Complete In the Service of Dragons

by William Robert Stanek

  As Calyin finished, Adrina began to run her hands through her hair, fussing over the many tangles in it, a sign that she had at last begun to move on. Lord Serant, Calyin, and Adrina returned to the palace proper. The lord and lady’s bodyguards, two to front and rear, moved with such skill that they seemed invisible; and to the three, it seemed that they were alone.

  The bathing time was a private time for the two sisters. They relaxed in the warm waters, stretching sore muscles and washing their hair with herbal-scented soaps that Calyin had brought from the Northlands. Dusk was approaching as they stepped from the hot pool into the cool air. Calyin rejected the gown that had been pressed and readied for her, selecting new riding leathers instead. Adrina did likewise. Neither intended to ride in a coach this eve.

  An anxious hour passed as they waited for a few last-minute items to be readied. The castle was suddenly alive with activity. Chancellor Yi rushed to and fro. Servants groomed horses. Guards polished armor and fanciful weaponry. The bier coach and its team were the last things readied. The guests and family crowded into the forward courtyard, assembling before the great gates of the outer wall. At the sounding of the first toll they mounted and waited.

  Precisely at the time of the setting sun, the funeral procession was in place. At the sounding of the first knell, those present mounted and waited; at the sounding of the second, the gates slowly began to open, and at the sounding of the third, the procession began to move. Father Francis had embalmed King Andrew’s body so that he looked as he had in life except that he now appeared at peace with himself.

  The declaration was made in the manner decreed: the people must see their king once more in death as he was in life. In this way all bore witness that the king had indeed passed. With the sounding of the fourth knell, the gates were fully opened. First to exit were the honor guard, twelve men arrayed in black armor upon mounts of gray. They rode out in single file, followed by the open funeral bier.

  The bier itself was quite simple, an ordinary oaken box painted black, fixed with long brass handles along head and foot and two thick silver poles running down the long sides. It was pulled by seven black horses. The royal family followed, each mounted on a pure white stallion. A cry of despair rose from the growing crowd, which had been summoned by the first toll; their king was truly dead.

  The final group to depart the courtyard and slowly enter the city streets was the rear honor guard of a full complement of soldiers, fifty in all. They followed, outfitted in armor that shimmered in the falling light. The procession advanced one trumpet blast at a time toward the central square. With each sounding of the horn, more people crowded into the streets.

  The path they took from palace to the square was not a direct route into the city’s heart, rather an indirect route that wound its way along many of the long cobblestone paths of Imtal and then slowly, after a wide outward circle, began to creep inward.

  The streets in all directions were filled now as people streamed out of their houses to pay their last respects. Many felt obliged to follow the bier and the thick line that stretched behind the procession grew and grew until its end could no longer be seen by those who would often look back in wonder. King Andrew had been a fair monarch and the Great Kingdom had prospered under his caring hand.

  The eve of his passing had been a grievous event. Uncertainty now lay ahead for all the citizens of the realm. Where was the crowned prince? Had he not heard the cry for his return? Would the prosperous days of the past now end? What was ahead? These were the many questions that ran hushed through the crowd.

  The procession turned inward now, beginning the slow creep toward the central square. Each sounding of the toll brought them one step closer. Adrina looked into the faces of the crowd. She could see that they also felt the sadness of this great loss. Princess Midori and her companions also rode with the royal family. They rode to Adrina’s left.

  Lord Serant had flatly refused to allow Princess Calyin to leave the castle without his personal guards. He rode with her at the rear of the procession, surrounded by the faithful ones who had accompanied them on the journey from High Province. Father Francis had tried to convince Lord Serant that the kingdom was not like his former home, the Western Territories; but Serant would not listen and eventually Father Francis had acquiesced.

  The procession reached the grand central square. Even at peak market season when hundreds of stalls lined its depths and many thousands more came for the festivities and goods, the area was only half filled. But today, it was filled to capacity. The inner circle, however, had been kept empty by decree. Twelve blocks from the central square was a large encircled garden, a memorial to the previous kings of the Great Kingdom. It was here where new kings were crowned and old ones were honored and entombed.

  The crowd parted to let the procession enter. As was the custom, the funeral procession circled the garden three times and then stopped. Each horseman dismounted one at a time, from the first to the last. The final decree of death was given and a long silence followed. The final toll sounded just as the last light of day shone on the square; and as its echoes fell away from the land, the sun sank below the horizon.

  Tiny red sparks burst from sparse areas of the gathered throng. As the torchlight began to spread and its light slowly became agreeable, the members of the procession started to remount, as was customary. The twelve in black mounted, bowed their heads respectfully and waited. As the fiftieth man of the rear guard mounted, the dozen forward guards looked up, dismounted and went to the bier, forming two lines, four abreast, on either side of it while the four others waited.

  Those who looked on bowed their heads now. The twelve took a momentary breath and then the chosen eight heaved the casket from the bier. As the casket was slowly carried toward Andrew’s crypt, the remaining four men labored to push away the guarding stone. There was such a silence over the next few moments that the footsteps of the men descending into the vault carried across the square nearly to its ends. As the last of the onlookers bowed their heads, waiting for the last prayer to begin, a group of men broke from the crowd. They lunged into the midst of the royal family. Jasmine was knocked from her horse. Adrina had seen the attack and tried to scream. A hand covered her mouth and she was dragged from her horse. The attack had come and gone in an instant that left the viewers dazed.

  Chapter Two

  The sound of clashing steel broke the silence. A cry of panic erupted from the bewildered crowd. All around the square soldiers clad in black emerged, tossing their deceitful robes of white onto the ground and raising their weapons high. They attacked everyone in sight, hacking and slashing even the innocent. Guards rushed to stop the onslaught. Many of them died before they could even draw their blades.

  Lord Serant’s bodyguards sprang into action. The small contingent flashed as a burst of white lightning into the surge of the dark, and it was temporarily thrust back. Wielding huge two-handed battle swords as a child would a toy dagger, these men were obvious masters, their skill and expertise unmatched on the field.

  The dark warriors paid a grave price for their fall; however, Serant’s guards were simply overwhelmed by the number of the enemy. For each they cut down, two warriors lunged forward in the fallen’s stead. They did not shame their lord as the last man crumpled to the ground, a mortal wound in his side; they had given the others much needed time, a chance to prepare.

  The dark warriors were non-selective in their blows. Their blades struck out in every direction. The dead and dying littered the square. Cries of pain and anguish filled the night, even above the din of clashing steel. Darkness began to fill the square as the torchlight was slowly smothered and with it came chaos, which the dark ones used to their advantage.

  The innocent tried to flee the square, dragging those who could not make it on their own, but the dark warriors hacked them down as they fled. No one was allowed to leave the square. More of the dark-clothed warriors began filing in from the adjacent byways, as the two forces, one cons
iderably smaller and determined, the other larger and stronger, faced each other.

  The rear guard was fully mounted and sought to protect those they honored. Fifty brave souls crashed into the encroaching wave of dark. Their ornamental armor gleamed defiantly and proudly in the pale red light of the square. Their weaponry was varied and though it had all been meant for ceremonial purposes, it was highly functional and well crafted. They bore pikes and spears with great forked blades; some had full-handed swords, others lances, but all poured forth, driven on by anger and anguish to a ferocity that bit into the enemy and would eventually cause their downfall.

  Father Francis was mounted next to Keeper Q’yer and the chancellor. They had a momentary reprieve while the dark warriors dropped back to regroup. The three weighed the odds; heavily outnumbered though they were, their protective guards were also on horseback. The enemy was on foot. Hopefully, the defense would last long enough for reinforcements to arrive from Imtal garrison.

  The former lord of the Western Territories and empowered lord of High Province stared coldly at his assailants. He looked to Calyin, with one single thought on his mind. He must protect her. He had sworn an oath that he would forever watch over her; he would not fail. Anger also flowed through him. In his territories, though they were not as civilized as here, nothing like this could ever happen. He spat on the ground. If he survived, his honor would demand retribution. He vowed he would kill Chancellor Yi for his incompetence. One stroke of his blade would end the old man’s life and provide partial compensation.

  Sister Catrin knelt over her fallen sister. Jasmine had taken a nasty blow to the head and was unconscious. Midori and Catrin placed her upon her mount, then they also remounted. Midori cried out in anguish; Adrina had been taken from her so easily. One moment Adrina had been beside her; the next she was gone and Jasmine lay on the ground. The will of the Mother flowed inside Midori, its power strong and cleansing. A similar flow came to Sister Catrin, yet her anger was not washed away.

  The short reprieve was over; the dark warriors had regrouped and now attacked from all sides. The mounted guard plunged again into their midst; their weapons danced in the dull light of the square. Horses trampled over the fallen as they moved outward. Although the attackers were greater in number, they were no match for the superior guard.

  The small force seemed to be turning the battle around. Now the enemy was feeling the cold of the rapier. While horses trampled the fallen and claimed what remained of their threads of life, the riders lashed out, finding new victims. But even in the face of the vicious assault by the mounted guard, the enemy did not retreat again. They continued to pour forth almost as if they welcomed death.

  Keeper Q’yer concentrated all the energy of his will into a single thought. He cried out to those at the palace and the city garrison for help. He beseeched them to find the urgency in his desperate words and hurry to the square. He did not know if they heard his call, only that his cry went forth. He would have to wait, as would the others, to know if the garrison soldiers would come.

  Father Francis could feel the power of the Father within him; to disturb a ceremony of passing of a great one was an outrage. The call of the Mother also came to his mind. He looked to the sisters; he saw that Jasmine was unconscious. He stared beyond her to Midori, who nodded her head and thanked the Father. He reached out and embraced her center. The two were linked together. A warm feeling came over them both. Wild emotions of the joining of both the Mother-Earth and the Great-Father pulsed throughout their entire being. Great power was coming to the fore.

  A whirlwind of thought flowed from one mind to the other. Father Francis saw an image of Midori in his mind. They embraced each other, releasing the power as their bodies locked as one in spirit and in mind. A wall of flames shot from the earth, running in a wide arc until it formed a great circle, leaving only the rear guard and the dark warriors in the open. Oddly, the great wall of flames circled the road before the garden of entombment and coronation.

  Keeper Q’yer slumped over in his saddle, all his energy spent, in the thrusting out of that one hopeful summons. The twang of release as scores of bowstrings settled back into place, combined with the whine of arrows flying through the air followed by cries of agony, rose above the cacophony of battle. The wall of flame had come just in time to save the inner group. The last of the mounted guard regrouped around the flames, although of fifty, only six remained. They raised their swords high one last time and charged, unafraid and willing to offer their lives for the ones they were devoted to. Arrows pelted them from all sides, and before the first man swung he died.

  The five continued on undaunted. Among them were a bladesman, two pikemen, a former huntsman who wielded a double-bladed spear, and a swordmaster first-class. None of them knew this as they shot forth to certain death, each focused on a single line of sight.

  For one man, it was the tower of a city church that he wished to reach before he died. For another it was a tavern that lay six blocks north along the eastern side of the square; he could not see it though he knew it was there. For still another it was his home and his wife and child that lay beyond the eastern side of the square.

  Not one of the small company reached his goal, yet as each died in his turn, the simple goals seemed to lose their purpose, and as the last man fell, he looked back at the wall of fire, wishing those within luck and survival.

  Chapter Three

  Adrina felt powerful hands cover her mouth. She tried to scream, but only a voiceless gasp passed her lips. Awestruck, she was swept into the crowd, buried beneath a long flowing black cloak. She looked out with eyes that saw only a dream, not that which was real; and she could do nothing as she was carried away. She could hear the din of a battle as if very far away, veiled from her eyes and masked from her ears by the silencing cloak.

  Sounds of agony, her own agony, filled her ears. Once out of the crowd her captors met another group. At first she saw only many black leather boots as she peered downward through the folds of the cloak. The hand was still pressed against her mouth as she was lifted from the veil. Now she saw the masked faces of the small band that had taken her. They paused only to bind and gag her. Once the blindfold was in place, her world returned to blackness. Terror filled her mind and she began to shake uncontrollably.

  The blackness began to envelop her, and for a time the princess passed into unconsciousness. This was a quiet time for her as her agony and terror subsided. Unaware that she was being hurried through the back paths and alleyways of Imtal to a waiting group of horsemen, Adrina slept. At some point she was placed onto the back of a horse and led wildly along cobblestone paths although the princess was unaware of this.

  The jostling of the horse aroused her and she opened her eyes to find that she was still shrouded in the black cloak. As she regained consciousness, she realized what had happened to her. She waited now, not terrified any longer, but not at ease either. At any moment she expected the palace guard to come to her rescue. She struggled against her bonds to no avail, listening for the thunder of many hooves and the boom of angry voices, signs that her rescuers were near.

  She heard hooves pounding across the hard stone streets and she knew they were still inside the city although she did not know where. But she did not hear the thunder of a hundred pairs of hooves striking the ground as she had expected; she heard only those of the small band that led her away into the darkness. Suddenly, her horse was reined to a halt, and she was lifted from it.

  A quiet time passed as leather soles marched along another set of back alleyways. Heavy hands were around her thighs and she kicked, punched, and clawed trying to break free. Shouts filled the air. She heard voices screaming. The hands held her strongly now as the man bolted away. Her head bobbed up and down until it ached as her captor ran madly.

  Voices followed, and Adrina realized that her rescuers were close. She felt hopeful, but then without warning she was cast to the ground; her head struck a solid stone wall and then her face
hit the cold, cold rock. She lay motionless. Her world seemed still to be moving, swirling around her. Perhaps close by, or perhaps far away, Adrina heard the voices again. They screamed more wildly as panic engulfed them. Her head started to throb and a moist flow began to trickle across her forehead, running warmly until it touched the cold stone, forming a tiny pool beneath her head, which she was unable to move.

  Colors of red and gray swam before her eyes. She heard the distant sound of clashing steel, which might have been right beside her; she could not tell. She started to wriggle and writhe as the throbbing in her head was joined by a dull, numbing pain that inched its way up her legs. Pain hit her quickly, sharp and excruciating, as a heavy boot found her gut. Adrina rasped and coughed.

  Something fell beside her, prostrate on the cold ground beside her. She groped outward with her hands, finding a cold limp thing that she did not at first recognize as an arm. The numbing pain swept up her legs into her arms and once more she found she could not move. Her hands fell still. The tiny pool beneath her had grown until it was a small puddle that circled her head. With her head pressed against the unforgiving stone, the liquid streamed around her face; she felt it on her chin and then suddenly it touched her lips. It tasted bitter and salty against her tongue.