The warrior downed her entire ale in one long draught, and slammed her cup down on the table. “This is truth. Shaman say my journey most difficult, most important they ever hear. Is very dangerous. I travel far and journey is not even begun.”
“Why didn’t they bloody send someone else?”
“You say this cause I am woman?” she smiled slightly in an amused way, as one might when a child says something unintentionally funny. “If you think I not strong, we fight. See who is winner.”
Dathan held out his hands out in protest. “Blood and guts, I don’t bloody wanna fight. I just meant, why you? It didn’t bloody sound like you were very happy to be on this blasted dream journey.”
“I no have choice. When chosen for Ae’roya Jost, you go. This is great honor, and way of my people.”
“Sounds like the bloody army.”
“Why is this army bloody? They always fight?”
“No, like I said it’s just a bloo… thing I say.” Dathan cleared his throat and changed the subject. “So what did this bloody dream journey say?”
The bronze skinned Kemettan nodded. “I seek lost prince in far north. He travel with man of reason, together they seek a thing called ‘Clavis’. I not know what this mean, only is most rare and key to great power. I must…help two men seek this power. I not know what happen then, only we must find this great power, or my people die. This is only hope.”
Dathan was skeptical of her story, but asked, “I know the Kemettans are nomadic tribes. How will this bloody ‘great power’ save your tribe?”
“Not my tribe only, all tribes!”
“You mean to say that the entire bloody nation of Kemett will die if you fail?”
“I say this, yes.” Without waiting for a response she added, “You say you help find this lost prince.”
Dathan surreptitiously glanced about the room. The three sailors were still drinking and laughing, but even in the dim light of the common room he could see the strange bald man in the corner snuffling into his handkerchief and leaning so far towards them, he was practically standing. Leaning close to the beautiful warrior, he lowered his voice. “It just so bloody happens that I’m also looking for a lost prince.”
“You seek lost prince?”
Dathan held a single finger up to his lips. “Ssshhh! I don’t want everyone to bloody know about it.” In answer to her questioning look, he explained. “Look, I left the bloody army in Kishen to find Prince Garrick. He is the prince of all of bloody Illyria, and I have information for him. My blasted horse died, and I had to walk here for a full bloody turn of the moon. He may have passed through here, but it took so bloody long to get here, I have no blasted idea.”
“If ‘bloody’ army find you...”
“I’ll be in bloody trouble,” Dathan finished. “I must find him, it’s damn well bloody important. But quietly! In the meantime, I just spent the last of my bloody money on these damn ales, so I need to find some blasted work. I need a place to stay, and another bloody horse to continue my search.”
Stretching like a cat, the warrior asked, “You believe this lost prince is same one?”
“I’ve no idea,” Dathan shrugged. “But how many blasted ‘lost princes’ can there be? I don’t know about the rest of your bloody dream thing, but maybe he does.”
“This could be truth,” she agreed. “This is only lead I have. I join you.”
The emaciated man in the corner still seemed quite interested in what they had to say. “Sheep guts, the walls have too many bloody ears. Let’s get out of here.” Dathan stood and offered her his hand. “By the way, I’m Dathan, son of Garath.”
The southern warrior smiled but did not take his hand. “I am Aelianna, of the Da’shur tribe.”
Chapter 2
Aldrick was baffled by the choice he now faced; it was the most difficult decision of his life.
On the one side was Gilmoure, the man who had solved the riddle of the Crown Run and found the crown of Asturia, to win the Tournament of the King. This was the man of his vision, and the rightful king by the rules of the Tournament, yet he knew next to nothing about this contender.
On the other side was his lifelong friend. Now the regent of his beloved country, Brodan claimed Gilmoure was the true culprit behind the vicious murders of the other contestants. If true, Gilmoure certainly did not deserve the crown. Although, for all the Summers he had supported his friend, there was something about his claims against the winner of the Tournament that did not ring true. Yet for all his arrogance and desperation to be king, could Brodan truly be capable of murder?
The armed mercenaries hired by the regent approached, cutting off any means of escape. They paused, awaiting his final order to attack.
Aldrick snapped out of his reverie. He knew this was his last chance, and attempted a final plea to his friend. “Brodan, stop this madness! Why are you doing this?”
The regent frowned. “Aldrick, you really are dense. Step aside and let the grownups do what is necessary. I told you before, I’m telling you again, choose a side. Now!”
Aldrick could not believe the predicament he was in. If he did not know better, he would have thought he was seeing another of his unusual dreams, not living this situation. He was so lost in thought; he hardly noticed when he spoke.
“You did kill those men.”
Brodan rolled his eyes. “I’m sick of arguing with you. Fine, if you must know, I signed the orders to kill those bastards who stood in my way.”
Aldrick gasped. “How could you?”
“Don’t be so naïve, Aldrick. You’ve been away from Akkadia far too long. Times have changed. I am the rightful king, by experience and birth! I was never going to allow some commoner trash to steal my crown from me!”
Aldrick was stunned by his admission of guilt. He could not understand how Brodan could have ordered the deaths of the contestants, simply to ensure his own victory. True, the stakes in this game were high, with the crown and kingship of all Asturia on the line, but that could never justify his actions. In retrospect, the signs had been there if only he had been looking, but having known Brodan his whole life made it nearly impossible to accept this level of treachery and deceit.
The guards, grinning savagely and brandishing their swords and cudgels, had them mostly surrounded. Aldrick berated himself for not realizing earlier where this situation had been headed. From the first day he had wondered why Brodan had needed such men, clearly mercenaries rather than regular Asturian forces. Now he knew.
Gilmoure was hopelessly outnumbered, but with a look of grim determination, he stashed the crown into a pocket of his pack and unsheathed his large two-handed sword. He looked confident as he moved into a fighting stance, seemingly with no concern for his odds of survival. His ever-present sponsor and friend stood with his sword drawn, but Warren looked anything but confident with his demeanor and sloppy stance. No, it was clear Gilmoure would practically be on his own, putting his odds at about fifteen to one, including Brodan and his three personal guards.
Aldrick was speechless, trying to understand the betrayal. He glanced back at Gilmoure, who stood prepared to fight. The Tournament winner scanned the surrounding assailants, before making eye contact with Aldrick.
“If you were considering joining me, now would be a good time.”
“I can’t believe…” Aldrick began.
Brodan began laughing hysterically before Aldrick could finish. “Aldrick will not help you Gilmoure. He may not like what I’ve done, but he will not go back on our lifelong friendship. You are on your own.”
Aldrick realized he did not even need to consider his decision; it had been made for him. He instinctively unsheathed both of his swords and began to advance on Gilmoure.
“I knew you wouldn’t let me down Aldrick,” Brodan gloated.
Gilmoure eyed Aldrick, but did not react to his approach. Once Aldrick was close to the holder of the crown, he turned and faced Brodan. “You were correct when you said I did not like
what you’ve done, Brodan. I find your actions abhorrent and despicable. It breaks my heart to learn what you’ve become.”
“What are you doing?” Brodan eyed him with suspicion.
“I told you before Brodan, I will always do what’s right. Though it kills me, at the moment that is defending the rightful king of Asturia from your hired goons.” Backing towards Gilmoure, Aldrick pointed one sword at the regent. “Stop this idiocy now, I’m begging you!”
Brodan stood in shock, caught off guard by what he perceived as the betrayal of his best friend. Finally he recovered enough to ask, “Are you certain Aldrick? If you side with this traitor, you not only betray me, you betray your country. Because of our friendship, I will give you one last chance. Will you reconsider?”
“You have been like a brother to me Brodan, but your actions have made my decision for me.”
“I’m very disappointed Aldrick, I thought our friendship meant more to you than this. So be it.” The regent sighed dramatically, and then his scowl changed to a grin. “I suppose I should thank you, your wife will be single now. I guess I’ll be the one keeping her warm tonight. Goodbye Aldrick.”
The smug look on his face infuriated Aldrick almost as much as what he had said. He gritted his teeth and struggled to control his temper, knowing the regent was only trying to put him off guard. If there was ever a time he needed his wits about him, it was now.
Aldrick and Gilmoure took defensive positions near the tree, with Warren trying his best to be inconspicuous. Gilmoure leaned over and said with a wry smile, “Welcome to the winning side.”
“Considering our odds in this fight, I’m questioning my decision already.”
“I’d say it’s about eight to one. Warren is not exactly a one man fighting force.”
“Hey!” Warren blurted in indignation. “I do have a sword!”
“Do you know how to use it?” Aldrick asked.
“I know which end goes into the bad guys, if that’s what you mean.”
Aldrick gave him a sad, thin smile as six of the mercenaries stepped ahead of the slowly tightening circle and advanced on the three lone defenders. Aldrick supposed they were the veterans, looking to take credit for the kill. With too many mercenaries to approach all at once, they would be forced to attack in waves, giving the defenders a slight advantage. If they could control the number they had to fight at one time, they might have a chance of survival, albeit very small.
While these men did not all hold themselves with the confidence of the Triad he had faced, they still appeared quite motivated, and more than capable with their weapons. Three started towards Warren, obviously sensing his inexperience with the sword, and Gilmoure immediately leapt to protect him. Parrying the first strike, he drove the trio back with a flurry of sweeps and strikes, while on the other side Aldrick fought against the other three. Any doubt or remorse Aldrick had concerning his decision disappeared as he slipped into his instinctual fighting trance, and his dual blades struck like lightning.
Surprisingly, it was Warren who secured the first kill. While Gilmoure engaged the first three men, another jumped past them looking for an easy target. Warren gasped in surprise, and in a purely instinctual move raised his sword just in time for the grinning attacker to impale himself on it in a headlong rush. His leering grin quickly changed to a look of surprised shock, and he slowly slid off the blade, falling to the ground as a fountain of blood sprayed from his chest.
Gilmoure risked a quick glance. “Great work buddy, keep doing that.”
Warren said nothing, but gaped at the dead man for a moment before raising his sword once more, visibly steeling himself for another attack.
Aldrick remained silent as he caught one attacker off-guard and cut him down. The other two, momentarily distracted by the abrupt fall of the first man, went down almost as quickly. At a glance Aldrick saw that Gilmoure had already dispatched his three assailants, and had moved on to another. Aldrick grimaced and blocked a brutal swing from another mercenary who had leapt over his fallen comrades.
The remaining men hesitated after seeing the veterans decimated, beginning to realize the capabilities of their opponents. Clearly they had been expecting easier targets, having possessed such greater numbers. They stepped back to regroup and reevaluate their strategy, as Brodan screamed incoherent orders.
The defenders wasted no time, and pushed forward relentlessly. Aldrick spun and cut down his current opponent with a deep slash to his side, and then moved to another without pause. Gilmoure swung his two-handed sword in a wide arc, taking off the head of one man. He then whirled quickly to hack into another surprised mercenary who had ducked under the first swing.
“This is surprisingly fun,” Gilmoure grinned. Noticing that no one was paying attention to him, he launched at another attacker.
Before long all three men stood breathing hard and sweating, with the bodies of a dozen guards scattered about their feet. Panting from the effort, Gilmoure gasped, “I am fairly certain I had the most kills.”
“That’s inappropriate,” Aldrick retorted, breathing hard.
“Sounds like the talk of a man with the fewest kills,” Gilmoure grinned, clapping Aldrick on the shoulder. “Are you always this serious my friend?”
Aldrick tried to suppress a smile, but was not completely successful.
“If you two are about finished,” Brodan growled, “you might want to hand over my crown before my guard slits your friend’s throat.”
They whirled to discover one of his remaining three special bodyguards had seized Warren sometime during their scuffle with the mercenaries. The man had a large muscled arm around Warren’s throat, covering his mouth with his free hand to keep the helpless squire from calling out. A second bodyguard threatened Warren with a large gleaming sword held to his chest. The third remained in front of Brodan, poised in a defensive posture with his weapon held at the ready.
Brodan glared at them defiantly with a wild look in his eyes. “If you wish to save your friend, hand over the crown now and I will return to Akkadia with Warren as my hostage. Once I have been declared the victor and crowned king, I will release him. The three of you will be banished of course, but we all get to live happily ever after.”
Gilmoure stooped, wiping his sword clean on the tunic of one of the fallen mercenaries. “Assuming we have lost our minds enough to consider your generous offer, how could we ever trust you would not kill Warren the moment you were out of our sight?”
Brodan snorted. “What choice do you have?”
Gilmoure stood and stepped forward. “Off the top of my head, I’m thinking we could kill you and your remaining guards, and then return to Akkadia with the crown ourselves.”
“Perhaps, but your friend here will be dead, at the very least. You will not find my bodyguards as easy to defeat as the others. Those men were common brutes, these are professionally trained assassins.”
“A Triad,” Aldrick surmised.
Gilmoure gasped in surprised recognition. “A Triad? What?”
“I was attacked by a trio of assassins on my way to Akkadia for the Tournament,” Aldrick explained. “I suspect that a noble named Brandt was also murdered by one after our arrival. The men I faced were professionally trained, and their tongues had been cut out, as the Triads of old.”
“You were attacked by a Triad and lived to tell of it? I’m impressed! That’s a story I need to hear.” Gilmoure spoke conversationally, but in a flash he spun and with both hands threw his sword at the mercenary standing in front of Brodan. The man had been watching Aldrick, but spotted the flying projectile at the last moment and raised his sword instinctively in a desperate attempt to block it. He was too late to do anything but deflect the blade up slightly, and rather than taking the sword in the chest as he would have, he caught it full in the face. The man, already dead, started to reach up to the vibrating blade, but his hands fell limp and he dropped to the ground like a sack of potatoes.
Surprised at seeing one of his Tria
d fall, Brodan yanked out his sword and screamed, “Kill them!”
Time seemed to suspend as the guard holding his sword to Warren’s chest pulled his arm back, preparing to thrust it forward. Aldrick knew that Gilmoure would not be able to stop the guard in time, and he instinctively jumped at the man to push him aside as Brodan launched forward.
Aldrick could see the man about to strike, when Brodan swung at him. Judging he could not stop the guard from striking Warren without being hit by the regent, Aldrick twisted quickly in midair and fell awkwardly into the guard’s legs. Already committed to the blow, the mercenary was pushed off balance, plunging his sword into Warren’s right arm instead of his chest. With its forward momentum, the blade, having just missed the bone, slid completely through his arm, puncturing into the chest of the man behind him.
The Key of Creation: Book 02 - Journey to Khodara Page 2