Banner Lord

by Jason L. McWhirter

  Banrigar found a table near the roasting pig and Kivalla plopped down next to him, his face haggard from exhaustion. Banrigar was tired as well, but he was built for hard travel, Kivalla was not. But the sturdy warrior was impressed by the scholar who had not yet complained about anything during their two week ordeal. He sat next to Kivalla and looked around the room. “How much coin do we have left?”

  “Enough for a meal and a warm bed,” Kivalla replied wearily.

  “Bath?”

  Kivalla frowned. “Depends on the price. It sure would be nice though.”

  Banrigar silently continued to inspect the room. Most of the patrons seemed harmless enough…farmers, laborers, and artisans coming in after a hard day’s work or travel, looking for a good ale, some warm food, and perhaps some friendly conversation. But there were two occupants that caught his eye. Sitting at a table in the far corner of the room, where the shadows of the inn were most prevalent, were two people sitting closely, across from each other, hoods pulled low over their faces as they leaned toward each other, intently involved in some conversation, their hands wrapped around their mugs. It seemed strange that they kept their hoods on inside the inn and he made a mental note to keep an eye on them.

  A young serving girl approached them carrying a tray of empty glasses. She looked to be in her early twenties, but was adorned with the wide hips and ample bosom of mature woman. Her full lips were the color of a dark red wine and her eyes were heavily lined with kohl, giving her an exotic look. Her long brown hair hung in wavy curls that bounced when she moved. “You’re a tired lookin' lot. What can I getcha to wet your tongues and warm yer bellies?”

  “Ale for me,” Banrigar said. “Is that pork ready?” he asked, indicating the pig on the spit.

  “Soon. By the time you've had two mugs of ale it will be ready fer ya.”

  Banrigar grunted. “Done.”

  “And fer you, sir?”

  Kivalla shrugged, too tired to think straight. “The same. You have a room with two beds?”

  “We do.”

  “Add it to the bill. Any chance for a bath?” Kivalla asked.

  “We could draw one. We have a bath house out back. It would be six tiggs.”

  Kivalla looked at Banrigar who shrugged indecisively. It was up to Kivalla. “Have it prepared once we get our supper.”

  “Sure thing,” she said, smiling and turning away to get their drinks.

  “So,” Banrigar said softly. “What now?”

  “Continue as planned. Tomorrow we head to Tanwen.”

  “We need coin and supplies.”

  Kivalla looked at his large companion and decided to approach a topic that had been gnawing at him for some time. He had attempted to bring up the subject several times during their trip but Banrigar had skirted the question, avoiding any direct answers. It was time to end the game he seemed to be playing. Kivalla was tired, but he thought it pertinent to understand the warrior’s true intent. “Why are you here?” he asked. “And do not avoid the question any further. We will not continue together until you explain to me why you have stuck with me the last few weeks. You owe me nothing, and yet you are here. Why?”

  Banrigar clenched his jaw and leaned forward, his thick forearms resting casually on the table’s edge. “I told you. I have nothing better to do. Now leave it alone.”

  “I will not,” Kivalla said, his eyes not wavering. “You are clearly a warrior, strong in body and spirit, with scars to prove it,” he added, staring specifically at the vicious scar along his face. “There is no reason for you to stay with me. I am a rational man and I know one does not take risks without reason, especially a man who works at a brothel.”

  Kivalla felt bad as soon as he said it. He was tired and not thinking straight, but Banrigar didn’t seem to notice the slight. Or he simply didn’t care. It was hard to read the big man, his face a reflection of carved stone. After several moments of quiet contemplation, he sat back in his chair, his hand going to the hilt of his sword. Kivalla watched him as he turned the end of the pommel, twisting it like a cap. Curious, Kivalla leaned forward eagerly. The end piece of the pommel came off and Banrigar reached into the cavity, withdrawing a piece of rolled up parchment. He looked around cautiously and set it on the table in front of Kivalla.

  “What is it?” Kivalla asked with obvious interest.

  “Read it.”

  Just then the server returned and set two mugs of ale before them, departing quickly with a smile.

  Kivalla ignored the cup, reached out and unrolled the parchment. Immediately his eyes grew wide. He recognized the script. “This is the king’s handwriting.”

  “It is. Now read it.”

  Kivalla read it quickly; it didn’t take him long, and with each sentence his astonishment grew until he was finished. Looking up, he leaned back in his chair, his face an expression of disbelief. “You are a Turari Knight?” Banrigar said nothing, but the subtle nod of his head told Kivalla that he was correct. “I’ve only read about them and thought the Order had disappeared three hundred years ago.”

  “The Order still exists. We are few now, with only a handful of members in Dy’ain and Kael. We have remained hidden, enabling us to work in the shadows.”

  Kivalla couldn’t believe it. The Turari Order had been founded by an Argonian Prelate named Ustarte Turari over four hundred years ago. They were warrior priests, all gifted with the Way. All the stories he'd read portrayed them in silver battle armor with magnificent weapons, upholding the word of Argon and Felina. They had been responsible for destroying many of the temples to the old gods as well as systematically killing many non-Argonians during the time of the Purge; a fifty year period where all heretics were banished or killed. Needless to say there has been a dark shadow of mystery and even trepidation surrounding the old Order. Kivalla was perhaps the brightest and most educated person in all of Corvell, and putting things together he now thought he understood Banrigar’s presence. But he asked him again anyway, his interest in what he might say provoking him to restate the question. “So again I ask you, why are you here…with me?”

  “As you see I have a writ from the king. My orders from my superiors, which happen to coincide with the king's, are to protect the royal family and thus strengthen the Argonian faith. My main job was to watch the young prince, to observe him and his friends and to look after them. We have other knights who are spying on and infiltrating the Saricons, trying to find weaknesses and help our cause. We cannot let the Helnians conquer Dy’ain.”

  Kivalla shook his head. “I agree with that sentiment. But we don’t even know if the king is alive, let alone the prince. And you have not answered my question. Why are you here?”

  “If the king is alive, or the prince, I believe you will find him. Or they will find you. I know who you are, Kivalla. Our order has been watching you as well. I know your heart does not beat to Argon’s will, but I also know that you are just and wise, and a good friend to House Dormath. If there are surviving members of House Dormath, they will need you. And I will be there to help. We believe the Saricons have spies that have infiltrated House Dormath as well as other important houses.

  “I see. Which is another reason why I have been watched, along with anyone close to House Dormath.”

  Banrigar nodded. “That is correct. But if it makes you feel any better I do not believe you are a spy,” he added with a slight smile.

  “I feel much better,” Kivalla replied smiling. “Are you an Aurit then? From what I have read, the Turari Order were all Aurits.”

  “That was true, in the beginning of the Order. But not now, although a few members still are. Unfortunately, I am not. The Order has morphed into something very different from what the old stories suggest. Most of us are no longer from royal families. In fact, many of us were recruited by Argonian leaders and even kings. I myself was found by King Kaleck of Kael over fifteen years ago. The very best warriors who have the proper aptitude are sometimes recruited into the Order.”
<
br />   “Aptitude? You mean faith?”

  “That is most definitely a prerequisite. But to be a Turari Knight one must also have the skills to survive alone in dangerous situations and any location. We are often masquerading as someone else, and usually in places where our true identity could get us killed.”

  “Well your skills and your presence are much appreciated. I assume you want your true identity to remain hidden.”

  “That is correct.”

  Kivalla leaned forward and grabbed his mug of ale. Banrigar followed suit. Lifting the cup, Kivalla said, “I don’t know what will happen. But if any members of the royal family are alive, then we will find them, together.” Banrigar smiled and they clicked their mugs, before drinking heartily.

  Chapter 3

  When the door to the Wayward Inn exploded open Kivalla nearly jumped out of his chair. And when a swarm of Saricons burst through it, he actually did, while his hand went instinctively to the short sword at his side. Banrigar too, turning towards the noise, reacted in kind, jumping up from his chair in alarm, and whisking out his long sword from its sheath.

  The hulking warriors, dressed in warm furs and wearing plate armor embossed with Heln’s red helm, fanned out, swords, shields, and axes in hand. Covered with grime and sweat they had obviously been traveling long and hard. Terrified, the barkeep tried to make a run for it through the kitchen door but a flying axe took him in the back, slamming him forcefully against the wall where he crumpled to the ground. The few women in the establishment screamed and the men rose from their tables, backing up slowly, hoping to avoid attention and a flying axe themselves. There were at least twenty of the huge warriors, and each one looked eager and ready for an excuse to kill. The fear and tension in the room was palpable, with the Saricon predators flexing their hands around the hilts of their weapons, clearly eager to shed blood.

  One man¸ a bit shorter than his comrades, but wider in the shoulders and chest, stepped forward, a heavy broad sword held easily in his right hand. He had a thick beard and mustache and his hair had been shaved short on the sides, while the top was left long and braided with beads made of bone. “I am Torga!” he shouted in Newain. Then he smiled, and right then Kivalla knew that they were in trouble. “You should be happy. Today is the day you get to meet your weak god.”

  Banrigar, stepped surreptitiously closer to Kivalla. “Stay behind me with your back to the wall.”

  Torga had caught the movement of Kivalla and Banrigar; he looked directly at them then motioned casually with his sword and the hulking Saricons came at the inn’s patrons, howling Heln’s name. Banrigar pushed Kivalla back near the wall, adjacent to the two hooded travelers that he had noticed earlier. He now realized why they were hooded. They stood and in a flash their bows were up dispatching arrows that instantly traveled the short distance, striking two of the nearest attackers, who jerked violently backward as the missiles thudded into them. At such close range the arrows easily penetrated armor, flesh, and bone. Banrigar had barely noticed their movement, it was so quick. But he did notice their pale skin and the flaming red hair beneath the cowls of their hoods. They were Gyths. He didn’t have time to ponder why two Gyths, a typically reclusive race, would be so far from home, but he was certainly happy to see them now. One thing was certain; he was about to find out if their fearsome reputation was fact or fancy. Maybe they did have a chance he thought as he lifted his blade towards two Saricons that were bearing down on him.

  The inn erupted into chaos, patrons screaming as they tried vainly to escape. Chairs and tables were scattered as axes and swords sought their flesh, cutting them down ruthlessly, their blood pooling on the inn's wooden floor and splattering on the furniture and walls. Few were fighters and most carried no weapons. It was a bloodbath.

  But things were fairing differently near Banrigar. Growling like a wild animal, Banrigar swung his blade across his body to block the strike of a Saricon sword. Using his great strength and speed he whipped his blade back and across the warrior, the sharp edge of his sword slicing across the man’s arm, cutting to the bone along his bicep. Banrigar, as large as any Saricon, fought like a berserker, snapping his foot forward and striking the wounded Saricon in the chest, catapulting him into the table behind him where he tumbled to the floor, screaming in pain and fury as blood from the vicious wound on his arm pooled around him. Banrigar spun his sword spinning left and right, narrowly avoiding the attacks as more Saricons joined their comrades.

  Forming an half circle of defense, Ardra and Orin had joined Banrigar, sensing that together they might have a chance. Kivalla stood behind them all, his short sword held pitifully in his shaking hands. The two Gyths, much smaller than the Saricons, spun around the big warriors, their short swords flicking in and out, slicing numerous cuts across the exposed skin of the warriors. Heavy Saricon axes and swords came at them from all angles but they could not make contact with the two lithe forms, which by comparison with the Saricons, appeared to be children fighting their fathers. The two twins leaped back and forth, often taking one another’s position as they kept their bodies moving, their short swords scoring hit after hit. Orin, drawing energy from his sister, maintained a deadly speed, his sword finally scoring a devastating cut along the inner thigh of one of the Saricons. Blood gushed from the wound and the man howled, bringing his axe down hard towards Orin’s head. But Orin pivoted to the side, and the man’s axe slammed into the wood floor just as Orin’s blade came down on his wrist, nearly cutting it in half. Screaming, the fatally wounded Saricon fell away, his artery having been severed from his previous wound, and he stumbled lifeless to the ground.

  The chaotic fighting continued for a few more minutes. Nearly all the patrons had been slaughtered, except for a few of the more attractive women who had been dragged upstairs to the rooms above. In the back of Banrigar’s mind he could hear them scream as he struggled to fend the invaders off. But he knew it was only a matter of time before he would be overcome, figuring it would only be a few more heartbeats before he was cut down by the superior numbers of the enemy. Yet he had killed four of the enemy so far, not a bad way to die he thought.

  Orin heard Ardra scream as she was kicked in the chest, the blow coming from a second assailant to her right. The power of the strike knocked her back against the wall where her head slammed hard against the wood. Dazed, she tried in vain to stop the hands reaching for her. She cut one Saricon on the arm but a fist struck her in the chin, snapping her head back again. Barely maintaining consciousness, she tried to fight back, but succumbed quickly to the Saricon hands that grabbed her and pulled her away from her brother.

  “No!” Orin screamed, trying in vain to fend off two Saricons and move to help his sister. But he couldn’t. Despite his speed and skill, he could barely avoid the deadly attacks coming his way. There were just too many of them. They wanted him dead, but their obvious desire to keep Ardra alive fueled his fury, and he screamed in frustration as he violently struggled to escape his attackers to save his sister, as three of the Saricons pulled Ardra away towards the entrance. Regaining some of her senses, she screamed frantically as she felt a slow buildup of energy. Her vision swam as her aura steadily grew in power, pulling more energy from the Saricons around her. Still screaming, she struggled in the steel grip of the warriors who continued to drag her further away from Orin. Tears streaked her face as her head pounded in pain, her tarnum pulling more and more energy from the nearby fighters as the distance between her and her brother grew.

  The Saricons sensed something was wrong as they began to feel weaker and struggled more as they tried to drag her away. They looked at each other with uncertainty, puzzled at what was happening. They felt weaker and weaker as the thrashing female they held seemed stronger, almost boiling with frenzied energy. Finally they could no longer hold her and were forced to let her go as her screaming grew louder. They felt drained, and they stepped away from her as if she were the plague.

  Dropping to her knees, Ardra reached up and
put her hands over her ears, screaming as she tried to stop herself from drawing in the aura energy around her. But she couldn’t, her tarnum thirsted for more and it was filling with energy at an alarming rate, the Saricons around her becoming increasingly weak as she drained them of their aura energy. Her head felt as if it were going to explode, and suddenly, the next thing she knew, her abdomen, the epicenter of her tarnum, exploded in beams of light, fractured with energy, the light bursting forth like an exploding star and sending a shock wave of energy in all directions.

  Orin screamed in frustration as the shock wave hit them, nearly knocking him over. The Saricons before him stumbled and glanced back, utterly confused. Orin saw his opportunity and raced forward, his short sword cutting left and right as he dodged between the enemy that stood between him and his sister. The Saricons, now weaker, tried in vain to attack the little Gyth, but he was able to pull energy from his sister, enabling him to move with incredible speed, like a hummingbird flitting from one flower to another, but instead of delicately sipping on nectar, he became a bird of prey, slicing his sword through the mass of warriors. But before him stood eight massive Saricon warriors, their sheer bulk creating a formidable wall. His heart pounded in fright. Would he get to her time?

  Banrigar, meanwhile, began to feel tired and sluggish as well, as if he were moving in water. But luckily, whatever was affecting him in this way seemed to be having a similar effect on the Saricons. As Orin left his flank, a clean shaven Saricon lunged forward, jabbing his sword toward Banrigar’s exposed flank. Kivalla had taken refuge by crouching against the wooden wall when they were attacked, holding his small sword before him, praying that no Saricon broke through the three warriors' defenses. But when Orin disappeared amidst the throng of fighters, and he saw one of the Saricon warriors lunge forward to stab Banrigar in the side, he reacted on instinct. Jumping forward he swung his sword down onto the warrior's outstretched arm. He was not overly strong, but his sword was sharp and it cut into the unprotected flesh at the Saricon’s elbow, nearly cutting his arm in two. Screaming in pain and fury, the enemy dropped his blade and stumbled backwards. But another Saricon moved in, swinging his axe sideways hoping to cleave the sharp edge into Kivalla’s side. They were all still moving slowly, but that didn't diminish the power of the Saricon’s strike, and when Kivalla raised his sword to block it the force of the blow sent him sprawling sideways where he stumbled to the floor.