Rise of The Mercenary King

by Samuel Stokes

  Chapter 6

  “Attack!” Tyrion’s voice echoed through the courtyard.

  The courtyard exploded into activity as warriors leapt from the wagons. Drawing his blade, Tyrion leapt from the wagon, and the nearest guard died before his sword could clear its scabbard. Landing nimbly he drew his second blade and engaged the guards at the base of the stairs. Moments later, Belios barreled angrily into the fray followed by a dozen of his surviving warriors.

  At the rear of the caravan, Elang launched an assault against the gatehouse and its guards.

  In spite of their surprise the guards responded quickly. Forming ranks the guards threw themselves at the attackers. On the walls of the citadel guards took up bows and crossbows and lay down a withering hail of fire on the caravan and those piling out of them. From within the caravan, Hiejie and others returned fire, but in spite of their keen skills, the elevation and volume of the defenders’ fire took its toll and Tyrion’s warriors began to fall quickly.

  From her place in the caravan, Shiva traded arrows with the warriors on the wall, cloistered in the relative safety on top of the citadels towers Heirodius forces returned fire. Channeling her will the wood elf chanted furiously. An eldritch lightning bolt split the skies and struck the guards. One of the crossbowmen died instantly, others screamed as the concussive blast threw them out of the tower. Their screams lasted until their bodies landed heavily on the cobblestones below.

  Fire from the tower dissipated immediately, and the sorceress turned her attention on the others. Without hesitating, she hurled a sphere of blinding light at a guard struggling to reload his crossbow. As the ball of blinding light struck him, the guard collapsed clutching his face.

  Elang and his men met the guards at the base of the gatehouse in a storm of steel. Fighting with axe and blade the nimble elf swept aside a defenders guard with his axe before driving his sword into the man before him. Without slowing he caught the next strike on his axe before his sword severed the guard’s head from his shoulders. From his perch, Daylor lent fire to the fray, his keen eye catching exposed foes before his arrows would dispatch them swiftly.

  Within minutes the group of guards was overwhelmed and Elang stormed the gatehouse.

  Subduing the few remaining soldiers within, Elang and his men seized the gatehouse’s controls and released the portcullis. Chains rattled noisily as the heavy iron frame thundered into the ground. “We’ve sealed the citadel,” the elf stated. “Let’s take the wall and aid those still fighting below.” As his men stormed the walls, Elang turned to find Daylor still hovering at one of the gatehouse firing ports. “Daylor, what are you waiting for? Let’s go!”

  “Him.” Daylor answered nodding towards the road below. Daylor drew an arrow from his quiver and nocked it. Elang followed the scout’s gesture and saw a troop of guards making their way down the thoroughfare toward the citadel, the familiar livery of the House of Mercer clearly visible as they approached.

  Recognizing the figure at their head, Elang became startled. “Daylor, that is Tindyr, Lord of the Mercer. He owns most of the soldiers in this city, are you insane?”

  “Tyrion’s orders, Elang. There is no way that he did not know of Heirodius’ duplicity. He allowed others to conspire to kill his own son. I was told in no uncertain terms that he was to die if the opportunity presented itself, and here it has.”

  Elang watched his face, a mix of awe and fear as the scout fired. The arrow flew through the open port toward the approaching soldiers. With pinpoint precision, the arrow struck Tindyr in the neck. The force of the blow took the ruling lord out of his saddle. With a heavy thud the large warrior hit the street. Horses whinnied in protest as his guards reined in, anxious to avoid trampling their lord to death. Their concern was unnecessary; the hunting arrow had done its work well. Blood poured from the wound and Tindyr, Lord of the Mercer perished ignominiously on the cold cobblestone streets of Shallowtide.

  Daylor observed the proceedings coldly as the guards sought in vain to aid their master.

  Convinced that his work was done he turned to Elang.“Now we can leave.” Shaking his head in disbelief, Elang turned and followed his warriors onto the ramparts.

  In the courtyard below the stone stairs leading to the citadel were strewn with bodies. The ferocity of the berserk charge led by Belios and Tyrion overwhelmed the guards in a matter of minutes. The small band of warriors burst into the citadel. The fighting was fiercer in the narrow confines of the citadel. As time passed the forces of Heirodius recovered from their initial surprise and began to mount an increasingly desperate defense.

  Belios guided the attackers toward the Great Hall. As they reached the ornate entryway to the impressive edifice they found a group of guards blocking the path; the tightly knit group of soldiers had closed ranks, access to the hall completely obstructed by the solid wall of shields and steel. Bristling with blades there was little doubt that the warriors before them constituted the House Guard of Heirodius.

  Seeing the steel of their resolve Belios slowed his advance. As Tyrion advanced, he hollered down the corridor toward them. “I have business with your master, step aside and we will allow you to depart in peace. Stand your ground and we will have no choice but to cut you down. We will not be deterred.”

  A faceless voice answered loudly from behind the wall. “You have attacked the house of Heirodius without cause. Even now our allies muster to our aid. We will not yield an inch to you. Your death will be swift and without mercy.”

  “Very well, you’ve made your choice.” Gesturing to the shield wall Tyrion addressed Shiva. “Heirodius cowers behind his warriors, can you clear a path?”

  Memories of the abuse heaped on her home by Heirodius and those in his employ came vividly to her mind. The images of scarred and desolate grounds left in their wake as they lay waste to the western forests stirred seething emotions within her soul. The sorceress moved to the fore. As Shiva made her way clear of the soldiers, she began to chant loudly.

  With an eerie resemblance to the morning’s encounter, flames materialized in the air before the sorceress. With alarming speed the flames grew, twisted and coalesced in the corridor. As suddenly as it has started the chanting stopped. As if on cue the flames gathered and hurtled down the passageway where it slammed into the shield wall with supernatural savagery.

  Soldiers screamed as flames flowed over shields and seared flesh. Several soldiers at the center of the blaze were entirely consumed, others fought to extinguish the flames as they lapped mercilessly at the soldiers. Not content with half measures, Shiva chanted loudly over the carnage. The Elvish tones echoed ominously down the devastated corridor.

  As the chanting ceased the air before the sorceress began to shift. In spite of being deep within the citadel a howling wind emanated from Shiva’s outstretched hands and blew violently down the passageway, the wind picked up speed and intensity as it moved. As the wall of wind struck the suffering remnants of the shield wall, it scattered both man and metal before it.

  Seeing the shield wall disrupted, Tyrion signaled the charge. The decimated defenders attempted to regain their footing to little avail. Those that survived the arcane assault were run down or run through. With their resistance crushed Tyrion moved into the hall. The vast hall was empty save for an ornate table. At its head Heirodius sat, the evening meal lay part eaten before him, a priceless wine goblet pressed to his lips as he took a long drought.

  The aged ruler looked unperturbed at the violent intrusion. “Secure the hall. Ensure none disturb us.” Tyrion ordered as he moved toward the table. As Tyrion approached the table Heirodius gestured toward a seat at his left. “Tyrion Nelvar wasn’t it? Take a seat. Would you care for a plate? It’s a most sumptuous roast.”

  Heirodius’ nonchalant manner further enraged Tyrion. “I will not sit, Heirodius. I entered your employ in good faith, and you sent us to our death! Now you sit here as if nothing has happened and expect me to break bread with you? I am here that justice might
be done upon you.”

  The old patriarch raised his hand toward the half-elf. “Calm yourself, Tyrion, would you kill a defenseless old man?” Gesturing back to the seat, he continued. “Come and sit, mind the wine though, this vintage may not suit your palette.”

  A little confused at the aging patriarch’s manner, Tyrion took a seat. “Why would you say that?”

  “It’s laced with whisper root, and I’ve been drinking it steadily since you entered the gates. In a few minutes my heart will stop, and I will drift into death’s embrace. Now I ask again. Will you kill me, a dying man? Or will you exercise the wisdom your father embodied and listen to the words of a weary man before I slip into the grave. Make your choice.”

  The comment caught Tyrion by surprise. “What do you know of my father?”

  “Much, I knew him well. Perhaps as well as any man, I was young when I assumed my current station; he had already spent a lifetime in his.”

  “I will hear you out. You said he has spent a lifetime in his...his what?” “His station as a ruling lord in Shallowtide.”

  “Ruling Lord Heirodius? You are mistaken. My father was a diplomat from the west. He sought aid from the Elves against the growing threat in the East.”

  “Look around you, Tyrion, this is the West. When the late King needed a diplomat he sent his right hand, your father, Thomas Mercer.”

  Tyrion responded with incredulity. “Mercer as in…”

  “The House of Mercer. Your father ruled his house for almost sixty years. Many of which he served as the King’s Hand.”

  “How can you be certain he is my father? You know nothing of me.”

  “On the contrary Tyrion, that Mithril you wear speaks volumes. It’s worth more than most men make in a lifetime. Not the sort of thing the elves give away, least of all to a half-breed. No offense.”

  “None taken.”

  “But all that changes if the half-breed is the son of the seer Indarial. Thomas told me of his tryst, I thought it was a fairy tale, the kind of delusion spun by an aging mind as he sought to relive his lost youth...but here you are. All that aside the resemblance is uncanny.

  Unfortunately, when Thomas returned from Aethel Asari he married and sired an heir, Tindyr who now rules the Mercer in your place. I must ask, will you challenge him for your birthright?”

  "No...there will be no need."

  "What do you mean no need? Tindyr is a blundering idiot but a formidable warrior. With my death you will control the assets of the House of Heirodius. If you take your place as lord of the Mercer, you will effectively control Shallowtide...”

  Tyrion interrupted. "I mean there is no need because he will already be dead. I presume you sent word of our return and called on him for support."

  "Indeed, when you were spotted entering the city." "Then he will be dead soon, if he isn't already." "How could you have known?"

  "I did not. Tindyr will not die for standing between me and my birthright, his death is his own making. He was complicit in the ambush that almost killed us all, Belios included. Any man that will send his own son to die does not deserve to live."

  "Hmm, you are more like your father than you will ever know. With Tindyr dead you will control both houses. The Atar will have little choice but to accede to your wishes and Shallowtide will be truly unified for the first time in many years. You would be the closest thing to a king that this land has had in thirty years. Indeed your prospects seem to grow with every passing minute, I envy you.” Turning reflective, Heirodius continued. “Perhaps you will see fit to grant a dying man a last wish."

  "What is it you want?" Tyrion queried.

  "You speak highly of family, spare mine. They will be little threat to you," Heirodius asked, his voice had a note of desperation in it as he spoke.

  "I have been told otherwise, Heirodius; they will undermine everything I seek to build here. Their reputation precedes them."

  For the first time Heirodius voice rose. "Screw their reputation, Tyrion... you are a resourceful lad with the assets of two great houses behind you, find another way!" The old man gasped as he struggled for breath.

  “As you wish, Heirodius, I will allow them to depart in peace. What they do with that freedom is up to them. Another attempt on our lives will not be tolerated."

  Heirodius relented. "I can ask no more than that, Tyrion. You have dealt with me fairly and it’s more than I deserve. Let me return the favor. You see that plant on the table?"

  Tyrion looked down the table to where a small plant was growing out of a pot filled with black stones in the center of the table.

  "That's the one. Sift through the stones in the pot. You will find two that are larger than the others. Pull them out."

  Tyrion did as he was instructed. As he rummaged through the stones he soon found two larger stones. Unlike the others they were smooth and polished, almost as large as a man's fist.

  "Those came into my possession many years ago. Few people alive will remember them or their purpose, I learned of their nature firsthand from your father. They are Dragonstones, these two are part of a matching set."

  "How many are there?" Tyrion asked curiously.

  "Twenty. They are rumored to possess great power, but only when their strength is combined. The last man to possess them was the late king Vantacor. On his death they were scattered. Your father held these in his charge. They are worth more than might or money; they are your stewardship now. Do not squander them."

  The revelation of the stones existence shook Tyrion to the core. "You could have said nothing and I would have been none the wiser."

  "Indeed, remember this moment when you honor your pledge of safety for my family."

  "My word is my bond, Heirodius." Tyrion countered immediately.

  "See that it is, lest the gods forsake you, and the good fortune you’ve enjoyed so far should cease. I thought it best this way. Remember, there are other stones. If you seek to build anything of worth in Vantacor, you will need them also."

  "Where will I find them?"

  "I don't know, Tyrion, you will have to work that out for yourself, I have little strength left for such things. Be well, Tyrion."

  With that the frail and aging Master of the House slumped in his chair, his weary head dropped onto his chest to rise no more. As Tyrion rose from the table, Dragonstones in hand he turned for the door, remembering for the first time since entering the room that he was not alone.

  Belios stood dumbfounded at all he had heard. To the shocked warrior he spoke first. "Come, Belios, as you have heard we are family and we have much to discuss." To the others he spoke swiftly. "Send word that Heirodius is dead. Any of his household who surrender is to be spared. Send word to the Mercer, Belios will assume his father's place until things settle down.”

  Belios spoke quickly. “I do not wish to rule, Tyrion, I never have. I like the simple life, I always have. I just didn’t know my father would have me killed for it.”

  “It will just be for a short time, Belios; others have not heard what you have today. Some will not know or recognize me as my father’s son. It will take time to effect change, and we cannot risk exposing our house to any further attack. In time I will relieve you of your burden, and you will be free to do as you wish for the remainder of your days.”

  Turning to the other warriors he continued. “Lastly, summon the Atar, they will have heard what has transpired here. They will take their place with us or perish. Let them know there is a King in Shallowtide, life here will change and it starts today. The lawlessness that has prevailed will be subdued and order restored. Those who assist us will profit from their industry, those who prefer the old ways can depart this place or perish. We have much to do, let us be about it."

  Belios hefted his hammer as a grin spread across his face. “Long live the king!” Jubilation in their victory echoed in their voice as nearby warriors added to the chant. Shaking his headin astonishment at all that had transpired, Tyrion slipped out of the chamber to contemplate t
he path ahead.

  To be continued...

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