by B A Fleming
*****
A portion of the armies of Narthal stood in front of Kogu castle as Koguryo stood on the parapet, looking out towards them. His hair was black with some streaks of grey, slicked back from his high, sloping forehead to form into a hair bun, as did his sons. It was the style of a warrior. A braid ran down from the center of his head, down the back of his neck. His thin goatee was a measure of black and grey streaks that flowed to the top button of his heavy cloak.
In gold, blue and black ceremonial robes he stood upon the dais and looked out across the square in front of Kogu Castle. His sons stood aside and behind him and Dralan, the ward of the court off stage across from them.
“Dralan, Dralan, Dralan, Dralan!!!” the soldiers chanted in unison.
They had made their way to the capital during the past week, setting up camps on designated fields, much to the decry of the farmers who busily harvested their crop before it was all trampled.
The Emperors’ soldiers distributed rations by the wagon load and several royal butchers and bakers were now staffed around the clock to meet demand. The logistics of the gathering was slowly being smoothed out by a team of retired soldiers brought in to manage the gathering horde.
Chapter 9
Lady Isabella and her daughter Malena remained silent as they sat in the gardens of the Corone Imperial Palace. They glanced at each other across the orchard, with their three handmaids who stood nearby, awaiting instructions.
Two rough looking legionnaires discussed their thoughts on the beauty of each of the women without any concern if they could hear them or not.
Richmond stood fifty paces away, discussing ideas with Aggelos. All wore togas and the former Malbork royalty felt well suited to both the clothes and the politics of the court of Corone. A few minutes later Aggelos departed, and Richmond turned to speak with his remaining family.
“Aggelos will arrange better accommodations for us,” he indicated with small hand movements, as the Malbork party rose and made their way along the white stone path. The two soldiers following in step five paces behind them. Richmond and his mother spoke in muted tones.
Several minutes later they arrived at the rooms that had been assigned to them a few hours before. Richmond joined his mother and sister as they entered. He noted Aggelos at the far end of the corridor speaking with four other soldiers. The portly merchant departed and the men made their way towards Richmond. The most senior of them nodded to him as they approached.
“It will be done,” he indicated as the four men filed into the room.
Lady Isabella and Malena turned to see the new soldiers. Isabella directed her handmaidens outside and the two soldiers on the door closed the room after they left. The first two soldiers stood confused as the other four approached them. The senior of the four whispered something to them, before their peers grabbed hold of the two, pulling them down onto the ground, both face down within a few seconds. Lady Isabella drew her dagger from the bedside table made her way over to the first of the two struggling men. She sat on his back, as if straddling him like a horse rider. One of the soldiers holding him down grabbed his hair and dragged his head up and back.
“I am a Lady of royalty, and do not appreciate the tongue of a heathen,” she cursed at him, as she sliced through his tongue and most of his right cheek. The man gurgled as blood sprayed from his mouth. Isabella then half stood as sliced the blade deeply across his lower spinal cord. His body sagged. She repeated the process with the second guard, who struggled even having witnessed what was to become.
Malena stood nearby, shocked by the punishments her mother welded out. Richmond unemotionally stared out the window, across the gardens where they had been. Malena’s eyes watered, until finally the four soldiers picked up their two limp comrades and carried them out to be thrown in the dungeon where Aryz Coun had severed his sentence.
Within minutes squires arrived with other soldiers. They indicated that the new quarters were now prepared as Richmond led the party out, behind two of the soldiers and along the corridor.
*****
The armies of Narthal stood outside of Kogu Castle awaiting their command to move out. Trumpets made from hollowed out mammoth trunk sounded a long, hungry groan as Emperor Koguryo stepped up to a broad platform on top of the wall of the keep.
He surveyed the mile of troops that stood in lines before him, the townspeople of the city and surrounds gathered to the sides and the far distance, as the generals, guards, and other important guests of the Emperor spread out across the platform.
Unlike the days before, the wall had been decorated in formal attire. Flags of the Empire of Narthal flew in the light breeze, the red and black, with strips of gold and blue. Jinan’s’ hair wafted in the breeze as she stood unemotionally looking at her husband. The royal platoon stood in their assigned places. Chacha stood behind his master, hands clasped, nervous for the moments that would follow.
Koguryo felt the wind as well, smelt the air that floated in hundreds of miles from the mountains to the west, where he had once called his home. He looked out across the streets, examining the faces both of soldiers and peasants alike, and then commenced his speech.
“People of Narthal. Our armies will march upon the Hardular kingdom and reclaim our traditional lands this day. Leading them will be the sons of Narthal.
Your Princes Manchur and Shigeru, that you know well, and my third son, Dralan!” he raised his right hand into the air as the crowd cheered. Moments later the black dragon soared over the castle and above him.
Some people cringed, some gasped, others cheered. Most did not know of the black dragon, even though rumors had spread quickly through the city of the transformation of Dralan. The dragon circled the masses, scanning the crowd as if picking out its prey. He finally came to land on the ramparts to the left of the Emperor, soldiers scattering from their assigned positions as he swooped in.
The Emperor now raised both arms in triumph and the black dragon let out a roar of fire. He turned and looked towards Manchur, who had positioned himself on the other side of his father. Arthung smiled at him.
The Emperor then encouraged a right arm cheer, which the lines of soldiers and the warriors and guards on the parapet joined in. Koguryo stood watching them all continue as he smiled. He looked to his right to his two eldest sons and then back across to the black dragon.
After another minute of cheering and chanting he rose his hands in the air once more to calm the crowd. The hoarse wail of the people numbing all other sounds. The chanting continued, and Koguryo let out one word in a large voice. A blue shock wave washed over the crowd who fell instantly silent.
The Emperor looked across the crowd and nodded to Manchur.
In ceremonial accuracy, Manchur marched up to his father. He knelt on one knee as the Emperor touched his shoulder. He stood and marched to a second position. Shigeru stood to the side as the other generals followed with the same procedure. Once they all had completed the first part of the ceremony, they all bowed to the Emperor in unison and then to the black dragon, who both bowed to them in turn.
The Commanders departed as the Emperor watched them leave behind the platform, turning to survey the crowd. A few minutes later they rode out of the main gates of the castle to line up at the front of the army. Shigeru stood aside his father.
“Is this still a good decision, father?”
“I trust that it will go to plan, my son.”
The Emperor looked down towards Manchur and his commanders as they repeated his right arm chant. Koguryo responded it back to them, and they turned to ride along a large avenue that had been left in the middle of the army. The front group then filed in behind the generals, followed by the second, third and so on.
The Emperor turned to his dragon son who had sat, watching the proceedings.
“Destroy all that stand before you,” he directed Dralan.
“Yes, father,” the dragon nodded in a deep, resounding voice.
“Ensure that your broth
er lives. It is important to the Empire that they can rejoice in the victory of all of their sons.”
“As you wish, father.”
“The Moreans must be removed, but not to accomplish your vendetta.”
The dragon looked up to the sky and then leapt forward, dropping momentarily towards the crowd below, that had poured in to fill the gap left by the soldiers.
The people cowered again and cried out as he soared past them, rising over the army and then the generals.
Arthung flew for a few minutes until he circled and perched on a small hilltop several miles outside of the city limits, awaiting the army to catchup.
*****
Botan sat in the inn still two days ride from Corone. He would arrive in the city of Agrippa the following day although now awaited his scouts to determine the state of politics before his arrival. He had met with one group of guards on their way to Hardular on the road near Mountay, learning from them of the death of Emperor Lethos. The game had changed, and finding the dragon warrior seemed of less importance to understanding the state of the court of Corone.
Botan had known the Despotate for many summers and served in the palace for long enough to know the turbulence that would have been caused by the death of Lethos.
He now learnt that Dionus, the cousin of Lethos, had also been killed for speaking out against the merchants, but not before being tortured in the garrison square.
Many of the generals had held a grudge against him, and slowly inserted slashes across his overweight torso, arms, and legs until he had finally died from the blood loss.
A few hours later the senators of the court of Corone had met. Aggelos stood upon the dais in front of them.
“This, my senate, is a vail of poison that I found on the person of Dionus, family of the Emperor, and traitor to the Empire of Morea,” spoke Aggelos.
The collective court hushed, for many knew that the words outspoken by Dionus the weeks before of the power of the merchants, and his dislike for trade with the savages of Paragandi had been the real cause of his death.
The Salararius considered the perception that the senate would have of Lethos own private army. His spies, soldiers that he had previously been stationed with, shared the whisperings of senators that they knew. The news was not good and many of the Emperors’ allies in the senate had either been run out of court or killed during the past week.
*****
A thin fog flowed across the burnt red tiled rooves of the lower city of Vasa. Thais stared out across the bow of the ferry, gently waving her hand in a slow, curving pattern. The mist danced in front of her for over a hundred feet in front of the vessel. Thais enjoyed the time to play with her art, unaware of the ten or more passengers who had also made their way to the front of the boat to watch her.
Casperi, Aryz Coun, and Nathe discussed plans a short distance away with a few of their guards. Several of the Catheridge and Bhagshau soldiers formed a gentle line to keep the gathering crowd back. A little girl ran forward from under the legs of a soldier and a few moments later Thais stood with the girl, laughing and playing as she taught the child to weave the magic in the air, redirecting a thin orange stream of magic from her palm and through the girls’ fingers.
The captain tooted the ferry horn as the royal pier came into view. Royal guard horses and carriages awaited them. The girl returned to her mother with a smile and as Casperi approached his sister. Thais watched the girl depart with a slight smile and wave, reflecting on how quickly that moment in her life had faded during this past cycle.
She smiled at her brother as the others approached. She looked happy. The happiest he had seen her since their mothers’ death.
Ten minutes later they had all left the ferry and a carriage awaited the Catheridge royal party. Soze stood in the front of the crowd as the carriage made its way out of the royal pier and up the main road to the castle. Thais smiled at him as she passed. A few minutes later, Dwane stood awaiting the princess in the courtyard of the keep.
Casperi whispered to his sister as he strolled off to see the Queen and his fiancé. Thais left with Dwane, who had run some errands on her behalf. An hour later, Casperi joined Nathe, Aryz Coun and Dwane in the castle training yards with Canute and Hacon.
A short session had been organized for the royals to learn more of the ‘Imuhagh technique’, as Aryz Couns’ methods had now been referred to. King Daikin stood on the wall with Prince Birger above them, casually observing the instruction.
*****
Dralan flew across the landscape, scouting the trail towards Hardular. His form weakened and he quickly realized what was about to occur. He landed in an uncouth style. He was still unable to control his dragon form, and a few minutes later Dralan transformed into human form.
Three women and two men farmers from a nearby house saw the dragon land and raced to him with blankets over their shoulders. Stories of the black dragon, the third son, Dralan, had spread quickly throughout the kingdom, and although they had not really believed the stories, the five peasants now carried him to lay the young warrior on the best of their beds, as the women quickly moved off to the kitchen to prepare some tea and food.
A few hours later, Dralan woke to find a coat, tunic, pants and boots his size laid out for him. He was informed that the army would arrive in the village towards the end of the day. His hosts offered the bed for the night.
*****
Scrapgryke turned the blade in his hand. It glimmered in a yellow orange heat as the steel slowly cooled.
The shape was finally formed and even with the heat of the blade, the handle was surprisingly cold.
After a few more precisely aimed strikes, he stabbed the water with the blade and the room filled with steam. The blade instantly blackened. He looked at it, shimmering, Scrapgryke placed it on the table, covering it with a cloth, and left to sleep.
Jayom turned the sword in his hand. He had seen nothing like it, and try as he may, he found another piece of the stone unworkable in the small hours when the dwarf had left the forge. Finally, after several days, and with a blue flame that would almost melt his tools, the dwarf had managed to manipulate the rock to slowly bend to his anvil. It was almost a month until he finally made the blade, magic dancing off it when only the dwarf could see it, and four times the normal length of time to work a blade in the valley.
He had hoped to present the black sword to the Lord Catheridge. The Black Rim had been melded with the attention that it required. Scrapgryke walked in on Jayom examining the item.
“Truly a jewel of the finest quality,” the old man mused.
“A jewel, she is,” replied Scrapgryke, offering his hand for the blade.
The jeweler bowed and handed it to its current owner, taking one last long moment to feel the weight of it. Thomas entered the room and Scrapgryke indicated towards the younger man.
“And now you must travel to our Lord to present his sword,” suggested Thomas.
“I think that would be disastrous for all of us, including your business, jeweler. It is much better that I remain hidden. One of the others must travel the blade to Lord Casperi. I have more than a dozen arrowheads for our lady as well.”
“I will prepare him for travels, after we meet with Curran,” offered Jayom.
Within the hour the sword was presented to Curran in the same, small room that the Catheridge royals had viewed the stone. He agreed to allow the younger of the men to travel to Vasa to present the sword and the arrowheads to their royal patrons.
Chapter 10
The four Morean soldiers of the Imperial Guard made their way along the swamp road. Since the invasion the road had been built to become wide and solid, with carriages able to pass with space on each side. A small village had also started to form at the bottom of Great Turmoil road. Firstly, traders had setup along the road from Bhagshau, and now the village of Turmoil acted as a staging point for those to rest before making their way either across the swamp to Bhagshau, or up the winding road to Hard
ular Pass.
The soldiers had not stopped at the Pass, nor the swamp village, travelling non-stop on the last stage of their trek a full day from Waterfall up over the pass. Their horses gasped with their last breaths as they stumbled onto the cobblestone road that signaled the edge of the city.
The horses slowly cantered through the early morning light, reaching the square not long after. The guards, now integrated between the two realms, recognized the uniform of the Morean Imperial Guard and called the gates open without hesitation. As one solider dismounted, his horse collapsed under him. Two horses lay dead within a few minutes of the four soldiers standing on hard ground.
The captain of the guard approached them.
“Sir, we need to speak with Despotate Trajunus within hesitation,” spoke the Morean to the captain.
“Lord Trajunus still sleeps. Please rest in the garrison and you may be presented after breakfast.
The Morean considered him. “No, soldier. The news is urgent and we need to speak with your Lord immediately.”
The captain signaled to several soldiers that ran off. “Please follow this man to freshen up whilst Lord Trajunus wakes,” signaled the captain, directing another man to take the soldiers to clean up.
Twenty minutes later the four soldiers stood in a small reception room at the front of the castle.
Soon after Despotate Trajunus and the Salararius, Thargus, walked in, accompanied by several squires. All four bowed to the Despotate.
“You men look exhausted,” commented Trajunus as he shook each of their hands.
“We have grave news, my Lord,” the most senior offered him the parchment.
“Grave?” Trajunus looked at him, slightly confused as he unrolled it.