Jarak stood up straight and looked away toward the fire, not able to meet his gaze. But then he looked back. “You are right; I do not have a daughter. But the death you speak of could happen to her right here within these walls when the Saricons arrive. Or it could happen to any daughter living in any of the frontier homes along our borders. She has as skill. She is a fighter. You know as well as I do that she will not be happy merely being someone’s wife, producing children, and performing an endless succession of domestic chores. That is not her destiny. She will be a fighter, whether you wish it or not. You cannot keep her from doing what she wishes. She is of age, and I’m afraid that if you do not give her your blessings then she will leave you and join the Legion in Kreb, or Tanwen, away from you and me. I suggest we grant her wish and keep her close by, where we can watch over her.”
Captain Hagen lowered his head in thought. Jarak glanced at Daricon who gave him a quick wink. “I know you are right,” Captain Hagen sighed, his voice soft. “But I can’t help but feel that if I say the words, if I allow her to join the Legion, that I am the one possibly signing her death warrant.” Then he looked up. “Do you know what that feels like?”
Jarak sat down beside him. “I do not. But I have learned many things from you and my uncle since coming here. And one of them is that when you lead men, you must be willing to carry the burden of their deaths. We all face the dangers of war. You have sent men to their deaths. And I, no doubt, will send many more to the grave. Sadly, I never thought about it before, but now that burden sits heavy on my heart. I do not know if I’m ready for it, but you both have given me the strength to face the fact that men and women will die because of the decisions we make. But we will not let them face that danger on their own. For us to carry that burden, we must be willing to risk the same fate. Cat has the strength to carry that burden as well, and you or I will not be able to stop her. It is what makes her who she is…it is what makes her special.”
Captain Hagen’s eyes were rimmed with moisture. “She is special, isn’t she?”
“I have not met anyone like her,” Jarak responded honestly.
Suddenly the captain stood up. “I suspected at first that you were requesting this to win favor with my daughter. I have seen you with her and I know she can be very persistent.” Jarak was about to speak when he cut him off. “But your words ring with truth. I have known that she would inevitably follow her dreams eventually. I was just hoping that she would change her mind, that perhaps the violence she experienced while saving you would persuade her to pick a new path in life. But I can see that I was wrong. I will give her my blessing. Now, if you will excuse me.”
As Captain Hagen moved to leave, Jarak spoke up. “Captain, I want you to know that I will do whatever I can to keep her out of danger. She means a lot to me.”
Captain Hagen turned slightly, but did not look at the prince. “And to me,” he whispered.
Jarak’s conversation with Captain Hagen had taken an emotional toll on him. He had been unable to think about eating, and now that the issue had been resolved, he realized he was literally famished. It was late but when he made his way down to the kitchens he saw that Jayla, the chef, was still working.
A long wood table was covered with flour and rolls of dough and Jayla was kneading more in a bowl. She was a large woman, in her sixties, with long gray hair pulled back out of her face and tied with a leather string. The wrinkles in her face made it look as if she were perpetually frowning. Over the last year Jarak had slowly developed a closer relationship with the woman. She was a cantankerous old lady, who on the outside appeared callous and mean, but Jarak had gradually learned that was merely a façade that concealed a warm and caring heart. One just needed to look deep and spend the time to uncover the layers to get to that soft spot. Most didn’t bother, and Jarak was still digging.
“Good evening, Jayla,” Jarak announced as he entered her kitchen.
She looked up and scowled. “The kitchen is closed.”
“Even to your prince?”
She harrumphed and threw the dough down hard, kneading it like a fighter hitting his opponent’s face. “Nothing’s ready.”
“I’m sorry to bother you, but when one can produce such culinary excellence you must surely be used to frequent visits from hungry patrons eager to sample your perfections.” Jarak moved to the table and he saw, off to the side, a plate filled with fruit, cheese, and some dried meats. “What do we have here?” Jarak thought he saw her smile, but it disappeared quickly.
“That is not fit for a prince.”
“It looks perfect for a prince,” he countered.
“If you must,” she sighed, “then sit and I will prepare you something fitting for your station.”
Jarak smiled and pulled a stool over to sit at the table. They had gone through this banter on several occasions and he still wondered if she actually liked him or was just catering to his needs because he was the prince. He had never really met anyone who had the nerve to speak to him as she did, and who made him feel as if he were some peasant boy begging for food. But Daricon was right. She was such a fabulous cook that neither one of them wanted to do anything that might threaten her service with them.
Jayla went into the pantry and came back out with a handful of items, a cured tulkick leg, a fresh loaf of bread, and a crock of butter. She cut the bread into thick slices, spreading them with a liberal coating of butter. Jarak noticed specks of green in the butter and asked her about them.
“What’s in the butter?”
“Rosemary.”
Then she cut off thin slices of the smoked meat and laid them over one slice of the bread. Grabbing a clay jar off the shelf, she removed the wax covering, spooned out a generous helping of jam, and smeared it over the other piece of bread. Jarak could smell the rich fruity scent of the jam from where he was sitting.
“What is that? It smells delicious.”
“Canton berries infused with vanilla.”
Nothing from Jayla’s kitchen was ordinary. Jarak marveled at her dedication and the time she spent preparing food for the lords of the garrison. She sliced some onion and tomato and layered them on the bread with the meat. Last she cut several slices of a strong cheese that Jarak recognized. It was called streak cheese from the streaks of green mold meandering through it. It had a strong taste that he knew would go well with the cured meat. Jarak smiled, knowing that Jayla knew the cheese was his favorite. Maybe she did like him. Finally, she set the sandwich on a plate and plopped it in front of him.
“There you go. Now leave me so I can finish my bread.”
Jarak picked up the plate, bowing deeply to Jayla. “Thank you.” And just as he was turning to leave, he thought he saw a glimpse of a smile.
***
Brant and Uln ran for over an hour before they finally stopped, looking up as the heavy cloud cover finally drifted away revealing a bright starry night. Uln was the one who stopped them, looking up at the stars.
“There,” he pointed, breathing heavily.
“What?” Brant asked, looking up into the sky. He was tired as well. But they had both trained hard and he knew that they could run even longer.
“That star…my people call it Gota. It always in north. We must go that way,” Uln said, pointing to the west.
“You want to go home,” Brant said, aware of Uln’s desire to return to his family. “How far is it?”
“Not sure…several weeks.”
“We have different paths, my friend. But let us travel west until I reach lands I recognize. I have some friends that might help me. We will part ways there.”
“How long?”
“Two days I think,” Brant reasoned. He remembered that the trip from Amorsit to Tangar’s village was a three day walk in the northeasterly direction, and that the road from Kaan’s farm to Amorsit was a two day walk. But they would make better time if they ran due west. Then, when they hit Bygon Creek they could follow it directly to Kaan’s farm. That was the best plan
he could come up with.
“How are wounds?”
Brant took off his coat to look at the scratches and minor puncture wounds on his arm. They were not too deep, the thick leather of the coat had done a good job of protecting him from the hound’s teeth. But he was worried about infection. He lowered his pants to get a better look at his legs where the hound’s claws had scratched him. They were the most painful of his injuries, and when he looked at them he understood why. Each leg had several lacerations that ran the length of his thighs, and the open wounds, though shallow, were raw, irritated, and bleeding, exacerbated by his constant running. “I need to bind these somehow,” Brant said.
“Rip off bottom of pant. Tear into pieces.”
It was a good idea. Brant went about ripping the bottom of his pants off and tearing them into long strips. The cloth was old and worn and he could easily rip it. But it still wasn’t enough. Uln did the same to his pants, and together it was enough to wrap around his thighs and at least seal the wounds. But he had nothing to clean them, and that worried him the most.
Once he was done, they ran off into the darkness, the bright star in the night always to their right.
***
Kahn Taruk pushed open the door and strode into the tavern, his long muscular legs taking him toward a private room in the back. Six large Saricons were with him; each warrior wearing armor in the Saricon style, pieces of steel plates protecting crucial parts of the body while a steel cuirass, adorned with Heln’s horned symbol, graced the center. The men wore swords and axes, the weapons of choice for a Helnian. Strapped to the backs of three men were quivers filled with half a dozen throwing Javelins, each weapon about half the size of a spear. The Saricons had perfected the forging of these weapons, the weight and balance allowing the warriors to use them with deadly efficiency and accuracy.
The tavern was full, filled with the evening crowd. Five off duty Saricon soldiers drank and ate their supper, but most of the crowd consisted of Kaelians, men and women who had decided to co-exist with the Saricon invaders.
The Saricons had invaded Kael and conquered Fara nearly thirty years ago. Enough time had passed that most of the Kaelians that stayed behind after the initial conquest now looked upon the Saricons as permanent fixtures. All the Argonians had been weeded out years ago; persecuted, killed, or forced to leave their homes and venture north to Eltus, or west to Heyrith. Either way, they were no longer welcome in Fara. Many Kaelians had converted, deciding that it was better to become a Helnian rather than forced to leave their homes. All vestiges of the Argonian faith had been destroyed long ago. Temples were leveled, statues destroyed, and paintings and tapestries burned. Helnian temples had been built upon the ruins, and now huge statues of their powerful god, carved from dark stone, could be seen throughout the city of Fara.
There were still pockets of resistance, however, small communities of Argonians who had refused to leave the city and who practiced their faith in secret. But these groups were by far the minority. The Saricons, true to their nature, had been successful in stamping out the Argonians, their violent persecutions enough to deter most to flee or convert. Besides, the Helnian faith was simple, lacked rigidity, and was straightforward in its concepts, making it an agreeable faith to most.
The owner of the establishment, a little man called Curly, scurried from behind the bar to greet the Tongra. “Good evening, Tongra. The room is supplied with ale and food and your guests have already arrived. Can I bring you anything else?”
“That will be fine.” Kahn Taruk said nothing else, turned and moved down a hallway stopping at an oak door. They entered the large room, fanning out as they did. The room was generally used to entertain wealthy patrons. Tables could be set up for card games or soft couches could be brought in for lounging and watching whatever entertainment was provided. Today the large room, as per Kahn Taruk’s instructions, was dominated by a large table in the middle surrounded by twenty chairs. Soft couches and side tables occupied the perimeter and a large stone fireplace was located to the right of the door, a huge fire blazing brightly. Sconces along the perimeter walls were lit, and candles, along with trays of food and drink, were scattered all across the center table.
Four people sat on the far end of the table eating and drinking, their hushed voices halting when the Saricons entered. All four of them stood, their postures a mixture of deference and alertness.
Thalon put his two fists together before his chest and bowed his head in greeting. “Tongra Taruk, it is good to see you.” The rest of the assassins around him did the same, but said nothing.
“And you, Thalon. Please sit.” Everyone sat, including the Saricons. “Let us eat and drink before we get to business.”
Thalon smiled. “I hope you do not mind, but we have already started.”
Of course he minded, but he said nothing, knowing that to do so would just be falling into the assassin’s trap. The cocky man wanted to see him frustrated, and he would not give him the satisfaction.
He had met the others once before, but he did not acknowledge them. One was a female whose name was Lyra and Kahn Taruk knew she was an Aura Mage, just like Thalon. The other two were males, one quite large. The big man, thick with muscle, was Tulk, and he was a Merger. He had an oddly shaped head, large and blocky, with several scars covering his cheeks and forehead. Kahn Taruk noticed a large two handed sword leaning against the table near the man. The smaller man beside him was Ayden, who was a Channeler. Short white hair framed his narrow, almost feminine face. His eyes were almost all black, with only a tinge of lavender which gave him an eerie look, as if he were possessed by something ominous. They were known as the Shadows, assassins and mercenaries who worked for the highest bidder. And right now that person was Kahn Taruk.
They ate and drank, talking quietly, but keeping the conversation light. Kahn Taruk hated looking at them. Each of them appeared strange, different, not entirely normal. He knew that the magic they used had changed them, and not always for the better. Thalon’s clawed fingers were all too obvious every time he reached for his mug, their sharp black tips tapping against the metal. The assassin’s eyes were also different; large and oval, with lavender centers. The man’s pale skin and bald elongated head made him the ugliest man Kahn Taruk had yet seen in Corvell. He wanted to bring forth his Fury and crush the man under his steel boot. But he needed him.
After the food and drink were nearly consumed, Kahn Taruk spoke up. “I need you to do something else for me.”
“You paid us handsomely for the last mission. I am listening,” Thalon said, tossing a grape into his mouth.
“I need you to go to Eltus. When you see my ships arrive, and anchor before the city, I would like you to burn the Kaelian navy.”
Lyra, the female assassin, glanced at Thalon. She too had lavender eyes.
Thalon didn’t say anything for a moment, drinking slowly from his mug, his elongated fingers, like the legs of a spider, encircling the cup.
“That would be nearly fifty ships,” Thalon said casually.
“That is correct. Can you do it?” Kahn Taruk was worried that the task would be impossible, even for the Shadows. They were deadly and effective assassins, but could they destroy an entire fleet? He was hoping that they had the skill to complete the task.
“That would be a very difficult task. And very costly,” he replied, emphasizing the word very.
“You did not answer my question. Can you do it?”
“Do you have the coin?”
“You know that I do.”
Thalon took another drink of his ale. “I would not want to guarantee something that is unknown. Can we burn their ships? Yes. But I do not think we could completely destroy that many.”
“How many then?”
He shrugged. “Perhaps half that. Here is the problem. As soon as we start to set fire to the ships with our spells, they will know we are using the Way. They will summon their own Aura Mages, Channelers, and Sappers and we would be destroyed.”
“Perhaps there is another solution.” Ayden, the Channeler, spoke up for the first time.
“You are Ayden, correct?”
“I am.”
“What do you suggest?”
“I agree with Thalon. We can burn perhaps ten to twenty before we would be overwhelmed. But we may be able to render the other ships useless without burning them.”
“How so?” the Tonga asked.
“Poison the crews.”
Thalon smiled. But Lyra was not so sure. “How would we poison so many?” she asked.
“Most of a ship’s crew sleeps on board,” Ayden began. “Drinking water is stored on the boats. We slip aboard the ships and poison their supply. A skilled thief would have no problem sneaking onto the boats in the dead of night when most of the crew are sleeping. Even if we only kill half of the crew, it would be enough to keep the ship from being any danger. They would not be able to man it effectively, especially during battle.”
“Timing would be difficult, but it may be a possibility,” Thalon said, thinking out loud.
“I don’t know,” Lyra said, doubtfully. “The risks of detection are high. The four of us would have to sneak onto half of the boats, undetected, while preparing to burn the other half.”
Kahn Taruk did not care how they would accomplish the task. He just wanted it done. The entire plan rested on the idea that the Kaelian navy would be nullified, allowing his own navy to bombard the city from the coastline while his troops attacked from land. Once they destroyed their navy and claimed the city, they would then control the Dynel Strait. Then they could focus on Cythera. Even as they spoke Karnack and his ten thousand men were on their way to the shores of the Pyres Mountains. From there Obaty, the Askarian nomad, would lead his army through the secret mountain pass, emerging months later on the other side along the eastern shores of the Bitlis Sea. At that point the plan called for the army to construct barges and sneak their troops across the narrow strait to the lands of Dy’ain. Karnack would then secure the lands east of the capital city of Cythera. Meanwhile, Kahn Taruk would have already taken the city of Eltus and transported his men by ship through the Dynel Strait to offload along the shores of Dy’ain near the capital city. Both armies would then converge on the city. He had a few other secrets up his sleeve, but everything rested on Karnack’s army securing the east undetected. “I have something that may help,” he added, looking over at one of his men. The big Saricon reached under his cloak and produced a round clay ball about the size of an infant’s head. Kahn Taruk took it from him and placed it before Thalon.
The Steel Lord: Book 01 - BannerFall Page 25