The Never King

by James Abbott

  Landril did not hang about to discover the results of the discussion.

  He looked across the blade to Davlor, who was wide-eyed and busy scratching his arse. Together they followed after Xavir.

  Still the screams came, each one making his heart lurch, wondering what they’d find on the road ahead. Valderon and Lupara had not been at the camp and he guessed that at least they were out here in the pale light of daybreak somewhere. Landril strode through the undergrowth and out to the road itself. He looked into the distance.

  Xavir was nowhere to be seen, only civilians rushing towards him, many looking fearfully over their shoulders.

  A woman in a shawl, her eyes wide with terror, carrying a child, scurried towards Landril. He shouted to her, asking if she knew what was going on, but she simply shook her head, focused solely on guiding her young to safety, and rushed past him as if he wasn’t there.

  Then Landril heard another noise, a strange metallic wailing, a rush of magic-blessed swords carving the air, followed by grunts and wails of agony. He ran towards this noise through the parting mass of fleeing bodies, gripping his sword tightly.

  As if it would do any good, he thought. As if you could do anything useful for these people right now.

  The enemy presented itself: strange, pale-faced beings in bronze armour, about a dozen of them with curved blades, spreading their formation out wide with an unnerving unison and grace.

  And there was Xavir, grim-faced, black-clad and glorious in combat.

  He glided through the throng of newcomers, scattering the warriors. With bursts of startling agility, he severed heads and cleaved through bone, crippling the attackers with the merest flick of his Keening Blades. Bodies collapsed around the former commander of the Solar Cohort like puppets being released from their strings.

  Only then did Landril notice the dead civilians on the road, the bodies mauled and disfigured. Family members or friends had gathered around the dead. Upon spotting more of the strange enemy moving in from the trees adjacent to them, Landril shouted for people to leave the dead be, and flee into the trees.

  Some would not listen. He physically dragged one wailing woman away from the body of her husband. Most followed Landril’s lead as the attackers came towards them, but one tall man remained behind to tend to his child. A pale-skinned warrior strode forwards and cleaved upwards with his blade, severing the grieving man’s torso and shoulder. He cried in agony as Landril hopelessly ran towards the attacker, who was now flanked by his comrades.

  By the Goddess, where are the others? Landril thought. No sooner had he thought of them than they were there.

  *

  Tylos and Jedral spearheaded their way towards the strange warriors. Tylos’s swordplay made a quick wound in his opponent’s neck and, from behind, Jedral slammed his axe down across its still-open eyes to finish it. The two men nodded to one another and separated to face the remaining warriors.

  Landril moved on through the scene, which by now had been reduced to a handful of bodies on the road with all the activity further up. Xavir had chased his fleeing opponents into the fringes of the forest, where the wails of the Keening Blades and the clattering of metal on metal could still be heard.

  Eventually Xavir stepped back onto the road, a macabre look of exhilaration upon his blood-caked face, his body heaving with breaths. There was no one left to fight and so he ran with long strides towards the east. The sun rose higher now, breaking the treeline, lighting the scene like an inferno. Landril could only follow Xavir with the other men in tow, conscious that he had not yet raised his own weapon.

  Further up the road, where Xavir was heading, stood Valderon and Lupara. The wolf queen’s beasts had formed a wall of fur, fang and muscle against a line of the attackers, blocking their charge on the refugees. However, to his right, facing the trees on the other side, Landril noticed two robed and hooded figures defending the refugees. Blades flashed in the morning sunlight as they waded into the armoured foe striding from the darkness of the trees. The fabled warrior priests of Marva were busy protecting their flock.

  But even they paused in their defence as Xavir Argentum started towards them. In his black war gear Xavir was like a figure risen from the underworld, and he dealt death just as efficiently.

  Lupara’s giant wolves parted as he strode through to join Valderon and the warrior queen as they fought more armour-clad figures, at least twelve of them facing the three warriors.

  Landril followed cautiously, knowing he’d be little help but wanting at least to even the odds a little. As he did so his professional instincts kicked in and he made a careful study of these strange new warriors. Their movements were fluid and elegant, almost as if dancing, which was surprising given the heavy-looking armour they wore. Their skin was pale, some almost white; their hair, too, was so blond it could have been silver. Among them was a hooded figure in black whose gestures caused the ground to shift where directed. Civilians were tripped up by the strange magics, and a priest of Marva found his ankle trapped in winding roots grown from the earth.

  Lupara and Valderon launched into the remaining warriors, whilst Xavir started to advance menacingly towards the magician, who, suddenly, appeared to divide into two and then three, before uniting as one again many yards from where Xavir now stood. Then, with a blue flash: it vanished.

  In the absence of this figure, the rest of the enemy fell quickly and by the time Landril reached them, there was no attacker left standing.

  Xavir paced, looking down at the warriors he’d just slain, then scanning the road for others. Lupara bid her wolves forwards to scout the forest.

  ‘I killed twenty-three in all,’ Xavir called over. ‘How did you fare?’

  ‘Fourteen,’ Lupara replied.

  ‘Twelve,’ Valderon grunted. ‘Though to be fair I was dragging civilians from the road and tended a few of the injured.’

  ‘Excuses,’ Xavir replied. The two men smiled darkly at each other and then surveyed the scene. ‘They had a leader. Whoever it was, it was a magic-user. Did you see how it moved the earth?’

  Valderon nodded. A moment later he sighted the warrior priests of Marva, and headed towards them.

  Landril stood agog at the carnage, and in particular at what bloodshed Xavir had caused in response. What the spymaster had witnessed in the prison escape was nothing. This morning Xavir had shown a raw and mesmerizing violence, a glimpse into the man’s capabilities.

  What must the Solar Cohort have been like?

  Landril simply looked at the sword in his own shivering hand. Then he surveyed the damage the attackers had caused. The Marvans slowly made their way back to their families and friends, or crouched by the roadside inspecting bloodied faces. The sound of wailing for the dead soon echoed throughout the forest.

  ‘Despite the sad losses, we did well this morning, spymaster. Things could have been far worse.’ Xavir reached over his shoulder and placed one sword back in its casing. He examined the other, checking its surface.

  ‘I didn’t do much,’ Landril said, his hands still shaking. His feet were numb. His spine felt as if it was on fire. ‘But you, you knew what to do instinctively. You knew where to go and how to react. I should have done more.’

  ‘We each have our skills,’ Xavir said, peering at the blade. ‘Do not feel the need to burden yourself with concern about my opinion. It does not suit you.’

  ‘Even so,’ Landril said, ‘I do not often feel this useless.’

  Xavir gestured to a fallen enemy with the tip of the sword. ‘Be useful, then, and identify the markings on his armour. I’ve no idea what it says. You are a man of books. Tell me.’

  Landril crouched down with Xavir to inspect the figure. It was slender, with gaunt cheeks and small eyes. The armour was bronze, with serrated panels across the shoulders. Around the edges of each panel was a strange, elongated script that he did not recognize at first. The letters – if indeed they were letters – had been etched in fine detail, a display of remarkable cr
aftsmanship. There were no other obvious symbols or insignia upon the armour.

  ‘Let’s look at another one,’ Landril said.

  They moved to a different body; this one’s head had been separated, leaving just the armour. Landril winced as he inspected the blood-drenched metal, but again there was the same script, finely carved within the surface around the edge of each and every panel.

  ‘Would you mind removing one of those plates of armour?’ Landril asked Xavir. ‘Try not to make too much of a mess now.’

  Without comment, Xavir placed a boot on a warrior’s neck and levered a shoulder panel free with one of his blades. Underneath was a material that looked like leather. He handed the piece of metal to Landril, who stepped over to the original corpse. He placed the panel alongside the corresponding plate upon the other.

  ‘Ah,’ he said. ‘Different script on this one. I suspect every panel may be differently worded.’

  ‘But what does it say?’ Xavir demanded.

  ‘I do not know,’ Landril said. ‘Not yet, anyway. I need time to think. This is a strange language indeed.’

  Lupara continued consoling many of the mourning civilians, whilst Valderon approached the two of them. Landril half-heartedly listened in on the conversation, whilst attempting to decipher the script.

  ‘There were two warrior priests protecting the people of Marva,’ Valderon began. ‘It seems they’re satisfied there’s no one else trying to attack. We can relax, for now.’

  ‘You did well, Valderon,’ Xavir said. ‘The skills of the First Legion have not left you.’

  ‘I did what I could, mainly by reflex more than thought.’

  ‘Years of training will do that.’

  ‘An old Clan Gerentius trick, too,’ Valderon said. ‘My father would ensure we had surprises during our youth when we fought alongside the clan. He said it was to keep us on our toes, to think quickly. The old rascal.’

  ‘It must have worked.’

  ‘To some extent. But it was one of the wolves that first noticed there was something amiss before the sun rose, so I cannot take too much credit.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘Lupara and I were on watch again. About an hour after you went to rest. The queen sent her animals either way up the road and one into the forest. The creatures returned simultaneously, as if they had communicated with each other over great distances. The big wolf, Vukos, showed signs of anger from up the road and we followed him for some time. The winds were strong this morning, and blowing in the direction of where the attack came from, so Lupara thought the wolves were unable to scent the threat properly.’

  ‘Hmm,’ Xavir said. ‘They could have concealed the scent and sight of their attack easily with magic.’

  ‘It is possible. But we drew swords and waited. It was too far away from the civilians for me to be able to warn them.’

  ‘Nothing you could do,’ Xavir replied. ‘Then what?’

  ‘As dawn broke, we saw them, two dozen figures in bronze armour marching up the road. They’d taken the advantage of travelling by night.’

  ‘Wishing to remain unseen, I can only presume,’ Xavir said.

  ‘As I thought too,’ Valderon continued. ‘It was as if they had been hunting these people.’

  ‘More actions that make no sense,’ Xavir said. ‘To purge a town of people is one thing, but to hunt them down? There seems little strategy to it.’

  ‘As I was saying,’ Valderon continued, ‘two dozen of the figures came towards us, but I could see others well out of our reach, flanking us. Lupara had the wolves form a defensive line in front of the refugees whilst we intercepted them.’

  ‘How did they strike at first?’ Xavir asked.

  ‘Organized. They formed tight cohorts and held their swords behind their shields. It was too efficient, though, because, as you know, while that is a good way to engage with an army, not so effective against two individuals. We did what we could, but with only two of us and the wolves holding the front it was not possible to save everyone.’

  ‘You did what you could, and that kept a good many alive.’ Xavir placed a hand on Valderon’s shoulder. ‘You fought well, friend. And the people of Marva saw you fighting to save them. Just look around.’

  At this, Landril also looked up. Men and women were standing behind the two warriors and staring at them in awe. Now that the warriors’ conversation had momentarily paused, the civilians took the opportunity to express their gratitude. Xavir stood indifferent to their behaviour, though Valderon seemed almost embarrassed by the attention.

  Landril, meanwhile, turned his attention back to the script. Occasionally the shapes of words – or what he thought to be words – seemed familiar. He was conscious that he was starting to read words that were probably not really there in the armour. He was projecting realities that did not exist.

  ‘Why can I not understand this?’ he hissed. ‘Goddess save me, why?’

  ‘Talking to yourself?’ Xavir said, breaking his attention away from the crowd that now surrounded Valderon.

  ‘I have a mastery of codes and many languages,’ Landril said, ‘and still I cannot fathom what these symbols represent.’

  ‘Give yourself time,’ Xavir replied. ‘We still have plenty of road ahead of us.’

  ‘I need more armour to examine,’ Landril said.

  Whilst civilians buried their dead and gathered their meagre possessions, the spymaster drifted from corpse to corpse, scrutinizing armour and levering up small pieces to study.

  ‘Landril, you look like a grave robber,’ Tylos called out to him.

  ‘You should know, thief,’ Jedral replied, leaning on his axe-head. The other men laughed.

  ‘Pardon me, but I never stole from a corpse,’ Tylos protested. ‘And if I did steal, it was from the wealthy. Usually quite attractive ladies, for that matter . . .’

  Landril ignored their discussion and pressed on with his quest to find a word he could decipher, a key that would unlock the language before him. From body to body he wandered, his fingers tracing the line of scripts. He pressed his fingers into his face, concentrating on the fine detailing, looking for symbols, letters, anything that might give a clue as to where these attackers had come from. Sunlight glimmered off the armour, which appeared to have the reddish hues of copper more than bronze as he had first thought. A strange alloy, this. Now and then he’d catch a glimpse of one of the refugees, a confused and pitiful gaze.

  He loomed over one corpse which did not seem so badly injured.

  Suddenly it opened its eyes, revealing an almost cat-like pupil, and Landril scrambled back with a gasp.

  The figure pushed itself upright. It moved its hand along the ground, searching for its blade. No sooner had it attempted to get up than Jedral stepped forwards with his axe and swung it into the thing’s face with a firm crunch.

  Landril turned to Jedral, his heart thumping.

  ‘You’re welcome.’ Jedral grinned. His usual maniac look almost seemed appropriate in these surroundings. The bald man strode off to join the others.

  Landril regarded the corpse once again. Whatever these things were – they wanted him dead. And everyone else. That was reason enough to find out as much as he could about them.

  No Time for Kindness

  ‘We should move on,’ Xavir announced.

  It was midday and the heat had grown to be unpleasant. Lupara’s entourage had removed themselves from the scene, back to their own encampment by the mouth of the cave. They were seated on the ground, around the remnants of the fire, eating meagre rations.

  ‘Can we really abandon the people of Marva now?’ Landril asked.

  ‘Yes,’ Xavir replied.

  ‘But do they not need our support?’

  ‘Very likely,’ Xavir said. ‘But I cannot hang about for them, spymaster. If I had to wait about for people to feel safe, I would never have seen any victories in battle. No matter what you do, they will not feel safe. Not now, not for weeks, likely not for year
s. They have seen their families hacked down before their eyes. Do you think that our presence would relieve them of their sadness?’

  ‘No,’ Landril sighed. ‘But there might be more attacks.’

  ‘There likely will,’ Xavir replied.

  ‘By the Goddess! Do you even care?’ Landril snapped. He began cracking his knuckles and twisting his fingers.

  Valderon placed his heavy hand on Landril’s shoulder. ‘You have a good heart, spymaster. But Xavir is right. With all the will in the world, we cannot help them any further like this. If we are to help the people of Stravimon, and the followers of the Goddess, we must see to it that this cleansing is ended. To do that, we need to move on and find the people directing these armies. Besides, they have those priests among them who know their way around a blade. They are not entirely without protection.’

  Landril sighed and stared into the smouldering remnants of the fire. Crows called out nearby, and the tops of the nearby trees stirred in the wind.

  ‘Let us see to the horses,’ Xavir pointed to Tylos and Grend, and the three of them walked away.

  Meanwhile, Landril examined a plate of armour yet again, watching the sunlight glisten off the surface.

  Seated across the expired fire, Valderon began to clean his blade with a cloth. The wolf queen moved to sit alongside the former officer of the First Legion.

  ‘You fought well again today,’ Lupara said to Valderon, placing her hand on his arm. ‘I am glad we can trust you.’

  Landril noticed the way she looked at the warrior, and gave him a dark and disabling stare. There was something other than admiration there. It was still admiration, though of another kind entirely.

  If the wolf queen felt any thing other towards Valderon it was not surprising. Landril would confess he was a fine-looking man, broad-shouldered and darkly featured.

  Valderon, however, could only roll his lips thinly and glance at the blade without comment at first. Landril saw Lupara’s smile. If nothing else, she enjoyed a challenge.

  ‘I heard you were exiled from the legions and put into Hell’s Keep because of love,’ Lupara began. Landril wondered where she was going with the statement, because she was fully aware of how he had ended up in gaol.