Draconis' Bane (25 page)

“NOW!” The young Duke
yelled.

Chaos erupted around
him and he sprang to his feet pulling his sword free of its own
scabbard. He parried an incoming blow and was pushed back by the
man’s shield. He turned aside a blow from another man, spun and
avoided three more sword strokes that fell harmlessly behind
him.

Tristan quickly put
some distance between himself and the four men. He began gauging
distances, and finally feigned forward as two of the men lashed out
in response. The Prince grinned, knowing that while he was facing
four able swordsmen, they were no good at attacking as a group.
Tristan leapt forward catching a sword on the inside of his own and
driving his foot into another man’s face, breaking his nose.

He rolled away as the
momentum of his jump carried him through the ranks of his four
attackers. On one knee he parried two blows and ducked under a
third, swiping his legs out from under the attacker with a swipe of
his sword. Two attackers squared off with him now, approaching him
carefully. The attacker he’d kicked in the face grunted as he
attempted to reset his nose so that he could see again.

The first attacker
feigned forwards, allowing Tristan to bat his blade away as his
partner swiped in for a lazy chop at the Prince’s neck. Tristan
parried the blow and instead of backing away he grabbed the first
one’s shield, pulled him off balance and chopped his head off as he
stumbled past him.

The attackers shield
fell from his limp fingers leaving it in Tristan’s hand. Having
never used one, which he could remember at any rate, he flipped it
over and put his arm through the loops on the inside. The attacker
with the broken nose reset it with a blood curdling crack and
rejoined his comrade, blinking away tears.

Tristan smiled as the
bloodied attacker swung wildly. The Prince caught the blow on the
shield and drove his sword right down to the hilt, through his
chest. His eyes went wide as he whimpered slightly; Tristan pulled
his blade free and kicked him backwards into the last attacker.

Both men went down in
a heap with the living attacker being pinned under the now deceased
one. Around him a cheer went up as the remaining attackers tried to
flee only to find themselves filled with arrows as
Shroud
members pulled out their short bows and used them to good
effect.

When the dust settled
they had captured five men, killed another twenty-eight and the
only injury was Corporal Kincade who was being attended to by one
of the other men. Tristan bent over and retrieved his dagger from
the neck of his first kill. The five prisoners had been bound,
gagged and were now sitting uncomfortably in front of the fire tied
to the large log. Robertson came walking over from where Kincade
was being attended to.

“The Corporal?” Asked
the Prince.

“He’ll live.”
Robertson replied. “What about these lads?”

“Well. My first
thought was that they’re likely to know about
Bane
activities around here.” Tristan said.

“Aye. Likely the
bastards would.” Agreed the Captain.

“But then it occurred
to me that I probably won’t get any information out of them I don’t
already know.” Tristan concluded with a dark expression.

“Also likely.” The
Captain replied, turning his eyes on each prisoner and slowly drew
his dagger. “Why not just slit their throats and leave them for the
vultures?”

Two of the men spat,
the color from two others faces drained and one man fainted.
Captain Robertson quickly slit the first two men’s throats, letting
them bleed down their chests while the two conscious men began to
panic and squirm. Tristan gripped a hold of the first mans hair and
ripped his head back.

Placing his dagger at
the man’s throat, he pulled just enough to break skin. As a drip of
blood trickled down his chest, Tristan asked; “Who are you and what
do you know?”

“Nothing!” The man
screamed.

Tristan ripped his
dagger along his throat and left his head to sag as blood ran
freely down his chest. His scream had awoken the prisoner who had
passed out and panic clearly registered in his face as he regarded
his comrades’ dead body. The Prince walked over, placed his knife
at the next mans throat and asked again; “Who are you and what do
you know?”

The prisoner
whimpered and began trembling, his head shaking almost
imperceptibly. Tristan sighed theatrically as he methodically slit
his throat. The last remaining prisoner began to sob. Tristan
walked over, grabbed a handful of his hair and ripped his head
back. Placing his dagger menacingly at his throat, again he asked;
“Who are you and what do you know?”

He hesitated,
sniffling, after a few moments Tristan lost his patience. He
grabbed the chain with the dragon pendant attached and pulled up,
almost choking the man.

“Let’s make this
simple. I know what this means. I know what you’re doing here. All
I want to know is how many more of your bastard friends are out
there!” He shouted.

The man whimpered
again which made Tristan pull up on the chain painfully, and then
the prisoner blurted out everything he knew. For an hour or more he
gave everyone up, his commander, the location of another force of
mercenaries. Everything that he knew, he rattled out.

Twenty kilometers
away there was another force of
Draconis’ Bane
mercenaries
waiting for Tristan and his companions. They were a back-up force
of more than fifty men including lancers, archers and engineers.
Their leader was the Mercenary Commander for
The Bane
known
as Domiscus Kent.

They built a fort
just off the road from which to control the region. Once word had
reached them of Julpinu’s death, the
Bane
consul, Tristan
assumed this was some sort of title for their leader, had
immediately sent Kent into the area to hunt the Prince down.

The prisoner also
spoke of a war between Terum and Sutten going on at the moment.
Kent and his men would launch small offensives out of their fort
near the border between Guis and Sutten. They were ordered to harry
the rear lines, disrupt supply trains and generally wreak havoc
among the defenders.

By the time he was
done the men had seen to the preparation of supper and Tristan was
handed a bowl of thick stew. The Prince pondered the news; the
possibility of taking out a major player for
The Bane
was
too good to pass up. Finally, Tristan looked up and nodded to
Knight-Captain Robertson. As Tristan walked away from the camp fire
he heard a whimper followed by a grunt of pain as the Captain slit
the last mercenaries’ throat.

After the prisoners
bodies had been disposed of in a large funeral pyre, Tristan and
the rest of the men sat around the cooking fire trying to figure
out the best avenue of attack on the fort. With fifty men inside
and only twelve to their number, taking the fort by force just
wasn’t a viable option. Kincade came into the light of the fire,
he’d gotten a bad slash along the left side of his face and they
had to remove his eye. The Corporal must have been in a great deal
of pain, but he groaned theatrically as he sat down in front of the
fire causing everyone to chuckle.

“Any stew left lads?”
He called.

A bowl was passed
over and conversation continued about the fort. “I say we burn it
down around the bastards, Your Grace.” Said one of the
soldiers.

“How long do you
think they’ve been here?” Tristan asked.

“Couldn’t be more
than a few weeks my Lord.” He replied.

“Would they have
brought the wood with them, or used trees nearby to build the
walls?” The Prince probed.

“They would have
felled fresh trees sir.” He answered uncertainly.

“Which means those
walls are still nice and green inside, they won’t burn down unless
we can get one hell of a fire going.” Tristan concluded.

No one could agree on
a sound tactic for breaching the fort and eventually everyone
turned in for the night, hoping that a sleep would clear their
minds to the task at hand. Tristan stood and went to check on his
horse, Pava. Walking around their rude camp he tried to force his
mind to think of some clever ploy to take the fort. The truth was
that he was completely exhausted and wanted nothing more than to
lie down and sleep for a week.

He walked over to
where the horses were picketed and grazing, pulled a brush out of
the pack on his saddle and began absent-mindedly brushing Pava.
Tristan’s mind wandered freely as he worked. Trying to forget the
task ahead and then forcing his mind to find some way that hadn’t
been considered.

“Good evening young
man.” Spoke a quiet female voice.

Tristan spun around
his sword clearing its scabbard as the brush fell from his hand.
The Prince’s eyes darted around the landscape, trees, and rocks, a
large bolder, nothing seemed out of the ordinary and there
definitely wasn’t someone standing next to him. The voice sounded
so close. Confused, he re-sheathed his sword and bent to pick up
the brush.

“It’s very rude not
to return a greeting you know.” Spoke the voice again.

The brush dropped
from his fingers as he slowly looked over his shoulder. All he
could make out were the trees, rocks, a large….bolder….with
eyes?

“What magic is this?”
He stammered.

“The oldest kind
young Prince Tristan. The oldest.” Spoke the large dragon.

Tristan reached for
his sword. “You won’t need that my friend.” Soothed the dragon.

The Prince stopped
his movement and stared deeply into the enormous eyes, almost like
a cat’s eye, except red. The clouds above cleared revealing a full
moon, with the added light Tristan could make out the outline and
the color of the dragon. It was enormous, bronze and what appeared
to be a boulder in the gloom was in fact its head, which was as
tall as he was.

“As I understand it,
my young friend, you need to invade that small fort down the road?”
The dragon asked.

“I…I do.” Tristan
stammered.

“Relax young man.
I’ll not harm you or your men.” The dragon soothed again.

“I’m sorry; I’ve
never seen something quite as large as you, at least not unless it
was made of stone.” He admitted.

The dragon chuckled.
“It has been some time since I’ve enjoyed Vallious humor.”

“Wait…you said my
name earlier, do I know you?” Tristan asked.

“What are you on
about boy? Of course you know me.” The dragon shot.

“I think I would
remember meeting a huge dragon.” Tristan replied dryly.

The dragon closed its
eyes and Tristan immediately felt pressure in his mind. He did his
best to block the pressure, not really sure what to expect. Her
presence whipped aside his pitiful defenses as she plunged into his
recent memories. Upon reaching the point when he woke from the
spell that had imprisoned him for so long, she withdrew
carefully.

“Interesting, well my
young friend. That explains a great deal.” Commented the dragon
somberly.

“What explains a
great deal?” Tristan asked, relaxing slightly due to her gentle
prodding around in his mind. He couldn’t quite understand why her
presence in his mind wasn’t cause for alarm, but somehow he felt
confident that she meant him no harm.

“The attack on you
did a fine job of mucking up your memories.” She said.

“How do you know
about that?” Tristan demanded.

“I know quite a bit
young Duke Tristan.” The dragon replied as its eyes narrowed.
“Perhaps it’s better this way.” The dragon took a deep breath.
“Well, I suppose introductions should be made then. My name is
Lesariu.”

“You look a lot like
Draconis.” Tristan blurted.

“You flatter me young
Prince.” The dragon purred. “Draconis is probably three times my
size, silver and would rather eat a man than offer aid.”

“You offer aid?”
Tristan asked.

“Indeed I do young
Prince. Just before the sun rises I intend to fly over that fort
and set it on fire.” The dragon explained. “What you and your men
do from there is your own bloody business.”

“That’s a mighty
gift, what’s in it for you?” Tristan asked.

“The continuation of
our kind my young friend.” Intoned Lesariu. The large bronze dragon
turned with surprising speed, spread its enormous wings and took
flight. It’s serpent like body uncoiling from the ground as its
wings spread to their full length, attached all along its long
body.

Tristan stood
transfixed for what felt like an hour. Once again, when it seemed
that all hope was lost an opportunity had presented itself. At once
a plan formed in his mind, he would assemble his men on the
opposite side of the fort from the rising sun. While all of the
soldiers in the fort were watching them, the dragon would set them
on fire.
The Shroud
needed only to clean up the remaining
soldiers and find this Mercenary Commander. There was still a lot
that could go wrong and while Tristan wrestled with his conscience
a roar echoed off to the east. He made his way back to the camp to
get some rest.

~

Just before sunrise
twelve men stood in a line to the west of
The Bane
fort.
Domiscus Kent looked over the parapet and chuckled. His Captain
rushed forward to report. “My Lord, the scouts have not returned,
they may have….”

“Never mind Captain,
I believe I know where they’ve gone.” Kent replied as he pointed
out to the twelve men assembled there.

“Surely they don’t
think they can take us with that force?” The Captain laughed.

“They seem to imply
it. Look, they make ready to attack.” Kent chuckled.

Below Domiscus Kent
could make out the silhouette of a tall slightly build man, a short
stocky warrior at his side and ten allies of varying heights and
builds. Then they began to cheer wildly as they beat their swords
on their shields. The cheering reached a crescendo as some of the
lookouts yelled from the opposite wall.