A Coronation of Kings

by Samuel Stokes

  I will give you one last chance to redeem yourself -no longer will you be an Astarii. You will be stripped of your power and become the first of your kind. You will be Defenders of Creation; you will shield our worlds from those that seek to destroy them. Heavens gates will be closed to you until the day you faithfully discharge your duty to protect Creation, do you understand?”

  Tolan looked on the Allfather; sorrow threatening to tear his heart asunder as he realized the price all Astarii would pay for his pride, their powers would weaken without the renewing presence of the Allfather. At first he could only nod, he swept his gaze over the Celestial Citadel and with sorrow he stammered “Will we ever return?”

  The Allfather gestured and a portal opened behind Tolan, bending down he lifted Tolan off the ground until his eyes were level with his own and spoke:

  “You will wear out your lives repairing the damage you have wrought this day, not on this city but the damage you have wrought in the hearts and souls of the Children of Creation. We foolishly sought to prepare you for that which was to come. Creation was to be a bastion of light and glory in the heavens. There will come a day when the jaws of darkness gape open ready to devour you. In that day a glimmer of hope will rise, borne on wings as golden as the flames of heaven. Behind him your descendants must rally if they are to fulfill their oath to Creation.”

  The Allfather waited ensuring his words had sunk deep into Tolan’s heart. “Remember my words Tolan; the salvation of your children depends on it.” Tolan nodded with a strange mixture of hope and terror. “Then go and prepare them, perhaps in their lives you might find redemption!” the Allfather bellowed as he hurled Tolan through the portal.

  Tolan hurtled through the portal assailed on all sides by flashes of light that seemed to shift and swirl about him. The sensation was dizzying. It was difficult to measure time within the portal as there was no point of reference within the swirling cosmos. After a time, Tolan could make out a speck in the distance, small at first but growing rapidly as he approached it. Realizing the incredible pace at which he was travelling, Tolan attempted to tuck himself into a roll to lessen the impact, but his efforts were in vain as he was expelled violently from the portal and slammed brutally into the ground, rolling and tumbling across the grass.

  Pain filled his being as bones broke and fractured; eventually he came to a grounding halt and painfully he raised a hand to his chest and invoked words of healing... but nothing happened. The words of the Allfather echoed in his mind, “You will be stripped of your power...” Tolan’s voice carried through the darkness as he howled in anguish before slipping slowly into unconsciousness.

  Hours later, Tolan was awoken by the staccato sound of rain beating on his armour. Fatigued and in pain, he fought his way to his feet. As he looked around, he could see mountains in the distance; before them lay an imposing lake and on the shores of the lake he could see a small village. With no other signs of life within sight he started making his way towards the village. As he neared it, he could see a woman making her way back from the lake; staggering towards her, he tripped once more and landed heavily on the mud-soaked ground- the impact further compounding his existing injuries.

  The woman shouted and Tolan heard others come running. As they rolled him onto his back, they stared in wonder, their primitive apparel a stark contrast to this newcomer’s. They poked and prodded at the strange armour whilst Tolan grunted in pain at their attentions and at length they acknowledged his injuries and the necessity of treating them. A dozen of them gathered around him and bore him into a nearby hut where he lost consciousness once more.

  When he came to once more. He was lying in a bed covered in bandages and poultices. His broken, arm had been set and it seemed the pain had eased somewhat - obviously the effects of some sort of concoction, the foul taste of which still lingered on his tongue.

  As his eyes came into focus he could see the woman from the lakeside tending to him. Tolan found her beautiful. Here, worlds away from his people, battered and broken in body and power, Tolan stared into her emerald eyes and surprised himself by smiling.’

  Elaina took a deep breath as she finished her narrative. Syrion was quick to fill the momentary silence. ‘When you talk of Tolan you don’t mean...’ his voice tapered off as if vocalizing his fear would somehow give it form, making a sweeping gesture with his hand towards Tolanis below them, ‘These are the people that defied the gods?’

  ‘No, Syrion, these are their children. Tolan recovered from his injuries and he married his deliverer—a woman named Melisare. For the remainder of his days, he taught and imparted his knowledge to this people; he raised them from sticks and mud and built a bastion of peace to live out his days, ever mindful that one day his posterity must fulfill their covenant and defend creation.’

  ‘Where do the Dragon Host come into it? How did they react to Tolan’s presence?’ Syrion asked inquisitively.

  ‘Don’t you see, Syrion? Before Tolan came, there was no DragonHost...’ Elaina paused for a moment to let her words sink in. ‘Tolan was the first of the DragonHost, these Tolan... his children, they are the DragonHost. ‘

  ‘You mean the dragons we see above us, they are the Tolan?’

  ‘Yes, Syrion. Their very nature is the greatest secret of the Tolan. They guard it jealously, as you must. If others were to discover their secret, they might exploit it.’

  ‘Then why tell me at all?’

  ‘Because your destinies are as threads in the tapestry of fate, they are intertwined. It is no coincidence that I sought refuge for us here amongst the Tolan.’

  ‘I don’t understand-what does any of this have to do with me?’

  ‘You are the second Astarii since the dawn of our race to bear the mark of the Dragon, as surely as the Black Dragon severed our ties with Heaven you are the golden hope behind which these must rally if we are to survive the coming of the Great Enemy and be redeemed.’ Elaina gestured towards the city of Tolanis as she spoke. ‘They do not know it yet, but they are tied to you and you to, them.’

  Syrion’s head felt like it might explode. ‘Do they know of the prophecy?’ Syrion asked.

  ‘Every one of them is taught it from birth. They have looked forward with an eye of hope for generations. They always thought the Golden One would be one of their own. When the time comes they will recognize you for who you really are.’

  Syrion sighed, the implications of what his mother had shared weighed heavily on him. It seemed as if the world itself was pressing down on his shoulders.

  ‘Do not fret, Syrion. I have faith in you. For all the power you possess, your kind heart is the gift for which I give thanks daily. In another’s hands these powers might have been abused. Learn well from Tolan’s lesson, my son, for the gods will not spare us a second time.’

  The Lady Elaina raised herself to her feet and brushed the leaves from her dress. She smiled at her son before turning and left the clearing, leaving a much shaken Syrion to ponder the ramifications of what he had just heard.

  Chapter 16

  Somewhere North of Belnair.

  It felt good to be out of the city again, Tristan thought to himself. Months of living in the catacombs and sewers beneath Belnair had taken its toll. An outdoors-man at heart, his new home could feel confining and dank, but out here in the woods, he felt at ease, the leaves blowing gently as the wind whistled through the trees.

  A sound to his right roused him from his thoughts, looking over he spotted Sven moving through the woods. On seeing Tristan, the wily spymaster made his way through the foliage towards him. ‘He should be here any moment.’ The spymaster informed Tristan whispering.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘I’m positive; he takes this route each week, slipping out of Belnair before dusk, he makes his way along this trail, spends the night at the Hog’s Head Inn and continues on to Fordham in the morning. He travels as a sword for hire, but I know that the only one spending any coin for his services is the Baron’s Chamberl
ain.’

  ‘So he’s Gerwold’s man?’ Tristan asked.

  ‘Without a doubt,’ the spymaster answered patiently.

  They heard the messenger long before they saw him, the steady drum of his horse’s hooves as he made his way along the trail were easily heard. Not travelling at a gallop but certainly moving with a speed born of purpose. Either the man was an agent of the Baron as Sven believed or they had stumbled upon the most industrious sell sword in all of Valaar, most of whom would likely be half drunk by this hour, the weight of the day’s work disappearing as the ale ran like a river through their system.

  Sven reached for his sword as the rider came into view, but Tristan lifted a hand to stop him before it could clear the scabbard. Don’t kill him, Sven. It’s taken us weeks to trace the flow of information out of Belnair. I would prefer we knew what news he bears without the Baron becoming aware of our interference.’

  ‘What do you have in mind? Sven asked curiously

  ‘You mentioned he overnights at the Hog’s Head Tavern before continuing on to Fordham correct?’

  ‘That’s right, same tavern every week, I think he fancies one of the barmaids there. Spends the night and heads out at first light.’

  ‘We’ll let him pass safely, now that we know he’s on the road and where he’ll be staying we can take our time. Whatever message he is carrying can be purloined whilst he is sleeping’.

  Sven nodded his agreement and the two waited in silence as the courier passed them, his watchful eyes scanning the woods and road ahead for signs of trouble. The man paused as he examined the tree line where Tristan and Sven lay concealed.

  Tristan knew it would be impossible for the courier to spot them through the dense foliage, but he held his breath regardless, not wishing to give away their presence. Their mounts were concealed some distance away; if their quarry bolted he would be halfway to Fordham before they could mount up and give chase. The courier continued his steady pace passing them by. Not knowing how close he had come to certain death at Sven’s hand.

  Motioning for Sven to follow they made their way back to the horses not breaking silence until they were sure the courier was well and truly gone.

  ‘Now we just hope he doesn’t break tradition and ride through the night,’ Tristan worried out loud.

  ‘I’ll bet you a solid silver piece he’s at the Hog’s Head when we arrive.’ Sven countered with a smile that conveyed his confidence.

  ‘I’ll take that bet,’ Tristan answered. ‘It’s almost like he sensed we were here. I’ll be surprised if he dallies on this particular trip. A soldier’s instincts are a dangerous thing, Sven. Do not dismiss them so quickly.’

  ‘Right now those instincts are focused on a fetching barmaid at the Hog’s head, so we should be fine. Regardless we know his route, this week or next we’ll find out what Gerwold is plotting,’ Sven answered calmly.

  ‘Speaking of Gerwold -what do we know?’

  ‘We know a good deal, but for every answer we have more questions. We know that Belnair is abuzz with activity. Gerwold is bullying every armourer and blacksmith in the Barony; ore is being freighted in from the mountains by the cartload and the smiths and smelters are working day and night. He is arming one of the largest land armies Valaar has ever seen. It’s clear he wants to seat himself upon the throne, but a civil war in Valaar might leave him with nothing and no one to rule.

  He is frantically corresponding with the Baron of Fordham and Lord Velas of the Mizumura. Velas is standoffish but Fordham seems complicit. Bjorn of the Sisaron and Lord Alford of the Tanamere have rebuffed his advances, these may make ready allies for us when the time comes.

  Every week these couriers deliver instructions from the Baron and wait for a reply. It’s clear that whatever resistance they might have had to this war has been bludgeoned out of them or bought off them with promises of power or concessions when Gerwold takes the throne. Their preparations now mirror Belnair’s and it seems that half of Valaar is already rallying behind Gerwold’s banner.

  Truth be told, Tristan, with the Wolf at the heart of a combined war and hosting a pitched battle would almost certainly see us routed. In quality, the armies of King’s Court are second to none, but to stand a chance against the numbers arrayed against us, we’ll need both Sisaron and Tanamere in place behind the wall to stand a chance.’

  ‘We need to shift one of his allies from his side before then,’ Tristan stated matter-of-factly.

  ‘I fear Gerwold has beaten us to the punch,’ Sven replied in a deflated tone.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Tristan asked in concerned tones.

  ‘Within weeks of Linea being taken by us, Falen began courting Lady Hitomi of the Mizumura. Her Father Velas is slow to see the machinations of Gerwold behind Falen’s advances; by all accounts the two may marry before year’s end.’

  Tristan groaned audibly, ‘Losing the Mizumura would be a grievous loss indeed. Not only would we be grievously outnumbered in the field, we would also be in an impossible position. Mizumura and Fordham are the easiest passages south for the armies of Sisaron. Should they both side with Gerwold it would effectively cut off Sisaron and prevent them from reinforcing King’s Court when the Wolf make their move. Our circumstances are even more precarious than we thought. It is crucial for us to know what those dispatches contain.

  The two men scarcely noticed the time pass as they rode and exchanged ideas. Before long the sun was setting on the western horizon, casting its brilliant fiery hues across the darkening sky. As they rode they admired the panorama of colors sprawled across the sky above them. Distracted as they were, they didn’t see the men materialize from the woods on their right flank until they were almost upon them.

  One of the burly brigands blocked the road as the others approached the riders. Tristan and Sven exchanged a quick glance, Sven shook his head to indicate the brigands weren’t members of the guild, spreading as it did across Valaar there was a chance they might be accosted by their own forces, paid brigands ignorant of the men’s position in the guild.

  Sven was intimately aware of the guild’s movements and manpower; his knowledge could be relied on. Tristan leaned over in the saddle. ‘We must not be delayed, Sven, if we lose the courier, Gerwold will further strengthen his position. Deal with those two on the right, stay low in the saddle in case there are others lying in wait.’ Sven nodded his understanding.

  As the burly brigand before them raised his hand to stop them Tristan responded quickly, rolling out of the saddle Tristan used the horse’s body to shield himself as he moved. As he rolled he reached into the saddlebag and drew one of his hand crossbows. Landing lightly, Tristan released the safety, took aim and sent the bolt thundering into the big man’s chest. Drawing his rapier, he sprang towards the next bandit who was still registering the shock of his comrade’s fall.

  Behind him, Sven was dispatching the remaining bandits with grim efficiency. The first bandit to move towards him bought his axe up ready to cleave the horse from beneath Sven. Reaching for a sheath on his back Sven drew a dagger and hurled it at the bandit, the blade caught the bandit in the neck and he crumpled to the ground clutching at the knife in a vain attempt to remove it. The second bandit looked around as if to flee but exposed as he was between the highway and the tree line, his hesitancy only served to hasten his death as a hail of daggers from Sven took him in the chest and he fell next to his comrade.

  Up ahead Tristan launched himself at the last remaining bandit, feigning a high slash with his rapier at the bandits exposed neck, the bandit bought his blade up to deflect it only to find the rapier buried in his stomach as Tristan spun his wrist and drove the blade home. A second thrust ensured he was dead before he hit the ground.

  Tristan looked around for his horse -it had stopped shortly after it had felt him dismount and was contentedly eating grass by the wayside. Tristan quickly packed away the hand-crossbow, cleaned his blade and mounted up before making his way over to where Sven was retrieving his kni
ves from the fallen bandits.

  As Sven stood up there was a snapping sound as a crossbow bolt tore through the air...

  Chapter 17

  The bolt hurtled through the air striking Sven in the back and knocking him to the ground.

  Tristan’s heart sank as his friend fell. Whirling around Tristan sought the source of the attack. Spying movement at the woods edge he spurred his horse into a gallop. If there was more than one marksman hiding in the foliage, his brazen charge might prove suicidal. Crouching low behind the horse’s neck to conceal himself, Tristan spurred the horse on.

  When no other bolts followed the first, Tristan decided it must be a lone remaining bandit, perhaps the leader attempting to avenge his fallen comrades, Tristan kicked his legs into the horses’ flanks in a bid to close the distance to the woods before the hidden assailant could fire another shot.

  As he broke through the light foliage into the woods, Tristan spotted his quarry - a lean bandit in leathers was running as fast as he could through the woods ahead. Unfortunately for the bandit, the woods were not dense enough to force Tristan to dismount and the horse quickly closed the distance between them.

  The bandit spun and attempted to draw his sword, but Tristan’s rapier caught him high in the chest, the leather providing scant protection against the razor-sharp weapon and the assassin collapsed as the blade ran him through.

  Tristan dismounted and attempted to interrogate the man now doubled over and spitting out blood. The rapier had done its work too well and Tristan doubted the man would last more than a few moments. Surprised at how hardened he had become to such things, Tristan began to hurriedly search the bandit. Mindful that Sven was injured, Tristan hastened his pace. Tucked inside the man’s leather jerkin he found a roll of papers. With no time to examine their contents he hastily jammed them into a pouch and made his way back to the highway to aid Sven.