by Brian Murray
“A lot better than you,” replied the fat councilman, pulling out a chair and sitting himself down.
A waiter walked up to the table, bowed deeply, and placed a fresh goblet of tisane down. “Are you eating, sir?” he asked the fat councillor.
As the councillor ordered his meal, Rigden stared at Warrell’s fat round face with venom. Rigden hated the man. They were rivals in the council and always opposed each other, many times out of spite. Warrell voiced his objection to Rigden travelling with the army to the mountains. The fat councillor knew if he had succeeded then his power would grow. Rigden knew this man would be his biggest critic later when the council was called.
Councillor Warrell finished ordering and returned his attention to Rigden. “How was your little adventure?”
Rigden knew damn well Warrell had received news of the defeat. Rigden himself had submitted a sketchy report to the council that had been taken to the city by a fast rider.
“We faced a few problems,” replied the smaller man, keeping his voice low and even sounding bored.
“That’s not what I heard. The Rhaurns really rubbed your nose in it. Our first defeat.”
“I was not the man leading the attack,” snapped Rigden angrily.
“Yes, General Conn lead the charge. Good man, I hear,” said Warrell, adding spoonful after spoonful of honey to his tisane.
Then it struck Rigden how he could win the day. “General Conn returned to us tainted. He had changed from his stay with the barbarians,” he lied smoothly.
“So, the general was at fault?” said the fat councillor with a sneer. He tapped his spoon on the rim of his glass goblet. “How convenient . . . ”
Rigden was getting irritated by the fat councillor’s accusations, but he maintained his calm. “Yes. Would you believe the man actually married one of those barbarians and had a child with her? Quite revolting.”
“Yes, yes, but you were there to represent the council, were you not?”
“Indeed, but I did not have military control. General Conn was rash and inept. I could not believe he would risk everything in a single charge. He sent all the men into the pass without scouting ahead. He had no idea what he faced. It took the majority of the Rhaurn force to turn our men away.”
“From what I understand, the army was totally outdone by a child-king. Is that not so?”
“I must admit for a bunch of barbarians, they performed well.”
“So, you think they are superior?”
“They can never be superior to us. We had a tainted general leading our men,” hissed Rigden, trying to keep his anger in check.
“I see. So, at no time did you question his commands. You went to the same military school as this man Conn, did you not?”
“Yes I did, but I was not party to the strategy meetings,” lied Rigden. “I remained out of the loop. That’s what I mean when I say the man came back tainted. He had no respect for a councillor or the council. Can you believe that?” Rigden bit off more of his toast and slowly chewed, trying to appear relaxed.
“But you could have taken command. It would have been your right,” said Warrell, holding Rigden’s steady gaze.
Rigden thought hard. He had to come up with an excuse and quickly. Just then the waiter returned with Warrell’s breakfast. The amount of food piled on the councillor’s plate disgusted Rigden. This was Rigden’s chance and he excused himself from the table to leave Warrell to eat.
“We will finish our discussion later, in chambers,” called Warrell as Rigden left the clubhouse.
He did not reply.
What would his answer to that question be? Why did he not take command? He could not say General Conn held him hostage nor could he say that they did not speak. Too many soldiers would return and refute the story. So, what would his excuse be?
Rigden stepped into his carriage and his driver slowly made their way to the Council House. The streets bustled with throngs of people swarming to and fro trying to get to their places of employment. Rigden had his curtain drawn closed and thought over the problem. They arrived at a massive building—the Council House.
The Council House constructed from white stone was built in the centre of the city, near the emperor’s palace. The building had long wide steps rising up to five tall thick columns that held up a triangular plinth. Carved on the peak of the plinth was a statute of a dragon breathing fire down to the people walking up the steps. At night, oil fires were lit amongst the dragon’s flames and the smoke had tarnished the beast’s head black, making it more dramatic. Behind the columns there were two huge, hardwood doors extending from floor to ceiling. Inside the building everything was grand to the brink of gaudiness. All of the door handles and torch holders were made of gold. The rugs were thick and luxurious, full of rich swirling colours. Along the main corridor were discussion rooms and several libraries. At the end of the corridor was the main Council Hall. The enormous hall was panelled in carved hardwood, illustrating scenes from the Rafftons’ past. The roof was dome-shaped with torches hanging from golden chains. The seats around the hall were dark blue, deeply cushioned wooden benches with councillor’s names etched on gold plates pinned on the back. In the centre of the hall was a golden throne and here the emperor would sit, if he presided. This hall was the centre of power for the nation and here the council members met. All decisions concerning the Rafftonia were made in the hall. More precisely, arguments and disagreements were thrashed out in the discussion rooms or libraries and the final votes made in the hall.
The emperor was merely a figurehead while the council ran the nation, making all of the decisions. So now, no one person could rule. They had learned from past mistakes. In the early days of the nation, an insane emperor had ruled over the lands. His crimes against his people were now lost in the tomes of history, but he had nearly crippled the nation. That, like many other historic events, had been changed or deleted if they tarnished the Rafftons’ glorious past.
Rigden entered the quiet building. A servant took his cloak and the councillor wandered into one of the many libraries. He sat down on a deep-cushioned seat with a sigh, turning the problem over in his mind. He had to resolve this one question, then his story would stand up to scrutiny. The councillor did have private meetings with the general. Therefore, he should have said something to stop the fatal charge. Rigden had had military schooling, understood warfare and, basically, he had no excuse. He thought about the problem, losing track of time. Before he knew it, the summoning bell rang. All councillors present in the house had to attend when the bell rang. Rigden rose from his chair and straightened his robe. Glumly, he left the library and walked slowly to the main hall, his brow creased with thought.
He entered the hall and to his surprise found it full. The only unoccupied seats were the emperor’s and one in the front row vacated by the recent death of a leading councillor. Rigden did not show his surprise, instead making his way down to the second row. Hierarchy within the council was simple. The closer to the front one sat, the more powerful that councillor was. Warrell sat on the same row as Rigden and they were the leading candidates for the available seat on the front row. If his campaign had been successful, then he would have won the praise of the House and the place would have been his without challenge. Now, he had to fight Warrell for it. But first he had to overcome his immediate problem. All of the members settled and the meeting convened.
Immediately, Warrell rose from his seat. When he spoke, his voice boomed accusingly, his several double chins wobbling.
“May I call an order of business that should take first calling? If it pleases the House, can we have an explanation for the failure of our colleague, Councillor Rigden? The defeat against the barbarians will surely cause ripples in our great nation’s pride and honour.” Warrell slowly sat down staring at Rigden, his eyes dancing with scorn. All around the hall, the other councillors heckled their agreement.
Rigden rose to his feet. The hall fell into silence. He still did not have an answer
. “First and foremost, let me say I am as horrified as every member here about this incident, this failure. Up to that point, our great army was undefeated. But one thing we must remember is that we must learn from this error. We underestimated the effect that living among the Rhaurns could have on poor General Conn. The barbarians tarnished him so much that he took a wife and had a child with her. He did not disclose this information during his report because he told me he loved her.” The lies flowed from Rigden so easily, even he started to believe them. “Now, I believe this tainting changed the man so much so that he lost his mind, his initiative, his teachings. The error, having him stay with the barbarians, cost us the battle.”
Warrell lifted his bulk from his chair and Rigden deferred the floor to him. “Why did you not take control of the army?” asked the fat councillor, his voice full of derision.
“Up until the point when he faced the enemy, he appeared fine. But when the Rhaurns were before him, our general buckled under pressure.”
Warrell interrupted the man. “But earlier today, at the club, you said his strategy was not sound,” lied Warrell, increasing the pressure, trying to trick his fellow councillor.
“I did not. However, I now believe Conn was in allegiance with the enemy. He did not send out scouts before the charge, even though we had captured a prisoner who intimated there had been changes in the manpower at the pass. Conn did not act on this information. Several times, I suggested we should send scouts forward but he ignored my proposal and there were men present when I asked him. However, as it stands, I believe Conn to have been a traitor. He colluded with the barbarians, with the specific goal to inflict the first defeat on our great army and demoralise our people.”
Warrell rose again. “It is convenient that the only man who can challenge your story is dead.”
“The traitor should be dead and how dare you call me a liar?” roared Rigden, storming to his feet now, prepared for a confrontation. “Are you calling me a liar, councillor? If so, at least have the courtesy to say it to my face.”
Warrell almost leapt to his feet. The fat councillor knew he had to be careful with his response. All eyes fell onto him. “Councillor, that is far from the truth. If the man was indeed a traitor, then he should be standing trial. I am just saddened we, the council, will not have the opportunity. What do you propose the council do next?”
Rigden stood up, knowing he had won the argument. “I propose in the thaw we will send a larger force and show these Rhaurns we are the superior race. We have kept ourselves to ourselves, but now it is time to rule all. All inferior races should learn we are superior and they should follow our ways. We are Rafftons.” Many of the other council members cheered at Rigden’s rousing speech. “I put it to the council it is our time to conquer. We should return to the place of our defeat and strike back at the barbarians. Strike at their hearts and be victorious.”
Warrell stood up as other members cheered more loudly. “I agree and Councillor Rigden has my vote—on the condition he leads the campaign.”
Rigden knew what Warrell was doing. With Rigden out of the way for many months, he could cruise into the front row seat. He bit his lip. Suddenly he had it. Rigden raised his hands to quieten the other councillors. “I accept Warrell’s condition and when I return triumphant I will sit in the front row as a Senior Councillor.”
The retort backfired on Warrell. He now knew the election for the front row seat would have to wait until Rigden’s return. If he died during a successful conflict, it would be he, Warrell, who would have been the person first to agree to the invasion and voted into the front row seat. If they failed, then alive, Rigden would be run out of the council in disgrace and Warrell would get the seat. The councillor had to be careful. He had to guarantee Rigden would not return regardless of the battle’s outcome. He could not let the man live, just in case.
Warrell stood again and smiled. “So, we look forward to your triumphant return. The barbarians will not know what has hit them after the thaw.”
Rigden noticed the fat councillor’s dangerous smirk. He knew he would have to be wary. If he was victorious, he was sure assassins would come for him. Rigden would have to take precautions. He made a mental note to commission Sekkers to kill Warrell on the event of his untimely death. Ironic, as it would probably be Sekkers who would come for him. Rigden looked directly into Warrell’s eyes with a knowing smile and gave a discrete nod. The smile on the fat councillor’s face slowly evaporated. At that moment, both knew each other’s plan.
CHAPTER 12
ZANE WAS THE last to wake just after dawn. He rose, pushing his blanket from him, and rubbed his gritty eyes. He yawned and stretched his aching back. He looked around the tent and realised he was alone. He cleared the cobwebs from his mind, rose, and walked from the tent. The sun had just cleared the horizon in the east. The glare from the low morning sun temporary blinded the young king. Through the tears blurring his vision, he saw horsemen. He heard Dax’s voice and walked to his warlord.
“Morning,” he called, wiping the tears from his eyes.
“Well, the dead have risen,” mocked Dax, greeting his young friend.
“Our army has arrived.”
“Not our army,” replied Thade, moving to stand next to the Rhaurien king.
Zane’s vision cleared and saw sitting all around him grim-looking clansmen. He looked around, turning in a complete circle. “When?” he asked, slightly dazed at the sight.
“They started to arrive late last night.”
“Who?”
“Membis put out the call last night and every clan in the area responded. They are all prepared to march and if necessary die at Kal-Pharina. Membis told us many of the clans were too far west when the Chosen raised his banner. Without his banner the clans bickered amongst themselves as to who should lead. But that problem has been resolved. The clans will march together with you under your banner.”
“How many?” asked Zane, astonished.
“Not sure, but I would estimate about ten thousand clansmen are here now and there may be more as we travel east.”
Membis walked proudly to the three companions. “Greetings,” he called warmly. The chieftain wore his traditional clothes. He had on leather leggings, no top, and leather moccasins. On his chest, covering his left breast was a tattoo, the pattern of his clan. A brown landscape represented the Steppes and hanging in the blue sky was a long bow, with two arrows crossed behind it.
“What do you think?” he asked, sweeping his arms theatrically around him, but looking a Zane.
Zane nodded. “Impressive. I see you have power on the Steppes.”
“True, hey. All these men will follow you and act on your commands. There are several clans here and none will wilt under the storm.”
Zane bowed at the chieftain. “On behalf of your emperor, I thank you.”
“Just win and our wondrous leader will come and thank me himself.”
“We will win,” assured Dax, a wicked grin gracing his face.
***
The Rhaurien army continued to march from the west. From the Landbow camp the dust from the army could be seen. The first scout arrived warily, with hands on sword hilts. Dax approached the men and told them that the waterhole was available to them. They rode back to the main force to advise Urkin.
When the army arrived, Zane, Dax, and Thade rode from the camp leading thousands of clansmen.
***
Commander Fontis was slightly injured and the gash on his arm throbbed. His men had been pushed back and they had lost over fifty men during the night. This concerned the commander. He knew that at this rate they could last a further nine days, but only if they could hold the corridor. They had been pushed back slightly from the doorway to the great hall, but they still could see the doorway. This was also a problem for the men. They watched in horror. The beasts had halted their attacks and now feasted on the fallen axe-wielders. One or two of the fallen were alive and their gurgling screams travelled down the co
rridors, all sharply silenced. Fontis took this pause in the attack to rotate his men.
He, himself, was exhausted. He had been at the front line during the whole night, only leaving to have his wound treated. He still remembered the thoughts of death that crossed his mind when the beast loomed over him. He had raised his arm to protect himself. The beast’s claw caught his arm just above the elbow, ripping away his flesh. Then several axe-wielders charged forward and killed the beast, saving their commander. Now they waited. The men were relieved and fresh warriors waited for the beasts to attack.
The beasts finished feasting and eerie howling started again. Within minutes, the creatures attacked the men. The fighting was fierce and Fontis felt the pride in his men rise. The first attack they repelled quickly, but then the beasts attacked in greater numbers. Crossbow bolts peppered the beasts and many impaled themselves on the long, sharp lances. Then hand-to-claw fighting started. The crossbow men were most at risk. But the small groups of axemen came to their aid. In the relatively narrow corridor, the men had the upper hand, but the losses were still too high for the commander.
A beast broke through the line of lancers. Five axemen charged at the Talon Hunter. The beast howled and slashed out at the smaller men. One of the axemen was squatted away with a backhanded slap, thudding against a wall, bones shattering. The Talon Hunters and Shadows could not fight with their weapons, which were too large to swing in the tight confines. This was one blessing for the men. The axemen hacked at the beast, but another man fell. Fontis screamed a command and his men charged in. Fontis hammered his axe into the beast’s skull. The beast reared, throwing Fontis backwards over his men. Fontis landed heavily with a grunt, but rolled to his feet. He watched his unit chop at the beast and soon it fell dead at their feet.
One of the axemen pulled Fontis’s axe free and handed it back to the commander. No time to catch his breath; more and more beasts were joining the attack.
“FORWARD!” bellowed Fontis and his men followed him in a counter-attack. More men and beasts fell. The fighting became a frenzy of action. He was surprised his men were not killing their own. He should have known better. The axe-wielders were well-disciplined and protected each other as though all were blood brothers.