The Steel Lord: Book 01 - BannerFall

by Jason McWhirter

  “His last name, Tandon.”

  “Father, I don’t know what to say,” Jarak said, unable to take his eyes off the magnificent weapon.

  “You deserve it. It is a fitting blade for the future king of Dy’ain. Guard it carefully. That blade is worth more than you want to know.”

  Jarak took the scabbard from his father and sheathed the blade. Then he un-cinched his belt and ran it through the scabbard, quickly buckling it back on. “Thank you, Father,” he said, reaching out and hugging him briefly. They had not hugged for a long time and it felt a bit awkward for them both.

  As Jarak turned to go the king put his hand on his son’s shoulder. “You must always honor that blade and this House.”

  “I will. I promise.”

  “Good. Now be off. Say hello to Cat for me and try not to be too late for dinner,” the king added, winking at his son.

  Jarak didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing. He smiled and left the room, eager to show Cat his new sword.

  ***

  The sun had just set and Brant was exploring the main street in Cythera, a wide boulevard lined with shops, inns, and various businesses. For all the months he had lived at Kulvar Rand’s estate he had only ventured into the city a few times. Master Rand was busy with his Dygon Guard. They were helping with preparations, training recruits, and even scouting the outlying areas looking for any signs that the Saricons were on their way. It had only been a day since the Saricons had landed on their shores but so far they were holding up a half day’s march west of Cythera.

  Brant thought to take an evening for himself and explore the city. The first thing he noticed was that the city was definitely on high alert. Typically at this time in the early evening the area would be swarming with people, but now the city was relatively quiet, with people moving about quickly, anxious to attend to their errands and return to the security of their homes. The usual lively hum of voices interspersed with the clatter of horses’ hooves and carts along the cobblestones had been replaced by nervous whispers and furtive conversations. The presence of the Saricon army caused a suffocating feeling of foreboding that hung over the city like a heavy fog. Legionnaires were everywhere, patrolling the streets and the city walls in large numbers and helping move stores and weapons. There was a nervous energy in the air. Few had ever imagined that anyone would have the courage, let alone the strength, to attack Cythera. After all, the magnificent city had never been attacked by a foreign army.

  Brant had asked Kulvar Rand why the Legion hadn’t gone out to attack the invaders before they arrived at their gates, or why the navy hadn’t been sent out to confront the invading armada. Master Rand had replied that both options were probably being considered. It made sense to Brant. Why not take the fight to them before they get trapped in their own city? It was something the king and his advisors were probably discussing as he was walking down the street, mulling over the options himself. They were hoping to get information from their scouts this evening.

  The previous night he and the servants, along with Master Rand, had packed their important possessions so they could be ready to quickly retreat inside the city walls when the Saricons arrived. Brant didn’t really have much to pack, so he helped the servants fill a couple crates for Kulvar, filling them with important documents and papers, sufficient clothing, bags of gold, and an assortment of weapons and armor.

  When they finished packing Kulvar had asked Brant to follow him. He had led him through the large house into a room, its walls lined with intermittent shelves which were filled with books. It was a large room with several tables, each surrounded by six to eight soft chairs, occupying the center of the space. Randomly placed around the perimeter of the room were a number of stone statues draped with suits of armor. There were at least eight that Brant could see. Some wore full plate armor while others wore hardened leather armor embossed with intricate designs. Each suit was unique in some way, but they were all beautifully designed and crafted. In the empty spaces between the shelves were hung a variety of weapons from all over Belorth and Corvell…swords, spears, Saricon axes, Schulg oswiths, and he even had an Askarian cab’re. The ceiling of the room was twice as tall as a man with massive wooden beams spanning the distance. It was a one of the most magnificent rooms Brant had ever seen. Kulvar Rand led him to one of the sculptures against the far corner. They were staring at a unique, but simple, suit of armor. The chest plate was constructed of hardened leather, in the center of which a steel plate had been inlaid, and etched with the symbol of a wolf’s head. Leaning against the statue was a sword that Brant recognized. It was Tangar’s sword, the Kul-brite blade he had been practicing with. There was only one shoulder guard secured to the armor and Brant asked Kulvar Rand its purpose. “Why only one guard?”

  “This was my son’s armor. He liked his sword arm free. He wore the pauldron on his left shoulder allowing for more protection there while giving him freer movement with his sword arm.” Kulvar paused, his eyes distant, as if remembering a long ago image. Then he blinked and looked at Brant. “I’d like you to have it, along with the sword.”

  Brant didn’t know what to say. Just three years ago he would never had thought he’d even see a Kul-brite blade let alone carry one. “I can’t. The sword alone is too valuable.”

  “That is true. But as you know I didn’t pay for it. I have a blade, and a sword such as this should not collect dust in my library. You are a swordsman, and a Merger. Carry this blade for as long as you wish,” he said, handing the sword to Brant. “My son would like you. You are much like him, you know. I know he would rather you wear the armor than have it sitting here, collecting dust, useless to anyone. Please, take it.”

  Brant was speechless. He tucked the scabbard into his leather belt, resting his palm on the handle. It felt as if it were part of him. He had trained with this blade and he had to admit that when he wasn’t holding it, or wasn’t near it, he longed for it. Smiling broadly, he looked at Kulvar, his eyes filled with undisguised joy. “Thank you. I shall wear them with honor.”

  “I know.”

  Brant smiled, remembering Kulvar Rand’s words, his hand resting on the pommel of his Kul-brite blade as he slowly meandered down the street. He didn’t venture anywhere without his armor. It fit him perfectly and he had to admit that it gave him a sense of a safety. Thinking of Kulvar’s son, he wished he could have met him.

  ***

  Jarak found Cat on the east wall. Torches had been lit all along the battlements and Legionnaires stood on alert looking out across the Bitlis Strait that separated the Dark Sea from the Bitlis Sea. A guard had been stationed every twenty paces. Each warrior was armed with a sword and shield, the latter leaning against the wall beside him. Behind each guard, next to a bin of bolts, lay a crossbow. Originally Cat had had little experience with the weapon. But she had been training hard with the crossbow, and thankfully, which was why they were used on the wall, one did not need much practice to be accurate with the weapon.

  She heard him approach and turned, the look of utter boredom on her face quickly disappearing. She smiled, obviously happy to see him. Jarak marveled at how her face could appear both beautiful and strong. “Well look at you,” she said, admiring his regal attire. Typically she saw him wearing either his armor or the more practical apparel of a warrior. She was unaccustomed to seeing him clothed in the fine garments he had donned for this evening.

  “Thank you, my lady” he said, bowing theatrically before her, “I will take that as a compliment.”

  “What are you doing here?” she asked, looking around as if she might get in trouble. “You know I have duty tonight.”

  “Cat, I am the Prince of Dy’ain. I don’t think you’re going to get in trouble.”

  “Maybe not. But I don’t want any of the men to think differently of me because I know you. It’s hard enough fitting in being a woman. Did you know we only have a hundred and fifty five female fighters in the Legion?”

  “I did not. But I bet you a
re the most beautiful,” he added, smiling. Ever since they had both shed blood together the night of the ambush, they had begun to develop a growing friendship. But Jarak was not just interested in developing a friendship and he made every attempt to make that clear. So far she had either ignored his advances, or admonished him for them, and had, as yet, shown no inclination to reciprocate. But he wasn’t willing to give up.

  She looked away, ignoring his comment, and moved back to her post along the wall. He joined her, gazing out into the darkness, the rolling waves of the Bitlis Strait before them. “I hate this duty,” she said, as she continued to gaze beyond the wall.

  “I imagine so. It doesn’t look terribly exciting. How long do you have to stay on the wall?”

  “Until sunrise.”

  Jarak shook his head. “Perhaps I should say something to your commander.”

  She looked at him, her eyes set. “No. You will do no such thing. I can’t have you interfering or the men will think I’m weak.”

  He put up his hands in mock surrender. “Okay, no problem, pretend I never said it.”

  “Why are you dressed like that anyway?”

  “My uncle prepared a dinner for us. Just my family and his. Jayla is cooking and my father and mother have never tasted her food.”

  “When is it?” she asked, knowing that dinnertime was long past.

  “Now,” he said with a mischievous smile.

  “Then what are you doing here?”

  “I should think that is obvious.”

  She glared at him, but it didn’t really hold any weight; a faint smile betrayed her best efforts to look annoyed. “Won’t they be mad?”

  He shrugged. “Maybe. But I can eat dinner with them anytime. How often do I get to stand along the city wall talking with a beautiful woman in armor?”

  This time she played along. “I should hope never.”

  “I think I will stay awhile. Do you mind?”

  “No, if I am to be honest, I would enjoy your company.”

  “Good, then you shall have it.” He smiled at her and this time she returned it.

  ***

  “Let us just start,” King Enden Dormath announced impatiently, his hands resting on the table. “Jarak is visiting that girl, Cat, and you know he will be late.”

  Queen Irstan Dormath smiled, knowing her husband to be correct in his assessment. But this time she was not concerned with his absence. She had not met this ‘Cat’ yet, but had heard good things. Any woman who could wield a sword and join the Legion was not Jarak’s typical female interest, and if she wasn’t his typical interest, then it was all the more likely that she would like her. She was happy that her son had finally found someone who could keep him interested for so long. By all accounts he had been attempting to court her for over a year.

  Daricon, however, did not look too happy, but he forced a smile and nodded his head. “Very well, let us begin. I’m sure he will arrive eventually.” Daricon’s wife, Mylena, sat to his right, while their two sons, Tye and Colgan, sat on his left. “Jayla has prepared for us a cold chata soup. I think you will enjoy it.” Chata was a green vegetable with a mild flavor, but Jayla’s recipe included the addition of several spices that gave the creamy soup an intensely savory and spicy flavor.

  King Enden looked up. “A cold soup? I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

  “Nor had I,” Mylena responded. “But trust me, you’ll love it.”

  They all dug in, and after several swallows King Enden and Queen Irstan were in total agreement. “It is lovely,” the queen said. “Such an exquisite texture. I wonder how she did it.”

  “I agree,” the king added. “This is quite delicious.”

  They finished their soup with gusto, and the bowls were quickly removed as the main course was brought to the table by several servants.

  Daricon looked periodically towards the entrance of the dining hall, where two guards stood attentively. Jarak had still not arrived.

  “He will or will not be here, Brother, do not fret it. I gave him the sword today and he is probably showing it to Cat. Perhaps he will join us for dessert,” the king added.

  Daricon nodded his head. “Perhaps. I just wanted the family to be together tonight. Difficult times are upon us and we may not have many chances to dine like this. I’m just disappointed.”

  “I understand, trust me,” Kind Enden added with a knowing smile. “But let us not allow this wonderful meal to get cold. What do we have before us?”

  ***

  “I have something that I want to show you, Cat,” Jarak said. “My father just gave it to me.”

  They had been leaning against the battlements talking, enjoying each other’s company. She stepped back and looked at him. “What is it?”

  Jarak drew the sword and held it before her, the pommel on one hand and the flat of the blade on the other. Even in the dim light of the flickering torches the polished blade looked as if it were glowing.

  “In Argon’s name,” she whispered, her hand coming to her mouth in shock. “He gave you a Kul-brite blade?” She had only seen a few of the blades before. The night they were attacked she had witnessed the effectiveness of Daricon’s blade and she knew that King Enden had a similar weapon. She also knew that every Dygon Guard had a Kul-brite blade, the cost of outfitting fifty men with such a weapon hard for her to comprehend.

  “He did,” Jarak said. “And inside the pommel is a Mage Stone somehow linked to the steel in this blade. I can task energy and fill the stone like any Mage Stone, but this stone allows me to bring forth fire along the blade.”

  She looked at him in wonder. “You’re kidding! You will be able to use the sword like a Merger?”

  “Well, not exactly. I can’t use the energy to make me faster or stronger, but it will fuse energy into the blade like my uncle’s ability can.”

  “That is incredible. Have you tried it yet?”

  “No, not yet.”

  “Maybe you should,” she added mischievously, eager to see the weapon flame.

  “You think?”

  She smiled and stepped away from him. “Do it.”

  Jarak gave her a you asked for it look and held the sword straight into the air. The stone was full; it had probably been filled with energy by Serix. So Jarak merely concentrated on it just as he would if you wanted to use the Mage Stone in his belt. Instantly he felt the energy and urged it into the blade. In a blink the sword lit up in lavender fire. It happened so fast that Jarak almost dropped the weapon to the ground. It felt as if the stone and the metal of the blade were one, fused together, and that the steel was pulling the energy from the stone, the lavender fire blazing brighter. Jarak decided to try something, just to see if it would work. Pulling more energy from the stone, he concentrated on a short but powerful burst. A gout of fire shot from the flaming blade three paces into the air before receding back into the sword. Noticing that he was quickly draining energy from the stone, he cut it off and the fire disappeared just as quickly as it had appeared.

  Cat was giggling with astonishment. “That is amazing,” she cried. Several guards on either side came running towards them, their swords drawn and shields held before them.

  “Everything is fine,” Jarak told them, sheathing his blade. “It was just me,” he added.

  Both of the guards saw who it was and sheathed their weapons. One of them, the older of the two, spoke. “Sorry, my Prince, we were not sure what created the fire.”

  “Thank you for being so vigilant. You may return to your post.” The guards bowed and walked back to their positions on the wall.

  He looked back at Cat and she was smiling from ear to ear.

  ***

  “So what we have prepared for you is tulkick tenderloin medallions braised in a wine and mushroom sauce served with creamed telmu root and roasted turnips.

  No one needed any urging and within moments they were well into their meals.

  Queen Irstan was speechless. “I don’t even know what to say,”
she stammered, savoring a tender morsel of the flavorful meat. “Where did you find this cook?”

  “She lived in a village near the garrison. They were attacked by a rogue group of Schulgs and nearly everyone in the village was slaughtered, except for her and a few others who had managed to hide in a root cellar. She was found several miles from the village, wandering aimlessly with a serious head wound. She didn’t remember what had happened to her. We took them in and she started off cooking for the troops. But her talents were soon discovered and I quickly commandeered her to cook for us. Best decision I ever made.”

  “What happened to the nomads?” King Enden asked. It was his duty to protect his people and it pained him knowing that he had failed to do just that.

  “We hunted them down and killed them,” Daricon replied. “It took us two weeks to find them.”

  “Well done, my brother.” King Enden took a sip of his wine. “I wanted to thank you for all you have done for the kingdom. You have sacrificed much living at the garrison. But by all accounts I could not have picked a better commander to guard our western border.” Queen Irstan suddenly coughed, interrupting the king’s words. Her cough quickly began to sound as if she was choking and her eyes grew wide with the realization that something was terribly wrong. King Enden put his hand on her back. “Are you okay?”

  Daricon leaned forward. “Perhaps she has something in her throat.”

  The queen coughed again, this time more violently, as if she were trying to dislodge something in her throat. But she was shaking her head. “I…don’t…feel so...” but she couldn’t continue as the violent coughing worsened. She lurched back, away from the table, as if that would somehow make it stop.

  The king’s eyes mirrored concern and fear for his wife, then sudden panic as he too began to cough. His hand went to his throat as the same choking coughs wracked his body.

  “What is it!?” Daricon said, jumping up from his chair and running around the table to his brother.

  “What is going on?!” Mylena’s voice rose in fear. “Sons!” she screamed, “Do not eat or drink anything else!” The two boys immediately dropped their eating utensils, their eyes wide with fright.