Rise of the Red Harbinger

by Khalid Uddin

  The battalion had separated. Garrison heard shouts from his left while another group of soldiers reached the barking dog at his tree. More soldiers moved on to where another pair of dogs barked at Marika. One soldier spoke up and yelled, “Garrison! Taurani! If you come down now without a fight, we will kill you quickly! If you make this difficult, we shall make all of your deaths slow! Painful!”

  Garrison remained still. The key would be to not give away their exact locations in the trees. He’d instructed the Taurani to do the same and to not speak. He and Yorik had both taken the bows and arrows while Marika volunteered to use a spear. She’d felt more confident with her accuracy that way. Garrison pulled a red pouch and a small vial of oil from his pocket. He doused the pouch with the oil and rested it on his thigh. Of all the pouches, the Red took the longest to react, allowing for time to draw the soldiers closer. One. Garrison slowly pulled the bow from around his shoulder. Three. He then unsheathed an arrow from the quiver on his back. Six. He nocked it meticulously and aimed at the soldier closest to the tree. Eleven. Garrison had instructed the Taurani that the pouches would explode at a count of twenty-two after dousing them. They were to leave them as near the center of the tree as they could. Each of them had deliberately hidden in a part of the tree where many branches met the trunk. Twelve. The group of soldiers still searched the tree for him. They’d all craned their heads upward, leaving their necks exposed. Garrison pulled the bowstring back and fired. The unassuming soldier dropped to the ground as the arrow sliced through his neck and Garrison quickly returned the bow to his shoulder. Fifteen. The rest of the soldiers crowded in to discover what happened. Seventeen. They quickly readied their own bows and aimed at the tree. Eighteen. Garrison set the pouch on the tree, ran along a branch, and jumped as far out as he could. As his feet hit the ground, his right ankle rolled and he grunted loudly. Garrison stumbled and collapsed. His knee burned like streaks of fire were shooting through it. As the soldiers turned to face him, Garrison curled up and covered his head.

  The tree exploded in a brilliant flash of red light, hurling several soldiers through the air. Shards of the trunk and branches shot out from the midst of where the remaining soldiers stood. The blast had been so violent that some soldiers were impaled through their armor by shards of wood, while others had been hit directly in the neck or face, dying instantly. Others were simply knocked to the ground. Garrison grinned widely despite the pain in his leg. For those who survived, it would take them several moments to recover. He would have to attack first, but his knee and ankle would not cooperate with standing up.

  Garrison heard an explosion in the distance to his right. Another sounded a few moments later to his left. He could only hope that Yorik and Marika were successful. More than a dozen soldiers around him were standing and looking around. Garrison heard another rumble in the distance as he struggled to rise from his hands and knees. More soldiers coming? Damn it!

  The rumble turned into the beating of hooves; Garrison guessed more than two dozen. He fingered his belt for more dust pouches as the new battalion neared. The soldiers around him yelled and screamed and some even fell to the ground. Garrison looked up to see the new soldiers engaging the others in combat. He shook his head and looked again as more soldiers rode past toward Marika. The new battalion wore the same armor and helmets. The only difference was that the horse-hair ridges of their helmets were colored differently-definitely not the red of the Royal Vermilion Army.

  Garrison couldn’t make sense of the situation, but he was grateful for the help. Swords clanged all around and Garrison cautiously crawled toward a tree for cover. Soldiers from both sides were falling. Though the red battalion had been bigger, the yellow was gaining the upper hand. Garrison fought the urge to find a weapon and fight. The pain in his leg had become so severe that the urge to clasp his knee controlled him.

  The fighting seemed to diminish, as Garrison could hear less and less yelling and screaming. He craned his neck from the side of the tree and realized what had actually occurred. He thought he recognized some of the soldiers in the new battalion. They were part of Wendell’s personal battalion. They really rode all this way down? The thought filled Garrison with confidence and adrenaline. He used the tree to pull himself up, then braced against the trunk. From the light of burning trees, Garrison realized the new battalion’s helmets bore yellowish and brownish ridges.

  As Garrison looked up, a helmetless soldier charged toward him, sword in hand. The scowl on the man’s scarred faced left no confusion about whether he was friend or foe. Garrison staggered backward away from the tree as the soldier neared. The attacker leapt as he reached the tree, then convulsed violently as a spear impaled his head from the side and slammed him into the tree. The spear had pierced the tree trunk, leaving the limp soldier slumped against it. Garrison looked to his right where, several yards away, Donovan flashed him a toothy grin. Garrison nodded back and dropped to his hands and knees.

  The fighting had finished, but very few soldiers remained standing. Garrison judged that Wendell’s squadron had originally numbered just over twenty. Even after the exploding trees had killed some soldiers, Wendell would likely have still been outnumbered. Garrison sat back and stretched out his leg.

  “Looks as if we came just in time!” Wendell crouched down and sat beside Garrison. Donovan followed with three other soldiers and Yorik.

  “Not a chance, Ravensdayle. I had this taken care of.” Garrison laughed before even finishing his sentence.

  Donovan cut in, “Of course you did, brother. Old Clint hanging from the tree back there is proof that you would have handled everything perfectly.”

  Garrison turned to his right to see a bloodied Marika returning with two more soldiers. “Marika! Are you hurt?”

  Marika retorted quickly, “I have had much worse.” She and the two soldiers sat down and joined the arbitrarily arranged circle. Garrison looked around at the others; they were all exhausted. Two of the soldiers had already laid back and were asleep.

  “What now, Prince?” asked Wendell.

  “Do not call me that. It is no longer my title. Donovan is the sole prince now. Treat him as if he is sole heir to the throne.”

  Donovan challenged Garrison’s assertion. “But once you return from the House, you would regain your claim to the throne. I would not interfere with that, Garrison.”

  “I know, Donovan. But the King has renounced my title. Lawfully, you are the sole heir. And that is how you must act and think. I have no idea how long I will be at the House of Darian. You may be in a position to succeed the throne before I even return. That is why you must set it in your mind that you are the future king. If something happens to our father while I am at the House of Darian, and you are required to succeed him, I would not dare ask you to step down at any time after that.”

  “But…”

  “There is no ‘but.’ That is how it must be. Everyone here is a witness.” The others nodded their heads.

  Wendell spoke up again. “That is all good and well, but back to my original question. What now? I think it would be best for us to sleep through the night and then leave for the House at dawn.”

  Garrison shook his head and massaged his aching knee and ankle. “No. You are not going to the House. Especially not you and Donovan. The two of you are too valuable to be risking your lives now. You will travel back to Alvadon and prepare the Royal Vermilion Army. Our soldiers are too arrogant and have lost sight of how to fight properly and intelligently. Jahmash’s return is apparently imminent. You must have our soldiers ready in time.”

  Donovan looked back at Garrison incredulously. “You cannot be serious, brother. Look at the three of you! You will not reach the House on your own. Who knows how many more soldiers are out there!”

  “That is exactly my point. Who knows how many soldiers are still out there? There are ten of us sitting here. Only ten. The two of you are more beneficial back in Alvadon. Jahmash is coming. Soon. The Blind have confirmed it. If
we separate, at least our chances of survival are greater. The Taurani and I will travel southeast to the House. Donovan, you and Wendell will ride back to Alvadon to…”

  Wendell cut off Garrison. “With all due respect, Garrison, you are no longer the Prince. We do not really have to listen to you.”

  “I am not commanding you. I am providing you with common sense. If we all ride to the House and are attacked, the risk is that we all die. At least if the two of you ride back north, you would wear your armor and would be left unharmed. The Taurani and I will take your five soldiers. Surely you see the sense in that, Wendell.”

  Wendell nodded reluctantly as Donovan spoke up. “But…”

  “He is right, Donovan,” Wendell cut in, “We must not forget our own responsibilities. King Edmund will do nothing to ready the armies. If Garrison does not reach the House of Darian, it is even more important for us to be in Alvadon. We must lead the Royal Vermilion Army now.”

  Donovan shook his head in annoyance as he rose and walked to the tree where Old Clint still hung. Donovan pulled the spear from the tree. As the dead man’s body fell to the ground in a heap, Donovan grunted and threw the spear into the dark forest.

  Garrison braced himself to stand, but Wendell had beaten him to it. “Stay, Garrison. I will speak to him.”

  Before Wendell could turn to leave, Donovan had already returned. “I understand why you are doing this. I truly do. I will follow your plan, brother. But that does not mean that I agree with it. And if you die before even reaching the House of Darian, I swear that I shall never forgive you.”

  Garrison failed to suppress the chuckle, “What would you do? Follow me in death just to show me how angry you are?”

  Donovan’s clenched jaw softened. “Hmmph. I would! I would search each of the Three Rings and once I find you, I would bloody your face until the Orijin banishes me to Oblivion for eternity.”

  “Oblivion? Ha! He would send you to Opprobrium for something like that!”

  “Oh. I see. So you speak for the Orijin now, brother? Rather overzealous, no?”

  Garrison rolled his eyes at Donovan, but it was too dark for his brother to notice. “Forget it. Let us sleep while we have the time. In the morning, your soldiers will ride south with me and the Taurani. You and the Lion will return to Alvadon. Wear the red-plumed helmets. Which reminds me. Why the natural-colored ridges?”

  Wendell cut in, “What did you call me?”

  Garrison smiled again, “When we were at the Tower of the Blind, one of the servants was originally from Maradon. He remembered me and the two of you from when we were younger. Remember how everyone used to call you the ‘Lion Cub’ back then? You are grown now. Why not call yourself the Lion? Every great general is associated with a powerful symbol. Think about it, Wendell. You could fit all of the helmets to bear yellow ridges. Once my father is out of power anyway. It would be a new army.”

  Wendell traditionally kept his composure unless on the battle field, but Garrison assumed he’d liked the suggestion, as Wendell emphatically threw his hands up. “Yes! Why did I not think of that! We only used the yellow and brown ridges because we wanted to stand out from the red and we had no time to dye them. But that makes perfect sense!”

  Garrison continued, “Good. Finally you agree with me about something. So as I said, we shall separate in the morning. The Taurani and I will also wear the royal armor. If anyone sees us, we will simply look like a small band of trackers. As long as no other soldiers attempt to confront us, it may even make for an easy journey. Though that is wishful thinking. Now let us sleep.”

  Donovan and Wendell had volunteered to keep the first watch while the rest slept. Garrison laid down where he’d been sitting and tried to clear his mind. His knee and ankle still throbbed, but his weariness proved stronger as he drifted into a deep sleep in barely a few moments.

  ***

  “Aron, Ronan, Lewis! Stay at a pace with Marika. She will stand out if seen by herself.” Garrison and his small band had ridden for most of the morning and afternoon, stopping only briefly when absolutely necessary. He’d continued to silently thank the Orijin throughout the day for their horses remaining where they’d left them. The more they rode, the more Garrison’s ankle swelled, but he maintained a sense of gratitude that they didn’t have to walk.

  Marika wore royal armor, just as the rest of them, but even the smallest armor was big for her stature. Because of that, she had foregone the vambraces and wore only the chest and shoulder plates and a helmet. If she rode too fast, her armor flopped about, making it obvious that she was no soldier. Garrison had to continue to remind the soldiers to slow down. He would take the risk of a longer journey if it lessened the chances of being noticed.

  On the other hand, Yorik fit in perfectly with the soldiers. He was bigger than all of them save Kale, a massive man from Alvadon, eight years Garrison’s senior. Despite his colossal and intimidating frame, Kale was the biggest joker of the group, constantly playing tricks on the others and poking fun at them. He’d already tricked Lewis into rubbing horse dung on his forearm to relieve soreness. And when he wasn’t causing trouble, Kale never stopped talking about combat stories and battle strategies. As a result, he and Yorik got along like brothers.

  Garrison had split the group into to riding lines. Lewis, Marika, Aron, and Ronan rode in front with a pack horse. Aron and Ronan were twins with hawk-like eyesight; Garrison needed them to keep lookout for any evidence of other soldiers. Clay accompanied him, Yorik, and Kale on the second line. Despite Marika’s pace, they rode rather swiftly. As the day wore on, Marika had figured out ways to ride more comfortably and lessen the movement of her armor.

  Ahead, Aron raised his hand high, signaling for them to stop. “Do you hear that?”

  Garrison listened for a moment. “Hear what?”

  Aron continued, “Exactly…”

  “…It is too quiet.” Ronan finished the sentence. The twins had a habit of doing that. Most people, especially Donovan and Wendell, found it annoying, but Garrison found it oddly humorous.

  “No animals around,” Garrison deduced. “Soldiers must be near. How many do you think could actually hide here, though?”

  This time, Ronan began, “Most likely only a few.”

  Aron continued. “Scouts. We are nearly out of the forest. The rest of them would…

  “…be waiting for us once we are more exposed.”

  Garrison signaled for them all to draw in close. “Do you have an idea of their numbers?” Aron and Ronan both swayed their heads negatively. “Then what is our best option? We do not have enough time to hide the horses and take to the trees.”

  Aron and Ronan looked at one another and nodded before Ronan spoke up again. “The two of us will ride ahead…”

  “…and scout their numbers and position.”

  “Then we can properly strategize the situation.” Ronan scratched his patchy beard. It was the only way to tell him and Aron apart.

  Garrison nodded and the twins rode off. While they waited, Garrison ordered the others to take inventory of their weapons. On his own person, he carried a sword, two spears, a belt of daggers, a bow and a half quiver of arrows, and his other belt of pouches. Before they’d parted ways with Wendell and Donovan, they raided the bodies of dead soldiers and took everything they could carry.

  Garrison inspected his pouches. He’d already used all of the black, yellow, and red. The blue would only be of use if they were near water, which left the green and brown. Each would be easy to camouflage in their current surroundings. If they were greatly outnumbered, the brown would work best, as it caused the ground to break apart. If he could manage to plant all of the pouches, it might cause a massive enough rift to keep a large number of soldiers away. The only problem was that blood was the catalyst that triggered the brown. He would have to find a way to trigger it quickly and easily.

  In the hour that the company had taken stock of their weapons, the twins had returned. Aron began with a half-smile
, “The news is rather…”

  “…fortunate,” Ronan continued. “Their numbers are less than twenty. They must have…”

  “…broken off another squadron to cover more ground.”

  Garrison still wondered how anyone could find their back-and-forth annoying. “You are sure of this? Their supplies fit their numbers?”

  Ronan responded, “If there are more,”

  Aron continued, “…then they are too far away to be detected. If that is the case, they do not pose…”

  “…any immediate threat.”

  Kale spoke up, “Good. Then the best plan is for the five of us to ride out toward them, Commander Garrison. They will see us and think nothing of it. We can kill them when the time is appropriate. You three will ride directly south toward the Serpent and we will meet you once we are done. Take the pack-horses as well. Cross the river as soon as you can. Do not wait for us, just in case we run into trouble.”

  Kale must have been spending a great deal of time with Wendell. His plan was sound and Garrison could find no point to argue. “Very well. We shall see you at the river. Yorik, Marika, let us go.”

  Garrison turned his horse and urged it to a gallop heading south. The sun was still high enough to cross the Serpent with plenty of light. Marika and Yorik caught up to him within a few moments.

  They rode on for another two hours in silence. Yorik had tried to make conversation early, but Marika warned that talking would slow them down and draw their focus, and they needed to reach the Serpent as quickly as possible. In the far recesses of his mind, Garrison had questioned briefly the reality of their success. He understood how difficult it would be to reach the House without any casualties, if at all. But he’d repressed those thoughts quickly. He’d had to if he was going to be successful. There could be no second guessing, no being caught off-guard, and no shaky strategies. A part of him thought Marika might even make a good general in the royal army. But he would bring that up another time.