Floreskand_King

by Morton Faulkner

  ***

  Ulran recognised Saurosen in the prow of the fleeing vessel. “Tael, can we catch up to that boat?”

  “Yes, but why?”

  “That’s the deposed king of Lornwater. I wouldn’t be surprised to learn he was responsible for the attack on the Yordine toran.”

  “I will give the order.” Tael uttered curt words; their craft altered course, the prow cleaving smoothly through the taal.

  “There are horsemen not far behind Saurosen,” Clen warned.

  Ulran turned to Tael. “Can your men deal with them?”

  “Aye. They and their mounts are unsure of the terrain.”

  No sooner had he mentioned this than Ulran watched a horseman urge his horse forward on firm ground when abruptly the ground under the hoofs wasn’t there and they both plunged into water up to the animal’s withers.

  “They will find it difficult to fight while their horses struggle to swim!” Tael explained.

  Tael’s men were experienced boat-handlers and their craft quickly gained on Saurosen’s.

  When Saurosen’s boat melted into a channel between reeds, Clen expressed concern that they’d lose them.

  “We know the marshes, Clen. They will not elude us!”

  Yet time had passed. Dark mauve and black clouds steaked across the deep blue of the sky. Night drew near.

  Clen groaned. “Now they’ll get away in the dark!” he exclaimed.

  “No, they won’t,” countered Tael. “They will find somewhere to pull in for the night. The marshes are too dangerous to venture anywhere in the dark. Any fool knows that, and I don’t believe they are fools.”

  ***

  Foolish perhaps, but filled with vengeance, Danscar and two men-at-arms rowed their small dugout through the reed channels, listening intently, swords in readiness between the thwarts.

  Aurelan Crossis was too ill to fight. He’d promised his Captain that he would kill Saurosen – or die in the attempt.

  He’d come close to dying earlier, battling the invaders at the doors of the infirmary, but superior sword-skill, and a measure of luck, had held back the tide, and the bodies had amassed – indeed, more wounded than the infirmary could manage.

  Nerves on edge all night, they rowed in silence, listening, on alert.

  In vain.

  ***

  First Dekin of Sortulous

  The battle for the toran had faltered as night fell, neither side conceding ground; everyone was reluctant to fight in the dark. Men slept in the saddle, or on the causeway, or in the toran courtyard, or in commandeered boats.

  Sleep was restless and short, punctuated by the cries of bullfrogs, owls, bereft taalruff and wounded men.

  Before darkness descended, a warrior of the Roma clan had brought Borsalac and Verseyr. Alomar was pleased to see his horse again; he nuzzled his muzzle and gave him a couple of carrots. He mused that it was becoming a habit, entrusting the care of his horse to the Kellan-Mesqa. Well, he knew they were good horsemen and tended their animals; Borsalac had been returned to him fit and well groomed.

  At first light, battle was joined again.

  Alomar mounted Borsalac and rode out of the toran, his sword glinting in the morning sunlight. Sixth toumen horsemen fought on the causeway and on the right where there were pockets of submerged ground.

  Tramaloma warriors, many of them bearing gruesome gore scars from flensigg, entered the combat, wielding swords and maces.

  Some of them were astride taalruffs – though docile, these bullocks were strangely protective of their domesticators, it seemed, and used their massive horns to rip open the underbellies of sixth toumen horses. The taalruff riders used bows, their arrows aimed with deadly accuracy.

  Other mounted men wore the livery of the twentieth toumen, with General Lorgen at their head. It was plain that Saurosen’s forces were being overwhelmed, yet they fought long and bravely.

  Alomar lost count of the number he’d slain.

  Stragglers of the sixth toumen scattered, some heading towards Corea, others taking their chances on the taal or in marshland.

  ***

  First light filtered over the reedbeds, lending an eerie halo at the tips that swayed in a light breeze. “Listen!” Danscar whispered harshly.

  Oars plashed; the sound seemed to come from beyond a clump of floating reeds.

  Danscar grabbed his sword. “Row, quickly now!” He scanned beyond the clump, but couldn’t see a boat.

  Unexpectedly, a couple of oars stuck out from the clump of floating reeds. It was Saurosen’s boat, cunningly disguised.

  A wading bird splashed in the water. It wasn’t so deep here, Danscar realised. He jumped over the side and the water only rose to his thighs. He waded towards the clump and slammed his sword onto the reeds.

  A man yelled: “My ear!”

  Then the reeds were discarded, most thrown in his direction. Part-blinded, part spluttering, he batted the detritus away with hand and sword. There was Saurosen, his witch and five men. Danscar stabbed his blade at the witch, but it deflected before it got near and stuck in the gunwhale. A sword from one of the men-at-arms darted at him, but he ducked, managing to pull his sword from the wood.

  A crossbow-man in Saurosen’s boat sent two quarrels at Danscar’s men and they cried out, falling overboard.

  With the two men’s dying cries in his ears, Danscar raised his sword. “This is for Sno!” he snarled, slashing at Saurosen.

  “Sno, again?” The Black Sword blade rang loudly when it parried the blow.

  Without warning, the witch blew some yellow dust in Danscar’s eyes.

  It burned, he couldn’t see. His eyes were on fire.

  And now his chest burned too.

  As tears washed away the burning powder, he comprehended it was too late; he sank to his knees, staring at the Black Sword protruding from his chest. “Oh, Crossis, I’m sorry,” he moaned. “I’ve failed…”

  “Aurelan Crossis?” snapped Saurosen, straining to remove the sword. “Will I always be plagued by the man?”

  “You shouldn’t be tempted by doe eyes, sire…”

  “Oh, shut up, witch!” He pulled the sword free. Fresh blood glistened in the new daylight.

  ***

  At first light Tael signed to everyone to refrain from speaking. He signalled orders to his men and their craft silently pushed along a channel between tall reedbeds.

  Clen believed they could talk in whispers, since the surrounding sounds of birds, reptiles and the gods know what else were almost deafening. He’d slept fitfully because of the constant noise. He held his tongue, though he almost screamed in alarm when a brightly coloured snake slithered past his side of the boat.

  “Be thankful you weren’t trailing your hand in the water,” Tael said.

  Clen shuddered. “What kind was it?”

  “Zig-zag. Highly poisonous.”

  They negotiated a bend in the channel and there moving slowly in front of them floated Saurosen in his boat, with his witch and five men, one of them nursing a bloody ear.

  Saurosen spotted them first. “Ulran the innman?” he exclaimed in surprise, grasping the arm of his witch.

  “Give yourself up, Saurosen!” Ulran called as Tael urged his men to row faster.

  “Never! And it’s ‘sire’ to you, upstart!”

  One of Saurosen’s men reached for a bow, hurriedly attempting to nock an arrow. Ulran threw a borrowed spear and it hit the bowman in the chest and he fell overboard with a tremendous splash. Both boats rocked in the wake of the body’s entry into the water.

  The prow of Tael’s boat slammed into the stern of Saurosen’s.

  Nostor Vata scampered to the prow.

  Ulran leapt across, sword drawn, and despatched one man-at-arms in a swift stroke. Then Saurosen’s Black Sword clashed with his, metal ringing on metal, the surrounding chorus of wildlife abruptly silenced, as if the creatures held bated breath for the outcome of this duel.

  Tael’s men swiftly accounted for
the other three men in Saurosen’s boat. It wasn’t possible to get at the witch, since the innman and Saurosen were between her and Tael’s men.

  Two thick long water snakes, much larger than a zig-zag glided out of the reeds and wrapped themselves round a body each and then dived; the last Clen saw of the corpses was their feet upended, and then only bubbles remained.

  ***

  The boat under him rocked with their movement, each trying to create an opening, each failing.

  Saurosen was indeed a good swordsman. “My swordmaster said you were only one of two men who could best him, innman!”

  “Cla-Damen Estan taught you well. Who was the other?”

  “Aurelan Crossis, curse his hide!” As if angered by mention of Aurelan, Saurosen pressed hard with his sword and it sliced off a section of Ulran’s greave, even drew blood.

  The weapons sang.

  Ulran twirled his powerful blade, caught the cross-guard of the Black Sword and almost dislodged it from Saurosen’s grip.

  Saurosen backed awkwardly, stepping over a thwart. “Witch, help me here!” he pleaded.

  “You wanted a worthy opponent, sire!” she berated. “Be careful what you wish for!” she cackled.

  Ulran’s sword jabbed at Saurosen’s chest, but the point was deflected by the amulet round his neck; the contact echoed loudly, and then the talisman cracked and fell into the belly of the boat. Ulran staggered under the blow, feeling a strong vibration through his sword arm. Saurosen seemed shocked too, shouting, “Oh, no, not Quotamantir!”

  Desperation in his eyes, Saurosen feinted, countered.

  Nostor Vata flung a handful of yellow dust in Ulran’s face. The burning sensation was excuciating. With a slick twist, Saurosen’s blade snagged Ulran’s hilt and disarmed the innman, sending the sword spinning to the prow of the boat.

  Eyes streaming, Ulran backed towards the stern. Before Saurosen could thrust again, Ulran snatched an oar and deflected the blow. The Black Sword shattered the wood and he was left with two ineffectual clubs.

  Narrowing his eyes, Ulran viewed everything in a blur. Ignoring the stabbing pain, he ducked and weaved on the jouncing craft, evading the deadly blade, slamming one and then the other club against Saurosen’s upper arms, his leg, anywhere he could hit and cause hurt.

  Saurosen snarled and swore and yet maintained his grip on the sword. His eyes were wide, disturbed, one hand on his chest where the amulet had hung.

  Ulran considered jumping overboard, leaving Saurosen to the archer in Tael’s boat. But no, this was personal. Saurosen had brought misery and disillusion to many in Lornwater, and now he was about to finally face the Overlord – or, more likely, Bridansor.

  Alarmingly, unexpectedly, a flensigg barged out of the reeds, its vicious tusks glinting in the morning sun. It squealed, plunging through the shallow water, straight towards Tael’s boat.

  In that instant Ulran saw the flensigg’s bloody eye – the creature he’d wounded yesterday. It slammed into the side of Tael’s boat, overturning it; Tael, his men and Clen fell into the water.

  That distraction was all Saurosen needed; he slashed his sword at Ulran, severing his right arm at the elbow. He shouted a cry of triumph.

  “Finish him!” shrieked the witch.

  Ulran heard Clen’s scream of shock. He sensed pain shoot up his arm, threatening to stop his heart, but he controlled it.

  Exultant, Saurosen tried another thrust, but the flensigg had turned on their boat now and barged it, the animal’s huge bulk landing in front of Saurosen, splintering the gunwale. Instead of killing Ulran, the Black Sword was embedded deep in the animal’s thick hide. The flensigg shuddered and then lay still, most of its body above the surface. Saurosen heaved and pulled, but he couldn’t remove the sword.

  Controlling the pain, shunting it to another part of his mind, Ulran removed his knife, and crouched, ready to pounce.

  Saurosen’s eyes registered the glint of metal as sun hit the knife blade. He let go of the sword and jumped overboard, landing thigh-deep in the water. Nostor Vata followed him. Straining as they waded, they melted into the reeds in a sudden blur of green smoke.

  Mind calm, Ulran slowed his body-rhythm, his heart-rate.

  Clen splashed over to him. “Here, give me your arm!”

  Unhesitatingly, Ulran complied.

  Clen laid his hands on the stump, while the blood pulsed onto the flensigg’s corpse.

  Ulran sensed warmth radiate from Clen’s hands and it spread along his arm. He observed that the blood had already stopped leaching from him.

  “I can’t replace the hand, Ulran, but that should ease the pain – and deter infection.”

  EPILOGUE

  MESSAGE

  “Cities of conspiring dreams!”

  - The Tanlin 673:4

  First Sufin of Sortulous

  Rubala

  Two days after the fight for the Black Sword, Clen, Alomar and Ulran with his severed stump bandaged rode towards the garrison town.

  On the outskirts, Nemond Thand and Tantian galloped out to meet them.

  “My lord,” Ulran said, “here is the Black Sword. I regret, without its scabbard.” He handed it over.

  Thand gripped the weapon, staring at it in wonder.

  “Thank you, innman,” said Tantian. She saw his stump, concern in her eyes, but did not comment. “And what of Saurosen?”

  Alomar eased forward in his saddle. “He escaped into the swamp.”

  Thand’s face reflected worry edging towards fear. “Will he perish there, do you think?”

  Clen shook his head. “He was with Nostor Vata. I believe she would keep him safe for her own ends, whatever they might be.”

  ***

  Endawn

  Lord-General Launette opened the saptor message, read it and allowed himself a smile.

  His first objective had been achieved. Saurosen was deposed and the Black Sword was in the hands of Thand – for now.

  AFTERWORD

  “Following the rebellion against King Saurosen,

  an uneasy peace was established in Lornwater.

  But the civil war was not ended yet.”

  - Tsukcoldol Almanack

  The end of

  FLORESKAND: KING

  MADURAVA, the continuing history of the civil war, including the further involvement of Lord-General Launette, Rujon Sos, Lord Tanellor, the Tarakandan Grand-Marshal, the Tarakandan emperor and special investigator Welde Dep will be released from Lornwater’s Royal Institute of Records soon.

  Glossary A – Names, places and meanings

  AC – Arisan Calendar. Recorded history began 0001AC. Originated and introduced during the fifth year of King Zal-aba Men’s reign. The Calendar was backdated to his first year on the throne.

  Agnate – descended from the same male ancestor.

  Ajishand twinge – many women of Floreskand experience this, the instant of conception: a distinct upsurge of all-consuming bliss about a day after sexual intercourse.

  Almaturge – practitioner of that branch of magic known as alchemical thaumaturgy.

  Altohey – one of the four Manderranmeron Fault volcanoes

  Anjis newt – deadly poison from glands of the gecko-like creature

  Aonium – herb, combined with coryphant, used in the glamour spell.

  Apps – hills

  Arachdust – anti-spider powder; deters, doesn’t kill.

  Arqitor – Great Lady of Land (qv glossary E)

  Astle – one of the four Manderranmeron Fault volcanoes

  Begetter – father

  Bilmant - crude bitumen; crude bilmant occurs in seeps around the periphery of both volcanoes in the vicinity of Taalland.

  Carst – monetary value devised and introduced by Arisa; coin; made of silver; 10 carst = 1 sphand (gold coin)

  Colubrinitis – a growth of scaly flesh; a rare ailment, not contagious.

  Coryphant – herb used in the glamour spell.

  Creed of the Disbelievers – The
Floreskand Encyclopaedia entry states: The school of thought known as the Disbelievers started as a drinking game in the Manderon Sky tavern by fledgling philosophers from Manetta University in 1516AC. What began as a humorous game slowly developed into a full-blown philosophy even after many students, paradoxically, claimed they did not believe in it.

  Danumne – one of the four Manderranmeron Fault volcanoes

  Devastators – Nomadic tribesmen, also known as Kellan-Mesqa. Original aborigines of Floreskand; the names of rivers, lakes, mountains etc derive in the main from these people. Comprise six separate hordes: Hansenand, Baronculer, Selveleaf, Aquileja, and Mussoreal; the sixth horde (the Tramaloma) ceased their nomadic way of life and inhabit Taalland (qv). Each horde is also sub-divided into montars, all administered quite separately

  Doltra Complex – prestige building in Lornwater’s Second City, named after its architect

  Doomsman – judge. Each sector of the New City part of Lornwater has a Doomsman (a Judge) with his own Watchmen to enforce the law. There is also a Doomsman and Watch specifically for the Long Causeway (the main road through the centre of Lornwater).

  Estar – herb, mixed with hot water; tasty but odourless; often sweetened with honey.

  Fane – temple

  Farscope – a telescope; a new-fangled device

  Finar – monetary value devised and introduced by Arisa; coin; made of alloy; 10 finar = 1 carst (silver coin); lower denominations are pento and savanto

  Flensigg – wild pig/boar; Kellan-Mesqa derivation: flen – wild and siggos – boar

  Floreskand – land contained between the manderon range of Tanalume Mountains, the Varteron Edge, the dunsaron range of Sonalume Mountains and ranmeron Shomshurakand Barrier