Suddenly a warrior appeared, attacking the Tongra with a speed matching his own. He was a Merger, probably one of the few remaining from one of the noble families. During the two week siege, Kahn Taruk had sent in the Shadows, who had assassinated as many of the remaining Aura Mages as possible. They had targeted anyone known to possess the Way, but they were bound to have missed some. It had cost him a fortune, but he had to admit that the Shadows were proving themselves to be a valuable asset. Working with mercenaries, however, was always unpredictable. One had to assure their loyalty by paying the highest possible price. If not, they could be bought by one’s rivals and turn against you. Kahn Taruk knew that paying the exorbitant fees demanded by the Shadows accomplished two tasks; they not only performed their duties as required, but they had no motivation to double cross him. And the Tongra also knew that Thalon and his assassins hated the Argonians. They hated everyone from Corvell. It had been their own people after all who had hunted them down and tried to kill them just for being different, their own people who had made them what they were today. That hatred, and Kahn Taruk’s coin, had guaranteed them to be powerful allies.
The Merger came at Kahn Taruk with incredible speed, his polished silver sword erupting with green fire. The Tongra quickly thrust his axe forward, catching the sword on the front of his axe between the two blades where they connected to the thick handle. As the sword struck the Tongra’s axe the green flames flared even brighter, slicing through the steel and dropping half of Kahn Taruk’s axe blade to the ground. But the Tongra had anticipated that could happen, having fought against the famous Kul-brite blades before. With lightning speed he angled the axe head to the right, turning the remaining deadly blade away from himself, as he spun his weapon around and used the blunt end to deal a devastating blow to the swordsman’s chin. His head jerked sideways, his jaw broken, and Kahn Taruk quickly reversed the weapon again, spinning around and using the single remaining axe blade to strike the surprised swordsman in the face. Stepping over the bloodied fallen warrior, Kahn Taruk roared, his Fury raging inside him. Rivers of blood ran along the cobblestones as the Saricon horde slowly but inexorably overran the Kaelian defenders, the enraged Tongra, his fiery eyes flashing red, leading the way.
***
Karnack squatted next to Obaty, gazing at the seemingly endless Sil Desert below. They had descended the northern reaches of the Pyres Mountains and now squatted upon a cliff face, the ten thousand strong Saricon army spread along the mountain trail behind them, taking a much needed rest. It had taken them a little over two months, and the trip had not gone without difficulties. The trail was arduous, and certainly not meant for an army to traverse. Days had been spent clearing the path in several locations, where the thick trees and brush had nearly obliterated the trail, making travel nearly impossible. The extra time and effort required to clear the path had caused them to nearly exhaust their provisions. More time, then, had to be spent hunting to supplement their meat rations. By the time they had reached the end of their journey, roughly fifteen men had been lost. Three had fallen to their deaths as they traversed a particularly narrow rocky section of the trail along a steep cliff. The loose rocks made for unstable footing, and one misplaced foot, especially when men were tired and hungry, could lead to sudden death. Six more men, who had somehow wandered off the trail during a blinding snowstorm, were never seen again.
The worst loss of life, however, occurred on a night when the full moon had been covered by a thick layer of clouds, revealing only a faint halo of light which did nothing to diminish the darkness. Six men were killed while everyone was sleeping. They were set upon by three Gullicks, rare yet dangerous beasts that inhabit the high elevations of the mountain ranges across Belorth and Corvell. Twice the size of any man, the bear-like creatures are covered with a thick coat of white hair. Quicker and five times more powerful than any known bear, they have adapted to the harsh environment of the high mountains. Though vicious, they are not evil like some other creatures; they are simply animals trying to survive the harsh conditions in which they live. The creatures had stalked the men silently, then striking with incredible speed. The screams of the men were quickly cut short before their comrades could react to help them. They had killed and drug off six men before anyone knew what was happening.
But despite the trials of their journey, Obaty was true to his word. He had led them through the mountains to the desert, and now they were on their own. “I’ll take my gold now,” he grunted, standing up from his perch. Karnack stood with him, motioning towards another man who led a mule over, laden with saddle bags. Obaty smiled, the first Karnack had seen, knowing what was in the bags. He had had his eyes glued to them the entire trip. Karnack motioned for the warrior to give the nomad the reins to the animal. “You did well,” Karnack said. “Enjoy your compensation.”
Obaty grunted in response. He pointed towards the shores of the Bitlis Sea, which they could clearly see in the distance from their high perch. “When you get close to shore, you will meet resistance. There are small villages of people there, but their numbers will be no match for your army.”
Karnack was not aware of this. He, as well as Tongra Taruk, was under the impression that the desert lands along the eastern shores of the Bitlis Sea were unoccupied. “Who are they?”
“Ancestors of our own. They are called the Schulg. But most of the Schulg live west of the sea. The tribes you will encounter are small with few warriors. You will also find trees along the coast to build your barges.” With his last words Obaty turned and walked his mule back up the trail. He had made the trip with five other Askarian warriors, who now followed him, disappearing within the vast numbers of the Saricon army that were still camped behind.
As they departed a dark four legged beast, as large as a bull in its prime, rode forward, its long black claws clicking on the stones that covered most of the mountain landscape. Perched atop the bull-like beast was a female Saricon. Her long blonde hair was shaved to the scalp on the sides with the middle pulled back into a long braided tale that reached to the small of her back. Her face was tattooed with blue lines in the shape of claws that reached from her hairline down and across her cheeks. She wore plate armor, the center embossed with a beast’s head similar to the one she rode.
Karnack looked at her, reaching out slowly to place his hand on the side of the beast’s head. A mane of thick ebony fur, black as a demon’s heart, covered the creature’s thickly muscled neck, then tapered gradually to a thin coat of gray that covered its entire body. Eyes like obsidian, dark and glistening, turned to look at him, their red pupils narrowing ominously as a guttural growl reverberated from the depths of its throat. The growl became louder as it opened its mouth, drawing its lips back and revealing its black teeth, each as long as a Saricon’s finger, glistening as they caught the last rays of the evening sun.
“I think he is finally starting to like me,” Karnack grunted as he slowly removed his hand.
Lashed to the side of her dark leather saddle was a quiver of Saricon spears and strapped on her back was a short sword. The warrior stretched her back and laughed, her blue eyes looking down upon the desert below. “He doesn’t like anyone.”
“Not even you?”
“He tolerates me,” she said as she tapped the side of the beast’s huge neck. The beast, known as a torg, came from the Shadow Mountains in the southern regions of Belorth.
When the Saricons conquered the lands of Belorth many cyns ago, a group of females with a rare power called the Tinge, used that ability to subjugate and control the powerful beasts. Over time they trained them, forming a small group of riders known as Shadow Riders. Just as some male Saricons developed the Fury, some female Saricons were born with the Tinge, the ability to control the emotions of others. Most of the women who possessed this power were only able to soften emotions that already existed, like calming a man’s anger. A rare few, however, could more drastically influence a person’s emotional state, like turning an infatuation into
a barely controllable lustful desire. In some cases even, one so gifted could use the power to emanate desired emotions around them. If one were so inclined, she could radiate anger, lust, happiness, or worry around them, causing any who came near to take on those emotions. Shadow Riders used these abilities to control the torgs, to direct and soothe them, for in their natural state they were wild and fearless hunters. Without the mental restraints the riders used to subdue and control the natural instincts of their vicious steeds, they would kill indiscriminately. Needless to say the Shadow Riders made the other Saricon warriors a little nervous. It was hard to feel secure around vicious killers held in check by a power they could not see.
The strength and power of the Shadow Riders changed from year to year as women with this ability died and were born, increasing or lessening the ranks of the riders. The overall number of Shadow Riders remained relatively small and fairly stable, anywhere from five to fifteen. When one was born with the gift, they were taught early how to train and handle the torgs, as well as how to fight from their backs.
“Soon, KeeAysa, you and your riders will serve Heln’s cause,” Karnack said.
“That is good. We are tired of waiting. We want Argonian blood.” The torg, sensing her emotions, growled softly, its large paws shuffling with anticipation, the black claws gouging the gray stone.
***
They were four days into their retreat from Lyone before Jarak found the time to talk with Prince Daricon about what he had found. It had been nagging at him for days, but the staggered retreat from the garrison had been chaotic, despite their planning. Food and supplies had to be carefully monitored and transported up and down the long line of people. And not all were warriors who had been trained for, and were accustomed to strenuous marches. In addition to the warriors there were several hundred men and women who were servants or family members of the officers. They had to constantly run scouting parties in front of the line looking for any possible attack from brigands or Schulg nomads, while simultaneously maintaining a defensive retreat at the rear of the column. They assumed the Saricons would not leave the garrison and follow them so quickly, but they couldn’t be sure.
Prince Jarak had been riding hard, leaving the rear of the column several hours ago. Cat was among that group and he had wanted to check on her while inspecting their food and water supplies. He saw Daricon at the head of the column and galloped over to him, reining in his horse abruptly as he drew near. The middle aged lieutenant, Bal’tour, rode beside Daricon.
“How would you assess our supply situation?” Daricon asked, smiling.
“It is fine,” Prince Jarak replied, ignoring him. He knew that Daricon was aware of his feelings for Cat, but he wasn’t going to play into his game. “We will need to procure some more beans by tomorrow but the water supply looks good. Bal’tour, will you excuse us for a moment. I wish to speak with Lord Daricon in private.”
“As you wish, my Prince,” he replied, turning his horse around to find someone to ride with down the column.
Daricon looked at him. “What is it?”
“I’ve wanted to talk with you but we’ve been so preoccupied. Jarak hesitated before continuing. “I saw something at the garrison that is disturbing.”
Daricon pursed his lips. “Oh?”
“Down in the cellar. Jayla found a secret door.”
This time Daricon looked surprised. “A secret door? I’ve been at the garrison for fifteen years and I’ve never heard of such a thing. Where did it lead?”
“To a room. It was a shrine to Heln.”
“Are you certain? There are no Helnians here, nor have there ever been at the garrison.”
“I am certain and obviously that is not true. There was an altar along with their Torgot.”
Daricon spit on the ground in disgust. “Their book was there?”
“Yes. What do you think? Who could have built such a room without anyone knowing?”
Daricon was silent, looking ahead across the expansive steppe, deep in thought. Endless grasslands speckled with small groves of trees spread out before them as far as the eye could see. Finally he looked back at Jarak. “Who else knows of this?”
Jarak shook his head. “No one. Just Jayla and I.”
“Let’s keep it that way. Obviously we have a spy in our midst. I need to think on this. But for now, there is nothing we can do. We will soon arrive at Cythera and we will have plenty of work to do to prepare for a possible siege. I will need you vigilant, and be aware of anything out of the ordinary. If you hear or see anything strange, make sure you let me know.”
“I will. It has me worried, Uncle. I mean, how long has the spy been there and for what purpose? I do not like the unknowns.”
“Nor I.” But Prince Daricon said no more, his thoughts already occupied by the implications and possibilities.
***
Brant gave a subtle jerk of his wrist which belied its great power, knocking Master Rand’s sword to the side, then flicking the blade back around to hit him in the chest, the tip of the blade scraping along his armor.
“Well done!” Kulvar Rand exclaimed, stepping back and smiling. They had been working on the move for quite some time and finally Brant had broken through his defenses. For three months they had been training together, Master Rand showing him the intricacies of real sword work. They did the usual; working on conditioning and sword forms, but the real focus of their work was training to use the power of the wrist to create openings, and then using that same power to exploit them.
This secret style of swordplay had been created four cyns ago by Kilt Rand, another Dygon Guard and distant relative of Master Rand. It had fittingly been named the Kilting Way. It was not typically taught to anyone outside the Dygon Guard. But Master Rand made an exception with Brant. He taught him that with sufficient speed, knowledge, and power, a true swordsman could end a duel in a few heartbeats. That was of, course, unless your opponent had also been trained in the Kilting Way.
“Thank you,” Brant said, lowering the tip of the Kul-brite blade. Master Rand had allowed him to use the blade when they trained at his estate. They had gone out on several more missions, moving more Kul-brite than they had in a long time. The king had secret hiding places for the steel, and Master Rand was stockpiling it for the coming invasion. He did not want the Saricons to get their hands on it. When they weren’t on missions procuring and transporting Kul-brite, they were training and helping prepare the city for a possible siege. So far all they knew was that the Saricons had conquered Eltus and destroyed the Kaelian navy. As of now they had no reports of any Saricons moving towards Cythera. At least not yet.
“Now, let us try using the Way,” Master Rand continued.
Brant nodded and widened his legs, concentrating on his aura. They had not been practicing this skill for long and Brant still had a lot to learn. But he was improving, and under the meticulous eye of Kulvar Rand he was improving at a faster than normal rate.
Kulvar’s eyes narrowed as he focused on his own aura, surging the explosive energy into his muscles. In a snap of the fingers he was attacking. They danced for several moments, their swords flashes of light as they spun around, attacking, countering, and attacking again. They continued their sword dance across the cobblestones, their feet a blur of motion, while their swords clashed with such incredible speed they sounded as if five black smiths were continuously hitting hammer to anvil heartbeats after one another. Anyone listening to the cadence would never guess that it was a duel. It was simply too fast.
By this time Ari had come from the house, attracted by the sound of the duel. He leaned against the stables, his eyes wide as he tried to visualize the fight, but the bodies of the warriors were moving too fast for someone who was not a Merger to witness.
Suddenly Kulvar’s blade knocked Brant’s aside, allowing him to smack the side of Brant’s arm with the flat of the blade. The move was barely detectable, but it had been enough. If he had hit him with the razor sharp edge, his forear
m would have been split open.
Brant stepped back for a moment, narrowed his eyes, and attacked again, surging more energy into his limbs. But Kulvar Rand was there to meet every strike, and once again was able to knock his blade to the side and whip it back this time to hit him in the thigh. Without stopping, Brant growled in anger and came at Master Rand again. This time he surged more energy into his legs, hoping to use the extra speed to get past his defenses. It didn’t work. In fact, it made things worse. Kulvar stepped back quickly as Brant rushed forward, his enhanced speed shooting him forward like a rocket. Never stopping, Kulvar spun like a top, avoiding Brant’s sword, his own blade leading the way to hit Brant in the back, nearly knocking him to the ground.
Now Brant was furious. The familiar anger breached its cage and new aura energy stormed through his body. Without thinking, he directed it into his blade, the Kul-brite steel all but begging for it. Blue fire burst from the blade and he jumped forward, his blade moving so fast that all one could see were the tracers of light left behind.
Now Kulvar’s blade instantly erupted in green fire as the two blades came together. Again, they danced across the courtyard; their fiery blades striking each other so many times that an observer would be unable to count them. Brant gritted his teeth together, allowing the anger to push more energy into his limbs, pushing them to new limits. His sword flared brighter, the Kul-brite steel seeming to come alive, humming as if with joy. Brant was relishing the powerful, almost ecstatic sensations he was feeling. Until it suddenly evaporated, replaced by a blackness that nearly overwhelmed him as his head snapped back from Master Rand’s kick. Somehow, Kulvar had angled Brant’s blade away, and snapped his foot forward, hitting Brant so hard that it nearly broke his jaw. Brant stumbled backwards, his anger slipping away like water in a drain.
The Steel Lord: Book 01 - BannerFall Page 34