Ch 2: Stolen

  541 Mur-ro

  An alliance of eastern nations under the leadership of Sulan Al-Imri was sweeping west, subjugating all before it. The western nations of Amaran and Anvar had already fallen and Jarro was next in line, in a war that had raged for almost fifteen years.

  E’Ben was neutral but Prince Raltu, heir to the throne, had been secretly negotiating behind his ailing father’s back; his price to aid Jarro being marriage to its beautiful Princess Megan. Though unhappy about the arrangement, King Fredrik Elamere had little choice.

  He desperately needed E’Ben’s army and if that was the price, so be it.

  Both Jarro and the Eastern Alliance armies were locked in a death grip from which only one side could emerge victorious.

  With two hundred lancers of her personal guard assuring her safety, Princess Megan’s carriage sped along the Deel to Roat road on her way to a meeting with the heir apparent of E’Ben. A terrible weight had been placed upon her young shoulders. This meeting had to be a success, the fate of tens of thousands of her countrymen’s lives depended on it.

  ‘Column, halt!’ ordered Colonel Artam. Thirty years of military experience had given him a sort of sixth sense about situations, and he didn’t like what he was presently feeling. Not one little bit. It was his responsibility to convey the princess to the town of Em’Ber, just inside the E’Ben border, and back home again safely.

  ‘Sir, orders?’ a voice just behind his left shoulder inquired. It was Major Udal, a tough and competent officer new to the battalion, hand-picked by Artam himself.

  Ahead, the road cut through the densely wooded hills known locally as The Belt, running in a semi-circle east and west of Deel. Of course, they could always circumvent the hills, but it would mean backtracking for twenty miles, adding another day to the trip. Not an option, Artam decided.

  ‘Major, something’s not right. Take a patrol ahead and scout the way. The column will follow at a safe distance.’

  ‘Sir!’ Udal snapped off a crisp salute and wheeled away. ‘Captain Ilan, Lieutenant Kallen, with me! First twenty-five, by the twos, forward!’ Ulam bellowed.

  He set off at a trot, immediately followed by his twenty-five-man patrol, pristine in their gleaming ceremonial breastplates.

  Artam waited until the patrol was almost out of sight before ordering the column to advance along the road which meandered into a wooded valley.

  ‘That’s where I would do it,’ he mumbled to himself, shuddering at the thought of being attacked in such a desolate and lonely place. ‘It’s the ideal place for an ambush.’

  The polished black exterior of the carriage reflected the mid-afternoon rays, highlighting the gold leaf and trim of the royal coat of arms on its delicately engraved doors.

  Inside, Princess Megan Elamere and companion Lady Anabel N’Dhun sat wearily looking out of the windows at the unending and seemingly unchanging view.

  ‘Thank goodness we’re moving again. We’ve been cooped up in this carriage for so long, I can no longer feel my bottom,’ Anabel moaned. ‘How much farther do you think it is to the town of Em’Ber, Your Highness?’

  Megan stared blankly out of the window, lost in thought, her mind firmly fixed on her meeting with the Prince Regent of E’Ben. She had met him once before and cared little for him, finding him memorable for all the wrong reasons. He was small, not particularly good looking, and boorish. Besides that, he also treated his court officials and hangers-on in a rude, offhand way, and was far too fond of hunting and drinking.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  He was not the type of man she normally would have accepted as a suitor, but these were not normal times, and she was faced with no choice.

  Her father had made it clear, Jarro was in serious trouble, and the war was not going well. Too many lives had been lost and now there was no one left to replace them. If the situation did not change soon, the front line would collapse within six months. The consequence did not bear thinking about: Al-Imri would wreak a terrible revenge on Jarro for resisting for so long. He was a fanatic with a lust for conquest, a man who had gathered his great army and set them loose against Jarro, the only free nation still unwilling to submit to his rule. They would not be happy until every city, town, and village lay as smouldering rubble, and the survivors sold at the slave markets of Mabak-Var.

  ‘Highness…?’

  ‘What’s that? I’m sorry, Anabel, I was miles away. What were you saying?’

  ‘I was just wondering how much farther it is to the town?’ Anabel smiled, flicking her long hair back from her face. She was an exceedingly pretty young woman with long blonde hair like Megan’s, though it was not quite as lengthy or full, and she had blue eyes to Megan’s green. At a distance, it was hard to tell them apart, but up close, there was no comparison.

  Megan had a stunning natural beauty and was also kind and good-hearted.

  But she could be as sharp and hard as steel if the need arose, being her father’s daughter, and a worthy heiress to the throne. ‘Another half day. Ten hours at least,’ answered Megan.

  ‘Oh, divine heaven, no! Say it’s not so. I don’t think I can take much more of this jiggling about,’ huffed Anabel, stuffing another perfume-scented cushion under her bottom.

  ‘It’s best to keep your mind busy, Ana. Read your book or watch the scenery.’

  ‘My book is dull, and the scenery is twice so. Except—’ she stopped. ‘Except for that handsome captain of the guard back there.’ She winked, and craned her head to try to get a better view of the young man riding close to the carriage in all his sparkling finery.

  ‘Hmm, sits his horse well, don’t you think, Meg?’ The young women were cousins and had been friends since childhood, so when alone, their conversation had that natural informality that closeness brings.

  ‘You’re a bawdy letch, Anabel N’Dhun!’ squealed a laughing Megan, hitting her friend with one of the many cushions that were lying about the carriage.

  ‘Whatever do you mean, Highness? I’m simply an admirer of good form and military correctness!’ Anabel retorted, with feigned indignation.

  ‘Hmm, of course you are.’ Megan gave Anabel one of her, I don’t believe a word you are saying, looks.

  ‘Big strong thighs, I bet.’ Anabel grinned mischievously and shrieked as she ducked another flying cushion.

  The column slowly made its way along the wooded road. It was not very wide, and the trees on either side were close-packed, causing an unnatural darkness. Sweet-smelling pine-sap infused the tranquil air with a rich, succulent, fragrance. An eerie silence had descended, making the itch between Artam’s shoulder blades insufferable.

  Something was definitely amiss and he didn’t like it one little bit. The road wound on and on, turning each new bend he expected to see the patrol returning to report on what lay ahead. But there was still no sign, and he was getting concerned.

  Midges and black fly swarmed the troops and their horses, driving both to distraction. The air was thick with them, offering simply no refuge from the biting little pests as the torment continued unabated.

  ‘Gods be damned, but they are the devil’s own creation,’ swore Captain Mor, feverishly slapping his face and neck.

  ‘This? This is nothing! Just a momentary inconvenience. You should have been with us in Gantu in 511.’ Artam smirked. ‘Six months of pure hell, trekking through swampy hellholes, cleaning out slavers and pirates. The midges and mosquitoes attacked in military formation. Battalion after battalion. Great big black clouds—’ His words were cut short by the impact of a crossbow bolt. Artam flew backwards over his horse’s rump and onto the ground. The first volley killed half of the troop. All around, his men were dying. It was a massacre pure and simple.

  The bolts, at such close range, sliced through the lancers’ breastplates like glowing embers through parchment. The normally deadly efficient lancers had been trained to fight at the gallop and in open country, not on a small, confined, heavily wooded road.

  All of the officers were either dead or mortally wounded, Artam lying in the ferns at the side of the road, watched in horror as his men were systematically cut to pieces.

  The sergeants tried to rally those still left standing and sallied on foot but now heavily outnumbered, they were easily beaten back.

  A few brave men tried to turn the carriage around so that the princess might escape. But one of the horses was killed, stranding the coach diagonally across the road. The last thing Artam saw, just before he died; was a bear-sized man with a big black beard, dressed in dark leather armour and furs, stepping from the undergrowth and roaring in triumph. Artam lay on his back, looking up at the swaying branches of a pine tree, feeling his life slipping away. His last thoughts were for his princess, and the shame that he felt at having failed her. You old fool! he thought. Should have gone the long way ‘round.

  If you are enjoying Wyvern the completed Dark Lair Trilogy is available now on Amazon.