The Wandering Inn_Volume 1

by Pirateaba

“Aw. You two don’t?”

  “We know they’re taking half of their forces—the fastest out to fight. Flos—uh, the King will stay here. And Gazi’s got fog arrows.”

  “Does she? Okay…that could be useful. But why aren’t we all going out at once?”

  “I don’t know. What do you think?”

  Mars stared down at the map. Her brows furrowed. She eyed the enemy army, Orthenon’s proposed force. She blinked.

  “I don’t get it.”

  She’d spoken a bit too loudly. Every head turned towards Mars. She flushed red. Orthenon turned back to Flos and the others as if she hadn’t interrupted.

  “You must stay here, my King.”

  “I suppose I must, mustn’t I?”

  Flos clenched his fists as he stared at the map. He sighed, looking tired.

  “Very well, Orthenon. We shall go with your plan. But only if our inspection shows an adequate charge. Understand?”

  Orthenon nodded. Then he turned to Mars. She was busy telling the twins about fog arrows, which wasn’t helpful. Because what they did was apparently create fog. Lots of fog.

  “Lady Mars, it would be best if you stayed with our King in case more assassins are sent in great numbers. You must guard the city while we are in the field.”

  “What?”

  Mars stared incredulously at Orthenon. Trey and Teres stared too. They had been under the impression that Mars was great at fighting—better than Orthenon or Gazi. Mars glared at Orthenon.

  “Don’t be an idiot! You need me out there! Against seventy thousand—”

  “We need you to guard our King more. This initial part of the plan will work without you, and I will not leave our King without at least one of our number in case the enemy splits their forces.”

  Orthenon stared at Mars. Gazi turned and grinned at the [Vanguard].

  “And you wouldn’t be able to keep up with us for what we need to do. Sorry.”

  Mars argued. She raged. She turned over chairs. But Flos told her she had to stay, and that was that.

  And afterwards, when the meeting was over and everyone split up. Mars sat in a chair and sulked. This came as a surprise to Trey, since everyone else was busy. Gazi was scouting the terrain, Maresar was drilling soldiers and Orthenon was managing everything else. Flos was inspecting the battlements, but Mars was sitting where she was. Doing nothing.

  Now that he thought about it, Trey hadn’t seen Mars doing anything these last few days either. He asked Orthenon about it as the man strode out of the war room. It was the first time Trey had ever seen the steward’s pained expression as he tried to explain Mars’ role in the kingdom to the young man.

  “Mars is…competent. In battle. However, outside of it she is best suited to training and…”

  He paused. Orthenon opened is mouth and searched for words. Then he gave up.

  “Well, her presence may inspire others. But she is best utilized at this moment sitting and…”

  “Not getting in the way.”

  Gazi put that in. Maresar nodded as she broke off from them. Trey stared at Flos’ vassals, and then at Flos. The King looked sheepish.

  “Of her talents…talent…well, Mars is suited for war, Trey. One part of it. Fighting. At other matters, she is somewhat lacking. But then, if we were all like her…”

  He had trouble finishing that thought. In the end, he just took Trey and Teres on a tour of the battlements, inspecting them for Orthenon’s plan. What they were looking at, Trey didn’t know. But Flos was happy to lecture them on the walls.

  “They aren’t very tall, you see. Drevish could only work with the existing stone so much, and he had no desire to completely remodel the city.”

  “He didn’t? I thought he worked on the city a lot.”

  Teres looked at Flos. The King laughed heartily.

  “Hah! He spent the least amount of time on Reim than any of his projects! If you compared this city to any of the ones he constructed from scratch, I think he’d have a heart attack. Or try to kill you. Or both. Drevish hated this city. Note how the walls are merely thirty feet high, without any additions to the fortifications? Drevish would never have constructed such mundane defenses.”

  “So he didn’t work on the city is what you’re saying.”

  Trey’s estimation of their odds of success went down another notch. Flos shook his head.

  “He worked on the city, and my palace. But he made only one major improvement. No, you see, Drevish disliked remodeling existing architecture. He was far more of a fan of Drake construction practices than the Chandrarian style on that note. He especially disliked the way the towers are placed, although he did work extensively with them.”

  “How do you mean?”

  Trey had seen the watch towers. There were sixteen of them, placed at equal distances along the curtain wall. They were very big and could hold a lot of archers on top. Flos pointed to each of them.

  “Drevish considered them aesthetically disgusting. See how they jut out? And if you look at the wall, what does it remind you of?”

  Trey had to think for only a second.

  “A crown.”

  Flos nodded, smiling at the recollection.

  “All that work just to create a crown, which is rather spoiled by the palace in the center. Drevish told me my city was an eyesore that ought to be wiped from the face of the earth. But he did like the height of the towers. He was a fan of what he called self-sufficient architecture, buildings that didn’t need to be protected, that were capable of protecting themselves.”

  “Like how?”

  “Well…these towers would normally carry high-level archers and mages that could rain death upon an enemy. They’re enchanted quite heavily, and Amerys aided in that. But Drevish once made what he called a sniper tower. It was over a hundred feet tall, and so enchanted a trebuchet couldn’t knock it down. He claimed that if you put an archer in there—only one!—they could hold it forever with enough food. There are no entrances leading up, you see, and if they used the cover of the walls, they could shoot down enemy mages and so on.”

  “That sounds…really interesting.”

  Flos nodded. He stared at one of the towers and sighed, suddenly melancholy.

  “He did work hard on this city, for all it was anathema to him. I wish I could say his work has stood the test of time, but six of the towers have worn away over the last decade. Still, I think there is enough to complete Orthenon’s plan. A pity Amerys is not here. She could have restored the enchantments.”

  “And just what is the plan?”

  Flos just grinned at Trey. He put a finger over his lips.

  “Orthenon has bade me not to speak of it in public. But it is a good plan. And it is…appropriate. You see, my city has never been besieged.”

  “What, never?”

  “I was always on the offensive. And by the time other nations formed armies to attack, well, Reim sat at the heart of my empire. My bastion. So I have never had to defend it. This time will be the first. And perhaps—last.”

  He patted the wall of one of the watch towers fondly, staring up at the dark peak. Trey felt another lurch of fear in his stomach, but Flos’ eyes were calm. He smiled.

  “Yes, but how appropriate it is. Drevish, old friend. Even in death you protect me.”

  Then he turned, and strode away. Trey stared up at the towers. They stood tall and black in the night sky.

  Waiting.

  —-

  And then it was time. Trey nearly choked on his food when Orthenon came striding into the banquet hall, dressed for war. He was wearing leather armor and there was a sword at his waist. He strode up to the table where Flos was sitting down to eat for once. The King looked up and pushed his plate back.

  “It is time?”

  “The army is a day’s march away. We will meet them halfway and begin the plan.”

  Orthenon stepped forwards as Flos rose. The [King] and his steward clasped hands. Flos looked Orthenon in the eye.

&nbs
p; “Go with my heart, Orthenon. It rides with you. Come back alive. You too, Gazi.”

  The half-Gazer was wearing her brown scale armor. She reached up to clasp Flos’ hands. There was a slight smile on Orthenon’s face.

  “I would hardly let myself get killed on the first battle since you awoke, my King. We shall return soon enough. Be ready for us.”

  “We shall throw open the gates! Ride forth, and remind these foolish nations what it is to challenge me!”

  Flos roared and the people in the banquet hall leapt to their feet. Orthenon and Gazi strode out of the hall, Flos and a stream of people following. There was already an army at the gates, mainly mounted warriors on horses. Trey stared at them through a window, and then turned.

  Mars was sitting at a table, hunched over, clearly miserable that she had to stay. She met Trey’s eyes and lifted a mug.

  “Here’s to not being able to ride a damn horse as fast as those two! And not being able to fight on horseback at all!”

  She hurled her mug as Orthenon, Gazi, Lady Maresar, and four thousand of Flos’ soldiers rode out to meet over sixty thousand soldiers in battle.

  —-

  The minutes after Orthenon had left seemed to drag on like hours to Trey and to Teres. She’d said goodbye to Orthenon at the gates, upon which she’d burst into tears and refused to speak to Trey. She was carrying Orthenon’s sword around—Trey had a steel sword Flos had given him personally. He felt like he shouldn’t have been wearing it, but he was too afraid to take it off.

  “Don’t let you mind dwell on it. Orthenon will be riding for hours before he meets the enemy. And it will be later still that we hear any word on whether the plan is succeeding.”

  Flos warned the twins. He seemed hardly able to take his own advice. He was pacing around his throne room, unable to sit still. He’d gone to the balcony twice, as if to stare at the distant patch of horizon where Orthenon and Gazi had last been spotted, when someone rushed into the throne room.

  “My King!”

  It was a servant, one of Orthenon’s aides, panting, almost out of breath. She could barely explain to Flos what was the matter, so he followed her out of the throne room at a run. Trey and Teres caught up outside the palace, at the western gates, to see…

  Blood. Staggering bodies. A man without an arm, holding bloody rags that might have been a body. Someone without an eye. A girl with an arrow protruding from her sides.

  People were coming through the gates, many wounded. Trey stared in horror at a wailing baby being held by a man who was trying not to let the blood spilling from his arm fall on the child. He wavered and would have fallen, but Flos caught him.

  “Get me every [Healer] in the city! Now!”

  He shouted as he held a hand over the cut in the man’s arm, stopping the bleeding. The man sagged as Teres took the baby out of his limp arms. He stared up at his King and recognized him. He smiled.

  And died.

  Somewhere between people rushing towards the wounded with bandages and Flos shouting, the news came out. There were more refugees, being herded from other countries. They’d been on the road for days, thousands, maybe tens of thousands of them. But soldiers had ridden down on them in the final stretch. They were cutting everyone they saw apart. Mounted soldiers, maybe only a hundred of them. Maybe a lot more.

  It was impossible to tell. They were killing everything. It was just blood and death out there.

  Flos stared towards the west, where more groups of shapes were approaching down the road. Trey shakily held a man’s arm with Teres as a [Healer] tried to wind bandages around a cut in his stomach. He was screaming and thrashing, but Flos didn’t turn his head.

  “I must go.”

  “What?”

  Mars was there, in full armor. She was staring at the refugees with a sick expression on her face. She stared at Flos as he turned.

  “Saddle my horse. I am going out there.”

  “My lord, you cannot—”

  Mars grabbed for Flos’ arm. He stared at her.

  “My people are dying out there.”

  “There is an army approaching! Send some soldiers—”

  “I cannot send a force large enough to catch a hundred mounted riders. But I can rally my people. You know I can, Mars.”

  She shook her head, sending her perfect red curls flying.

  “Let me go instead! I can do it—”

  “You cannot catch a mounted force, Mars! No, I must go. You must stay here and—”

  “No!”

  “You must! Someone of high level has to hold these walls. It can only be you.”

  “I cannot let you risk your life—”

  Trey was holding the wounded man’s arm as tightly as possible. It was that or be thrown off, even with Teres helping him. At some point she shook him, and told him he could let go. Trey realized the shaking had stopped.

  The man was dead.

  Flos turned to look as Trey got up, shaking, blood on his arms and legs. He looked at Mars, and it was a [King] who spoke next.

  “Mars. I must go. Guard the city for me.”

  She could not disobey. Trey saw her try. Mars’ mouth opened, and her arms and legs shook. She tried to move as Flos strode away, and then slumped.

  He didn’t know why he did it. But Trey ran after Flos, and Teres was there too. They caught him as he was mounting his warhorse. Flos turned to look at them.

  “Will you come with me? It is dangerous.”

  “Yes.”

  Trey and Teres didn’t know why they said it. Neither of them were warriors. They hadn’t been trained. But they knew they had to follow. It wasn’t Flos commanding them. It was something in them, something that wanted to follow this King. To see.

  Flos didn’t argue. He just called for two more horses and in minutes the twins were mounted. He said only one word.

  “Follow.”

  They rode out of the city at a gallop. Trey thought he heard people screaming Flos’ name, but their voices were left behind in an instant. Then Flos and the twins were riding along the dirt road, passing by people, wounded people, who looked up and saw their King.

  —-

  It was a trap. Of course it was. The King knew it was. But Nune Salismen knew the King of Destruction would enter the trap. Because that was the nature of [Kings]. That was his nature.

  He had studied Flos, learned all there was to know about the man when he had been given his orders by Queen Calliope. So it was with satisfaction that Nune heard out the [Scout]’s report as the rider found his hidden encampment in the hills.

  “The King has left his city. He is undefended, save for the fleeing civilians and two children.”

  Nune nodded and ordered the camp struck. His men jumped to work with alacrity. They had been waiting for this moment. There was exaltation in Nune’s heart. His plan was working!

  But there were fear as well. It was really happening. The King of Destruction would die today. Today. At the hands of a force led by Nune. Nune. Not a [General], but a [Commander]. The King of Destruction would die in an ambush as he rode to save his people from a handful of raiding soldiers.

  But it wasn’t a hundred men that Nune had brought. Not even close. He had just under eight hundred soldiers, the largest force he could sneak close to Reim, even with Gazi the Omniscient blinded. Perhaps that might not have been enough, though. Irrational as it was, Nune wondered if a thousand men could slay the King of Destruction. But Nune had another advantage on his side.

  He approached the only tent that stood out from the dark grey uniformity of his camp. A bright yellow tent—totally inappropriate for an ambush—housed the one man not directly under Nune’s command. He emerged as Nune waited by the tent flap.

  “The King has fallen into your trap?”

  “As I said. We are ready to march. My men will cut the route back to Reim off and then we will attack. Are you ready?”

  The [Mage] smiled thinly. He had multiple rings to each finger, and he held a glowing sta
ff with a crystal orb floating above the wood shaft. He was the very stereotype of a [Mage], and most would have considered him all show and no substance. But Nune knew the façade was there for that very reason.

  “I am grateful for your assistance. Slaying the King might not have been possible without your aid.”

  The [Mage] inclined his head, politely accepting Nune’s words.

  “It is my honor as well. And my duty. I have a message the Quarass bid me deliver to the King of Destruction.”

  Nune paused. This was the first time he’d heard of that.

  “What is the message?”

  The [Mage] smiled. He tapped the ground with his staff, and the earth shook. Nune stared into two innocuous, watery brown eyes. You would never have thought they were the eyes of a Level 36 [Geomancer].

  “His death.”

  4.05 K

  Venith heard the messenger out in silence. His teeth ground together and the mounted soldiers watched him cautiously. They were eighteen, and though Venith’s own soldiers were present in the courtyard, they would have the advantage in the seconds following.

  But Venith Crusand had a hand on his sword. He gripped it with knuckles that slowly turned white as he glared at the man who had delivered the demand.

  “This was not what I agreed to.”

  “Your oath was to prevent the King of Destruction’s return. All you must do is stand aside.”

  Venith heard something crack as his grip tightened even further on his sword’s hilt. He relaxed his grip slightly. Too much strength would dull his thrusts. If it came to that.

  “Those are my subjects you intend to slaughter out there!”

  “They abandoned you, did they not?”

  It was true. They had left. So had Mares. His wife. The very thought made Venith want to lash out, but he couldn’t. The soldiers standing before him had come in peace, and offered no insult he could claim. And he had sworn an oath.

  Even so.

  “It is not honorable. If you want to kill Flos, take your army and lay siege to his capital. Using tricks is the act of a coward.”

  The messenger’s face didn’t change, nor did those of the soldiers behind them. Venith knew his words had little sting for them. They were from Hellios, and their hatred of the King of Destruction ran deep.