Fate of the Tyrant (The Eoriel Saga Book 3)

by Kal Spriggs

  “Right…” Brooke shook her head, “I’ve seen your healing. The boy is lucky to still be alive.”

  Aramer shrugged, “Fine, see if I ever help you again.” He stuck his nose in the air pompously.

  Aerion couldn’t help but laugh… but his mood turned more serious. They had survived the fight and for now everyone was being friendly, but it wasn’t so long ago that he and Kerrel had faced each other across the battlefield. “What do we do now?” Aerion asked.

  “It’s a damned good question,” Kerrel said with a nod at him. “And in case you just missed it, I think I accidentally outed Hector for being Duke Peter’s bastard child.”

  “What?!” Everyone in the room stood in surprise.

  “It was a bit of a shock to me, too, but Halyna was right there and she didn’t refute it, she just walked right out,” Kerrel said.

  “Oh… crap,” Aramer said. “This makes things ever so much more complicated.”

  Aerion nodded. All this time he had assumed that Katarina was the rightful heir, that Hector was just some ambitious military commander. Now it seemed that Hector was Duke Peter’s eldest child. Not a legitimate one, granted. But that means he killed his own father… Aerion shuddered at that thought. How could one go to one’s ancestors after having done such a crime?

  “We’ve other issues, too,” Kerrel said. She pointed at Aerion, “He carries the Starblade, and there’s no way that people out there aren’t going to realize it, not after what happened in that fog. I only sort of believed it until that light show.”

  Aerion forced himself to meet her green eyes. “Trust me, I don’t want to carry it… but I’ve sworn an oath, I can’t give it up until I find someone worthy to carry it.”

  “Well, that time may come soon enough,” Kerrel said with a nod towards the front room. “We’ve got more assembled nobility here since the alliance against Emperor Dalton. Hopefully Jay will help the sword make a choice and we can get on with this.”

  “If it listened to me,” Aramer grumbled, “this would be a great deal less complicated.”

  “How would I even know?” Aerion asked.

  “You’ll know,” Kerrel said. “Trust me. When you carry a powerful blade like that, it’ll let you know in no uncertain terms when the time comes to pass it along.”

  Aerion frowned as he looked at her, clearly she spoke from experience, but he couldn’t guess what she meant.

  “How about this,” Eleanor said, “Aerion and the rest of us will go out, circulate among the tavern, and see if the Starblade resonates with anyone there?” She gave a smile, “as he’s my son, I’ve a certain vested interest in the blade picking someone else to wear a big target on their backs for all of Aramer’s many enemies.”

  Aerion saw Aramer stick his tongue out at his mother, but everyone else nodded. Cederic, tired as he was after his fight with the enemy wizard, gave a firm nod. “It’s the best chance we’ll have to let the blade select a worthy candidate.” He frowned, “Uh, no offense, Aerion, but you’re hardly High Kings material.”

  “None taken,” Aerion said. “I don’t want this.” Though, truth to tell, he wasn’t exactly sure what it was that he wanted. He still ached with desire over Katarina, but he had come to realize that it wasn’t going to happen. At best, they’d end up with some awful relationship that either made them both miserable or caused their friends and family issues later on in life. Dragon’s Bane, Aerion thought, that’s how this mess with Hector even got started: Duke Peter sleeping around.

  No, it would be best if he just left, rather than making things worse. Yet could he go back to Watkowa Village? It was home, but looking back it all seemed so small…

  “Right,” Aramer said, “let’s make use of the opportunity. Aerion, if you get any feeling from the blade, let me know.”

  “I will,” Aerion said. Hopefully it would be something obvious that he wouldn’t miss.

  ***

  Lady Katarina Emberhill

  Katarina looked up as she saw Aerion step out of the back room. She frowned as she saw Kerrel Flamehair follow him out. The two of them had saved each other's lives, she knew, yet she felt more than a little uneasy to see them together. It's not jealousy, she thought. She just didn't want Aerion growing too friendly with one of Hector's mercenaries, not when they didn't know how long this relative peace would last.

  Katarina heard a stir at the front of the tavern and looked over to that Hector had returned. He had a distratcted expression as he came towards her, as if he had heard bad news. He did, she reminded herself, he didn't know that he was my half-brother, and that was a terrible way to learn it.

  Not that she could blame Kerrel for her exclamation. It was obvious with both of them in the same room. She wondered if that was one reason that Hector had been seen so seldom at court. And I suppose there is no question about my ancestry either, for those who doubted. Her gaze fell on Ferrakan who just raised an eyebrow at her. The old armsman stood at his ease, but she didn't miss how watchful he was. He clearly didn't expect this peaceful interlude to last.

  There are still several loose ends to be tied, she thought. On that reminder she turned to Hector as he approached. “Any news on Covle Darkbit?”

  “Hmmm?” Hector asked, blinking as he took a moment to consider the question. “No. Not yet.” His face turned hard. Once together, they had quickly come to the conclusion that Covle Darkbit's variety of crimes were too numerous to attribute entirely to incompetence. Since he had vanished just before the Armen had attacked, it seemed more and more likely that he had worked for Xavien.

  “We'll find him,” Siara said as she passed Hector a goblet of wine.

  “He was a guest of Lord Admiral Hennings in his exile in Boir,” Grand Duke Tarken said. “Given what rumors we've uncovered, it seems likely that he's in league with whatever forces organized the attack on Boir... as well as the attack here.”

  “Maybe more than that,” Hector said. His expression turned bleak as he looked down at the table, the goblet of wine in his hands forgotten. He sighed, “When the word first reached me that Duke Peter planned to move against me... it was through Covle Darkbit.” He looked up and met Katarina's eyes. “It was on his word and evidence that I moved against your... against our father.”

  Katarina's eyes went wide at that, “You think he manipulated that much?”

  “Xavien might have,” Grand Duke Tarken said. “If this Darkbit was in league with him, they might have organized it, to create confusion here in Masov and further Xavien's plans.” The Grand Duke looked pained. “My son's execution occurred not long after you moved on Duke Peter,” he nodded at Hector. “It might have disrupted their plans. However he survived it, it still might have made it hard for him to act... until more recently.”

  “I think I've some answers there,” Cederic said as he came forward. The Shrouded Wizard looked exhausted and he leaned heavily on his iron staff. “Your Grace,” he nodded at Grand Duke Tarken, “you mentioned your wife killed herself in some sort of ritual, the same day as your son commited suicide?”

  When Grand Duke Tarken nodded, Cederic nodded back at his apprentice. Quinn brought forward a black, metal staff. “This was Xavien's staff. It's different from what most wizards might carry... it has certain custom-tailored runes that work in conjunction with sorcery and the darkest aspects of spirit magic.”

  “Warlockry?” Katarina asked. While priests and shamans received power from the powers they worshiped and witches bargained for the same, warlocks stole that power, draining spirits, stealing souls, and generally wrecking havoc wherever they went. Like sorcerers, warlocks were universally hated, though they weren't generally killed on sight. Sometimes there are dark spirits who need to be destroyed, Katarina thought.

  Cederic nodded. “From what I can tell about these dragon runes, Xavien had worked sorcery on people and then attuned his staff to them. When his physical body was on the verge of death, the runes on his staff activated and ripped his soul out of his body and
then teleported to one of his targets. Once there, it transferred his consciousness to the target and his implanted sorcery did the rest, changing the body to suit him.”

  Katarina shuddered, “But then, did he--”

  “No,” Cederic said, nodding at the staff. “Lady Siara broke the runes when she cut through his staff... right before she cut his head from his shoulders.”

  “If his soul was powerful enough to possess another human...” Lord Hector said.

  “I think he must have possessed some element of mind magic,” Cederic said. His face went grim, “And as for his spirit lingering... I went to the place of his death. While my knowledge of spirit magic is limited, I can tell you with no uncertainty that his spirit is gone. Either disapated... or else harvested by one of the Armen spirits that he sought to use.”

  Katarina shuddered at that. Everyone hoped to go to the spirits of their ancestors eventually. Most people didn't have the power for their individual souls to exist on their own, but many villages and towns had spirits that welcomed the dead, a way to live on afterward, though seldom with any individual awareness.

  To have one's soul eaten or consumed by the dark spirits the Armen worshiped was a terrifying prospect.

  “Well,” Hector said with grim satisfaction, “I'll drink to that.” He raised the goblet to drink, but then he paused and set it down. He turned to face Katarina. “You know, don't you, that this hasn't really resolved anything?”

  Katarina nodded. “There's still too much hatred on both sides for this to be the end, not without some kind of finality.”

  “I know,” Katarina said.

  Hector whipped out the Ducal Blade. Before Katarina could draw her sword or rise from her chair, he knelt in front of her and offered up the Ducal Blade hilt first. “Lady Katarina Emberhill, I yield to you, and acknowledge you as. I surrender myself unconditionally and only request that you show leniency upon those who supported me.”

  Katarina slowly reached out to take the blade. As she did, she felt a vibrating shift, as if the ground had shifted beneath her. As she took the Ducal Blade she held it up before her eyes. It ignited with warm, red light that filled the entire tavern.

  The assembled officers had gone quiet, men and women from the different sides trying to take in what had just happened.

  “Well,” Siara said and reached forward to take Hector's goblet. To consternation she poured it on the floor. “You probably won't want to drink that. It wouldn't do to have you fall over dead after that, would it?”

  ***

  Captain Aerion Swordbreaker

  Aerion watched in shock as Katarina took the Ducal Blade and it flared into life.

  He knew he should have felt excited for her, felt pride that he had helped her to achieve this.

  Instead, he felt as if all of his hopes and dreams had crumbled to nothing. He saw Lord Garrel staring at her and in that moment, all Aerion wanted to do was to cut the man down.

  I had my chance, Aerion thought, and I chose duty over her. The thought tasted bitter, but it wasn't something he could truly regret. If it had been Garrel on the flank, would it have held against the Armen long enough for Katarina and Hector to rally? Aerion didn't know... but he did know that he had held the flank. Any other decision might well have doomed them all to death.

  Still, it was a bittersweet feeling at best as he realized that Lady Katarina would very soon be Duchess Katarina... and any affections she felt for a common-born bastard would need to be buried, for the good of the Duchy of Masov.

  Aerion blinked as Lady Siara dumped Hector's wine goblet. He blanched a bit as she as much as admitted to attempting to poison him. I'll think twice before accepting anything from her, Aerion thought to himself.

  “Lord Hector,” Katarina said, “I accept your surrender. With the exception of Covle Darkbit and his accomplices, I'll grant amnesty for them and any of your loyalists who swear fealty to me will retain their rights, privileges, and titles.”

  “As for you, Lord Hector, I'll need some time to consider how to move forward, both with your title as Baron of Longhaven as well as your future,” Katarina said.

  “I understand,” Hector said.

  “It seems we've ended our brief time of informality,” Grand Duke Tarken said. He looked around and then nodded towards the corner, “In that case, Lady Katarina, two members of my expedition have a petition for you. Knight Captain Harald?”

  “Crap,” Aramer muttered behind Aerion, “it's Harald. Of course the Order would send Harald...”

  Two figures in armor rose from the table they'd shared in the corner. Both were big men and they wore archaic armor like Katarina and Grand Duke Tarken's guards. As they came forward, the older one moved to the lead, and he and his companion gave Lady Katarina a deep, respectful bow.

  “Lady Katarina Emberhill,” Harald said. “I am Knight Captain Harald, Militant Commander of my Order's contingent on this expedition.” There was something beyond formal with the man's words, almost as if he patterned himself after a manner of speech or behavior as old as his armor. “I am here on behalf of the Order of King Gordon. While we always are pleased to assist those in need, I'm afraid that was not our primary purpose on this voyage.”

  Grand Duke Tarken nodded, “It came to my attention that at your battle at the Southwatch, the Ducal Blade of Boir was not the only artifact you recovered.”

  “Why, yes,” Katarina said, clearly confused. “I recovered a number of runic weapons and armor...”

  “Many of which are relics of the Royal Guard,” Knight Captain Harald interrupted politely but firmly, “and which the Order would very much like to recover and return to the proper owners, if possible. Many of those weapons are storied and have seen service for hundreds of generations, and not to disparage your soldiers, but they are not trained to properly use those weapons to their full extent.”

  “I see,” Katarina said, “Well, that is something I will need to discuss, perhaps on an individual basis. I think we can probably set aside most of an afternoon to go over those items...”

  “I am sorry,” Knight Captain Harald said, “but while recovery of those items is a priority, those are also not why we have come.” He hesitated, “I am afraid to be forward, but I'm afraid you have not taken my meaning, my Lady.” The knight took a deep breath, “It has come to the attention of the Order of King Gordon that one of your followers, a young man by the name of Aerion, carries the Starblade.”

  Every eye in the tavern turned to him. Grizzled mercenary veterans, powerful nobility, and even the tavern's staff stared at him in shock... their eyes going to the blade at his hip.

  Aerion wanted to melt into the floor.

  “Ah, I see that some of my former traveling companions are at his side,” Knight Captain Harald said cheerfully. “Eleanor, you look well, and Aramer, the beard suits you.”

  “I hate him so much,” Aramer muttered. “I knew I should have donned a new disguise this morning.”

  The knight seemed to realize that he had made something of a scene. “Well,” Harald said, “I hope I did not speak out of turn. Of course, this is such an important event that I think it should be addressed.”

  Katarina was staring at Aerion with an expression of shock. It was clear that she wasn't quite certain what to make of the information... or even if she believed it. “Are you certain?”

  “Captain, if you would be so kind as to draw the blade?” Harald asked.

  Aerion fought the urge to look over at Aramer... or just to bolt from the room. He let out a tense breath and drew the blade. The Starblade, the sword of the High Kings and mark of their authority, ignited with a soft, white glow.

  “Excellent, thank you,” Harald said. He turned to face Katarina, “As you can see, my Lady, the young lad does possess the blade and it has accepted him as its temporary bearer. This would be how he was able to use it so effectively in the battle this morning.” Harald straightened, “Now, as you can imagine, it passes coincidence that you have sworn
an oath to the High Kings and that one of your followers recovered the blade. The Order of King Gorndon has come to believe that the time of the High Kings has returned. Among the oaths we have sworn is one to repair the Sundered Blade. Therefore, we would like to take possession of the Starblade.”

  Everyone looked to Aerion and he felt his throat constrict. He lowered the Starblade, feeling suddenly self-conscious. He tried to speak and only coughed awkwardly. It felt as if his throat had constricted to the point that he almost couldn't breathe. Aerion finally forced words out of his throat. “I swore to the Spirit of Southwatch that I would only give the sword to someone worthy of it.”

  Knight Captain Harald gave a nod of acknowledgement, “That is a worthy oath and Southwatch's spirit is made up of valiant defenders. But you must see that the Order of King Gordon will protect the blade far better than you might. More than that, my Order's goal is to restore the Starblade and the rule of the High Kings... something you yourself are sworn to.”

  Aerion looked down at the sword, “That might be true... but the sword has not yet signaled me to give it to you, or to anyone here.” He lifted his gaze and despite the crowded tavern, he felt as if he spoke to Harald alone. “How can I give up the blade and my oath so easily?”

  Harald gave him another nod, and for a moment Aerion feared that the knight would ask, in public, what Aerion had sworn his oath upon. I don't know that I can lie about it if he asks me directly, Aerion thought. He had sworn upon his feelings for Katarina, which was the only thing that Southwatch would accept.

  “You must understand that the Order of King Gordon cannot allow this artifact of the High Kings to be held by someone else,” Knight Captain Harald walked forward and the various noblemen and officers parted around him. He stopped short of Aerion and they stared eye to eye for a long moment. Aerion felt uncomfortable as he realized that the knight sized him up... and that might well be towards a fight. The older man had the look of a fighting man and he moved with confidence and a smooth motion that suggested he had plenty of experience.