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

by Emery, Ben

  Instead, when they were not helping other Wandeer, who had grown hesitantly but increasingly used to the presence of outsiders in their village, the soldiers turned their energies toward training. Though, for the most part, they could be considered veterans - even Attais and Coran had been tested in battle more than once now - it gave them a sense of preparedness before they landed in one of the most hostile nations for them to be in. None of them wished to consider what would happen should, as unlikely as it was, they be recognised and captured by Alarum’s men. And so, each took to their own regimes; Galarus and Placatas sparred with each other, Jaxon coached Coran on his swordsmanship, and Marrew, as promised, taught Attais how to throw a spear in the same lethal manner that he had displayed in the desert. Only the behemoth trained alone, often retreating to the narrow shingle beach by the harbour, preferring to be removed from the presence of others altogether.

  In the woods above him, Attais launched spear after spear, procured from Vedeon’s cache, at tree trunks, under the tutelage of the Torncloud warrior. He was getting good, the tribesman admitted; each throw flying straight, thudding firmly into the flesh of the tree trunks. Perhaps not always the desired tree, but at least he was improving.

  When not focusing on combat, Jaxon led those who would join him on a run around the island. While, again, the behemoth declined to join in, Marrew was more than happy to do so, effortlessly keeping pace with the young lieutenant, much to the latter’s irritation.

  Soon enough, the day came for Vedeon to load his wares upon the Farewind, and the seven soldiers accompanied the Wandeer and his daughter to the coastal town of Pawt.

  ‘It would be wise to leave your weapons and armour aboard the ship,’ the smith advised them before they boarded. ‘If they identified you as legionaries, it will put all of our lives in danger.’

  ‘Even my sword?’ Jaxon protested.

  Vedeon nodded. ‘Caldoan steel would be as clear as a banner here. You will already attract more attention than most,’ he looked at Marrew and the behemoth. ‘The Vahc do not get Tribal visitors,’ he explained. ‘Ever. What is more, some men you may encounter will always look for a fight. Carrying any weapons at all will only provoke them, particularly something that size.’ He indicated Fellammer, slung across the Ironhand’s back.

  The group conceded to Vedeon’s local knowledge with little complaint. After all, if they wanted to spend enough time on land to acquire any information, they would need to be as inconspicuous as possible.

  ‘Alarum will likely meet us at the harbour,’ the Wandeer continued. ‘He is a distrustful man, and will want to inspect the shipment first hand. You should remain on board, out of sight, until he leaves. Tuugan is not known for carrying passengers.’

  The Farewind departed from Wan’Dring alone, other merchants of the island not wishing to trade with the Vahc, or, in some cases, possessing any wares that would be desired by the battle-hungry hordes. Sure enough, as soon as their ship was moored to one of the crooked stone jetties of Pawt, Alarum appeared with a score of men at his back, each of them armed to the teeth. Vedeon and Tuugan greeted them at the foot of the gangplank, while Isella concealed herself within the bowels of the ship, alongside the soldiers.

  ‘You got my weapons, Wandeer?’ Alarum greeted the smith.

  The Vahc warlord was of an unremarkable stature; shorter than average and of a wiry build. If it weren’t for the numerous scars on his arms and face, and a ferocious look about him, there would be little indication that he was a warrior. And a capable one at that; the weapon at his side was a wicked looking thing of his own design. It had the hilt and blade of a sword, but where the tip would have been was welded a flat, circular piece of metal, with sharpened teeth that ran along its spine. Bludjaw, he liked to call it. He ran his thumb down a particularly prominent scar as he spoke; one that stretched from the corner of his left eye to his chin.

  ‘They are awaiting you on the deck,’ Vedeon replied, with a feigned air of deference.

  Alarum jerked his head at a pair of his men, and they stormed up the ramp and onto the ship, noisily collecting a crate that had been stacked by the mast, and carrying it back down to their leader.

  ‘Open it,’ he ordered.

  One of his men drew a warped sword and pried the lid open. He sheathed the weapon and pulled out one of the crossbows for Alarum to inspect.

  ‘Fine work,’ the warlord cooed as he stroked the metal framework. He pulled back the bowstring until it caught on the catch, aimed into the air, and pulled the trigger. The string flung forward with tremendous force, twanging as it did so. ‘Very nice; two hundred of them?’

  Vedeon nodded.

  ‘And the bolts?’

  ‘Four thousand, as we had agreed. They are divided amongst the smaller crates where your men found this one.’

  ‘Good,’ Alarum replied absently, still admiring the craftsmanship of his new weapons. ‘Good.’

  ‘My payment?’ the Wandeer ventured.

  Without looking up, Alarum waved his hand forward above his head. A handful of men heaved crates through the warlord’s entourage and up to the ship.

  ‘Materials and gold,’ he stated. ‘That was the deal.’

  Vedeon nodded, and the Vahc warriors began carrying the smith’s payment aboard, unloading the weapons and ammunition as they returned.

  ‘You have more business here?’ Alarum asked of Vedeon, handing the crossbow back to the same man who had opened the crate. The Wandeer nodded.

  ‘Fine,’ was all the warlord said, stroking at his scar again now that his hands were free. ‘Fine,’ he said again, and left, his men struggling after him under the burden of their newly acquired cargo.

  ‘He didn’t waste any time, did he?’ Galarus muttered, emerging from below the deck followed closely by the others. Isella was the last up the short steep steps. Vedeon did not enjoy having her around Alarum. She was beautiful, and his reputation with such girls as pleased his eye was despicable. Even as Wandeer, he dared not risk her safety.

  ‘What now?’ Placatas asked openly, as they all stood about on the ship, Vedeon and Tuugan walking back up the plank to join them.

  ‘We need to quietly start asking around and see what we can learn of Rural’s movements. He mentioned having bought the support of the Vahc; someone here must now something,’ Galarus replied.

  ‘Last we were here,’ Isella spoke up, ‘I heard some of Alarum’s men mention they drank at a place called the Bloody Splinter. But that was a year ago now.’

  Galarus shrugged. ‘Best place to start. We’ll help you unload and then be on our way.’

  ‘Be careful,’ Vedeon warned, without needing to go into further detail.

  ‘We will be here for another two days,’ Tuugan informed them. ‘Vedeon will set up shop on the harbour; I will remain with the ship. Make sure you are back by evening of the second day.’

  Galarus nodded, and each of the soldiers collected a portion of the Wandeer’s goods and hefted them down the jetty toward the town. Coran lunged for the much smaller and lighter chests, containing Isella’s wares, grinning shyly at her, and blushing deeply when she smiled back at him.

  ‘You arse,’ Attais murmured; loudly enough for everyone to hear, and eliciting audible amusement from Jaxon.

  Stripped of their usual military garb, the legionaries wore belted tunics that would have usually been covered by their armour, but were the closest thing to everyday clothes they possessed. Marrew and the behemoth were less concerned with being recognised and were able to wear their usual outfits, the pair content in their Tribal attire.

  The harbour market on the edge of Pawt was crowded and filthy, much like the rest of the town. Stalls were crushed up against each other, vendors quarrelling nosily and relentlessly, to the point of physical violence.

  ‘This place is a shithole,’ Placatas observed. ‘I’m surprised they found the time to invade us at all, what with all this infighting and inbreeding they get up to.’

  The Bloo
dy Splinter did not take long to locate, though the building was as crude and unremarkable as the others around it. A sign displaying a brimming tankard above the heavy wooden door indicated its nature. The soldiers stepped through the doorway, the behemoth having to stoop low to avoid hitting his head. The inn went quiet as they entered. The huge frame of the behemoth blocked out the sunlight that had streamed in; the only source of natural light other than the few grimy windows that hadn’t been boarded up. They headed for the back corner of the dank room, and the other patrons slowly went back about their own business.

  ‘How are we going to gather any information here?’ Marrew asked, on edge as several individuals continued to stare in their direction.

  ‘We need to find some of Alarum’s men first. We won’t learn much from any old townsfolk,’ Galarus explained.

  ‘No harm in getting a drink then is there; while we wait?’ Placatas was already on his feet and making for the uneven bar as he spoke. Vedeon had provided them with a small coin purse, for any expenses they might require, in exchange, he said, for the assistance they had provided him on the island.

  ‘Get me one!’ Jaxon called after him.

  ‘Me too!’ Attais added.

  ‘And me,’ Coran joined in.

  ‘One for everyone?’ Placatas concluded, ordering seven of a drink called Seconds.

  ‘Why’s it called Seconds?’ Jaxon asked Placatas upon his return, looking cautiously at the scummy froth atop the grubby tankard now in his hands.

  ‘Barman says its strong stuff. Drink enough and you’ll taste it a second time; on its way back up,’ the older lieutenant explained. ‘Sounds great, doesn’t it?’

  They passed much of the afternoon listening in, as best they could without arousing suspicion, on various conversations around the inn. Fruitlessly, that is, until a pair of armed men staggered through the front door, already considerably intoxicated and slurring their orders at the bar.

  ‘You’ve had enough,’ the barman told them nervously. ‘I don’t want any more trouble in here. I’ve only just put the place back together! I’m still missing windows!’ He pointed at the rows of boards nailed haphazardly across window frames.

  The uglier of the two new arrivals drew one of the many knives from his belt and stabbed it into the surface of the wooden bar. ‘It’ll be you who’s causing trouble if you don’t give us another drink. We’ve been slaving away all day for Alarum, and worked up a mighty thirst.’

  The mention of Alarum’s name had the desired effect; the barman lost the colour from his face and hurriedly began to pour two drinks.

  ‘Those are on us!’ Galarus called up to the bar. ‘Any man of Alarum’s deserves to drink for free!’

  The drunkards clumsily mocked a bow, collected their tankards and shuffled over to the soldiers in the corner.

  ‘Cheers, lads!’ stammered the uglier one. ‘The boss has kept us busy the past few days, an’ we need all the drink we can get! I’m Orota.’ He held a filthy hand out to Galarus, who shook it firmly. ‘And what business might you fine gentlemen have in the gl…glorious town of Pawt?’

  ‘Mercenaries,’ Galarus replied flatly. ‘Heard there might be some work out this way, so brought my men down.’ He jerked his head at his companions behind him. ‘These two I picked up from the Tribal Territories, not long before that mess up there.’

  ‘Pickle my scrotum!’ the other drunkard exclaimed. ‘Have you seen the size of that one?!’ He leant across the table, pointing wildly at the behemoth and nearly poking him in the face.

  ‘He’s a big one,’ Galarus agreed. ‘And he doesn’t like being pointed at. Couple of Allorian guards tried to stop us getting down here through Vinnah. He ripped one of their arms off for pointing.’

  ‘Tossers!’ Orota shouted, slamming his fist onto the tabletop. He scraped a barstool across the sticky stone floor and sat down with the soldiers. His smell carried along the length of the table with ease. ‘Can you believe the balls on that king of theirs? Just up and decides his arse is royal?’ He took a long swig from his tankard and mopped at his chin with a dirty sleeve. Lowering his voice, he continued.

  ‘You’re not wrong about there being work for the likes of you out this way. Alarum has made a deal with the Caldoans; we go to war for them, and in return we pillage our way through the Free Cities!’ He raised his voice again. ‘But helping that Allorian prick? Desturum would be furious if he was alive enough to see what his son was doing to us! I fought with the Malign ten years ago in Vinnah an’ he would not be happy about this! An’ I would know; me an’ ‘im were close. I saved his son’s life an’ all!’ He took another swig of his drink. ‘You know that scar on his left cheek? He got that from a boy! A bloody boy! The little shit was lucky I was there to carry his arse out of that village!’

  Orota drained the last dregs in his tankard, thudded it down on the table, and ordered another.

  ‘Didn’t know it was going to be an all-out war,’ Galarus said quickly, before Orota could continue his ramblings.

  ‘Eh? Oh right, yeah. Well you wouldn’t if you’ve been out with the Tribes. Word is, once we enter the Free Cities’ lands, Bannerbridge will be ours for the taking! I bet those pirates in Staaburd plastered the inside of their pants at that news.’

  ‘Have we got time to join up? When is the army leaving?’ Galarus tried to press him for more information.

  Orota shrugged and started on the fresh tankard brought over by the barman. ‘Planning isn’t mine to worry about, don’t think Alarum knows either for that matter. He’s meeting that fat, greasy Kingmaker tomorrow night; the one that got sent down. Hammer out the details, ya know?’

  ‘I bet he’ll have you playing guard duty for that then?’

  ‘Nah, thank fuck; that fat guy is weird. Plus he brought his own guards down. Pretty little men all dressed in white, camped on the outskirts like this town ain’t good enough for him!’

  ‘Wankers,’ Placatas spat.

  ‘Damn right wankers!’ Orota agreed enthusiastically. He slapped his fellow drunkard on the back, ‘Ain’t he right Carad?’

  ‘Will you look at the size of ‘im!’ Carad replied, still staring at the behemoth.

  The soldiers were only able to get away from the inebriated Vahc warriors under Galarus’ insistence that they had urgent business to attend to, much to the protestation of Alarum’s men. Once outside of the Bloody Splinter, they could breathe a sigh of relief. Whilst having Orota and his man present, they had received fewer glares from the other patrons inside, however, every minute they spent in the close company of the Vahc was another minute they put themselves and the Wandeer in potential danger; better to keep a low profile altogether.

  Galarus led them up the main road through Pawt, away from the bustling harbour market and toward the outskirts of the town.

  ‘We need to locate Epi’s camp and find a way to listen in on that meeting,’ he mused. ‘If Rural is waging war against the Free Cities, we need to know as much as possible about his plan of attack if we are to try and stop him. Hopefully the Wandeer can get us to one of the Cities’ leaders quick enough.’

  ‘I can’t imagine eavesdropping is going to be that easy,’ Placatas observed idly.

  And he was right. In addition to the various luxuries the Kingmaker refused to travel without, among them an excessive supply of his own Vinnah wine, Epi had brought with him a contingent of fifty palace guards, each fully armed and armoured, wearing their distinctive white cloaks. The encampment was not large, comprising of no more than a score of colourful tents, pitched around a much larger, central tent, presumably belonging to the Kingmaker; so lavish was his lifestyle that his quarters were larger than the tent housing the fifty guards he had brought with him.

  After an extremely brief and cautious reconnaissance of the camp’s exterior, the soldiers returned to the ship to discuss a strategy that would gain them entry.

  ‘It looks like there are four main entrances,’ Galarus laid out a crude representation of
the encampment on a table-top below the deck of the Farewind. ‘Each of them covered by guards, and circulating patrols around the outside. We’ll need a distraction to draw their attention so that a few of us can slip by.’

  ‘I can do that,’ the behemoth volunteered.

  ‘Makes sense,’ Jaxon agreed. ‘You’re hardly built for sneaking, are you?’

  The behemoth grinned. His hulking frame would make him stand out a mile amidst the palace guards.

  ‘Fair enough,’ Galarus said. ‘It need only be a small distraction; enough to draw the guards already on duty, but not so large it brings the whole camp down upon us.’

  ‘Leave it to me,’ the behemoth replied, without elaborating on the rest of his plan.

  Galarus nodded; the Ironhand was no fool.

  ‘Once we’re inside there shouldn’t be too much trouble. There’ll be at least another two guards on the door of Epi’s tent, but if we can get to the back of it, we should be able to overhear the conversation well enough. Jaxon, Placatas and I will sneak in: if it comes to it we can pass ourselves off as guards or servants. We’ll also need a second distraction, to allow us to get back out. That’s where the rest of you come in. Attais; you, Coran and Marrew will need to clear an escape route for us, once we give you the signal. Once we are out, the three of you must head north, should they chase you. Lose them, and circle around toward the town. If all goes to plan, we meet back at the Bloody Splinter first; we can’t risk any of them being led back to the ship. Understood?’

  All nodded in response.

  ‘Okay then. We’ll need to lay low tomorrow, and keep watch at the edge of town for Alarum’s approach to the camp in the evening. No point sneaking in hours before anything happens is there?’

  And lay low they did; spending the day around the harbour market, careful to avoid the Wandeer and their stalls, for fear that, for one reason or another, someone might link the two groups together. As evening rolled in and the sun slunk toward the edges of the world, the market died down and the taverns filled up. Drunken lullabies spilled out onto the streets as the Vahc began to drink what was left of the day away, and the soldiers quietly proceeded to the eastern outskirts of the town. They concealed themselves in the shadows of alleys, or else made themselves inconspicuous in doorways of buildings and inns on the very periphery of Pawt.