Fall of the Western Kings (Tirumfall Trilogy Book 1)

by J Drew Brumbaugh

  And there were the craftsmen he needed alive: the blacksmith, goldsmith, jeweler and gem cutter, and their families. Capture should be easy if he could control his troops’ bloodlust. Griffith’s third brigade was the worst, little more than maniacs. He’d placed them in reserve. Hopefully they would not be committed until after the craftsmen were in custody.

  Barlon urged his horse into a canter. In truth, his fear was that he’d be betrayed again. That core of doubt sat hard in his chest, even as he tried to shut it out. Early in his career he’d been betrayed just when the battle seemed to be turning in his favor. His king had sued for peace and left Barlon in defeat.

  He forced aside his worries. Right now they had some distance to cover in a hurry. The thunder of hooves rose behind him as he moved down the road to Netherdorf. Soon he would complete the first stage of his plan. Revenge would be sweet.

  #

  Jarlz sat on his bed staring out the open window of his third story room in Netherdorf Castle. It was warm for this time of year and he watched the morning sun climb over the crags. He was up early out of habit. He’d taken a position teaching swordplay to the king’s recruits and boredom settled heavily on his shoulders these days.

  Once again he thought of Gant. He should have returned to Blasseldune by now. And if he had, someone would have gotten word back to Jarlz. He shouldn’t have let Gant go off alone. He was too young, too inexperienced.

  A cloud of dust along the west road caught Jarlz’ eye. Funny, he thought, there rarely is traffic that way. Perhaps he would report it to the king before he went to breakfast.

  A knock at the door caused Jarlz to turn from the window.

  “Come in.”

  Timidly the door swung open. A slight, dark-eyed serving girl peeked in.

  “Sir Jarlz?” It was not a question of his identity, but a request for permission to enter the room.

  “Come in, come in.” Jarlz recognized her from the kitchen staff. “What is it?” he asked when she hesitated in the doorway.

  “I have been instructed to present you with a gift from Mistress Fallsworth.” Her gaze remained fixed on the floor.

  Alicia Fallsworth, thought Jarlz. Her beautiful face filled his mind. He’d always loved her but there had never been time. Since his return from Devonshield they’d spent a lot of time together. Maybe he should ask for her hand before something else happened.

  “Well, let me see it.”

  Carefully the girl unwrapped a beautiful medallion. It glittered and winked at Jarlz. The girl held it up with the chain stretched between her two calloused hands. The pendant swung hypnotically. She stepped forward to place it over the knight’s head. Something said no; Jarlz leaned back.

  “Mistress Fallsworth said to put it on you myself and for you to wear it to breakfast. She’ll come by and speak with you if you have it on.” Again the girl's eyes shied away from his.

  Jarlz hesitated. A gleam flashed off the medallion and caught his eye. He thought of the jeweler’s daughter, of proper time spent with a proper lady. He bowed his head and the great gold medallion slipped neatly around his neck. The girl curtsied, turned and was gone.

  Jarlz rose and looked out the window. The swirling dust cloud was a lot closer. It didn’t matter. The medallion around his neck worked a parasitic magic that gnawed at his memories, rearranging them, twisting feelings and realigning his allegiance. Barlon now was his liege, King Tirmus the enemy. All that happened without Jarlz consciously aware of it. Without knowing why, Jarlz dressed in his battle armor and went down to breakfast.

  #

  Ralbert, Sergeant of the Watch, looked out from the gate tower at the rising sun. The beauty of a new day exhilarated him, so much so that he was a permanent volunteer for the last night watch. He endured the silent gloom each night with ever-growing expectations of the coming dawn. He was never disappointed.

  He glanced again at the dust devil rolling over the nearest hill. He liked the playful winds that swirled through the mountains. Often sighting one was the only break to the night’s boredom. Today, something was different. This dust cloud followed the west road straight for the castle. Perhaps a herd of wild animals, he thought. Still, he should call for the captain.

  A giggle behind Ralbert made him start. He turned and melted in the deep brown eyes of Angelica. She offered him a cup of wine.

  “You shouldn’t be up here,” said Ralbert. His smile said he didn't mind.

  “I like bringing you a morning drink. It's so peaceful here before anyone is up.”

  She snuggled against his side and handed him the cup. He put one arm around her, feeling her warmth, and drank deeply of the fruity liquid. He enjoyed their little ritual, but in the back of his mind he knew they’d have to stop before they got caught. They’d ban him from service or worse.

  He went to take another drink, but his throat muscles constricted involuntarily. He choked. A roaring fire burned in his guts, his eyes bulged. He looked accusatorily at Angelica. She pushed him away and stood up. His muscles, his heart and lungs ceased to function and in a moment he was dead. With no sign of remorse, Angelica rolled him against the outer wall where he couldn’t be seen from below and headed for the gatehouse.

  All along the west wall, other guards met a similar fate, dying without a whimper. As the telltale dust cloud transformed into a thundering column of armored horsemen, the great drawbridge and portcullis to Netherdorf Castle creaked open.

  The horde forged into the town of Netherdorf and galloped up the hill toward the castle. Small groups fanned out with specific missions. They met little resistance, grabbing those targeted, killing any who opposed them and avoiding the rest. Barlon could not afford to waste time until Netherdorf Castle was his.

  They passed through the village like a night mist. Up the road to the castle they went, their iron-shod horses beat a crescendo on the drawbridge and they were inside. There was no alarm.

  #

  On the far side of town, Gant’s father was already up. The forge fire was hot and the ringing of his hammer drowned out the approaching horses’ hooves. Suddenly the smithy door flew open and two hulking men in deep purple armor rushed in. A heavy mailed fist slammed into Gant’s father’s chin and he crumpled to the floor. They tied him, gagged him, carried him out, and tossed him into a prison wagon along with his wife.

  Further down the road, Chamz sat eating his breakfast alone. His father had gone to tend to the livestock and his mother was out weeding the garden. The clank of armored horsemen aroused his curiosity and, thinking it was the king’s men, he got up and went to the front door. Opening it, he stepped outside just in time to see Gant’s parents wrestled into the prison wagon. Chamz saw Barlon’s emblem on the warriors’ shields and ducked back inside. Without thinking he snatched up his sword and ambushed the first intruder at the door. Caught by surprise, the soldier fell to a single blow. The next two fared no better. Chamz yanked the door shut and dashed out the back.

  At the sound of the back door slamming his mother straightened up from weeding in the vegetable garden

  “What’s going on?” she asked, alarmed to see Chamz carrying his sword.

  “Barlon’s attacking Netherdorf. We’ve got to escape,” hissed Chamz, grabbing his mother by the arm. “Where’s father?”

  Drug along behind her son, Chamz’ mother could hardly catch her breath. “He’s tending the livestock in the south field.”

  Into the trees they dashed, coming out at the edge of the south field. Chamz’ father was working on the fence that ran along the edge of the forest. He turned, startled as Chamz and his mother burst from the tree line.

  “What is it?”

  “No time to explain,” said Chamz, “Netherdorf is under attack and we must get to safety.”

  “If Netherdorf falls, where will we be safe?” asked Chamz’ father, glancing around nervously.

  “I don’t know but we’re going to Blasseldune.”

  A look of horror swept across his parents’ face
s.

  “It’s alright. I have friends there. Come on before they come looking for us.”

  At that moment, the clank of armored footsteps in the woods ended any resistance. Quickly Chamz led his parents to the woodland path that led east toward Blasseldune.

  #

  Barlon rode with General Ecker and Razgoth into the stadium-like courtyard of Netherdorf castle expecting the worst. His fears were unfounded. There were only two ceremonial guards at the interior castle doors. One fell to a crossbow bolt before he could move. The other ducked inside, screaming the alarm, slamming the massive doors shut. A heavy thud came from inside as the bolt locked the doors.

  By now Barlon's men were in a frenzy. They wanted battle, and Barlon knew enough to give it to them. With a wave, he released the first brigade to attack those sleeping in the king’s barracks. He sent the second brigade to the kitchen entrance, where he knew the door would be barred last. The fourth brigade leapt to the walls and secured them with light fighting. Things were going so smoothly, Barlon had General Ecker release the reserves of the third brigade to sack the town. A cheer went up as they wheeled and dashed back across the drawbridge. Barlon hoped he had not let them go too early.

  Meanwhile, Razgoth dropped from his horse and ran to the castle doors. He knelt on the stoop and carefully inscribed a set of magic symbols sprinkling a glittering powder over the marks. At the same time, he mumbled arcane words and was back on his horse as the first screams came from the nearby barracks.

  “We have but to wait,” assured Razgoth.

  Barlon eyed him coldly. His trust in magic had never been strong, and now that everything hinged on one man’s spell, he liked it even less. “You're sure?”

  “Of course.”

  “Remind me why we need to capture Uric, if indeed he is a dragon.”

  Razgoth sighed. “I told you. To make the amulet that will hold Varg you need a dragon’s fire to fuse the metals. It’s hotter and a trace of the dragon’s magic will be infused into the work piece. Anything less and we’ll never hold a demon unless of course we had the power of Tirumfall Tower.”

  Barlon grunted, still doubtful.

  #

  Jarlz sat in the dining hall, enjoying his breakfast. Through the window he saw the horsemen coming, but raised no alarm. Thoughts deep inside squirmed to break free, but the medallion's magic held them trapped. His new ego recognized his liege lord, Barlon Gorth, leading his men into the courtyard. With the medallion in control of his mind, Jarlz was forced to believe that Barlon had come to reclaim him.

  A scream echoed through the castle followed by shouts of alarm. Jarlz turned slowly from the window. His eyes locked with King Tirmus’ steel gray eyes as the monarch entered the hall for breakfast.

  “Jarlz, why do you sit idle?”

  “My Master has returned.” Jarlz did not get up, and something in his eyes said more to the king than his words.

  The door opened again and a harried Captain rushed in.

  “Your Majesty,” he pleaded, “we are betrayed. The castle is lost. You must escape.”

  King Tirmus looked at Jarlz and saw the betrayal in the knight’s eyes. Despair overwhelmed the king. There was no choice. “You'll go with me,” he said to the captain.

  “But my men. . .”

  “No, you go with me. I am unarmed.”

  They left without a word. Slowly, almost reluctantly, Jarlz rose to join Barlon’s forces. As Jarlz left the dining room, Uric, who had been upstairs in his room asleep, rushed past, his night robes streaming behind him. Jarlz moved like a sleepwalker to the kitchen where Barlon’s troops poured into the castle. As Jarlz stepped into the kitchen, he saw the mangled body of the servant girl who had delivered the medallion. Remorse flickered through his mind and he wondered if Lady Fallsworth had truly sent the gift. He supposed it wouldn’t matter; he knew he would be riding away. The medallion had won his mind.

  Uric was furious. The treachery was obvious, guards dead at their posts, the gate opened without an alarm. Just before he reached the front doors he heard the ring of steel behind him. Turning, he saw the auxiliary guards being overwhelmed by troops in Barlon’s black and gold surging out of the kitchen.

  Instantly Uric assessed the situation. The guards were valiantly defending the entrance to the escape tunnel. The enemy was just as determined to gain it. How they knew where the tunnel was hinted at the depth of the treason. Uric guessed that the king had fled. And if they were to have any hope for the future, the king must not be captured.

  Uric turned his attention to the intruders. The ceiling was too low to change into his real form and burn the lot of them, so instead, Uric recited the first verse of the spell that called lightning. A fuzziness buzzed in the air. Uric selected a target and unleashed a blue-white bolt that sizzled from his fingertip to metal armor. The metal heated like an oven. In a split second the man's blood boiled and he exploded. Most of his nose and pieces of skin shot out through the open faceplate.

  Still holding back a reservoir of energy, Uric selected a second target, then a third and fourth before the full potential of the spell was drained. The remaining soldiers fell back, fear in their faces, their discipline shattered.

  Rallied, the castle guards pressed their advantage and forced the insurgents into the kitchen. Uric turned his attention to the battle sounds coming from the courtyard, confident that the king would escape. He rushed through the halls to the main doors, anxious to join the king's troops outside. He slid back the bolt, yanked open the right-hand door and charged onto the stoop. Immediately he was seized by the titanic forces of Razgoth’s spell. A magical sphere surrounded him, inside which time ceased. And then, as time stopped, Uric’s body writhed under the magic, forced to revert to its true shape. Within minutes, instead of the robed sage, there stood a massive, gold-scaled dragon. For Uric, the world slowed to a timeless creep. He could neither move, nor fight the power that gripped him. His thoughts ceased. He became a gigantic reptilian statue.

  The men in the courtyard froze in terror as the huge lizard formed in front of them. Silence settled over the battlefield.

  Barlon’s men regrouped first. They fell on the king's troops relentlessly, driving them back into a corner where the last one died defending the castle.

  The noise of battle wafted away. Barlon looked around, anxious to claim the Kingdom. One of his soldiers came out through the main doors, slipped gingerly past the frozen dragon blocking his way, and approached Barlon.

  “My Lord,” he said now at attention, “the castle is ours.”

  “And the king?”

  Hesitation. “Escaped.”

  “You failed!” Barren waved the subordinate away. With the king alive, there would be trouble from the populace. “Captain,” he called to the nearest officer. “Take your brigade to scour the hills. Any men you suspect are fleeing this castle kill them and return with their heads. Hurry!”

  The captain wheeled his horse, shouted to his men and within minutes they were gone.

  “It won't matter,” whispered General Ecker from his horse beside Barlon.

  Barlon ignored him and glared at Uric. So Razgoth was right. The magic worked. Still, it was hard not to feel a glimmer of fear with the dragon towering over them, and though trapped in time, hatred burned fiercely in those vertical pupils. Barlon broke the stare, and turned to Razgoth.

  “How do we get him to my castle?”

  “The entire entryway stone must be raised with the dragon on it and the whole thing transported. The moment Uric is removed from the circle, he will return to life.”

  “You have made the preparations?”

  Before the wizard could answer, a messenger in purple armor galloped into the courtyard, his horse's hooves reverberating hollowly as he crossed the plank drawbridge.

  “My Lord,” said the messenger as he neared Barlon.

  “Speak.”

  “Lom sends word. The prisoners are ready for travel. All are accounted for.”

&nbs
p; “Then begin the march. I will follow soon.”

  Barlon turned back to Razgoth, but the middle-aged wizard was already directing a massive frame of timbers and pulleys up to the doorstep. Teams of heavy draft horses strained to pull the monstrous contraption to the door. More teams waited their turn in harness. Men with huge, stone cutting tools joined the work site.

  Barlon said to General Ecker. “The castle is yours. Enjoy it. Send two messengers a day so I know how you fare. I will send word for you to join me when we are ready to attack the West.”

  The gray haired veteran smiled. “Thank you. I think I will enjoy a castle of my own.”

  Barlon shouted to Razgoth, trying to be heard over the din of iron biting stone. “See you at the castle. I'm returning with Lom and his knights.”

  “Yes, yes,” said Razgoth, waving Barlon off without turning. “I'll be there soon enough.”

  “Sire,” came a call from the kitchen entrance.

  Barlon saw Sir Jarlz walking toward him. Instinctively Barlon's hand was on his sword. He steeled himself, not ready to trust in magic.

  “My Lord,” said Sir Jarlz. “Wait. I'll ride with you.”

  Within minutes, Jarlz was mounted on an impressive chestnut warhorse, and when the conquerors headed back to the Mountain Castle, Sir Jarlz rode with them.

  Before long they caught up with Lom's prison column. The 75 knights in their purple armor rode guard on half a dozen ox-drawn wagons. Barlon eagerly eyed the craftsmen through the bars of the stout wagons. A good day, he thought. Even the family members had been captured. So much easier to deal with the craftsmen when he could threaten their families. And the troops hadn’t gotten out of hand. The rape and slaughter of innocents never entered his mind.

  Chapter 18

  Dalphnia peered around the trunk of an aspen toward the dark opening to Egog’s lair. She was tall and wiry. Her long brown hair floated in a gentle breeze like a halo around her head. She licked her sensuous lips and sighed. It was late and still there was no sign of the man who was supposed to be in that cave.