BlackThorn's Doom (29 page)

The people began to shout Gaelan’s name, over and over until the pigeons fled the rooftops to escape the mounting din.

Gaelan swallowed his embarrassment and waved to the crowds as they passed. He looked to the others apologetically.

King Pelatus grinned with amusement. “These are your people. They have felt the blow harder than any others. It is right that they praise you.”

Burcott shouldered his way into the front line. In each of his hands he held a pewter mug. White foam spilled over the tops and splashed on his armor. “Take this.” He said shoving one into Casius’s hand. “I promised you a keg, but this will do for a start.”

Casius hoisted the mug and emptied it in one long swallow. “Lord Fullvie,” He said smacking his lips. “Your taste in ale is impeccable.”

Burcott lifted his mug and drained its contents. “I had to try several varieties out before I found this one.” He said with a soft belch.

Gaelan laughed. “I’m sure you drained every mug offered.”

“Of course, mi lord.” Fullvie answered with feigned surprise. “To do otherwise is to insult the barkeep.” He wiped the foam from his lips with the back of his hand. “I am a member of the Landsmarch after all, we must keep up appearances.”

“For some reason, Burcott.” Gaelan answered sarcastically. “That frightens me more than any Morne horde.”

They reached the main gates to the keep. The berm before the walls had been swept clean; all signs of Goliad’s atrocities had been removed, even the walls had been scrubbed.

The King’s honor guard was in place, fifty men to a side of the entry. They all wore black tabards, the symbol of mourning and would not change colors until the new King was officially crowned.

Not one of their number was younger than sixty. These were all veterans who had taken up arms in their twilight years to defend the crown.

The gesture touched Gaelan, he walked down the line shaking each man’s hand and thanking him for his service. He nodded to Otess in greeting and took the stair leading to the battlement over the gate.

The crowd roared louder as he appeared over the merlons, the echoing cry of his name spreading throughout the city.

Gaelan raised his hands and waited for the uproar to subside. “People of Trondhiem!” He shouted loudly. “My brothers, the war is over!” He had to wait several minutes for the shouting to subside.

“We have lost many of our friends, our loved ones. They are the true heroes, men who stood their ground despite the odds and gave of themselves so that we may live.” Gaelan paused looking down at the surviving soldiers. “It is their names that should be shouted from the rooftops, not mine.” He paused as the crowd grew silent, their revelry tempered by the losses they all had suffered.

“There are men among us who have shared in our grief. Men who owed Trondhiem no allegiance and yet they came. Men of Kesh, Ao’dan, Ril’Gambor, The Ahmed, The Taur Di, and even a man from an unknown land, Yoladt of the Mahjie. They answered the call to arms and without their valor we would have surely failed.”

The crowd cheered, and Gaelan joined with them. For a moment he was no longer the King, just a grateful citizen of a land saved from the brink of disaster.

Gaelan raised his hand once more. “But if it is heroes you desire.” He said once the din had died down. “The I proclaim Casius Rhaine, Guardian of the realm!” He grabbed Casius’s arm and led him to the edge of the battlement for the crowd to see. “For it is by his hand that Sur’kar was slain!” He shouted.

The crowd exploded with cheers. The rising din reverberating from the keeps walls, the riotous noise changed until it was Casius’s name echoing through the streets.

Burcott roared with laughter. “You stood defiant before a Ma’ul and slew the greatest evil this world has ever known, and yet you fear crowds?”

“I did those things because they had to be done.” Casius said defensively.

“Aye,” Burcott said his face becoming serious. “As does this. These people need to heal and rebuild, let them celebrate your deeds and become inspired.”

Casius knew Burcott was right. “But I do not feel like a hero.” He said waving to the crowd.

Burcott nodded and gripped his shoulder. “You would not be one if you did.”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

One week after their return to Rodderdam Gaelan was formally crowned King of Trondhiem. The ceremony took place within Galloglass Hall, though the repairs had only just begun. The morning sunlight streaming through the shattered panes warmed the assembled nobles and made Gaelan uncomfortable in his formal robes.

Yoladt left that evening, with a small honor guard provided by Gaelan. He was disappointed with Casius’s refusal to return with him, but he would spread word of Casius’s victory through the Seh’ja’s.

Trondhiem was beginning to recover, but the more remote regions were still dangerous places. Although the Morne had retreated, many dire things yet roamed the wilds, for not all had been destroyed in the war.

Patrols of heavily armed men roamed the countryside seeking to cleanse the land of the evil. It would be many years until the borderlands were made safe once more.

Gaelan often spent the evening hours walking through the King’s downs. At his father’s grave he would sit in silence, listening to the night calls of owls and crickets. The horrors he had witnessed weighed heavily upon him and it was said that he had lost his youth in that year.

After a few weeks Casius left Trondhiem with Connell and D’Yana. The company was small; only thirty Keshian warriors had survived the combat. Many had died days later, suffering from wounds that had become infected from the foul poisons the Morne used upon their blades.

The nights were still chill, but the grip of winter was gone, new buds dotted the trees and the ground was covered with lush verdant grass. Even a few wildflowers had come into bloom, showing their colors in defiance of the cold.

Casius was amazed at how quickly life was rebounding. In a few more weeks it would be as if the winter had never lingered.

The reception they received at Kesh was staggering. The people had been spared the deprivations of war and their prosperity showed. Red Spire glowed in the darkness. Paper lanterns hung from every window and bronze lanterns shone brightly from the slender towers of the city.

The streets were packed with people and as they made their way to the cities center Casius could hear his name being called out as often as Connell’s.

The gates in the inner wall were open and the park beyond was lit by thousands of lanterns, and filled with a throng of cheering people.

Connell’s mother greeted them warmly, she was a regal figure dressed all in black. New lines etched her face; the grief of losing her husband had scarred her deeply.

She led them towards a fresh mound, the grass upon it festooned with yellow flowers and garlands of roses from the queen’s garden.

They stood in respectful silence as Connell knelt before his father’s grave and wept silently. Tears streaked his face and fell upon the verdant grass of the mound.

Connell was crowned King of Kesh, one year after his fathers death, his mother having passed quietly in her sleep. Some say she willing left this world to join her husband in what lay beyond.

The ceremony was held in the great throne room. He was the first King in several millennia to take the sacred oaths within the light of Aytor.

King Pelatus and Gaelan attended the ceremony, accompanied by a particularly rowdy Lord Burcott. The Visitors remained within the palace for several weeks and attended as guests of honor the betrothal of D’Yana and Connell.

It was a small service held in the highest tower of the spire. Upon a rooftop adorned with flowers and silk banners.

Word soon reached them that the Senatum had fallen and the usurper in Lakarra no longer ruled. Casius was happy for his friends still living in that land.

He spent many of his days wandering the lower levels of the spire. It was a treasure trove of knowledge as he discovered several libraries hidden away in secret chambers within the rock.

He was showing his latest discovery to King Pelatus when they were summoned to the entry hall.

Casius entered the chamber and smiled warmly. Standing amid a group of awe struck warriors stood his friend Yoladt. At his side the Se’estra was smiling in his direction. Though without eyes she knew he had come and greeted him warmly.

“The final task of the sword.” The Se’estra answered without turning her head away from Casius. “A promise made long ago in the past that must now be fulfilled.”

“Very well,” Casius turned and looked King Pelatus in the eye. “You once promised me any boon that was in your power to grant.” He said. “Does the offer still stand?”

King Pelatus nodded. “Of course.” He answered somewhat warily. “Ask and it is yours.”

Epilogue

Bjorn Ironfist stepped out onto the balcony overlooking the harbor of Cythera. He could not believe his eyes; the war galleons of Ao’dan had breached his defenses. Three of the massive vessels were now beached. Their iron tipped prows cutting deep furrows in the sand. Men by the thousands had disembarked and as he watched a fourth vessel ran ashore, dark cloaked warriors leaping over the sides before the vessel had ceased moving.

The towers of Torinth were aflame, dark smoke pouring from the narrow lancets along their sides. Beyond the smoke and flames he could see hundreds of vessels both large and small, all of them flying the red sails of Ao’dan. The crimson colors declaring them to be ships of war.

He clenched his fists in anger, as his long ships were set afire. Torch bearing men raced along the quays with no one to stop them.

He cursed and turned his back on the destruction unfolding below. He knew his days were numbered with the fall of Lakarra and the disappearance of Vool. It was only a matter of time before his enemies grew bold enough to strike.

But why Ao’dan, He wondered? He had always left the ships of that nation alone. His fear of their navy had kept them safe for many years.

His men fought bravely but they could not stem the tide of these invaders. Even from this distance he could see slaves taking up arms and slaughtering their former masters.

The door to his chamber suddenly burst open, Bjorn spun about his heavy war hammer in hand. It was only the cur G’relg.

“Why are you not at the docks?” Bjorn demanded taking a threatening step forward.

“The docks are lost.” G’relg answered hotly. He was sweating heavily and bled from several small wounds. “We must leave, the invaders are nearly here!”

Bjorn looked at him with disgust; the sight of fear had always filled him with disdain. “Where would we go, G’relg?” He asked through clenched teeth. “The forest? Perhaps to the very top of the Lycian Mountains?” Bjorn shook his head and lowered his hammer. “It would only delay the inevitable, there is nowhere we can run. The slaves know this rock better than we do, and they would ferret us out in a matter of days.”

Bjorn returned his attention to the harbor below. He could see the furtive shapes of the attackers gliding through the shadows, their swords glittering in the darkness. He could tell these were not men of Ao’dan. They wore no armor, and bore no shields.

“It would be better than dying here.” G’relg countered.

Bjorn was surprised that the man had found the courage to continue to press his point. “Better to die in combat than at the hands of slaves, G’relg.” He replied looking to burning ships with regret. If only one had remained he would risk it, but he was trapped with no way out. “They would be far from merciful to any former masters they captured.”

The sounds of combat erupted in the courtyard below. Bjorn’s guards fought bravely but they were driven back and retreated into the manor.

Returning to his balcony he calmly poured himself a glass of wine and drank it. Only a slight ripple disturbed the fluid in the glass. His eyes were keen and his hands steady. He took a deep breath and set the glass down as the sounds of fighting ceased.