No, the story couldn’t be about his family which meant that something else was going on. Maybe Eledis had finally approached dementia. He wasn’t sure how he would handle that, but it was a more manageable problem in the long run.
Even if his reasoning was correct about Eledis’ far-fetched tale, Raimie had to contend with the mysterious appearance of a sword in the root cellar. An explanation for that materialization and the bizarre reaction of the sword to his presence continued to elude him when he emerged into the kitchen to start breakfast.
The dried meat he’d forgotten to store last night lay on the table, reminding Raimie of their food problem. Pinching the bridge of his nose to ward off a precipitous headache spike, he grabbed a strip and bit into it. Chewing noisily and preoccupied with holding a migraine at bay, Raimie hardly noticed when Eledis joined him. When the old man took part in his own breakfast, he jolted back, almost falling out of his seat. Eledis grinned at him through a mouthful of food.
“How did you sleep?” he asked around his breakfast.
“Fine, thank you,” Raimie muttered, unnerved by his grandfather’s calm.
“You don’t believe me do you?” Eledis asked.
“Would you if our roles were reversed?”
“Fair enough. I know you’ll require proof, but for that, we’ll have to wait for Aramar to wake. In the meantime, would you listen to one of my tales?”
“If I must,” Raimie rolled his eyes.
There was no harm in indulging the old man’s delusions.
Eledis shifted to a more comfortable position in his chair.
“You may not realize this, but many of those books in my cottage that you love concern the continent across the sea to varying degrees. Almost all legitimate sources agree that this other landmass is where the earliest civilizations emerged in this world we occupy. I’ve studied that ancient land for years, following any myths concerning the last Audish king and the evil he faced. I could tell you story after story about that, but for now, let’s discuss another topic entirely.
“You’ve been told the tale of the creation of our world, of how an ancient entity we call Alouin formed it and brought us here. There are, however, some details of that story that we neglected to share. Specifically, we never taught you about the Esela.
“According to ancient legend, the Esela were a separate race of beings that began in service to Alouin and were given dominion over all other races and lands in this world. They’ve all but disappeared in this current era, but for eons, they were the preeminent race with empires that spanned our world-“
A choked cough interrupted Eledis’ story.
“I suppose I shouldn’t be that surprised considering what happened last night, but I thought that we’d agreed to follow his mother’s dying wish and avoid telling Raimie about his heritage,” Aramar stated with great restraint.
“You know things have changed.”
Eledis placed Shadowsteal reverently on the table. Raimie’s father stiffened at the sight of the old, fabled sword before releasing a resigned sigh.
“I knew this would happen. He always was too…” Aramar trailed into silence, his eyes locked on the sword as though it was a curse.
“Wait, he’s telling the truth? We’re exiled royalty, and this isn’t some pretty sword?” Raimie asked.
His father refused to look up as he leaned over the blade on the table.
“This is most definitely Shadowsteal. It matches every written description, right down to the runes on the blade itself. It’s also confirmed with how you found it. All the stories concerned with its discovery agree that Shadowsteal will be found by a young one with the ability to peer into a pocket of the world of purity and light.
“So in answer to your question, yes. Based off of every story and legend I’ve ever heard, Eledis is telling the truth,” Aramar finished quietly.
The certainty Raimie had found earlier was gone. It was difficult to believe that both Eledis and his father could’ve lost their minds on the same night. Maybe there was a hint of truth to this fantastic belief. He wasn’t sure he could accept all of it, but there was something real there.
“Shadowsteal has been found,” Eledis triumphantly proclaimed, interrupting Raimie’s thoughts, “and now we may return to Auden.”
“I’m sorry, what?” Raimie asked with genuine confusion. “Why would we leave? I know you think we’re descended from some royal line, and I may have found some prophesied sword, but that doesn’t mean we have to do anything about it!”
“But of course it does!” Eledis joyfully replied. “It’s finally time for our return.”
At the pronouncement, Aramar woodenly marched into his room, quietly shutting the door behind him. His only ally gone, Raimie silently attempted to decipher what the dutiful grandson would do in this moment.
“I don’t want to leave,” he calmly said.
The statement didn’t perfectly fit the façade, but this was too important not to state his wants and desires.
“Oh, don’t you worry. With time, Auden will quickly feel like home,” Eledis consoled, patting his grandson’s hand soothingly.
Raimie bristled and jerked back.
“No, I don’t think you understand,” he stated, voice gradually rising in decibel. “This is my home, and I’m not going anywhere!”
He shot to his feet and stormed into his room, slamming the door behind him. Leaping on the bed, he released a muffled yell, waiting for the frustration and confusion to recede. Since the previous evening, his life had been turned upside down, and he didn’t know how he should feel besides angry. He wearily flipped over on the mattress, staring at the familiar ceiling of his room.
“Grandson,” Eledis called through the door, “I know how you feel, I do. The bewilderment and fear are overwhelming, making you frantic and unreasoning, but that's nothing compared to what’s befallen those left to the Dark Lord across the sea.
“According to all of the stories, Auden was a beautiful kingdom. Its fields a rich green, ripe for harvest every summer, the mountains that surrounded its borders stretched to the sea, providing ample protection to its citizens from invaders. The capital city of Uduli was home to all types of people, a safe haven for anyone of all nations. And the palace of kings? It was the proudest of all the structures in the city, ebony black and standing on a hilltop far above all other dwellings. Yes, it was once beautiful until the Dark One came and it was overrun with his servants. Until Doldimar came.
“It’s said that after the king was exiled, the government of the people was quickly overcome by vast armies, and all were enslaved. Everything burned, and anything of beauty was destroyed for Doldimar detests all things lovely.
“As for the Esela, the remnant of the once powerful servants of Alouin? To their great surprise, they were as nothing to this terror. Most were slain, and those who survived the Dark Lord’s initial wrath either fled or were captured. His prisoners were mercilessly tortured until many submitted and became his most feared servants, his Enforcers. The rest were slaughtered. Their mangled bodies were displayed in the land that they’d long ago ruled in happiness, left for the ravens and scavengers, to show that Doldimar held dominion.
“At first, humankind lived an anxious, but peaceful existence in the Dark Lord’s shadow, providing sufficient labor to enact his plans. Once Doldimar grew tired of conquest and power, however, life quickly turned for those of our race. The Dark Lord implemented his own form of entertainment, the pits.
“Every week, he’d select a group of healthy young men and have them fight to the death in competitions for his amusement. If one chosen for the games refused to participate, he was executed, and the survivors of the contests were returned to the arena without break or rest. Eventually, Doldimar even added women and children into the pits. With time, many of the humans who emerged victorious from the Dark One’s twisted form of entertainment grew tough, eager for blood, and terrible to look upon. They became a vicious garrison in Doldimar’s army
, his way of putting down rebellions until all resistance to his rule ceased.
“Now those who were once free are slaves. The land that we called our own is parched and stained with our people’s blood, and all that was once beautiful and good there is lost. If the prophecy about our family is true, then we have a chance to end that.
“We must go back and erase Doldimar’s evil. We must return to free any pitiful remnant of our people that survives.”
Eledis paused.
“Raimie?”
Chapter Two
If you ever read this, please know that I never hated you.
Today was a drop in the bucket of unpleasant days that comprised Kheled’s life lately, and he was extraordinarily grateful for it. He blinked placidly at the irate young woman shaking a fist in his face. Her swell of anger washed over him, changing nothing in the empty shell of his heart, and he suppressed a disappointed sigh, focusing on the young lady’s words.
“…nausea. The constant aching makes it impossible for me to complete my duties! You said I’d be completely healthy within a week, and I’m not! The tonic must have been prepared improperly!”
“Did you empty the bottle?” he calmly asked.
The young woman paused mid-breath, surprised by the interruption. Her face reddened not only from his callous insolence but also from embarrassment. She couldn’t get any words past her lips. That was fine. No words were necessary. Kheled handed her the bottled tincture he’d been fiddling with since she’d stepped inside.
“Three sips a day, morning, mid-day, and evening, until the bottle is completely empty, and give yourself time to rest and recuperate.”
The young woman raised an eyebrow.
“I had it on hand,” he answered her unspoken question, failing to mention that he’d prepared two doses for her when she’d displayed initial symptoms a week ago.
The woman quickly recovered from her stunned state and seemed about to lay into him for some other perceived failing. At that moment, one of the Zrelnach trainees barged into the clinic unannounced. Gods bless the youth for his impeccable timing.
“Healer, the Council requests your presence. They need you now.”
Why did they all refuse to say his name except as a curse? Everyone made mistakes in their lives. Was his so unforgivable?
He bowed low to the female.
“Mistress, I apologize profusely for the interruption. It appears that my time has been commandeered. If you have any additional questions or concerns, request a future meeting with your commander. In the meantime, please make sure to follow instructions to the letter this time.”
The young woman’s face completely suffused with color, and a squeak of outrage leaped from her gaping throat. The corners of Kheled’s mouth twitched once he’d strode past her. It was curious that such small pleasures still affected him.
He quietly followed the young trainee down the long halls and corridors of the city. They turned several corners and left his clinic in the distance. The slap of feet on stone echoed back to Kheled loudly in the enclosed shafts, a distinct reminder of how deep within the mountain they lived.
“Shatha needed that slap to her pride,” the trainee chuckled. “She’s been unbearable in the barracks, constantly complaining about how awful she feels and that her illness is affecting her standings in the ranks.”
He scoffed.
“As if that’s the only reason. Thanks for putting her in her place.”
Kheled didn’t respond at first, and the trainee seemed content with that. He whistled a jaunty tune that matched his carefree attitude.
“What’s your name?”
“Hmm?” Kheled’s guide asked, craning his head over his shoulder. “Oh! I’m Dath.”
“Dath,” Kheled chewed on the word. “Don’t be friendly with me, Dath. Nothing good will come of it.”
Whatever surprise the trainee may have felt from the healer’s assertion quickly passed as he shrugged and easily moved on. The two exchanged not another word, even when they arrived at their destination. Kheled entered the clinic, dismissing Dath as he stalked past.
Inside, Kheled shrugged off his cloak, tossing it onto one of the many free cots lining the walls, and hurried to join the conglomeration of people huddled over a pair of cots.
A full-fledged Zrelnach warrior lay still as death on top of the sheets of one. A blood-soaked, makeshift bandage covered the stump of his arm, and sweat plastered his hair flat against his forehead. On the other cot, three people fought to keep a female Zrelnach trainee from thrashing out of bed and onto the floor. She keened an indistinct high-pitched warble, her eyes fixed on some distant, unseen figure.
“What happened?” Kheled asked, rolling up his sleeves.
“They were protecting a family sent to barter with the humans for grain. Negotiations were going well until one of the townspeople attacked. The group retreated quickly, but our patients sustained several minor cuts while doing so. The human’s weapons must have been poisoned because Lyli attacked her own people soon thereafter, and Gistrick amputated his injured arm when he began to have the same hallucinations as his young charge.”
Kheled forced his brain to focus. Lyli? Why was it always the young girls that made him freeze up?
“I’ll need a needle and gut string, alcohol, and a scalpel for him. He may need blankets and warm compresses later. Let me know once she’s restrained.”
He knelt beside the man, carefully peeling back layer after layer of blood-soaked cloth. Someone proffered a tray covered with his requested supplies before the wound was exposed. Kheled winced upon seeing the massacred flesh, bone, and muscle and swallowed hard. Take it step by step, healer.
Step One: Suffuse the wound with alcohol to drive away infection.
The liquid soaked the cot’s sheets before he returned the bottle to its place.
Step Two: Cut away the superficial layer of possibly necrotic flesh.
He should’ve asked for a bucket. Whoever cleaned this clinic would have a hell of a time scrubbing the blood from the floor.
Step Three: Suture the remaining flesh over the stump of the limb.
The stitches were the only part he was ever truly proud of. His tiny sutures were the envy of every other healer in the city.
Step Four: Hope for the best.
“If he wakes, give him plenty of water. He’ll need to replenish his fluids after that much blood loss,” he told the attendant standing over Gistrick’s bed. “Can you wrap the wound with clean gauze?”
The attendant nodded eagerly, happy to be given a task. Kheled scrubbed his hands on the topmost layer of sheets covering his first patient and flipped around to his second.
Lyli had been strapped to the bed, and although she still strained against the restraints, her struggles had diminished in violence. She mumbled incoherently, throwing her head back and forth across the pillow.
“How long has she been like this?” Kheled demanded.
“We’ve had her restrained for a while now,” said one of the healers who’d been critically watching Kheled’s every move since he stepped into the clinic.
“I said to let me know as soon as she was contained!” Kheled shouted.
The other healer shrugged and crossed his arms.
“You seemed focused on Gistrick. We didn’t want to distract you from one of such great value.”
Kheled massaged his forehead, squeezing his eyes shut.
“And what determines his value? His gender?” His experience as a Zrelnach?” he asked wearily before bringing his hand down in a slashing motion. “You know what? Never mind. Where was she cut?”
No one volunteered the information as eyes instantly averted from him and the patient. One man standing on the fringe unconsciously darted his gaze to her chest before following everyone else’s example.
“Damn it all of you! Do you really think she’s going to care about her modesty if she lives?”
Kheled impatiently extended a hand and willed his favorite p
air of shears to land there. He cut through the buckles and straps holding her chest piece together, but unfortunately, he couldn’t do anything about the restraint covering her chest. Even with that large strap of leather blocking his view, Kheled could easily examine the injuries. She had one large slash running diagonally across her breasts starting on the upper interior swell of the left and tapering off below her right. Another shallow slice crossed her stomach horizontally.
He liberally irrigated both wounds with pure alcohol. He’d no delusions that it would do anything to reverse the poisoning, but if she did survive, it would be nice to avoid treating her later for infection.
“I need charcoal powder,” he demanded brusquely
One of those watching scurried off to retrieve the item in question. While he waited, Kheled covered her hands with his. The temptation to give in and Let Go right this instant was overwhelming. Only past experience kept him from succumbing.
A bottle of charcoal powder ended up in his outstretched hand. He didn’t see who’d brought it, too focused on the young girl who’d had a bright future ahead of her. Kheled moved around to the bed’s head and opened the bottle. Securing her head in the crook of his elbow, he dumped its contents into her mouth and then forced her lips shut. He pinched her nose closed with his other hand, riding out the bucking and squirming until he felt her swallow. Only then did he fall back to the ground, breathing hard.
Once he’d composed himself, he stood and brushed his hands off. A wall of closed off faces surrounded him.
“She has a fifty-fifty chance of surviving. It’s the best I can do.”
Kheled had hoped that maybe for once, he’d see compassion or understanding from these men who shared the same profession, but he knew it was too much to ask.
“Even you lot should be able to take it from here,” he said, unable to resist making the jab. “If it doesn’t get too busy, will someone please let me know how they respond to treatment?”
The Undying Champions (The Eternal War Book 1) Page 3