To Rule by Right: A Dark Tale of Fantasy- 2nd edition

by Wayne C. Hannis

  Chapter 7

  Oril jerked awake when he felt someone kick his legs and he heard his nephew yelling, for him to wake up. Awareness rose and the actualization of his predicament become apparent. He was on the same couch- although he was lying down now. His head hurt and he could not think straight. He managed to sit up although his body was still hard to move. The curtains in the room were open and Oril could see that the sky was just becoming light. A candle in the corner was almost complete burnt down.

  “Come Uncle, today is a most important day.” Coel said as he smiled down at his Uncle.

  Apprehension rose in Oril as he saw Mack strapping armour onto his nephew. Oril watched Coel closely. He was wearing soft souled leather boots with iron shods. His legs were covered with greaves over top black leather pants and his shoulders were cover with iron plates. He also wore a coat of plates- thick scales of iron woven within brown padded leather. It had the Soaring Hawk of the Ahern family elegantly embroidered into it, all boarded in blue. He looked like his father about to ride into battle. Oril shook his head having to distinguish between father and son. Coel pushed Mack aside as he grabbed the candle pulled the tapestries wide and walked into the rear of the trailer. As Oril look toward the bed the realization of the son became all too clear.

  Valira lied in the bed- a look of pain upon her face. The covers were pulled down to her waist and her exposed breasts had swirling patterns etched into the skin. The cuts were deep but clean and partially healed. Oril fell to his knees and grieved. “Why Coel? Why did you do it?” Oril pleaded of his nephew.

  Coel grabbed his cloak from the back of a chair and through it on to his shoulders. “I told you last night Uncle. She was mine to do with as I pleased. And I decided her death.”

  Picking up his uncle, Coel placed him on the chair. It still had Valira's dried blood on it. “But today- dear Uncle, I'm giving you a choice. I will let you decide the fate of a kingdom.”

  Coel strapped on a finely crafted sword, jewelled pommel and crosspiece, brown leather on the hilt. “We have reached Fallwood Hedge and what are we greeted with?- an army encamped on the road.” Coel grabbed Oril's hands and put shackles on them.

  “Not much of a surprise really,” Coel continued. “I'm thinking their waiting for your order.” Coel took a step back and stared at his uncle. “So, here's where you decide the fate of the kingdom, Uncle.” Coel grabbed Oril's shackles and roughly pulled him out the door. Oril stumbled and fell on his wobbly legs.

  Coel had everything ready outside. The sun had not yet come up but it was starting to get light. Othion was on a small dappled horse of grey and brown. He passed Coel the reins of a large black horse, with a long main and flowing white hair below the knees. As he mounted the horse it reared up, eager to go but Coel calmed it down. Oril was shackled to a long chain behind his nephew.

  Close to Coel's left was that creature, forever at his side. It truly was the ugliest thing he had ever seen. Once again, Oril noticed that as Coel was giving the creature commands, the medallion around his neck gave off a silver hue. It was a Curious thing.

  Along the road were cultivated fields, that were surrounded by forests and rolling hills. The Tasmorean army was directly in the path of the caravan heading west. Men, dressed in chain mail and carrying sharp pikes with plain shields, spread out over the road into the fields. They out numbered the Radah guard by two to one but the Radah guard stood as an impenetrable wall as it parted like a wave for its king.

  “I am Prince Coel Ahern- heir of the Emerald throne of Tasmorea and I am going to claim my inheritance.” Coel let his voice echo for a second in the dim morning light and then let silence settle over the field. “Who dares to stand in my way,” the prince bellowed.

  Two horses began to ride out to meet them. As they approached, Coel told them to stop and demanded who they where

  “I am Vaundr Iowerth- head of the Council of Lords, Your Majesty,” and looking over he said, “and this is Meogin Kamill- General of the armies of Tasmorea.”

  “General of my armies, Eh?” Coel smiled at Meogin. “Where do your loyalties lie General?”

  “My loyalties are with the people, My Prince. As it always has been with the army.” Meogin proudly stated.

  Coel looked right at Meogin, “Wrong answer, Meogin.” He got darker than the shadowed trees not far off. “Get out of my way.” Coel said with full authority and the Radah guard took a step forward.

  Time froze for an instant with everybody turning to Oril. “This is it Uncle. Your choice.” Coel said pulling Oril forward.

  Oril struggling to stay on his feet and looking at Vaundr and Meogin he said, “Stop him- don't let him become king.”

  Meogin instantly pulled out his sword and Coel's shield guardian took a few steps and backhanded Meogin, sending him flying off his horse. The medallion glowed once again. Meogin landed hard and did not move, his head twisted in an awkward position.

  “Go- Now,” Oril shouted to Vaundr. “Stop him.” Vaundr turned his horse and raced back to the Tasmorean army.

  “Good choice, Uncle.” Coel said laughing. “Every king must come to his throne with a battle.”

  They hurried back through the Radah guard, toward the trailers. The shield Guardian was on Coel's left, while Oril was on the right. 'I have to do something,' Oril thought, his mind scanning everything around him. The Shield Guardian did not leave him many options though. 'If only some good can come of this,' a plan began to form in his mind.

  As they approached the trailers, Oril heard Coel call for Mack. Mack was at the right front corner and ran over when he heard his Master call. Oril seized the moment. He grabbed Coel by his right leg and roughly heaved him to ground. In the fight that ensued, Oril manage to tare the medallion off Coel's neck and feigning escape, threw the medallion at Mack. Mack caught it but almost dropped it.

  “Run,” Oril said to Mack. “Run.”

  Mack stood for a second in hesitation. And then he turned and ran. He ran for all of his life. He never ran so fast.

  In the chaos, Coel did not realize he lost his pendent, and ordered the Shield Guardian after Mack. It seemingly obeyed. Oril was roughly forced to the ground and subdued, chained to the front of the trailer.

  Coel instantly got back on his horse and rode off toward the army, “Attack,” he began to yell.

  The Radah Guard began its march, quickly forming a wedge within the ranks. The two leading horses made the point. They began to run and the Tasmorean army braced for impact, pikes with shields held tight. A crash echoed through the trees as the guard hit the army. The point wedged its way down the centre, slicing deep within the army. Men began to fall, little by little the guard hacked its way parting the army in two. The ground became soaked in blood. Once the army was successfully divided the guard pushed hard, forcing each side back toward the treeline. But the Radah Guard seemingly overwhelmed by a superior force, retreated slightly, momentarily giving the offence to the army, regrouping in the middle.

  Suddenly, out of the trees, came dozens of Hobgoblins on the backs of Winter wolves. The large animals raced on to the field of battle like an on coming storm. Their massive canine teeth snarling for blood. The Hobgoblins screaming and waving their curved blades. It was an amazing sight to Coel. They tore into the rear of the surprised Tasmorea army, and the Radah Guard intensified their attack again. The hobgoblins and wolves mutilated the men. Serrated blades, hacked off limbs and heads. Sharp teeth and claws eviscerated every living thing. The Radah guard hacked them down as they tried to escape. Not a single man of the Tasmorean army was left alive. After the carnage, the hobgoblins simple disappeared back into the woods, and The Radah Guard, who hardly lost a man, returned to their ranks in the middle of the road.

  Coel marvelled at the scene before him. The butchery he just witnessed astonished him. Mangled and maimed bodies lay all around. The ground was thick with blood and gore. Coel marvelled in it and he pranced his horse through it before returning to his uncle. Oril was on h
is knees, shoulders slumped but still glaring back with eyes filled with defiance. Coel stared down at his uncle for a few moments before turning his horse and headed for Daloseos. The Radah guard surrounded him while the rest of the caravan followed. Othion rode beside his prince.

  Coel rode proudly the rest of the afternoon, like a conquering king returning with his spoils of war. And the people received him as such. The closer they were to their destination, more people showed up along the road to cheer him on. Coel thrived on it. All through the day, with a warm sun shining on him, Coel continued. Hundred at first, then thousands came to greet their new king.

  The trees gave way to farmland as the sun was beginning its descent toward the horizon in the west. The tall grand towers of Yagor Ar-mown began to rise in the south and they glistened as if they were stars in the distance. The Lake of Shanderan came into view, its dark waters stretching beyond the horizon into south. The harbour was teeming with ships and Coel could see banners from the other five nations that shared the lake's shores. The city rose on the hill before him. The people crowded together along the road welcoming their new king.

  The rest of the Tasmorean army, thousands of men, stood in ranks on the fields before the looming wall. Huge granite blocks, settled together as hundreds of years wore down on them. He could see it rise, following the land as it surrounded the mountain. People hung from the stone, jubilant to see the new king. The gate was a grand arch with towers rising from it. Two giant wolves were carved out of the stone, guarding the entrance to the King's route.

  “Open in the name of the King!” Coel yelled authoritatively.

  A moment later the squeak of turning wheels could be heard from within. First the thick iron bars of the portcullis rose, then the heavy stone doors swung inward allowing entrance for their king. The Radah guard began to take control of all the gates and seal the city. The roar of the crowd was deafening. Coel could see the streams of people all along the rising road of the King's route. It was cut out of the rock as it made its way uphill toward the citadel. As Coel preceded, the wall loomed tall on his right and a cliff lined with people was on the left. Giant stone animals guarded the whole way.

  At the summit was a park of old spruce trees. Coel could see stone figure enacting age old battle scenes scattered through out. The King's route broaden as they came upon the fortification wall that surrounded Yagor Ar-mown. The hard stone was tarnished with age and covered with vegetation. The road curved to the left following it. The park gave way to over look the whole of the city as it terraced down the gradual incline of the mountain. Coel stopped before the gates of Yagor Ar-mown and looked at the grandness of his capital city. From every roof top, street corner and possible view from the wall- people were every where cheering him on, their king had come. Coel looked out for a few moments, and he could see lights beginning to appear from the darker sections of Daloseos.

  The moment gone he turned and entered the gates. The wooden doors, lavishly carved and polished stood open in expectation. The road led through flower gardens with green leaves just starting to grow and grass that was just beginning to turn green. Yagor Ar-mown stood before him like the sheer peeks of the Tasmorean mountains. The last light of the sun was shining through the crenellations of the wall and glistening off the rising towers as it began to set in the west. People packed the whole way.

  Coel did not care if they were low born or high born, he did not care anything about them as he road his horse through to the immense entrance of the citadel and dismounted. He waited for his soldiers to situate themselves around him as two brought Oril quickly forward. He once again looked at the people all around- there was silence throughout the crowd as he stared at them. Coel stepped forward into one of the last rays of the sun.

  “Your King has come,” he simple announced and Coel quickly entered into the citadel with Othion at his side. Two soldiers dragged Oril behind, while the rest of the Radah guard took defensive positions around him.

  Entering the throne room, Coel hesitated. The grandeur of it was overwhelming. The roof peaked high above with stained glass art. Only a few pillars, made to mimic trees, rose up to meet the ceiling. Figures of different animals lined the walls and massive fireplaces were on both sides of the long rectangular room. The walls looked as if they were made of wood, with exquisite designs caved everywhere. A long carpet led to a dais and on the first landing was a large map of Tasmorea, carved within the stone. Six steps altogether led to the throne, which dominated the room.

  The Throne was made from solid emerald, cut to fit together in the form of a large chair. The seat and back were well padded within a frame of stained wood. The White Wolf Mantle hung on its back. Coel climbed the steps and stood before it. People crowded the auditorium behind him, while Othion came and stood one step down from the top. The Radah guard filed in ranks around the entire room. Coel took the mantle and Othion came to placed it on his shoulders. The thick fur was comfortable around Coel's neck and a thick chain with buckles hung around his chest.

  Coel turned to address the people before him. “I am High King Coel Ahern. The sixth Ahern to rule this land. And I would have you kneel!” he yelled at the top of his voice.

  The Radah guard drew their swords together and the sound rang through the room startling everyone. Stepping forward, the Radah guard forced everyone to their knees, physically or by just fear alone.

  Oril was brought to the top of the dais and the guards roughly forced him to his knees facing the people. Coel took a position behind him and drew his sword. Raising it above the back of Oril's head, Coel looked out at his witnesses. “Be this a warning to anyone who threatens my rule.” He plunged the sword deep into the base of his uncle's skull, instantly severing his spinal cord. Twisting the sharp blade back and forth, Coel severed his Uncle's head. It went spinning down the steps. Planting his foot on Oril's back, forced his uncle's body sprawling down the steps. The blood drained down onto the map of Tasmorea. The people screamed and gasped drawing back in fear and Coel smiled as he sat on the throne.

  “Get out now,” he commanded. Everybody hurriedly left the throne room. The Radah guard forcing them from behind, like a herd of cattle.

  ****

  Epilogue

  That night the new king did as any new king would do, he consolidated his reign and terror ruled in the streets of Daloseos. Blood flowed, while the citizens huddled in their homes in fear that the Radah guard would come knocking on their door. Whole families were slaughtered and thrown into the streets. Every member of the Council of Ten Lords and their families were executed and their heads displayed on stakes outside Yagor Ar-mown's fortification wall for all to see. Their King had truly come.

  ****

  Othion looked out into the dark. The dominant moon Chádash was full and bright, casting its light upon the black water of Lake Shanderan. He was high in the south tower and from here he could see the land stretching before him like a tapestry. The place was exactly as he had left it all those years ago. Everything he had prepared was untouched, waiting for his designs to grow. He had performed great magic in this loft and he would again. Thinking about the next stage of his purpose, Othion looked out across the dark waters. His sight was set on the Elves in the west.

  ****

  Mack stopped briefly to catch his breath. He looked down the small rise and knew he was heading south. He had run for hours, never stopping. The creature kept following him but without it- he would have never made it this far. A few time he had crossed the path of hobgoblins, but the Shield Guardian just stepped out from behind Mack and pulverized the monsters. So, Mack kept running- running from his nightmares. He had truly escaped but he kept running. And a figure made from wood and stone, iron and bronze followed him. He kept running- afraid his Master would find him.

  ****

  High King Coel sat upon his throne throughout the night. Both moons shone their silvery light through the glass roof. It cast the whole room in a grey hue and gave everything an eery feeling
. Only one thought would occur to him occasionally through the night- 'Where's Mack?' he would wonder. But the King never moved, he just kept staring. Staring at the blood and body of his Uncle. The head of Oril Ahern, lay in the middle of the map in a pool of gore, staring back at his nephew.

  #####

  The End

  Be sure to read 'Nightmares Encased in Stone'

  Coming soon:

  The Sword Cuts deep

  The City that Fell