A Coronation of Kings

by Samuel Stokes

  Elaina watched with pride as her son continued to learn at an incredible pace. With his once dormant gifts awakened Syrion took to the elements with ease. After only hours of practice he was able to master incantations that had taken her weeks as a child. In time he would grow to possess incredible power.

  ‘What do the gods have planned for you, my child?’ she wondered. The heavens stared back silently—any secrets they held would not be imparted this day. Only time would tell what would become of her son and his gifts.

  Chapter 11

  Meanwhile, back in Belnair

  Deep beneath Belnair, Tristan’s leadership had invigorated the underworld. As the Wolf moved steadily to consolidate their power above ground, the resistance grew in power and strength below. Energised by his opposition to the Wolf, the other leaders of the Guild of Thieves quickly rallied behind Tristan bringing their considerable power and influence to bear.

  Tristan entered the Council Chambers. As usual, the Underman’s seat was empty. Tristan took his seat to the right of the empty chair. For the last few months he had run these meetings, taking control of the day to day running of the Guild.

  Tristan looked around the table and thought for a moment on these miscreants and vagabonds. One could scarcely imagine a less likely place where he, a son of the nobility, would be at peace, but in a way he’d never have thought possible, this odd assortment of misfits and cut-throats had become his family.

  The men at the table came from all walks of life. To his right sat Ogryn, an enormous hulk of a man, with completely bald head but bearing a tremendous, fiery red beard. He was born and raised in the impoverished outer districts of Belnair. Life had dumped him on the streets at the tender age of five. What he lacked in intellect, he made up for with his education from the school of hard knocks. By the time he was ten he ran his own gang of thugs and lay bouts. The Guild of Thieves noticed him soon thereafter. His talents brought him quick promotion within its ranks to his current position where he ran the Guild’s enforcement and protection rackets. Armed with a pair of axes, he was the last thing you would want to see in a darkened alley. For those who crossed the Guild, he often was.

  Next was Alistair -the opposite of Ogryn in every way - small and wiry, his pale complexion offset his dark hair and gave him a very sinister appearance. The truth, however, was that Alistair’s gifts were for economics and trade, rather than theft and deception. His careful ministrations had grown the Guild’s wealth considerably and his understanding of market conditions had allowed the Guild to flourish fiscally. As a result, the Guild wielded the means to rival even the most powerful of the Lords of Valaar.

  Next came Maneron, lithe and quick, he had a keen eye and a steady hand. Once a yeoman in service to the Wolf, he was framed for petty theft and barely escaped with his hand still attached. A keen archer with a burgeoning distaste for the Wolf, he quickly found himself in the service of the Guild. Those who found themselves in his sights were not long amongst the living.

  The next seat was occupied by Ferebour, the Dwarf. He was to Maneron as night was to day. His Dwarven stature was stout and broad greatly resembling the mountains he had once called home. His strong arms were folded across his broad chest as they rested comfortably on his well-oiled chain mail. A true Dwarf was never without his armour, a determined Ferebour had once told Tristan.

  Tristan had made the mistake of asking why he was attending the council meetings in full battle dress. Having never met another Dwarf, Tristan was forced to take his word for it. Ferebour was a stone mason of incredible skill with a battle fury burning in his soul that made him a formidable foe on the battlefield.

  Next came Sven, at first openly hostile to Tristan’s presence, he’d since proven invaluable. Sven served as the Guild’s spymaster -little moved in Belnair without his knowledge. Devious and dexterous, knives were his forte and he wielded them with vigour and precision on the Guild’s behalf.

  The final seats were occupied by Ezras and Halmir. As different as day and night, Halmir could have taken the role of the dashing prince in any child’s tale. Tall and charismatic, he served as the Underman’s voice whilst the Underman was away.

  Ezras, on the other hand, was rotund and jovial; a well- rounded belly spoke of many nights spent in the taverns of Belnair. Many doubted he was ever sober but when asked, Ezras lauded himself as a man of science and scholarship. Tristan still doubted his expertise stretched much beyond distillation and combustion or in layman’s terms; Ezras was a saboteur and arsonist. Wielding the tools of his trade with a vigour that bordered on wanton abandon, Tristan worried that an experiment gone wrong would yet bring the city crashing down upon their heads.

  A more unlikely a group could not have been comprehended, but these individuals comprised the Underman’s Council and together wielded enough power and resources to rival a small kingdom. Now thanks to Tristan’s guiding hand, they wielded an ever-growing military force.

  Pulling his seat in behind him as he sat down, Tristan addressed the council. ‘As you are all well aware, we are making astounding progress. Our militia grows daily as those tiring of oppression above ground seek refuge amongst us. Alistair has seen to our logistical support and slowly but steadily our armoury is increasing as well.

  The standing army of the Wolf still outnumber us considerably, but if we continue to grow at our current rate, we shall soon be a threat even to them. With surprise on our side we may yet bear out our objective.’

  The announcement was greeted with a chorus of cheers and table-slapping from the council.

  Tristan pressed on. ‘All the while, we have been cautious to not allow any hint of our doings beyond the sewers. The Wolf know us only by our cover as thieves and vagabonds; they have little idea of the armed insurrection we plan to unleash within their very city.’

  ‘When do we strike?’ an eager Ogryn bellowed, slapping the table with his usual exuberance.

  ‘Patience, Ogryn,’ Tristan responded. ‘We still have months of planning ahead of us to ensure we are successful. Our failure would surely bring extinction, not only to ourselves but all who follow us.’

  ‘Wisdom from the mouths of babes,’ remarked Halmir. ‘You have temperance not often seen in one of your age...or experience.’

  ‘I will not put all of your lives at risk to satisfy my need for revenge,’ Tristan stated quickly and without equivocation. ‘In time the Wolf will pay the price that justice demands. I will wait for her unyielding hammer to strike them down.’

  ‘Our lives were at risk the day we entered these sewers,’ responded Sven, ‘but you have bought with you an energy, Tristan, that we have been lacking of late thus our goal feels closer than it has ever done.’

  ‘Indeed it is,’ responded Tristan proudly.

  ‘I wonder if there are not other preparations that might be made to hasten our efforts?’ mused Halmir quietly.

  ‘What do you mean, Halmir? Pray speak your mind.’

  ‘We have talked many times of the night your home was pillaged by the Wolf, Tristan, and correct me if I am wrong, but the reason it fell so readily, was that many of Listar’s soldiers were tending to the harvest and not actually at hand to defend the Manor.’

  ‘That is right, Halmir, the Wolves timing was as devious as it was deadly.’

  ‘Then would those men not still be tending their homes in Listar? Would they not serve you if they knew the truth?’

  ‘Genius, Halmir!’ Tristan exclaimed ‘My mind has grieved so long for the fallen I had scarcely thought on those who yet remain. Ezras, take a few men and make your way through Listar. Visit every home. Tell them that I live and fight for the liberty of our people. If they will serve, take their names. Let them know we will call on them when the time is right.’

  ‘I’ll be off at once,’ Ezras answered happily. ‘I haven’t seen the inside of a Listarii tavern in far too long…I ought to pass through a few to find some... er willing souls.’

  ‘Don’t spend too much time carou
sing, Ezras - you are sorely needed here.’ laughed Halmir.

  ‘Is there anything else that needs our attention?’ Tristan asked eager to get back to drilling with the men. The training that he had received at Listarii Manor set him in good stead in a duel, but bar fights and brawls were filled with far less honourable opponents. The Guild was merciless in teaching him, taking great delight in using every underhanded trick at their disposal.

  ‘There is one thing,’ Sven volunteered quietly from his place at the table. ‘Do we intend to make use of the distraction afforded by the baronial wedding?’

  ‘Baronial wedding?’ Tristan asked. ‘Don’t tell me some unlucky duchess will have the misfortune of marrying Falen.’ Tristan chuckled to himself at the thought.

  ‘Apparently not - we thought he’d be wed to a rival family. Perhaps Hitomi of the Mizumura or one of Fordham’s many daughters in exchange for political favor. Contrary to our expectations, our information tells us that he’s marrying a commoner, from a nearby town -the daughter of a blacksmith or some such. I don’t know her name, but she is apparently quite striking. An armed escort departed from the Palace this morning. They should be returning this afternoon with her in tow.’

  Tristan felt his heart sink; he knew at once that it was Linea. With his disappearance, her father would be pressuring her to marry Falen.

  ‘What’s wrong, Tristan? You look as if you’ve been sucker-punched by Ogryn,’ Sven inquired, perceptive as ever.

  ‘The woman who is to wed Falen—Linea—I know her…We were in love, then the Wolf slaughtered the Listarii and forced me into hiding. She has no idea what has become of me and likely thinks me dead. If she knew I was alive, I am sure she would not be so easily compelled into marrying that murderer.’

  ‘Our young lord in love - who would have guessed?’ chortled Ezras gleefully.

  ‘Indeed,’ echoed Sven, ‘you haven’t said a word in all these months.’

  ‘You all took me in when my world was torn apart; I thought it would be ungrateful to burden you further,’ replied a somber Tristan.

  ‘Nonsense,’ bellowed Ogryn breaking the silence ‘The Wolf are taking things that don’t belong to them, and nobody steals from us in our city!’His raised voice reverberating around the chamber as the other council members sat quietly nodding their agreement.

  ‘You are quite right, Ogryn,’ answered Halmir, shaking his head. ‘We cannot have that; we have a image to protect. Sven send word to your agents and find their route of travel. Ezras, we will need some sort of distraction near the Citadel to keep any reinforcements preoccupied. Ogryn, once we know the route they will take, ensure they meet with a delay. Maneron, take Tristan and ensure everything goes smoothly. Tristan, under no circumstance can she be allowed to see you until you are both safely within the walls of the Guild. If she should let slip your name in public, it will surely reach Falen. If that happens, all of Belnair will be ransacked until they find you and kill you as they did your father. We cannot allow that to happen. Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes, Halmir.’ Tristan could see it was wise council. ‘I will stay in the shadows and ensure things proceed smoothly.’

  ‘All right, men, you have your orders. Bring the maiden safely home. It will embarrass the Wolf and open further opportunities to undermine their political maneuverings.’

  The meeting broke up and the council members dispersed to carry out Halmir’s instructions, leaving Tristan and Halmir alone in the council chambers. Halmir put his arm around the concerned youth. ‘Do not worry, Tristan; she will be back in your arms by nightfall.’

  ‘I hope you are right, Halmir.’ The thought of Linea with Falen sickened him to his core. This plan must work. Tristan could not live with himself if it failed.

  Chapter 12

  It was late in the afternoon when the column of Wolf troops reached the Eastern Gate. Sven’s spies had brought word of their progress hours earlier and the time had been spent hastily making preparations.

  There were two dozen soldiers flanking the carriage, easily enough to deter even the most determined of highwaymen. Thinking themselves safe, deep in the heart of their own territory, they were lazily making their way back towards the Citadel. The unfortunate Wolf had little idea what was in store for them.

  The column wove its way through the outer suburbs. As it neared the traders’ market, it turned down a boulevard that would lead directly to the Citadel. As they made the turn onto the final boulevard, they found a dozen wagons blocking the path, irate drivers bellowing at each other to clear the road.

  From his vantage point on the rooftop of a nearby warehouse, Tristan could make out Ogryn in the thick of it stirring up trouble as he bellowed insult after insult at the other teamsters. ‘Where did you learn to drive a team -you’d be better off trading places with those dumb brutes pulling your wagon!’ he shouted at one particularly irate driver. The fuming teamster quickly bellowed back a retort, casting aspersions insinuating that Ogryn’s parents had never wed.

  The Wolf stopped short of the ruckus. Not wanting to become embroiled in the conflict but pinned between the melee before them and the inevitable wrath of Falen should his bride not reach the Citadel, they reluctantly entered the fray. The sergeant leading them barked orders, at both the teamsters and the guards followed him into the fray. ‘Break it up, you lot. Yield the road or it will be a long night in the stocks for all of you. Guards, pull those wagons out of the way- we need a path to the Citadel.’

  The Wolf strode into the melee dragging teamsters off their perches before taking their place on the driving board. Slowly but surely they began to clear a path. An ambitious soldier reached up and grabbed Ogryn, ‘You there, out of the way or we’ll have you in jail for disturbing the peace.’

  Tristan saw the delight in Ogryn’s eyes as he grabbed the poor soldier by the arm and ripped him off the ground. ‘I’ll disturb your peace,’ the giant bellowed. Terror gripped the soldier as Ogryn lifted him overhead like a rag doll and threw him into the next pair of soldiers. ‘Arrest that man!’ called the sergeant, madly pointing at Ogryn.

  Ogryn’s smile widened as he reached into the wagon and withdrew his axes. Leaping off the driver’s board, Ogryn whooped a mad war cry as he slammed into the next line of soldiers, axes flying about him like a madman.

  The sergeant dispatched a runner to the palace for reinforcements. From his position Tristan could easily see him running down the wide boulevard making for the Citadel. Calling to Maneron on the next roof Tristan, pointed and bellowed, ‘Bring him down. We need more time!’ Maneron already had an arrow nocked, a second later it flew. Striking the soldier in the back, the man collapsed in a heap.

  Other Guild Warriors materialised around the soldiers and the noises of battle rang as steel clashed with steel. The Wolf were outnumbered, surrounded and surprised and they fell before the onslaught. Tristan could make out the form of Sven darting through the fray, his blades felling the Wolf with every stroke. No sooner would he throw a blade than another would appear in his hand. His hatred for the Wolf had been no exaggeration and this opportunity was to be relished.

  Ogryn bashed his way through the last of the guards that stood between him and the carriage. Holstering his weapons, he reached for the door and as he opened it, Tristan saw what could only have been Linea, slapping his face as she shouted her lungs out. ‘You’ll have to kill me, you beasts.’ Shaking off his surprise, Ogryn grabbed the outstretched hand and threw her over his shoulder as one might a sack of grain. A most undignified way to travel, but as she was less than co-operative, Ogryn saw little choice in the matter. The men sprang to defend Ogryn as he worked his way clear of the riot. Maneron moved from rooftop to rooftop providing cover for the retreating warriors.

  Tristan heard the bugle call. Evidently those at the Citadel had become aware of the commotion and the Citadel’s gates were thrown open. A column of Wolf cavalry swept out of the citadel down the main boulevard of Belnair towards the rioting teamsters. It was cl
ear that they had little intention of arresting anyone. The Wolf did not take lightly those who would question their authority. Survivors to question would be a secondary consideration as they swept all before them.

  Tristan heard Halmir sound the retreat -the men hastily made for the surrounding buildings, many of which contained hidden entrances to the labyrinthine sewer network. Ogryn carried a still-kicking Linea into one of the alleyways. As Tristan made his way over the rooftops, he spied a teamster examining one of the wagons only to realise it was Ezras. There was no mistaking that girth. Bent over the buckboard of the last wagon he could be seen striking a flint and throwing it into the wagon before running gleefully after the retreating warriors.

  The cavalry thundered towards the wagons and as they neared the first wagon, a terrific explosion ripped the wagons asunder. Splinters of wood and burning canvas hurtled in every direction. Several of the cavalrymen fell to the fusillade of burning debris. The remainder of the horses panicked, some throwing their riders as they refused to enter the burning gauntlet.

  Tristan hastily made his way to the rendezvous point. As he entered the sewers, he pressed forward with urgency -everything had gone smoothly and Linea had been rescued. The Guild had not suffered a single casualty, though a few of its warriors were nursing small wounds. It was better than Tristan had hoped.

  He made his way into a room that they had dedicated as a rendezvous point. As he entered the room he could see Linea still kicking and flailing as an apologetic Ogryn tried to restrain her. Sven tried desperately to quiet her, but it was hopeless. ‘At last,’ Ogryn called, seeing Tristan enter the room. ‘She is a feisty one. I’m not sure how much longer I could have held her.’