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

by Emery, Ben

  It took less time than expected for Alarum and his escort to arrive, though darkness had come quickly. The warlord strolled casually out of town, a handful of permanently armed men in tow; Orota’s information had been sound. The Vahc made their way toward Epi’s encampment, their progress visible from the ring of sentry torches that had been lit by the guards against the darkening landscape.

  ‘Come on,’ Galarus summoned his men to him, the seven of them following Alarum’s path.

  They stopped some two hundred metres from the outer tents, safely out of sight of the patrolmen.

  ‘Ready?’ he asked the behemoth, who nodded, a gesture barely visible in the waning light. ‘Okay, let’s go.’

  The group watched as the Ironhand took off at a jog in a wide arc, careful to remain in the thickening shadows.

  ‘You three wait for the signal here,’ Galarus instructed, as he and his lieutenants edged closer, ready to dart into the camp as soon as the guards were distracted. The silence, mixed with their adrenaline, was almost oppressive, and the few minutes that passed felt like an hour.

  ‘Hey! What’re you doing? You can’t be hanging around here!’ A shout came from off to their right. The two guards maintaining the entrance to the encampment in front of the General and his men twitched at the sound, but held to their posts, peering out around the edge of the tents to see what the issue was.

  ‘I said…’ Came the voice again, but was interrupted by a crash, and followed quickly by a squeal. That was enough for the other guards. They hefted their spears and dashed around the perimeter of the camp to identify the source of the commotion.

  ‘Hope that wasn’t too much noise,’ Placatas whispered.

  ‘We’ll find out soon enough,’ Galarus replied. ‘Quickly: inside.’

  The officers hurried forward, crouched low to conceal themselves as best they could, but no more guards appeared. They made straight for Epi’s quarters, approaching the large tent from the side. Still no-one crossed their path, despite there being plenty of audible occupants in each tent they passed, several of which sounded and smelled as if they were preparing food.

  ‘Looks like we’re all clear,’ Jaxon observed as they reached the western corner of the Kingmaker’s temporary residence, shrinking as best they could into its impressive shadow.

  Feeling around the base of the tent, Galarus removed several pegs that held the colourful materials to the ground. A large enough gap for them to crawl through appeared, and the General warily poked his head through. The room beyond was deserted and unlit, and from the light from adjoining rooms could make out chests of clothes; Epi’s extravagant wardrobe.

  ‘Keep a sharp ear out,’ Galarus barely more than breathed the words to his lieutenants. ‘I can hear them.’

  He pointed toward the thin, linen wall opposite them, where the voices and dim silhouettes of Epi and his guests could be found.

  ‘Are you sure I cannot tempt you with a drink, my lord?’ Epi held out a cup of wine to the Vach chief, ‘finest in the land; from my own reserve, no less.’

  Alarum declined. He had no taste for the northern swill.

  ‘I’d rather we got down to business,’ he muttered with a glare. He despised this Kingmaker; nothing more than a glorified emissary in the Wastes, but with all the pomp and ceremony of royalty.

  ‘Of course, of course!’ Epi set his own cup down and took a seat on a heavily cushioned chair. He wore a bright blue silk gown, fastened about the midriff with a decorated belt. The fabric clung to his sweaty, rotund figure. Alarum could barely disguise his disgust.

  ‘We shall begin then,’ the Kingmaker continued. ‘Would you care for a seat?’

  Alarum shook his head.

  ‘Very well. As I am sure you are aware, my lord, my presence in your lands is simply to make sure that you and your men are prepared to hold up your end of the bargain. That upstart of a pirate captain in Staaburd has been dealt with; the only opponent to your leadership here, and his subordinates along with him. Furthermore, I also have with me your payment in gold, ready to be collected whenever you see fit. Are you then ready to serve the king?’

  Alarum ran his thumbnail down the scar on his face as he thought for a moment on Epi’s last words.

  ‘Your king struggles to lead his own people. Why should me and mine fight for him when his own city fights with itself?’

  ‘Ah,’ Epi said, taken aback. ‘You have heard of that incident? Trust me when I tell you, it is nothing to worry about; merely a group of veterans loyal to Galarus who, very publicly, accused the king of committing crimes of which he is not guilty. They have been dealt with now, and severely, for their treason.’

  ‘I heard,’ Alarum replied. ‘A village wiped out for saying hurtful things about a man who calls himself a king when he’s no more royal than me.’

  Epi ignored the insult, preferring instead to try and steer the conversation back to the business he was there to conduct.

  ‘Are you and your men ready?’

  Alarum grinned, showing off his discoloured teeth. ‘The king will have my hordes for his war in the east. And the rest of my payment?’

  ‘As agreed, when it falls, Bannerbridge will belong to the Vahc.’

  The warlord grinned again, an ugly, crooked smile that perturbed Epi to a degree he was rarely used to feeling.

  ‘My lord?’ A guard poked his head nervously into the room through a pair of hanging curtains that served as a door.

  ‘Yes?’ Epi snapped back at him for the interruption.

  ‘The third party is here.’

  ‘Excellent,’ Epi replied, more calmly, rising to his feet. ‘Send them in.’

  A trio of warriors in desert garb entered the tent, and Alarum shifted his stance to face them.

  ‘A pleasure to finally meet you, my lord,’ Epi greeted the first of the newcomers, bowing as low as he could. He turned back to the Vahc warlord. ‘This is Maeoraph, leader of the Blacksand nomads, and lord of Fallentower Oasis.

  ‘I know who he is,’ Alarum grunted. ‘Why’s he here?’

  ‘He and his men will also be serving the king,’ Epi explained. ‘In a similar, though separate capacity to yourself.’

  The two soldiers did not greet each other, only stared. Maeoraph’s head was almost entirely wrapped in a long, white scarf, to shelter him from the winds and sands of the desert. With it undone slightly, only his face was uncovered. He was a tall man, and broad, dressed head to toe in swathes of a loose, dyed orange material that kept him cool in the intense heat of his homeland. On his feet he wore very wide shoes with a wooden sole and a thin leather covering. His men were dressed in a similar fashion, and all three of them carried a pair of one-handed axes at their waists.

  ‘It’s been a while, Dunemaster,’ Alarum finally said. ‘I see this new king has you bought and paid for.’

  ‘Yes, though I doubt as cheaply as the Vahc,’ Maeoraph replied flatly.

  ‘Excellent, we all know each other,’ Epi said hurriedly, attempting to diffuse some of the tension in the room. The Vahc and the nomads of the Blacksand Deserts were not enemies, though neither had they ever been on friendly terms.

  ‘Once again; to business,’ he said, seating himself back in his comfy chair, Maeoraph declining a seat and remaining stood. ‘I presume you are here for your payment?’

  Maeoraph nodded.

  ‘Very well, I shall have it brought out to you. Now, for the benefit of both of you, since you are unaware of each other’s parts in this, I will inform you of the roles that you are expected to play.’ Epi cleared his throat nosily before continuing. ‘Alarum, you and your hordes will march north and join forces with the Legions far to the east of the city; we don’t want to start a panic. From there, we will march on the Great Gate at Valgaard, while your ships engage the fleet of Bannerbridge. Not before, however, Maeoraph and his warriors launch an assault on Auprem. This attack will draw the armies of the Cities south, and away from our main force, allowing it unopposed passage through t
he Allorian Mountains and into the north. Once there, the Cities should fall with relative ease. Alarum, you and your men, I assume, will want to head straight for Bannerbridge. Maeoraph, Auprem will be yours, as agreed, once success has been achieved. Are there any questions?’

  ‘I am curious,’ Maeoraph began, ‘as to how your king intends to justify a war against the Cities. Surely he is answerable to his people, if no one else?’

  ‘Easily enough,’ Epi assured him. ‘When the Legions sacked the Territories they found a cache of Bleaksmith weaponry; the Cities have been arming the Tribes for quite some time by the looks of things. And for what other purpose than a war against Alloria?’

  Maeoraph grunted. ‘By the looks of things,’ he repeated, doubtful.

  ‘Indeed,’ Epi said, cheerily oblivious. ‘I am glad we could come to such an amicable agreement. Now, who wants wine?’

  ‘Son of a bitch,’ Galarus hissed. He had heard everything that he needed to hear, as had the lieutenants, crouched closely beside him; Jaxon, while listening, facing the outside of the tent, should anyone discover their presence. ‘Jaxon, check outside, we need to get moving.’

  The lieutenant obliged, slowly inching his head under the edge of the tent. There was no one around.

  ‘Okay, let’s go.’

  The three officers crawled out from the Kingmaker’s tent and into the encampment proper. They kept low and moved back toward the route from which they had entered; the two guards at the perimeter had returned to their posts, the uproar caused by the behemoth having subsided.

  ‘Wait here,’ Galarus instructed, darting off to the right, only to reappear minutes later with a torch in hand.

  He waved it back and forth above his head, first making sure they were hidden from view of anyone around them. The tents on either side still hummed with activity, and there seemed to be no one patrolling the interior. They crept forward, hoping the others had seen the signal and were ready for the escape. Only metres away from them now, the officers could see Attais and Coran approach the guards.

  ‘Urgent message for Alarum,’ Attais said derisively to the men that blocked his path. ‘Move aside.’

  ‘What’s the message?’ one of the guards replied warily, the grip on his spear tightening.

  ‘Did he say it was for you?’ Coran snapped. ‘Take us to the boss.’

  The guard looked at his fellow, who shrugged.

  ‘I’ll take them, you stay here.’ He jerked his head backward at the legionaries, indicating that they should follow him. He led the way, heading directly for Galarus and the lieutenants.

  ‘Oh!’ Attais said suddenly to the guard still at his post. ‘There was one thing…’

  The guard faced inward, his back to the darkened wastes, and Marrew was upon him, a strong arm tightening around the sentry’s neck. At the same moment, Coran had leapt at their escort, the officers diving toward him also, and the air was choked from his lungs. The bodies were left where they lay, Marrew scooping up one of their spears.

  ‘We’ll cover the patrols,’ he assured Galarus, as Attais gathered the second spear. ‘Get back to the inn; the Ironhand should already be there.’

  ‘Avoid them if you can,’ Galarus instructed. ‘They’ll assume people are trying to get in, not out.’

  Marrew nodded, and the officers ran westward into the night, the two young legionaries retreating slower with the tribesman, moving northward as they did so, should anyone decide to try following them.

  As Galarus neared the door of the Bloody Splinter, he could tell the inn was busy; raucous laughter, insults and jeers poured out into the night. Jaxon and Placatas had separated from the General before re-entering the town, in an attempt to draw less suspicion. There had been a great deal of commotion behind them once they had left the encampment, as well as shouts from Attais, Marrew and Coran in an attempt to draw the guards’ attention. He hoped they had escaped without too much trouble.

  The heat of the tavern’s interior was stifling compared to the pleasant breeze that swept up the main street from the harbour. In the corner, where they had sat before, the behemoth was already waiting, Jaxon and Placatas with him. The General took a seat facing the door, opposite the lieutenants.

  ‘The others cannot be far behind,’ he said.

  The men nodded in agreement. It was a hope, more than anything. Once the dead guards were found, the whole of the encampment would be up in arms and searching for intruders. If the patrols had managed to follow the last three of their party effectively, they would face little difficulty in overwhelming them. The officers and the behemoth sat in silence and waited, not even discussing what they had overheard in Epi’s tent.

  ‘Here,’ the Ironhand said eventually, his gaze not having wavered from the doorway since he had sat down. Indeed, the remaining three soldiers had entered the inn, keeping their heads down as they spotted their companions and headed toward them.

  Placatas breathed an audible sigh of relief. ‘Thought we’d lost you for a moment there.’

  ‘Much trouble?’ Galarus added, also relieved that his men were alive, but equally concerned about their next move.

  Marrew shook his head. ‘Not a lot; ran into a pair of guards on patrol. Attais took one out with a fine throw, and we let the second raise the alarm and chase us north. We ambushed the second and circled round, but no one followed us. It looks like the Kingmaker ordered the camp be defended, rather than a search carried out.’

  ‘Did you find anything out?’ Coran asked.

  ‘Plenty,’ Galarus replied. ‘Everything we needed to know, in fact. But now is not the time. If you were not followed then we can head back to the ship, hide there tomorrow and wait for the Wandeer to conclude their business.’

  ‘Are we not staying for a drink?’ Placatas asked, disappointed.

  ‘No. We need to get out of here as soon as possible.’

  As the General made to stand, the door to the inn was flung open noisily, and two figures staggered into the light. The first was instantly recognisable. It was Isella. The second was Carad, Orota’s friend from the previous night, just as drunk, and he with dirty knife blade to the Wandeer girl’s throat.

  ‘Look who I found, boys!’ he shouted loudly, silencing the patrons within as he proudly displayed his hostage. ‘This pretty little creature was skulking about outside; thought it’d be rude not to invite her in for a drink!’

  ‘The hell are you playing at, you idiot?’ called a faceless voice from the bar. ‘She’ll kill us all! And if she won’t, her daddy will!’

  ‘Wrong!’ Carad spat on the floor. ‘She moves; I slit her throat. An’ her father will do bugger all an’ like it.’ He forced Isella up toward the bar, the blade at her neck pressing into her pale skin.

  In the corner, Marrew and Attais were physically holding Coran down.

  ‘Wait!’ Galarus hissed. ‘We won’t let him hurt her.’

  ‘Barkeep! Two Seconds!’ Carad barked his order across the bar. ‘Now, my dear,’ he returned his attention to Isella. ‘Drink up, an’ we’ll have a real nice evening together.’ He moved his face in closer to hers, his putrid breath and bodily stench filling her nose as he did so. ‘You really are a pretty little thing, ain’t ya?’

  Isella brought a knee up into his groin. Carad grunted and staggered backward, clutching his balls.

  ‘Bitch! You’re dead now!’ He raised the knife and Isella shrank away, fear overtaking any desire to defend herself.

  There was a splintering crack that startled everyone, and Carad disappeared from view. All eyes slowly moved around the room as looks of dumbstruck awe fell upon the behemoth, towering in the corner, a second barstool in his huge hand, ready.

  There were several seconds in which no-one did anything. No-one moved or spoke, and no sound from Carad who lay unconscious on the floor, amid the wreckage of the first barstool that had collided so spectacularly with his head. A scrawny man with a weathered face was the first to say anything. He stood from his seat on the far
side of the inn, took a deep breath, and bellowed, ‘Get ‘em!’ pointing directly at the behemoth. And the tavern exploded with thunderous cacophony as men surged out of their chairs to get at the seven strangers that had floored one of their own.

  ‘Shit,’ Galarus muttered, almost entirely to himself.

  The Ironhand, already on his feet, was the first to react. The barstool in his hand flew through the air, breaking the jaw of the nearest attacker. He snatched up a third stool and leapt across the table that separated him from his foes, knocking out the next assailant with the solid piece of wood. A second was felled the same way, and a third, before the makeshift weapon broke apart. Unarmed yet unphased, the behemoth hurled himself into the fray, grabbing his next opponent by his shirt and drawing him into a head butt that flattened his nose with a crunch. The daunting warrior picked up the limp body and swung it mightily through the air, knocking another two Vahc brawlers off their feet.

  The legionaries rushed to the aid of their companion, as bottles and tankards were thrown over the throng and in their direction. The confined space in which they found themselves was to their benefit, preventing the Vahc from encircling and overwhelming them, though sheer numbers made any chance of victory look bleak.

  Galarus had made it to the Ironhand’s side, and started swinging ferociously at the sea of seething faces swarming before him. He shattered a Vahc knee with a firm heel and a right hook sent his opponent to the floor. Two more charged over their fallen ally. The General ducked under a left cross, countering with an uppercut to an exposed midriff. He knocked the wind out of the first, and sent him sprawling with a boot to the side of the head. His hands came up quickly, in time to parry a blow from the second attacker, caught the wrist, and twisted the arm sharply. A satisfying snap released a scream into the rafters, and Galarus broke the man’s neck in one fluid movement. More opponents rushed to meet him as a fist appeared from nowhere and connected with the side of his face; there were far too many of them.