“Ahmed and I found these. I figured you might want them back,” he said before he ducked out of the tent.
Emeth smiled when he saw his swords.
* * *
It was midmorning when the first signs of the sickness appeared. Hamíd and Azrahil stood behind Lord Rishdah as he discussed a peace offer just received from Numair’s son with Lord Jamal and his captains. The son, it seemed, had not completely agreed with his father on the campaign against Lord Rishdah. Since it had left his new forces severely depleted, he offered peace and a sizeable tribute to Lord Rishdah. After a lengthy debate, the messenger was called back into the tent.
“I agree to your new master’s proposals for peace. I too have had enough of this war,” Lord Rishdah said.
“Yes, sir. My lord only wants to be left alone,” the envoy said.
“If he will swear allegiance to me, I will give him peace as well as protection in time of need.”
There were some slight murmurs from Lord Rishdah’s captains at the last statement.
“You are most forgiving, my lord, but you would understand if my master refused? It would not sit well with his people or yours, I think,” the man said.
Lord Rishdah nodded. “He tries to do what is best for his people. He shows wisdom. Then tell him that I accept the treaty.”
“Thank you, my lord,” the envoy said.
“We will withdraw soon, but know this: if anything ever goes awry, no treaty or family bond will stop me from raising my armies and utterly destroying him,” Lord Rishdah declared.
The messenger bowed once more and made his way from the tent. As the captains stood to be dismissed, one swayed and collapsed. Hamíd knelt by the man and felt for his pulse.
“He’s burning up, my lord,” he said.
“Jaffa, fetch a healer quickly!” Lord Rishdah ordered. “Captain Taysir, find out what you can. I want to know if this is poison.”
Captain Taysir saluted and left the tent. Captain Jibril held up the fallen Captain Ghalib as Hamíd tried to give him some water. Ghalib swallowed and began coughing violently. As he stopped, the healer entered. After examining the captain, the healer reported to Lord Rishdah.
“It looks to be a camp sickness, my lord. I’ll do what I can, which is not much, I’m sorry to say,” he said.
Captain Taysir came back with his report. “It doesn’t look to be poison, sir. I saw two of his men that were stricken down with it last night. No one else has caught it yet, and the animals seem healthy enough. We give them water from our supply.”
“Alert everyone. This needs to be prevented,” Lord Rishdah ordered.
Two soldiers came and carried Captain Ghalib to his tent under the supervision of the healer. As the day passed, more reports came in of fresh cases. As darkness fell, Nicar came in to report that Emeth had fallen sick. A long night passed with dawn bringing no relief. Almost half of the army had fallen victim to the raging fever. A scout brought news that men in Numair’s camp were suffering from the same illness.
Hamíd found Ismail by the horses.
“Sir, your father would speak with you,” Hamíd said.
Ismail made no answer, suddenly overtaken by a violent fit of coughing. Hamíd helped him walk to the tent where Nicar was caring for Emeth. He helped Ismail on to the cot, laying his weapons to one side.
“Nicar, you’ve got one more. Nicar?” Receiving no answer, he turned to see the guard leaning heavily on the camp table. Hamíd ran over to him. His skin was hot to the touch. Hamíd made Nicar as comfortable as he could on a cot and went to report to Lord Rishdah.
“Where is Ismail?” Lord Rishdah frowned in sharp concern.
“He just fell sick, sir. So did Nicar,” Hamíd said.
Lord Rishdah took the news in silence and then he spoke. “Captain Jaffa, take everyone who is still healthy and move a safe distance away. We have to stop this sickness from spreading.”
“What about you, my lord?” Jaffa asked.
“I will remain here with my son.”
“Then I stay as well,” Azrahil said. Ahmed and Hamíd voiced their agreement.
Lord Rishdah nodded his consent. “Jaffa, prepare to move out.”
A few hours later, the camp appeared deserted. All but a few healthy soldiers had withdrawn and took with them supplies and most of the horses. Those who remained dedicated themselves to nursing the sick. The air was filled with the violent coughs and groans of the wounded and sick men.
Azrahil, Hamíd, and Ahmed worked in shifts caring for their sick comrades. Lord Rishdah helped as he could, still hampered by his wounded leg. Days dragged by slowly, with only a few men recovering at first.
* * *
Hamíd sat at the tent entrance watching Azrahil come slowly toward him.
“Where’s Ahmed?” Azrahil asked.
“Asleep.” Hamíd gestured inside the tent.
“Any change?” Azrahil asked.
Hamíd shook his head.
“Don’t know how much more of this I can take,” Azrahil said hoarsely. “It’s your turn to sleep. Leave Ahmed for a while longer, it’ll do him good.”
“Yes, sir.” Hamíd complied wearily and stumbled over to his bunk.
When he awoke, it was dark. The tent was eerily quiet. Ahmed was still fast asleep nearby, and Azrahil had dozed off in the chair. Hamíd moved softly by him and opened the tent flap.
A cool breeze had sprung up, whispering around the tents and teasing at limp banners. Hamíd gazed at the bright moon and stars and let the wind bathe his face. A shiver ran through him. He couldn’t explain why, but he knew without a doubt that a change was coming.
He pulled the flap aside and tied it open, allowing the fresh air to seep inside the tent to drive the stale odor of sickness away. Ismail stirred as he stepped back inside. Hamíd breathed a sigh of relief as his hand met Ismail’s cool skin. When Ismail opened his eyes, they were clear and bright. Hamíd helped him drink some water and covered him warmly. Ismail settled back down and fell asleep. Hamíd heard a movement nearby and looked up to see Ahmed.
“Why didn’t you wake me earlier?” he whispered reproachfully.
“I only just awoke myself,” Hamíd answered. “We all overslept a little. Ismail’s fever broke.”
Ahmed’s shoulders sagged in relief, and he went to check on Emeth and Nicar. They were both sleeping peacefully, their fever gone. Azrahil woke as they moved.
“Take my bunk, Captain. I’ll take over here,” Ahmed offered.
Azrahil staggered over to the bunk, too tired to give them orders. Ahmed settled in for his watch and, accompanied by Karif, Hamíd left to stand guard at Lord Rishdah’s tent.
Chapter 16
Almost a week later, the army made ready to leave. The sickness had finally abated but not before claiming the lives of the most weak and wounded. So it was a severely depleted army that made its way back to Lord Rishdah’s small realm. A month of peace followed their return, and life returned to normal.
One afternoon, Lord Rishdah called Hamíd before him.
“Hamíd, before I left on the campaign against Numair, I made myself a promise,” Lord Rishdah said. “It is one that I will fulfill now. I am giving you your freedom.”
“What?” Hamíd could only stare in disbelief.
“You have done many great services for me, and this is how I choose to reward you.”
“But sir, you—”
“I know what you would say, but it doesn’t matter who or what you are, I have made my decision,” Lord Rishdah interrupted. “You can go wherever you wish, or you can remain here if you desire.”
“Thank you, my lord,” Hamíd stammered. His mind almost refused to comprehend the words that Lord Rishdah had just spoken. He was free after twelve long years.
“It will be some time before my forces are back to their former strength, but when they are, the Sultaan will most likely order me to Aredor. If we meet again, it will be on opposite ends of the sword,” Lord Rishdah warned.
Lord Rishdah had done more than buy him and teach him to fight. He had given him a reason to keep living.
Rishdah extended his hand, and Hamíd grasped it firmly.
“Good luck, Corin.”
“Thank you, sir,” he replied.
* * *
Emeth found him standing outside the castle walls looking north. They stood in silence for a few minutes before Corin spoke.
“I’m free.”
“Where will you go?” Emeth asked.
Corin spoke a single word. “Home.”
“What will you do?”
“I don’t know yet. I know things have changed so much there, but I need to find my family,” Corin said.
“It won’t be the same without you around here, mate. But I do have one favor tae ask.”
“Name it.”
Emeth hesitated before meeting his gaze. “If you meet any of my Clan, would you let them know I’m all right?”
Corin nodded. “Look after yourself, Aiden.”
“You too, Corin,” Emeth replied and wrapped him in a tight embrace.
* * *
Corin left early the next morning. The Guard saw him off. The parting was hard as he bid farewell to the tight knit brotherhood that had accepted him without question. It was no secret to any of them that he was returning to Aredor. They all knew as well as he that once he set foot on Aredor’s shores he would be placing a rift between them, but there was only silent understanding from them.
Corin hesitated for a brief moment, afraid of a life outside the structure of the Guard. He’d never been on his own before. Azrahil rested a hand on his shoulder in brief encouragement before he mounted. As he rode through the gates, he was taken with a fresh urge to see his country again. He turned Zephyr west toward Gelion, where he would find a ship to take him to Aredor. Karif soared above him as he spurred Zephyr onward, toward home.
Book Two
Hawk Uprising
Chapter 1
Ship timbers creaked in the darkness as Corin led Zephyr down the gangplank and on to the pier. The Gelion merchant ship had docked at the port town of Carreg in Aredor. Castle Martel sat above on the cliffs that overshadowed the town below. To the north and west, fertile farmlands stretched on for miles interrupted by small villages. Corin drew on a pair of gloves and pulled the hood of his cloak well over his face. He was taking no chances, even in the dark. He led Zephyr down the pier and into the town, passing groups of Calorin soldiers on patrol.
He was able to reply to any challenge the sentries gave and passed through the town unhindered. Once safely outside the town, he mounted Zephyr and rode until the port was well behind him. Turning off the road, he made camp in a sheltered dell.
When Corin awoke the next morning, the sun was well up into the sky. Zephyr stood nearby, tearing hungrily at the fresh sweet grass. Unrolling from his cloak, Corin sat up and took a deep breath of the clear air. He was home.
He stood and looked about him, his eyes almost aching at the quiet beauty of the morning and feeling, not for the first time, that this was a dream from which he should surely awaken. After breakfasting on what was left of his supplies, he saddled Zephyr, whistled Karif to his shoulder, and rode out of the dell.
Skirting Martel Village, he traveled northwest toward Kingscastle. Corin stayed off the roads as much as possible to avoid the frequent Calorin patrols. It was late afternoon when he came upon a small village consisting of a dozen houses. He hesitated for a few minutes, but no Calorins were to be seen. Dismounting, he led Zephyr into the village. Corin had not gone far when he was confronted by an old man carrying a pitchfork.
“Who are you?” the man asked gruffly.
Corin spread his hands to show he meant to harm. “I’m just passing through, and I need water for my horse.”
“Are you mad?” the man exclaimed. “No one just travels around anymore, unless you’re one of them!” His tone became menacing, and he leveled the pitchfork at Corin.
“No, I’m as Northern as you are,” Corin said.
This seemed to placate the man somewhat. “What’s your name?”
“Corin.” He briefly wondered if the man would recognize the name.
“All right, Corin. You look honest enough. The water trough’s over there. Don’t try anything funny though.” The man jabbed the pitchfork towards him again for good measure.
Corin refilled his waterskin as Zephyr drank thirstily.
“I’ve been away for a few years. Perhaps you could tell me what’s happened?” Corin asked the man.
“There’s not much to tell,” the man said. “Two years ago, we were overrun by the Calorins. The king was away across the mountains in Cyndor with most of his warband helping to clear up a bit of trouble over there. Castle Martel was taken completely by surprise, and then Prince Darrin had his hands full trying to hold the Calorins back. But without the main warband, they were driven back. Once the king returned, they tried again but were heavily outnumbered. The warriors not slain were imprisoned or pressed into slavery under the Calorins.
“They come and go as they please, taking what they want or burning and destroying it. We live off what we can save. Half the men of the village were taken last year. The women and boys work the fields as best they can. It’s the same story all over Aredor,” he finished sadly.
“What happened to the prince and the king?” Corin asked.
“There’s rumors that Darrin is imprisoned somewhere. Kingscastle maybe. Of the king, there’s been no word or sign of him since the Calorins ambushed him near the mountains. And as far as anyone knows, the queen and Princess Amaura are in hiding somewhere. Lord Balkor hasn’t got his filthy hands on them yet.”
“Balkor!” Corin exclaimed. Lord Rishdah had to have known who the Sultaan’s general in Aredor was, but Corin found he couldn’t fault the lord for not telling him.
“You know him?” The man raised an eyebrow at his sudden outburst.
“I have a score to settle with him!” Corin replied, any fear he’d once had at meeting the lord again overtaken by an anger more intense than he’d harbored before.
Panicked screams rent the air, and the old man ran off toward the sounds. Stopping only to grab his bow from the saddle, Corin ran after him. They rounded the corner to see a small troop of Calorins. The soldiers had grabbed a small boy and girl and were carrying them toward their horses. A frantic young woman tried to stop them, but she was flung roughly aside. Laying a shaft on his bow, Corin shouted out in Calorin;
“Drop them now!”
Surprised, the soldiers stopped and turned around. Seeing that he was alone, the leader called out mockingly.
“You’re outnumbered. Drop your weapons, and we might let you live!”
Corin smiled thinly. “I said drop them.”
The Calorin drew his scimitar and held it at the girl’s throat. “You drop your bow or she dies,” he threatened.
Corin carefully took aim and fired. The arrow slew the soldier holding the girl. He nocked another arrow to the string. The girl scrambled away as the soldier fell. The Calorins began backing away as two fitted arrows to their bows. One mounted and held the boy in front of him. Menacing Corin with their bows, the others mounted and galloped away.
Corin ran to where Zephyr still stood. Leaping into the saddle, he let out a piercing whistle as he galloped after the soldiers. Villagers scattered as he tore out of the village. Karif dove from the sky to join him. Zephyr stretched forward eagerly, bringing them in range of the soldiers. Dropping the reins, Corin drew his bow and picked off a soldier. He slung the bow over his shoulder and drew his scimitar.
Putting on an extra burst of speed, Zephyr pulled even with the soldiers. One drew his sword and crossed blades with Corin. He swept the soldier’s blade aside and brought his scimitar slashing down. The terrified riderless horse careened sideways, crashing into the horse running next to it. Both animals stumbled, and
the soldier holding the boy fell to the ground. The remaining soldier lashed his horse to a greater speed and drew away from Corin.
Knowing he couldn’t catch him, Corin reined in Zephyr and turned back. The soldier who had fallen lay on the ground, moaning and nursing a broken leg. The boy had landed unhurt and was sitting nearby, still in shock. Ignoring the soldier, Corin dismounted and went over to the boy.
“You all right?” he asked. The boy nodded numbly. Corin picked him up and took him over to Zephyr. “Come on, let’s get you home.” As he helped the boy onto Zephyr, Karif landed on his shoulder.
“We’ll find you and make you suffer for what you did today!” the soldier spat.
Turning to him, Corin answered, “Then you’ll have to outfly the west wind to catch me.” He mounted behind the boy and rode away.
As they entered the village, they were surrounded by anxious villagers. The boy slid down into his mother’s arms. Corin dismounted and was thanked by the tearful woman. He stood awkwardly, unsure of what to do as other villagers came forward to talk to him.
“We can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done,” the old man said.
“What were they taking them for?” Corin asked.
“Servants or to work in the fields,” another man answered. “They took most of our young men already. No one can stop them.”
“I plan to change that!” Corin surprised himself with the declaration. What was he going to do against the Calorins, the people he’d served until recently?
“And how do you plan to do that, Your Highness?” someone asked from behind the crowd. The villagers parted, and a man limped forward.
“Who are you?” Corin stepped back. “And how…?”
The man stopped and looked him up and down. “So you’re alive after all. By Lleu, I can’t believe it!”
“Who are you?” Corin demanded again.
“You were a good student—for the short time I had with you,” the man said.
Corin’s eyes widened in astonishment. “Ivor?”
The Rise of Aredor Page 14