by Emery, Ben
‘The palace guards lowered their spears over the top of their shields and advanced upon Galarus. For the most part the lieutenants, confused, swiftly moved out of their way. Jaxon and Placatas drew their swords alongside the General, rushing to his side until the three were back to back, prepared to fight their way out. The guards advanced as quickly as they dared, twelve of them fanning out to encircle the three legionaries.
‘Lower your weapons General; or your men die with you,’ Rural said, more calmly now that he was in charge once again.
The odds were certainly not in Galarus’ favour; despite the jokes about the palace guards’ lack of effectiveness in battle, twelve of them could not miss with their spears aimed so close.
‘Weapons down,’ Galarus quietly ordered his lieutenants.
Their blades clattered noisily onto the marble floor, and six of the guards rushed in to bind their prisoners.
‘Escort them to the Palace cells,’ Rural instructed. ‘I shall deal with these traitors later.’
The three were removed without another word, and the king watched them every step of the way, until the heavy doors were closed behind them. He retook his seat upon the Marble Throne, visibly angry and disturbed, while all others in the room, including the lieutenants, still looked shaken by the rapid sequence of events that had just transpired.
‘Now then, gentlemen,’ Rural continued, clenching his hands together in the hope that they would stop shaking. ‘What you have just witnessed will remain a secret within these walls.’ His mind raced as he tried to find the right words. ‘The General is a traitor, not only to me but to the city…he is responsible for the death of Villanus, and in league with the Tribes.’ He forced back a smile. ‘Why else would they have spared him after Gamga Ridge?’ A more than adequate explanation, he thought. ‘Anyone that mentions the events of this afternoon or publicly defends the General for his heinous crimes will be branded a traitor also, and they and their family will suffer for it.’
With that he dismissed the lieutenants, and waited, until the echoing room was empty, before slamming the butt of his fist into the cold marble of the throne.
The Palace cells were, despite their name, somewhat removed from the Palace itself. Though still located in the Holy District, the single storey, inconspicuous building was to be found several streets away, and separate from the dungeons in which the Tribal merchants had been tortured by Ursta and his men. That was a building that remained unknown to many, and not one Rural could have instructed his prisoners to be taken to in front of eight Legion officers. The cells had seen little use before now, and were fairly small and unfurnished. One larger cell sat against a back wall, flanked on either side by a smaller cell. They were not made of solid stone, but instead bars, so that the guards could easily monitor the activity of the prisoners within. However, since the only permanent residents inside the District were men and women of the Order, there was little occasion for anyone to be arrested.
It was here that Galarus and his two most trusted lieutenants were stored, the three of them in the largest cell under lock and key and the watchful eyes of six of the palace guards that had escorted them there; all awaiting the arrival of the king. They were not kept waiting long. Rural appeared less than hour after the officers had been arrested, with another contingent of guards in tow, among which was the newly appointed General Boreas. For several minutes he just stood, staring through the bars at Galarus and his men.
‘Leave us,’ Rural finally instructed his subordinates. ‘You too,’ he added, as Boreas ushered the guards out. The young General looked almost hurt at being left out, but exited through the main door and onto the street.
‘An interesting choice for my successor,’ Galarus said calmly once they were alone with the king. ‘Though an unpopular one.’
‘He will do as he is told,’ Rural countered, walking slowly toward the bars of the cell.
‘A puppet, then?’ Galarus grunted.
‘Essentially,’ Rural admitted with a shrug.
Jaxon and Placatas sat in silence, watching the exchange between the two. The General said nothing, so Rural continued.
‘All else aside, I am impressed by your ability to evade death. Had I been forewarned of your return I still would not have believed it unil you stormed into my throne room.’
‘My apologies,’ Galarus offered with a shallow and mocking bow. ‘I must be costing you a small fortune in assassins.’
Rural laughed with genuine amusement. ‘My dear General, what makes you think they were my assassins? There are more outside these walls than I who wish you dead.’
‘But you do wish me dead,’ Galarus stated bluntly.
‘I do,’ Rural confessed without remorse.
‘Why?’ Galarus asked. He was almost certain why, but wanted to hear the truth of the matter.
‘For the future of Alloria,’ the king stated dramatically, raising his arms from his sides, as though this alone were enough of an explanation.
‘Alloria would be ash and ruins were it not for the General!’ Placatas challenged, his outburst echoing around the small room.
‘True,’ Rural conceded. ‘Even I praised your name aloud that day, General. But that was ten years ago now, and there are greater things to be accomplished, and you would only stand in the way.’
‘When the fourth of his name dies upon the Marble Throne,’ Galarus began, recalling the first line of the prophecy Terran had shared with him.
‘Exactly!’ Rural exclaimed; excited if a little surprised that the General was able to recite those words. ‘So the Wandeer spoke to you! What did he say of the prophecy? Of me?’
‘He said you are wrong to follow it, and you must be stopped,’ Galarus replied.
‘So that is why you returned,’ Rural smiled. ‘But why would you want to stop me? This course of events has been unraveling for half a millennium, and only now are things coming to fruition. Can you imagine it?’ He had started pacing back and forth in front of the cell as he spoke, carried away by his own words. ‘The whole of Banmer united under the pillars of Caldoa; no more petty squabbles between nations, no more wars and death. There would be peace in every corner of the land, and I would be solely responsible for it: a power like no other.’ These last words he whispered with a reverence what would not have been out of place in a prayer.
‘Many will die for this peace you speak of,’ Galarus argued. ‘More than can be justified.’
‘There are always casualties before there is peace,’ Rural answered him.
‘Casualties like Villanus?’ the General asked, aggression seeping into his voice for the first time.
‘Ha! Villanus,’ Rural spat the name out. ‘The old fool was worthless on his own, but a part of something so much larger. For centuries the Order has kept the Wandeer prophecy a secret, waiting for the perfect time, and for a decade I waited for that man to die and the events predicted by the Wandeer to unfold. Eventually I realized that I must first act myself, and now here we are, with the nation once more seeing the rise of a king.’
‘A self-proclaimed king waging an unjust war against the rest of the world,’ Galarus sneered.
‘And that is why you had to die, General,’ Rural replied honestly. ‘And why two thousand of your men were sent to their deaths behind you.’
‘You won’t succeed,’ Galarus growled, biting back the anger that had begun to swell within him. ‘You will fail, and I will be the last thing you see in this world.’
‘Really, General,’ the king said, as though humouring a child, and ignoring the threat altogether, ‘I have come too far to not succeed, and I have accomplished far more than you know. The Tribes are all but destroyed, and I have already bought the support of the Vahc. Can you imagine the songs they will sing of me; the king that tamed the barbarians of the Wastes? With them at my command, the Free Cities will fall to their knees as vanquished enemies or groveling vassals.’
He grinned again, turning on his heel and heading for the iron do
or that led to the city outside.
‘Farewell, General,’ the king added over his shoulder. ‘This will be the last time we see eachother.’
He rapped sharply upon the metal door and Boreas opened it for him. The officers watched him silently from behind bars, quietly seething amidst all they had just learned, and no one else would ever hear.
Night fell quickly over Caldoa, and the palace guards kept a vigilant watch over their prisoners, who whispered in low voices, no doubt, they assumed, about their conversation with the king. Before he had headed back to the Palace, Rural had given a last set of orders to his men: ‘They are not to live through the night.’ The recently promoted Captain of the Guard, a man by the name of Evelos, left bitter after the advancement of his former subordinate Boreas, had nodded in understanding, and saluted his king as he left. He was not happy with the task he had been assigned; he held no antipathy toward the General. On the contrary, like many men, he had revelled in the stories of Galarus’ victories during the Incursions, and had dreamed of similar glory himself. But orders were orders, particularly those directly from the king himself.
There would be six of them to carry out the task, Evelos among them, and a further two standing guard on the street outside, should anything unexpected happen. They had waited until the officers had fallen asleep, which had not taken long. Galarus had been the first to nod off, propped up against the back wall. Jaxon had slept in the same fashion, except to the left, against the row of iron bars, chin resting on his chest. Placatas, snoring loudly, slept to the right, flat on the ground, his cloak bundled up into a makeshift pillow.
The guards drew their swords, the steel rasping quietly against their scabbards, as the Captain unlocked the cell door. The hinges creaked as the door opened inward and the guards froze. None of the officers stirred. The first of them cautiously edged into the cell, lifting each foot deliberately and placing it down softly in an attempt to dull any noise he might make, closely followed by the second.
‘Now!’ Galarus shouted, startling the guards in the silence.
From the floor, Placatas kicked the cell door closed, slamming it into the body of the second guard. The first that had entered the cell, caught completely by surprise, barely had time to realise what was happening before Jaxon tackled him to the ground and beat him unconscious. Galarus hurled himself toward the door as the rest of the guards swung it open again to join the fray. He threw his shoulder into the next man into the cell, sending him toppling backward into his allies as they crashed to the floor. Jaxon tossed the first guard’s sword up to the General, who stormed out of his prison and atop his fallen enemies. Captain Evelos was the first to die, his throat cut as he lay helpless on the floor, Galarus moving on swiftly to skewer another through the neck.
Jaxon and Placatas were with him now. The younger lieutenant, having collected a sword also, parried a panicked thrust and drove his blade into the face of an attacker. Placatas, still unarmed, launched himself at a man still struggling to find his feet. He kicked his arms out from under him, spinning the guard to the floor once more. Now stood over him, the old lieutenant drove his boot heel into the guard’s face, blood squirting out beneath his sole. His opponent didn’t move again. Jaxon hacked off the arm of a fifth assailant, as the two guards on duty outside burst through the door. Galarus booted the last of those that had been inside in the chest, sending him reeling backward and crashing into the newcomers. The three of them spilled outward into the street, closely followed by the officers, but the guards found their feet quickly. It was three against three now, in the narrow lanes of the Holy District, with far more palace guards within earshot.
Attais and Coran had been stuck on night-time patrol duties for more than a week now, and they were getting sick of it. They were tasked, along with the rest of the now-replenished Ninth Legion, with wandering the streets of the Merchant District, ensuring its inhabitants were safe and as a deterrent to thieves and looters. The legionaries patrolled in pairs, thankfully; else the practice would have been even more intolerable. The only time they were really needed was if a drunken scuffle got out of hand or spilled out into the street, and even that was too rare an occurrence for Attais’ liking. Still, it was better than being posted to the walls; at least on the ground they got to walk around.
‘This is bollocks,’ Coran said loudly as they rounded a corner into another deserted street. ‘There’s nothing to do! We’re the only ones out here tonight. Can’t we…’
‘Shut up,’ Attais hissed at him.
Coran looked at him quizzically. ‘What?’
He was silenced again as Attais craned his head from side to side, trying to rehear the sound he was almost certain had carried to his ears. In the distance, to the east, the unmistakeable, yet faint, clash of weapons broke the still quiet of the night.
A smile lit up Coran’s face. ‘Finally!’
The pair ran as fast as their armour would allow, following the sounds of fighting out of the Merchant District, and beneath the arched gateway into the central Holy District. The entrance, usually under the watch of at least two of the palace guards at all times, was strangely unmanned. Discarding the thought, the young legionaries ducked down an alleyway onto the adjoining street to find the skirmish taking place. Three men, one of them wearing the easily recognisable pale blue cloak of a Legion officer, were outnumbered and surrounded by palace guards, the bodies of three of which lay unmoving on the ground. The pair hurried forward to investigate.
‘Hey!’ Coran shouted as they neared. ‘What in Allor’s name is going on?’
The nearest guard turned; a look of panic on his face at the appearance of Legion reinforcements. He thrust his spear toward Coran’s head. The legionary rocked to one side just in time, completely caught off guard by the attack. He reacted, driving the tip of his sword into the side of his attacker, who fell screaming. The remaining guards looked up, startled, giving the officers a chance to attack. They each felled another opponent before the fighting resumed. The odds were evening quickly.
Attais sidestepped around a spear jab aimed at his chest, swung low with his sword and severed his enemy’s leg. More screaming and blood jetted to the floor. Attais’ momentum carried him onward, and he slammed the rim of his circular shield into the face of an unsuspecting guard. He hit the floor heavily, his armour clattering on the stone, as one of the officers drove a sword into his chest. Attais sought out another opponent, but there were none to be found. Of the guards that had been involved, only two remained, and, unwilling to throw their lives upon the swords of the legionaries, fled the blood-drenched street. With only the five of them left standing, the officers turned to greet their rescuers.
‘General?’ Coran shouted in disbelief.
‘Shut up, you fool!’ Placatas hissed.
‘Lieutenant?’ Attais said as he recognised Jaxon also. ‘What just happened?’
‘There isn’t time to explain,’ Galarus replied. ‘The whole District will be crawling with palace guards in no time, and they’ll be all over the city by dawn. We need to leave Caldoa. You boys saved our lives, but in doing so put your own in danger. You are fugitives as much as we are now, I’m afraid.’
Coran and Attais looked at each other, quite lost as to what was going on.
‘What’s the plan?’ Jaxon asked of the General.
‘Get out of the city,’ Galarus replied: that much was obvious, but to where after was less so. ‘Head west,’ he decided. ‘We’ll meet Terran’s men at Gamga Ridge. He knows more of what is happening here than anyone. I hope he will know what we are to do next.’
‘We’re going back to Gamga Ridge?’ Coran said loudly.
Galarus nodded. ‘It is wise the pair of you leave also. You are welcome to accompany us, though you are free to do as you please.’
Attais looked to Coran, whose face had drained of colour and revealed the state of shock he was in.
‘We’re with you, General,’ he said, volunteering both himself and Coran,
yet the latter did not protest.
‘Very good,’ Galarus nodded. ‘Now, let’s hurry, before we have to fight our way out.’
The five of them managed to slip out of the city with relative ease. Once outside of the Holy District, having disposed of most of the guards that blocked their route already, they were able to move with less caution; no army patrol was going to question fellow legionaries, let alone a group containing three officers. Beyond the city walls, Galarus upped their pace considerably, eager to put as much distance between them and the king and his men as possible. They stopped very briefly for supplies in Legio, sending Coran in alone to procure them, he being least likely to be recognised. Galarus highly doubted that any of the retired veterans of the Ninth would say a word to the king about having seen them, but he preferred they not be implicated in his escape in any fashion whatsoever.
At such a pace and in so few numbers, the legionaries were able to reach the Arm of Allor by the end of the third day, during which time Galarus had told Attais and Coran the details of the past few weeks; his time spent in the company of the Tribes, the assassination attempt by Saen, and the events that had transpired within Caldoa that had resulted in the skirmish the pair had found themselves in. Much of this information he had already shared with Placatas and Jaxon while the three of them had been trapped in the Palace cells, but they listened intently to it all again. Outraged at the actions of the king, and, what was more, at a loss as to where they could go now, the two young legionaries agreed that they would remain with the General for as long as he needed them. After all, Rural had sent them to their deaths against the Tribes as well.
It was an unsettling feeling for Attais and Coran, traversing the winding pathway of the canyon floor, upon which so many of their brothers in arms had perished. More unsettling still was the sight of a group of armed tribesmen awaiting them at the western mouth of Gamga Ridge, though they seemed to be serving as scouts for the most part, having set up a small encampment to await either a sign of the General or the Legions.