The King's Tribe Page 11

  Faelyn’s lost weapon has been kicked to the edge of the circle near us but no one tries to return it to him, I assume such interference would taint the fairness of the match. Unfortunately for Faelyn, he can therefore not retrieve it without leaving himself open to Orrian. He swivels furious and now only single handed.

  Jaq grunts in approval next to me, not only was it a brilliant disarming but they also now stand toe-to-toe with Orrian having the longer blade.

  Faelyn launches a fresh onslaught, attacking Orrian with the ferocity of a cornered bear, pushing him back against the side of the ring as he desperately tries to dodge or block each incoming strike. A couple slip through, drawing long red lines against his skin and earning winces of pain. Without his other blade the rushed attack isn’t as effective as it was before, an opponent wildly lashing out with a single blade is much easier to keep an eye on and handle than an opponent with two.

  With one almighty effort to put the fight to rest, Faelyn drives his remaining steel straight towards Orrian’s throat. Orrian’s back leg is already shifting as he moves to block, he turns on his front leg with his back swinging around as he brings his blade in a steep curve downwards. Orrian has already rotated and has his back to Faelyn before the taller man crumples to the floor, a deep gash partitioning his calf.

  Seeing his chance, Orrian plants a foot between the wounded man’s shoulder blades, pinning him to the floor. He readies his point at the base of Faelyn’s neck.

  Elation courses through me, I won’t be abandoned to die alone outside in the harsh terrain. Around the ring many eyes glimmer with admiration. The king has won his people back.

  “Surrender,” Orrian struggles for breath, sweat dripping from his forehead onto the cold stone below. A long trail of red etches its way down his back to join the puddle from his defeated adversary below him. The calf is pumping furiously, requiring serious attention.

  Faelyn slowly moves onto his back to look the victor in the eye. I expect his face to be a painting of hurt, anger, or embarrassment, but instead I can only see acceptance.

  “It doesn’t have to end here,” Orrian states, “If you really care about our people then join us, do your duty-”

  “You’re making a mistake,” Faelyn interjects.

  “We’re the last of our people, I can’t let our history end in this mountain,” Orrian replies, to which Faelyn sighs in submission, releasing his sword.

  Orrian acknowledges the surrender with a slight nod.

  “Tend to him,” Orrian speaks to Ryfon, gesturing to Faelyn, before rotating to face his people, “We leave at dawn.” Without another word he makes to leave, a parting in the crowd obediently forming to give him passage. I marvel at his selflessness, having a man who moments ago tried to kill him fixed up before his own wounds are seen to.

  “No!” Horith shouts next to me at Orrian’s back, “We can’t leave! They’ll hunt us down out there! We need to stay here!” Horith yells in terror.

  “Quiet Horith,” Faelyn instructs from the floor, Ryfon has already begun to clean the wound on his leg, “he’s our king,” he adds after a short pause.

  Orrian has paused now, I can just make out his back, head bowed, at the edge of the crowd.

  “We’ll die out there! He can’t be king! He can’t choose for us! We’ll die!” Horith continues frantically, he searches faces desperately but all refuse to meet his eye.

  “It’s his right,” Faelyn says, dejected but honouring the fight.

  “WE’RE NOT LEAVING!” he roars, sweeping up Faelyn’s discarded sword and charging after the king.

  Jaq dives to tackle him but falls short, getting a heel to the chin. A couple of others try to get in the brutish man’s path but are knocked aside.

  The commotion brings Orrian’s attention round to see Horith bearing down on him, the sword already rising behind Horith’s head in its cycle to deal the fatal blow.

  Orrian is obscured from view by my ex-guard’s enormity.

  The traitorous swing stops mid-air.

  A glistening bloody steel tip protrudes from his back briefly, it vanishes moments before Horith falls.

  Silence.

  Faelyn groans in despair.

  Orrian surveys his people once more, seemingly looking each one in the eye, ready for another attack as the blood from his blade slowly drips to re-join its owner below.

  For the first time, Orrian’s collected demeanour has been replaced by momentary fury. I wouldn’t even back Edwyn, who may be close to double Orrian’s size, to fight the king with that fire behind those eyes.

  Confident that Horith was the last of his challengers, after a long moment Orrian finally continues his exit. Faelyn has kicked Ryfon away towards Horith but we all already know that the man has spluttered his last breaths. Meanwhile Jaq struggles to his feet looking slightly concussed from the connection with his jaw but otherwise fine.

  As Faelyn drags himself over to his fallen comrade, everyone begins to disperse, hopeful to reclaim as much of the night as possible before the coming morning, bringing with it our hurried departure from this place.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  We haven’t slept all night. Whether it’s been distributing what few weapons we have, packing up the food stores, or creating inventories, we have been running around until dawn getting ready for our departure. I am handing out the last of the newly filled waterskins when the shout to leave echoes around the walls.

  With the death of Horith and the relieving of my guards after Orrian’s victory, I have been largely left to my own devices through the night’s passing. Lost at first and with Orrian being far too busy for my interruptions, I had sought out Jaq who had suggested I start picking up the various skins and fabrics littering the floor and draping them around as many shoulders as I could. Whilst it had been the hope of many to get some sleep, due to tomorrow looming and the constant activity barely anyone had managed to shut their eyes for any longer than a half-hour.

  The change in my treatment had been immediate following the fight. Over the course of a few hours I was trusted with the distribution of some weapons, mothers left me to care for their children, I even ended up dealing with the precious food supplies, all without any hint of doubt or distrust. As I handed out supplies and aided anyone who needed an extra pair of hands, I found myself in their gratitude, suspicious looks had instantly been replaced and I was now treated as one of their own. Orrian really had proven himself, his bidding and wishes were now to be carried out without the slightest hesitation, even Faelyn was contributing to the efforts.

  Upon seeing a pregnant mother with particularly bad feet and remembering the nasty journey back down the mountain that will need to be made in the morning, I even ended up giving her my sorry excuse for shoes. She was unfamiliar with them and so I had to help put them on as best I can, they fit poorly but then again, they didn’t fit me much better. I watch her for a moment getting used to them, occasionally dragging the soles or catching her toes, but eventually she seems to get the hang of them. She thanks me extensively and in return I sit patiently as she cleans the dried blood from off my face surrounding the gash left by the archer. With a hearty farewell and the content recognition of a new ally made, I once more set my feet to navigating the now freezing cold floor.

  I can detect no more watchers, Faelyn’s surveillance having been called off, and only the guards posted at the entrance remain in position, all others joining in the activity. I even saw Faelyn, with his wounds covered and a fashioned walking cane now in his grip, hobbling around and aiding with the efforts. Nothing was spared, all inlets and floors were left bare, all food, water, fabrics, and tools that could be packed were organised, even salvageable bits of wood from the various frameworks or staircases littering the cavern that were no longer needed were dismantled and chucked into a heap to be taken with us for repurposing. Small, efficient, manoeuvrable carts were hastily created at the base of the mountain, hidden from sight, where they were slowly filled up, one sack at a tim
e, by individual couriers under the protection of darkness.

  We are risking a lot, leaving ourselves largely unguarded, making plenty of noise, and sending people scurrying up and down the mountain. But it is a necessary risk if we want to be gone by the morning, and if the colony are as close as Edwyn believes then we have no other option.

  I have spent the last few hours before sunrise preparing the little meat we have for the long journey. More would certainly have to be hunted as we travel or once we set up camp, but the supplies are extensive enough that with rationing they should last us perhaps a few days even without additional hunting. Enough time to put some distance between ourselves and this place at least.

  The job had introduced me to Horas, a twenty-something lean man with a keen sense of humour. Despite the seriousness of our situation I had been pleasantly shocked to discover the cook’s care-free, light-hearted approach to the world. He is slightly over six feet tall and as a result the silence of the kitchen was constantly disturbed by his swearing as he bangs his head on the low ceiling or complains about the ache in his neck.

  These first hours of dawn, despite the seriousness of the situation and the stress of the last couple of days, I have actually found myself laughing along with the chef. He may be a survivor, refugee, and homeless, but he has the air of someone without a care in the world, completely untroubled by his situation, he appears content that everything will work out in the end. I am fascinated by his stories as we question each other on our homes. He starts the conversation willingly, until now I’ve strayed from asking too many questions about the tribe’s lost home, afraid of being insensitive. As we work, he fills the silence with tales of his upbringing.

  He relives his childhood growing up in the forest canopy and paints a picture of his home. As I already knew, the tribe had primarily lived in the trees, Horas described them as huts resting and entwined with the tree branches, connected by various bridges, ladders, and ropes. From the sounds of it you had to be sure footed to live with Orrian’s people, high up in the trees with relatively few solid structures. I suppose that was the reason for the lack of shoes, one trip, one slippery sole or not being able to hold on with your toes and you might fall to never rise again.

  “So, was everything in the trees? Did you only come down to hunt and forage?” I ask.

  “Pretty much,” Horas replies, now filling bags of berries. “We had a few dens and stuff, so that the hunters didn’t have to climb up and down every time they needed more supplies. There was this one kid, Osian, and boy you should have seen him. He wanted to be a hunter so badly, but he couldn’t run to save his life, must’ve broken half a dozen branches a week. In the end we had to restrict him from moving around too much or we’d need to reinforce all the huts,” he continues with a grin, although I note the brief flash of sadness as he recognises that he needs to use the past tense. To be completely honest I’m struggling picturing a tree large enough to support Edwyn. Whoever had built his hut must have been incredibly talented just to keep the behemoth off the ground.

  Osian clearly hadn’t made it to the mountain and I observe that myself, Orrian, and Horas are all rarities among the survivors. Faelyn had led away mostly women and children whilst from the sounds of it most of the men had stayed to fight. There were of course still a fair number of guards, hunters, and other men who had made it this far, either from leaving with Faelyn or presumably fighting and escaping to re-join them, but as far as teenagers were concerned, the tribe was now sparse. The odd boy or girl our age accompanies their families or guard younger siblings but unfortunately, after looking around the cavern at the faces of those preparing to leave, I can only assume that the majority were cut down defending their home.

  “Your home, what was it called?” I ask.

  “What do you mean?” the older boy turns to face me, perplexed.

  “What was your village’s name? For example, my village is Avlym,” I say.

  “Ohh, it’s called Avlym?” he laughs, “I’ve been trying to figure out what that meant. Why does your home need a name?”

  “I don’t know, so you don’t get confused with people from other places I guess,” I reply.

  “We just called everyone that weren’t us Halpians if I’m being honest,” Horas answers, “and we just called our place home, we didn’t need a name really.” I dwell on that for a moment, I suppose if we didn’t have the colony or traders, we probably wouldn’t need a name either. Still, it seems odd not to have one. The tribe must have really been contained in their own little bubble until the colony came along, unconcerned by the rest of the world.

  “Ah our great warrior. You guys nearly done?” a new voice asks from the entrance. We turn to find the robyn-esque guard waiting for an answer. Oddly she seems to be addressing me.

  “Orrian’s waiting at the bottom of the stairs,” she says.

  “Yeah, hold on,” Horas finishes tying up the last of the bags and adds them to the pile for collection without turning around. I collect up my salted meat strips and add them also, concluding the last of the food preparations.

  “This is Astera by the way, my twin,” Horas informs without looking at me, recollecting a couple of knives he’s left on the tabletop and strapping them to his belt.

  “We’ve met,” Astera cuts in. Regardless, I say hello and introduce myself. She accepts my introduction politely, but I immediately feel dim-witted for assuming she didn’t know my name. I am the only outsider in a confined space of tribespeople, of course everyone will know my name, I hardly blend in.

  “Great warrior?” I ask.

  “Yeah you know the-” she abandons her sentence to waive her hand over the side of her face, the same side where a dark green bird soars wings outstretched above her eyebrow.

  “What do you mean?” I am now thoroughly perplexed.

  “The mark,” she says with an eye roll, like the answer the obvious. “You’re him aren’t you, the one.”

  I stutter, words failing me. I haven’t the faintest idea what this strange girl is talking about, although it would seem my confusion has gone unnoticed as she turns back towards her brother.

  “Come on,” she says, “can’t keep everyone waiting.”

  We gather around the steps.

  The three of us wait for a few moments whilst the last of the supplies are carried out of the entrance until, eventually, the steady conversation slowly dies down to allow Orrian to speak. The king stands a few steps up and addresses the entirety of the tribe, all of whom surround myself, Horas, and Astera. Everyone is ready to move, the cavern floor is now bare and everything has been cleared out, leaving no conclusive evidence for the colony that we were here at all in the last few days.

  “We can’t stay here any longer,” Orrian begins, “The Halpians are on their way, so it’s time for us to leave. Everyone ready?” Orrian asks the crowd, Orrian quickly eyes several of us before taking our silence as a yes, “Good. Let’s go.”

  I breathe fresh, cool, mountain air. I hadn’t realised how cooped up I had been beginning to feel trapped inside that mountain until now. I wrap my skins around me tighter as the crisp wind bites at our exposed skin.

  From here the world is laid out below us. After regaining my sense of direction, I can trace the path that myself, Orrian, and Edwyn had arrived in. Off to the distance, peeking out through the snow-blanketed tips, I can make out the deep greens marking the boundary of the forest, before which, whilst hidden from view, must sit the lake whose rocky shore we had circumvented.

  A long line of people already stretches below us, presumably with Orrian in the lead, headed for the cart.

  “You might want to go ahead, that way our friend Dale here can stumble into you this time,” Astera says behind me, pushing her brother in front. I look back at the older girl flushed with embarrassment, but she smiles warmly and gestures onwards.

  Sure enough, moments later I must steady myself on Horas’ back as loose rocks below upset my footing, earning a chortle from b
ehind me. Thankfully Horas is noticeably bigger and can manage the little force so I don’t end up causing a knock-on effect due to my clumsiness. Unfortunately, whilst I may have had protection before, the slip causes a small cut on one of my toes, I’m going to have to be much more careful now.

  We reach the bottom of the mountain considerably quicker than it had taken us to climb it with an injured Edwyn between us. The carts and first of the group have already started heading off in a new direction, almost opposite in direction from the lake. Orrian can be heard discussing the route with a few scouts up ahead but it means little to me, I learn that our trek will be lengthened slightly to allow for the horses and carts to make their way through the difficult terrain but apart from that I learn nothing of any significance. This travelling period where we’re out in the open is where we’re at our most vulnerable and Orrian will undoubtedly be alert for any signs of a threat, as such, I choose to stick back with Horas and Astera so as not to trouble him.

  With all the tribespeople out in the open I am reminded of just how few of us there are. When cramped up in the close confines of the mountain you could almost kid yourself that you were part of an entire community, but out here, we look like nothing more than a few beaten and damaged survivors. Of course, that is precisely all we are. Our illusions of numbers are not helped as we are dwarfed by our surroundings.

  We continue at a steady and irritatingly slow pace. Even I would prefer to get more of a move on, I cannot imagine how these fitter forest warriors surrounding me must feel, but no, we must stick with the young and the elderly. For now, all the children are walking hand in hand with their guardians, although I reckon they’ll start being picked up or else complaining before long. Some of the older members of the group are also struggling with the thin atmosphere, already wheezing despite still being in sight of the mountain, whenever the struggling becomes too apparent however, someone will wordlessly come and ease their load every time.