by Marcus Lee
Did he need Alano anymore as a general of his army? He’d easily conquered this realm when Alano himself had fought against him. Tiredness was taking its toll, he was irritable, and only complete loyalty was ever acceptable. He came to a decision.
But there were other matters to attend to first. He needed to ensure this girl and the two deserters died and quickly. There was nowhere they could hide permanently, not now, not with the girl’s gift showing their every move. He closed his eyes and reached out to the senior overseer of the southern staging area, a city called Garnost, where twenty thousand troops were stationed. Less than a month to the start of the campaign, and soon they and others would join him on the march eastward.
Daleth made contact. He shared the location of where Darkon and Lazard had met their grizzly ends and also the image of the girl, the two soldiers and Kalas that he’d taken from Lazard's mind.
‘I want men ready to leave in the morning to hunt these fugitives down,’ ordered Daleth, then paused as an idea formed in his mind. What if Kalas could be made to serve him as had Alano?
‘The man Kalas is especially dangerous,’ he continued, ‘but I want him captured alive if possible, he could be very valuable, and the reward for his delivery will reflect that. The other three are traitors, and they should be slaughtered without hesitation. Do you understand?’
‘Of course, my king,’ affirmed the overseer.
‘Report on your troops’ status,’ Daleth commanded.
‘Currently, we have almost twenty thousand men. Fifteen thousand spears, four thousand medium infantry, and as for cavalry, we have four hundred lancers.’
‘Send the cavalry out to hunt these fugitives down along with any skilled hunters you have,’ ordered Daleth, ‘and report back immediately they’re dealt with.’
He started to break contact, but the overseer reached out again.
‘What?’ asked Daleth, with irritation in his thoughts.
The overseer quailed but still voiced his question. ‘How many cavalry would my king like to send in pursuit. Would fifty or a hundred suffice?’
Daleth laughed without humour. ‘No, send them all!’
-----
Daleth awoke early to a serving girl who brought him food then tended to his other hunger.
They always came with boldness in their eyes; avaricious, sure they could win his heart, yet after so many decades, not one had ever lasted in his favour for long. None of them had managed to bear his child successfully, thus he cast them aside one after another in search of one who could. So many times a girl would fall pregnant, only to give birth to a stillborn or die midterm. One day perhaps, one day.
He arose from bed, then stretched his tall frame in front of a silvered mirror, the strength of youth in his limbs. He turned to look at his reflection, nodding with satisfaction at his muscled body then looked closer to discover silvered hair at his temples. Silver hair! The life he received from these lands was diminishing more and more at a time when his needs only seemed to increase. It was a good thing the invasion was on the verge of launching.
He donned fresh clothes of black linen, over which he dropped a light mail shirt, buckled on his weapons belt, and finished the look with soft boots of doeskin inlaid with intricate designs. He strode from his chambers and headed for his throne room, past guards, who snapped to attention as he approached, and serving girls who bowed low even as they tried to catch his eye. When he entered, it was a throng of activity as officers pored over maps while aides and messengers brought in details of troop readiness and supplies. The cascade of sound came to an immediate halt as they waited for him to approach the planning table, but instead, he walked through their midst. The one he was looking for wasn’t there.
As Daleth strode from the room, the noise resumed, and he turned toward the stairs that led to the lower halls of the castle.
Every twenty steps or so his guards saluted, and he nodded to each of them. They were expertly trained and loyal without question. Yet occasionally he would still have one arrested along with his family, to be tortured to death on the premise of betrayal, so that everyone knew the cost should they ever turn against him.
He felt secure in his castle, or at least he had until last night. Now, however, there was a betrayer in its midst, one without a family to torture. Alano was the only person Daleth knew who could best him in combat, and it was his incredible skill that had seen Daleth spare him those fifty years ago as he admired his last stand, even as his dreams of continuing conquest crumbled.
His steps took him down a wide stairwell lit by flickering torches, and all the while, the sound of combat and the smell of sweat grew on the air. As he reached the bottom, a vast chamber opened before him. Despite being deep below ground, it was almost as bright as day for sun globes were positioned all around its walls.
The sun globes were a leftover from the Ember Kingdom’s mages. The spells that had created them long gone with the magis’ passing, and yet here they were fifty years on, still illuminating the training halls. This was the very place that had seen the possession of Alano, Kalas and their brothers in arms all those years ago; the flagstones permanently stained a reddish-brown from the blood spilt that fateful day. He often made Alano tell him the story, continually fascinated by what had transpired.
On the walls were racks of different weapons; shortswords, longswords, dirks and daggers, maces and clubs, staves and shields.
Approximately one hundred of his finest men were training here to become Rangers. Some worked in pairs, others in groups of four and five. Some wielded heavy wooden weapons, yet here there was also the clash of real steel, for Alano wanted these men to know the taste of its edge and the cacophony of combat. While killing blows were not allowed in sparring, now and again they landed, and were a gruesome encouragement for everyone to train harder. This was the only place in the realm that his men didn’t have to come to attention, salute or anything else, as he spent as much time here as they did, if not more.
He spied Alano on the far side of the hall, a group of about twenty men around him, listening intently to his instruction. They listened for they knew he was the best, because it was their duty and because soon they would go to war alongside their king.
Yet they didn’t listen to him out of love, comradeship or loyalty. Alano was, despite his importance to their king, an outsider, a daemon kin who feasted upon the life of others. They had all at times seen him assuage his hunger, a serving girl here or a peasant girl there, and the men despised him even as they respected his skill. However, one day, they too would give up their souls before they joined the Rangers in a rite that Alano had never allowed Daleth to witness. Then they would be as was Alano, takers of life, just in a different way.
Daleth took a greatsword and dirk from a rack on the wall. Most men would have needed both hands to wield the enormous weapon effectively, and yet in his right hand, it felt as light as parchment. In his left, he grasped the long dirk, wickedly sharp with curved quillions designed to trap an opponent’s blade thus allowing the other weapon to deliver a killing blow.
He walked amongst his men, fighting in their designated areas, nodding in satisfaction at their form, their speed, their power. These men were special, some even gifted, loyal to him and only to him, while a trail of bodies lay behind every one of them as they continued their journey to join the ranks of the elite.
He came to Alano’s group and stood behind them, waiting for Alano to finish instructing them on how to deal with multiple opponents, multiple attacks, how to survive as long as possible against unfavourable odds until you prevailed or died in the trying.
The key, Alano was explaining, was not to wait for the enemy to attack as one, but to go on the offensive. It was imperative to dictate the fight, choose your position, put your opponents in each other’s way, and to use their bodies as shields or even their spilt blood as a slippery defence.
Daleth waited for a brief pause in the instruction before raising his voice. ‘Ala
no, how many men is it possible for a fully trained Ranger to defend against at once?’ he asked.
Alano smiled. ‘My lord, any of your Rangers could stand against four or five others not of their ilk, and stand victorious at the end.’
Daleth nodded and took a deep breath. ‘My brothers!’ he shouted, and the sound of combat was replaced by silence, broken only by the heavy breathing of the men as they listened. ‘Arm yourselves with steel and attend me!’ Those soldiers who held wooden weapons moved to the walls and placed them on racks to return with edged weapons in hand. They surrounded their king and the training space in which he stood with the twenty men and Alano.
‘Today’s instruction was a valuable one,’ Daleth said, nodding at Alano who nodded back. ‘Soon we go to war, soon we will fight together on a field of battle against our enemies, and soon we will know victory!’ He raised his voice at the last and lifted his sword.
The men shouted and cheered in salute; blades held high.
‘We must be merciless. Whosoever doesn’t stand fully with us, is against us, to be killed without hesitation, without remorse!’ Daleth walked amongst them as he spoke to look them in the eye, and their love and loyalty to him shone back.
He slowly made his way to the steps leading up to a dais where a commander could watch his men train, and he turned to them, spreading his arms wide. ‘Will you bleed for me?’ he asked.
‘Yes!’ the men roared in return.
‘Would you die for me?’
‘Yes!’ they cried.
‘Will you kill for me?’ he demanded, and turned to look Alano straight in the eye as he said this.
‘Yes, yes, yes,’ the men screamed.
Daleth waited, his eyes locked to Alano’s, seeing the understanding in them.
‘Then my loyal men. I want you to start by killing a betrayer in your midst!’ Daleth lifted the greatsword to point toward Alano. ‘Bring me this daemon’s head!’
-----
‘We should have killed those damned Rangers,’ muttered Rakan for the hundredth time, as he led Taran and Maya eastward across an open plain toward the sanctuary of the next bit of woodland, and ultimately the eastern boundary of the kingdom.
His mind was conflicted as they moved. Should he split from the other two? If he let Taran and Maya find their own way, his chance of survival would surely be higher, or instead, maybe the lad would see sense and join him on his own. But that thought lasted just a moment. Taran had been willing to lay his life down for the girl. He’d hardly leave her now, even if she were their biggest hindrance in escaping.
He turned and looked back at the valley behind them. In the distance, he could already perceive a subtle change of hue to the long grasses. In an hour, it wouldn’t be subtle, and it showed exactly where they were heading. He’d be damned if he could see wherever she placed her feet, but she still left a mark greater than any footprint.
Rakan shook his head. He knew it was the impact of what he’d done that was creating this conflict, not Maya. His whole adult life had been spent serving in the army, it was his family, and he felt safe within it. The lure of splitting from the others was fed by a false hope that he might find a way back to that security because now he felt more lost and alone than he ever had.
Except as he looked back, he realised that he wasn’t.
He owed this new life to Maya, a life free of disease and pain; however short it turned out to be. Then there was Taran, who had started to free him from the amulets hold, even before he tore it from his neck. He felt he could trust them to watch his back, not put a knife in it. There was goodness in them both.
Then the choice he’d made to take those damned Rangers down a peg or two had been surprisingly easy to make. So, the question was; if the gods gave him a chance to change his actions, would he do so? Rakan smiled to himself, his mind clearing. No, he’d do it all over again, every time.
The more he considered it, the more obvious it became. He’d gained far more than he’d lost. It was time to repay those debts and keep everyone together.
His mind made up, Rakan called a halt. They gathered close, drinking from water skins as he chose his words carefully.
‘Maya, using your gift almost got us killed, and yes, I know it saved us too, but you need to stop using it every step of this journey. It’s showing our trail to those who will soon be hunting us, and we will have no chance whatsoever of escape.’
Maya met Rakan’s gaze. ‘I can’t seem to. It used to be that I could hide it, and it only came when bidden, but something’s changed that.’ She lowered her voice then. ‘Or maybe someone.’
‘Then there’s absolutely no point in trying to hide our direction then,’ said Rakan. ‘Our trail can’t be disguised, so our only hope is to outrun our pursuers, and have no doubt in your minds, those two will be coming for us, and likely any others who are nearby too.’
‘We’ve got one chance in my opinion, and that’s to try to make it across the Forelorn mountains to the Freestates, and fast. Staying in this kingdom is not an option. We will be hunted down, and whether it’s a day or week, or if the gods smiled on us, a month from now, we’ll all be dead. Personally, I’d bet on a week. The Freestates are about a dozen days to the east if we travel at speed and don’t get caught, or run into trouble. We’ll have a chance, a small chance, but a chance nonetheless.’
‘So if we make it to the Forelorn mountains we’ll be safe?’ asked Maya, a ray of hope in her eyes.
Rakan thought about lying, but he wasn’t a subtle man. ‘No, our troubles continue because then we have to get across.’
‘I’ve heard of the trade pass through the mountains. Surely we can cross that late at night and find sanctuary in the Freestates.’ suggested Taran.
Rakan laughed even if he didn’t find it funny. ‘Lad. First, there’s a damn citadel at either end, and each of those is likely poised for war manned by hundreds of men, if not more. Now it’s not impossible that we could get into the one this side, but before long we’d be challenged, exposed, then executed on the spot. However, let’s say we remained briefly undiscovered. We wouldn’t be able to open the heavily barred and guarded gates ourselves, so we’d need to lower ourselves from the walls without being seen. I doubt we’d get that far, but if we did, then we’d get arrows in our back as we crossed the open pass between the two citadels, or if we somehow made it near the other side, we’d get arrows in our chest instead. This way leads to certain death.’
‘So then we make our own way across.’ said Maya. ‘We get or make equipment, and we find a route over the mountains far from the pass, then we don’t need to worry about either side and their arrows.’
Rakan sighed. ‘Sorry Maya, you’ve obviously never been near these mountains. Before we get to the top, assuming we even had the skill, experience or equipment, it’s said you can’t even breathe the air for some reason, and that’s assuming we don’t freeze to death first. But there is maybe one other way to cross, yet that will be fraught with danger too, but it offers us hope nonetheless.’
‘Ember town,’ continued Rakan. But from the looks on Taran and Maya’s faces, he could see they had no idea who he was talking about. ‘Realistically, that’s the only option we have, and where I suggest we head. It’s a town where most are decent folks. They scratch out a living at the base of the mountains, but more importantly, they also happen to sit upon the one other possible route through.’
‘I’ve never heard of the place, even though I’ve spent several years on the road,’ mused Taran, and Maya shook her head as well.
‘That’s not surprising,’ said Rakan. It’s not on most maps nor is its existence common knowledge as it’s rather special. The people there are led by an old lord named Laska, the only surviving noble from when the Witch-King invaded the Ember Kingdom all those years ago, hence the name of the town. The man must be way over ninety by now, and it’s been years since I’ve seen him. The Witch-King allows him to carve out a life with his people in return for the u
sual tithes as well as occasionally helping agents get over the mountains somehow. I’ve previously had cause to go there twice, to help escort an agent who had returned from the Freestates.’
‘This doesn’t sound bad at all,’ Taran said enthusiastically, and Maya nodded in agreement. ‘How do they get agents across? Is there another pass?’
Rakan shook his head. ‘I’m not altogether sure, although there must be. Those who returned were unsurprisingly secretive as agents are not the talkative sharing type. There was some mystery shrouding the route that I could never find out about.’
‘It hardly seems dangerous compared to the option of trying to stay alive here in the kingdom or crossing the trade pass,’ said Maya hopefully.
Rakan shook his head. ‘You’d be forgiven for thinking so. But I’ve only been there twice because as far as I’m aware, from the dozens of agents the Witch-King sent, only two actually made it to the Freestates and back again while I was assigned to that sector. Anyway, we will need to convince Laska that it’s in his best interests to let us attempt a crossing.’
‘Well, if you know the man, can’t we just pretend to be on the king’s business?’ Maya suggested.
Rakan nodded slowly. ‘It’s plausible he might recognise my authority in this regard,’ and a smile spread across his face.
‘Are we all in agreement then?’ asked Rakan. ‘Do we aim to find sanctuary in the Freestates, and fool Laska into helping us do so?’
‘Agreed,’ said Taran, reaching out to grasp Rakan’s forearm then Maya’s.
‘I agree too,’ said Maya, gripping Rakan’s forearm in turn. ‘We are stronger together than apart. Just don’t expect me to save your lives all of the time!’ she joked, and they all laughed together.
Then Rakan spoke. ‘First things first. Taran, you and I need to rid ourselves of armour and shields, for speed is the thing that will help save us now. I hope you both feel up to a bit of exercise?’