A Coronation of Kings

by Samuel Stokes

  It appeared likely the Tanamere would carry the day. Beaten and battered as her fleet appeared the discipline of the Tanamere held firm. Answering each pirate salvo with ruthless efficiency, each broadside sowed death and destruction amongst the increasingly chaotic pirate fleets.

  *****

  Aboard his flagship Naziir Flint was keenly observing the destruction before him. Pirates seldom fought in engagements of this scale, preferring to prey on the lone merchantmen of the Boundless Sea. Occasionally a few pirates would band together to attack a convoy but never anything like this. A head on engagement normally meant wholesale destruction.

  Such a consequence would have deterred most men, but Naziir was no ordinary man. Abandoned on the streets of Pestalar as a child, he’d suffered every depredation imaginable. Pestalar was a far sight from Valaar, not only in distance, but civility as well.

  Amoral and anarchistic it was home to pirates, brigands, thieves, murderers, and outcasts of every ilk. Forsaken by the gods, Naziir clung to life with the tenacity of a cornered rat. That tenacity had taken an unwanted child from the gutter and forged him on the anvil of adversity. His rise to power was cunning and brutal, even the other Lords of Pestalar gave him deference. Each of the five lords ruled over a family of misfits and murderers, kept in check or at each other’s throat by the ebbs and flows of Pestalatzi politics.

  Until today. The Baron’s bribe had changed everything. One hundred thousand gold pieces were paid to each of the Lord’s of Pestalar to ensure the Tanamere never made it to aid King’s Court. The Baron would be King in Valaar and the Pestalatzi would be rich beyond measure.

  Such an opportunity only came once in a lifetime and Naziir intended to take advantage of it. Greed was an incurable condition amongst the Pestalatzi and Naziir had already put a plan in motion to rob the other lord’s of their fortune. With any luck the Tanamere would take care of some of them today. The remainder would not make it back to Pestalar alive.

  Naziir called to his Signalman, ‘Signal the sloops to disengage and make for those transports, the Tanamere are caught in our teeth and can do little to help them. One thousand gold as a bounty for every one they send to the bottom.’

  ‘Aye-Aye, Captain,’ the signalman responded as he anxiously set about his task.

  The proffered reward did its job well and in moments a number of the smaller vessels could be seen peeling away from the fray and making for the exposed transports. Naziir smiled, ‘Such predictable creatures.’ He thought out loud. He was sure they would wreak tremendous casualties amongst the transports, but their greed would take them to their death. The Tanamere would sink every last sloop and he’d be saved a fortune in prize money. ‘Helmsman, turn her about we are going home.’

  ‘Home, Captain? The battle is not yet over. We may yet carry the day.’

  ‘It soon will be. Turn her about and make for Pestalar. I won’t ask a third time.’

  ‘Aye-Aye, Captain.’ The helmsman barked as he began turning the heavy wooden wheel that guided the rudder.

  Without another word Naziir strode back to his cabin and locked the door. It would be a long week ahead. Best to rest up now whilst he had the chance. Within a few minutes the din of cannon fire dulled and Naziir, Lord of the Pestalar was snoring contentedly in his cot.

  Chapter 31

  Alford spotted the sloops disengaging and immediately registered the threat. There was little the larger man of wars could do to catch the nimble little vessels as they peeled away. The remainder of the pirate fleet held them locked in battle whilst the sloops made for the helpless transports.

  ‘Lester! Signal the transports. Make for shore immediately. Beach the ships and continue on foot. We cannot risk our men not reaching King’s Court. When you are done signal any remaining corvettes to engage and destroy those sloops no matter the cost.’

  ‘Aye-Aye, Milord.’ Lester set about his duties whilst the Lord of the Tanamere watched, pained at the predicament he found himself in and frustrated at his inability to render assistance to his beleaguered soldiers.

  ‘Helmsman, make for the transports. Master gunner...Sink anything that gets in our way.’

  ‘Yes, Milord,’ chorused the officers as they relayed orders to the Pride’s crew. Battered and beaten the flagship of the Tanameran navy was far from out of the fight.

  Several hundred yards off the port side of the Pride the transports spotted the incoming Pirate sloops and looked to the Pride for direction. The nervous soldiers spotted the ‘Go to Ground’ signal and began making for the shore with all haste.

  The transports were laden with hundreds of soldiers along with their weapons and armour and all other manner of instruments of war. The sloops gained on them quickly. The first salvoes from the sloops fell short, but the second volley found its mark.

  The heavy lead cannon balls shattered the stern of one of the transport ships. Water poured in through the battered hull and soon it began to list heavily and take on water. Furiously the men attempted to bail the vessel. Throwing anything they could over the side in a desperate bid to buy time to reach the shore, it was soon apparent that the effort was futile and soldier and sailor alike sprang overboard in an attempt to reach safety.

  The remainder of the transports saw the fate of the first and began heaving all unnecessary cargo overboard. If the pirates got alongside the transports the close range broadside volleys would sow death and destruction amongst the defenseless soldiers. The transports themselves only carried a few deck guns. Not nearly enough to contend with the sloops that were in hot pursuit.

  The sloops drew even with the rearmost vessels and began firing with wanton abandon. Timbers splintered as the cannonballs tore through the transports hulls. With the soldiers packed together like sardines the death toll would be staggering. The soldiers made brave attempts to fire on the sloops but the few deck guns made little impact.

  With every volley transports were taking damage and brave Tanameran lives were being lost. The lead transports ground themselves ashore and took stock of the chaos unfolding behind them. Soldiers and sailors could be seen bobbing in the shallow waters of the coast, trying their best to make it to shore.

  Men clung to whatever debris they could find. More transports were making their way to shore but the sloops were setting about their task with grim efficiency.

  In the midst of the carnage one of the pirate sloops exploded. All eyes turned towards the din as the thick smoke cleared two Tanameran corvettes could be seen bearing down on the sloops.

  The fastest ships in the Tanameran navy, the corvettes were sleek and nimble yet packed a surprising punch in a battle. As the pirates spotted the corvettes a berserk game of cat and mouse ensued, the pirates endeavored to put as many transports between them and the pursuing frigates as possible whilst still engaging the transports as best they could.

  The pirates previously focused wholly on the proffered gold reward realized too late the height of their folly. A second sloop began to sink as the corvettes precision continued to exact a heavy toll. The remaining four sloops made for the open sea in the hopes that the corvettes would be more interested in rescuing the beleaguered soldiers in the water.

  Such was not the case; the captains of the corvettes were true to their orders and continued to pursue the pirates, vowing vengeance for the Tanameran’s who would not return home. A third and fourth sloop were sunk in quick succession before the pirates realized the depths of their situation. The remaining sloops began to turn to meet the corvettes head on.

  Breaking formation, the two corvettes split to port and starboard allowing them to both bring their guns to bear on the same sloop. The ensuing broadside split the ship asunder leaving gaping holes in the timberwork where the volley had torn through the prow of the sloop. In moments it was sinking and its crew could be seen leaping into the sea. The final sloop traded volleys with the two frigates before it too went to a watery grave. A stray shot struck its magazine causing the ship to explode violently. A chee
r went up from the shore as the two corvettes turned back to the fray.

  The remaining leadership of the Tanameran army took stock of their men. Many had died at the pirates’ hands. Perhaps a third of their number were wounded or otherwise unaccounted for but the remainder had made it safely to shore. Battered but unyielding the Tanamere would not be deterred. King’s Court would not stand alone. Forming ranks and gathering what little of their supplies could be mustered the soldiers set out overland for the capital.

  *****

  Meanwhile in Belnair the Guild was celebrating their victory. With Falen’s death, the few remaining garrison troops had surrendered. The captured soldiers were now incarcerated within the Iron Keep’s own dungeon. Order was being restored throughout the city as Guild Warriors patrolled the streets. The surprise appearance of a foreign army had surprised many of the common folk of Belnair, but when it became apparent that order prevailed over chaos and looting, the city began to go about its affairs with a degree of normality.

  Deep below the city a small group hastened through the guild halls, the warriors and workers of the guild gave them a wide berth. Friend or foe the sorcerer Syrion clearly wielded immense power. Most were hesitant to be near him after the destruction he had wrought the previous day. Beside Syrion walked an older man, slightly stooped with age and leaning on a cane, the man hurried along with a speed that defied his appearance. Halmir led the party towards Tristan’s chambers.

  As they approached the door, a surprised look crossed Syrion’s face. No less than six guards stood shoulder to shoulder barring the entrance. Nearby a man sat on a stool casually sharpening daggers as he eyed them approach. At the sight of Halmir, the Guards parted to allow them entrance.

  ‘Why such a heavy guard?’ Syrion asked curiously.

  The man on the stool answered, ‘There was an assassination attempt earlier, a coward tried to take advantage of our Lord’s weakened state. Fear not, he failed and your brother suffered no further depredation, I will not allow another to try.’

  ‘How long have you stood watch?’ Syrion asked.

  ‘Since we bought him in yesterday.’ Sven replied returning to his dagger sharpening.

  ‘You’ve been here all night?’

  ‘Yes,’ was the simple reply.

  Syrion smiled at the man’s devotion. ‘My brother is fortunate to have you for a friend.’ Gesturing at the door he continued, ‘May we?’

  ‘Of course.’

  The three men entered the room, stepping over a pool of dried blood, evidence of the earlier assassin. Tristan was sitting on the edge of his bed attempting to help himself to his feet. Malus strode past Halmir into the room. ‘Don’t get up, you fool, they beat you half to death.’

  ‘It’s good to see you too, Malus, it’s been too long.’ Tristan spoke smiling at his old teacher.’ I take it you found them?’

  ‘Well, he found me,’ Malus replied sheepishly. ‘I could not get an audience with the Tolan, but your brother stumbled across my camp. I’m yet to see your mother, but I am told she is in good health and will join us shortly.’ Malus paused and then gestured towards Syrion who stood still half concealed in the shadows near the door. ‘Tristan, this is your brother Syrion.’

  ‘Please come closer, ‘the injured leader asked.

  The young man moved out of the shadows and Tristan examined his twin for the first time. The youth shared many of his father’s features, others like the grey green eyes were alien to him, perhaps inherited from his mother. Tristan smiled broadly and lifted himself off the bed, staggering forward he threw his arms around his brother in a firm embrace. ‘It’s good to meet you at last.’ Tristan spoke huskily fighting back emotion. ‘I’ve waited for this day since Malus first told me of you. I hoped to meet you but feared the worst...after seeing you yesterday it seems I worried in vain.’

  Syrion smiled as he returned the embrace. Halmir stepped forward not wishing to cut short the reunion, but the weight of other matters pressed heavily on his shoulders. ‘Tristan, my friend, I do not wish to interrupt this most pleasant of occasions, but we have pressing business to attend to. As you know Gerwold marches on King’s Court. Even now the city is besieged; the defenders are outnumbered and surrounded. Very soon all we have fought to oppose will come to fruition.

  Without our assistance Gerwold will most certainly gain the throne. Belnair is secure, but there is a great deal left to do before the day is won. We’ve prepared our forces and are ready to march for King’s Court, will you lead us?’

  ‘I would not abandon you now, Halmir, not for anything in this world. If you have to tie me to my horse to keep me on it so be it, I will be there.’ Tristan smiled as he eased himself onto the edge of the bed.

  ‘That won’t be necessary, Master Tristan.’ Malus spoke gently. ‘Lie down we’ll see what can be done about those wounds.’

  Tristan lay flat on the bed and his old teacher fussed about inspecting the wounds. ‘The swelling and bruising is severe... but it looks like they have only cracked a rib or two. Fortunately, there is no internal bleeding. I think I can help get you on your feet a little quicker.’

  Turning to Syrion, Malus inquired, ‘I don’t suppose your mother taught you how to heal in your training?’

  Syrion shook his head sheepishly. ‘We focused on the other elements, Malus.’

  ‘Of course you did.’ Malus laughed heartily ‘Elaina never was one for the subtle arts. Fortunately, a lifetime of study has born some fruit for me in that field of learning.’

  Without further delay the old teacher placed his hands on Tristan’s chest one on top of the other and closed his eyes. His lips moved quickly but silently as he mouthed an incantation. At first it appeared nothing was happening, but after a few moments his hands began to glow with a golden light.

  The light radiated outwards until it filled the room. The nearby observers were forced to close their eyes as the brightness threatened to blind them. After a few moments the light began to dim. As it did so Halmir and Syrion looked expectantly at Tristan. To their great surprise the swelling in his face had diminished considerably and his usual vitality appeared to have returned.

  ‘How do you feel?’ The old teacher queried.

  Tristan began to move, gingerly at first but with increasing vigor as he tested his limitations. ‘Much better, most of the pain in my chest has ceased.’

  ‘Can you ride?’ Halmir asked hopefully.

  ‘Absolutely. Have a runner fetch my armour.’

  ‘At once. The men will be pleased to see you on your feet, Tristan. I suggest we move at once. King’s Court is at least almost two days at a forced march. You two will have plenty of time to get better acquainted on the road.’

  Tristan looked upon his younger brother and his face turned somber. ‘The usurper that seeks the throne is Falen’s father, Gerwold. He cannot be allowed to triumph. Will you help us stop him?’

  ‘The man responsible for our father’s death? Do not worry, Tristan. He will never sit on that throne, not whilst I still draw breath.’

  Tristan smiled. ‘Then it appears the Guild of Thieves is going to war.’

  Chapter 32

  Outside the walls of King’s Court

  By mid day the engineers were assembling the final pieces of the siege weapons, soldiers and labourers worked tirelessly to lift the heavy beams into place. The besieged defenders looked helplessly over the walls at a formidable array of catapults and trebuchets.

  At any moment the bombardment would start and the siege of King’s Court would begin in earnest. To the North and West siege towers were being assembled to carry the attackers safely to the top of the wall, and to make matters worse, it appeared Fordham was constructing a tremendous ram the likes of which Dariyen had never before seen.

  Until today he’d considered King’s Court to be impregnable, its elevated position giving clear line of sight for archers and siege weapons to rain death on all fronts. Any foe that weathered the storm of would arrive at the form
idable curtain wall.

  The wall itself had three gates, the Lion Gate to the North, guarding the main highway into King’s Court, a mighty edifice of steel and stone. Two tremendous steel gates swung on heavy hinges, each gate bore the symbol of King’s Court, the Lion Rampant claws barred ready to meet the foe. Behind the steel gates a heavy iron portcullis could be lowered to prevent anyone entering or exiting the city.

  The East and West walls likewise had gates, but these were much simpler affairs located within large towers on each facing. Heavy steel portcullis blocked each portal and at Dariyen’s instructions engineers had begun to brick and fill the gateways to deny entrance. Not as sturdy as the curtain wall it would never the less take time to breach and clear the tower gates. It was time that might sorely be needed to hold out for assistance.

  Inside the Curtain Wall a second Inner Wall loomed ominously over the attackers. Two mighty towers provided further opportunity for defenders to harry attackers. Atop the towers were two large Lion’s Fang Ballistae that could be rotated to face threats on any front.

  The inner and outer walls were connected to each other by the cliff wall which ran along the edge of the city, separating it from a perilous drop into the ocean a hundred feet below. Unfortunately, once the curtain wall is breached, attackers would be able to gain access to the inner walls via the cliff wall.

  To the southwest of the Harbor lies the Court of the King, home of the Golden Throne and the heart of Valaar. Under the Reign of the Kings, the day to day affairs of Valaar had been conducted from that seat of power.

  From Kai’s first unification of the tribes through to the reign of Eleazar the Heirless last of the kings, King’s Court had been a symbol of power and peace. Vacant for a century the King’s Council had presided over Valaar in a careful counter balance to the ruling houses of Valaar.