The Forgotten Tribe

by Stephen J Wolf

  All of the conspirators were bound by the one concept that their king was now merely a puppet and he needed to reclaim his former glory.

  Skulking around the castle and town came naturally to Ieran, who had always engaged in secret affairs with various women and kept tabs on mercenaries visiting the area, in case their sights were set on taking down the king. His father had trained him well to use the hidden passages scattered throughout the castle so he could come and go as he pleased even when others thought he was napping or off to get a snack.

  On one such trip, Ieran paid a visit to Mzark, recently appointed captain of the guard and both an ally and a nuisance for the chancellor. They gathered at the back of the mess hall in a storage room with a concealed door which allowed Ieran to enter and exit without being seen. For all anyone would know, Mzark had gone into the room looking for napkins.

  “Any news?” Ieran asked in a whisper.

  “The usual,” Mzark growled. “The six of them keep popping up at random places and it is infuriating. How does his majesty permit this indecency?”

  “Shh,” Ieran cautioned. “Mind your tone. He is biding his time until they depart. When this nonsense began, we expected them to leave members of their group here permanently and our plans to deal with them were sketchy at best. They have too many supporters to their cause and we can’t afford to lose any more of our people right now.”

  “I still don’t see why our king has rolled belly-up like a docile dog.”

  Ieran ground his teeth. He always seemed to forgot that Mzark was single-minded and short-sighted. “His majesty is merely playing along to the utmost capacity because by the look of things now, they will depart as a group and none of them will remain to enforce their rules.”

  “That won’t stop them from coming back and reinstating them.”

  Footsteps outside the storage room prompted Ieran to duck into the hidden recess while Mzark rummaged through various supplies as if he were looking for something. When the visitor departed, Ieran did his best to set Mzark straight. “We have to maintain an air of agreement while the six of them are here. You know young Perrios is tucked away as ransom for our cooperation. If any of them knows what we intend to do when they leave, then they won’t go! We’ll be stuck in this situation for who knows how long!”

  Mzark pounded his fist into his hand. “It aways comes back to them, doesn’t it. How can six little people change the way things are done for a whole kingdom? It’s absurd.”

  “Once they’re gone, it will all be fine.”

  “Gone…” Mzark echoed, a glazed look coming over him.

  Ieran saw the hunger there and it made him nervous. “We have to bide our time, Mzark. Don’t do anything rash!”

  “No.” Mzark smiled toothily, unnerving Ieran even further. “Nothing rash. What of you now?”

  “I will tend to the king and update him on the progress of my… scavenger hunt,” he answered disdainfully.

  “Bring him food, while you’re at it,” Mzark suggested. “It will give you an excuse to bend his ear a while longer and keep him from hearing the poison of the others.”

  “A good thought,” Ieran was surprised. “And what of you?”

  “Patrol,” Mzark replied brusquely. More footsteps approached the storeroom and Ieran gave one last warning glance before disappearing into the alcove.

  Mzark turned and saw one of his companions pacing. “Barrith, come.” The foot soldier approached and stood erect, awaiting orders. Mzark smirked at the instant response and decided that Ieran’s plan was flawed. The longer they waited, the harder it would be to return to the way things were meant to be. He twisted the chancellor’s words around and said in a deep rumble, “Ieran says that the six need to be ‘gone’ and then we’ll all be fine.”

  “When sir?”

  “Gather our allies and let’s make this happen immediately. The longer we wait, the more likely word will get out and then it’s all for nothing. I’ll meet you at the second floor armory in an hour.” Barrith saluted and stepped away as if reporting for duty on the wall.

  Rubbing his hands together, Mzark laughed to himself. While Ieran was running around shopping for obscure nonsense, the captain had been setting plans against the six companions. All he had needed was Ieran’s support, but it was clear the chancellor was willing to bide his time. He strode purposefully through key hallways and signaled his fellows with specific hand gestures. At the top of the hour, he met Barrith at the armory.

  “Everyone is in position,” the soldier reported. “The companions are in their usual place. All we need is Ieran’s go-ahead.”

  “He has given it, and so we shall begin immediately.”

  “But… he isn’t here,” Barrith noted.

  Annoyed, Mzark struggled to keep his voice level. “He is tending to the king himself to ensure his majesty is not caught in the fray. That will give us a few more men we can use to subdue the others. I assure you that he backs our plan.”

  “Very good, sir. Word has also been sent beyond the walls to bolster our efforts if required. We need only light the western torches, sir.”

  “I know the signal, Barrith; I designed it. Hopefully they won’t be needed. Now, let’s go.”

  Sternly, Mzark stalked down the hallway, Barrith at his side. Their weapons were sheathed at the moment, but that was only to allay suspicions among the rest of the guard. They ascended the stairs to the fourth floor where Dariak and his companions convened each night after their meal.

  With a hearty shove, the wooden doorway crashed inward, catching the six companions off guard within. Mzark charged in, unleashing his halberd and bringing it about to crash into Carrus, who had taken him down out in the desert.

  The burly warrior sprang out of the way and brandished his war hammer in defense. Mzark’s rage welled up and he battered with terrible speed, and it was all Carrus could do not to take a direct hit. It was similar to what Carrus had faced upon their first meeting, but this time the wild captain didn’t have the support of a healing mage to keep his body moving and vibrant. Carrus bided his time defensively while Mzark lashed out.

  The rest of the team was overwhelmed by twenty other fighters who charged into the room, and from the sounds outside the doorway, more were on the way. Kitalla tossed three daggers out, striking wounds to a pair of attackers, then she pulled forth two more to use in melee. Dariak was unprepared for a rout and he scrambled to pull on the weakened energies in order to shoot a few fiery blasts at the guards rushing him. Randler had a knife and he hobbled to Dariak’s defense, weaving in and out of sword strikes, hoping for a lucky hit or help from the others.

  Verna and Ruhk were the least surprised by this insurgence and they sprang to action immediately. Swords flying, they cut down a handful of fighters quickly, taking care not to wound them mortally, which wasn’t easy in the enclosed chamber.

  More fighters arrived and Kitalla took a quick survey of the room. Fifteen enemies were fresh and well-coordinated. Randler and Dariak were barely staving off their foes. Ruhk and Verna, though seemingly enjoying themselves, were battling wildly and were bound to tire quickly. Carrus was hard-pressed to hold off Mzark’s advances and the two other swordsmen who joined the fray. She debated where her skills would best be suited and then decided to change things up entirely.

  With a brutal kick to one man’s face, Kitalla cleared space for herself, emptying her daggers onto the floor in front of her and drawing as much energy from within as possible. She emptied her mind of the scuffle taking place around her and turned her thoughts to a desert landscape with deep pits of quicksand creating sinkholes everywhere. She felt the energy burn within her and her body called for her to dance to the scenario she created.

  Bringing her arms up high, Kitalla wilted slowly, twisting her body down to the ground, sinking ever into the floor. She grabbed one dagger and flourished upward, summoning vile plant-like monsters rising up from the centers of the pits, snapping their jaws at Mzark and his crew. With
a flick of her wrist, she launched the dagger outward, mimicking the biting snap of the plants, delighting in the sounds of confusion from the fighters around her. She pirouetted and fluttered downward again, envisioning a bright sun burning overhead, blinding them. Another dagger flew and struck an unsuspecting soldier.

  Soon the fighters turned their attentions to the summoned beasts, wondering what mage had been able to overcome the weakened magic in the area to create such an effect. Some remembered Dariak and turned toward him in earnest, but Verna and Ruhk intercepted, keeping him safe.

  “Barrith!” Mzark howled over the chaos he was seeing. “Get those signals lit!”

  “Yes, sir!” the man responded, dropping to his knees and crawling to the door and escaping.

  Kitalla continued to dance and move about, keeping her position hidden by placing a chasm beneath her own feet so no one would be tempted to come close. The sands grabbed for the guards’ feet while the snapping plants mounted their own attack. She lost herself in the vividness of the setting, bringing forth spitting cactuses and angry eaglons to add further complications, and all the while her body moved fluidly and swept the energies into the room with such power, no foe could resist them.

  She didn’t know how she was able to maintain it for so long, but she didn’t care. It felt glorious to create the imagery and bring it effectively to life within the minds of those who would have slain her friends. She may have lost two toes out in the field when the battalion dissolved into chaos, but here she was the master over everyone.

  To prove it, she deepened the power of the pits and drew them slowly together. She could see the fighters struggling against the sand traps that weren’t really there, coming closer and trying to help each other escape to safety. Up and down her body went, turning from sand trap to writhing plant, and when her daggers were exhausted, she raised her voice, adding an eerie wail to the scene. The men looked around in terror, wondering what foul beast would rise up from the ground to devour them. Some tried to flee, but Kitalla hid the doorway and guided them toward the wall, where they crashed painfully.

  She laughed at the sight and wondered what else she could do with this power. Her arms reached forward and as she twisted downward she spiraled her arms, pulling them closer and calling for the sensation of a wild gust of air. Two men fell to the devouring sand, where they screamed in panic to be saved. Even Mzark was affected as he squinted against the blowing sand and sun, and Carrus was able to finally subdue him outright. Knocked to the ground, Mzark lost his halberd, and Kitalla was quick to envision the weapon getting sucked into the sand and lost.

  The others hurried around the room and ended the struggle, while Kitalla masked their movements by blurring their forms completely, for if the attackers had seen them walking over the quicksand, they may have realized the truth of it. Instead, she disguised each of them and when their hands struck at the guards, the men all curled into terrified balls, ready to submit to the horrible creature that had been summoned.

  Kitalla cackled when it was all over but she didn’t stop the illusions. Instead, she brought the sun down from the sky and turned it into a blood-red fireball, with tendrils of flames lashing out at each attacker and causing them to scream in pain. Her companions called for her to stop but she couldn’t hear them, for she was lost in the conjuring.

  Dariak was the only one who could stop her, and he did so by channeling the energies she was releasing and reforming them into other spells that wouldn’t harm anyone in the room. He used her fireball to turn the ceiling into a brilliant glow and the sand and wind brought in the cold night air from the hallway. He pulled on the energies powerfully, trying to drain her so she would stop, because it didn’t seem as if she could stop herself.

  Randler assisted by adding song to the room, first with a fast tempo, and then reducing its pace little by little. He sang of the Forgotten Tribe, and how their numbers had dwindled over the years until they were merely a legend passed along to future generations. His tempo decreased until he sounded as if he were singing a funeral dirge, casting a sad requiem over the final end of the Forgotten Tribe when one day their line would have to run out.

  Dariak fell to his knees, drawing the energies away, and then it all vanished and Kitalla’s illusions collapsed when her body gave out and she fell to the floor. The captured fighters gasped when the room reverted instantly to its original state, and they wondered how they ever could have been fooled into thinking they had been fighting out upon the sand in the midday sun.

  Heavy footfalls echoed in the hallway and Verna took charge of the oncoming fight, but there was no need, for it was the king and a handful of his guards. Among them was Ieran, his body limp, carried by one of the soldiers.

  “Is everyone all right?” Prethos asked.

  “We are relatively unhurt,” Ruhk answered, his arms and face covered in small cuts. “How have you fared, my liege?”

  “Ieran was at my side when this little coup went into place,” he replied, turning to the guard who carried the chancellor. “Wake him.”

  Bruised and beaten, Ieran was a mess. He whimpered pitifully, begging for forgiveness, saying it wasn’t his fault at all, but Prethos wouldn’t hear his pleas. The prisoners were all propped up against the wall as Prethos checked each of the companions, wondering what had happened to Kitalla.

  “You could say she was injured in the fight,” Randler started, “but in fact, she was the reason it ended without any real bloodshed. She will be fine.”

  “You are withholding something,” Prethos noticed.

  Dariak filled him in. “Kitalla has a special skill to create illusions and she used it to confuse them all, but something went wrong and she couldn’t stop herself until she fainted.”

  “Illusions?” Ieran gasped. “Sire, you see? They have been duping you all this time!”

  “Silence him if he speaks out of turn again,” Prethos warned. He turned to Dariak. “Kitalla has not been here much and could not have ‘bewitched’ me. My thoughts are my own. As are yours,” he said, facing Ieran and Mzark. “Explain yourselves, and be wary.”

  “My liege,” Mzark began, “you have been fooled by these people. They wish the ultimate destruction of everything we hold dear. They needed to be stopped.”

  “And you, Ieran?”

  “I—I don’t know what he is talking about!”

  Prethos gave a mirthless laugh. “You’re a fool. You think I didn’t know you have been plotting against the coming year? You didn’t think I knew about the guards you have all throughout the town? You think you’re the only ones with allies in high places who can tell you secrets? Don’t you know I have thrived on the information I have gathered through secret sources? I don’t only send spies to Kallisor, you realize. I have them here as well. How else would I fully understand the nature of the people around me? Each with his own agenda and each with a mind to be foolish when it suits him.”

  Mzark growled at the comment. “None of the men I work with support your current status as a puppet, your majesty. Release us and let us destroy these villains and return this kingdom to its former glory. Sire, if you don’t, the entire kingdom will rise up against you and tear you down. Even now, the townspeople are rallying to our aid.”

  “Oh?” Prethos wondered. “Because Barrith went and lit the fires on the western wall?”

  “Er,” Mzark winced.

  “Barrith!” the king called, and in came the guard.

  “Yes, sire, I am here.”

  “You see, Mzark, Barrith is a childhood friend and he has told me every part of your schemes since the beginning.”

  Ieran hissed and turned an eye toward Mzark, “I warned you not to flap your tongue.”

  “Ah,” Prethos said, “at last you admit to your role in this, Ieran.”

  “I—No, wait! That isn’t what I meant.”

  “Enough of the nonsense now,” Prethos decreed. “Poor Ieran, all this time, hating every decision I have recently made. You don’t even r
ealize how much my loathing for you has grown in these past few weeks.”

  “Sire?”

  “You skewed the information from the front lines when Dariak and his comrades had come to speak with me. I believed your information that they were seeking to destroy the castle, and so I agreed to send the fighters out to stop them. They assembled the jades and decimated the castle and I was forced to retreat while you handled events up here. My own attempt to reclaim this place failed, for they were a nobler force working for a greater good. I was unhappy at first to lose my power to them, but in the weeks that have passed, I have seen the wisdom of their ways. It isn’t perfect, and it is too idealistic to become full reality, but with a strong governing hand, it can happen.”

  He stepped forward and focused on Ieran. “Yet as my eyes were opened more and more each day, you dug your heels in to ending the peace without even giving it a chance. What did you have to lose, Ieran? You still would have been my chancellor and I would have always needed your services. Yet you plotted against me and tonight is the culmination of your treachery.”

  “Treachery?” Ieran gasped. “I did not call for this coup! It was Mzark all along! He gathered them all together and put this into effect!”

  “Actually,” Barrith said, “if I may interrupt for a moment, your conversation in the storage room with Mzark was overheard. It is true that Mzark acted tonight before you were ready, but you were going to wait until the six companions were gone, probably so you’d have an easier time of taking over.”

  The emotions warring on Ieran’s face were telling. He didn’t know who he was most angry at: Barrith for eavesdropping, Mzark for not securing the mess hall before their chat, the king for siding with the companions, or the companions themselves for coming to their land in the first place. “You’re all… fools,” he spat. “You’re going to bring this land to ruin. Your father would rise up from his grave if he heard you bedding yourself with them!” he screamed. “His spirit will curse this place, just you watch. Hathreneir will be no more! The long line of kings ends here, now that you sit upon the throne, you misguided idiot. Once everything was restored here, we would have rescued your son, but you were too weak-kneed to even consider it. You let him be taken away by some deranged moron and trusted that his well-being is being met. You don’t even know the chaos that has befallen him!”