by Andrew Wood
Caldar thought about laughing, but noticing his brother was not overly comfortable on the subject of intimacy, he smiled, "that's fine." The two continued onward, and Vanessa was stood watching the pair by a doorway, "come on you, show me where you want this lot putting?" she pointed to Caldar. "Looks like the love of my life is requiring my services little brother, I'll catch up with you later, for lunch maybe."
After wishing both his brother and Vanessa good luck in sorting their room out, he turned to the door opposite into what as from today would become his new home. Closing the door behind him, shutting out any residual noise in the corridor and beyond, he made his way to his chair. Dareen, one of his personal staff was stood with a pair of scissors over a very grumpy looking Taylor. He cast his son a smile, but got only a grimace in return, "Oh come now Taylor, you have to have your hair cut. Now sit still for Dareen, and if you're good you can come with me later this afternoon."
Taylor's face lit up, "are you going practicing again Dad?" he asked with a sudden excitement in his voice. Luken nodded, "Yes, Dagon thinks my body is sufficiently recovered to try a few things Sandred has suggested to him. We have to go down by the river though, just in case it does not work out like it should." Taylor suddenly sat keenly, as Dareen continued her handy work, snipping and cutting, then combing. The youngsters big brown eyes opened fully as his face beamed a big smile, causing the elderly woman to pinch his cheeks in her adoration.
Luken and Caldar were not the only ones fortunate enough to be given a new place to live. The first dozen timber framed houses had been finished, and later that day Lord Galliss was handing over the tenancy agreements to the lucky recipients. The properties where similar to the buildings Luken had been given on arrival to Easton, but a little more substantial. Built on stone footings and timber floor, each had two sleeping rooms, a privy, a living and kitchen area with indoor water pump. Outside, each had a small front and back garden surrounded by a picketed fence. The walls were double skinned, which encapsulated wool in between to act as insulation. The roof was made from wooden shingle, and the windows all glazed with glass.
It had been decided, that the first houses should go to the neediest. Seven had gone to families from Forwich, consisting of two parents and at least two or three children. The other five had been allocated to couples who had willingly adopted children orphaned from Hamalin, as a sign of gratitude for their caring. With the building now progressing quickly, and most of the groundwork done, it was hoped the next dozen should be ready by the end of the week.
To help move their own project along, Arthur and his sons, Eric, Davis, Carlton and Mitch were digging the footings for their proposed building. Once dug, a short stone wall would have to be constructed, onto which would sit their two-storey inn. The main building would have to be constructed from timber, though not of the wooden panelling used for the houses. Work had already started on the making of several large frames that would take the load of the structure. A separate building was also marked out for construction; this would be a stable block and store room.
It was hoped the inn, would have a ground floor consisting of kitchens and bar area, and a common room with a large stone fireplace. Upstairs would be their living quarters, as well as six guest rooms. Always one to think ahead Arthur had already sourced ingredients for the brewing of his ales, and despite the concern of his children, the implements needed to make his extra strong spirits.
The defences at Casham, the town on the Corlan, Besemian border were now quite formidable. Lord Willem, one of the seven ruling lords of the council of South Besemia still maintained his presence, to oversee the continued construction. He had systematically started allowing some of his own men, back to their homes. However, these were replaced with fresh soldiers, newly recruited. He had started drawing up plans for a late summer offensive; once he was satisfied, his base of operation was soundly defensible.
He had received word a few days earlier of the outstanding victory achieved by his allies in the west. He had sent a letter in return to request the three hundred men he had sent with the crown prince, to be despatched back to him, when it was feasible to do so. He had also once more asked the question of the prince, finally stepping forward and becoming king, and had jokingly written he was awaiting his invitation. The victory was not the only good news, Prince Caldar had informed him, that the younger royal was also alive, and more bizarrely, was some great and powerful magician. This he had to see, before he fully believed it, though he had heard of numerous rumours confirming as much.
He knew that his main targets before the summer's end would be to remove the force opposing him, and to retake the city of Bashek. If he could do that, he could allow many of his own men to return south, perhaps in time to help with the huge harvests. With help from his allies, he could keep a smaller force to hold the defences at Casham. With the city retaken, he could then move a sizeable defensive force and hold there until next spring, before making any further offensive action. Those at least, were the goals set out by the council for him to fulfil, though achieving them maybe something else entirely.
The forces of the north Besemians had dug themselves in, a mile or so north of his own defences. His scouts believed there were no more than fifteen hundred in number, though all proper soldiers, probably not of any quality. He had run several ideas past his own officers, on ways to defeat them, and yet was still torn between two. He could make a large-scale advance and hope to overpower his enemy, though he knew this could and would prove costly as far as casualties were concerned. His personal favourite was a far more drawn out procedure of making smaller raids against the defenders. He hoped doing so might well be the best way forward for now, slowly reducing their numbers before making a much bolder move.
He had already set in motion, plans for retaking his nation's capital city. His spies had told him, Bashek was currently being governed by a Darekian priest, answering directly to the Overlord Fenlor. Darekian soldiers were holding and patrolling the city and walls, and the people had been subdued into little more than lives of slaves. He had sent in a couple of his best operatives to set wheels in motion, to spread word of the south coming to save them and start underground resistance movements. These were to work in small groups, slowly removing the guards, and making life for them within the walls unbearable. To prepare the city and its people for the time it was feasible to retake it.
Jared, short sandy coloured hair, clean-shaven, mid twenties and of average height and build, was one such operative. Kaden, short, stocky, in his thirties with a round chubby face and thinning brown hair, was his accomplice. The two men had ridden from the defensive lines at Casham, moving by night until they had at last reached the walls of their target city. Bashek was set in the valley below them. Coming as they did from the far south of Besemia, it was the first either had seen of their capital.
Tall dark stonewalls some forty feet in height, interspacing the several square towers that ringed the city. Even from this distance, they could make out the dark red flags of their enemy flying from the flagpoles. The very light breeze just enough to flicker them into life. As they discreetly made their way nearer, they could now see the Darekian guards positioned atop the walls and more importantly the main gates.
For now, they would set camp, some distance still from the city and observe. Their directive was to mingle with the populace and start bringing down the occupying force from within. Firstly and foremost, they had to watch and find a way past the guards. Only lightly armed, they were however well supplied with the necessities for survival, as well as a large quantity of coin. However, from what they had been told in their briefing before departure, it was doubtful Darekian soldiers would be susceptible to bribery. The minds of the enemy apparently worked differently from that of normal men.
Inside the capital, two guards dragged a man into the room and threw him down to the tiled floor. Lamps lit around the walls flickered, casting a dim light. A tall-cloaked figure turned, and spoke in a low r
asping voice, "why do you bring this maggot before me?" One of the guards, a well built man, tattoo's covering most of his face, replied, "We found this one trying to escape the city without a permit." The cloaked figure leant down to the beaten face of the prisoner, "keen to get out are you. Do not worry, your time will come," he chuckled. Turning to the guard "take him to the dungeon; he can make up the numbers we send to the homeland next week." The guards dragged the prisoner up, "when I escape I am going to kill you first," he spat at the larger of the two guards. His insults only earned him another punch to the face, and the robed Darekian priest, chuckled again, a hoarse phlegm ridden sort of sound, "this one has spirit, he will make a fine Orlac." The man's screams faded as he was dragged away and down to the dungeons.
Chapter 3.
After having lunch with Sarena, Caldar and Vanessa, Luken and Taylor walked down the main street. It was a glorious warm summer's day, and the heat of the sun could be felt on his skin. Numerous buildings were being worked on, and a number of people waved or bowed before the young man to whom they owed their lives. It had not taken long for the word to spread, the story of how the Prince Luken had all but single handed, obliterated the enemy forces attacking them. As such, for the first time in his life, he realised he was actually now recognised by everybody. Often he would have roamed Hamalin, and if not for the fact a guard was with him, nobody would know who he was.
Work was taking place on both sides of the street, houses, business premises being built or trenches being dug for the long clay pipes to be laid, for taking sewerage to the river. People though took time to acknowledge him as he passed, and Taylor revelled in the popularity, keenly returning a wave and smile whenever it was given. Even though he had been adopted off the streets, the people had taken to his son warmly. Despite being probably the single most powerful man in Corlan, Luken was still afforded two of the new Royal Guard. One walked a few paces to the front, the other similarly behind.
The guards at the city gate stood to attention as he passed through the archway, and out onto the road. Off in the distance to the south, he could see the camp set up for the new recruits being trained under the tutorage of his friend Jak Corley. Nearer still was the large patch of blackened earth, and it still made him feel queasy at the thought of him being the one that had caused it. Moreover, it was the fact he had ended the lives of hundreds, possibly thousands, of men in a matter of seconds, and though that thought bothered him, he took some solace knowing it had needed to be done.
They found the elderly man Dagon, sitting peacefully by the riverside, soaking up the summer sun's rays. He looked up as they approached, and Taylor was quick to point out the redness of his bulbous nose. Luken tried to hush him, but Dagon did not take the mockery to heart and gestured for them to sit beside him. This would be the first time Luken was to use his powers, since the battle that almost cost him his own life. Though it was no great secret Dagon thought the young prince an utter buffoon, it had been that very man, who had sat at his bedside, aiding him in his recovery.
He started by telling Luken of his recent discussions with the old man Sandred, that was allegedly about seven hundred years old, and resided on the Isle of Kelan. As Luken aged, using his gift would apparently cause much less problems. At seventeen, though soon it would be eighteen, his body was still growing, and not yet at full capacity. Hence using large amounts of power, as he did at the battle, drained away his own life force. Apparently, to wield such a force was not without its limits, and doing so meant you risked expending your own life entirely.
Dagon came up with a plan for Luken to practice using small amounts of power, at least until his body could get used to it. Today the lesson was earth, a first for him, at least one while he had been in control. Using his fingers to try to control the amount of force used, as Dagon had taught him previously, he focused on a small spot some ten paces from where they sat. At a flick of his finger, the ground sunk down about a foot or so, as if he had dug an instant hole in the ground. Taylor looked impressed, and probably just as importantly so did Dagon.
Next he was to make it go the other way, this time make it a mound of earth. For some inexplicable reason though, he only managed to make the hole another foot deeper. Dagon gave him a frown, "concentrate boy, you let your mind wander to easily." Luken nodded, and despite wanting to tell the man he was a miserable old git, he started re-focussing and attempted the procedure once more. This time it worked as planned, and after a couple of waves of his finger, a small mound of earth stood before them.
Whilst focusing Luken could feel the power surging through his body, it was so difficult not to release more than he needed. It had been this difficulty, which had almost cost him his life on more than one occasion. He had to learn to control it better. The use of waving his hands and fingers did in some way help control it, though he knew if he was not careful it could easily take control of him. For this very reason he had given orders to his two guards, that if such an occasion arose, where he was losing control, as he had done against Darak, or at the battle, they were to render him unconscious if need be.
His next task was to summon water up from the river, mixing it with the earth. He wanted things to improve between himself and Dagon so tried as hard as he could, and after only the second attempt, he had mastered it. The old man looked reasonably impressed, and nodded his approval. Leaning over and rummaging in his travel bag, Dagon took out a candle and lit it. "Now I want you to focus on that mud you made, think of it as a square. Then using the flame of the candle I want you to bake it."
Luken gave an exasperated look, using two powers together was daunting, using three was probably too far for his abilities. Not wanting to give reason for disapproval, he decided to go ahead and try. Using one hand, he lifted the mud like mixture up slightly, trying to think of it in a block shape. He was quite used to fire, though he had a tendency to use too much at times. With his other hand, he made the slightest of flicks with his fingers, and the flame from the candle roared outwards. "That should do it, you don't need too much," Dagon prodded him to make sure he knew it was enough.
Quickly letting go of all the power, he stood to go and examine his creation. It was not so much a block shape, more a sort of splat, though he guessed for his first attempt at using three powers in unison, it was not bad. "Four," Dagon said. Luken glanced to his direction, looking a little confused. "You used air as well, how else did you get the mud mixture to lift upwards," he explained. Luken smiled, he was better at this than he thought, and Taylor appeared impressed with his dad as well.
The lesson was pretty much over, just another lecture from Dagon on listening to what was being said, and concentrating on the things, he was supposed to. They did not want him to spend too much time wielding his powers, in case he was still suffering from his earlier exertions. Luken picked up and examined the object he had formed, and realised if he could get them big and the sides more square they would make ideal building bricks. He shrugged before deciding the best place for his splat was in the river, and duly tossed it in, the resulting splashing water landing over, the not very impressed Dagon.
Having completed his morning duties with General Skalton, and after having lunch, Levin trotted his horse southwards out of the city, heading towards the camp of new recruits. The boy, who was still only fourteen years old, scratched at his overly long and wild looking brown hair. Despite his young age, people had treated him as someone more mature, and had become highly thought of amongst his peers. Since losing his father and entire village to a Darekian attack in Lanber, he had been taken in by the Captain of the guard, Jak Corley.
His friend Jak had requested his presence, to aid him in teaching the latest batch of recruits. At first, he had not been so sure, after all these boys were all older and much bigger than he was, but Jak had reassured him he would be fine. He had come to think the older man as a fatherly figure, and quite enjoyed his company. Jak was still teaching him and refining his skills with a sword and as a result, he
was now quite a proficient fighter.
As he approached, one or two of the new recruits glanced over to his direction, watching as he tied his horse to a post. Jak noticed him and walked over to greet him. After a quick briefing, Levin felt even more nervous. The Captain gave a loud shout, all the recruits stopped what they were doing, and he gestured for them to gather around. Levin puffed out his cheeks and took a deep breath as they all grouped up around him.
Jak spoke, "Right you lot, who of you thinks you are good enough with a sword? Step forward," he waited while a few took a pace nearer. Camden was going to join them, when Dane pulled him back, and whispered" don't, the Captain is going to make you fight the kid." Camden turned to him, "so?" he asked, not perceiving a problem. Dane pulled him nearer, "because that kid is wearing the tabard of the Elite guard, and I have watched him training every day for the last few weeks. You step forward, you're going to make yourself look a fool, trust me." Camden hesitated, before he conceded and remained put.
Jak firstly made the six who had keenly stepped forward fight against each other. One man, as tall as Camden easily beat them all, and had a very smug grin on his face. He turned to face his fellow recruits, and waved his wooden practice sword above his head, a few gave him a cheer. Dane whispered once more, "Now watch, I tell you that kid is going to whip his ass."
As Dane had surmised, Jak briefly praised the tall, dark haired man. "Yes, well done Patrick, now beat this young man," he gestured to Levin who had been standing quietly watching each fight. "Easy," the big man uttered, swinging his weapon about his head," bring it on small fry." Levin shrugged his shoulders and stepped forward, taking his stance and waiting for the big man to approach.