Chapter 2: Daryn

The sun was beating down on the open desert, a great city with stone towers so high they touched the sky could faintly be seen ahead. Horses pulling carts of prisoners advanced down a stone road, ancient and half-covered with sand. Daryns lips were cracked and bloody, his pale skin blistered and red. He struggled to open his eyes, being half blinded by the relentless gaze of the sun above him.

"Daryn!" a voice beside him whispered. "Daryn!" the voice repeated. "Juree?" Daryn struggled to get the words out of his mouth. "What happened? Where you think we're headed?" Juree was fidgeting visibly as he spoke, likely still traumatised from the night before. Daryn squinted and looked down at his hands bound by iron chains and back up at the city ahead. "Desert in every direction, city up ahead with towers as high as I've ever seen" Daryn pondered for a moment, then continued "Only one place I know with buildings like that. This is the slave road, we're heading to Old Gescae". Juree panicked. "They mean to sell us into slavery?". "Aye, slave pits most likely". There was despair in Daryn's voice, however much he tried to hide it. 

A Lorey sellsword opposite Daryn and Juree was rocking back and forth, muttering under his breath.  "Thems are demons, the Gescaii. My mother always said. Not a drop of humanity in thems. Using black magic. Freaks I tell ya". Daryn interrupted. "No such thing as black magic" he said with confidence. Juree jumped into the conversation "My old Nan, bless her soul, once told me of a pirate fleet that raided her village when she was a child, said she saw a man lift both his hands in the air, and the next moment, every fighting age man in town went mad. Took them weeks to get their senses back. And my old Nan was no liar". Daryn frowned, "that's enough talk of black magic" he snapped. "SILENCE" screamed a slaver on a horse behind their wagon, cracking his whip across Jurees hands. "If I was unchained with a sword in my hand" Daryn thought to himself, clenching his jaw. He was an honourable man, a rare thing in the world these days, and the sight of an unarmed, bound man being struck by a whip caused him great pain.

The slave carts approached the southern gate of the Old Gescae. Weeping mothers lined the outskirts holding their babies in their arms, hoping passing merchants and slavers might spare a coin or two, or perhaps even just a crust of bread.  Daryn locked eyes with one of the beggars, and thought back to his mentor, Ser Barrin once again "War isn't a game, boy. It's not all battles and glory, what do you think happens when crops are torched and larders emptied? People starve, children starve" Daryn looked back fondly at his time with Ser Barrin, however grim the conversation was. "Sometimes I wonder if the old man remembered he was talking to a boy of six" he thought. 

"State your business!" Shouted a voice on the ramparts atop the decaying sandstone wall. Old Gescae was once home to the Great Lake Elae, it's only source of water for its massive populace, but that had long since dried up, and now Old Gescae relied fully upon regular trade wagons, wagons that arrive markedly less frequently since the war began. "Prisoners for the slave market" a Gescaii commander shouted from below. The soldier atop the wall signalled the guards below to let them pass.

The war between the Kingdom of Lorey and the Gescaii federation had been going on so long that the commoners often joked they'd forgotten what started it. Everyone knew, however. They were reminded why every day they stepped outside their huts. Assetie was dying. Lakes and rivers were drying up by the thousands, days were getting hotter, and nights colder still. The war was one of desperation. A gasp for life from a once proud civilisation. Their only chance for a future was the north, the last place where rivers still ran deep and new vegetation sprouted.

It was midday when Daryn, Juree and the other sellsword prisoners arrived at the slave market. Unlike most other parts of the city, the slave market was bustling with activity. Slavery had been outlawed from Gescaii for a thousand years, but necessity had brought it back. A bald man with golden chains hanging from his neck and a belly like an overgrown melon was seated behind a stall, engorging himself on honeyed ham chops and a goblet of Lorey wine.

"Half the city starving and this ones eating like a king" Daryn whispered to Juree, nodding his head in the mans direction. "Perhaps he doesn't know about the war" Juree japed. Daryn was about to smile when their cart came to a halt in-front of the bald mans stall. "What do ye have here then?" The man said, with wine dripping from his beard. "Picked up this scum from Evengrass" the Gescaii commander answered. "Rode into their camp and broke their siege, they didn't even see us coming" as he spoke, Ser Hugh, Juree and a dozen other sellswords were pulled from their cart and pushed into a line.

The slaver walked up to Juree and grasped his chin, inspecting him. "Sellswords from Lorey, good quality, got eighty-four of them" the commander said from behind. "Two dozen cooks and a healer too" he added. The slaver scratched his head and groaned. "I'll take the fighters, five silvers a man. Keep the others, got no use for them" he replied, walking back to his stall. "We're heading back north at dawn, got to get rid of all this lot before then. I'll give them free of charge if you'll take them off my hands?" The commander said with desperation in his voice. "Where ya think all the healers and cooks been coming to escape the war? Look around ya, cities overflowing with the shits. Slit their throats and be done with it, hounds could use some good meat". The commander looked at the slaver with a frown. He'd been away from the city for some time and knew that things had gotten bad, but not this bad. Nevertheless, he relented. "So be it." he said, gesturing at two soldiers stood idle by the carts "Take them to the kennels". The soldiers marched forward and took the doomed men to their fate.

The day was growing hotter as the slaver led the sellswords through the city. "Some water! Please!" cried a frail sellsword no older than twenty, reeling from the heat. "Don't speak in my presence ya twat!" The slaver shouted, striking the man across the face with the back of his hand. "See that dome up ahead? The lower pit, best get use to seeing it, it's ya home now!" The slaver turned to face the men and let out a great laugh. "Don't look so fucking grim, earn me some money and maybe I'll take ya with me up north for the grand games, die, and you'll suffer the same fate as them cooks and that healer". The laughter continued.

The slaver arrived at the lower pit and was greeted by a sightly woman dressed in a fine silk dress, with silver bracelets surrounding both her arms up to her elbows. "Sellswords from Lorey, I want to enter them in the games, eighty-four of them" the slaver explained, his eyes wandering down to the woman's breasts as he spoke. "Very well. Krawza, take these lot to the cells, get them fed and clothed, they're fighting tomorrow" the woman said with her head down, writing on a sheet of parchment beside her. "Wait" she commanded, looking up at Daryn. "This one doesn't look Lorey, or even Assetie for that matter. Where are you from old man?". "Some shit-stained dung heap most like, what's it matter?" The slaver replied, desperate to get them locked in the games before the fighting season started. "Daryn Aynes of Newstar, my lady" he replied, his head held high, not realising the situation he'd just put himself in. "A fancy Lord all the way from New Hyperiar? You've outdone yourself!" She said, smirking at the slaver. A thousand memories flashed at once in Daryn's mind upon hearing the name of his homeland once again. "Right then, if you are who you say you are, you'll make a fine match against our top fighter, a Hypereen just like you, and a knight at that. Run along now Krazwa" Daryn's heart sank as he and the others were led away to their cells.

Krazwa pushed Daryn and the others into a sweltering stone cell beneath the lower pit and and slammed the thick iron bars shut. "You wash and change in an hour, try not to kill each other in the meantime" he mumbled indifferently, walking away. Daryn found an unoccupied patch of floor and laid on his back, happy to be out of the presence of the slaver and lying on solid ground once more. Juree took a seat beside him against the wall and stretched his legs. "About to consummate the marriage? A brutish sellsword from across the cell shouted. Juree looked at him with a scowl on his face but ignored him. Juree was a simple man of twenty-two, yet wise enough to know his limitations in height, and that an unarmed fight between them would almost certainly end in his defeat.

You are reading story Keepers of the Realm at novel35.com

"I've always wondered Daryn, why did you run from your homeland" Juree grew up on stories of Hypereen knights and lords and relished the opportunity to pick Daryn's brain. "You said you was a highborn, son of a lord, living in a castle and all that, so why leave?" Jurees eyes shined with excitement as he spoke. "Must we speak of this? Must we speak of anything? Can I get just a second of rest?" Daryn answered irately. Juree put his head down, his excitement wiped off his face. "Im sorry lad, it's been a rough couple days" Daryn saw the disappointment on the young lads face. "I brought great dishonour to my family and the realm. Committed a terrible crime". Juree dug deeper. "What crime?" He asked. "How's this sound. Get through tomorrow and come back alive and I'll tell you all about why I fled" Daryn responded, rubbing his knees as he spoke. "Deal!" Answered Juree, turning over and closing his eyes with a grin on his face.

Daryn was awoken the next day by the sound of metal bashing against the cell bars. "Get up, all of you" it was Krazwa, the his apathetic tone still present. He opened the cell door gestured towards a room across the from their cell. "Come on. out, move it" he said, awkwardly pushing the men forward as they passed him. Daryn and the others entered the room, barrels with short swords, maces, long swords, spears and all manner of other weapons filled the room. Krazwa chained the men to the walls, walked out the door then turned around to face them. "Pick your weapons wisely, first rounds every man for himself. Last four standing move onto the next round". Daryn pounced up, eagerly moving towards the weapons to take his pick before the others. "Not you" Krazwa said pointing at Daryn. "The lady wants you fresh for the main event". Krazwa turned away and slammed the door shut.

The men all leaned forward the moment the door hit its latch, rushing to pick a weapon like children fighting over toys. "How are you feeling?" Daryn asked Juree, seeing his panic upon learning he'd have to fight alone. "Well enough I suppose, I survived Evengrass didn't I? Even cut down a Gescaii horseman all by myself during the battle. I'm sure i can handle this lot" Juree reached forward and took a spear from the barrel in-front of him. His confidence calmed Daryn's worries for the time being. "You'd think they'd postpone the games during a war, or at least until half the city stops starving to death" Juree was eager to change topics to something other than his upcoming fight. "The games become even more necessary during wartime. People need distractions from their suffering, lest they turn their wrath to their leaders, something the federation is all too aware of". Juree was of course a native of Assetie and knew of the games, but he still had lots to learn about the way of the world.

Beating drums and cheering crowds could faintly be heard from the armoury room where Juree and the others were being unchained. The slaver stood in the stairwell leading up to the pits with a grin on his face, rubbing his hands together. "Come on! Go make me some money!". Daryn, stuck alone in the armoury, could only listen on. A voice from the fighting grounds echoed into the armoury room "Good people of Old Gescae! It is my pleasure to announce the start of the games!" Great cheers shook the bench on which Ser Hugh was seated. "For the first round of the games, Sellswords in the employ of the Kingdom of Lorey!". Boos rang throughout the lower pit as Daryn struggled to get a closer look. "FIGHT!" the voice shouted.

Daryn peeked through the hatch on the cell door and saw a frenzied man cave another's face in with a spiked morning star, the sand below drinking in the blood. Just as soon as the man fell, Juree drove his spear in the attackers back and kicked him down besides the corpse. Daryn shook with relief and clenched his fist as a horn blow signalled the men to stop. "Four men remain, victorious! But how will they fare against the fierce mooncat? Good people, round two!" Daryn's relief was drowned out when he heard the drum beats signalling the start of the second round. "A native to the lands of Assetie, the mooncat is much like the lions in the westlands of Hyperiar, yet much more vicious and with the jaw of a common hound" he remembers his Lord father reading to him in his bed chambers as a youth. 

A deafening roar rang through Daryn's ears as he watched the mooncat fling a man into the lower pits walls and swallow another whole just as quick. "Aaaahrghh!" a man cried. Daryn knew Jurees voice well enough by now to know it was his pained cries he heard. He desperately pulled at his chains to get free to no avail, all he could see was the mooncat being escorted back to its cage by a group of spear wielding men. "None could overcome the mooncats wroth, but worry not, for the third and final round, two Hypereen knights in a duel for their lives!" Krazwa emerged from the hall and flung open the armoury door. "Your turn, knight man" he said, unbinding him from the wall and leading him out the room. Two pit guards walked down carrying Jurees unconscious body, his left arm torn so badly it barely clung to his shoulder. "Where are you taking him?!" Daryn demanded as they passed him and Krazwa. "I told ya what happens to thems who lose" the slaver said as Krazwa pushed Daryn forward up the stairwell. He looked back a final time as the sun above the lower pit clouded his vision.

"Daryn Aynes?" A figure clad in battered steel armour shouted from across the pit. Before Daryn stood Ser Arthur Westin, a man who many agreed to be amongst the best fighters in all of New Hyperiar, and an idol of Daryn's. "And now let the fina-" Ser Arthur cut the announcer off, "Fucking traitor!" He screamed, drawing his sword from its sheath and lunging at Daryn. The announcer dared not intervene, and ran back hurriedly to the safety of the viewing stands. Daryn lifted his sword in defence but did not strike back. "I have no desire to fight you Ser" he said while back-stepping, to the crowds dismay. "When I learned you drove your sword through your own princes heart and turned tail to Assetie i dared not believe it" Ser Arthur continued in a low tone, sizing up Daryn as he spoke. Ser Arthur lunged forward once more and clashed with Daryn in a spectacular dance of combat as the crowd cheered in the background. Even at sixty-two, Ser Arthur was a formidable opponent.

 "Maybe I should let him strike me down, stop running and face my punishment" Daryn thought while struggling to hold off Ser Arthur's attacks. For a moment it seemed as if he might, dropping to his knees desperately blocking each swing of Ser Arthur's long sword. "No. I can't. I cannot abandon Juree to his fate". Daryn struggled to his feet and stepped back once more. He knew he could provoke Ser Arthur and use his anger to his favour, his honour gave him pause however, yet the thought of Juree being devoured by hounds was too much to bear. "You should've been there to hear Prince Mikah when I cut him down! How he screamed!" Daryn taunted, lowering his guard. Ser Arthur let out a roar and savagely lunged at Daryn, who quickly ducked down and countered, plunging his sword upwards through Ser Arthur's neck and back out again. Daryn's eyes locked with Ser Arthur's as he fell to the ground, coughing up blood and grasping at his throat as the life faded from him. Daryn, consumed by shame, looked as if he'd seen a ghost.

"Winner!" Shouted the announcer, emerging once more from the viewing stands. The crowd all stood at once, cheering and pumping their fists in the air. The announcer backed up towards Daryn and whispered in his ear. "It is customary to bow after a victory". Daryn dropped his sword and stormed off back towards the stairwell exit. Krazwa rushed towards him and hurriedly put his hands back in chains. "Ye made me a happy man today ya old goat, thems will pay me a hefty sum for ya at the grand games should ya win!" The slaver said with a smug grin on his face. "Where's Juree? What have you done with him?" Demanded Daryn. The slavers smugness turned to annoyance. "Who the fucks Juree?" Daryn turned angry. "The young lad with the torn arm, where is he? What've you done with him?" Dancers and fire breathing performers were entertaining the crowd behind them as they spoke. "Out back with the corpses, bled out by now most like" The slaver replied nonchalantly. "I want his wounds tended to immediately, send for the best healer in the city" Daryn spoke with urgency in his voice. "Yer in no place to make demands of me, scum!" The slaver raised his hand ready to strike Daryn. "If he dies, I die". The slaver scratched his bald head for a moment, releasing that without Daryn, he'd have no one to enter into the great games. "So be it" the slaver gestured at Krazwa to find the healer for Juree. "And you'll take him with us to the great games" Daryn added. "No chance!" The slaver let out a chuckle. "Very well, I'm sure you'll find some fine fighters at the markets to take my place" Daryn replied sarcastically. The slaver puffed and clenched his waistband, "Gods yer irritating. Fine, whatever. Now get back in yer cell, we're leavin' at dawn". The slaver forced Daryn into the cells, once filled with dozens of men, now he was alone.

The next morning, Daryn was loaded onto a cart alongside a healer and Jurees seemingly lifeless body. Two slave men purchased the night before sat atop the horses tied to the cart. Ahead of them stood a luxurious wine red carriage, pulled by four more horses and a coachmen. "Right then, payment for the men you entered into the games, eighty-four silvers. And the prize purse, twenty gold pieces" the lady said methodically, while handing over the coins. "Pleasure doing business milady" the slaver awkwardly bowed in-front of her then turned and climbed inside his carriage. "Ya know, there's space for two in here" he said, poking his head out from the carriage curtains "I'm flattered, but I'm afraid I must decline. Krazwa, be a good sport and load the mans things for him" the lady replied sarcastically. "Will he live?" Daryn asked the old healer clutching his sack of equipment as Krazwa shoved crates of wine and bread onto their cart. "Hard to say, The wound has been burned shut and the corrupted flesh cut away, but I fear he may have lost too much blood already, and without a living subject to draw fresh blood fro-" Daryn cut him off. "Take some of mine" the healer looked at Daryn with a concerned look. "I must warn you, there will be much pain, the method is a new one, not yet perfected". "I'm not worried about pain, just save his life". The healer nodded in acknowledgement. "Very well". 

The slaver banged on his carriage wall to signal the coachman to depart and they went on their way. As Daryn's cart passed through the southern gate once more, the healer hastily rummaged through his sack and prepared the men for a blood transfer, as the cart rocked up and down along the jagged slave road.

You can find story with these keywords: Keepers of the Realm, Read Keepers of the Realm, Keepers of the Realm novel, Keepers of the Realm book, Keepers of the Realm story, Keepers of the Realm full, Keepers of the Realm Latest Chapter