by Jason Jones
The king slowed and steadied his horse, planted his banner in the moist earth, and held until the others were abreast of him. He raised his hand and received one in return from a rider in golden chainmail and bracers, a closed helm resembling a hawk, and a green velvet cape. Two others were cloaked in black, their cowls hiding all but a few features. Mikhail saw scars and graying blonde hair from one and red curls and youth on the face of the other. The third he recognized on sight, the bloated and black bearded Lord Unarvin of Saint Gavrielle, who had obviously sided against him.
“Who speaks for the filthy Prince of Valhirst then, name yourselves.” The king lowered his hand.
“Sir Oggidan of Valhirst, Lord Unarvin of Saint Gavrielle, and Lord Jehrale Valhera, bow to the soon to be deceased, would you? We need to show our respects.” The man in the glistening armor spoke with a hollow echo through his helm as the three gave a slight nod to the four across from them.
“Jehrale Valhera died many years ago, so as I assumed, this meeting is but a farce that…” Mikhail looked as the man raised his visor. It was Johnas, his words stopped, he had not dreamed his nephew would dare show himself on the field, let alone armed and armored. For once, in all the years Mikhail had known him, he looked like a Valhera, he looked menacing. He had expected tricks, disguises, doppelgangers, anything but this.
“I assume my introduction is not required, uncle. But please, let us meet your captains in turn.” Smiling, amused with the looks of shock, Johnas waved his hand toward the king.
“Lady Aelaine Lazlette of Vallakazz, Chancellor Marcus Mederris of Southwind, and Lord Corey of Thurick.” King Mikhail placed his hand on his hilt and drew the blade halfway as he stared at Johnas.
“They have more impressive names than us my prince, maybe we should surrender.” One-handed Oggidan laughed out receiving a chuckle from Jehrale and Unarvin.
“Treasonous vermin with false titles! My brother marrying your mother was the worst mistake in the history of this kingdom! And your brother lives, where we all attended a funeral so many years past! I should kill you where you sit and let your horse ride you off to hell! Now give me my son!” Mikhail drew his blade as he roared, then every blade was brandished from both sides, and the Prince of Valhirst laughed.
“Never. Give me the crown, uncle. It is midmorning now, in a little over half a day, Bryant hangs with his men. Like a true soldier, like a Salganat warlord, and I will make sure you watch.”
“Chazzrynn will never bow to extortion and terror. You have one hour to produce Prince Bryant, surrender your forces, and submit yourself to the kings justice. One hour, Johnas.”
“Brother, I believe a game of beat the heir prince within an inch of his noble life, would take about an hour. I know how I shall spend my time, care to join me?” Jehrale stared at the king and smiled.
“I would, I would indeed. Unless our former king has anything else to add?” The Prince of Valhirst stared at the blue eyes of Mikhail, locked but twenty feet away, both men waiting for the other to give in and cross swords.
“Terms, men, terms first before thousands are lost to bloodshed.” Aleaine raised her hand and her voice.
“Perhaps an arrangement of title or a division of lands can be met with the release of the heir prince. It does not have to be this way.”
“Women? I fail to recall when women had rank on a field of battle?” Lord Unarvin chortled as his belly heaved under his armor.
“She has more rank and title than you, traitors get the rope. For you, we shall have to have a strong rope meant for large swine indeed, Unarvin.” Lord Corey, tall and thin with corded muscles under his chainmail, glared at the lord of Saint Gavrielle.
“These are my terms.” Johnas waved his hand over the ensuing argument. “The crown for Bryant, surrender your forces, and I merely banish the four of you and take your lands and holdings.”
“Here are Chazzrynn’s terms.” Father Marcus spoke in return. “Lower the Valhera falcons, surrender this city, and release all prisoners in good form including the heir prince. We shall return the Harlian forces to their kingdom, along with the four of you, and you never set foot in this kingdom again.”
“The we are at an impass, pity. Are you ready to die here, Mikhail?” Johnas sneered. He glanced over his shoulder, everyone followed with their eyes, as a messenger on a fast brown mare charged out the portcullis.
“Why is it, nephew, that you have run so wicked? What on Aldens blessed ground have I ever done that would deem the things before me? I must know.” Mikhail sheathed his blade, knowing war was inevitable, and he let his anger dwindle. His honor would not let him start here, now, in front of thousands, not without an accepted challenge.
“The right to rule should be based more on ambition, not between whose legs you crawled out from, uncle. When a man wants something great enough, he takes it. You seem fine with Chazzrynn and its state, I want more for this kingdom, and even more kingdoms. It is time for change.” Johnas watched the messenger speaking at length to Jehrale, he showed him a scroll, pointed to the harbor, and then nodded and returned just as fast to Valhirst.
“You have ever only held the power or rights to change Valhirst, Johnas Valhera. I have seen the squalor and skullduggery that you promote, and my kingdom needs not more of what you stand for. I challenge you, man to man, here on the field before your castle. Do you accept!?” Mikhail dismounted and drew his broadsword.
Jehrale leaned toward his brother and whispered. “My prince, we have a signed letter of support and allegiance from Lord Alexei T’Vellon of Southwind, soon to be Jade of the West. He rides here, to your cause and banner.”
“Excellent, what else?”
“Two things, first is that a small force of five hundred men have passed South Darmoun unnoticed, soldiers from Kalik and Tusko, under Sir Jallan of Hurne. They will be here within the hour, surely siding with the king.”
“So another brigade joins Mikhail in the slaughter, they must have decided in secret, with the Lord of Southwind dealying his assistance. The second?”
“There is someone on your throne, arrived by ship, our missing ship. Not your throne above, but below, Johnas. He waits for you.”
“Who is it?” Johnas nodded to the king, not that he would accept his challenge, but to keep him in place that he was perhaps considering it.
“He would not tell the messenger, but I suggest we go and see to it. He has two hundred men with him.” Jehrale nodded to fat Lord Unarvin, young Oggidan, and then to the opposition.
“My apologies uncle, but I have pressing matters that take precedence over killing the elderly. Besides, I want the historians to write of the bloody battle that King Johnas Valhera won bravely from a warmongering Salganat. So, I will meet you on the field. Aelaine, Mederris, Corey, best of luck on your last day.” Johnas turned his steed with his three men and charged toward Valhirst, leaving the king standing with his blade drawn on foot, and he laughed all the way.
Mikhail turned to his captains, sheathed his blade once more, and raised his face to the sky as he took the reins of his stallion.
“Sound the horns, all men to the ready.”
“Alden save us.” Marcus drew his broadsword and waved it up to General Fandruss as Lord Corey galloped his steed up the hill. The chancellor prayed, his king beside him, minutes passed. Then he looked to Aelaine Lazlette.
“Are you sure of this, Mikhail?” Aleaine gripped her staff and looked desperately at the walls of Valhirst.
“My lady of Vallakazz, raise the banners and relay to Lord Dimitri to open fire upon the western gate. Give them three volleys, then we charge.”
Mikhail turned toward the hill and saw his army, the cheers went up, and the flags of his kingdom were raised. Amidst the blowing of bronze horns, the locking of catapults, and the marching of armored thousands, King Mikhail roared like he was thirty years younger, waving his banner with a fierce prowess.
“The falcon raised shall never falter! Wicked men will feel our jus
tice! Today, we release Valhirst of its stain on Chazzrynn!” His shield vibrated with the cacophony of hails, horn blares, and shouts from his soldiers and lords.
“Catapults, open fire!”
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“Cannot be, although I have seen stranger things in my days.” Johnas walked up slowly to his onyx and emerald throne, eyeing the man curled up and sleeping upon it, he recognized him.
“Who is it, brother?” Vermillion of the South drew both of his shortblades and gestured with a nod toward the dozens with crossbows aimed at the throne in the sanctum of the White Spider.
“He looks like hell.” Johnas leaned over the ragged man with torn clothing and no boots upon his dirty feet. The dagger and longblade were sheathed and filthy, his nails on toes and fingers were long and smattered with dirt, and his smell was something atrocious. His black curls of beard sported long shots of thick hair around his nose, his skin was darker, and he still had a patch over his left eye. Johnas tapped his shoulder.
“Farrigus, Farrigus Narminson, is that you in there?”
His yawn went wide and sounded more of a purr or growl than that of a human man. Crossbows went back on point quick as Johnas backed up and drew his kris blade. There was no attempt to hide it, everyone saw that this man had three sets of sharp canine teeth instead of one set, and they were a bit longer than normal. As he stretched his legs and arms out, he lunged into the air and landed on all fours, then stood tall and his eye opened wide. Feline green with a shifting and widening sliver of black for a pupil it was, and Farrigus smiled.
“I see I was missed, what a splendid cerrremony you have forrr me, my patrrriarch.” His words trailed like a feline, his ears perked as he spoke, and Farrigus took a knee before his regal once-master.
“I have room in the pit for you, should you ever sit on my throne again, or arrive unannounced. So tell me, where have you been?” Johnas paced left while Jehrale went right, blades drawn.
“Stranded, tortured, forced into servitude most undesirable. I would rather not speak of it. Wherrre is Prince Bryant? Whispers I hear say you have him hostage, and I owe him for brrreaching the hull on the Queen Sapphire, paybacks and all.”
Farrigus could smell uncertainty on the men here that once knew him, he could hear them floors above and down the corridors, yet he knew his reflexes were now beyond a mortal man. He sensed the Patriarch and one of his Emerald Eight ready to strike, even with his eye closed.
“Stranded where? And why have you returned in such fashion?” Jehrale questioned the odd former agent with the strange behavior.
“Cat’s Eye Island, lives up to its name. The trrrailing vessel of your entourage came close enough for us to hail, my men and I waited, and like the Harlian fools they were, they rrrescued us. They were focking delicious.” Farrigus licked the back of his hand and wiped his face.
“You two have the same scent, related are we?”
“You killed over three hundred men alone? Besides your unexplained changes of a feline nature, you must also have gone insane.” Johnas slowed his steps as Farrigus opened his eye and smiled at him with his head turned to the side.
“No, no, no, my prince. Aboard your empty Harlian vessel are my men, nearrrly two hundred, all loyal to me.”
“You return to me with gifts then, why?” Johnas nodded to Jehrale, ever so slightly.
“Let me say the journey over the water was most terrrifying, and I remember saying a few words when I received this.” Farrigus ripped his ragged tunic off and turned his shoulder. Despite a mess of curly black hair, the brand of the White Spider was visible on his flesh, as were other scars of blades and claws, too many to count.
“You seem, how would I say this, a bit odd and inefficient for my tastes, Farrigus. You also failed me twice which resulted in the loss of those that carried the Scroll of Annar, my fastest galleon, and ten expensive doppelgangers. I admire loyalty, but failure does have its consequences, old friend. Once, you were one of the best blades in Valhirst, but now you are but a cursed rag of a man.”
“Then kill me, you and your brrrother, go ahead and try.”
Crash
Crash
The sounds echoed far above with yells of soldiers, the drumming impact of castle walls being bombarded rang into the underground.
Farrigus drew his blade and dagger in a flash, Johnas feinted to lunge, and Jehrale weaved his twin shortswords toward the growling feline man before him. Steel sparked for a few rapid parries then Farrigus leapt backward and landed on a table, twenty feet away. He crouched, heard each and every one of the crossbows aimed at him, and sprung toward the pit by the main doors to the sanctum. Before anyone was close in the dark underground, he scampered into a hallway and was gone.
Johnas looked to Jehrale, then the brothers Valhera glanced at the fifty crossbow bolts in the table, and then back to each other.
Crash
Crash
Crash
“My prince, we have no time for this. The battle has started. We need to get above ground and---“
“I can be of grrreat assistance, and with two hundred of me, our organization would be stronger. I would think Jade of the West a fitting title, since I hear Kaya T’Vellon is no more.” Farrigus whispered as he strode in the corridor from the other side, on all fours, covered in black shining fur and sporting a tail.
All agents looked to the massive black panther with a patch over its eye that silently appeared over the stairs, impossible it had gotten all the way around that fast and unchecked.
Crash
“That position has been filled, Farrigus. If I were to offer you a rank of that esteemed nature, where would your vengeance take you?” Always dealing, Johnas watched as the oversized panther stood upright and painfully shifted back to Farrigus Narminson. He smiled, gold could not buy things like this, he was impressed.
“I will leave Balric to you, matters of the heart and all. But, besides Prince Bryant, there is a cerrrtain elven woman that left her marks upon me, they still sting my fur. Shinayne T’Sarrin, if you have been tracking them, I would like to know.” Farrigus gestured to a wicked scar on his stomach, then two on his thighs, and another on his forearm.
Crash
Crash
“My prince, catapult fire, we must---“
“And our war above, you can get your men ready from squatting on my Harlian galleon, and ready soon?” Johnas sheathed his kris blade as Farrigus approached.
“Do I get to at least torture the heir prince a bit before you hang him from your walls, my patrrriarch?”
“Surely.”
“And my title?”
“Domenarch of ---“
“Too small, morrre.”
“Crimson of the North, perhaps? Vermillion of the South here could train you and that title is recently available.” Johnas put out his hand to the panther, now a man again. It was taken respectfully as Jehrale scoffed and sheathed his blades.
“Perrrfect. I am at your service my prince and patrrriarch, always. Who is it you need me to kill?”
Farrigus knelt before Johnas Valhera. He was home again, and his men would likely be very hungry, for blood, and human flesh.
“I do have a king attempting to batter down my walls. Are your men, cats, whatever they are, all like you?”
“Surrrely, and we would love to taste rrroyalty.”
Hunters IV:I
Eastern Piers of Valhirst
Chazzrynn
“Your taking of this Brotherhood and Order is no light matter, and it is for the length of your living days. Ensure the protection of those that follow the ways of Seirena, in secret. Hunt relentless those that would harm the Whitemoon and her children. While you will act alone after your training in the Hedim Anah, remember that you are righteous in any endeavor on Her sacred ground.”---Words of Mirash, the Great Sphinx of the Whitemoon, upon honoring Jevendial, the Hiroon Wolflord of the Greenbanyan Packs, into the Order of the Hedim Anah Circa 307 AD<
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Like floating ghosts from a shipwreck, two sets of eyes moved below the cold waterline. The crash of catapults alerted them war had begun, sending them into motion without sound nor visible ripple. They weaved under the wooden docks and between stone columns, around seaweed and debris, and fought the currents and slick footing as if life depended upon it. From time to time they would stop and listen. Every few minutes they would slowly submerge and search for an entrance to the underground.
The Carisian Sea was frigid, even in late summer. They rose just enough to breath through their noses and froze still, more boots passed overhead, the movements of armies of men had seemed neverending this morning. A second time the eyes and the tip of a longbow in front dipped below the waters and returned moments later. The topaz eyes in the lead blinked twice upon surfacing, telling the blue eyes behind that a tunnel had been found.
Nostrils flared wide, deep breaths were taken by both, and under the foaming filthy waters of green they went. Their hands grasped lodged driftwood beams, pushed off granite columns covered in centuries of barnacles, and pulled onto slimy chains. Their chests ached from the releasing of air and the inability to take more in. Up they swam and pulled, the light from outside unable to reach where they now headed. The darkness engulfed them in the tight corridor of stone underwater. Just as second and third thoughts began to take hold, the moment panic for air began to tremble, the hand in the lead pulled his companion up and out over a ledge.
Lavress Tilaniun, elven hunter of the Hedim Anah, put his hand quick over the mouth of his partner to silence the gasping for air he knew could alert anyone close. Sir Liogan Andellis took rapid breaths through fingers he felt, rested his arms on the ledge in the dark, thankful they were alive and had found their way in. Neither spoke, the elf from Gualidura nor the young knight from Southwind, as they let their eyes and chests adjust to their new environ.
Like snakes slithering closer to their prey, Lavress and Liogan crept over the ledge and out of the bone chilling bay. The elven hunter could see, faintly, the outlines of the corridor around them. He knew his partner, the one who had volunteered them both for this mission, could see nothing.