Draconis' Bane (26 page)

An ear piercing roar
cut through the dawn mist as a column of fire erupted along the
battlements. Lookouts screamed as they fell from their towers, the
entire eastern wall was a flame as an immense golden dragon soared
overhead. It flipped over lazily as Domiscus called for his archers
to fire. His archers stood along the wall, taking aim for the giant
beast. Kent shouted in irritation as none of them fired and looked
over his shoulder to find them all filled with arrows.

Kent cursed, looking
over the wall as the twelve drew back for their second volley. He
ducked down behind the parapet just as a score of arrows took more
of his men, sending them over the battlements and crashing to the
ground below. In the course of two minutes his force was cut in
half.

The dragon circled
back over the fort and breathed yet more fire, setting the southern
wall and the gate on fire. The ropes holding the gate closed burned
and snapped, sending the gate crashing to the ground. The force of
twelve attackers swarmed into the fort as the dragon lit the
northern wall on fire. Kent’s army of fifty-five men was now barely
a squad of eight.

Domiscus grabbed a
hold of the nearest man and yelled at him; “Report to
The
Bane
, let them know what happened here and that damned
dragon-spawn has a pet!” He shoved the man away who quickly pulled
one of the rope ladders out of a storage box, tossed it over the
side and quickly made his way down and ran for it.

The dragon lazily
dipped and bit the man in half as it flew over him. Once again,
Domiscus Kent cursed in anger. Suddenly there was a dagger at his
throat and a hissing voice in his ear as his fort burned down
around them. “Move and you die bastard.”

~

Armor gives me
indigestion.
Lesariu spoke inside Tristan’s mind.

Thank you for your
help my friend.
He replied with a laugh.

Think nothing of
it. I’ll be looking in on you from time to time young Prince.
Farewell.
Came her reply.

By now the sun had
completely risen in the sky and the fort was completely engulfed in
flames. The gate wall came crashing down and the last strength Kent
possessed seemed to fail him. The Commander fell to his knees as
another took the young Prince’s place his a dagger to Kent’s
throat.

“What’s your purpose
here?” Tristan demanded, walking around to stand in front of his
prisoner.

“You are of course.”
Kent answered in even tones.

“Your masters?” The
Prince pushed.

“You know very well
who they are.” He shot.

“What are their
plans?” Tristan persisted.

“To kill you and your
kind.” The Commander answered evenly.

“Where are they?”
Tristan probed.

Commander Domiscus
Kent looked up at the young Prince defiantly as he answered;
“Everywhere.” He replied with a sadistic grin before grabbing the
guards hand and pulling Tristan’s dagger across his throat.
Robertson made a disgusted sound and the Commander pitched forward
and died in a pool of blood below them.

Tristan motioned
absentmindedly, signaling to his soldiers to mount up. He began to
wonder to himself if he could ever truly understand an enemy who
would readily slit his own throat than give up information. Shaking
himself from yet more dark thoughts, he mounted up and made way for
Sutten. Ten minutes down the road the fort exploded as the fire
reached the weapons cache buried under the makeshift keep.

Tristan was most
satisfied at their progress. Firstly, since he’d woken from the
spell that had trapped him in his nightmares he’d never felt this
sure of his purpose. Secondly, he’d defeated an integral member of
Draconis’ Bane
and that was surely a cause for celebration.
Knight-Captain Robertson was quick to point out that there were
still others out there. While killing one of their more important
members was impressive, he warned against arrogance and
self-satisfaction.

Still, Tristan was
happy, happier than he’d been in weeks at any rate. His mind still
drifted back to Mina and he wondered about his child. Bittersweet
would be the word he favored, however sweet his current victory, it
was tainted by subterfuge. Still, progress was progress and Tristan
was most satisfied as they crossed the border into Sutten
unchallenged.

The countryside was
awe inspiring. The sand and plains of Guis gave way to the dark
rich earth of Sutten, which reminded him more of Vallius than he
cared to admit. A pang of homesickness Tristan hadn’t realized was
possible, gripped his stomach. The mountains to the north and west,
the ocean to the east and vast grassland, forested region lay
before him. The Great River ran right through this country and into
Malus.

They’d been on the
road for three days without running into any Suttenites. He
pondered the oddity that no local militia at the least was running
patrol along their borders. Tristan had been sorely tempted to turn
north when they passed the Teris Pass path. The call of heart and
home was nearly overwhelming. He longed for the simpler times when
he’d been training and talking with his brother or his sister
prattled on to no end about the palace gossip. Tristan sighed
wistfully as he gathered Pava’s reins and brought her up to a trot,
wanting to leave the feeling behind in the dust.

The young Prince held
his hand up. In the distance on the packed dirt road he could see a
group of riders coming their way. His men tensed slightly in the
saddle, an unfortunate side-effect of all the action they’d been
through in the last six months under his command. Strangers brought
with them the possibility of attack, and since it seemed like there
was a grand scheme in place to take Tristans’ life, any stranger
was potentially an enemy.

The riders slowed
down to a trot as they approached, the leader motioning for a halt
as he spoke; “State your name and your business.” He commanded.

Thankfully Tristan
wasn’t adverse to rudeness, having tolerated it as long as he could
remember. “Prince Tristan Vallious and company, we come as envoys
for the Tiger Clan.” He announced as the leader’s mood noticeably
lightened and he released his hold on the hilt of his sword.

“It is good to see
you again my friend.” He replied.

“Do I know you?”
Tristan asked. Inwardly, he was still embarrassed every time
someone he’d known before the spell’s damaging side effect had
robbed him of his memories. The leader looked taken aback;
fortunately Knight-Captain Robertson moved his horse forward
slightly.

“William me lad, it’s
a long story best told behind the high walls of Heatherington
Keep.” He explained.

“Very well old
friend.” replied William, obviously confused. “The keep is only a
half-day ride south-west.”

Shooting Tristan
another confused look, he turned his horse and the Sutten soldiers
led them into their lands. Tristan couldn’t shake his guilt and
finally asked the Knight-Captain about William quietly.

“You lads were
inseparable as children my Prince. While you never met Alison until
just recently, you and William there used to visit one another for
months at a time.” Robertson explained softly. “Most of the serving
staff was hard pressed to admit you weren’t brothers.” He
chuckled.

Tristan lapsed into a
brooding silence as they rode towards the towering keep in the
distance. His thoughts turned dark as he considered the friends
that he didn’t know. The dragon, Lesariu, had known him, this
soldier, William, had known him. Fight as he may, Tristan couldn’t
recall ever meeting either of them. A dragon would stick out in the
mind, he mused, and a close friend should be something one
retains.

“Relax lad. He’ll
understand it’s no fault of yours.” Robertson reassured him,
correctly interpreting the silence.

“Reading my thoughts
Lance?” Tristan asked with a crooked smile.

“S’not my gift my
Lord.” He chuckled.

Prince Tristan was
still very bothered by what had some to pass since he’d recovered.
Lately he’d decided that when he felt this nagging guilt it was
better for him to focus his frustration at those who put him in
this situation. Secretly he worried that if his memories came back,
would he prefer the man he’d been or the man he was becoming?
Outwardly, everyone seemed to prefer the more rational and
thoughtful man he was now. Tristan wasn’t sure if those character
traits would make him a better leader or not. His father had been
willing to eventually award him a duchy regardless of his foul
temper.

His dark thoughts
were interrupted as the company crested a hill and the full size of
the fort they approached could be seen. The walls were tilted
inward at the plinth, making it damn near impossible for sappers to
collapse a section of wall. Towers jutted out at odd locations with
no discernable pattern, Tristan assumed this was to keep any
climbers at bay.

Everything was built
with rough stone and timber, unlike the keeps of Vallius there was
no thought put towards making the structures attractive. Everything
here was highly functional and nothing spoke of symmetry,
attractiveness or gaudiness. After all the time he’d spent with
Kevin, Tristan greatly appreciated the attention that had gone into
the defenses and functionality of the keep.

Heatherington Keep
was more like a fortress than any keep he’d ever seen before. Even
at this distance he could see men running along behind the
parapets. A trumpet sounded from the keep and the walls were
quickly lined with soldiers. The Prince was deeply impressed, so
much thought was put into defense of their country, and yet
surrounding the keep he could see that these people were also very
gifted farmers.

Fields of vegetables,
grains and fruits grew larger and in more density than any he could
recall. Tristan looked at their escort again and noticed that every
soldier was equally large, broad and sat his horse with a quiet
confidence built from experience. Each of them had a round shield
strapped to their backs with a crescent shape cut out of it where
it met their saddle; a spear was strapped between the shield and
their back. Each of them was armed with a single short sword with a
rounded off pommel.

Tristan surmised that
while they would prove a devastating cavalry; they also appeared to
be excellent infantry. Their armor was sparse, being only a light
leather breastplate and a pair of bracers each. Their boots were
unlike his own, appearing to be made primarily of cloth with thick
hide for a sole. Each soldier was tanned deeply, presumably from
their nomadic lifestyle. Each clan would forgo their nomadic ways
for three years as they occupied one of the four cities in
turn.

As they rode forward
a large drawbridge descended, if Tristan hadn’t seen it lowered, he
wouldn’t have known where to find it. Bricks poked out from the
sides of the bridge as though someone had painstakingly chiseled
around each seam to create a piece of wall that could be
lowered.

The group rode closer
and Tristan began to drink in the details of the city and her
defenses. He could see wooden trim with large iron plates every few
feet. Pulleys inside allowed the chains to effortlessly lower the
draw bridge over the moat. It wasn’t until the drawbridge had
completely lowered that Tristan noticed that the path going up to
the wall was strange; it ran off and into the wall at strange
angles. When the bridge was up Tristan admitted he would be hard
pressed to know which part of the road led towards the drawbridge.
It was a small thing, though the young Prince’s eyes drank in every
detail he could see.

More details became
visible as the group approached the walls at a canter. There were
portholes scattered at odd places along the walls where archers
could hide and fire at invaders without fear of injury. Tristan
could see lights dancing inside some of them and assumed there must
have been braziers in there so archers could shoot lighted
arrows.

The inside of the
drawbridge was made of metal and wood, which they urged their
horses up and onto as their escort led them into the keep. Just as
in Kenting, the shops inside the keep were modest. Each contained
basic everyday needs and no thought was put into finery. The
buildings were assembled in much the same fashion as Kenting as
well. They possessed flat roofs, no windows on the main floor with
doors and shakers that could easily be bolted from inside.

Every thought seemed
to be geared towards making this keep as impregnable as possible. A
bell chimed from one of the western towers and the Suttenites
scrambled. Tristan looked at Robertson in confusion, receiving a
shrug from the old man in return. William dismounted and handed his
reins off to a porter. Turning to Tristan he yelled over the
chaos;

“That’s an attack
warning bell. Let’s go see what the commotion is about, shall we?”
He explained with a smile on his face.

Tristan smiled back,
handed over his reins to a porter and dismounted Pava. William led
him up the nearest walkway and as Tristan looked out over the
parapet he was forced to admit that he was quite glad to be behind
these walls. The array of strange and fearsome creatures gathered
on the

“Son of a…” Robertson
muttered from beside him.

“That will do
Captain.” Tristan interrupted, chuckling in spite of himself.

“Giants, orcs and
bugbears don’t often band together like this.” William commented
from his other side.

What Tristan saw in
the shadow of the immense fortress was a horde of the most
impossible creatures. Easily forty thousand men and creatures
gathered at the foot of Heatherington Keep. Scattered in their
midst were enormous giants, casting their shadows over scores of
riders and infantry, human, orc and goblin alike. Large rolling
buildings, filled to capacity, wound their way through the ranks,
being pushed along by something that resembled a short giant or
enormous orc. Large bugbears pushed catapults forward, urged on by
gangly trolls brandishing whips.