Farindian Summer (Stavin DragonBlessed Book 4)

by Loren K. Jones

  Stavin squirmed loose from Karvik’s grip and grasped the Sword of Zel’Hallan. The dragon magic enveloped him and he raised his hand to the sky with his palm flat to the arrows. Suddenly the barrage stopped: the arrows burst far above. The iron warheads still fell, but behind them came a shower of sawdust and feathers.

  Stavin yelled at the top of his lungs, and the angry roar of a dragon echoed up the valley. He walked forward, still wreathed in power, and rounded the bend just a few moments later. Ahead, across the road in a massed formation, stood at least five hundred men. Archers continued to shoot arrows into the sky, but they shattered when they reached Stavin’s position and fell harmlessly around him.

  “Stop that!” Stavin commanded, and again the voice of a dragon carried his words. “I am Dragon Blessed Senior Warmaster Prince Stavin Markan Karvan Do’Kalin Ne’Aniston Zel’Andral! Throw down your weapons or die!” Ahead of him, men stumbled back as weapons fell from suddenly nerveless fingers.

  A voice could be heard from the back of the force, screaming. “Attack! Attack him! He’s only one man! Attack him!”

  Stavin glared and waved his empty hand at the opposing force. He might as well have been waving a scythe. The entire front row of the force fell, and screams ripped from the throats of the men who had been thrown to the ground.

  “Must you all die?” Stavin bellowed. Now every man on the field threw their weapons down, and those who were still standing fell to their knees and put their heads to the ground. All but a group at the back of the force.

  Rage unlike anything Stavin had ever felt before, roared through his body, and he screamed, “Surrender or die! You have no other choice!” Ahead of him he saw the men stagger, and all but one man fell to his knees. “So be it,” Stavin whispered. His form blurred as he sprinted forward. Men were thrown from his path as he passed, but his target still stood. The sword swung out and cleaved the man in half as Stavin passed him. Stavin stopped and turned to glare at the others. “Must anyone else die?” he asked in an approximation of his normal voice.

  “We surrender!” a voice cried from somewhere close by. “We surrender! Don’t kill us! Please, Dragon Blessed! Don’t kill us!”

  Stavin snarled, and the men around him heard a growl unlike anything a human throat should have been able to create. “Who are you?” he demanded.

  “I-I-I am Davik Zel’Hestel, Dragon Blessed.”

  “My name is Prince Stavin,” Stavin corrected him. “Who was that?” he asked, pointing at the top half of the man he’d killed.

  “M-My father, Lord Cevin Zel’Hestel the Sixth.”

  “You are now Lord of Zel’Hestel. Who are these others?”

  Another man dared to look up and said, “I am Lord Gabrin Zel’Anlar, Prince Stavin.”

  “And I am Lord Walkin Zel’Freedan, Prince Stavin,” the third man said.

  Stavin looked at them and said, “Stand up.” When the three lords were facing him, he glared at them. “We came to ease the transition of these lands to Evandian control. We didn’t come to take your lands. We didn’t come to displace you from your homes.” He gestured behind them. “We didn’t come to slaughter the people of Farindia. We came to welcome you.”

  “What right do you have to take Farindia away from us?” Lord Walkin demanded in an aggressive tone, though his voice quavered a little.

  “By right of blood. We of Kel’Kavin carry the old royal bloodlines. It is our right to bring order to these lands.”

  “So you bring an Evandian army to take from us what our families have held for hundreds, even thousands of years?” Lord Gabrin asked. Like the others, he was watching Stavin with fear-widened eyes.

  Stavin shook his head angrily. “I don’t know who convinced you of that, but we came to affirm your place, not take it,” Stavin snapped. “The seven Chosen Houses are to stand as they are, the leaders of this portion of Evandia.” He looked around. “It’s not as if anyone but you wants these lands.”

  Lord Davik looked at Stavin with wide eyes. “Then why are you taking them?”

  “Because the Royal Guards of Kel’Kavin are tired of our kingdom being the haunt of bandits, thieves, and outlaws. We want our heritage back, and the only way we could get it was to join with Evandia.” He looked around and sighed, then spoke in a much more controlled tone. “Bury your dead, and tend to your lands, Lord Zel’Hestel. Evandian officials will be along in a while to establish your rights as lords of Evandia. Farindia is a memory, a note in a history book. Let it go.” With that, Stavin turned and walked back toward his army. The dragon magic still wrapped him in a cocoon of invincibility, but he wanted to be out of sight of the lords before he let go of the power.

  The Royal Guards met him when he arrived, and he said, “Set up that big tent. Something’s not right.” The guardsmen quickly complied, and Stavin let go of the sword right at the entrance. The reaction hit him like a sledge hammer. The world went dark and a roaring sound filled his ears. He didn’t feel his legs buckle.

  Karvik was quick enough to catch him, and Barvil was right on his other side. “Inside,” Barvil commanded, and they took Stavin in and laid him on the ground.

  “What’s wrong?” Dahvin asked and he crowded forward.

  “Too much,” Stavin whispered. “I used the sword too much.”

  “Lie still, Stavin,” Barvil commanded as he and Karvik started stripping Stavin of his plate armor.

  “Thirsty,” Stavin whispered, and Karvik brought out his flask. When he removed Stavin’s helmet, he almost dropped it.

  “Gods Below,” he whispered. “Stave, what happened to your eyes?”

  Barvil immediately pushed Karvik out of the way and grabbed Stavin’s head with both hands. A startled hiss escaped from between his teeth when he saw Stavin’s eyes. Stavin had been born with deep brown eyes, one of the few things Dorvina had found attractive about him. Now an unnatural gold flecked those eyes, glinting like metal in the light of the tent.

  “Gods Above and Below, Stave,” Dahvin breathed. “You can’t do that anymore.”

  Stavin’s voice was barely a whisper when he answered, “I have to. It’s why I’m here.”

  “No, it is not,” Gavlin said from behind his brother’s shoulder. “You’re here to exert the authority of the crown, not to kill yourself.”

  Stavin’s voice was barely a whisper as he said, “But I have to make them see.”

  “No, Prince Stavin. You have to go back to Twin Bridges alive. We have our instructions from Uncle Kal to take care of you. If it comes to tying you to your horse and sending you home, we will.”

  Stavin’s eyes narrowed in anger, and a little fear. “You wouldn’t really do that to me, would you, Gav?” he asked in a barely audible whisper.

  “Try me, Stave,” Gavlin answered.

  “I’ll help,” Karvik volunteered with a grin.

  “Not fair,” Stavin muttered. “Ganging up on me. Bunch of bullies.”

  “He’s whining. That means he’ll be all right,” Barvil observed, much to the amusement of the men. “But they are right, Stavin. Something is happening to you when you use the sword. Your personality has shifted since you first crossed the Zel’Horgan to face the Andarians. There was an element of viciousness in that attack that isn’t normal for you.”

  “It’s like the dragon is taking control,” Karvik observed.

  Stavin closed his eyes and tried to clear his mind. Are they right? He could still feel the rage from when he killed Lord Zel’Hestel coursing through his veins. It was hot, burning in him like—like the lust he’d felt for Dorvina. Desire burned through him, but it was the desire to kill. Now a new feeling roared through him, extinguishing that fire with the chill of terror. What am I becoming?

  He opened his eyes and stared into Barvil’s. “It’s turning me into a monster,” he whispered.

  Barvil said, “That’s it.” Before Stavin had any indication what he was doing, Barvil had slipped Stavin’s baldric loose and taken the sword. Stavin tried to objec
t, tried to reach for it, but he was too weak to even raise a fuss, let alone his arm.

  “Gav, we camp here tonight,” Dahvin decided as he looked up at his big brother. “Kar, get his bedroll and bring it in here. We’ll leave his mail on.” He shook his head as he looked at Barvil and Karvik.

  “Yes, Captain Zel’Fordal,” Karvik answered and vanished through the tent flap.

  Gavlin was smiling slightly when he also said, “Yes, Captain Zel’Fordal.” He turned and gave his orders. “Set camp. Have the healers deal with our injured first, then the opposition force. Captain Zel’Kordil, have your men do a sweep of the area. Infantry, see to the burial detail. I want a standard camp listing in two spans. Dismissed.”

  All three of his subordinates snapped, “Yes, sir,” then turned and left.

  “Darak,” Barvil ordered, “you and Hardan set the Royal Guard up around this tent. I want twenty men on watch at all times.”

  “Yes, Warmaster,” Darak replied, and left to carry out his orders.

  The news was grim when Gavlin led Dahvin and Barvil back into Stavin’s tent. “We lost twenty men before you stopped the arrows. There were nineteen opposition dead, and the front hundred or so of their men look like they were hit by an avalanche. Almost every man has a broken leg, arm, head, or crushed chest. I saw at least a dozen men who had blood dripping out of their ears. And every man out there is terrified that you’re coming back for them.”

  Stavin couldn’t even raise his head as he looked at Gavlin and whispered, “I don’t think they need to worry about me for a while.”

  Gavlin nodded. “I’m giving orders to camp here for three days. Officially, it’s for our wounded. It’s actually for you. And it’s to allow the lords to pass the word to their peers about what happened here. I rode ahead and talked to the new Lord of Zel’Hestel. He has agreed to send messengers to the other lords, informing them that we are not here to take their lands. And I’d bet a crown that he includes what you did out there in the message.”

  Stavin sighed and closed his eyes. He’d killed nineteen of his people. Twenty if he counted Lord Cevin. “There has to be a better way,” he whispered. I don’t want to kill my people. My people. Farindians and Evandians are all my people. Then exhaustion stole away his last thoughts, and he fell into a deep sleep.

  Chapter 31

  THE DECISION NOT TO FIGHT DIDN’T sit well with all of the Evandian officers, Lieutenant Sallah Zel’Janvis least of all. “This is stupid,” he muttered. “We outman them ten to one. We should just roll over them like the tide and be done with it.”

  “That’s not what the king wants, Sallah,” one of the other lieutenants said. “He wants this to be a peaceful part of Evandia.”

  “Kill all the troublemakers and the rest will fall in line,” Sallah said in a haughty tone. “That’s how old Lux did it.”

  “Not according to Prince Stavin and Colonel Zel’Fordal,” another young lieutenant said. “According to them, Lux did what we’re doing: absorbing the people and lands, not conquering them. It kept the locals from revolting.”

  “I say kill them all,” Sallah growled.

  “I say you’re a fool,” Kimmel Zel’Devery said as he passed. “Only someone with the power of the Dragon Sword could succeed at that.”

  “Watch who you call a fool, prisoner!” Sallah shouted.

  “I served for twenty-two years, Lieutenant Zel’Janvis,” Kimmel replied, “and I recognize a fool when I see one. To do what you want to do, you’d have to steal one of Prince Stavin’s gauntlets and that sword. You’d have to make his power your own.”

  “That would be treason,” another of the young officers said in a breathy tone.

  “So no one would dare do it,” Kimmel said as he turned to go. “No one has the stones for it.”

  Sallah and the other young officers watched Kimmel walk away, though their thoughts varied greatly. Most of them were shocked that anyone, least of all a prisoner who was already facing charges, would suggest such a thing. But Sallah was carefully considering the idea.

  Like many young men, Sallah saw the power but couldn’t grasp the peril of the dragon magic. He not-so-secretly considered himself far above Stavin and his ilk because of his birth. He was born of a Chosen Clan that could trace its roots back to the beginnings of Lux more than three thousand years in the past. His royal ancestors had been emperors, not just kings of pocket kingdoms like Farindia and Evandia.

  As he lay in his bed that night, Kimmel Zel’Devery’s words kept running around in his mind. “… steal one of Prince Stavin’s gauntlets and that sword.” All that power, and that fool commoner was afraid to use it. “If he’s afraid to use it, he doesn’t deserve it.”

  Sallah bided his time until he was sent to the command tent on an errand, then he acted. Prince Stavin’s gauntlets were lying to the side, and the sword was right beside them. Before anyone could guess what he was doing, he’d grabbed the gauntlets and sword and darted out of the tent.

  Colonel Zel’Fordal shouted, “Lieutenant, what are you doing?!”

  Stavin just screamed, “No!”

  They were both too late. As Stavin and Gavlin stumbled out of the tent, Sallah forced his hand into Stavin’s right gauntlet and grasped the sword. The power of the dragon magic engulfed him, and he raised the sword to the sky.

  “I feel it,” he bellowed. “I feel the power. I am invincible!”

  Stavin looked at him and took a step back, shaking his head. He whispered, “No,” several times as he backed away from Sallah. The lieutenant looked at him and smiled.

  “Now I have the power. Now I have the glory. Farindia and Evandia will be mine, and soon all of the empire will follow. Fall to your knees, foolish commoner,” he commanded as he looked at Stavin. “See what a true Chosen warrior looks like.”

  Stavin was shaking his head as he looked at Sallah. He said, “You don’t know what it will do to you,” as he took another step backwards.

  “It will make me an emperor! I’ve done what you should have done, commoner. I’ve taken the power for my own, and nothing will stop me.”

  Stavin watched the young man as the power blazed around him. Then he closed his eyes when Sallah started screaming.

  The power of the dragon magic contracted around Sallah. For an instant, he felt powerful enough to rule the world. But then the pain started. It was just an itch at first, but soon grew until he felt like he was on fire. His head pulled back and his back bent into an involuntary arch as the life force was stripped from his body all at once. His scream rolled across the valley, echoed against the trees, and drove men to their knees with their hands clasped over their ears.

  Then Sallah’s body jerked as spasms rippled through his muscles. It was almost a mercy when flames erupted from his body, and he became a torch blazing in the sun. After what seemed like a small eternity the fire ended when Sallah’s body crumbed to dust. The gauntlet fell and the sword bounced loose, and the dragon magic faded with the last echoes of Sallah’s scream.

  Stavin had fallen to his knees with his hands over his ears, and now wept as he looked at the ashes of what moments before been a young man. The terrifying thought, That could have been me, rolled over and over through his mind.

  Colonel Zel’Fordal grasped his prince by the shoulders and pulled him back, dragging him to his feet by main force alone. “Prince Stavin, are you all right?”

  “No, Gav. No, I’m not all right. He was just a kid.”

  “He was a fool,” Dahvin said from beside his brother. “He thought he could be you.”

  “No, sir,” a different young lieutenant said from the side. “He thought he could be the emperor, and reestablish the Empire of Lux.”

  Stavin shook off Gavlin’s hands and walked forward to where his gauntlets and sword lay in the dust. He took a deep breath and picked up the gauntlets, then dropped them again and stumbled back a step. “His hand is still in there,” he whispered as he backed away.

  Karvik stepped forward and
picked the gauntlets up, then gingerly worked Sallah’s right hand out of the glove. It took some effort. Sallah’s hands were bigger than Stavin’s. When he was done, he handed the gloves to his friend, then picked up the sword. His own gauntlet prevented his skin from touching the hilt, and he breathed a sigh of relief when nothing happened.

  “Well, now we know how close you came to dying that day, Stave,” he said as he turned to face the senior officers. “The only part of that idiot that didn’t burn up was inside your glove. If you weren’t in full armor, you really would have turned yourself into a torch.”

  Stavin nodded and gulped for air as he backed away, then he turned and emptied his stomach on the ground beside his tent. He fell to his knees as he continued to retch, and finally quieted. He whispered, “I need to lie down.”

  Karvik and Barvil each grabbed an arm, lifted him to his feet, then guided him to his tent. Once he was safely in his bedroll, Karvik sheathed the sword and put it beside him. “And to think I envied you,” he whispered to his friend, then turned and walked away.

  Chapter 32

  SHARI WAS IN HER SUITE WITH Sorandis and Glora, feeding the babies while the older children played. Several other toddlers from palace families were there as well, and the room was a study in confusion as Helva and Delva struggled to keep the peace. Sallin joined in as well, laughing as her children played.

  Four men in the ubiquitous Palace Servant’s uniforms entered the suite pushing a serving cart. No one thought anything was odd about it until the last man turned and threw the three heavy bolts that had been added to secure the room.

  “What are you doing?” Glora asked.

  “What needs to be done,” one of the men snarled, and pulled a knife from the cart.

  Glora screamed, “Guards!” but the man by the door shouted to drown her out.

  “Try to break in here and they all die!”