The Rise of Kings (The Flameweaver's Prophecy Book 1)

by Emery, Ben

  He enjoyed the peacefulness of this place, and enjoyed his walks, though constantly shadowed by Marrew and forever receiving hostile glances from the locals. To them he imagined he was no more than a warmongering foreigner, intent on seeing their way of life destroyed.

  ‘They hate me, do they not?’ he had asked of Marrew.

  ‘Of course,’ was the spearman’s blunt reply.

  ‘They are right to do so,’ the General admitted.

  ‘They do not understand your value,’ the tribesman reassured him.

  ‘But you do?’ Galarus faced his bodyguard.

  ‘No,’ Marrew said. ‘But Terran is rarely wrong about these things, and I trust him, so I will protect you for now, while you are important.’

  Galarus had no response, so instead continued walking, first south, to the paddocks, then east and north, following the babbling river up to the ford. If the Legions ever made it this far, this isolated paradise would become just another scar upon the face of the wastelands.

  Saen and his entourage stayed outside of the Torncloud settlement for a total of four days, on the last of which a feast was held at Saen’s insistence. A parting gift, he claimed, that Wornsea custom demanded.

  Long tables were set up in a square beyond the river, and a bonfire lit in the middle for warmth, and a series of smaller fires set about it for the roasting of meat. Terran, Rohken and Saen were sat at the head table, facing the mountain, with the Wandeer strategically seated in the middle, forming a barrier between the Ironhand and Wornsea leaders.

  Much to his surprise, Galarus had been invited also, and was sat off to one side, flanked on one side by Marrew, and the behemoth, who remained silent the entire meal, on the other. There were not more than another fifty guests present around them, most of whom were members of Saen’s house, though a fair number of Torncloud tribesmen were present also.

  A circle of torches surrounded the tables some distance away, they and the bonfire in the centre providing enough light to eat and drink by. The tables were adorned with the best that the Wornsea had to offer; salted fish, fresh beef and pork that had been herded with them from the coast, even olives and wine, the latter flowing relentlessly, that Saen claimed were produced by the Wandeer traders themselves.

  The feast ran well into the night, until only darkness prevailed beyond the boundary of torches that flickered now and again with the breeze. Saen was one of the first to concede defeat to the rich wine, excusing himself only on the condition that his guests continue without him. There were few protestations from either the Ironhand or Torncloud tribesmen. The feast began to devolve into an assortment of groups having various conversations, with individuals occasionally meandering between tables to see what others were talking about.

  Galarus, unused to such potent wine, had drunk too much.

  ‘I need a piss!’ he announced to those nearby, far louder than he intended, as he pushed himself up from the table.

  He waited several seconds to acquire his balance before staggering off upstream to find an appropriate patch of wasteland, out of sight and beyond the ring of torches. He stumbled some distance into the darkness, until the din of voices around the tables was barely audible. Judging this to be a suitable spot, he clumsily began to empty his bladder, staring up at the overcast and moonless night sky. The sound of footsteps scuffing in the sand behind him caught his attention.

  ‘Occupied!’ he shouted jovially over his shoulder as he shook himself off.

  He turned to see the outlines of six figures moving toward him in a semi-circle, spreading outward to better surround him. Each carried a short blade in their hands. Galarus felt the familiar surge of adrenaline bubble within him as he took several deep breaths in an attempt to shake the fogginess from his head. The assassins edged closer cautiously; well aware of whom they were dealing with, but with the confidence of numbers. The General glanced left and right; running was not an option, these men were likely far more sober than he and able to outpace him. Though fighting didn’t seem to have an upside either.

  The assassins were almost upon him when the attacker in the centre lurched forward, falling to his knees with a cry that was half pain, half surprise. A spear protruded from between his shoulder blades. The five remaining assailants turned to confront this new threat, and Galarus seized his opportunity. He leapt at the swordsman on his right, driving his heel into the man’s knee. There was a loud crack and the assassin dropped like a stone. The General caught him by the throat and snapped his neck. Fumbling for the dropped blade on the ground, Galarus staggered backward as another opponent slashed for his face, missing his cheek by inches.

  There was another scream as a third assassin died. Galarus’ attacker swung his sword through the air, frantically hoping to strike flesh. The General ducked under a clumsy swipe and hacked open the assailant’s thigh. The man bellowed, and Galarus drove his blade upward into the swordsman’s ribcage. Two remained of the six attackers, and Galarus could make out the rest of the skirmish. Marrew had charged headlong into the other assassins, another spear in his hands, deftly felling one in the confusion, and running a second through before the General could come to his aid. Only one of the would-be murderers still stood, and for him it was obvious the battle was lost. He threw his blade into the dust and sprinted into the darkness, disappearing almost immediately. A strangled cry of surprise came from the same direction, and a body hurtled through the air, thudding into the ground at the feet of Galarus and Marrew. The hulking mass of the behemoth emerged from the night. Saying nothing, he nodded to the pair, grabbed the failed assassin by the collar, and dragged him off toward the feast.

  Terran was still sat at the head of the table, discussing with Rohken the benefits of a regulated trade network in the west, when a body crashed across the table to his right. Plates of food and glasses of wine were scattered as the crumpled mass skidded to a stop. Every one of the guests were silenced, many of them jumping in shock at the clattering that had disturbed the festivities. Rohken was on his feet immediately, scouring the ranks of the remaining guests for the perpetrator of this disruption.

  The behemoth casually walked into the centre of the dining area, closely followed by Galarus and Marrew.

  ‘Assassin,’ he said, without any further explanation.

  Shocked whispers began to work their way around the tables.

  ‘Is this true, Marr?’ Terran asked of his bodyguard as he slowly raised himself to his feet.

  Marrew nodded. ‘Six of them; after the General.’

  ‘Who is he?’ Terran questioned them again.

  The behemoth approached the cowering body of the assassin and booted him in the ribs, sending him sprawling toward the light of the main bonfire with a whimper. He was dressed all in black, though the garments were of a high quality. Bands of gold adorned his wrists.

  ‘One of Saen’s,’ the behemoth grunted, seemingly unsurprised.

  ‘Rohken,’ Terran began to take control of the situation, ‘please try and locate our absent host. I’m sure we all have some questions for him.’

  The Ironhand leader, grinning, lumbered off toward the Wornsea camp in search of a man he was very much looking forward to finding.

  ‘Are you hurt, General?’ Terran continued.

  Galarus shook his head.

  ‘Very good. Bring the assassin to his feet; let us see what he knows.’

  The behemoth obliged. Hauling the whimpering man into the air with one hand, he carried him toward the bonfire by the front of his clothes. The flames had died down somewhat, the guests having eaten their fill, but the heat coming off it was still unbearable should one get too close. The giant didn’t seem to notice as he hoisted the assassin over the fire and let his feet dangle inches above it. The whimpers turned into shrieks.

  ‘You best answer quickly,’ Terran spoke loudly to ensure he was heard. ‘As strong as this man is, he will not be able to hold you this high for long.’

  The assassin gritted his teeth through the pa
in.

  ‘Anything!’ he squealed. ‘I’ll tell you anything!’

  ‘Good,’ Terran said, before turning to the behemoth. ‘Pull him out of the fire.’

  The Ironhand did so, but remained stood over him, should he be needed again.

  ‘I do not enjoy inflicting pain, assassin,’ Terran informed the twitching body knelt before him, ‘but you will leave me no choice if you do not answer my questions. Understand?’

  A whimper was the reply.

  ‘I will take that as a yes,’ Terran continued. ‘Saen sent you and the others to kill the General?’

  ‘Yes.’ The response was quiet, barely more than a whisper.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Saen made an agreement…’

  ‘An agreement with whom?’ the Wandeer pressed him further.

  ‘The king… King Rural.’

  Terran looked over at Galarus, whose face was a mixture of shock and rage.

  ‘When?’ he asked further.

  ‘After Gamga Ridge; an agent of the king met with Saen. I don’t know who it was.’

  ‘Why would the king want me dead?’ Galarus half shouted at the man, trying to assemble his thoughts amidst the alcoholic mist still swirling in his mind.

  ‘He…’ the Wornsea agent trailed off, his words replaced with a gurgling noise as an arrow lodged itself in his throat.

  The group spun around but could see nothing beyond the tables and bemused onlookers. Without warning the behemoth shoved Galarus to the floor. The General landed heavily, the wind driven out of him, looking up just in time to see a second arrow slam into the Ironhand’s left shoulder, right where his head would have been. The giant barely flinched, instead pointed in the direction the arrow had come from. Soldiers ran for the torches and charged off toward the target the behemoth had indicated. The other guests began to panic and streamed off to their respective camps. Marrew had positioned himself in front of Galarus, but no more arrows flew.

  The Ironhand champion lifted the General to his feet. Galarus nodded his thanks, and the behemoth responded in kind, though yet still to acknowledge the arrow shaft jutting out of his body. Rohken reappeared on the far side of the tables, empty handed and looking angry.

  ‘The little whoreson has gone!’ he shouted at his allies. ‘Sneaky little shit must have disappeared as soon as he left the feast.’ He paused once he reached the group around the bonfire and saw the body of the assassin and his wounded warrior. ‘What happened?’

  ‘I shall fill you in on the details, Rohken,’ Terran informed him ‘but not here and not now. We must establish a perimeter around the village, should the assassins try again. It is unlikely, but we cannot be too careful. Marrew, alert the soldiers, have them remain in pairs at close ranks this side of the river. General, if you would accompany us, there are some things I think I should share with you.’

  The group retreated to one of the larger huts within the boughs of the trees at the rear of the village, while warriors formed a protective watch around the village and aided in the search of the missing assassin. Two more bodies were recovered in the hunt, both of them Torncloud; one with an arrow piercing his heart, the other with his throat cut. The rest had reported finding no one. The Wornsea baggage train had been searched, and, upon finding nothing, the remaining members of Saen’s entourage, almost entirely made up of servants and higher ranking members of the Tribe, were allowed to leave; which they did immediately.

  Terran had a doctor summoned to remove the arrow from the behemoth’s shoulder and clean the wound. The Ironhand showed no sign of pain or even discomfort at the procedure.

  ‘Please, General, have a seat.’ The Wandeer waved his hand at half a dozen chairs sat around a long rectangular table in the centre of the room. Galarus obliged, and Terran took the chair opposite him before continuing. ‘You recall I mentioned to you, several days ago now, the prophecy foretold by the Elder, Palangia?’

  Galarus nodded. There was little he had forgotten concerning the conversations they had had about the Wandeer.

  ‘The first verse of it is this: “When the fourth of his name dies upon the Marble Throne, a nation will once more see the rise of kings. The world united then will kneel, and a king will bear witness to a power like no other.” There are another two verses, but neither is pertinent to this point in time. I believe Rural intends to place himself at the centre of this prophecy. He has already declared himself a king, for what reasons most can only speculate. What is more, Villanus, the fourth of his name, died while still acting as the Voice of Caldoa. These things cannot be coincidence.’

  Galarus sat motionless, attempting to order the evening’s events into coherent thoughts. ‘You believe Rural was behind the death of Villanus?’ he asked Terran.

  The Wandeer nodded. ‘I do. And it has given him enough excuse to begin his war against all of Banmer. He has already tried to kill you once, and now it would seem he has bought the allegiance of the Wornsea, and they have tried again. Who else would have so much to gain by removing Villanus?’

  ‘By removing me he could take control of the Legions himself,’ Galarus muttered.

  ‘And wage war on whom he pleased without having to persuade you to do so,’ Terran added. ‘He must be stopped. It will not be easy, by any means, but the alternative is a land plagued by war. Hundreds of thousands will suffer if he does indeed try to fulfil the prophecy.’

  Galarus nodded along as the Wandeer spoke. Things seemed to be moving too fast for him to keep up, but if he was to have answers, he must return home and wring them from the king himself.

  ‘When can we leave?’ he asked.

  ‘At dawn tomorrow,’ Terran replied. ‘I will have your armour and weapons returned to you in the morning.’

  ‘We will go with you,’ the behemoth spoke up from the corner of the room, hunched over to prevent his head from touching the ceiling. Rohken nodded in agreement, not phased by the fact that his services had been volunteered by his champion.

  ‘Excellent,’ Terran said. ‘We should get some rest. There is a long road ahead of us all.’

  The journey to Gamga Ridge from the Torncloud village was a difficult one. Vicious winds, unhindered by the flat terrain, whipped up walls of dust and sand, reducing Galarus’ visibility to mere inches. Occasionally they passed by pillars of red stone that seemed to jut sporadically out from the ground; the same ones he could just about recall glimpsing during his near-unconscious trip after the battle. Terran had been right; any attempt the General might have made to escape Torncloud would have quickly ended with him devoid of all bearing and without supplies.

  The tribesmen, however, moved as though there were a clear cut path beneath their feet. They travelled as quickly as conditions would allow, several men having to guide an ox that bore the small caravan’s supplies; its face protected from the sand and winds by a cloth sack which it seemed none too bothered about wearing. They were often forced to camp in the open, in easily erected conical tents similar to those Galarus had seen in the village. If they were lucky, one of the columns of stone would offer them some respite from the wind while they slept.

  It took six days for them to reach the western entrance to the canyon, at which point Terran and the tribesmen bade farewell to the General. The wall of boulders that had blocked the only route through to Alloria had been parted, and the huge rocks sat at the bottom of the shingle slopes on either side. The corpses of both sides had also been moved, to where Galarus was unsure, but it was likely that the weapons and armour of the Legions had been appropriated by the Tribes in preparation for a second Caldoan assault.

  ‘There will be several men waiting here General, should you, for any reason, feel you need to return this way,’ Terran had said. ‘Otherwise, good luck to you. I sincerely hope this is not the last time we meet.’

  They watched him leave, a lone legionary, supplies slung over his shoulder for the remainder of his trip. At the end of which, he hoped, laid Rural, and the answers to his questions.

/>   Chapter Nine

  ‘What are you doing here?’ the king shouted, as the lieutenants, as stunned as anyone, greeted their General, none more energetically than Jaxon and Placatas.

  No one, it seemed, had seen him enter shortly after Boreas, and all had believed him dead. As was evident from the look of sheer, pallid horror upon Rural’s face.

  ‘Answer me!’ he ordered.

  Galarus stepped forward, staring at the king, as Caeda Boreas moved submissively to one side. He had spent every waking moment of his return journey to Caldoa going over in his head how he would confront Rural, but seeing the man again; the man responsible for the annihilation of two Legions and repeated attempts upon his life, Galarus only seethed with anger.

  ‘I’m here for you,’ he said simply, the threatening tone of his words audible to everyone.

  Rural said nothing, instead tried to compose himself in the face of this revelation.

  ‘You seem surprised,’ the General continued. ‘Did the Wornsea not tell you that they had failed to carry out your orders?’

  The look of what appeared to be genuine confusion upon the face of the king was enough to only momentarily unsettle him.

  ‘The deaths of two thousand of my men are upon your head; two thousand sons of a city that will be baying for your blood when they hear what I have to say,’ Galarus was only paces away from the throne now, his hand resting on the pommel of his still-sheathed sword. ‘And the murder of Villanus…’

  ‘Treason! Treason!’ Rural howled, pointing a panicky finger at the General. ‘Guards! Arrest him! His mind has clearly been addled by the enemy Wandeer! Arrest him!’