Thalon slowly moved away from the door, leaning back against the wall and hoping that the guard wouldn’t sense him, see him, or maybe even smell him. He did task some energy form him, adding it to his tarnum. But the guard didn’t even make it to the door, seeing that there was no one there, he turned around and rejoined his comrades.
Once the guard was gone, Thalon went to work on the lock. It took only a few moments before he heard the sound of the lock mechanism clicking open. He looked back one more time to see the guards still sitting at the table, surrounded by light from inside the room. The hallway was dark, and even if he hadn’t been invisible it would be unlikely that they would be able to see him in the shadows. But if they heard the door open that would pose a problem. Reaching into another pocket inside his tunic he produced a small vial of oil and squirted a healthy amount on each hinge. Then slowly he opened the door. As the door silently inched open, Thalon slipped his body through, and emerged on the other side, quietly shutting the door behind him. Stealthily, he moved through the short hall, until he came to the large sleeping chamber of King Panrick Kaleck and his wife. Thalon quickly looked around, noticing there was a door to a balcony and an entrance into another room on his left, likely the washroom or dressing room, or both since there were no other doors or entryways. Cutting off the energy that rendered him invisible, his true self was revealed. Although he had enough energy to redo the spell, he thought it wise to keep it for his escape.
Slowly he glided to the bedside of the king, quietly removing his sword from its sheath. The sound of the blade being drawn from its scabbard made only the faintest sound, like a whisper in the wind that carried a message of death. They were both strong in the Way, and he had to make sure that he killed them quickly and silently. He would kill the king first, knowing that he was the most powerful. King Kaleck was on his stomach, his head turned towards his wife. Thalon angled the tip of his blade directly over the king’s back, and without hesitation, plunged it downward with all his strength. The razor sharp blade parted flesh and bone, splitting his heart in two. The king’s body went rigid and he involuntarily grunted, expelling a rush of air from his lungs. But he was already dead, and Thalon wasted no time. He quickly withdrew the blade and leaped over the king’s prone body towards his wife who was now stirring as she sensed something amiss. By the time her sleepy eyes had opened, Thalon was already upon her, and she felt a sharp pain explode in her chest. Her eyes widened in shock as she coughed up blood. Thalon’s blade had pierced her heart as well, and she was dead in an instant.
Thalon yanked the blade from her chest and ran quickly to the door that opened onto the balcony. As he opened it, he drew upon the reserves of energy that he had tasked from the guards, manipulating the magic and weaving it into a fly spell. He had not mastered this spell, which was why he had not used it to enter the palace. A crash landing would have been noisy and alerted the guards. But for his escape it would serve its purpose. All he needed to do was fly over the palace walls. If he could do that, then he would disappear into the night, never to be found. As he worked the energy into his spell, the air began to spin underneath him, lifting him into the night. He directed the air current to carry his body over the railing and into the safety of darkness.
***
Kahn Taruk rested his callused hands on the balcony rail, looking out on the city of Fara below. It was a magnificent view. The lights of the city, like a kaleidoscope of stars, sparkled in the night, and the sounds of the people in the streets drifted up to him as he stood on his perch. Kahn understood why the previous rulers had built the royal palace on the rocky slope that dominated the north side of the city. Not only was the location more secure, but the expansive balcony that had been constructed from the lord’s own room allowed him to view his subjects below, just as Kahn Taruk was now doing. Kahn Taruk was a Tongra of Heln, the god of the Saricons. He was one of twelve Tongras whose job was to lead the Saricons in their conquest of foreign lands in order to bring Heln’s word to the masses.
Kahn Taruk had been the leader of Fara for the last fifteen years. Lord Arathiam of Fara, subject to King Panrick Kaleck, had been ousted by Kahn’s predecessor thirty years before. The previous Tongra had died in battle fifteen years ago providing the opportunity for Kahn Taruk to take his place. The other Tongras were busy ruling the vast lands conquered by the Saricon’s and Kahn Taruk was voted by the council to take on the task of conquering Corvell once his predecessor had died in battle. Lord Arathiam, the previous ruler of Fara, and his family, had all been killed many years ago, but the King of Kael still held the capital city of Eltus, and despite the loss of one of his cities to the Saricons, his army was still strong. Kahn gripped the rail harder as he thought about King Kaleck. The king, who now must be in his sixties, had been a thorn in their side since they had invaded Kael. It had been nearly thirty years and their armies still had not found a weakness in the combined forces of King Kaleck and King Enden Dormath of Dy’ain. The two neighboring kingdoms had formed an alliance and thus far had prevented any further advances of the Saricon war machine. But he had a plan, a plan that he had set in motion many years ago.
Kahn turned from the railing and strode across the expansive balcony to a set of stairs that led to a lower balcony. Kahn was a large man, even for a Saricon. He stood half a head taller than the average Saricon, and most Saricons were at least a head taller than the inhabitants they had seen thus far on the continents of Belorth or Corvell. His blonde hair, bleached almost silver by the sun, reached to the middle of his muscled back. Two woven strands were pulled back over his ears and wound together into a single thick braid. Sharp features dominated his angular face and his blue eyes were like crystals held before an azure sea.He wore massive leather boots reinforced with steel, the heavy soles thudding across the stones as he made his way down the stairs. His clothing was of high quality and costly, but made to be functional; heavy gray trousers finely woven from the best quality wool and lined with combed cotton, along with a long sleeved soft leather jerkin under his hardened black leather armor that had been reinforced with plates of polished steel. The center of his cuirass was a steel plate polished to shine like silver, into which the red symbol of Heln, a horned helm, had been etched in graceful elegant lines. His heavy gray cloak fluttered behind him, and strapped to the center of his back, its blade fanning out behind his head, was a giant battle axe.
Only one door opened to the balcony on which he stood. It was the door to Lord Arathiam’s former quarters, which was now his by default. But there was also a set of stairs on the right side of the balcony that led down to two doors which accessed a lower balcony. The nearest door led into a guards’ room. The far other door opened into a large conference room, a room built to provide a meeting place for the lord and his military officers and dignitaries. The conference room also had another door opening into the interior hallway. And it was there that Kahn was heading.
The balcony door was open and Kahn strode into the spacious room. Ten shields hung on the walls, each one crossed with different weapons. Some were swords and maces, while most were axes of Saricon designs. Originally the walls had been covered with large tapestries representing the weak gods of the Argonians, Argon and Felina. But those artifacts had been ripped down and burned when they had taken the city many years ago, along with every statue and symbol that had anything to do with the Argonian gods. Saricon shields had replaced the tapestries, each one marked with Heln’s red symbol. Torches were lit along the walls and a handful of braziers lined the room, their flickering embers providing a bit of warmth to the room. In the center of the room was a large rectangular table with enough chairs to sit twenty two people. On this evening, however, there were only four.
“Tongra Taruk, it is very good to see you,” one of the men said as he rose from his chair. The man was tall, like all Saricons, but still was forced to look up to Kahn Taruk. His long hair was also blonde, but where Kahn’s face was smoothly shaven this man’s face sprouted a bus
hy blonde beard that reached to the middle of his thick chest. He wore a cuirass embossed with Heln’s symbol, and pieces of hardened leather covered in steel protected his muscular forearms and legs. Crossed on his back, with the handles facing up, were two short broad swords, their blades slightly curved at the tip. The man placed both fists together across his chest and bowed his head sharply in greeting.
“General Sigmar, I’m glad you could take time away from our forces. Please, have a seat,” Kahn Taruk said.
Another man, clearly a Saricon, stood next to General Sigmar. He was slightly shorter than the general, but bulkier, more musclebound. The muscles of his large arms bulged from his brown leather tunic, and his blocky face was framed by dirty blonde hair. He too wore armor embossed with Heln’s symbol and strapped to his back was a giant battle axe. “Greetings, Kahn Taruk,” he said, tapping his fists together before his broad chest.
“And to you, Colonel Karnak,” Kahn Taruk replied, motioning for him to sit next to the general.
One of the other men had also stood. He was obviously not a Saricon and was dwarfed by the other large warriors. But he knew protocol, and he too stood with feet together, his head slightly bowed, and brought his fists together in salute, “Tongra Taruk.”
Kahn Taruk nodded, motioning for the man to sit. His name was Keltius and he was a sea captain from Argos. He was dark haired and swarthy, with a thin mustache above his lips and a pointy goatee, both black as night. His skin was heavily tanned, and weathered by the many years he had spent in the sun and on the open sea. He wore an expensive leather tunic over a loose flowing shirt made of costly silk cinched tight at his waist with a black leather belt. A long sword dangled from his side. Gray and black striped breeches tucked into knee high boots completed his functional but aristocratic wardrobe.
Kahn Taruk glanced at the fourth man who was, it seemed, ignoring conventional protocol by remaining in his seat. This barbarian is pushing me, Kahn thought. He was Askarian, a member of a small but powerful war-like tribe that controlled the lands north and east of the Callee Sea. The warrior was short and stocky, powerfully built, with long black hair pulled tightly back into a long tail that started at the top of his head, hanging all the way to his waist. He wore a leather shirt, breeches, and boots made from tulkick skin, a small four legged herbivore prevalent in the steppes. His chest was covered in a hardened leather cuirass, the center of which was made of a glossy sea turtle shell found along the coastal waters. At each hip he wore the traditional weapon of his tribe, a cab’re, consisting of a long wooden handle from which extended a short thick blade that widened at the end. They were heavy but razor sharp, and in the hands of a skilled Askarian could be thrown like hand axes as well as used in hand to hand combat. Askarians were deadly fighters and most were skillful enough to fight with two cab’res at once.
As Kahn Taruk moved around the table, he glared at the barbarian, who still sat defiantly, either unaware of proper protocol, or he simply didn’t care. Probably the latter, Kahn thought, knowing that the Askarians were not a people to abide by protocol or be cowed by rank. In the Askarian culture one’s status was earned through Blood Rite, through combat, not through blood lines or family connections. Kahn had to admit that he respected the warrior’s courage, but he had no doubt that if need be, he could show the obstinate barbarian that he had earned his own position through blood. In fact, part of him wanted to spin the axe off his shoulder and split his flat face in half for the obvious affront to his rank. But he refrained, and sat down at the table opposite the four men, a large map of Belorth and Corvell spread out before them. A collection of wooden markers sat atop the map; some were carved into ships while others were miniature statues of their god Heln, depicted as a bare chested, muscular man with long flowing hair and beard, his hands resting on a massive two handed sword. The carvings were quite beautiful and intricate. On the map, the Heln markers covered all of Belorth, stopping in the east at Torik, the land of the Askarians, which they had not yet conquered. The island nations of YaLara and Argos were also marked. But the only marker on Corvell was at Fara.
“How goes the fighting in the north?” Kahn Taruk addressed General Sigmar.
“We have gained some land, Tongra Taruk, but our enemy’s forces have fought valiantly.”
“How close are we to the Pelm River that blocks entrance into the lands of Dy’ain?”
“Two days ride. Tongra Taruk, it is now time to decide. Do we take our forces and try to take Eltus, or do we attack the garrison and break into the lands of Dy’ain?”
Kahn Taruk said nothing as he scrutinized the map. The city of Eltus, the capital of Kael, was located at the mouth of the narrow Dynel Strait leading into the Dark Sea. The only way to get a fleet of ships into the sea, and thus to Dy’ain, was to take the city of Eltus and control the strait.
“We will split our forces.”
“But Tonga Taruk,” General Sigmar responded, “we may not have enough men to take both the city and the garrison.”
Kahn Taruk ignored him. “Most of our army will move east and attack Eltus. That will force the Kaelian army to withdraw to their capital city. Dy’ainian troops will not join them. They will have to stay at their garrison to protect their own borders. How many men does the garrison have, without the troops from Kael?”
“You plan to split their forces?” Keltius said, speaking in Drak, the language of the Saricons.
“That is part of the plan.”
Sigmar looked at the map again. “We believe that the garrison has between four and five thousand troops.”
“How difficult would it be to take the garrison?”
“I do not know, but I think I could do it with five thousand men.”
“Here is my plan. General Sigmar, you will take six thousand men and march towards the garrison, while Jorga will take the remaining forces and move towards Eltus from the east. I will be joining him and taking command of those forces as they near the city.” Jorga was in charge of the main army while Sigmar and Karnack were in Fara. “Meanwhile,” Kahn Taruk looked toward Keltius, “you will take my fleet of ships and block the southern opening of the Dynel Strait. From there you will be in position to attack the city from the sea.”
“What of their navy?” Keltius asked. Everyone knew that there was no navy that could match the Kaelians. They had faster more maneuverable ships, and more of them, and there was no other people with more naval combat experience. Defeating the Kaelian navy would be no easy feat.
“I have a plan for that as well. Do not attack the city until you have orders to do so. By the time you arrive with my fleet, my plan will be in motion. If it works, which I am confident it will, there will be very few ships to meet you.”
Keltius didn’t look so confident. But he nodded his head in acquiescence.
Tongra Taruk turned his blue eyes on the Askarian nomad who thus far had said nothing, nor had he understood anything, since he himself did not speak Drak. “Obaty,” he said in the nomad’s own tongue, “are you ready to fulfill your end of the bargain?”
The Askarian looked up. “A man is nothing without his word.”
“And you are sure that you can get an army of ten thousand men, led by Karnack here,” he said, indicating the grim faced Saricon, “through the pass undetected?”
Obaty nodded his head. Then he looked at Karnack, his face void of emotion. “I will get you through the secret pass. But once we break through the mountains, you are on your own. First, I need half of my payment,” he said flatly.
The Pyres Mountains blocked any northern movement from Torik to the Sil Desert. In fact, there was no way an army could move north, the tall jutting peaks, choked with freezing cold and snow, all but impassable. At least that is what everyone had always believed. Until they had met the Askarians, a people that had lived next to the mountains for a thousand years, and who once, long ago, had passed through the mountains, their descendants spreading out and claiming the lands south of the many tall peaks. The
y knew of a secret path through the mountains. It would take several months, and be very dangerous, but Obaty had convinced Kahn Taruk that it could be done. And Kahn Taruk had a plan for his army once they broke through the mountain pass. A plan, that in the end, would see Heln’s flag waving high from the spires of Cythera, the capital city of Dy’ain.
But first things first, Kahn Taruk thought. None of this would come to fruition if they could not take the city of Eltus. “Keltius,” Kahn said, now speaking in Newain, the most common language spoken throughout Corvell. He knew that even Obaty would now understand his words. “You will carry the troops by ship to the edge of the Pyres Mountains. You will drop Obaty and Karnack’s troops there and then move north to your position off the coast of Eltus. Remember, do not engage until you receive word from me, which you will.” Then he looked at the nomad. “As far as payment, you shall receive half when you get my army to the pass, and the other half once we are through, as we agreed.”
Obaty grunted and leaned back in his chair.
“How will we take the city of Eltus?” Sigmar asked.
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