A Dragon Rises: Mercenary

By Dale R. Boyd

Tulag Gor had sold his sword and axe to more rulers and kings in more lands than he could count, but the big northerner had never taken contract with a more unlikely patron than the one who approached him that day in Butistan: an ex-clan chief of the Iloni, accompanied by the commander of the royal elite guard of Urland, hereditary enemies of the Iloni themselves. It was a job he couldn't pass up. The Iloni was Orin-na-Tak, father and royal steward to Prince Michal, heir to the throne of Urland, and the young prince had been betrayed by none other than General Tomeku, supreme military commander of Urland's armies. Now the boy was being held captive, to be used as a pawn by the general as he sought control of the kingdom. Orin-na-Tak and what remained of his loyal guards would stop at nothing in getting his son safely back to him, and to reclaim Prince Michal's birthright as the future king. None could know that this singular drama playing out in a small realm far to the east of the Amber Sea would begin a confluence of events that would soon shape the destiny of the entire West.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dale R. Boyd
• Release date: Mar 22, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311444042

Dale R. Boyd

Dale R. Boyd was born in southern California in the late 1950's. By the time he was ten, he had found a true love of all things fantasy and science fiction, books and comics in particular. Beginning with Robert E. Howard's tales about Conan the Barbarian and Tolkien's Lord of the Rings, he read just about every book his parents would buy him or he could borrow. From his early teens on, he created his own characters, lands and plots, filing them away for some promised future date he would actually write the stories down. As he got older he took the traditional route of what most would call a normal career in the corporate world, but never gave up his love of reading nor the creation of his own little worlds. In large part due to the encouragement of a dear and close friend, he finally sat down and began to write. "A Dragon Rises: Mercenary" is his first published work of fiction, the first of a series of stories.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Epilogue

Glossary

Author's Notes

About the Author

Chapter 1

The heavy ornate doors to Orin-na-Tak’s private sleeping quarters burst inward with a loud crash as Captain Anatol rushed into the room, shouting, My Lord, please, you must awaken!

Wild-bred and raised, Orin-na-Tak was alert and moving before the commander of the Golden Skaiths could complete his exhortation. The royal steward leapt to where his clothes lay, ignoring them as he yanked his sword free of its scabbard and whirled to face the breathless guard.

Captain, what is it!? Orin-na-Tak demanded, barefoot and naked but for a thin pair of black silk trousers and a yard of curved steel in one fist. Poised in a half-crouch with sword raised, long, unbound hair draping over his shoulders, the former Iloni chieftain looked every bit the wild hillman despite his years among the Urlandese. Though unseen in the feeble light of the single night candle, his upper body and arms bore the symbols of his clan and people, indelibly set into flesh with charcoal inks. In some places the angular symmetry of the designs was broken by faded scars, hard reminders of a harder life.

Sire, General Tomeku is leading the army against you in a revolt! He has declared martial law throughout Torun and has accused you of high treason. The captain stood rigidly before his lord, shaking with barely constrained fury.

The royal steward was stunned by what he just heard, his eyes going wide. Treason? he yelled, That is absurd! What have I done that amounts to treason?

Captain Anatol shook his head savagely, voice raw with urgency. "My Lord, I implore you! We must leave here at once. Tomeku’s soldiers are coming for you. My men will bar their advance as long as possible, but they are sorely outnumbered. We must escape the castle and the city. If you are arrested, I fear General Tomeku will find some pretense to have you hanged before anyone within the royal court can fully grasp what has happened. Sire, please, we must go now!"

Orin-na-Tak’s face suddenly went pale. My son, Anatol! Where is my boy? His heart lurched within his chest in a cold panic. Would Tomeku dare hurt Michal, prince of Urland and heir to the throne?

It was almost impossible for the Skaith commander to hold his lord’s anguished stare as he answered, "Sire, the general’s agents must have either bribed or threatened the boy’s nursemaid, it seems. The two guards stationed outside his chamber saw Misela go in carrying a cup. She told them the prince was feeling ill, and she was bringing him some water mixed with herbs. After a short time, she came out carrying Prince Michal, saying he was now with fever and needed to see Aelphu, the royal healer. She told one of the men to accompany her...My Lord, the guard was found murdered. The nursemaid and your son were nowhere to be found.

I believe Misela must have drugged the prince, making it appear as if he was simply in a stupor as she carried him from his room.

Speaking all this in a frantic rush, Captain Anatol looked as if he would burst his seams any second. He stepped into the room without invitation, a grave presumption on his part, but current circumstances demanded protocol be damned.

My Lord, he said, his agitation barely contained, I know you are in blackest despair over your son, but General Tomeku will not dare to hurt Prince Michal. The army may be his, but the people are not. He will instead try and use the prince as a tool by which to wield power over Urland. Now, I beg you! We must flee at once. If you are to regain your son and his birthright, you must first live to see the morrow’s dawn.

Orin-na-Tak’s helpless rage at Tomeku’s treacherous actions was only matched by the sick dread he felt for his son’s safety. He had met sword and spear in mortal combat, faced death countless times, but never had he known the cold, wretched fear now crushing his heart in its icy grip. Michal was all he had left in this world, his only child. Yet, for all his overwhelming desire to do nothing more than to run from this room and tear the city apart in search of his son, he also knew the captain was correct. To stay likely meant losing Michal forever, himself swinging at the end of a rope by the general’s orders. If he was captured and killed, his son would be at the mercy of Tomeku and whatever schemes the traitorous bastard concocted. With a forced resolve tearing at his soul, he banked the tempest of emotions threatening to overwhelm his last vestiges of good sense.

The royal steward hastily threw on a pair of leather trousers, shirt and vest, pulled on a pair of sturdy riding boots and grabbed his scabbard. Almost as an afterthought, he snatched his long Iloni dagger on the way out of the room, slipping the fourteen-inch blade inside his belt. As they ran into the hall, the two men could hear the clash of arms and angry shouts from elsewhere within the castle. The fighting sounded far closer than when the commander first arrived at his lord’s chambers. They had only moments before the general’s soldiers fought their way through to Orin-na-Tak’s private quarters.

Captain Anatol led the way at a fast trot. As they ran down a dimly-lit side corridor leading towards a little-used part of the castle, Orin-na-Tak reached out and gripped the Skaith commander by his shoulder. Thank you, Captain, for your loyalty. I fear it may come at too heavy a price for you and your men, but you are a man of honor. Would have been a simpler and far less dangerous choice for you to simply have looked the other way and let Tomeku take me.

The captain spared a quick glance back as they rushed down a darkened hall that on first appearances led only to a dead end. His eyes were unreadable in the dim light, but his tone was one of grim resolve. It is my sworn troth to protect the prince and his father, My Lord; one that I would gladly die to uphold. The captain’s lips pressed tight, a look of sour disgust crossing his face. Also, Sire, I’ve always thought General Tomeku an arrogant, self-serving bastard with the faithless soul of a whoremonger. Sadly, the keenness of my judgment was more astute than I would have guessed.

And what of the rest of the Skaiths? Orin-na-Tak asked, hating the need to pose the question. It was an insult to even suggest what it implied, but his concern for Michal forced the point. If there was but the smallest concern as to the loyalty of just one guard, Captain Anatol would tell him. They came to the end of the hall where the Iloni saw a disguised door painted to blend with the surrounding walls.

Yours to a man, Sire, without question. But we are only some four hundred, Captain Anatol replied over his shoulder. If he took issue with the query, his voice betrayed nothing. How could he take offense? It was his duty to protect the prince, and in this singular task he had failed miserably. Anatol would allow himself no pardon, though none could have predicted such blatant treachery from Tomeku, or Misela’s careful ruse. He not only wore the gilded armor of the royal guard, he was the commander of the Golden Skaiths. The prince’s kidnapping would be a millstone around his neck till the boy was safe and the general in chains or a grave. All he could do now, however, was to see his other charge safely away.

The captain took a set of keys on a small ring from a pouch tied to his belt, selecting one and inserting it in the door. With a stubborn click the old lock grudgingly turned. Anatol pushed hard against the thick wood with the palms of his mail gloves, the door opening with a grating protest sounding far too loud in his ears. He gave a nervous glance back down the dark hall, listening for sounds of pursuit. Satisfied their whereabouts were still undiscovered, he ushered the royal steward into a short corridor that ended in a series of steps leading downward. Anatol shut and relocked the door, grabbed an unlit torch set in an iron bracket on the wall and lit the windings ablaze with a few strikes of flint against steel. Assisted by the amber light of the flame, he led them down the stone stairs.

Following the captain into what was obviously some secret hallway he never would have guessed existed, Orin-na-Tak suffered in silent torment over his son.

Michal was only five years old. His young mind would not understand why his father was not there when he awoke, why he didn’t come for him. It took all the willpower he possessed not to run back up the stairs to find his child, laying waste to any who dared stand in his way, but he also knew it was a fool’s errand. It would be exactly what General Tomeku wanted. To give in to this impulse would be folly, costing him his life and Michal the father he loved and needed, making his son an orphan. It was a thought which cut the former Iloni chieftain like a knife thrust to the gut. All he could do for now was follow the commander and trust the man’s guidance. Any thought or plan to rescue his son would have to wait till full sense could be made of what happened this night. And for him to cling desperately to the hope Captain Anatol was correct about Tomeku’s reluctance to do any harm to Urland’s prince and royal heir.

The stairs led down a short distance to another stout wooden door, which Anatol opened with a second key. The light from his torch showed a good-sized room on the other side, empty except for a few barrels, casks and crates of varying sizes, all covered in a thick layer of dust and cobwebs. The air inside was stale and musty, as if the space had been sealed for a long time.

What is this place? Orin-na-Tak asked, looking around at what the torchlight revealed.

Anatol was busy roughly shoving aside some empty crates in one of the corners, exposing a man-size niche in the wall, sealed by yet a third door. As he quickly searched for the key that would unlock it, he said, "Begging your pardon, Sire, but royals of all ilk tend to be a cautious lot. Most palaces and castles boast their share of hidey-holes and secret passages, such as those we have just come through. We are about to enter another one. Originally, this room was built to store a hidden cache of water and food in the event of a prolonged siege. Ah, here we go."

There was another grinding click before the lock turned. The heavy door swung inward to reveal a rough, stone-faced tunnel leading off into inky blackness. Flickering light from Captain Anatol’s torch showed a floor of hard packed dirt sloping gently downward.

This tunnel, My Lord, will lead us underneath the castle walls and out beyond the city gates as well. Its other end comes up within a small copse of trees near an outcropping of rocks, some two hundred paces north of the Hills Gate. There is a hatch which will allow us to leave the tunnel. It sits just below the dirt and is well-hidden. There will be two horses tied up among the trees, waiting for us.

The royal steward’s brows knitted together in momentary confusion before his eyes narrowed with sudden suspicion. His hand slid to his sword hilt.

Captain, he said slowly, If General Tomeku just this night launched his revolt, how is it you and your men had time to have such a careful escape plan already laid out?

Orin-na-Tak’s movement was not lost on the Skaith commander. He took a slow, deep breath, making sure to keep his own hands well away from his weapons as he calmly answered, Sire, for over two centuries the safety and well-being of Urland’s royal family has been the sacred duty of the Golden Skaiths. All of those who take up the gold and brown of our uniform swear a blood oath to uphold this noble task. As part of this duty, over our history of service we have developed a number of plans to cover as many contingencies as could be posited. If a threat could be conceived, a means to counter it was developed. Safeguarding our charges against insurrection and treason is one such obvious threat considered. As soon as I was made aware of General Tomeku’s betrayal, I ordered my men to initiate this particular plan, which includes our escape from the city.

Orin-na-Tak let his hand fall from his sword. The lines of his face softened as he let out a weary sigh. Momentary distrust was replaced with a burning shame that he could ever entertain doubt of Anatol’s loyalty.

I am deeply sorry, Captain. Please accept my pardon, he said, his voice holding the bitter strain of the night’s revelations. My suspicions, however brief, were unwarranted. Of all men, you certainly deserve better. My thinking, and apparently my good judgment as well, are clouded by thoughts of my son in the hands of the bastard, General Tomeku. Know I trust you with my life, as well as that of Prince Michal.

The Skaith commander shook his head in gentle repudiation at his lord’s recriminations, the motion casting a wave of dancing shadows on the torch lit walls. Orin-na-Tak was the royal steward, father to the future king of Urland, had just been jolted awake with news of both blackest betrayal and his son’s abduction, yet he had the grace to apologize to a man whose only duty was to serve and protect. The Iloni never ceased to surprise him.

My Lord, please, it was a question any warrior or soldier of half a sense should have asked, given the circumstances. Hurry now. We must make it beyond the city walls before it is discovered you are no longer in the castle.

After a few moments of jogging through the narrow tunnel, the flames of the torch scarcely lighting more than a pace or two ahead of them, they came to a circular area some eight paces across. Here the roof was no longer rock, but instead comprised of massive wooden beams, each as thick as a barrel, supported by the same rising from stone pads set into the dirt.

We are directly beneath the castle walls now, My Lord. The timbers overhead extend some distance beyond the outer edges of the foundation stones. We will come to another such area, though much larger, when we pass beneath the outer walls.

The castle was near the heart of the city, and though Torun was not large when compared to the great capitals of the Southern Kingdoms, it seemed to Orin-na-Tak their careful hurrying lasted far longer than it should have. Eventually they came to the second area the captain spoke of, and it was indeed much larger. Looking up at the giant timbers, the royal steward could almost feel the crushing weight of the huge foundation stones sitting above their heads.

Less than a minute later, the tunnel abruptly ended in a wall of rocky soil and exposed roots. Lying on the dirt floor was a wooden ladder well-oiled against rot and the decaying effects of time. Captain Anatol set the ladder against the wall and climbed up a step, placing his hands against a wooden square set in the stone ceiling. Slowly he pushed, raising the hatch a few inches so he could peer outside, a small fall of dirt and bits of leaves tumbling past his face. From his limited vantage he saw only tall grass, a few tree branches and a sliver of night sky. He could hear the rustlings of the two horses tied close by as the animals quietly munched on the wild fodder. Anatol cautiously opened the hatch to its fullest extent, making sure not to let it bang against the ground. He and the royal steward quickly climbed up and out of the tunnel.

The horses were saddled, their bridals tied loosely to a tree branch. Water bags and another satchel containing trail rations lay across the animals’ rumps behind the saddle skirt. Lying on the ground was an Urlandese long bow, a quiver of arrows, a rag and a pot of thick, oily tar. Anatol pulled an arrow from the quiver and rolled the rag about the shaft just behind the head. Prying the lid off the pot, he dipped the arrow’s point and the section of clothwound shaft into the sticky liquid. He then reached into his belt pouch and pulled out his fire starter. The captain peered at the royal steward in the dark.

Sire, we must be ready to ride as if the demons of Sarssussus pursue us. This arrow will be the signal to my men you are safely out of the city and that they should now make their own escape as well. Those who can will ride after and join us.

Orin-na-Tak mounted his horse as the Skaith commander struck flint against steel, sending a spray of sparks onto the oil-soaked cloth. With a small, smoky whoosh, the tar ignited into greasy flame. Immediately, he nocked the arrow, aimed towards the city and let fly. The heavy bow was longer than the captain was tall, and the sturdy weapon was no easy task to fully draw. With a sharp twang of its bowstring, the arrow streaked up into the night sky, its blazing path sending it arcing high above the city walls. Any Skaith looking north would see the streak of fire against the backdrop of the night sky, but so too would General Tomeku’s soldiers. The captain hurriedly lashed the bow to his horse, vaulted into his saddle