The Spirit of Revenge (5 page)

Silas looked out over the flat expanse of grass stretching out as far as they could see. “Uh, right,” he muttered to himself, “Over the next few hills…got it.”

Silas turned to Joshua after a long silence and the two began whispering heatedly, their muffled voices breaking the hushed air. It was obvious to anyone within earshot of the two men to grasp what they were saying.

A fierce exchange of whispered curses and threats, the Arzecs…killing their fellows, destroying Andaurel, and of course their master, Abaddon, he who ordered the assault on their town. They would not forget who was behind their suffering.

The soldiers were not sure of their fears, but they knew they rode now on the winds of a storm, a storm of something far larger, and of far worse consequence.

They rode now to the capital of Kaanos, Dun Ara, capital of more than just their country, the capital of information, and what better way to find out what was going on than to travel to where the information was? All this ran through Cain’s mind as he stared out over the dancing fields before them.

Why an attack on Andaurel, he thought to himself. All of Kaanos lay open to Abaddon’s wrath, yet he attacks Andaurel? What does it benefit him in destroying such an insignificant town? Yet, it mattered little to him. His parents were taken from him in his youth by Abaddon, and now his wife and unborn child. Anger flooded his soul, and he vowed it to vengeance.

His thoughts trailed off as Aaron’s voice broke the long silence, “We’re here!” The riders shook themselves from their thoughts and peered out over the plains. In the distance over a stretch of swaying grass, loomed the shadow of Dun Ara.

The soldiers spurred their horses forward and galloped towards the city. As they reached the capital, the shadow’s hold over Dun Ara fell, at last revealing the city.

A lofty wall of sharpened timber poles encompassed a vast network of cobble causeways. A web of roads stretched across the capital city, intertwining with one another to connect the city’s many homes and buildings.

A main road led from the wooden front gate and over the crest of a hill, splitting the city in halves. The hill upon which the city was constructed was not large in girth but instead incredibly long, stretching across the plains like the spine of a great slumbering beast.

The soldiers at last approached the city’s front gate as four sentries peered over the causeway.

“Hold, riders!” One of the guards cried out.

Cain gazed up at the men and called back in return. “I am Cain Taran, captain of the Kaanos Outriders. Let us pass.”

The men nodded before disappearing from sight. Soon the iron locks of the gate were released and the gates were slowly pushed outward, beckoning the riders inside. Cain flicked his reins and led the company through the open gates.

They came out into a large, open court of stone. As they rode across the entrance yard, a large granite statue loomed in the middle.

It was an armored soldier atop a bucking horse, the standard of Kaanos in its left hand and a spear in the other. It stood fifteen feet over the court, casting a shadow over the company as they rode around it.

The soldiers left the courtyard behind and approached the main road. Buildings of standard Kaanos construction surrounded them; all built of timber, rock, and thatched roofs of grass.

The street overflowed with people. An overwhelming wave of smells hit them as they approached the market road. Raw meats, spices, breads, human stench, and ale reached their nostrils in a barrage of the senses.

Stalls of all kinds lined the street. Men sold their wares of tanned hides and clothing, tack, silks, dies, foods, armor and weapons, ales, barley and spices, anything that would fit in their wagons.

The air was filled with the voices of thousands of people, a roaring clamor that drowned out all else. Few people noticed the men on horseback; an indifferent crowd barring their way as they slowly gained distance in the overcrowded street.

Emaciated dogs roamed the streets as they scrounged for oddments of waste. They chased after the riders, barking incessantly before losing them in the crowd.

The soldiers guided their horses down the winding road and pushed through the hundreds of venders. Men cursed at the riders as they were shoved aside, further adding to the deafening confusion.

Eventually the soldiers fought their way out of the crowds. The main road continued winding up the hill at a gradual slope, rounding the corner before disappearing behind distant buildings.

They spurred their mounts down the main road, leaving behind the chaos of the markets before stepping into the heart of the city. The buildings on both sides of the road halted and the main road merged with a central square.

A twin statue of the one at the entrance stood in the middle of the courtyard. This courtyard was barren, devoid of buildings on either side to encompass its emptiness. A great stone building stood on the other end of the court.

Cain reined his horse forward and led the others across the court and around the statue. The riders reached a flight of stairs and dismounted at the foot of the steps.

With Cain and his group in the lead, they made their way up the stairs and came to the building. Several stone columns lined its front, leading towards a gilded door at the far end. Several guards formed a wall of spears, blocking the entrance.

A large man stepped in front of them, spear held loosely at his side.

“I am Cain Taran,” Cain informed him as the group approached. “These men are what remain of my company and the Andaurel militia. The city is lost…”

“We feared as much,” the guard replied, “the King wishes to speak to your leader.”

The soldiers fidgeted anxiously at this before Cain replied, “He was killed during the assault…we have no leader now.”

“I am sorry for your loss. But the King requires an audience, if you are the next leader, then step forward.” Everyone stepped back, leaving Cain and his friends remaining. A hollow laugh escaped the guard. He then opened the door and beckoned them inside.

Cain sighed and followed him through the open doors, his friends close behind. They came to a long throne room, sparsely and humbly decorated. The guard closed the door behind them and led them down the hall.

A large wooden and gold trimmed throne sat on the other end of a stretch of oiled mahogany. Long walls of wooden planking stretched into the palace, leading to a room that shouldered the throne. The guard led them across the throne room to this archway.

They came to another near barren room and the guard led them through one of the several arches that lined its walls. They followed a congested hallway until they came to a large, circular study.

Wooden bookcases lined its stone walls and nearly every inch of its shelves were brimming with volumes of velar books and scrolls. Several windows lit up the study, the morning sunlight giving the room a soft glow. Several brass globes sat around the foot of a window and beside them was a desk piled high with scrolls and parchment.

A man sat beside this desk with a book in hand, his back turned to them. The man stood up at the sound of their footsteps.

He stood very tall, a warm facade etched across his face. His bright straw hair fell to his shoulders and parted to reveal his slightly rumpled brow.

He wore a fustian blue tunic and dark leggings. A thick ringlet of pewter wrapped around his forehead, set gently over the locks of his hair. His light blue eyes gleamed as he approached his guests; arms extended in an inviting flourish.

“Welcome friends!” He greeted them, shaking hands with each of the men. “I am Ethebriel, king of our blessed country. Please, sit down.” He gestured to several plush chairs that lined the walls of the room. Cain and his friends took their seats as their king returned to his.

You may be excused,” he offered the guard. The soldier nodded and bowed before leaving the room. The King turned his attention to the remaining men, tapping his fingers on a book as if deep in thought.

“You do me great honor in coming here,” he said after a long moment.

Cain nodded, “The honor is ours.”

Ethebriel smiled at this. “I wish to become more acquainted with all of you, but there are matters that need attending. I assume Andaurel has fallen, for I receive her survivors. I must ask your forgiveness for not sending troops to your aid. My soldiers were spread too thin and I could not risk the garrison of Dun Ara. But that is no excuse…I cannot imagine the horrors you have endured.” Cain’s company remained silent. “My scouts have reported to me of many rumors, but I must ask, why would they attack Andaurel?”

Cain hung his head and muttered, “We know not why they attacked Andaurel. Only that hundreds of our people lay dead in her ashes.”

Ethebriel’s face darkened as he fingered his goatee in habitual thought. “Abaddon has kept his forces out of Kaanos for the most part, until now. We have fought this war mainly on foreign fronts alongside our allies yet with this attack on your city, Abaddon brings the war to our front door. The battalion of Arzecs you fought is only a small portion of the force he has sent into Kaanos.

‘We need to withdraw our people in and keep them safe in our walls. I will send warning to the rest of the country of this looming threat.” Ethebriel’s fists clenched white as he continued.

“I do not need more blood on my conscience; I cannot bear the thought of more of my people dying when I could have prevented it. If I had foreseen an attack on Andaurel then I could have prevented all of this…alas, I am but a fool.”

He cradled his head in his hands for a moment. “What plagues my mind is why, out of all the places he could have caught off guard, why choose Andaurel as his target? Even after four hundred years, Abaddon’s methods are still a mystery.”

He stood up from his chair, a forced calm and collected look on his face. “I do not know much, but I am King, and I bear the fate of thousands on my shoulders. I know not the state of the rest of Tarsha, but right now, the throngs of Abaddon lay at our doorstep. We must not succumb. We must not surrender. This fight we will not lose. This time…the blood will pour on their side.”

Cain and his friends left the company of Ethebriel and followed the escort back through the palace, soon returning to the throne room.

The guard turned to the men as they reached the door. “The King has opened his arms for you and your soldiers, he has several rooms for all of you in our finest inn, you may stay as long as you deem fit…the inn is across the courtyard and near the arena…just follow the road off to the right. We dropped your horses off at the stables near the palace.” They nodded and the escort turned back into the palace.

Cain opened the palace doors and came out onto the columned terrace. The guards turned and saluted as they descended the steps to the open courtyard. The other soldiers had already left the court, eager to enjoy the comforts of a warm meal and hearth.

The four men crossed the courtyard and followed a cobble road that branched off the main road. They followed the street, towering brick buildings casting shadows over the men below.

A large inn lay not far down the street, a nearly identical building among hundreds. They approached the inn where a soldier stood beside the door, waiting silently for them to approach.

The man nodded at them with a slight bow. “So, how did it go?” He asked as he turned and opened the door for them.

“He wanted to know what happened to us at Andaurel,” Cain replied simply and followed him into the building.

The inn was large and spacious, the walls and floor made of tarnished wood. Several windows let in the morning sun, the golden rays of which shone over the numerous tables that dotted the room. A large bar surrounded by stools took up most of the right side of the tavern, racks of ale and spirits covering the wall behind it above stacks of barreled rum.

The Kaanos Outriders sat around several of the tables, drinking and eating heartily, conversing merrily among themselves. They raised their hands and waved for the new arrivals to join them.

“Where’s the militia?” Cain asked his fellow soldier as the other three approached the table.

“They lost their homes, their families, everything…it’s a safe guess to say they’re grieving.” Cain sighed heavily at this. He had grown up in Andaurel, he knew most of these men his entire life. To know they grieved with the same agony that clenched his own heart only exacerbated it.

“Andrew!” one of the soldiers called out, “bring these men some drinks!” The four men pulled up some chairs and joined their friends at a table. One of the men set a silver platter of mugs on their table and sat down before splitting a deck of cards and passing them around.

Joshua looked at his cards and paused. “So, what do we do now? What can we do?” The soldiers fell silent for a moment, eyeing their cards.

“The palace guards said the King wishes to speak with you four tomorrow,” one of them said, “they said it would be important.” He pushed the platter of ale towards the four men. “Drink up friends; you’re going to need it.”

The men took their tankards and Silas and Joshua leaned back, chugging the frothy liquid. Joshua slammed his mug on the tabletop and laughed as his brother coughed.