by Mike Shelton
The others should be in place by now. It was time to see if his plan would work. Rather than outright killing, his plan required stealth. He didn’t have the stomach to kill unnecessarily.
Even though the evening was cool, his head beaded with sweat and his arms ached from the digging. He wiped the sweat off with the dirty arm of his long wool shirt, leaving streaks of mud across his face. He let the night settle around him and he closed his eyes. Without any hesitation, he brought the power up inside himself. He wrapped himself in a cloak of silence and crept into the camp. The power receded a few times but he brought it back up. His control was still very new.
He held his sword tight in his right hand. It glowed faintly. He began cutting the strings that held the tents to the ground. He also entered as many tents as he could and took their bows and swords. This he did in silence, wrapped in his power. Once his hold on the magic slipped and he made a noise. A bleary-eyed soldier stood up, but Darius knocked him on the head with his sword and the man fell back to slumber. When he gathered as many weapons as he could carry he headed back outside of the camp.
Two more times he crept in using his power to silence all his sounds. He stumbled once in exhaustion, but caught himself without making much noise.
One by one, each of his men untied the ropes holding the Gildanian horses. At dawn they gathered together again and took the weapons that Darius had taken. The men were smart enough to not question his accomplishment. Darius smiled at how easy this was turning out to be.
Time for phase two of his plan. Half of the men went around to the north of the camp, into the outskirts of the city, and half of them to the south of the camp. At the appropriate time, the men up north made enough noise to begin waking the Gildanian soldiers from their drunken sleep.
Darius put on a stolen uniform that he had taken during the night over his own clothes. The Gildanian army was much better dressed than his group was. He would have to talk to the King about that.
In the early morning hours, just before the sky would lighten with the early dawn, Darius snuck into camp and, with the stolen uniform on, lifted his sword high in the air and yelled.
“Ambush! We are being attacked!” Darius hoped he remembered his Gildanian language well enough. He had studied languages in school at the academy. Gildanian was not a lot different from the language of the Realm or the Kingdom of Arc, more like a different dialect.
Men stood, bewildered, rubbing sleep from their eyes, tripping over one another, and trying to get out of their tents. With the strings cut, they weren’t as taut, and they collapsed inward, making it difficult to find the door. They held their aching heads, trying to regain consciousness after the late night drinking.
“It's a trap,” Darius continued telling the enemy soldiers. “They are on the south side of the camp.” At that time of the morning, the men didn't think to question who was calling the orders. All they saw was a man in uniform with a bright sword held above his head. They had no reason to question.
The Gildanians scrambled for their swords and bows, not finding their weapons where they remembered placing them before going to sleep. Darius and his men had let those camped on the edge of the camp keep their swords, so as not to arouse total suspicion. Confusion and mud filled the air. Men began running south out of the camp into the misting winter morning, unwittingly relaying Darius’s false orders to each other. Some of Darius’s men let themselves be seen through the thin fog. This spurred the men on with hollering and yelling.
As the enemy soldiers left the confines of their camp, those in the back began seeing the men in front of them fall and disappear. The dark ground over the small rise seemed to swallow them up and they were gone. As men neared where others in front of them fell, they too tumbled into the ditches the elite army had dug during the night. No matter which way they went they tripped and fell into freshly dug ditches, only to find themselves looking up into the eyes of one of the elite soldiers and his sword.
During the chaos, Darius continued shouting commands as he searched for whoever was in charge. He threw the flaps of each tent back, ripping them with his sword until he found the right tent. He was certain it belonged to the Gildanian commander. A colorful flag hung from the point of the tent. Darius hid outside of it until someone came crashing out.
“What’s going on?” the man began to yell in Gildanian, only to be shoved back inside the tent by Darius.
“Who are you?” the captured commander asked in astonishment. “You are not one of my men.”
“That’s right. But you are one of mine now. My prisoner, that is.” He turned the man around and poked his golden sword into the back of the commander, pushing against the skin enough to hurt but not enough to draw blood. “I want you to get out there and tell your men to surrender.”
“Surrender? To whom? Where did you come from?” The young commander voiced his concerns.
“That doesn't matter right now,” Darius informed the commander. “Call your men down or we will kill them all, starting with you.” Darius pushed the sword harder, feeling the skin break as the commander stiffened. Darius’s head rushed with the excitement of battle. He stared at the back of his prisoner. A simple gold band held black hair back from his brown-skinned face.
“But we saw your army on the road. You don't have enough . . .” The Gildanian commander switched to the language of the Realm.
“Don't always believe what you see, Commander. Remember there is a sword in your back. A few minutes ago you did not think that was possible, did you?”
“You can’t threaten me . . .”
Darius spun the man around, so hard he almost tripped. The man’s dark, tilted brown eyes widened, but to his credit, he held steady and seemed to show more anger than fear. He stood eye to eye with Darius, though obviously a few years older. Darius gripped the sword with two hands and let the power flow into the ancient weapon. The glow started at his hands and moved to the tip, engulfing the entire sword. “I am a peaceful man, Gildanian, but have been accused of losing my temper recently. I have no desire to kill anyone and would like to settle things peacefully.”
The commander stared at the sword, his eyes going wide once more. The captured leader didn’t have a choice. He walked out and did as he was told. He ordered his astonished men to surrender.
Those who didn't already have their swords and bows taken away put them down on the ground. A few tried to fight back, but with additional words from their commander, they fully surrendered. When the commander found out there were only twenty-five other men in Darius’s group he was furious and embarrassed.
“The older men thought not to listen to me last night. They stayed up too late drinking to victory before we even fought.” The young Gildanian seemed to be trying to justify his loss. “Many thought I was too young to be in command.”
Darius just grunted. He understood what the Gildanian commander meant. He still struggled with some of his older soldiers taking him seriously.
“This should have never happened,” the Gildanian commander yelled to his guards and soldiers.
“You will be my prisoner until we meet King Edward Montere, King of the Realm, in Anikari. We will see what he has to say about this incursion,” said Darius
“You deceived me, threatened me, and used the power of a wizard in front of me. Who are you?” The young commander said in low, whispered Gildanian, obviously noticing that Darius understood his language.
Darius ignored the man’s remark, although he saw questioning looks on his men’s faces. Some of them understood Gildanian and overheard the comments. He spoke to the captured army. “You deceived yourself with all of your celebrating and drinking last night. You should never celebrate victory before the battle. I am sure your generals would be disappointed in you.”
The young Gildanian showed some sense of embarrassment at that last statement, but composed himself. “Where is the rest of your army? We had reports of you coming down the main road.”
“They w
ill be here in short order to make sure your army is held prisoner until we sort this out. By the way, Commander, what is your name?”
“Mezar. Commander of the Gildanian twenty-first battalion.” This he spoke in the tongue of the Realm.
“Just Mezar? No other titles?”
“Commander Mezar will do for now,” the man noted in defiance, not willing to give any more information. He looked around at his men, silencing them with his look.
“Well, Commander Mezar, now you are prisoner of Darius, first commander of the King’s Elite Army.”
The rest of the solders began to be herded into organized areas to await the remainder of the army. Darius watched his prisoner and studied him for a moment, still wondering about the purpose of this incursion. He found himself alone with the young man and tied his hands behind him.
In a perfect Realm accent he asked Darius, “Where have you been hiding? We hadn’t heard the Realm had a wizard again.”
The question surprised Darius and he looked around nervously. “Will you stop referring to me as a wizard?”
“Ahh. I understand.” Mezar looked around with a tiny smile on his thin face. “Your men do not know, do they?”
“I am not a wizard. And no, they don’t.” Darius was getting confused by this enemy commander.
“Well which is it, Commander Darius? Do they not know you are a wizard or are you not one?” Mezar smiled, bright teeth in contrast to his dark brown skin.
Darius pushed Mezar to one of his soldiers to watch, and headed off through town. He was not in the mood to spar with his Gildanian counterpart. He didn’t yet know what he was and was uncomfortable with that line of questioning. But he did know he had just won his first battle, without the loss of one life on either side. He felt great!
After removing the Gildanian uniform Darius jumped on one of the Gildanian’s horses and rode through Denir, yelling victory and waking up everyone in the early dawn hours. They jumped out of their homes thinking another fight was upon them to find Darius, a lone man galloping up and down the street with his golden sword raised high. He seemed to fly above his horse with the overpowering sensation of power that came with victory.
The next morning the rest of Darius’s army arrived to find, surprisingly, the battle already ended. Many of the men were disappointed, some because they couldn’t fight, others because Darius’s plan had indeed worked. Darius met with Denirian leaders to receive praises and banquets in his honor. He had captured, with only a small group of men, an entire battalion of the famous Gildanian army. He gloried in the praise. His plan had worked.
Stories began to spread of what had happened that morning, growing more spectacular with every telling. Riders rode from town to town with rumors of the man with the glowing sword. The commander of the King’s Elite Army.
Darius sat at an evening banquet held in his honor. He had finally accomplished something in life. Something on his own. He had won his first battle as a leader in the army. He had secured peace for the Realm. The townspeople were invited to pay tribute to the army that saved them. Music was playing and many were dancing. He sat at the head table and looked out over his men, enjoying the evening because of him. Darius relished the power and the glory.
Heady thoughts swirled his mind. This is what I have been looking for. The power is mine now. I won this battle. My father and the King sent me away from my friends with no warning. They have kept me from Christine, and they sit instead with their nobles and make decisions, not understanding our people. Now I have risen above all the other recruits. Now I will choose my own path!
Leandra walked towards him. He stood and took her willingly into his arms this time, pushing thoughts of Christine far away. She was not here now, and he might never see her again. It pained him to think so, but it was true. Leandra had been nice to him and had complimented him, and he needed someone who would stand by him among his men. She cleaned up at the governor’s private home and now stood in a resplendent long silk gown of pale blue. Dark hair in curls cascaded across her bare shoulders. It seemed to be part of the expected prize for being victorious. His power made it seem natural to have such a beautiful woman in his arms. Darius held Leandra close and kissed her with power and passion. She giggled and sighed under his attention.
The next day a stand was erected and local dignitaries praised Darius and the King’s army. Darius spoke briefly at the end. He praised the courage of his men, under his leadership, leaving out any mention of the King. To add to the already growing legend, he raised his sword high in the air, and let it glow with a bright light. “Hail the glory of the Realm. May peace prevail in its borders and understanding reign from within. ”
The crowd yelled and clapped in a deafening roar, echoing back, “Hail Darius, Commander of the Realm.”
Standing in the back of the crowd, held by two of Darius’s men, stood Mezar, the captured Gildanian commander. Darius looked directly at him and let his power continue to build. His grey eyes grew brighter and a hazy glow intensified around him. What was power good for if he couldn’t intimidate and glory in its sensation? Mezar’s eyes held surprise and awe, and in deference to the power he gave a short bow of his head to his captor.
Darius returned the acknowledgement with a short nod of his own head. Mezar didn’t seem like such a bad guy. He just happened to be on the wrong side of the battle. Anyone opposite him would be on the wrong side. That included Mezar, and depending on their actions, maybe his father or the King.
Darius would now be his own man and make his own decisions. He had finally seen that it was anger and purpose that gave him the power to do what he wanted to do and be what he wanted to be. He would restore the glory of the Realm and choose the path of his own destiny!
Epilogue
THE PLAN
King Edward DarSan Montere paced around his private study. His head hurt. It seemed to always hurt these days. His kingdom seemed to be falling apart around him. The farmers and their petty petition, the lunatic preacher in Belor, and the conniving Gildanians in the south. There were even rumors that a prince of the Kingdom of Arc was having practice maneuvers near the border.
“My Lord, it’s freezing in here,” Richard said as if stating the obvious.
The curtains and casements were opened wide. The fresh, cool air of late winter helped the King to think. “Richard, what is happening to the Realm? We had peace for so long, and now events seem to be collapsing the Realm from all sides.”
“We have become too complacent, I fear. The children are soft and don’t take their studies seriously, the nobles only care for their coin, and the army has poor recruits,” Richard answered.
“Except for my Elite Army,” the King said, turning around and facing his senior councilor. “They were handpicked to be different. To be the best.”
“Yes, it seems that way. Though based on the information and rumors we have received over the last two weeks about the battle in Denir, there was not much fighting to test their prowess and combat skills.”
“Still a decisive victory led by your son, Darius.” The King fell down hard into his overstuffed red-velvet chair. He let out a long breath of air to calm himself.
“Yes, my son,” Richard echoed. “What do we do with him now? You heard the rumors as I have. A glowing sword, strength more than many men, and arrogance.”
“Rumors are all they are, Richard. Others are just jealous of his position.”
“Edward.” Richard slipped back to a less formal name with his old friend. “I am still not comfortable with his future. He hasn’t been trained for this. You should take another wife, a young woman who can quickly give you children—an heir to the throne.”
“We have already been through this. I should never have sat on the throne. I need to restore the throne to the proper line. It is the right thing to do.”
“But the right thing to do is not always the best thing to do,” Richard reminded the King.
Edward poured himself some wine and sat back,
swirling it around in his mouth a few times before swallowing. “Ahh, my friend, that is one of the oldest arguments alive for a king to consider. Right versus best. I must admit we have chosen the best over right sometimes for the good of the kingdom, but not with this. This was an injustice that needs to be righted. For the good of the Realm. For the strength of our kingdom.”
“So back to the question at hand. What do we do with my son and his army?”
The King sat up straight. “It is not his army, Richard, it is mine! And he will need to remember that he follows my orders in all things.”
“The rumors say otherwise. They are calling him the Commander of the Realm, and referring to his Elite Army.”
“It is a dangerous balancing act we play at, Richard. He is just living in the glory of his first victory. Let him have a moment.”
Richard growled low. “You do not know my son. He cares nothing for politics, but he is smart. He has naïve ideals at how things should work in the world and in the Realm. He will use this to get something that he wants. Probably to get in the good graces of that outsider girl.”
“Richard! You are as bad as all the merchants and other nobles. Have some respect for these hard working people. They provide us a great service in growing our food and handling our cattle.”
“But they are still outsiders, disorganized and weak. They rebelled against the throne once.” Spittle came from the force of Richard’s words. “I will not have my son stirring up trouble and encouraging them in a new rebellion.”
King Edward stood again and walked to the window in the direction of the farmlands. Through the low-lying clouds he could see the outline of the leafless trees and a few brown fields. “They are only outsiders because we allowed it. They are getting organized. Have you so soon forgotten their petition?”