A Coronation of Kings

by Samuel Stokes

  ‘I know little of Creation or this struggle you speak of, Syrion, but I take great comfort in your presence. I was in no condition to see your powers in Belnair when you saved me from the block, but I am told your powers were impressive to behold. I could feel it as they washed over me, we will need them to tip the scales in our favor.’

  ‘I will do all I can. I have had few opportunities to practice my arts on such a scale, but I am confident they are equal to the task.’

  ‘Well, Brother, we best get some rest, you’ll have plenty of opportunity to practice tomorrow.’

  The two brothers walked through the hastily forming camp to where a simple canvas command tent had been erected. As he passed a young guildsman tying down the tent Tristan placed a hand on the man’s shoulder and thanked him. ‘Please convey my thanks to the men and see that you get some rest yourself, we’ll all need it soon enough.’

  The man nodded his thanks and moved towards his own crude shelter. Tristan imagined many of them would simply sleep under the stars; content to enjoy what little remained of the evening. The two brothers entered the tent and collapsed on their bedrolls. Soon the fatigue of the past few days was upon them and they were fast asleep.

  *****

  As the sun rose in the sky the camp slowly stirred to life. Food was cooking on the fires and preparations for the day ahead were being made. The men were painfully aware of the conflict that lay before them.

  Knowing that you might not see another dawn had different effects on different people. Some of the men were sleeping. Others ensured they savored every bite of what might very well be their last meal; others yet were on their knees imploring the Allfather for guidance and protection.

  Three figures moved steadily across the grassy plain towards the camp. They were tall and moved with swiftness, unencumbered by their ornate armour. Majestic to behold each of the three were clad head to toe in scale mail armour of resplendent color that reflected the sunlight giving them an almost luminous glow. The leader, a striking blonde woman, bore a large golden bow, the men flanking her wielded spears, the wicked blades of which caught in the sunlight.

  As they approached the camp the sentries sat up at their post and stared intently, eager eyes searching the strangers for a sign of threat. Finding no immediate danger, the sentries were content to watch and wait. Within minutes the three beings were standing in front of them.

  ‘What’s all this then?’ One sentry asked addressing his question to no one in particular.

  ‘Perhaps they’re assassins.’ Another sentry posed nervously, ‘Though this lot are considerably sharper dressed then the last lot. Not much chance for stealth in that get up.’

  ‘We are not assassins, do not insult us. We come seeking Syrion Stormborn. We were told we could find him here.’ The lead figure, a striking young woman declared authoritatively.

  ‘Oh, the wizard, I should have guessed...dressed as you are...who else would you want? Right come with me, he’ll be in the tent with his brother.’

  ‘His brother?’ The woman asked unable to stop the question before it escaped her lips.

  ‘Aye, his brother. Follow us then, we’ll take you to him. No funny business either, we’ve had our fill of assassins here, a wrong step and you’ll be dead and buried before you can pluck one of those shiny arrows out of your quiver.’

  ‘We understand … lead on.’

  The group moved through the makeshift camp. Heads turned as the strange procession made their way to the command tent. Eager eyes examined the foreigners in their ornate garb. Before long the group arrived at the simple tent. One of the sentries slipped inside the tent whilst the others waited outside. The newcomers started nervously shifting as they waited for Syrion to emerge.

  After a few minutes the brothers emerged, Tristan leading the way Syrion only a step behind. At the sight of Syrion the three figures dropped to one knee in deference. ‘Althea?’ Syrion asked spying their leader’s long blonde hair, ‘Is that you? What are you all doing on your knees get up at once.’

  ‘Syrion,’ the young woman started, struggling to speak as she arose. ‘You are he who was foretold, it is only fitting we should kneel.’

  ‘Althea, you kneel before no one. Least of all me.’

  The young Tolan’s confidence grew at the reassurance. ‘We have come to stand with you. You spoke before the council of a conflict that is to come, Ryland and Lysander also answered the call, we will stand with you if you will have us.’

  ‘I have not ever heard of a Tolan leaving the Eternal Mountains. Does the Council know you are here?’

  ‘They do. At first they forbade it, some of them are most displeased with the manner of your... departure. Others speak of the prophecy and wonder if it will truly see its fulfillment. Be it anger or wonder, collectively their response is the same... they fear you, Syrion. At length they determined that if we so sought, we could come to your aid.’

  Syrion nodded as thoughts surged through his mind. Tristan filled the silence. ‘I am Tristan, Syrion’s brother. I appreciate your willingness to stand with us; I only wish there were a thousand of you.’

  ‘A thousand of us might have proved unsettling, Tristan, the War Horns of the Tolan have not sounded in millennia and our Council yet holds great skepticism of your people and their past offences.

  We will be the first to fight side by side with the Valaar since you took that name. Should you earn our trust, many more may come. As it is we bought our companions, together we should prove sufficient for your cause.’

  ‘Companions?’ Tristan asked ‘Where are they, I hope you didn’t leave them waiting in the woods, please bring them in at once, let us eat together, this meal might very well be our last.’

  ‘I very much doubt that, Tristan, I have no intention of dying today.’ Althea answered smiling longingly at Syrion. With that she lifted an ivory horn to her lips and blew a long note that reverberated through the valley. The note resonated through the valley growing fainter and fainter until it faded completely. An awkward silence settled over the gathering.

  After a few moments Tristan spoke, ‘What was that for?’

  In reply the newcomer held a finger to her lips in the universal signal for quiet, ‘Wait for it...’

  From somewhere high above a deep guttural roar exploded through the air.

  ‘What the hell was that?’ One of the terrified sentries exclaimed.

  ‘That...’ The Tolan named Lysander started, ‘was our companions.’ The crowd peered up into the sky, the brightness of the sun made it difficult to make out anything but glare. Slowly at first several dots appeared. As they descended they grew in size, as they approached rapidly their colossal forms could be seen.

  ‘Mercy.’ Was all a nearby soldier could manage as the three shapes descended. As they neared the earth their wings snapped open to arrest their dive. The impact was earth shattering as the three dragons came to rest heavily in the clearing.

  The effect was mind boggling; how could such an enormous creature move with such grace? The three dragons resembled their companions. A gigantic sapphire dragon with scales that shimmered like precious stones matched the brilliant hues of Althea’s scaled armour. The other two dragons were a great red fire drake and a magnificent emerald green dragon. The emerald green’s shimmering scales looked like the rain slicked leaves of a thousand trees moving in the breeze.

  There was a discernible shift as nearby soldiers shied away from the majestic but terrifying creatures. As the initial shock faded Tristan gazed on them in wonder. He realized that each of them had been equipped in a similar style of armour to the Tolan. Elegant plate armour protected their legs, vital organs, and underbellies from attack. Nervous at the scrutiny, the fire drake arched back its neck so that its jaws were facing the open sky and blew a stream of fire into the air.

  Tristan was the first to speak ‘Amazing. Althea, you and your companions are most welcome here. Please come sit down let us get better acquainted. Is there anything you
r companions are in need of, food or water perhaps?’

  ‘They will be fine, your thoughts are most appreciated, if they can be permitted to rest, it is a tiring flight from the Eternal Mountains and they should rest if we are to see battle today.’ The three Tolan nodded to their steeds who simply stretched out their limbs and lowered themselves onto the soft grass before tucking their wings close to their body. Lastly their long serpentine necks tucked themselves under their wings and within a few moments the dragons rested peacefully in the midst of the camp.

  Syrion gestured to the tent as he spoke, ‘Come, friends, we have much to discuss.’

  Chapter 34

  As the morning sun rose over King’s Court the city was in turmoil. The Western Wall was battered from the Mizumuran assault. The wounded were being tended as well as could be hoped for under the circumstances whilst the burnt out husks of the siege towers smoldered outside the walls.

  In the east the city was ablaze, after the failed assault on the walls the Wolf had contented themselves with bombarding the eastern city districts with flaming pitch and projectiles. The stalwart defenders of King’s Court dealt with the fires as best they could, but whole city blocks had burnt to the ground before the defenders could get them under control.

  The mood was somber as the Wolf once more turned their attention to the Curtain Wall. Dozens of heavy boulders and pieces of stone were hurled at the wall. The noise was deafening as great chunks of masonry exploded from the wall under the prolonged assault.

  Dariyen surveyed the damage from his position atop the Inner Wall, his faithful lieutenants watching quietly by his side. ‘The Wall won’t hold.’ He declared an air of resignation in his voice. ‘By noon at the latest we’ll be breached, our warriors are weary and the Wolf fully rested, If we are not relieved today, I fear we will not last till nightfall.’

  ‘But, Captain, we’ve had word from both Belnair and Sisaron. Help is on the way; all we need to do is hold.’

  Another stone smashed into the outer wall. With the impact a large section of the wall began to split and crumble. With an ear splitting crack, a large portion of the curtain wall was shorn free and fell shattered to the ground.

  A rumble rang out, low at first but growing in volume by the second. Dariyen turned expecting to see the Wolf rejoicing, to his surprise he saw nothing. As the noise continued to grow a realization struck Dariyen, the jubilant cheers were coming from within the city.

  Turning Dariyen started running down the inner wall, his war staff falling into place behind him. As he reached the cliff wall he saw them...sails, a dozen of them entering King’s Court’s vast natural harbor.

  ‘The Tanamere at last,’ Dariyen announced noting Lord Alford’s pennant sailing in the breeze. ‘Godfrey, get a crew to the harbor. Let’s get those ships unloaded we need every man who can bear arms on the wall within the hour.’

  ‘At once,’ the lieutenant answered eagerly as he took off at a run.

  For the first time in two days a small smile crossed the captain’s lips as a glimmer of hope flickered to life within him.

  *****

  Bjorn of the Sisaron sat high in the saddle, eyes on the horizon as he rode for King’s Court. The Sisaron were descended from the nomadic people that lived in the plains of North Western Valaar. The Sisaron boasted that their children could ride before they could walk and this love of horses was deeply rooted in their military tradition.

  Speed was of the essence, the message from King’s Court had left no room for misunderstanding. King’s Court was surrounded and outnumbered, without assistance the usurper Gerwold would seize the throne. An empty throne suited the Sisaron, autonomy and freedom were ideals worth fighting for. To that end the War Host of the Sisaron had mustered and three and a half thousand mounted warriors were riding inexorably towards the fields of King’s Court.

  Bjorn held up a fist to slow the columns pace. ‘Easy men we have a ways to go yet, we must pace the horses if they are to carry us safely through the storm.’ With a nudge his horse eased forwards setting the pace for the War Host. The wall of cavalry rode on, a steady dust plume marking their progress towards the looming conflict.

  *****

  Having set his defenses in order Dariyen hurried down to the docks. The long sloping laneway cut into the cliff face was choked with men and supplies that had been unloaded from the vessels at anchor in the port below. Dariyen negotiated his way carefully through the throng until he arrived at the docks.

  Staring at the vessel before him, Dariyen’s jaw dropped in disbelief. It was ‘The Pride,’ the flagship of the Tanameran navy. Unfortunately, the once mighty ship had seen better days. A gaping hole in its flank caused him to wonder how it had even managed to stay afloat, not to mention its foremost deck was little more than a pile of splinters and shattered timbers, the crew disembarking from the mighty ship were in little better shape, many of them sporting bandages or makeshift dressings for their wounds.

  A figure moved through the throng of people towards him, dried blood caking his face and uniform. ‘Dariyen, my old friend is that you?’

  ‘Lord Alford?’ Dariyen exclaimed, ‘You look terrible.’

  ‘You’re no summer beauty yourself.’ Alford laughed.

  For the first time Dariyen took a good look at himself, dirt, dust, and blood from the night before was caked to his armour. He’d scarcely managed more than a few hours’ rest and he imagined his face looked as tired as he felt.

  ‘I guess that is so, old friend. We have been on our toes for two days, Gerwold will not relent. He sought terms that could not be countenanced and now he has sworn death for anyone that stands between him and the throne. We are glad of your presence, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t hoping for more men, we are sorely pressed.’

  ‘And you will have them. We were set upon by a pirate armada en-route and our transports were forced ashore. As we speak thousands of the Tanamere are on foot marching double time. They will be here within a few hours. We bought all we could by ship, unfortunately our navy also suffered tremendous casualties. That said every able man we could muster is either here or will be shortly.’

  Dariyen breathed a sigh of relief, ‘I’m glad to hear it, things were looking bleak before you arrived. You mentioned pirates? What in Heaven’s name were they doing so close to Valaar?’

  ‘I imagine they were another cog in Gerwold’s war machine, ultimately ineffectual, but we lost a lot of good men breaking through their lines.’

  ‘We’ll make sure he is bought to account, Alford. Countless lives wasted to satisfy Gerwold’s vain ambitions, many more will yet perish, but with every moment we hold our chances grow.’

  ‘Where would you have the Tanamere?’

  If you can muster them to the Northern districts you will be near at hand when they make an attempt on the gates. If the Curtain Wall or Lion’s Gate fails, and I am very much expecting they might you will be in a position to assist at the breach.’

  ‘I’ll see to it, Dariyen. Get some rest, looks like you’ve crawled through Hell and back again.’

  Dariyen laughed as he turned for the city. There was so much to do and so little time, but all the preparations in the world would fail if he was too tired to lead his men.

  *****

  Several hours had passed and the Sun was high in the sky, its rays relentlessly beating down on the fields of King’s Court. The Wolf maintained their steady bombardment of the Eastern Wall. Boulder after boulder hurtled into the damaged masonry. With a cacophony of noise an entire section of the wall cracked free and collapsed to the ground leaving a yawning chasm in the curtain wall. Rubble, bricks, and stone collapsed into a heap in front of the once mighty wall creating a tricky but serviceable entrance for the invaders.

  A cheer went up amongst the Wolf as the wall crumbled. Their long fought for prize suddenly within their grasp. Within minutes a lone rider took off from the Wolf camp towards the forces of Fordham stationed to the north.

  The s
oldiers who had been waiting idly for the siege engines to do their job were now falling into rank. Officers rode around the various camps shouting orders and slowly but surely the armies fell neatly into rank and regiment, standards flapping in the light breeze. The sight was staggering. Thirty thousand men of war arrayed in armour that shone brilliantly as it reflected the noon day sun. For the first time the beleaguered defenders recognized the full extent of the forces arrayed against them.

  ‘Allfather protect us,’ Dariyen implored as he beheld the armies arrayed against King’s Court.

  A horn call sounded in the East and the armies began to move. The Wolf bore ladders and scaling equipment, not content merely to focus on the new breach but instead mount a wholesale attempt on the Wall and Citadel itself. To the north a shape materialized on the road leading up the steady rise to the Lion’s Gate.

  It resembled an enormous siege tower, the large structure provided shelter for the hundreds of soldiers that pushed it tirelessly forwards. Protruding from the front of the structure was a large bronze cast of a bull’s head affixed to an enormous oak tree that hung suspended on a series of chains.

  The battering ram was colossal, and posed a threat not only to the gates themselves, but it could also be used as a means for men to scale the walls. Safe from the harrying arrows of the defenders. It would take time for the immense ram to be moved into position, but every minute that passed bought the peril that much closer for the embattled defenders.

  The forces pushing the ram moved slowly forward. As it drew nearer it grew in size and even Dariyen was impressed with the sheer scale of it. For such a structure to have been built in so short a time and still be mobile was an incredible feat. The engineers of Fordham had obviously been planning this in secret for some time.

  As the Wolf drew nearer to the wall the bombardment eased. Even Gerwold could not afford to bombard his own forces. The damage to the men’s morale would be devastating.

  As the Wolf forces began their march a figure appeared in their midst. Mounted on a large black stallion Gerwold was an impressive and imposing personage, even at his forties his armour sat easily on his broad shoulders. The pelt of a large wolf hung from his shoulders and his steel helmet had been fashioned in the fierce visage of a wolf’s snarling face.