by Brian Murray
“Name it, my lady, for I now know who you are.”
“Kal-Pharina will be attacked by the same force that attacked Teldor. The Chosen will defend his city and not let it be overrun. He can defend his city, but he needs help in order to win the battle. Your king will go to his aid if he survives his trial.”
The news caught the admiral by surprise and his throat dried with anxiety. “What trial, ma’am?” he final managed in a hushed tone.
“Reedie, there is nothing you can do to help Zane at this time, but if he returns he will raise his banner and his army will march to the Chosen’s aid. Much of his army is this side of the Kingdom and will not arrive in time. If they do not reach the white city, the Chosen’s defence will be in vain. If the Dark One overruns Kal-Pharina, the beasts will march back here and his power will be greater. It is essential the Dark One be stopped. He must not capture Kal-Pharina.”
Reedie smiled. “You want me to sail our army to Phadrine to aid the Chosen?”
“Yes, you must have the Rhaurn army that is here, ready in Kal-Pharina when your king arrives.”
“Then I will have them ready, ma’am.”
“Remember, you are doing this not only for Zane and Rhaurien, but for all men, women, and children. One more thing I should mention . . . ” The woman’s voice took on a sombre tone. “The Grey Sunset has been sunk and all of the crew and passengers aboard lost.”
“That was all of the city administrators and City Watch,” said Reedie, astonished and shaken by the revelation. “Who did it?” asked the admiral, his eyes hooded, his voice icy cold.
“That does not matter at the moment,” replied the Divine One softly.
“It does to me,” insisted the admiral, narrowing his eyes.
“All in good time, Reedie. Now you have to think of protecting the city and helping Zane. You can trust Emyra and her people; they are loyal Rhaurns. They will be able to help you protect the city.”
Reedie nodded glumly, thinking of the officers and sailors onboard the Grey Sunset. Forcing his voice over the lump in his throat, he said, “I will do as you say, my lady. But then I will have my revenge.”
“If you survive, I will tell you all.”
“Thank you.”
The Divine One disappeared and Reedie returned his gaze to Teldor Bay, his thoughts now mixed and confused. He had too many questions and no answers at the moment. He rose from the bench and wandered back to his sleeping quarters. He lay down on his bed and after tossing and turning to get comfortable, a deep sleep finally came to the old sailor.
***
Admiral Rendel woke from his troubled slumber and drank a goblet of water. He then remembered his conversation with the woman in the white dress. He was unsure whether or not it had been a dream. Putting on his robe, he walked out of his room. He called one of the guards and commanded, “Have Emyra and Zorain meet me as soon as possible.”
“Yes sir.” The guard paused.
“Anything else?” asked Reedie, frowning.
“Sir, I have this urgent report for you.”
“Hand it over, man.”
The guard handed the admiral the report. Reedie read it and cursed softly. The report confirmed what the mysterious lady had told him, that a ship had sailed into the Endless Sea searching for the Grey Sunset. Only wreckage was found—remains from the Grey Sunset. This gave the admiral a problem with the security of the city. But one thing was now certain—his meeting had not been a dream.
The admiral dressed swiftly, then waited for the woman and the Captain of the City Watch in the king’s private chambers.
Someone knocked on the door and Reedie called for them to enter. The door opened, and a guard showed Emyra, and a young sailor bearing a tray covered with a white cloth, in.
Reedie rose and offered her a seat. “Would you like some tisane?”
“That would be pleasant,” said Emyra softly.
Reedie poured a goblet of tisane for Emyra and refilled his own goblet. Another knock on the door sounded, and Zorain entered the room, looking tired.
“How are things in the city?” asked the admiral, pouring Zorain some tisane.
“I have had the new outer gates commissioned, and they will be in place soon. The streets are quiet and there’s no trouble, but I would feel more relaxed when my City Watch disembark. Where are they?”
Reedie sat back down, took a deep breath, and held back the bad news for a while. “Good. Now this is going to sound very strange.”
“After what I’ve seen recently, nothing will seem strange, ever again,” said Zorain.
“I need to sail the Rhaurien army to Phadrine.”
“Pardon me,” said Emyra, holding her goblet poised by her lips, frowning.
“I had a visit last night and was told the army who attacked Teldor is heading for Kal-Pharina. Without help, the Chosen will not be able to hold the army at bay. His city will be destroyed and then the army will march back here. Once they have destroyed both cities, the enemy’s hold will be permanent. It is essential the white city is held.”
“What do you propose to do?” asked Emyra.
“I propose to take our army that is stationed here, sail around the southern coast east to Kal-Pharina, and meet up with Zane there.”
“Will he be there?”
“Hopefully, yes.”
“Hopefully?” asked Zorain, his voice pitched higher than usual.
“Well, he’s undertaking some kind of trial in a strange land and if all goes well he will be there when I arrive.”
“How do you know this?” asked Zorain suspiciously.
“I was visited by a mysterious woman who I believe to be the Divine One, last night, and She advised me of what was happening,” answered Reedie, holding the captain’s gaze.
Zorain just nodded.
“What about Teldor?” asked Emyra. “You cannot think of leaving, until the administrators have arrived back.”
“That’s where we have another problem and it brings me to you,” said Reedie. Emyra lifted an eyebrow. “I have been giving this a lot of thought and I’m going to make you an Officer of the Crown. I want you and Zorain to look after the city while I’m away.”
Emyra realised what the admiral was asking her to do. “You want me to be an Officer of the Crown?” she asked dubiously.
“Yes, I will make you . . . ” The admiral thought for a moment. “Duchess of Teldor,” he said, smiling.
“Duchess of Teldor,” repeated Emyra, truly surprised.
“Yes, and with the office comes the responsibility of looking after the city. You, together with Zorain here, will ensure the city is safe, using your men.”
“You want my men to be the City Watch?” she said, unable to hold back a laugh.
“Yes,” said Reedie, his voice even and deadly serious.
“What about my men and the city administrators?” Zorain asked.
Admiral Rendel looked down at the table. “The Grey Sunset, that carried the administrators and City Watch, has been sunk.”
“By whom?” growled Zorain, his eyes widening with shock. They grew wider as faces of those dead flashed in his mind.
“At this time I don’t know, but when I do . . . ” Reedie did not finish the sentence, but the pair sitting opposite him saw the angry glint in the admiral’s eyes.
Zorain cursed aloud and shook his head, thinking of his men. They had all been new recruits after the siege of the city by the Darklord, when the original City Watchmen were all massacred. Only two had survived— Conn and himself.
Reedie leaned on the desk and looked the burly man directly in the eye. “I will have vengeance for your men—and mine,” he whispered menacingly.
“My men are bashers and hate the City Watch,” said Emyra suddenly.
“Then who else is better suited to be City Watchmen? They know the city inside out and know every shady deal and character,” explained the admiral.
“Can I think about this?” she asked.
R
eedie shook his head. “I need an answer now. If you accept, I will set sail at dawn tomorrow and take most of the army personnel from the city.”
“Do I not have a say in the matter?” demanded Zorain. “You cannot expect her men to be City Watchmen. They’re bashers and we all know she is the Mistress. Who says she won’t abuse her position?”
“How dare you!” stormed Emyra, slamming down her goblet, spilling some of the contents. “Yes, I will admit to you two that I am the Mistress, but I’m also a Rhaurn and have been asked to perform a duty for the Crown. I will fulfil my duties to the best of my ability.” Emyra’s eyes were full of venom, throwing daggers aimed at Zorain.
Admiral Reedie spoke next. “Who else do we have, Zorain? I need to take the army to Kal-Pharina, and I know her men are loyal Rhaurns.”
“Loyal? Maybe, but on the wrong side of the law,” hissed Zorain with frustration, knowing he was losing the argument.
“Then it is up to you and Emyra to convert them.”
Zorain grunted a short sharp curse.
Emyra sank back in her chair and sipped her tisane. She masked her emotions from the others very well. “What about revenues that come with this title?”
“Damn it woman, I don’t know. You will have to take that up with Zane when he returns. Now . . . I need an answer from both of you.”
Emyra took another sip of her tisane, staring directly into the admiral’s eyes. She smiled. Zorain looked down at his hands, slightly shaking his head.
***
The Chosen slept fitfully, dreaming about his wife. He dreamt that she was still captured and he could not reach her, to release her from the cage. Suddenly, Rowet bolted upright in bed, his body drenched in sweat, his mouth open in a silent scream. He rubbed his fingers down his face. The scar, received when in the dead realm, was there and he relaxed. He remembered fondly his friend Gammel coming to his aid to rescue his wife, and smiled. Rowet slowly lay down again, but sleep would not come to him.
After a while he rose with a curse, strolled to his glass doors, and pushed back the thick curtain. He looked down at his city, watching the lights twinkling. In the distance, a light hazy outlined the horizon—dawn beckoned. He walked back to his closet and put on a pair of soft, dark leather leggings. He retrieved his two new short swords made by Platos, and stepped out into the garden to exercise. The morning air was fresh, and he started his exercises while the sun gracefully rose to start another day.
He slowly started his exercises with his two swords. As his body loosened, he increased the speed of his movements. Soon his swords were a blur of steel grey as he forced his body on with his work out. Finally, he stabbed his invisible opponent, inflicting a death stroke; his body tensed, then he relaxed. He began to stretch his body to gradually cool it down so that his muscles would not cramp. He turned to face his room and in the doorway stood a woman in a white dress.
Rowet bowed. “Greetings, my lady.”
“Greetings, Rowet,” replied the Divine One, gliding towards the Chosen. “Those are beautiful blades.”
“Aye, they were forged for me by Platos, my master armourer,” said Rowet proudly. The Divine One held both of the swords, lifting them to look at the folds of metal that formed the blades. “Beautiful,” she said softly, and the blades appeared to glow. “So beautiful, but they are tools of death.”
“No, my lady, they are for defence against evil. Can I be of service to you, ma’am?” asked Rowet.
“No, my friend. I bring you news that Zane has travelled to the Dark One’s realm, a place called Yallaz’oom, trying to recover his soul.”
“I don’t understand,” said Rowet honestly.
“He tricked the Dark One. Let me show you.”
An image appeared before Rowet, and he watched Zane. He had his men lined up in front of the Dread, and they charged at each other in pouring rain outside Teldor. He watched as the Rhaurns changed formation into charging wedges and smashed into the Dread’s ranks. The cost in life was huge and Rowet fought to hold his gaze on the images of death.
“When Zane charged through the ranks of the Dread, he was struck by the Dark One’s broadsword, called the Blade of Yallas. The sword wound eventually strips a Child of the Light’s soul from their body. The only way to recover their soul is to journey along the Grey Path and then travel to Yallaz’oom—his dark realm. The only problem is that Zane and the others . . . ”
“The others?” interrupted Rowet, as the image of the battle slowly faded.
“Dax, Tanas, Thade, and Rayth have journeyed with him, but they have wandered off the Path and are lost. I can only hope they reach their destination, for I cannot help them while they are off the Path. Your defences should hold the Dark One at bay until help arrives.”
“Will help arrive if Zane is lost?”
“Trust your friends, Rowet,” the Divine One answered, smiling.
“I do trust my friends.”
“Good. You should receive news the Dread are on their way. Hold them at bay and you will be victorious. Fall and all will be lost.”
“I will hold, my lady.”
“I must go now, but remember your friends. They will help.”
The Divine One handed back the swords, then slowly fades into the air. Rowet stood looking at the empty space where she had stood a moment before. He returned to his room, washed, and changed into his formal clothing. Before breaking his fast, Rowet left his palace to see how the work around his city was progressing.
The Chosen rode in his carriage through the city, enjoying the tranquillity before the inhabitants rose. The morning air remained fresh and the sky blue, with a few scattered puffs of white, floating on invisible winds. With twelve personal guards, the Chosen made his way to Platos’s forge. Two of the guards drove a white open-topped carriage, while the others rode close by. He arrived to find the huge smithy already working, smoke belching gracefully from the chimney above the furnace.
“Greetings, Platos,” said the Chosen, entering the forge unannounced.
Startled, Platos turned and smiled, seeing his emperor. “Greetings, your Highness. What can I do for you this fine morn?”
“I would like to see how the work around the mound is progressing.”
“Progressing?” asked Platos confused. “It is finished.”
“Finished already, why was I not informed?” asked the Chosen, hiding his irritation.
“The men only finished late last night and I was informed then. It will be my pleasure to show you around the mound.”
“Good,” said Rowet, turning on his heels and leaving the forge.
Platos exited his forge and he was pleased to see the Chosen climb up into his carriage. Platos had done little work so far this morning and was therefore relatively clean. He finished drying his hands, casually threw the cloth behind him, and climbed into the carriage, sitting next to his emperor. He was surprised how comfortable the white leather seats were. As soon as he sat down, the carriage moved off swiftly, pulled by four white stallions.
For most of the morning, the two men drove around the mound. Occasionally, the Chosen would order the carriage to stop and the two men would take a closer look at the work. Finally satisfied, they returned to the forge, where the Chosen expressed his pride and happiness in the work.
“The Cross-swords clan have done exceptional work. Have Dalf come to the palace, I would like to thank him personally,” said Rowet.
“I will arrange it. I’ve asked him to stay to help build and position the new weapons.”
“How are they developing?”
“All of the parts have been made and I’m currently testing them. I’ve rejected some parts, but the majority are ready. We will start construction in a day or so.”
“Good, I will visit you then.”
“Yes, your Highness, I look forward to it.”
Platos stepped down from the carriage and bowed deeply as it headed back to the palace.
When the Chosen arrived back at the palace,
he had lunch with Ireen and Megan. After the meal, he busied himself in his chambers poring over reports.
General Gordonia interrupted his emperor’s work to report that the army had yet to be spotted. The Chosen considered this a blessing, for they were not ready. Then he recalled his conversation with the Divine One and thought about his friends. The general sat down and the two men mulled over the plans they had devised.
***
Admiral Rendel prepared the Gliding Falcon to set sail. He had already deployed several ships north to gather the army who waited there. He decided he would take his fleet south, then east along the coast. He would have ships stop en-route to gather the army waiting there. The admiral would leave a couple of ships to patrol the northern coastline and to ship grain and other cargos around the coast.
***
It had taken a day for Emyra to gather her bashers together and convince them that they should be the City Watch. Many of the men laughed at her suggestion, but she finally convinced them that this was the best for the Rhaurns. Her bashers might live on the wrong side of the law, but the Divine One was right—they were all true Rhaurns.
“You men are Rhaurns,” she said, addressing her men with Zorain at her side. “The army is needed elsewhere to fight the army that attacked Teldor. We will be the ones to keep the city secure until our king returns.”
“Then what?” asked one of her men. “The king returns and we return to being bashers. We have no guarantees. Why do we not take the city for ourselves?”
Zorain shifted uncomfortably at the last comment but remained silent.
“I will be honest with you, I don’t know. King Zane is a noble and honourable man. If we prove we’re able to control the city and make it safe, I cannot see why he would have us removed from our positions. This is your chance to walk the right side of the law.
“For you men who have families, this is your chance to provide for your family with steady legal coin. You have a choice—you can join me and help our nation, or continue as you have done. But remember this: if I catch you, I will show you no mercy. I’ve been given a chance and I wish all of you would join me. You are the best of men and I’ve never steered you wrong in the past. However, it’s your choice. When you have made your choice, come to me and, if you agree, I will sign you up.”