The Undying Champions (The Eternal War Book 1)

by Brennan C. Adams

  Silence was the only response he’d anticipated, and he wasn’t disappointed.

  “Right. I don’t know what else I expected.”

  He snatched his cloak from its resting place before departing.

  Back home, he stripped off his blood-soaked breeches, leaving them in a pile to be disposed of. Yet another piece of good leather clothing lost to the healing arts. He redressed in a pair of comfortable, loose cloth pants. It was late enough in the day that he needn’t worry about keeping up the professional appearance.

  He buried himself in bookkeeping and tincture preparation for the next several hours. With no other patients to serve as a distraction, these were the only ways he could keep busy. He was in the middle of an especially detailed and difficult concoction when someone coughed behind him.

  Kheled carefully finished counting out drops of aloe before turning to greet his unexpected guest. Dath, his guide from the morning, leaned against the doorframe, curiously watching the proceedings with red-rimmed eyes.

  “How may I help you, trainee?”

  “You mentioned wanting to know about Lyli and Gistrick’s outlook. Is that still the case?” Dath asked.

  “I always like to hear about the health of my patients even after they’ve left my care.”

  Dath wearily dropped to one of the few cots that populated Kheled’s clinic.

  “Gistrick woke up. They’re giving him painkillers along with the water you’d suggested, and they think he’ll live and continue to be a productive member of society. The Council is well pleased.”

  “And Lyli?” Kheled asked, certain that he already knew the answer.

  “She didn’t make it,” Dath said, avoiding the healer’s eyes.

  He continued speaking, but Kheled wasn’t interested. He checked to see if even something as horrific as this young woman’s death had moved the remains of his heart from boredom and placidity, but no. It seemed he was to be stuck there far longer than usual this time.

  Dath was asking a question, and he blinked stupidly at the trainee for several agonizing seconds. Oh, yes. He was supposed to play his part now.

  The young warrior had transformed into a lost teenager in the span of a few moments. Liquid saline drizzled out of his glistening eyes, and mucus dripped off of his nose’s tip.

  “You were together, weren’t you?” Kheled gently asked.

  The teenager bit back a sob.

  “We were. I know it’s forbidden to have relations with other Zrelnach, but she is… was… so...”

  He broke down, shoving his palms over his eyes to hide them. Kheled internally sighed with relief. This was a role he was exceedingly good at playing. He sat beside the teenager and rubbed his back.

  “First of all, you can’t help who you love, and I’d never report a young man whose heart led him to someone forbidden to him. Second of all, Lyli must have been a very special girl if you fell for her.”

  Dath grinned through the mess of liquids plastering his face.

  She was the greatest,” he said before his voice hitched.

  Kheled handed him a cloth to wipe his face.

  “Why don’t you come with me? We’ll get a drink, and you can tell me all about her.”

  * * *

  Several hours and rounds later, Kheled dispensed of the very drunk trainee and wandered home alone. His only companion was a mug of ale that he fully intended to nurse until the early hours of the morning. Those hopes were dashed upon entering his clinic.

  A familiar figure faced away from him, completely draped in white cloth, and when it turned around, it wore the face that stared back at him every day from the mirror.

  “You ally has been chosen,” it said.

  A slow smile spread across Kheled’s face. The seeds of excitement were sown.

  Chapter Three

  “Erianger?”

  The raucous knocking at my door woke me from deep, peaceful slumber, and I groaned, rolling over and pulling my pillow over my head.

  “Erianger, I swear that if you don’t open this door in the next thirty seconds, I’m going to break it down!” my assaulter yelled. “And then what would Lirilith think?”

  I groaned louder and reluctantly sat up, caressing my somehow still slumbering wife’s cheek. Pulling on a pair of pants, I scrambled to the door downstairs and yanked it open.

  “Arivor, if you wake her, I will personally drag you to the sheep pens and roll you in their piss and shit until no one will come near you.”

  My childhood friend smirked and flicked his fingers at my nose.

  “Glad you’re awake, grumpy. Today’s the day! Get dressed, and let’s go!”

  Holding my stinging nose, I glared at him and went back inside to collect my things.

  It had been at least an hour, and Raimie hadn’t moved from his place on the bed, staring at the ceiling. His eyes were hard and glassy, as his fear, self-preservation, and common sense fought with his honor and empathy. No matter how much he craved solitude, he couldn’t bear to leave another person to suffer, let alone an entire nation.

  Eventually, he rejoined Eledis at the table where the old man had made himself comfortable with one of his tomes. His eyes darted across the page of the book, and he sipped a glass of water while he waited for Raimie to collect himself.

  “I understand your reasoning,” Raimie began. “It’s unfair that other people endure such suffering for the arrogance and passivity of a relative, no matter how distant and dead he may be. When I consider that idea, I understand your desire to leave home.

  “But I don’t see how I can help you. I don’t understand how you can think I’m the one foreseen so long ago to bring an end to this great evil. The only things I’m good at are farming, scrounging for food, and surviving harsh winters in isolation. I don’t know anything about battle beside the small amount of tactical knowledge I’ve picked up from your books, and I’ve absolutely no idea how to fight.”

  Eledis clunked his book closed.

  “We can teach you!” he exclaimed excitedly. “Your father and I have so many lessons that we’ve kept to ourselves hoping you’d never need them.”

  Raimie extended one arm, palm perpendicular to his forearm, very nearly in Eledis’ face.

  “I wasn’t finished,” he continued, calmly bringing his hands together in his lap. “On top of all of my personal failings, I still have reservations. First and foremost, I understand the desire to fix a family member’s mistake, as I said. Nevertheless, I resent the idea that I should personally pay for it, especially when I’ve never done anything to hurt the people you wish us to save.

  “And of course, there’s the matter of feasibility. You said this Doldimar character has vast armies at his disposal, yes? How the hell are three men going to fight those alone and come out victorious?

  “You go forth on your deranged mission if you want. I’ll keep myself sane and safe by staying put.”

  Eledis looked stricken by his grandson’s speech, but even so, he didn’t let it break his composure.

  “That won’t change my mind,” he said resolutely. “I must make this journey. I won’t force you to join me, but I’d sorely miss your company if you decide to stay. You’ll have the rest of the day to come to a final decision, but whatever it may be, I’ll be leaving come morning.”

  The chair legs screeched across the floor.

  “If you’ll excuse me, I have preparations to make,” he said, marching across the kitchen and out the door.

  Raimie wanted to scream after his grandfather, to yell his frustration and irritation about the old man’s irrationality. Instead, he quietly gathered up the rest of the dried pork and put it away. He stored the dishes left out to dry the night before in their proper drawers and cabinets, and then tidied his room. The monotony of the chores helped him cool off, and once he was calm enough to handle another emotionally driven conversation, he knocked on his father’s bedroom door. He ended up having to knock twice when Aramar didn’t answer the first summons.
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br />   When the door finally cracked, Raimie was mildly disturbed by his father’s appearance and demeanor. He’d already noticed the disheveled hair and massive amounts of stubble earlier that morning, but he was only now noting how red and bloodshot his father’s eyes were, much as if the man had foregone sleep the previous night and instead spent it fighting tears.

  The strong scent of body odor wafted through the opened door and hit Raimie full in the face.

  “Have you washed yet?” he asked, wrinkling his nose.

  “No,” Aramar hoarsely answered. “I’ve been a bit preoccupied with packing.”

  “Does that mean you’re as committed to completing this mad quest as Eledis is?”

  “It’s not as if I have much choice. If Eledis has decided we’re going, then we’re going.”

  “He’s not managing my life, not this time,” Raimie asserted. “I refuse to follow him on a suicide mission.”

  Aramar relaxed, enormous amounts of tension dropping off of him in droves. He swept his son up in a bear hug and squeezed hard enough that Raimie was sure bones would break. After his initial burst of joy, Aramar ruffled his hair.

  “I’m not quite sure how we’ll manage the farm without Eledis’ help, but I don’t care. I’m so proud of you for refusing that obstinate man.”

  “It’s not a big deal. All I did was choose the most logical option. I only acted in self-interest,” Raimie muttered, face turning pink from embarrassment.

  “I don’t think you realize how hard it is to say no to Eledis,” Aramar protested against his son’s modesty. “Hopefully, you’ll never have to learn that lesson, but no matter. We should discuss where this leaves us.”

  “Does that mean you’re staying?”

  “I would never leave my child alone to go adventuring with an old man!” Aramar sputtered.

  “Right, then,” Raimie chuckled, amused by the image of his father dutifully trotting along behind Eledis. “In that case, we should probably focus on our food problem, don’t you think?

  “Your grandfather proposed a decent plan last night to help us through this rough patch. Please don’t ever let him know I said that. His head doesn’t need to swell any larger.”

  Raimie snorted.

  “I promise,” he said. “Does that mean we’re hunting today? We’re not helping Eledis pack?”

  “No matter how much your grandfather may annoy me, I don’t want to hasten him to his death. He’s family.”

  “Wonderful. I’ll get ready,” Raimie said over his shoulder as he closed the short distance to his room and yanked the door open.

  “Try not to sound too excited, son,” he heard his father say before the door closed.

  He lifted the lid of the trunk at the foot of his bed. Diving into the mess of outfits and other accouterments stuffed inside, he plunged all the way to his shoulder before finding what he required.

  Raimie was a competent hunter, but he thoroughly disliked the activity. The wait for the perfect moment to fire irritated him, and the death of his prey always made him squeamish.

  His survival now depended on those skills, however, so he dragged his drab camouflage outfit from the bottom of the trunk and changed into it. The muted colors wouldn’t make him invisible, but they’d blend with the forest environment quite well. He considered darkening his face with black powder but quickly rejected the idea. The powder made his skin break out in a rash, and it was only useful during night hunts, not during the bright day. Once he was satisfied with his apparel, he slung his bow and full quiver over his shoulder and headed out.

  Father and son threw open their bedroom door at the same time, dressed almost exactly alike, and Raimie smirked at the visual evidence of their relation. The only difference between them lay in their weapons. Where he bore the standard recurve bow, three-quarters his height with a single string that required only slight pressure to draw, Aramar carried something slightly different across his back.

  His bow was compact and tight with a dense gut strung in multiple closed circuits around the two wheels attached to either end of its strangely shaped, metal body. Raimie had never seen another bow of its like in his entire life, and because he knew it’d belonged to his mother before her passing, he’d spent countless hours investigating its origins and properties. He couldn’t figure out how the metal had been smelted to make it so light and yet able to handle the weight of the rotating wheels and ridiculous draw tension without snapping, and Aramar refused to explain, always sidestepping his questions with the excuse that the process involved advanced bowyer techniques that Raimie would never need to employ. At the time, Raimie’d wanted to protest that knowledge was its own reward, but he’d decided that learning this particular secret wouldn’t be worth the effort required to pry it from his father’s head.

  Seeing the mystifying weapon reminded Raimie that his family had been keeping life-altering secrets from him his entire life, and vexation flashed briefly. In the end, he knew he couldn’t fault his father for the omission. He’d have taken the same course of action in his father’s place if for slightly different reasons: to let the past die, not to protect his son.

  “I’ll get the traps,” he told Aramar, forcing his feet to calmly stroll to the door instead of stomping.

  In the clear open air, he got to the storage hut before he threw his hands over his mouth to muffle his yell. Irritation spent, he picked up several small snares and ran through the constant drizzle to join his father at the edge of the woods. They plunged into the overgrowth.

  Raimie hated hacking his way through the untamed woodland like this. The exertion required to make it only a few feet was physically exhausting because of the constant rise and fall of blades through the brush and the pull of thorny undergrowth against legs and feet. He much preferred exploring at his own pace, not the rush required by the hunt.

  At least the forest’s dense canopy kept the rain off of their heads.

  Aramar ventured away from the conventional hunting trails. Deer and other wild animals tended to populate those areas in greater quantity, but with the day already halfway over, his father must want to save the abundantly inhabited areas for a more potentially prosperous day.

  As they moved along, Raimie set traps on the off chance that rabbits, squirrels, or other small critters might be ensnared by them. The game caught by this method would never be sufficient to feed the two of them for an extended period of time, but the traps required very little work or supervision. He saw no harm in taking a few minutes to prepare them.

  Soon enough, Aramar discovered a set of promising tracks in the brush. He took the lead, following the creature’s path. They had to be especially cautious now. Their quarry was most likely a deer, and if so, it’d be easily startled by even the slightest noise which required the men to watch every step. One snapped twig would be enough to cause their prey to bolt.

  Their stalk ended at one of the many streams carrying water from the mountain peaks, through the forest, and to the plains below. Raimie had learned long ago the hypothermic qualities of these streams. Children do many silly things when they’re growing up in relative isolation, after all, such as taking a swim in the river during early spring. Raimie shuddered at the memory.

  The doe stood at the stream’s edge, lapping up water. Father and son snuck to a decent range and position, making sure they could see the full profile of the deer before slowly crouching. Aramar nodded to indicate that Raimie should take the shot.

  Raimie shook his head imperceptibly, unsure why his father always deferred to him when it came to making the kill.

  He reached behind his head for an arrow and nocked it. Raising the weapon, he pulled back on its string, keeping the arm holding the bow straight and the one pinching the nock bent back in a smooth line with the arrow shaft. The fletching and his hand brushed his cheek just below his eye, and he sighted, aiming right for that sweet spot that would bypass the doe’s ribs and pierce her heart. He took a slow breath in and out to steady his arms.


  As he released, a figure of light coalesced beside the deer, one hand resting on her back. Raimie jerked, causing the arrow to fly completely off target and into the brush on the other side of the stream. Another projectile sped past his ear and ended its flight exactly where he’d been aiming. The figure frizzed, blinking in and out for a few seconds, before vanishing, and the deer collapsed with its head in the water.

  “What was that?” Aramar asked. “You had the shot!”

  “It was nothing,” Raimie replied through a tight throat. “I thought she was going to bolt. I wanted to make sure that she had a clean death so that we wouldn’t have to track her while she died from a bungled shot.”

  Aramar lifted an eyebrow, and he knew his father had caught the lie. To his surprise, the older man let it go.

  “I suppose that makes sense. Even still, it was a mistake. It’s fortunate that I was here to take that second shot and ensure the kill,” Aramar teased.

  Raimie rolled his eyes.

  “The son acknowledges the father is a better hunter,” he said, bowing elaborately to Aramar. “Now, let’s get going. The light’s dying, and we should return home before it gets dark.”

  He dragged the carcass out of the water while his father wandered under the trees presumably to find a fallen limb large enough to support the deer’s weight. With the light fading so quickly, they wouldn’t have time to dress the kill here. They’d have to transport the entire carcass back home.

  As Raimie rose to help, he caught a glimpse of a dark form flitting through the trees. His eyes snapped to the movement, and he blinked, cocking his head in confusion. Whatever he thought he’d seen was gone. He shook his head fiercely, trying to clear it, and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms.

  A branch crashed to the ground beside him, and he jumped.

  “Are you sure you’re all right?” Aramar asked.

  “Maybe,” Raimie answered slowly. “I thought I saw something hiding in the trees, but it disappeared. It was probably a trick of the light, nothing to worry about.”