Age of Valor: Blood Purge

by D. E. Morris

  There was a guttural cry from the corner of the field where a stocky man in a kilt let go of the hammer. Faces lifted in unison to watch the it sail through the air before landing with a dull thud, handle stuck nearly upright, in the soft grass. Men hurried to measure the distance and stuck a flag where the hammer found its rest, then pulled it out of the ground to bring it back for the next man to go.

  “Mama?”

  Ashlynn peered around Jaryn and Nuala to meet her son's questioning gaze. “Yes, heartling?”

  “Why do they make sounds like that?”

  “It gives them extra power,” Jaryn explained, when Ashlynn could come up with no answer on her own. “When you release that cry, that burst of energy, it goes down your arms, into your hands, and sends whatever you're tossing much farther than it would go if you kept quiet. Not making that sound keeps you tense. You need to be loose for these events.”

  Lucien looked over, his brows drawn together. “Is that why people make noises in sword fights, too?”

  “Aye, lad. That is exactly why. It keeps the energy pumping and it also reminds you to breathe. Far too often when you're deep in concentration during such a physical activity, you forget to breathe and that never ends well.”

  Beside Jaryn, Nuala perked and nudged his arm with her elbow. With a slight lift of her chin, she pointed his attention toward the spot where the athletes all clumped together to watch their competitors, talking and laughing with one another as they waited their turns. Near the back of the group, Cavalon was talking to a young man who looked much too skinny to be part of these demanding games. His hair was cut in a way that it was shaved close to his head, all but the top, which was long and held back with a red leather thong to match his red and blue tartan. He was helping Cavalon with something, his smaller frame not entirely capable of blocking the Badarian from view.

  When Ashlynn realized what the younger man was doing, she gasped and sat just a little higher in her seat. “Is he doing what I think he is?”

  Once more, Jaryn grinned, an easy laugh on his lips. “If you think he's being fitted for a kilt, you would be correct.”

  “What clan is he wearing?”

  “Just a brown and black pattern,” answered Nuala. “He has no blood ties to any Celtique families as far as he knows, so he chose something basic.”

  Ashlynn watched the pair, trying hard to recall the pattern and colors the stranger wore but not coming up with anything. When the young man turned around, he boasted a wide smile. His slanted eyes were nearly shut for the sun shining directly in his face, and as he lifted a hand to shield his gaze, she could see the he was much more muscular than her initial assessment. Before she could ask who the young man was, Cavalon was called to the hammer toss. His new friend clapped, sending him across the field with encouragement. Lucien and Lochlainn cheered as loud as they possibly could, drawing Cavalon's attention. He gave them a grin and a wave, careful not to trip over the dagger-like blades poking out the front of his boots.

  When he was behind the log that marked his tossing position, he planted his feet and grabbed the handle of the hammer that waited off to the side. Once he had a good grip, he lifted one foot at a time to stab the blades into the ground so that he wouldn't go flying along with the hammer. He took a few breaths in, then swung. The hammer circled him once, twice, three times before it went flying over his shoulder. It sailed through the air, easily beating the few others who had gone before him. As the flag was placed, the crowd cheered and Cavalon waved his thanks for the support. The young man helping him thumped him hard on the back as he rejoined the group of athletes, immediately launching into what was sure to be a dissection of what Cavalon just did.

  “Who is that?” Ashlynn asked. “He seems to know Cavalon well.”

  Nuala glanced at her. “The boy? I have no idea. I have never seen him before, but you are right in saying it looks like they know one another. Perhaps Cavalon will introduce us before the caber.”

  They sat through the rest of the athletes, watching and holding their breaths in the hope that no one would beat Cavalon's score. When it was the young man's turn, he was announced as Niam Ainslie, a name none of them were familiar with, and Ashlynn saw that he was deceivingly strong. He tossed the hammer with the same ease as men twice his size. Though he didn't come close to Cavalon's flag, his distance was admirable. In the end, Cavalon won by over four feet. It was the first time Ashlynn could recall ever seeing him so humble, as though he surprised himself by winning. When he came over to the grandstand and the boys started making a big fuss over the gilded egg he'd won, he tossed it up to them to keep.

  Nuala beamed down at her husband. “Well done, my love.”

  “I have no idea how I pulled that off,” he admitted with a laugh. His new friend jogged over to join them, and Cavalon rested a hand on his shoulder. “Niam's pointers paid off. Though I think I want you to show me how you pivot the way you do when you throw. My hip is screaming at me.”

  “No problem,” the young man laughed. Looking up into the grandstand, he ignored all others but Jaryn and Ashlynn. “You're Majesties, it is a great honor to be in your presence.”

  “You are of the Sinessian Ainslies,” Ashlynn surmised, his accent unmistakable.

  “Oh, aye. I was born there and will die there if I have any say about it.” Remembering his manners, he bowed his head low in a gesture of respect. “Nehemiah Iain Ainslie, son of Argus Ainslie, King of Faerston,”

  Jaryn's brows lifted. “You're one of Argus's boys, eh? I wasn't aware he had any your age.”

  Niam lifted his head with a cheeky smirk. “None he'll openly acknowledge, Your Majesty.”

  “Ah.”

  Cavalon glanced at his young friend, his expression dampening. “Ainslie said he won't stand with us for the decree, didn't he?”

  Jaryn nodded with a tight-lipped smile, and Niam bobbed his head. “I'm not surprised. I'd offer to stand with you as a representative of the Ainslie clan, but a bastard holds little clout among the well-to-do.”

  “So, you are for the protection of the Gaels and the dragons?” Ashlynn asked.

  “My mother was a Gael, as am I. We are of the light dragons.”

  “Your mother was?” questioned Jaryn.

  Niam gave his king a sad nod. “She was killed three months ago in a raid on Gaels in our village. I was hunting at the time. Had I been there, I could have saved her.”

  Ashlynn looked at him kindly. “Or you could have been killed as well.”

  “I suppose that it also correct, Your Majesty.”

  Jaryn asked, “So how do you and Cavalon know one another?”

  The sound of giggles distracted the young man as Mairead, Rowan, and Vala appeared from the crowd to climb the stairs up into the grandstand. Both of the younger girls held onto carefully wrapped packages of marzipan, their free hands holding onto each other as Vala led Rowan up the steps. As though feeling eyes on them, Vala turned to see Niam staring their way and gave him a small flirty smile before making her way to the back.

  Ashlynn cleared her throat, bringing Niam back to his senses. He blinked and gave a slight shake of his head. “How do Cavalon and I know each other? Right. Well, we don't really, or didn't until today. We have a mutual...friend...in common?”

  “We'll go with friend,” Cavalon agreed.

  “My mother's mother is from the Sandlands and we used to visit often. My mother got her good looks from her grandfather, a trader from a small country east of Takashiri, Kuen Seom, and I took after her. I'm Badarian, Kuen Seomese, and Sinessian all wrapped up in one.”

  The announcement was made for the caber toss to begin soon, and Cavalon glanced down the field. “We should go get ready. I have no idea what I'm doing and I need to get this kilt off.”

  “No,” Ashlynn protested with a bit of a gasp. “Leave it on.” With a wink, she added, “It has special powers.”

  “She's not wrong,” Niam agreed. He bowed once more to the grandstand, and the two men lumbe
red off down the field.

  Ashlynn shook her head in amusement. “I like him.”

  “We should invite him to dine with us tonight,” Nuala suggested. She glanced in the back to where all four of Ashlynn's ladies stood together, chattering among themselves and nibbling at their sweets. “You can introduce him to your eligible girls.”

  With a slight grimace, Ashlynn tilted her head. “He's an illegitimate child of a lesser king. Not exactly a winning catch.”

  “But he was cute,” Kenayde offered from behind her sister. She leaned forward and lowered her voice, a pout on her lips. “Perhaps he may even have taken a liking to Mairead.”

  “He seemed to have eyes for Vala,” Elas muttered, drawing Kenayde's bottom lip out even more.

  “Or Rowan. She was right behind Vala and just because she's blind...honestly, Elas. I would think that you of all people would have a little bit more of an open mind.”

  His jaw dropped open and his hands lifted as though he was about to argue, but Jaryn and Wessely both caught his eye and shook their heads, keeping the water dragon silent for an argument he'd never win.

  Cavalon didn't listen to Ashlynn and ended up taking his kilt off before it was his turn with the caber. He struggled under the weight of the tall tree trunk and out of his three tries, only flipped it once, and for a low score. Niam, on the other hand, overturned his twice, once being a near perfect flip. Though neither of the men won the overall high score, they both seemed contented in their achievements for the day.

  At the jousting field, before the men came out to parade around the list as they did before, lesser kings and queens from all of the Celtique Nations filed into the arena, purposeful in standing beside royals not of their own country. Several important dwarven leaders joined the ranks, as well as the heads of the Alybaenian tribes. In the grandstand, Tasarin and Luella took front and center. All of the other royals from the higher kingdoms flanked them, including Fionn and Alanna. Fionn was tall and lean, with dark blonde curls and heavy-lidded eyes that always made him look stern and half asleep. Alanna, like Connor, had thick red hair that was braided and woven to her head with ribbons. Her hazel eyes darted around as though she was nervous even just standing there.

  The gathered crowd was much larger than it had been the day before, people following the nobles with curiosity when it was observed that they were all heading in the same direction. It didn't take a great deal of smarts to realize something important was about to happen, and there was nervous chatter coming from every which direction. Tasarin and Luella, hand in hand, looked at one another. She gave him a small smile of encouragement and a nod, and he let her hand go to take half a step forward. A hush fell over the crowds closest to the grandstand that rippled all the way around. Soon, the only sounds that could be heard were those left to watch the other events that were also going on, and a few pipers playing somewhere deep in the village.

  “It has been a long time since we Celts have been gathered in so great a number, longer still since we have embraced many who have traveled from other countries to be a part of what we are doing.” Though Tasarin was soft spoken, when he needed to speak so he was heard by many, his voice could carry well beyond where he stood. “My heart has been filled with such joy as I have witnessed all of us together these past few days. We are competitors, yet we are companions as well. There has not been a single event which I have attended where the success of one was not celebrated in some way by all, nor has a defeat been an excuse for dishonorable behavior. The care and concern you all have for one another speaks not only of your hearts, but of your characters as well, and those of your countries.”

  Now joining him, all attention fell to Luella as she stepped forward as well. “It is that care and concern we call upon now. For years we lived in the shadow of a terror we could not control. High King Tadhg once ruled not only Caedia, but parts of Ibays, Cieria, and Siness as well, even if only by proxy. Each day that passed with him on the throne saw another township, another kingdom destroyed and made his own. Because of his far and powerful reach, many lived in terror of what each new day would bring. People in every nation, even the ones he had not yet turned his eye to, awoke each morning with the fear that the day before them could be their last free and peaceful one. When they lay their heads down at night, they wondered if they would see a dawn of familiarity and predictability, or one with their enemy on the horizon.” She paused, lips coming together in a tense line as her eyes swept the faces surrounding her. “We are swiftly approaching that time again, though it is not a tyrannical ruler we have to fear, but our own neighbor.”

  Uncertain as to what Luella was insinuating, those who were listening began whispering and mumbling to one another. Their brows were furrowed in bewilderment and fear of what her statement could possibly mean. On the field, the lesser rulers watched and said nothing.

  “Only this week...” Luella continued. She was patient as the chatter quieted and waited until she had everyone's attention again. “Only this week, which is not yet even four days old, there have been deaths reported in four of our six sister nations.” The fear among the audience gained greater footing at this announcement and Luella had to lift her hand to silence the voices that were raised. “This is indeed a cause for concern and it is right that you should worry and be ready to take up arms. Those that are the victims of these atrocious acts are in need of your camaraderie now more than ever before. They are people you know, perhaps not personally, but there is not one among you who does not have some sort of personal tie to someone affected by the shift that has taken place in our world. Since the destruction of Mirasean, both dragons and Gaels have been the target of horrendous acts of terrorism. They have been sought out with ill intent. Men, women, and children alike with the Gaelic blood in their veins have been pulled from their homes, beaten, and robbed. Some have been taken from their loved ones and tortured, and some have been killed. Dragons have been hunted where they sleep, where they keep and raise their young, and slaughtered like cattle, their bodies being cut apart and sold for profit. We are here today, the high rulers of Caedia, Siness, Ibays, and Braemar, as well as many of the rulers of the lesser kingdoms within our own, standing before you now, to tell you that this will not stand. We will not tolerate this behavior any longer.”

  “Huzzah!” cried someone from the side of the field. Almost as one, everyone from the grandstand, to the crowd and in between, turned in the direction of the loud Sinessian voice. Though most people would have been embarrassed by the sudden shift in attention, Niam looked proud of himself, sitting on the fence as though this was just another average gathering. He nodded to the nobles in the grandstand, a look of fierce determination on his face. Cavalon nodded in return, then swung his head back around to where Tasarin and Luella stood. Though the exchange was brief, it was enough to set people to whispering again.

  While they waited a moment for the commotion to pass, Luella took Tasarin's hand and squeezed it. Her smile for him was soft and encouraging, as though she felt he needed her show of support. He breathed slowly, his brows twitching together. Out of everyone among the higher kingdom royals, he was the one the people needed to hear from the most. He was a full-blooded elf and it had been his own homeland that had been destroyed by Gaels and dragons.

  “For generations,” he finally said when it was quiet enough for him to speak, “there has been an unspoken discord between elves and dragons. Given that Gaels are dragon-kin, they were also quietly considered less than and unworthy when it came to elvish associations. Though it has been a great many years since I have lived there, Mirasean was once my home. It was my home for most of my life. I grew up with others telling me that elves simply did not align themselves with Gaels and they had nothing to do with dragons. I was given no reason or explanation, only told it was how we should live. No one had to convince me this unexplained and deeply rooted mistrust and disliking was ill-founded. To simply believe in something and to follow it blindly because you are told to is f
oolish to begin with. When a belief system comes with no logic to support it, only the unwise would continue down the same blind path. Perhaps it was the Giver, the one we call the Great Dragon, who planted the seed of questioning in my heart, but I refused to take the same road as everyone else. I did not want to stay on my safe, small island and believe myself above or better than everyone who was different from me. Had I done so, I would have never found employment at Siness. I never would have met High Queen Ashlynn's grandfather, her father, Nir Stuart, or even her. I would not have met my wife, who is Gaelic, and who could not have a greater hold on my heart. It matters not her heritage or her blood.

  “When we were wed on Mirasean, my bride was tolerated for her Elemental blood and the power she would hold as the high ruler of Caedia. Had she been an average Gael, I would likely have been shunned from my own people, as a small number of my people have been. To say I understand this fiery tension between the three races is explaining it kindly. I have heard harsh words spoken, idle threats spat in anger, and wishes for ill muttered in frustration on both sides. There has never been love shared among them, but there has never been a malevolence so deep that either would seek to permanently destroy the other. What happened five years ago was a bitter tragedy and none can claim it so deeply as the elves, but it was the intentional malicious act of one man, and not that of a Gael or a dragon. The feud that has lasted for generations was used as a front, a way to shift the blame from the truly guilty to that of the otherwise innocent. In controlling the dragons and the Gaels that day, manipulating them so that the world would only see what the true enemy wanted them to see, we, as a whole, have fallen prey to the ultimate plan of destruction that was begun. We have turned against one another in fear, anger, and hatred. This is not the way we are to live. It says in the scriptures that we are not to repay evil for evil or insult with insult, but to repay it with blessings so that we may also inherit blessing.”