The King's Tribe Read online

  A torch is off to my right by a few meters, drawing the attention of the watchers I reposition so that I’m directly under it, I’m still far away from anyone else and whilst being in a large open space helps, being under a direct light with my back to the wall can only make me safer still. Jaq has resumed a stationary position at the top of the steps, keeping a birds-eye view on the situation as Orrian tours the ground beneath. Whilst I’ve barely spoken to the man, I am sure of his loyalty and so his watchful eye puts me to rest enough to begin to relax.

  With my head crooked against the hard-cold rock, my eyes slowly begin to droop, and my consciousness departs. My thoughts first travel to Avlym, to my mother and Alice. I also wonder whether they’ve revealed everything to Robyn or if it’s safer for her to be kept in the dark. She knows Orrian, or Guy rather, better than most of the village, but that’s still very little and there’s no telling what Becker has chosen to reveal. It’s also possible that he will have made up something completely new, a lie to get the villagers to turn against us, anything to get as many others to join the manhunt as possible.

  I don’t think Robyn would ever be turned against me, I don’t know if I’d be able to take it if she did. The two of us have known each other since before I can remember, which is hopefully considerably too long for her opinion of me to be changed by Becker. I wish she was here with me now, or better yet, that I was safe and at home with her. I long for her warm smiles and subtle teasing jokes, I feel my soul beginning to tear in two at the realisation that I may never see her again. I have known how I feel about her for so long now, years even, ever since I really began to see her for who she is. Not that I’ve ever acted on my feelings. I have been such a fool. The life we could have started together if only I had told her. She might have even felt the same way, although I doubt it. I could have stayed in Avlym with her, grown old together, but now she only smiles at me in my mind’s eye.

  My imagination runs wild with the possibility of never returning home, I can easily see my disappearance becoming another legend told to children to warn them against venturing into the forest. Maybe I’ll just become another name for the village to mourn. Orrian would likely be remembered as the forest demon who had tricked me away from the village, never to be seen again. The colony would probably love that, painting themselves as the heroes of the story who had come to warn us against the strange boy but had been too late. The story of me being taken would be used as a lesson to others for why the colony should never be lied to.

  With my thoughts of Robyn and home drifting into a depressing silence, my thoughts choose to torture me further and I think of my dad. How would he react if he saw me now, eating the food of the men who killed him? Had he even known that his killer had been human? Or like the rest of us did he not see the attacker and thought he had been felled by a spirit of the forest. Would he have been disappointed in me, given present company? These thoughts have been my company since first discovering Orrian’s identity and I wonder now if they’ll ever leave me.

  Yet despite these mortifying concoctions of my imagination, it is the uncomfortable thoughts of Faelyn to which I drift off, the slender man a few years older than myself had created some incredible tension between himself and his king. Orrian’s confidence and leadership is shocking compared to the mute survivor who had stumbled bloodied into Avlym that night, but I pray he fares well against the older man should they lock horns again. Faelyn doesn’t seem like the kind of person who’s going to step aside and relinquish his power easily. Sitting up there, high above the ground, he had immediately taken charge of the situation upon Orrian’s arrival, I can only hope that his power over these people isn’t great enough to outweigh their loyalty to their true king.

  With these depressing thoughts of usurping as my only company, I slowly retire into my slumber beneath the gentle heat and soft crackling above me.

  CHAPTER NINE

  “Up,” Jaq stands over me as I rub the sleep from my eyes.

  The torch above has long since smouldered to embers, leaving me to wake stiff both from the morning chill and the crookedness of a night with my neck against the wall.

  “They want you,” Jaq continues once I have risen to meet him.

  As it turns out, I had been left to rest whilst Orrian and his people spoke privately, the discussion was now well under way and it is time for my summoning. We climb several slopes and steps but are still far from the top when we branch off into a previously hidden tunnel. A guard is positioned before us and if one didn’t know what they were looking for the guard can almost completely hide the entrance to the obscure passageway.

  The tunnel is once again part of a larger more complex system, one which I would instantly get lost in, but Jaq and the clamour of many disagreements fighting over the top of one another guide me towards our destination. After several minutes we eventually round one last corner into a claustrophobic roughly hollowed out room.

  Unlike the rest of the cavern, ignoring the steps, this area seems man made, as if orders were given to create a space where certain individuals could confer without the ears of the rest of the survivors. Only a single torch is attached to the far wall, leaving most of the room in an eerie flickering shadow, it occurs to me that a group could spend days in here arguing without any realisation of how much time had passed. Chairs have been hastily constructed and positioned around the walls in a circular fashion, leaving only a gap for the entrance in which I now stand. There is no empty seat and unwilling to enter the circle I hover in the entrance, I must stoop slightly as my hair brushes the ceiling

  “We need to leave,” slightly startled I twist to find Orrian seated in the chair on my immediate left. He’s ignoring everyone else in the room, myself included, except from Faelyn on the opposite side directly beneath the light.

  I may be being unreasonably distrusting, possibly because of his clear distaste for me, but surely Faelyn’s position in the room is yet another act of power, like his sleeping quarters, being the best lit chair and therefore setting himself as the centre of attention.

  Next to him I spot one of the more discreet guards from last night, from his neighbour I assume I was right to guess that himself and his companions were watching me at Faelyn’s request. The guard is slightly bullish with most of his face obscured by thick dark ringlets, eyeing Orrian as if he is the target patch of red cloth.

  “No! We are not leaving our home again, some of us still have our pride!” Faelyn says ruthlessly. Clearly now that they were far from the people’s ears any sign of respect or self-restraint had been discarded long ago.

  “But we’ll live!” Orrian cuts in, “If we stay here, we die.”

  “No, we can hold the entrance.”

  “Are you serious?! We couldn’t fight them off the first time and now they might bring even more,” Orrian retorts.

  “We were asleep, and in the open, we can beat them off!” Faelyn counters.

  Until now everyone has been relatively silent, apart from the random chipping in to support their chosen of the two spokespeople, it therefore comes as a surprise when Jaq beside me has his say.

  “I’m with Orrian, always, and the rest of you should be too, he’s our king now. It’s his decision,” he interrupts the two leaders.

  “King?!”, the word is spat like it tastes foul in Faelyn’s mouth. “He ran! He left us! And now you want us to call him king?” he screeches.

  “He’s here now, and yes, by birth right,” Jaq replies calmly.

  “King Theodluin saved us yes, but this boy has accomplished nothing, and a king would have stayed with his people,” the bullish man interrupts.

  “Oh, please Horith, you were the first to run with the children whilst we protected your rear! Have you seen his wounds? His scars? He endured just as much as the rest of us!” Jaq hisses in outrage. “This man was heir to the throne and now it’s his. None of us should have had any doubts about his fitness to rule, but him turning up with the boy should all but confirm it!”
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  I stare at the man beside me, unable to comprehend the sense behind his words. I know that the boy he’s referring too must be me, but I have no idea where I come into all this or how I confirm his fitness to rule.

  “The throne? Ha!” Horith snorts, “What throne! If he wanted it, he should’ve fought for it! As for the lad, well- Faelyn has kept us together since the Great Fire, he’s kept us safe until this fool turned up-”

  “How dare you,” Jaq growls.

  “We need someone who didn’t abandon us, who isn’t a coward!” Horith shouts furiously.

  “What do you have to say about all this Faelyn?” Orrian questions calmly, the contrast in his voice to the other shouts regains control of the room.

  “You are not our king, and I will not let you turn us into cowards. We will retake what is ours and you have no place to stop us. You come back to us with a dying man and a foreigner we can’t trust when we have enough difficulty supporting ourselves already. We are not your people, and whilst you’re unfortunately one of us, your guest here should leave.”

  There it is, Faelyn has just come out with undeniable treason, and he has entangled me in his demands along the way. I am now all too conscious of the little power I have against these people if they turn on us. Even if I was a fighter, I wouldn’t stand a chance against all of Faelyn’s men, and besides, the only exits I know of are guarded. I don’t relish the prospect of running around the mazes of tunnels aimlessly with only the prayers that I’ll eventually find daylight.

  Orrian is on his feet now, Jaq and most of the others, are at his side, forming a barrier between myself and Faelyn who is also now standing but with a much smaller group. The taller man looks ridiculous as his neck cranes sharply in the cramped conditions. The two groups face each other, each on edge subtly trying to get hands to hilts.

  “Orrian, son of Theodluin, you are unfit to rule. I contest the crown.” Faelyn’s heavy words thicken the room.

  “Traitor!” a skeletal lady by Orrian shrieks, shaking a fleshless fist at the opposition.

  “We decide tonight, if you do not surrender then we fight until the unworthy falls,” the traitor decrees with finality, laying down the terms.

  Faelyn leads his group towards us but arms are now by their sides, it is only when Orrian tells the others to move that a narrow path is cleared allowing them to leave.

  Once through the gap Faelyn pauses to face me, his eyes studying my birthmark.

  “I want this one bound, until we know who decides his fate,” he says looking me dead in the eye, despite his head almost being horizontal against the ceiling. His suspicion of me is clear to everyone now, he scans me once before exiting back into the tunnel system.

  An hour later I rest between Horith and one of Jaq’s companions, my hands firmly tied with thick rope. Unfortunately, Horith had eagerly volunteered to set about my restraining and my digits have long since lost their feeling, their tips gradually gaining a bluish tint. As the discomfort and pain grows, I cannot help but question the need for such treatment. It’s not as if I would be able to do any damage against so many warriors even if I was free and the only one armed. Regardless, both of my guards eye me attentively as we wait.

  Since we returned from the meeting room and the news of the drama has spread, people have had little else to talk about other than the upcoming fight. Some of them would prefer to fight the colony, however most of them, particularly the surviving families with the young or the elderly, will be supporting their rightful king in leaving this place to avoid the inevitable conflict.

  Jaq and Orrian have kept the knowledge of my concealed blade to themselves, and so despite my arms being tied behind my back, I am comfortably within reach of the key to my escape should it come to it. Whilst sitting here I have considered freeing myself countless times, but each fantasy comes to the same conclusion of pointlessness. If I were to run, I’d never make it past the guards. Even if I did, I would only be exiling myself, the worst-case outcome as it is. Another alternative would be to cut the rope but keep up the pretence of being bound, but the risk of being discovered would only result in being tied up once more after being searched and likely having my only advantage taken from me. All these scenarios are assuming that I could free myself without drawing Horith or one of the other watcher’s eyes, an unlikely feat given their constant vigilance.

  The meeting has gotten Horith particularly riled up, he seems to feel as if there is no limit to how many times he can announce his displeasure at the prospect of us leaving. His cheeks are swollen cherries and a deep purple vein on his forehead pulses angrily as projectile spittle accompanies every syllable.

  Jaq’s companion, we haven’t been introduced and so I have no name to put to the face, is thankfully on Orrian’s side and is arguing loyally on his king’s behalf. Despite his much younger age, he admirably holds his ground against Horith’s rants against Orrian.

  Quickly tiring of the constant back-and-forth, their disagreements blur into the background as I tune into my own thoughts.

  It had come as a surprise to me when the fight had been decreed as a sole battle between Orrian and Faelyn, whilst we never had a struggle for power in Avlym, for as long as anyone can recall at least, I know that in a few of the surrounding villages champions were often chosen instead, allowing the gods to decide on the victor instead of merely physical strengths.

  A couple of months ago one such fight had occurred in the neighbouring village of Tarrin. Tarrin was a much newer community than Avlym and had started after several families of my parent’s generation separated from us to setup a village of their own.

  Thoren, a near seven-foot giant of muscle, had easily defeated Bohrad’s champion after Bohrad had been caught letting his people starve to gain extra personal favour with Becker. After news of the arrangement had leaked, the people had fought back in the form of Thoren, wreaking havoc on their former leader once the duel had been won. Bohrad had been forced out, after refusing to leave he had found his home one evening consumed in smoke. All his possessions turned to ash, slowly disappearing into the wind. After that there had been little resistance, Bohrad had left his days of glory and power to shamefully hitch a ride on the back of a trader’s cart in the first light of the next morning.

  Of course, the colony collector had at first been furious over this loss of private income, but after seeing the new leader, had awkwardly agreed to cut his losses and settle back into the old agreement. In the following weeks however, Thoren had turned out to be severely lacking in any cunning not related to brawling, he had been a gentle and solitary mute, only taking charge because his people had urged him too. Whilst word took a while to reach Avlym through the traders, the last we heard it was that it was now a select group of advisors who organised most of the village’s happenings whilst Thoren acted only as a figurehead and fear tactic against Becker and his men.

  Orrian’s people were different, however, their rules decreed that the fight should be between the two individuals alone, it was a matter of honour and worthiness. As a result, Orrian will duel Faelyn tonight, each may choose their own close quarters weapons, and there will be no champions. Whilst I pray for Orrian, there is no way of knowing who has the upper hand. Orrian is nimble and strong, yet he is still much younger and noticeably shorter than his opponent.

  Both fighters have been inactive since the discussion, preparing themselves both physically and mentally for this evening. Faelyn had disappeared to his high ledge quarters whilst Orrian had vanished for some meditation and calmness.

  It is with the sound of approaching footsteps as well as the shocking sudden silence from my two guards, that I look up to see the young king striding towards me. He asks to speak to me privately and as a result, after some whining from Horith, we are left sitting alone on the icy stone with my two guards positioned a few meters away. Their job is now solely to keep others away, the recent news has only increased the people’s craving for Orrian’s attention.

  “Are
you ok? Has Horith or anyone tried anything?” Orrian asks hurriedly, his voice low.

  “Am I- am I okay?” I stutter, disbelieving that Orrian could be concerned for my safety given the circumstances. “Yeah, I mean I’m fine. More importantly how are you, are you ready? Do you think you can win?”

  Orrian sighs as he lays back on his hands. Behind us Jaq’s guard has continued his war on Horith, but his enemy’s heart seems less involved. The bullish man is now paying little attention to the argument and has his head slightly cocked in our direction, dutifully straining for any information to relay back to Faelyn no doubt. Noticing this, the pair of us edge a little further away.

  “I don’t know. He can fight when he needs too, but I can’t let him kill my people,” Orrian states, quieter now, “He’s too proud, if he just gave the families here one good look, he’d know we can’t take on the H-, colony.”

  I nod in agreement not knowing what else to say, I completely agree that if we stay here, we’ll get overwhelmed and that will be that. Although I suppose it shouldn’t come to that for me, either Orrian will win and we leave, or Faelyn triumphs and whilst they stay, I will be exiled. The valley passes straight past the entrance from the cavern, one way leads back to the lake and the other into the unknown, I just hope that should it come to exile the path back to Edwyn’s den is clear. If I can make it back there, I might stand a chance.

  “Has anyone tried to come and talk to you yet?” Orrian questions, he sounds like he’s trying too hard to be casual.