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

by Emery, Ben

  The Torncloud soldiers looked questioningly at the bedraggled group of armoured legionaries that Galarus had brought with him, but said nothing. A pair of them collected large bags of what were presumably supplies and waved the General and his men to follow them, into the swirling desert sands that lay between Gamga and Torncloud Mountain.

  The journey took less time than Galarus remembered, though there were fewer of them and a greater urgency. Every inch of the route they followed seemed as foreign to him as though he were seeing it for the first time. He tried to recall any feature of the landscape that might allow him to feel as though he knew which direction they were heading in, but even the daunting stacks of stone, few as they were, looked unfamiliar, and he felt the oddest sensation of comfort when the silhouette of Torncloud Mountain could be seen against the horizon.

  They arrived at the village border shortly before nightfall of the fifth day, exhausted and hungry. Terran, with Marrew as ever at his side, met them at the river’s edge.

  ‘It is good to see you still alive, General,’ the Wandeer greeted him warmly. ‘Though I was not expecting you to bring company.’

  He met the eyes of each of the other legionaries, all of which stared back at him warily. As far as they were concerned, the tribesmen hadn’t ceased to be their enemies, despite what they had heard from both Galarus and the king. The appearance of Rohken and the behemoth behind Terran caused them even greater unease. Placatas, Coran and Attais, in particular, who had fought directly opposite the Ironhand Tribe at Gamga Ridge weeks before, inadvertently allowed their hands to slip toward their weapons.

  ‘There is no danger here,’ Terran said calmly to the group, focusing on Placatas himself. ‘We are no longer your enemies. Indeed, it would seem we are your only allies.’

  Galarus glanced over his shoulder at his men and gave them a reassuring nod. The legionaries relaxed, though only a little. He returned his attention to the Wandeer.

  ‘I could not stop Rural,’ the General explained. ‘But you were right about his intentions; he seeks to fulfill the prophecy, and has already planned his war. He will send a larger army against you, to finish what he started.’

  ‘I know,’ Terran said. ‘Both Rohken and I have discussed this situation and planned accordingly.’

  ‘What will you do?’ Galarus asked, almost certain of what the answer would be.

  ‘Our army will meet his, at Gamga Ridge, once again.’

  ‘Can you not fall back? The Legions won’t be able to find their way through the deserts between here and there,’ Galarus suggested.

  Terran shook his head. ‘If the Wornsea are indeed sided with the king, they will help him find a way, and our settlements are far less easy to defend.’

  ‘You will lose,’ the General replied flatly.

  The Wandeer smiled weakly. He looked strangely older now than he had only a month and a half before.

  ‘It is not our intention to win,’ he said. ‘We will slow his advance into the Territories as best we can, and allow the non-combatants a chance to escape.’

  ‘You would throw your life away?’ Galarus asked him.

  ‘I will give my life willingly,’ Terran explained.

  ‘For what?’ Galarus retorted. ‘Surely you can escape with your people?’

  ‘It is not for them that I give my life, General. It is for you.’

  Galarus stared back at the old man and said nothing, only waited for the Wandeer to explain himself. Sure enough, Terran continued.

  ‘You must travel south and west from here, at first light tomorrow. You will have ten days to make it to the coastal village of Hanaia. There you will find a Wandeer merchant by the name of Vedeon. You must tell him everything of what has happened; of my intended course of action, and especially of Rural and the prophecy. He will accompany you to Wan’Dring, where the Elder will no doubt want to meet you. You will tell him everything also, and he will understand better than most.’

  ‘Understand what?’ Galarus was stunned now; no human had ever set foot upon the island of Wan’Dring, yet he was expected to simply ask one of the Wandeer for an escort there.

  ‘Understand the importance of helping you against the king,’ Terran said, matter-of-factly, as though this part of the conversation was obvious.

  ‘The king has ten Legions at his disposal; at least. Not counting the palace guards,’ Galarus stated. ‘Even assuming we have the assistance of the Wandeer, there are still only five of us that will fight!’ He waved an arm behind him at the legionaries at his back.

  ‘Six,’ Marrew corrected him, not moving from Terran’s side.

  ‘Seven,’ the behemoth added.

  Galarus stared from one tribesman to the other.

  ‘They will fight with you, General,’ Terran explained. ‘You are correct in thinking you will need all the help you can get. But we can discuss this further later tonight. You are all clearly very tired. I have prepared a meal, and I’m sure there will be more than enough, even with our unexpected guests; if you would, please follow me.’

  The meal Terran had provided was unremarkable, but it sated their appetites and their full stomachs fuelled their exhaustion. The following morning came all too soon for the still weary soldiers, but the Wandeer had insisted upon the need for an early start. Having been provided accommodation in treetop houses similar to the one Galarus had stayed in, they donned their armour and made their way to the ground, the sun barely having forced its way above the horizon. At the foot of the tree line, Terran, Marrew, Rohken and the behemoth were awaiting them, next to a pile of five leather packs.

  ‘There are small tents in each, and supplies enough to last you two weeks, though you must not take that long to reach Hanaia.’ Terran said, gesturing at the packs beside him. Marrew and the behemoth had already slung theirs upon their shoulders. ‘Marrew knows the way. Keep to his pace and you will be fine. Remember: once at the village ask for Vedeon. He will be aboard a ship in the harbour there.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Galarus replied, unsure of what else to say in response.

  ‘You are very welcome, General,’ Terran said sincerely. ‘I wish you the best of luck.’ He held his hand out and Galarus shook it firmly. ‘Everything depends on you now.’

  Galarus nodded a farewell, while Placatas started tossing the packs at the other legionaries. They moved off slightly, to allow Marrew to say goodbye to the Wandeer, and Rohken and the behemoth wordlessly clasped each other’s forearms in a warrior’s grip.

  When all were ready, Marrew took the lead, followed by the legionaries, with the Ironhand champion taking up the rear, as they headed downstream, passed the southern spur of the Giant’s Embrace, and out into the windswept sands of the desert beyond.

  A thin veil of rain had begun to lash down around the White Palace, and Rural stood at a window in the throne room, listening to it patter against the stone outside, and watching puddles slowly expand and bleed into one another.

  ‘Your highness?’ General Boreas disturbed him; somewhat dampened by the rain and hesitant to bring his news to the king.

  Rural lazily waved a hand for him to continue.

  ‘Your highness, there is no sign of Galarus and his men within the city, or in the surrounding lands. The men have been scouring everywhere possible, but I have yet to receive any indication as to where he is or might have gone.’

  The king stroked the stubble on his chin as he pondered on Boreas’ words. He had not expected to find Galarus in the first place, regardless of the number of palace guards employed in the search, but he had hoped that someone may have at least seen the direction he was heading in.

  ‘You are sure there were only five of them involved?’ he said finally.

  ‘Yes, sire; Galarus, Lieutenants Placatas and Jaxon, and the two recruits of the Ninth on patrol that night that are yet to be accounted for.’

  ‘Even as a fugitive he rallies men to his side,’ Rural observed.

  There was silence for several minutes while the king
engaged himself in his own thoughts, until Boreas worked up the courage to talk again.

  ‘What are your orders, your highness?’

  ‘Continue preparations for the invasion. We must eliminate the Tribes that remain against us as quickly as possible if we are to turn our attention elsewhere. It could also be that Galarus returned to the Wandeer, in which case you may find him there. Tear their villages apart, General,’ Rural instructed.

  Boreas bowed quickly, turned dramatically on his heel and exited the throne room, leaving the king alone again, with the soft sounds of rain to accompany his thoughts.

  Chapter Ten

  The pace Marrew set across the shifting red sand was almost tortuous for the armoured legionaries. While he and the behemoth wore footwear well suited to a life traversing the desert, the metal boots of the Caldoans seemed to sink deeper with each step they took, until their legs burned with the exertion of dragging them forward.

  While the ground was forgivingly flat, the winds, the same that Galarus had been guided through to and from Gamga Ridge, drove at them mercilessly. Grains of sand became needles as they were whipped into a frenzy, and the legionaries were eternally grateful for the cloaks that Terran had provided for them in their supplies.

  The conditions made conversation impossible while travelling, but even while camped there was little talk. The tribesmen kept to themselves, not interacting even with eachother, and, with the exception of Galarus, the Caldoans remained wary of their companions, though Marrew and the behemoth seemed to care very little.

  After several days, however, the landscape had begun to change dramatically. The deserts surrounding Torncloud Mountain were monotonous, and left travellers vulnerable to the elements. But the further south they had come, the milder the winds had become, and the ground itself had begun to billow into undulating dunes; some barely ripples against the sky, others that loomed before them, and took a considerable effort to traverse.

  ‘We are nearing the coast,’ Marrew informed them on the sixth night of their journey. ‘It should only take another few days to reach Hanaia.’

  They had pitched their tents in a sheltered basin, nestled amid the high-sided sandbanks, and had been able to light a small campfire around which they sat. Wordlessly, they each rummaged through their own packs for something to eat, tired and hungry.

  ‘Bastard sand gets everywhere,’ Placatas grumbled, shaking out his pack.

  ‘Hmm,’ Jaxon agreed, dusting off a slab of dried beef before taking a bite out of it.

  ‘I’m looking forward to a meal that doesn’t have half the bloody desert in it,’ Coran added with a grimace as he felt sand crunch between his teeth.

  ‘Not long now,’ Attais reminded them. ‘Three days and we can get ourselves some fresh food!’

  ‘Stop whining and get some rest,’ Galarus instructed. ‘If these dunes get any bigger, we’re going to struggle to maintain our pace.’

  The soldiers obliged, huddling into their narrow tents, not looking forward to the arduous hike that awaited them the next day.

  Galarus, to his own dismay, had not been wrong about the dunes, for they certainly did not shrink in size, and from the moment they had set off the following morning they were forced to climb incline after incline on the loose ground. They had travelled most of the morning in this fashion, the only respite being the speedy descent on the other side of the dunes. Trudging over the summit of yet another mountainous bank of sand, Marrew stopped dead upon its ridge. The others caught up to him and stood and stared. In the seven days that they had been en route to Hanaia, they had not seen any sign of another soul. But in the shallow valley below them lay a score of bodies scattered in the sand. The unmoving forms of cattle were among them, maybe half a dozen, and the baggage they had been carrying had been torn apart and strewn about the place. A wagon, resting on its bed and still attached to a pair of the dead cows, had been blackened by a fire that had since burned out. Whatever had been upon it was now a collection of ashes that had been distributed across the scene by the gentle wind that rolled down the dunes.

  ‘Are they dead?’ Attais asked no one in particular.

  ‘Have you ever seen men sleep like that before?’ the behemoth mocked him, no sign of compassion in his voice.

  He unslung the monstrous weapon from his back and half slid down the sandy slope toward the grisly scene below. The rest followed suit, the legionaries drawing their swords, Marrew tightening his grip on his spear.

  It was obvious that a skirmish had taken place; the bodies of women and children were huddled closer together, near the pack animals, while the corpses of men formed a shabby perimeter, many of them still clutching weapons in their lifeless hands. Blood stained the sand everywhere.

  ‘Who are they?’ Attais said, voicing his thoughts again.

  ‘They are Torncloud,’ Marrew answered, his eyes downcast at the bodies around him. ‘They left the Mountain several days before you returned, General. Many are doing so before your Legions attack again.’

  The legionaries did not respond to this, instead continued to pick their way across the battleground, looking for survivors, or any indication of who their attackers were. It seemed an unfruitful quest; the refugees had been here for at least two days now.

  The behemoth was ahead of the rest of the group, by about fifty yards or so, and Galarus watched as he bent low to examine a body, then stood upright and surveyed the dunes around them. The General followed his gaze; the valley they were in was surrounded by three large sand dunes that formed a triangular hollow in the desert. The two dunes in front of them met at a point much lower than their summits, and it was here that he guessed this unfortunate party had been headed. He returned his attention to the Ironhand, in time to see the big man slam the enormous hammer into the same prostrate body he had been examining only seconds before. A scream tore into the air and the group jumped at the piercing and unexpected sound.

  ‘Ambush!’ the behemoth shouted across at his comrades, as the sand came alive beneath them.

  Bloodied bodies sprang to their feet, weapons ready. A spear lanced up from the ground and caught Attais across the arm. Startled, the legionary lashed wildly downward with his sword, catching his attacker in the throat, arcing blood into the sky.

  ‘On me!’ Galarus called to his allies, gutting an assailant before he was off the ground. ‘Form up!’

  The legionaries obeyed, falling into a rough semicircle centered upon the General. To one side, Marrew expertly parried a spear thrust and countered, driving his own weapon into the ambusher’s heart. Still ahead of the group, the behemoth was shattering opponent after opponent with almighty blows with his hammer, the axe blade still unbloodied.

  ‘Up on the hill!’ Jaxon shouted, gesturing with his sword as figures swarmed over the ridges of the dunes ahead of them.

  ‘How many?’ Placatas asked as he felled the last attacker on the valley floor, finishing him off with a straight thrust into the chest.

  ‘I count thirty four,’ Jaxon replied, slinging his shield onto his back and collecting a second sword from the body of his last kill. ‘This could get interesting.’

  ‘Time to see what your legionaries are made of, General,’ the behemoth called back over his shoulder, an eager grin appearing on his face as the ambush party streamed down the face of the dunes, howling and brandishing their weapons.

  The soldiers watched in awe as he stood alone in front of the oncoming enemy, twirling the massive weapon effortlessly in his hands. The weapon stopped spinning, the axe blade coming to rest aimed at the sky.

  Marrew had moved closer to the semicircle of legionaries, a collection of spears in his hands. He stabbed his own spear into the sand on his left, the others to his right. He hefted one in his hands, testing the weight of it, and waited for the enemy.

  The first foes charged directly for the Ironhand champion, who readied the great axe. Before he could strike, the nearest opponent was stopped dead by a thrown spear. He glared back at Mar
rew and Marrew grinned back, picking up his next projectile. A second and then a third enemy were felled by perfect throws from the tribesman, before the bulk of the ambush party gained momentum on the valley floor. Marrew sent the fourth and final expendable spear thudding into the stomach of another opponent. He snatched up his own weapon and ran to the side of the behemoth, who had begun taunting the enemy with huge swings of his hammer-axe. The first two that reached him were beheaded, before the axe fell heavily onto a third, nearly splitting the man in half. Blood sprayed upward as the giant cleaved through opponents, hurling himself toward group after group of them.

  ‘Shit!’ Galarus swore. The five legionaries were stood back from the action and useless to either of the tribesmen. ‘Charge!’

  The Caldoans broke formation and sprinted toward their companions, who were leaving a bloody mess behind them. The armoured soldiers crashed into the ranks of the ambush party as they began to envelop Marrew and the behemoth. The legionaries hacked and slashed their way through flesh and bone, the addition of their swords enough to keep the enemy at bay, and the shock of their attack enough to stagger them. The Ironhand warrior showed no signs of tiring, carving a crimson path through anyone that stood against him. Jaxon, wielding two swords, was superbly quick, parrying and dodging attacks from multiple assailants, countering with ruthless precision. Attais remained close to Galarus, for fear that his wounded arm might be his downfall, yet his sword still found the bodies of the enemy. Placatas and Coran, too, did their part, cleaving through the ambushers and smashing them to the ground with shields, until the butchery was almost done.

  Three enemies remained; the last of the party to join the fight. Having watched the slaughter of their group at the hands of so few, their appetite for battle had waned. Seven men had slaughtered almost five times their number, and stood, covered in the blood of the dead and dying, ready for more. The last ambushers ran before anyone could engage them, scrabbling for the slopes like frightened animals fleeing from a predator.