Death Rises

by Brian Murray

  “What’s this?” roared Dax.

  The two men froze on the spot and turned to look into Dax’s violet eyes.

  “Nothing, foreigner. This has nothing to do with you,” hissed the Black Cloud clansman with a cruel grin.

  Dax walked up to the man. He slapped the man hard backhanded, sending him sprawling in the sand.

  “I am not just a foreigner. I am the warlord here and everything has something to do with me.”

  “Dax, what are you doing?” asked Zane, but Dax just raised his hand.

  The clansman named Kallop stalked up to Dax. The man stood a head taller than Dax, his skin dark, nearly ebony in tone. His head was shaven except for a topknot, a tradition of his clan. The man was massive across the shoulders and had long, powerful arms and legs. Dax looked up into the man’s black, colourless eyes.

  “Who chose you?” said Kallop, his voice deep.

  “Who are you?” countered Dax.

  “I am Kallop, Black Cloud clan champion, and I challenge your leadership.” The tall clansman shoved Dax on the shoulder—a formal challenge.

  Zane stepped forward. “I chose him. He’s my warlord and you are to follow me, that was agreed with your chieftain.”

  Dax turned to face the young king, his eyes dancing with rage. “Zane, this has to be done. I need to set my place among these clansmen. Please stay out of it.” He turned back to the clansman and spat on the ground in front of him—acceptance to the challenge. “Where?” he asked Kallop.

  “Here,” replied the clansman, removing his jerkin revealing his huge, scarred, barrel chest. Clansmen formed a huge circle around the men, many holding torches. The clansman rolled his shoulders and stretched his back and arms. Dax removed his tunic and handed it to Thade.

  “You sure about this, Dax?”

  “It has to been done,” replied Dax and Thade nodded. He knew enough about Dar-Phadrin to understand. These were hard warriors and they lived to fight. For a man to lead them, he had to be a mad man. He had to show battle scars and many victories to his name. Dax was proven in the gladiator arena and amongst most of his peers, but these men needed a demonstration.

  “Weapons?” asked Dax.

  “No, I will beat you with my fists. It would not be right to kill a foreigner who comes to help our Chosen. You are not worthy for my blades and we do not want a blood feud.”

  Dax smiled at this reply. Good old-fashioned fistfight, he thought.

  Kallop continued his stretching, kicking out his legs high.

  “Are you done dancing?” asked Dax, stepping in close to the taller man. The clansman nodded. Dax thundered a right punch that exploded in the clansman’s face. The clansman’s head snapped back. Slowly, he looked forward, moved his head to one side, cracking the bones in his neck, and smiled a bloody smile

  “Not bad, foreigner.” Kallop wiped the blood from his lips and looked down at his hand. He snarled and jabbed out with a left that caught Dax’s forehead. Dax stepped in and sent a right hook into the clansman’s muscular stomach. Kallop did not flinch and sent out a downward right that hit Dax on the cheek. Dax’s head snapped down and he stepped back.

  The two men circled each other. Kallop stepped in and hit Dax with a combination of lefts and rights. Each punch landed on target. The clansman’s fists moved with rapid speed and immense power. Dax’s head jerked backwards with each blow. Dax moved in, meeting each straight right hand punch.

  The surrounding clansmen started shouting and cheering. From the first strike, the men started betting. Men called out bets and others accepted.

  “Not bad for an old man, aye.”

  Dax did not reply, but focused on the man. He would let his fists and eyes do his talking. He ducked below a right jab and sent a left uppercut into the black man’s stomach. Staying low, Dax sent a combination into his body.

  Kallop pushed the smaller warrior back. He jabbed out with a left and followed with a right hook.

  Dax swayed to his right and the blow whistled harmlessly past. Dax quickly sent a powerful right into Kallop’s exposed side, hammering against the man’s ribs. Kallop winced. Dax circled, edging the clansman right. Kallop sent out a straight right, catching Dax on the chin. But the tall clansman grimaced. Dax rolled with the punch and started pounding the man’s right side. A loud crack—Dax had broken one of Kallop’s ribs.

  Enraged, Kallop delivered a combination of punches that all hit Dax in the face, splitting the man’s cheek and lip. The clansman only stopped when Dax managed to send a right hook into the man’s side. Kallop cringed and stepped back, trying to protect his side.

  Dax smiled a bloody smile. He swayed from a weak left jab and replied with a thunderous right that hit his opponent’s cheek. Sweat and blood flew from the clansman. Dax roared and charged in. He worked more on the clansman’s body, hammering blow after blow.

  Kallop managed to push Dax away, but he made a mistake. He looked into Dax’s violet eyes and saw his defeat. Kallop circled the man, keeping his right side away from Dax. He punched another weak left jab.

  Dax nonchalantly slapped the punch aside. Dax bent his knees, then jumped up and threw a murderous right hook. At the last moment, he pulled in his fist and used his elbow that cracked against Kallop’s chin. The clansman’s feet left the ground and he flew backwards, landing hard on the ground.

  Kallop tried to rise, but his legs would not hold his weight. Dax stepped forward and looked down at the clansman as he struggled to his knees. Without mercy, the older warrior punched down with a sickening thud. Kallop slumped to the sand, unconscious. A hushed silence descended among the clansmen. Panting heavily, Dax looked around at the stunned men, turning in a complete circle.

  A single voice started chanting. “Violet Eyes, Violet Eyes.”

  More and more clansmen joined in and the chant reached a deafening roar. Dax raised his arm and punched the air. Men surged forward and started patting the warrior on the back. Soon Dax was hoisted up on their shoulders and paraded around the camp. Acceptance—they acknowledged Dax as their warlord—the king’s champion.

  CHAPTER 17

  THE CLANSMEN NOW obeyed Dax’s commands without questions. Even the Black Cloud clan did as they were ordered, so the rest of the journey across the Steppes went without incident. More warriors gathered at every waterhole visited and their numbers swelled. A day away from the white city, the force amounted to fifteen thousand clansmen, most of whom had ponies. That night, Dax sat with the heads of each clan. He told them they would be fighting beasts the likes of which they had never seen before. He told them they must tell their warriors not to try and kill them on their own. They should work in small teams and attack the beasts in groups. The clan leaders nodded. Dax knew many of the men would not listen and their bloodshed would be high. Most of the clansmen were without armour and those who did only had baked leather breastplates and helms. But the Dar-Phadrin were tenacious warriors and they would fight for their emperor. Furthermore, Dax would mix the companies with different clans. As no clansman wanted to look weak against the next—they would hold and fight.

  He told the leaders of his plans and naturally, they complained.

  “I will not fight with them,” sneered one warrior, pointing to another.

  “Which clans are you?” hissed Dax.

  “I am Vyrab of the Red Sands clan.”

  “And you?”

  “I am Trvan of the Broken Spears.”

  “Well,” started Dax, “you, Vyrab will lead the Broken Spears and you, Trvan, will lead the Red Sands.”

  “I will not lead those gutless . . . ”

  “ENOUGH!” roared Dax. “It will be as I have said. I will mix the clans. Black Cloud next to Landbow, Red Sands next to Broken Spears and your men will fight better. Do you know why? I will tell you. They will not want to fail in the eyes of another clan member, plain and simple.”

  The other leaders nodded.

  “Now send me the twenty strongest warriors from each clan. Those warrior
s will have the honour of fighting with King Zane and myself. Make sure they are your best and send them to my fire at dawn.”

  At dawn, Dax woke and rose. He woke both Thade and Zane and they broke their fasts together.

  “Later today we will reach Kal-Pharina. Our scouts have informed me the Dark One and his Dread are just waiting. They are not attacking the city,” Dax sombrely informed his friends.

  “Why’s that?” asked Thade.

  “Who knows what goes through a mad man’s mind. We will be approaching from the northwest. There are some higher hills where we can assess what is happening. Remember one thing,” Dax said, looking directly into Zane’s eyes. “We do not attack them until our forces are ready. We only defend. If they attack the city, then we will revise our plans. But at this moment in time we will wait. No mad heroics under any circumstances.”

  Zane held Dax’s gaze for a while. Knowing Dax was right, he nodded with a mischievous grin.

  Thade started looking over Dax’s shoulder to a group of clansmen walking towards them. “Dax,” he said, motioning with his head.

  Dax turned, rose smoothly, and smiled broadly. The first clan to send men were the Black Cloud clan. Leading the men forward was their champion, a bruised Kallop. He had his torso bandaged, but moved with apparently little discomfort. They approached the three friends.

  Kallop stopped before them and spoke. “We have been ordered to come and serve you and defend your king.”

  Dax held the man’s gaze. “Be gone. I do not want you,” he said softly.

  Kallop stepped forward, towering over Dax. He looked down at the older warrior. “It’s our honour to defend your king. You refuse me that honour.”

  “Yes.”

  “You hold my challenge against me?”

  “No. I just hold you in contempt.”

  “To turn me away would be a dishonour,” replied Kallop, tensing his muscles, his eyes blazing with anger.

  “That I know,” Dax looked up at Kallop, then smiled. “I will not treat you with dishonour, but displease me and I will turn you away.”

  “I understand,” said Kallop, nodding and holding out his hand. Dax looked at the hand for a while before grasping it. “You punch well for a little man, aye,” the huge warrior said.

  “You should see me with my axes.”

  “I will enjoy fighting next to you, I think.”

  “Be proud, but stay clear of my blades. It has been a long time since they tasted Dar-Phadrin blood.”

  “I will fight at your back then, Violet Eyes,” replied Kallop with a deep throaty chuckle.

  The rest of the clans sent forward their men and Dax greeted each. Once all together, one hundred and sixty clansmen sat before him. Dax stood and addressed the men.

  “You men have been given the honour of fighting with and defending King Zane of the Rhaurien. Any of you who do not perform his duties to the best of his abilities will be sent home in disgrace and the Chosen will be told of your dishonour. The Chosen is Zane’s friend and we have come to help him in his time of need. You will serve Zane the same way you would serve and defend the Chosen.

  “Now we march to the white city. Once there, we will wait until the time is right to strike. You will not leave Zane’s side during the battle. Your first duty is to defend him and nothing else. You will defend him with your life if necessary. It is my honour to be fighting with you, clansmen. There will be no clan differentiation among you. From today on, you are all Violet Eyes, the personal guards to King Zane. Once the battle is over, you will return to your former clans. But now we are one—we are Violet Eyes. Let me hear you!”

  A slight murmur rose from the clansmen.

  “I did not hear you,” roared Dax. “WHO ARE YOU?”

  “Violet Eyes,” replied a few.

  “Is that the way the Chosen’s Imperial Guards voice themselves? You are the same as they. Look your brothers in the eyes. We are Violet Eyes. Who are we?”

  “Violet Eyes,” echoed the clansmen.

  “They cannot hear you. WHO ARE YOU?”

  “VIOLET EYES!” bellowed the clansmen, thrusting their weapons into the air.

  Dax turned to Zane and Thade, then smiled. “Their blood is up, now it is time to ride to Kal-Pharina.”

  “What did you tell them?” asked Zane, frowning.

  “Just put a little fire into their bellies,” replied Dax mischievously.

  “A little fire,” mused Thade, watching the clansmen get ready.

  ***

  Rowet sat in his private chambers enjoying a late lunch, reading through more reports. He was about to spoon up some of his soup when a knock on the door interrupted him.

  “Come,” snapped the emperor, putting his spoon down.

  An Imperial Guard entered the room, bowing low. “Sire, you are required on the mound.”

  “Are they attacking?”

  “I don’t know, sire. I was just sent with the message.”

  “Give me a moment.” The guard backed out of the door, bowing. Rowet spooned another mouthful of his soup and bit into some gritty bread. He stood with a deep sigh and left the room, still chewing his bread. He led the way through the palace to where his white stallion waited outside the palace. Escorted by his Imperial Guards, the Chosen rode through his city.

  He reached the mound, dismounted, and walked to where both Platos and Danf gazed in the distance.

  “What’s wrong?” asked the Chosen rather more sharply than he intended.

  Platos just pointed into the distance towards the northeast.

  The Chosen shielded his eyes and squinted. In the distance, dust rose into the air. “What is it?” he asked, his heart rising.

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Someone get me a spyglass,” called the Chosen. An Imperial Guard scurried off and soon returned with a long spyglass. The Chosen licked his lips and put the brass tube to his right eye. Closing his left, he peered through the telescope. He scanned the horizon and saw nothing at first. Then he saw something—a standard. The sun sat low on the horizon and the light breeze left the standard hanging limply. Suddenly a gust of wind fluttered the fabric. A blue banner. Within the blue banner was a diamond. He did not need to see anymore.

  “They’ve come,” said the Chosen, his voice choked with emotion. He handed the spyglass to Platos.

  The smithy took the instrument with a frown. He curled his large hands around the brass tube and squinted through it. A smile grew on his face. “Dar-Phadrin clansmen,” he said.

  “Clansmen?” replied the Chosen.

  “Aye, thousands of them.”

  “But they have Zane’s banner. They bear the King of Rhaurien’s banner,” said the Chosen, confused.

  “Well, it seems King Zane has brought more clansmen with him.”

  The Chosen smiled and thought of all of the men on the Steppes he could not reach with his summons in time. Word must have spread and Zane’s arrival must have massed the clansmen together. But who? thought the Chosen. Then a face loomed in his mind.

  “Membis,” he whispered softly.

  “Sorry?” said Platos.

  “The clansmen. Membis chieftain of the Landbow was too far away to receive my call in time. He must have rounded up the clans and sent them with Zane. It must have been him.”

  “Well, it’s good news. We can take the fight to the beasts.”

  “Not yet. Not just yet, my friend.”

  “But . . . ”

  “No, we will wait and see what happens next.”

  ***

  The Dark One watched the dust swirling in the distance and he smiled. He could sense the arrival of two more Children of the Light. He had sensed their movements getting closer to him for the past couple of weeks. They had travelled north and then headed straight here. His plan was coming together. Just one more link and it would be complete.

  “Master,” said Malice, approaching the Dark One and bowing deeply. “There are several thousand clansmen massing to the northeast.�
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  “I know,” replied the Dark One, ducking into his tent. Malice followed. The Dark One removed his sword belt and placed it on a table next to him, then sat on his throne. He removed his helm, carefully placing it at his feet. “There are two more Children of the Light with them.”

  “Should we attack them?”

  “Not yet. I have seen the future and we will wait. Everything is as I have foreseen. Soon everything will be in place.” The Dark One thought for a while. “Give them a test. Send some of the Dread tonight. Shed a little blood—not much, just a little.”

  “Yes master,” said Malice, bowing and leaving the tent.

  Inside, the Dark One laughed, an eerie sound that rumbled across the camp.

  ***

  Dax made sure Zane’s banner was visible from the city. He had riders carry the flag to a high hill. He wanted to be sure the Chosen would see it from there. Along with Zane and Thade, he rode up to the hill where two scouts waited, surveying the scene. The Dread were mainly camped to the west of the city and looked like a dark shadow on the green grass. There were a few pockets by the other gates, but the main force was to the west. Dax saw that only the ground to the west of the city’s moat had been churned and brown. This meant the Dread only attacked from one side. The old warrior could not understand why they did not attack all sides of the city at once. This would mean stretching the defenders and guarantee a quick victory. The Dark One is playing for time, he mused. Then it struck him—he wanted the Rhaurns here. He had been waiting for them to arrive. But Dax did not know why. The old warrior shrugged.

  He cast his eye around the hills and valleys. The Dread camp was in a flat shallow valley with the city blocking the east and hill to the west. A plan started forming in his mind. He turned to one of the Rhaurien scouts with them.

  “Go back to Urkin and tell him to turn south for ten miles and then come due east towards the city. I want him camped on those hills in the west.” Dax pointed to the hills behind the Dread.

  The scout nodded and rode off to the west to find Urkin.

  “We will camp over there,” said Dax, pointing to a level hill to their right.