Once We Were Kings (Young Adult Fantasy) (The Sojourner Saga)

by Alexander, Ian

  "While I was inside the shrine, about to be killed? Yes, I think so. Why did you do that?"

  Again, with the poignant smile. "He told me to."

  "Valhandra?"

  "Back when we experienced the visions. He'd shown me this, what I would do. Did it help?"

  "Yes, I believe it did. I was about to lose my mind and will. But when I heard the song you played...such a familiar song...Play it for me again, won't you?"

  She shook her head. "I was in some kind of trance. At least that is what Branson and Greifer say. I have no recollection of the song. I barely remember taking the flute from my pocket."

  "It doesn't matter," he said, taking her hand into his. It felt cool and moist, as though she were frightened. "What matters is that we have a calling, a destiny to fulfill. And I will never leave you, nor allow any harm to befall you."

  With sincere appreciation in her eyes, she nodded. Like a tiny diamond, a tear fell from her eye. Neither of them noticed that when it hit the sand, it sizzled and a tiny jet of steam rose from the ground. "I know your heart, dear Render. And that is what matters."

  He didn't think much about what she said, because his heart felt near ready to melt. There was something they shared that transcended race and station, something far deeper and more powerfully binding than any politics or society could weave. Something he knew in his soul.

  They were Sojourners.

  And they were meant for each other.

  Heretofore, Render had never imagined a girl's lips so close to his, much less those of a Tianese. But it seemed so inevitable now. She shut her eyes awaiting his kiss.

  "Render!" Branson shouted. He would have struck him with a small bolt of lightning, if his voice hadn't sounded so panicked. Both he and Ahndien rushed over. "What is it?

  Pointing over into the distance, Branson's finger shook. "There."

  Perched as a panther atop a nearby crag, Greifer's tail swished tersely. She stared without flinching at the sight which unfurled like an unholy flag.

  From both sides of the valley streamed unending lines of torches, the ominous clinking of wheels, horses whinnying.

  // BEHOLD, THEY COME...//

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX

  In the distance, the deep and steady beat of Tianese war drums beat like the heart of a great beast. It was a sound Ahndien had heard only twice. First, when she was a child of four, maybe five years of age. But then, it had been a welcome sound. The Imperial Guard marching by the hundreds through the land, gracing the borderlands in a show of strength and the promise of protection.

  The second and last time she'd heard them was when she was ten; the Imperial Guard had rushed to her village's defense during a daybreak raid by a battalion of Torian soldiers.

  So where were they when the Torians came and killed Ah-Ma, Shao-Bao and everyone back home? They were supposed to be their protectors.

  To the western hills her gaze fell upon the legions of people she'd always considered the enemies of her people. But now that Valhandra had shown her everything, she knew it was not them. No. In fact, it was not against flesh and blood she needed wage war.

  "What are we supposed to do?" Branson grabbed Ahndien's arm.

  "It shall be revealed to us in time," she said, patting his hand. She meant to comfort him, but the sound of her own voice did not sound convincing, even to herself. She knew what was to come. Valhandra had shown her, told her: No matter the cost, Ahndien, thou must do all thou canst to ensure that Render, the great deliverer of my people, prevaileth.

  Valhandra never showed her everything. This, she suspected was by design. He only revealed what she needed to know for the next step.

  Render climbed to the top of a rock and shielded his eyes from the blaze of the morning sun, its rays now slashing through between the manifold peaks of the mountain range. Down below lay the desolate valley.

  Unflinching, he stood still and watched.

  "Render?" Ahndien tried to call out to him, but only a pitiful whisper emerged from her lips. Tears stood in her eyes because she knew her time was short. She knew the cup she must drink. And she knew not what would happen afterwards.

  From the East, an ensemble of Tianese trumpets blasted a fanfare which cut through the valley and echoed eternally. Five notes, five trumpets, a chord of doom. A cold gust of air blew straight into Ahndien's face, chilling her blood.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-SEVEN

  Like swarms of hornets, the Tianese forces charged down the hills flooding the dry ground until they covered the space they occupied with the red of their uniforms. Against the ground, they looked like a pool of blood, ever-expanding yet never absorbed by the sand on which they flowed.

  Render tightened his fists. He stood upon the rock looking down into the valley. He and Ahndien were charged with bringing peace to the people of these two warring nations, to unite them as the symbols on their swords dictated. As Valhandra had commissioned them.

  With an equally fierce roar, the Torian troops flooded into the valley as well. So vast was the barren land that even after both armies got into position—there must have been tens of thousands on either side—a great distance still stood between them as they began to get into formation.

  "Render." Branson stood behind him, his breath shaking. "Do you know what we're supposed to do?"

  Images flashed through his mind: The hot orange flames rising from the valley that he'd painted back in the castle. The black dragon he'd slain back in the shrine. And then, from a vision in his mind.

  The faces of warriors, both Torian and Tianese.

  They ceased fighting and stared into the sky.

  Fear seeped into their eyes like blood spreading in clear water.

  Then fear turned into unmitigated terror.

  Greifer, now a black panther stood at Render's left. She pressed against his side, as she had in the cave back in Talen Wood, and leaned warmly against it.

  // HAsVALHANDRA TOLD you WHAT MUST COME TO PASS? //

  "I do not see it yet. But He said all will become clear to me at the right time."

  Ahndien flanked him on his right, sword at the ready. "How can anyone unite them?"

  The question lingered in his mind like the morning dew on blades of grass. He was never given all the answers, nor the exact mechanism to how he should accomplish this impossible task.

  But he knew where they must position themselves, before the first arrow flew; that much Valhandra had revealed. Down in the valley, in the open space between which both armies encroached, stood a solitary tree. Its branches bore neither fruit nor leaf and may well have been dead for many years.

  "We must go down there," Render said, pointing into the eye of the brewing storm.

  // THE WIZENED OAK, OF COURSE //

  Greifer transformed into a cat, leapt into Render's arms and climbed into his vest.

  Branson laughed nervously. "You mean, right in the middle of those armies?"

  "It has been ordained." Render reached his arms around Branson and Ahndien who had already pulled up close to his side. Without another word and without looking back, he lifted off with his three companions into the air, and down into the heart of the battleground.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-EIGHT

  Seated upon his black steed, Lord Mooregaard fell back to make way for King Corigan. His majesty looked ridiculous, he and his horse completely covered in plates of steel glinting in the morning sunlight. He was supposed to be a symbol of strength and leadership, not clad like one of his subjects in the Torian cataphract.

  This, Your Highness, is why your kingdom is forfeit this very day. You are a coward, not a ruler.

  Corigan rode out before the legions, tried several times to lift the visor from his eyes, and finally removed his helmet. As he blathered on, Mooregaard sensed the apprehension in the troops. They knew the ground upon which they stood. And the superstition of ghosts and spirits in the Valley of the Accursed did nothing to mitigate the fear that grew in the hearts of the thousands of Torian soldiers, all
charged to fight to the death in service of their King.

  At last, Corigan rode over. "Well, My Lord Mooregaard, this is a fine situation we've run into! Did you not anticipate it? Did you not foresee?"

  "All things are possible in war, Majesty. We can only—"

  "Where is the element of surprise then! We should have crossed into the mountain range, taken the high ground facing the East and plucked those Tianese dogs off like insects. But now? They are already in the valley and show no sign of retreat. What do you say about that now?"

  Mooregaard restrained the wrath that brewed within. Since the day he was weaned, he'd suffered Corigan's petty tantrums and wanted nothing more than to give the brat his due. But he must be patient. "Your Excellency, I pray thee, do not despair. For I have indeed prepared for this contingency. Even as we speak, the Lady Volfoncé has arranged a hidden company of warriors who, once we have drawn those Sojourner sympathizers into the battleground, will close in from behind. We shall then crush them, as though they were locusts, trapped in a sack!"

  At this, Corigan's countenance lit up. "Really?"

  "You didn't think I would allow the entire military forces of your great nation to be caught unawares, did you?"

  "Well, I—"

  "Courage, my king. Your hour approaches! Take your place and lead your people to victory."

  "Yes. Thank you, my good and faithful counselor." He rode off to the front, strength and resolve renewed in his eyes. As he exhorted the foot soldiers, archers, armor-clad horsemen on their armor-clad steeds, his voice resounded with the contrived pomposity. Pride. Little did he know how this flaw in his character would prove to be fatal.

  It was clear to Mooregaard that the King's empty words did nothing to inspire, but rather incited more fear and hatred in the hearts of the multitudes. Hatred for their cowardly king, hatred for Tianese and Sojourners.

  Fear.

  Hatred.

  Kindling for Malakandor's altar.

  In just a little while, the two armies would converge. And the two rulers, both bent on each other's destruction, would be the firstfruits offered up to Malakandor.

  For all the years of denying the preternatural, fear and true terror—the very things Malakandor demanded had diminished greatly. Hatred alone would not satiate the unquenchable thirst of the Dark Ruler of the world.

  For this reason, Mooregaard and Lady Volfoncé had answered his call. Today, they would offer the souls and bodies of Valdshire Tor and Tian Kuo's entire military to Malakandor. In exchange for this bloody sacrifice of at the very least sixty-thousand, Malakandor would grant new dominions to them both.

  Volfoncé would become the dark ruler of Tian Kuo, Mooregaard of Valdshire Tor. They would rule by terror and bloodshed, stirring up both fear and hatred to Malakandor's satisfaction. This would seal their immortality, and both countries would grow to forget the preternatural powers that once terrified them, at which point, the cycle would be repeated: The myths about Sojourners as their common enemy, the wars between their two kingdoms, until the next millennial sacrifice to the great Malakandor.

  "Men of Valdshire Tor!" Corigan cried, with a raised gauntleted fist, "Arise and seize your victory!"

  Half hearted shouts and fists flew into the air.

  Mooregaard rode to the front lines. "Who is with his Royal Highness?"

  At that, soldiers roared and rattled their weapons. Corigan nodded with appreciation to Mooregaard, then replaced his helmet and pointed his sword forward.

  To the Valley of the Accursed.

  He led the battle cry as he charged forth.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-NINE

  Like a black widow spider, the Dowager Empress stepped forward, twin swords in her hands. Cold and impassive, her eyes bore straight into those of Lady Volfoncé.

  But Empress Xieh-Suh knew her as Lucretia. Lucretia, the almond-eyed Sojourner traitor who allegedly killed off the last of those infernal barbarians, once a threat to her reign because of their ridiculous faith and philosophy of peace. Without blood it was impossible to rule a nation the size of Tian Kuo.

  Xieh-Suh scoffed. To think, Corigan actually believed they could avoid bloodshed by playing the lives of his people by means of that childish game Leit?

  The fool.

  By her charm and deceptive beauty, Xieh-Suh had caused the downfall of countless men and rulers from her days as a slave girl, to a royal concubine, and finally as the wife of the Emperor—a weak man, like Corigan.

  Lucretia (the form of whom Volfoncé now took) bowed deeply as the Empress approached. "Daughter of Heaven."

  "You have done well, Lucretia." Xieh-Suh touched her shoulder and then lifted her chin. "When I have crushed the Torian army, and their child-king, you shall be duly rewarded."

  "Just as they were taken by surprise when we sent your troops to raid Valdshire Tor under the Sojourner banner, so shall they fall under our assault here in the valley. Death shall fall upon them suddenly."

  "As it had the Sojourner's Assembly?"

  "All dead, O Great Empress."

  "I envy your..." She paused to find the word, "Skill."

  Lucretia grinned crookedly and shaded her eyes from the glare of the sun. Across the alluvial planes straight into the blackness of the Western woods, she saw the shaded area among the trees where Mooregaard prepared his portion of their offering to Malakandor.

  Empress Xieh-Suh—none the wiser—had entrusted Volfoncé-as-Lucretia with the fate of Tian Kuo's military forces. A double portion for the great Malakandor.

  With both nations stripped of their armies, nothing could stop her and Mooregaard from taking the thrones from the weak-willed Corigan, and the treacherous but ultimately powerless Xieh-Suh.

  Ironic.

  Despite all the mistrust that festered between the King and Empress, they had both entrusted their lives and kingdoms to the very two that would tear it from them.

  "Do you stand with me, Lucretia?"

  "You know what I am capable of."

  Through dark lips almost black as poison, Xieh-Suh smiled. Indeed, the Empress had witnessed her shape-shifting abilities, her uncanny speed and precision in killing. Yet she had never seen Lucretia's most deadly abilities.

  But she would.

  Soon.

  CHAPTER EIGHTY

  Even as Render flew through the air, the two armies flooded the valley like spilled ink; the red of Tianese troops and the black of the Torians.

  "We're too late!" Branson said. "They're like two colonies of ants fighting! Once they've started, nothing can stop them."

  Render ignored his words, so determined was he to get to the wizened oak before it truly was too late. Greifer pressed a warm paw against his heart.

  // COURAGE //

  As they alighted on the ground by the dead tree, from both sides the sound of countless hooves stormed through the valley like a thunderstorm. To the east and to the west, thousands upon thousands of horses, foot soldiers and large engines of war surged forward.

  Beneath his feet, the sand shifted over what must be bones. Bones of the centuries-old Sojourners. If he gave it any more thought, he might lose his nerve. The very thought of...No, he must not think on it.

  "What are you going to do?" Branson said, trying to find somewhere between Render and the tree. Ahndien clung to his arm drawing shorter and shorter breaths as she stared out at the onslaught. Greifer, now transformed into a black panther, paced around the three of them, her tail slashing the air.

  Render's heart pounded almost in rhythm with the hooves charging from both sides of the wizened oak. Tawny clouds of dust flew up around the approaching armies. Render touched the stone tablet in his vest pocket. All he knew was to speak into the valley. But was this the moment of which Valhandra spoke?

  "Render?" Ahndien whispered with palpable anxiety. If he didn't act soon, they would be trampled in the battle, if not first killed by the first arrows shot from either side.

  Speak to the valley

  He shut his eyes,
pictured himself in the only position in which he could be seen or heard: High above the armies. When he opened his eyes, Render found himself about twenty-five feet from the ground. A dark cloud had spread over the valley and the thundering hooves died in midst of the clouds.

  Flashes of lightning crackled within the pewter clouds which had gathered above. His hands glowed. Bluish-white energy pulsed from his fingertips. Through his clothes, the same azure illumination thrummed visibly.

  Then he opened his mouth to speak. "TORIANS! TIANESE!" The unnatural profundity and volume of his own voice startled him. And, by the looks of it, caught the attention of the two armies as well. They both stopped in place, every eye gazing up at him.

  An aura surrounded him as he floated above the battle ground, just a few dozen yards from the wizened oak. And from his dear friends.

  Ahndien gazed up at the sky turned dark. In awe, she beheld Render—dear Render, whose very soul was now knit into the fabric of her own—hovering god-like above the valley. Surely he is the Great Deliverer of which the prophecies foretold. And at that moment, she briefly forgot that he was her friend, and saw him as royalty above all worldly authorities.

  Perhaps there was hope, after all.

  Perhaps the people of the two nations would see the truth and cease their striving.

  Perhaps Valhandra had taken the bitter cup from her.

  Another flash of lightning and for that instant, the darkened sky turned as bright as the morning, though the clouds had swallowed up the sun utterly.

  "HEAR NOW THE WORDS OF VALHANDRA."

  A rolling thunder peal erupted into a loud crack, filling the entire valley below with a brilliant white glow. Though Render was fully aware of what came from his mouth, the words he spoke seemed not his own. He felt like a musical instrument in the hands of a master musician. A powerful conduit of thought and feeling.