‘The boy has spirit!’ laughed one of the men, ‘At least he’ll die smiling. Two versus one is hardly a fair fight.’
‘I’ll go easy on you then,’ taunted Tristan, the familiar feel of his blade in his hand giving him reassurance. Tristan backed towards the wall to keep himself free of attack from behind, slowly Tristan began moving the point of his rapier back and forth between his aggressors.
From his hours of training in the barracks, he knew that without rigorous training, men got in each other’s way rather than be of any real assistance in a melee. As long as you didn’t allow them behind you, a more skilled aggressor could easily face down superior numbers, particularly in such a confined space.
The men drew nearer; the leader of the two was the first to make a move, a slashing cut aimed for Tristan’s shoulder. Ducking the blade, Tristan sprang inside the man’s guard and delivered a sharp blow to the man’s jaw with the pommel of his rapier. The man bellowed in pain as Tristan hammered the blow home.
The other thief took advantage and thrust towards Tristan’s flank and it was apparent that they had never been martially trained - more the bluff and bluster you expected in a tavern brawl. Tristan stepped back on his left foot and ran the rapier along the blade forcing it down into the cobblestones then whipping his blade back across the man’s hand. Blood sprayed from the wound and the man dropped his sword and clutched at his hand to try and stop the bleeding.
Without relenting, Tristan spun around, parried the incoming strike from the smart-mouthed thief. Another stroke of the rapier and the man fell to his knees, clutching his leg, blood running freely as it stained his trousers. The man’s blade clattered noisily across the cobblestones as Tristan swiped it from his grasp. Tristan sheathed his weapon and turned towards the door. As he did so, he spied the man reaching for his boot.
Looking back over his shoulder, Tristan warned him curtly, ‘That wound on your hand will heal, but if that knife leaves your boot you will not live to see sundown. I will not kill without cause; do not make me think twice about sparing your life.’
‘Who are you?’ The man asked pulling his hand back as if he’d been stung.
‘Just a boy a long way from home and I have a journey yet ahead of me.’
‘Not today you don’t. The sentinels allowed your passage out of curiosity. If you leave without the Underman’s blessing, you will not make the surface. Take that door and seek it. One good turn deserves another.’
Tristan turned to face the door; with some trepidation he pushed it open. A long tunnel disappeared into the darkness and standing just before him was a man holding a sack in his hands. ‘Put this on and follow me -the Underman will see you now.’
Slipping the sack over his head, Tristan began wondering about the wisdom of pursuing his current course. His escort led him blindfolded through the tunnels for what seemed like an eternity; eventually he was led into a room and seated. His escort pulled the sack off his head and spoke softly, ‘The Underman is the most wanted man on Valaar. His identity is a closely guarded secret, if you turn to face him; I’ll run you through without a second thought. Do you understand?’
Tristan nodded, unsure just what else could be done. His escort moved behind him and drew his sword resting the point against Tristan’s back. After a few minutes the door opened again and another man entered and addressed Tristan, his heavy accent was not native to Belnair. ‘You put me in a difficult position, my young lord.’
‘Lord?’ queried Tristan feigning ignorance, ‘you are mistaken, I...’
Cutting Tristan off before he could continue, the new speaker continued, ‘I would advise against attempting to lie to me. It is as you will soon learn, fruitless. I watched your victory at the Midsummer’s Tournament with great interest. Your skill with that blade is like none I’ve ever seen—our poor sentinels never stood a chance.
Formidable skills aside, I am left wondering why you would venture into the sewers in my city.’ His emphasis left no doubt as to who held the real power in Belnair.
‘One of your thieves took something that belonged to my father and I won’t be parted from it.’ Tristan’s voice wavered as he mentioned his father.
‘I am sorry to hear of your father, Tristan. He was a good man and did not deserve such a fate. ‘
‘What do you know of my father?’ Tristan queried skeptically.
The voice answered from the darkness, ‘I know that he was a good man, Tristan. He did me a kindness many years ago. He did not know who I was and yet he risked his life to save my own, a kindness I have never forgotten.
I awoke this morning to see the smoke rising in the East, it seems all of Listarii is ablaze. Add that to the knowledge that much of the Wolf garrison was absent last night and we have a deadly tale indeed. For you to be here alone as you are, I must assume your father perished in the fighting...’
‘He was murdered by Falen before my eyes.’ responded Tristan before the Underman could finish. ‘I’m here in this forsaken city because of him. I will make them pay, every last one of them.’
‘His loss is a tragedy indeed. May I ask how you intend to accomplish such a thing?’ queried the Underman cautiously.
‘I don’t know, but I will find a way!’ Tristan exclaimed frustrated and embarrassed at the same time.
‘Well, my young Lord, let me expand your horizons—the Wolf are on the move, their forces have been gathering strength considerably in recent years and there is a game afoot to put Gerwold on the Golden Throne. Listarii blood may have been the first, but it will not be the last to be spilt.’
‘You think they would overthrow the king’s council and seize the throne?’ Tristan asked incredulously.
‘I am sure of it. If they continue as they have started, the blood will run like rivers in the streets of King’s Court. Before long, what little remains of the council will fall in behind them or perish before them.. Those of us who have lived in Belnair have witnessed their barbarity firsthand. The thought of Gerwold wearing the Crown of Kings...It is a fate we cannot countenance.
We know much of you, Tristan Listar, but you know little of us. I run the underworld of Belnair, if it turns a coin we have a hand in it. Our resources are considerable and we have the information and the means to undermine Gerwold in his attempt. I will resist Gerwold with every breath in my body. The men who serve me feel likewise. We have the money, the men, and the means -what we lack is a leader. We need soldiers not scoundrels.’
‘You want me to train your men?’
‘There is no one better with the blade, boy. I have seen your work first hand. We need men with those same skills to overthrow the Wolf. But it is not just your sword, Tristan - we need your heart and soul. Great men serve, Tristan. They do not rule nor lord it over their people. Your father, Marcus Listar, was a great man. I believe you can provide the Guild with the leadership we need to thwart Gerwold.’
‘If we stage a coup from within Belnair, it’s your streets that will run with blood.’ Tristan replied grimly ‘and the blood that runs along them will belong to those you know and love.’
‘Every man, woman, and child here is prepared to pay that price. Are you?’
‘I have naught but my life left to give. I will give it too if I must.’
‘Oh, Tristan you have so much more than that to give. Your father would be proud of you.’ responded the Underman. ‘After I leave, Halmir here will show you to your quarters. Tomorrow, he’ll introduce you to the others and in due course you will have your justice. Until then tread carefully, Tristan.’
With that the Underman strode out of the room. After a few moments, the sword point was removed from Tristan’s back. ‘Halmir, I presume.’ Tristan queried.
‘Indeed, Milord.’ The man tipped his head as if affecting a bow and gestured towards the door.
Chapter 7
Tristan was led deeper into the catacombs beneath Belnair. Each turn brought added wonderment as he was led further into the depths. What had started as
a filthy sewer system emerged as what it actually was- an elaborate warren concealing a sprawling, underground empire.
Halmir noticed that Tristan was awestruck and stopped to explain, ‘A century ago when the Wolf first turned tyrant, the first Underman took refuge here. Over the years, we have grown in strength and influence and with that growth, we have needed more space. The Wolf know of our existence but view us as little more than the criminal organization they suppose us to be.’
‘But these structures... who built them?’ Tristan inquired.
‘We have many skilled stonemasons who have spent their lives fashioning these tunnels after the manner of the Dwarves.’
‘Dwarves?’ asked Tristan. ‘I thought that they were a fairytale—the type of story parents tell their children to scare them.’
‘When you meet Ferebour tomorrow, you can see a fairytale first hand.’
‘Ferebour? You mean there is a Dwarf here?’
‘For as long as I’ve been here,’ Halmir answered. ‘Ferebour is a trusted member of the Underman’s Council. Any other questions you have about his kind, you’ll have to direct to him. Good luck, Dwarves are a most secretive folk.’
After a few more minutes, they arrived at a room hewn into the stone. His guide ushered him into the room which was sparsely furnished but would certainly be more comfortable than the woods where he’d spent the previous night.
‘I’ll send someone along with some food shortly, Tristan. Ensure you do not wander from your room. There are still many here who do not know you - we’d hate for something untoward to happen to our new fearless leader,’ Halmir smiled as he jested. Tristan sensed an element of sincerity beneath the warning. Trust would need to be earned before he could wander the catacombs freely.
‘I’ll stay put don’t worry, I’m exhausted. I couldn’t explore even if I wanted too.’
‘Excellent - the council meets first thing in the morning. I’ll introduce you to the others then.’ With that, Halmir excused himself and shut the door behind him.
Tristan reclined on the simple bed and within moments exhaustion overtook him. He was fast asleep when a steward brought his meal. Not wanting to rouse the lad, he left it on the table and quietly let himself out of the room.
*****
A knock on the door roused Tristan from his slumber. After a moment, a young boy entered. ‘Sir, the Council is waiting for you.’ Tristan looked across the room and found the meal sitting cold on the table. He assumed that it was at least morning -this far below ground it was impossible to tell. Strapping his sword on, Tristan took a bite out of the meat and bread before following the boy out of the room.
They made quick progress through the tunnels; Tristan hungrily devoured the remaining bread while they walked. Rounding another corner, they came to a halt before a large set of double doors flanked by guards dressed in a grey camouflage that helped them blend almost seamlessly into the walls of the tunnel behind them. The boy spoke in whispered tones and the guards opened the doors.
Tristan marveled as he entered the council chamber. The ceiling rose some thirty feet into the air and rested on delicately carved pillars. Tristan realized upon closer inspection that the entire chamber was seamlessly carved from the stone without a single join. The stonework was incredibly detailed, depicting scenes from the history of Valaar. In the centre of the chamber was a round hardwood table where most of the seats were occupied.
Tristan noticed that his escort from the previous day appeared to be in control of the gathering and motioned for him to take the seat beside his. Halmir stood and addressed the gathered members, ‘As you have seen, we have a new member to our council. The Underman has personally selected him to join us at this pivotal junction in our plan. He is to train and lead our forces in the conflict that lies ahead.’ The words sunk deep into Tristan’s heart and he suddenly felt anxiety at the enormity of the task before him.
‘Who is this boy that we should follow him?’ The voice snapped Tristan from his reflection. The owner of the voice was an unassuming man several seats to Tristan’s left, unremarkable by appearance except for cold, grey eyes that warned of a toughness lying below the surface. Halmir responded swiftly to the interruption, ‘Tristan is here at the Underman’s express invitation which is reason enough, Sven, but beyond that he is a warrior of great skill and will impart that expertise to our forces.’
Undeterred, the man pressed on, ‘That seems very convenient. The Underman’s will or not, the presence of someone new reeks of a ploy. I’ll not see a Wolf slip inside our fold unchallenged.’
Tristan was on his feet in an instant, both hands slamming into the table with such force that the sound rang throughout the chamber. ‘If you ever accuse me of sharing fealty with those murderous rats again, no man here will be able to save you.’
‘Save me, boy? Don’t make me laugh. I’ve survived far worse than you can even imagine. By your leave, Halmir, I would see the boy match word with weapon.’
Halmir’s regal features were unreadable as he nodded. ‘I’ll allow it, but the man who lands a killing blow will suffer the same fate. No one will die today, understood? The dual ends at a scratch.’
Halmir nodded towards Tristan and the pair took up positions in the large open space next to the table. There was a scraping of chairs as everyone in the room turned in keen interest to see what would transpire.
Tristan felt the weight of their attention as he took up his stance. There would be no toying in this dual. He’d assert his skills as quickly as possible and push any remaining doubts from the minds of the others still sitting at the table. At eighteen, he was already one of the greatest swordsmen in Valaar. This duel would be brief.
The wiry fellow took up his stance opposite Tristan and drew a long sword. Both combatants looked to Halmir who nodded. At the sign, Tristan closed with his opponent quickly, giving no opportunity for his foe to study him or his form.
As soon as he was in striking range, Tristan feinted a lightning strike towards his opponent. As soon as his opponent moved to block, Tristan rolled his wrist and slashed downwards at his opponent’s exposed flank. The man sidestepped with uncanny speed and prevented Tristan’s blade from striking home. The man’s cloak was not so fortunate and the rapier split the cloak a new seam. The man stepped backwards and made a slashing blow intended to hamstring Tristan.
Tristan almost smiled at the opening, spinning outside his opponent’s guard and brought his rapier down on top of the man’s blade, forcing the blow into the stone floor with great force. A terrific clang filled the room and Tristan pitied his foe; the force of the blow would be ringing up his arm. Spared from most of the impact, Tristan was free to kick the man’s blade from his hand. The blade slid noisily across the floor. Before his wiry foe could recover, Tristan dropped his shoulder into the man knocking him to the floor.
Feeling he’d made his point in the seconds it had taken to best the man, Tristan sheathed his rapier and nodded to Halmir as he walked back towards the table. A narrow smile formed at the corners of Halmir’s mouth which was barely visible beneath his finely groomed moustache.
‘Boy,’ his foe called from the stones, ‘the dual was to the blood. Do you so prematurely claim your victory?’ Tristan spun to see a dagger in the man’s hand. In an instant the man drew his hand back and threw the blade. Tristan turned sideways to present a smaller profile as the blade arced towards him, watching the blade as it cut through the air. With unnatural swiftness, Tristan reached out and grabbed the knife mid-flight, ensuring he snatched it by the shaft and not the blade which would have torn straight though his outstretched hand.
Time seemed to slow as the council watched with awestruck silence. Tristan’s hand closed around the shaft, turning it in the air and with a twist of his wrist Tristan slammed its blade into the table. Everyone jumped as the blade bit deep into the wood with a resounding thud. Turning towards the dumbstruck owner of the dagger, he spoke slowly, in measured words that brought a chill to the roo
m.
‘If you desire this one-sided affair to continue, I can skin you layer by layer until there is nothing left, or you can take my hand and understand that I am precisely what the Underman claims me to be -I am Tristan Listar. The Wolf murdered my father and burnt my home to the ground. I am here to fight with you against them. I will fight to the utter annihilation of their line and put an end to the dark night of tyranny that they have brought to this land. I’ll not see one more innocent life lost to their wanton greed and lust for power. ‘The real question,’ Tristan began, as he reached out a hand to his vanquished foe, ‘is will you fight with me or do I stand alone?’
The man took the outstretched hand and Tristan helped him to his feet, the surprise still evident on his face. ‘You are Tristan Listar? I have heard the stories, I did not think they were true.’
‘And now?’ Tristan asked.
‘Now, perhaps I think... they do not do you justice.’ The sinewy man responded, returning to his seat.
A deep throaty laugh reverberated through the chamber. Its owner was a hulking bear of a man. ‘Heavens help me, but I love the boy -anyone who can do that to Sven has my vote.’ The others around the table joined in the laughter and the matter was settled.
Halmir raised a hand and the room quietened. ‘Then we have an accord. Tristan will train our forces so that when we rise against the Wolf, we will do so with the discipline of an army - not a frenzied mob to be dispersed as chaff before the wind. Take the remainder of the day to gather our men as we need every able-bodied man who will take up his sword in defense of our freedom. Gather them here, for tomorrow our work begins in earnest.’ The members of the council slowly rose from the table and filtered out of the council hall.
A Coronation of Kings Page 5