s knees failed him and he dropped his blades as he slumped on the steps of the throne.

  A few weeks later, Tristan sat alone in his apartments packing the last of his belongings in his travel pack, completely dejected. He’d realized after killing Fudi and the Raj’s aide what must have happened. Akbar had used his arts to manipulate Mina’s emotions. After all the dust had settled, Knight-Captain Robertson had returned to their apartment and thrown two dragon pendants on the Princes bed. He also informed the Duke that the Lady Mina was pregnant with his child. Upon finding out, she had become ill and locked herself away in her rooms. Tristan had approached the widow Peria the next day and asked for her daughters hand in marriage.

  “Young Prince, should your wife not love you freely?” She asked.

  “Of course.” Was his quick reply.

  “If she were to marry you, she would not come to love you. Bitterness will always tarnish any relationship you could ever hope to have. I’m very sorry young man. I understand how you feel. I too loved someone who couldn’t love me back. After the service you have done for my kingdom, I could never hurt you in such a way.” She calmly explained, touching his cheek tenderly.

  For hours Tristan cried, completely ashamed with himself, falling prey to the ruse set into play by the sorcerer and his master. Another cruel test at the hands of Draconis’ Bane, only this one had brought him closer to self-destruction than ever. He withdrew from his comrades, from his friends, alone in his anger and sadness.

  Two days later Captain Robertson had dragged him out of bed by his hair, an act that surely would have earned him a swift execution back home. He dragged his monarch, kicking and screaming, to the nearest pond and threw him unceremoniously in. The last of his guard watched on, not smiling and not frowning. They simply watched as the Knight-Captain yelled at the Prince.

  “It’s time you get over your self pity and loathing pup! You’re a leader of a nation, you lead and men follow. Snap out of your selfish moping! There’s work to be done!” He bellowed.

  So filled with anger and resentment Tristan lashed out and punched the old man in the face. The Knight-Captain barely flinched, for he too was filled with anger. He stared back into his Princes eyes, not giving him the satisfaction of showing his pain. Standing there soaking wet and humiliated, Tristan began to laugh. His guards looked on, uncomfortable and not knowing what to make of the display.

  “I assume I’m stuck with you.” The Prince said.

  Knight-Captain Robertson smiled crookedly.

  “Seems fate is a heartless bitch my Lord.” He replied with a chuckle.

  The two men embraced one another as the guards cheered.

  Tristan still wasn’t shaken of the depression that had gripped a hold of his young heart, but he wasn’t going to wallow in self-pity. It occurred to him some time later that it was that altercation that endeared the old war dog to the Prince. It was an odd sort of friendship. Less than a year ago either man would have happily killed the other. That’s what The Bane wanted though. Dissention, chaos and confusion and he’d be damned to the lower hells before he gave them the satisfaction.

  So, depressed and nostalgic for simpler times, Tristan packed the last of his belongings. During his stay in Guis his father had sent instructions for Tristan to include Sutten in his diplomatic journey. The Prince wasn’t sure what other trials awaited him, but he would be better prepared for them now. The Knight-Captain and he agreed on one thing though, Draconis’ Bane wasn’t likely to give up anytime soon.

  The pair of them discussed strategies at great length ove
r the following days. Robertson wasn’t as comfortable with the magical aspect of the attacks on Tristan; he preferred to face his enemies with his sword in his hand. The young Prince decided in the process that Draconis’ Bane was quite possibly larger and more organized than either of them could imagine.

  Tristan had grand plans for driving the members of the cult into the open, though Robertson wasn’t convinced that it was a sound strategy. Still, his patience when discussing the finer points of Tristan’s plans served them both well. The night before they were to leave Delhi, Tristan invited all of his men into his room for one last discussion before they traveled out of Guis.

  “Alright, let’s face it. I’ve been played the fool. Lance and I have discussed it and he’s willing to give me a second chance. If you’re willing to do the same, stay with me. Be my eyes, my ears and my hands. Today we stop being commander and soldiers. Today you are my brothers, you are my friends.”

  He paused, looked each man in the eye, memorizing how they watched him, their expressions and their trust in him.

  “Today, we become the Shroud of Darkness. Our mission is simple. We will see the end of Draconis’ Bane.”

  The Prince went into detail on his origins with the men, including his blood lines, the spell that damaged his memories, even the latest attempts on his life. When he finished the men looked at one another.

  Corporal Kincade was the first to speak up. “I’m with you, my Lord.”

  The sentiment was echoed by the other nine men and finally the Knight-Captain.

  “You’re not going anywhere without a proper chaperone.” He said with his usual crooked smile.

  The men assembled their travel packs and led their horses to the palace gates. Tristan was glad to put Guis behind him, the trip here had been a whirlwind of emotions and frankly, time in the saddle to mull over the torrent of thoughts crashing around in his head was more than welcome.

  Waiting for them at the palace gates was the Lady Peria with a few of her personal guards.

  “M’lady.” Tristan bowed.

  “Prince Tristan, I can’t thank you enough.” She said a little stiffly.

  Tristan chuckled. “I can’t imagine what for, Lady Peria. Killing one of your better Generals and your chief aide, impregnating your daughter or exposing your husband as a traitor?”

  She smiled hesitantly. “All of them actually.” She laughed. “My country is free again and after meeting you, I think I’m going to enjoy raising my grandchild.”

  The Prince forced a smile in reply.

  “Don’t worry young man. I’ll send word when the child is born. You can come for a visit. My daughter will have recovered by then I’m sure.” She soothed.

  “Well then, I thank you for your hospitality.” Tristan replied affecting a respectful bow.

  Peria surprised him by embracing him. “You come back and visit an old lady Tristan, my heart needs the jump start from time to time.” She whispered in his ear with a laugh.

  He bade her farewell and The Shroud mounted up, their tabards discarded in their former apartment. Tristan settled into the saddle, back in his usual red trimmed armor, and signaled for the group to move out into the Guisian countryside.

  Ambush

  By the second night Delhi was a distant light on the horizon behind them. Tristan sat at the camp fire polishing his armor as Knight-Captain Robertson approached.

  “We’ve got a problem, Your Highness.” He blurted.

  “Oh?” Tristan asked. “What now?”

  “I sent young Santos out to hunt up some fresh meat.” He began.

  “And? I would admit some fresh meat would be welcome, though it’s hardly earth shattering if he wasn’t able to track anything down in this desert my friend.” Tristan joked.

  “No my Lord. It’s not that. He spotted something and came rushing back.” Robertson replied.

  “I can hardly wait.” Tristan replied dryly, lowering his armor and paying closer attention.

  “A force moves this way.” The Captain began uneasily. “They all bare the dragon pendant my Prince.”

  Tristan’s eyes widened in surprise. “Excellent. We could use a lead. How many come?” He asked eagerly.

  “Thirty my Lord.” Robertson replied.

  “That’s it?” Tristan was surprised.

  The Prince assumed that after the events that had come to pass in Delhi the enemy would have sent an entire legion after them. The Prince’s eyes narrowed dangerously as he formulated a plan.

  “Bring all the men over here Captain. I’ve got an idea.” He asked.

  “Your ideas make me nervous pup.” Robertson chuckled as he walked away.

  Tristan put his breastplate back on, laced up his grieves and was just putting the knot in his sword belt as the Knight-Captain returned with the assembled members of The Shroud. The Prince motioned for them all to sit down around the fire and after everyone was settled Tristan spoke to them.

  “What I’m about to suggest most likely goes against all of your training.” He began as he looked each man in the eyes. “That company of bastards out there thinks they’re being terribly clever and waiting for us to lower our guard before they attack.” The Prince explained.

  Several of the men chuckled at this. “Clearly they think too highly of themselves, so we’re going to present them with the perfect opportunity to strike.” Tristan continued. “Everyone is going to scatter in a ragged circle and pretend to sleep,” The Prince looked directly at the Captain.

  “That includes you too.”

  The plan, as Tristan outlined it, would be to create the illusion that his men were exhausted and reckless. The two men that would have been centuries tonight would lean against one another and make a show of being deeply asleep. The rest of the men would do likewise scattered around their camp. Tristan would appear to be dead asleep near the fire.

  The thought was that the enemy was merely waiting for the Valliusians to become careless. Tristan would rather create that illusion now than truly be exhausted in a few more days of hard rides and terrible rations. So the men dispersed from around the fire and headed out to their appointed positions to wait.

  Tristan drew his dagger and jabbed it into the ground next to him. Laying on a log the men had built their fire near; he pretended to be in a deep sleep. Forcing his breath into long even pulls, he tried to focus his mind and calm himself. After almost an hour of this charade, Tristan was ready to give up assuming their attackers just wouldn’t fall for such an obvious ploy.

  Instead, the young Prince was rewarded with the sound of a boot heel slipping down a steep hillside. It took all of his effort not to grin in spite of himself when several of his men made dramatic grunting noises as they turned over in their ‘sleep’. Tristan could clearly hear five men walking quietly towards his position by the fire.

  The young Prince heard a sword slowly clear its sheath, the soft rattle of metal on metal as an arm was raised. Time seemed to slow down as Tristan grabbed his dagger and flung it at the first attacker.

  “NOW!” The young Duke yelled.

  Chaos erupted around him and he sprang to his feet pulling his sword free of its own scabbard. He parried an incoming blow and was pushed back by the man’s shield. He turned aside a blow from another man, spun and avoided three more sword strokes that fell harmlessly behind him.

  Tristan quickly put some distance between himself and the four men. He began gauging distances, and finally feigned forward as two of the men lashed out in response. The Prince grinned, knowing that while he was facing four able swordsmen, they were no good at attacking as a group. Tristan leapt forward catching a sword on the inside of his own and driving his foot into another man’s face, breaking his nose.

  He rolled away as the momentum of his jump carried him through the ranks of his four attackers. On one knee he parried two blows and ducked under a third, swiping his legs out from under the attacker with a swipe of his sword. Two attackers squared off with him now, approaching him carefu
lly. The attacker he’d kicked in the face grunted as he attempted to reset his nose so that he could see again.

  The first attacker feigned forwards, allowing Tristan to bat his blade away as his partner swiped in for a lazy chop at the Prince’s neck. Tristan parried the blow and instead of backing away he grabbed the first one’s shield, pulled him off balance and chopped his head off as he stumbled past him.

  The attackers shield fell from his limp fingers leaving it in Tristan’s hand. Having never used one, which he could remember at any rate, he flipped it over and put his arm through the loops on the inside. The attacker with the broken nose reset it with a blood curdling crack and rejoined his comrade, blinking away tears.

  Tristan smiled as the bloodied attacker swung wildly. The Prince caught the blow on the shield and drove his sword right down to the hilt, through his chest. His eyes went wide as he whimpered slightly; Tristan pulled his blade free and kicked him backwards into the last attacker.

  Both men went down in a heap with the living attacker being pinned under the now deceased one. Around him a cheer went up as the remaining attackers tried to flee only to find themselves filled with arrows as Shroud members pulled out their short bows and used them to good effect.

  When the dust settled they had captured five men, killed another twenty-eight and the only injury was Corporal Kincade who was being attended to by one of the other men. Tristan bent over and retrieved his dagger from the neck of his first kill. The five prisoners had been bound, gagged and were now sitting uncomfortably in front of the fire tied to the large log. Robertson came walking over from where Kincade was being attended to.

  “The Corporal?” Asked the Prince.

  “He’ll live.” Robertson replied. “What about these lads?”

  “Well. My first thought was that they’re likely to know about Bane activities around here.” Tristan said.