The question was such an obvious attempt at deflection that Raimie considered ignoring it entirely, but Eledis had latched onto the topic of conversation that he’d baited. He couldn’t disregard it simply to satisfy his desire to be petty.
“You sent something besides a rude awakening in the middle of the night? I never received it,” he lied through his teeth, feigning consternation.
“I’m working with what I’m given,” Eledis murmured as an aside to himself, glancing beseechingly toward the heavens. “I thought long and hard about that outfit. I’d hoped the Eselan messenger would be at least competent enough to get it to you.”
“I think Raimie looks fantastic!” Aramar said, smiling encouragingly at his son. “He displays the image of a young lord who’s not afraid to fight. In fact, this conglomeration might be better than what you’d intended for him to wear!”
Eledis reddened, the color change almost unnoticeable in the low light.
“I intended for those loosely loyal men out there to observe the arrival of the rightful claimant to a long forgotten throne, invoking a sense of mystery and awe that might later transform into respect and faithful service. I certainly didn’t want him coming through camp in this ramshackle assortment of clothes and armor that could easily be mistaken as Zrelnach!” Eledis declared in a piqued tone.
“But I can make it work. We’ll spread the rumor that the Esela have belittled our leader by providing him with such a piecemeal collection of armor rather than the proper accouterment that I’d sent for him. That ought to build sympathy, and it’ll be in line with long-established behaviors of the Esela.”
“Do we really want to fuel the animosity between supposed allies? Allies that will have to share many miles and nights together if all goes as planned?” Raimie asked with a scoff before adding, “Besides, my clothing isn’t piecemeal. We should publicly state it’s a fusion of our races’ apparel that an Eselan representative thoughtfully provided as a gesture of goodwill.”
Eledis burst out laughing and had to wipe tears from his eyes.
“Alouin, the naivety…” he muttered. “That would never work.”
“Why not? You’d think a common enemy would unite our races if only temporarily.”
“If everyone was as logical as you claim to be, grandson, such hatred as that found between Esela and humans would be nonexistent, but for some, it won’t matter that allying with a hated people will enable the defeat of a greater evil. All they’ll be able to fixate on is whatever they perceive as the corruption that’s immediately in front of them, no matter that it’s the lesser ill. Still others can’t stand to lose the power they’ve gained from the races’ fear of one another.”
Raimie completely agreed with his grandfather, but he needed to push further to get the result he wanted.
“What reason do humans have to hate the Esela anyway? They’ve been kind to me while I’ve been in their care. Are we simply afraid of their magic?”
Eledis’ face was now cherry red, and he sputtered.
“Kind? If you want to truly experience their kindness, start their first trial now before you’re qualified, but be prepared to reap the consequences of-”
“All right,” Raimie butted in.
Eledis paused, caught off guard by his grandson’s change in tactics.
“What?” was all he could properly say through his befuddlement.
“I’ll begin the trials. Now.”
The trailing silence was almost tangible, and Eledis was struck dumb, mouth left hanging open. If Raimie was inclined to, he thought he might be able to poke a finger or two in there before the old man took notice. Aramar merely looked uncomfortable, drumming his fingertips nervously against the rims of the wheels he clung to. He cleared his throat.
“Son,” he began, “maybe you should think about what you’re suggesting…”
Eledis snapped his mouth closed and rose from his seat. He strapped Shadowsteal’s nondescript scabbard to his belt. Raimie and Aramar exchanged a glance, but before either of them could say one word, the older man spoke without facing them.
“You think I won’t risk everything to teach you a lesson about the world and your place in it? You’re wrong. Let’s go.”
Raimie shot up and calmly joined his grandfather. Behind them, Aramar awkwardly and hesitantly rolled forward over the uneven earth.
“Don’t do this. He’s not ready, Eledis! They will kill him!” he pleaded.
The old man deigned to land his gaze on the other man.
“Your concern for your son is noted. Now stay here. You’ll only slow us down.”
Aramar continued advancing toward Raimie, deliberately ignoring instructions.
“Please, son. Let the trials wait a week. Let us train you first.”
Raimie tried to wordlessly convey to his father that he knew what he was doing, but telepathy was not among his gifts, and Aramar seemed truly desperate.
Eledis stepped between father and son and backhanded Aramar hard enough to tip his chair and cause him to topple to the floor.
“You’ve dispensed your purpose,” the old man said dispassionately. “The only reason I’ve allowed your continued presence rather than throwing you to the wolves is that you’re family. Do as you’re told, or I may be inclined to forget that fact.”
Aramar glared at Eledis with hatred burning in his eyes. He supported his upper body weight with one hand while rubbing his jaw with the other.
Raimie prepared to throw himself into the middle of the fight if it came to that. His father was armed and could easily overpower Eledis even while he was recuperating, and Raimie didn’t want an angry outburst to tear his family any further apart than it already was.
After a tense moment, Aramar inclined his head. Eledis whipped around and strode purposefully outside.
“I’ll be fine, dad,” was all Raimie could whisper before he had to spring forward to have any chance of catching up.
He’d never seen Eledis this angry before. In the past, he’d known to vacate the premises whenever his grandfather’s ire was piqued. He’d even received his fair share of verbal thrashings at one point or another, but Eledis had never laid a hand on him, despite Raimie’s occasional fear to the contrary. That he’d done so now to his son…
Raimie feared to open his mouth. He silently followed the older man along a familiar route. They passed through the densely populated and lightly fortified center of the human encampment, drawing many more stares on their way out than Raimie had on his way in. Eledis ignored the straggling campsites on the outskirts, making a beeline for Allanovian. Upon their arrival at the mountainous waterfall, he never paused, marching with purpose past the deluge of water and into the sanctuary’s innards. He stopped the first Eselan they came upon, recognition flitting across her face before he addressed her.
“My lady,” he spoke with great solemnity, “we require a private room in which to rest while preparations are completed. My grandson has informed me that he’s ready for the first trial.”
Her eyes widened, and she bowed slightly.
“Of course. Right this way.”
She folded her hands in front of her waist and demurely led the two humans through a maze of twists and turns that culminated in a small side room guarded by a door. The wood blocking the entrance took Raimie off guard. Somehow, he’d adjusted to Allanovian’s disregard of privacy in the short time he’d stayed within its walls.
A little further down the hallway, another set of enormous, carved, stone doors blocked access to whatever room waited at the apex of the corridor. He narrowed his eyes, a niggle of recognition tickling at him. Before he could get a better look, the female Eselan swept them into the fully enclosed alcove they’d been assigned.
“I’ll gather the Council. It shouldn’t be long,” she said before letting the door fall closed.
The patter of paws retreated across stone, and there was silence. Raimie chuckled softly as he realized that a she-wolf was currently alerting Allano
vian’s Council to the fact that a pair of humans had invaded their sanctuary.
“Amazing!”
Eledis gave him a sidelong glance, but Raimie ignored the old man. Best to avoid returning to the Esela topic at the moment if it could be helped.
Besides, he was content to let the silence lie. He waited by the door, listening intently. Boots marched by and the sound of stone scraping against stone drifted down the hall. Then came the clatter of many feet and the low buzz of quiet conversation. Once those noises faded and he was sure that someone would soon come to fetch him, he confronted Eledis one final time.
“I require Shadowsteal,” he quietly stated such that the request was both a question and a command.
Eledis clutched the sword’s wrapped pommel protectively.
“Are you claiming it for yourself?” he asked.
“What?! No! You’ll have it back after the fight. I only need it temporarily.”
Eledis’ grip on the hilt tightened as he considered his grandson. He woodenly drew the blade, and Raimie took it.
For a split second, his vision whited out, and he couldn’t move. Something focused on the edges of his field of view, and he hastily sheathed Shadowsteal into the scabbard on his belt. Mystical or magical happenings would be an unwelcome distraction at the moment.
As he released the sword’s grip, his grandfather chortled.
“Brilliant! It’s brilliant!” the old man murmured to himself before directly addressing Raimie. “Well played, grandson. Don’t worry. Despite what you may have thought, I won’t say a word.”
A knock at their door stopped Raimie from replying. Their matronly Eselan escort stuck her head inside.
“They’re waiting for you,” she said, averting her eyes as much as possible.
She held the door open for Raimie
“Wish me luck?” he asked Eledis.
His grandfather smirked.
“You don’t need it.”
Raimie cheekily smiled back and deserted Eledis to the confines of the tiny, enclosed room. As he tagged along behind his escort, he reviewed what Kheled had told him about this first trial.
The two tests would be the Council’s way of determining if Raimie was worthy to lead Allanovian’s citizens against the evil of Doldimar as the prophecy foretold. They were also the tests used to determine if a resident of the city had what it took to join the Zrelnach. If a human teenager could pass them, then he must deserve the respect and honor of the Esela.
Two aspects made up the essence of the honorable man in Eselan culture: the spiritual and the physical, and of the physical most specifically combat ability. Therefore, the first trial would primarily be used to examine Raimie’s fighting skills. He would duel an Eselan man equivalent in age and physique with very little rules to guide the battle. Magic was strictly forbidden, but any manner of weapon or fighting style was permitted.
The battle would continue until either his opponent yielded or until either had been incapacitated in whatever way the Council saw fit. It wasn’t uncommon for unpopular potential Zrelnach to perish in this first trial due to the Council’s refusal to end the trial quickly.
All too soon, his escort halted at the double doors Raimie had spied earlier. They’d been dragged open and wedged against the hallway walls.
He took the time to examine them now that he was closer, and after one look at those intricate carvings, he knew why he’d recognized them.
“I need you to come with me, son,” his father gently guided him down the tunnels of the city.
The fever had loosened its grip, and although his head still contained nothing but fuzz, he could walk relatively unaided. Two gray-eyed men insisted on helping him, pulling him along by the elbow. He didn’t like it. Their ‘help’ made his father’s request seem more like a command.
A wave of dizziness made him stumble, and he slowed. All he wanted to do right now was sleep.
He stopped in his tracks, yanking his arms away.
“Where are we going, dad?”
His father’s jaw clenched, and he gestured. The gray-eyed men seized him, one snatching his arms and the other his legs. They lifted him, and in his shock, he failed to struggle. Only once he was airborne did he scream and wiggle and shift as much as he could. WHAT WAS GOING ON?
They passed through two enormous, stone doors which slammed closed behind them.
The Eselan woman pointed forward, and Raimie shook his head violently. He nervously sucked in a breath at the sight before him. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he sauntered into the middle of the arena-style room.
Starting at the door, the five feet around the perimeter of the room sloped up, culminating in a short platform about ten feet tall against the opposite wall. A long table occupied this dais, and four Esela perched in chairs behind it. A crowd of Esela men and women stuffed the raised edges of the room to the brim despite the late hour, but even with how occupied that space had become, a wide berth was given to those seated at the highest point.
Raimie waited for instruction on the even, well-trodden floor of the arena. He held himself as still as he could, certain that if he moved he would in some way show how uncomfortable he was with so many pairs of eyes on him. Silence had followed him inside, and upon his arrival, the most finely dressed man at the table stood.
“This human has been given leave to attempt the trials to prove it has what is required to be recognized by the Esela,” he began, the only voice in the crowd. “It has requested its first test earlier than recommended. Does it understand the consequences that may come of this decision?”
Raimie folded his hands together in front of him.
“Yes, master.”
“Does any council member present object to this acceleration of the time schedule?” the Eselan asked, turning to his peers on either side.
When none expressed his or her displeasure, the orator continued.
“Then, we shall begin. Bring forth our honored champion!”
Raimie couldn’t resist. He craned his head to watch who would emerge despite the accepted decorum that he fix his eyes studiously forward. He took one look at his challenger and whipped his head back around. His opponent was the trainee that he’d watched Kheled so thoroughly thrash scant hours before. He didn’t know how the members of Allanovian’s Council had chosen as champion the one Eselan to hold more than a simple racial grudge against him, but Raimie lamented his luck that they had. He unconsciously rested a hand on Shadowsteal’s hilt and clenched its grip.
The standing orator launched into a long speech about the values of honor and valor as the Eselan champion came to parade rest beside his human counterpart, but Raimie’s focus had zeroed in elsewhere by the second sentence.
On either end of the Council’s terrace, another Raimie materialized. The one on the right was fully clothed in black robes and mimed a passionately given sermon, mocking the orator. The figment stopped halfway through a word and blew air into the Council woman’s hair beside it. She patted at the side of her head distractedly.
The Raimie to the left was enveloped in white cloth. Its arms were crossed, and it disapprovingly shook its head at its antithesis. It deliberately shifted its attention back to the orator, and when its eyes reached the halfway point, they met the original’s disbelieving stare. It cocked its head.
“I believe he can finally see us,” it said.
The one in black ceased agitating its victim and approached the fringe of the raised dais. It crouched with its arms folded on its knees, leaning over the edge and staring intently down at Raimie.
“Would you look at that, you’re right,” it said, words barely audible through its chortling and knee slapping. “Not only is he ignorant, he’s got poor timing. Fight’s about to start.”
It winked and sat on the edge, legs dangling over and swinging freely in the air. Raimie wrinkled his forehead, confusion written all over his face. The black doppelganger pointed to the left, and when he turned, Raimie barely dodged the curved
blade swinging at his face.
He stumbled backward and nearly tripped over his own feet, wrenching on Shadowsteal’s grip the whole time. It flew out of the scabbard on his second tug, clanging against the trainee’s descending blade.
Raimie desperately blocked and evaded four rapid thrusts and stabs, but the fifth slipped past his meager defenses and pierced through his left shoulder, in and out in quick succession. His arm dropped from Shadowsteal, pain momentarily overcoming his mental commands.
The trainee pressed his advantage, hammering against the human’s increasingly feeble blocks. It was only after the second or third shallow slice into his flesh that Raimie realized his opponent was toying with him. His fury swelled, but it was all he could do to block every attack directed his way.
The deluge of blows paused momentarily while the trainee caught his breath, and in his need to land at least one strike, Raimie lunged forward without thinking and opened himself up to attack.
With a smirk, the Zrelnach trainee hooked Raimie’s ankle and tugged him to the ground. Raimie had a brief instant to appreciate the irony of the situation before he thumped into the thin layer of sand and his barely mended ribs snapped even further. The thin flesh and bindings covering his side tore open from the pressure, and a sliver of bone peeked through.
He howled along to the pain singing in his head. Over the noise, the crowd cheered, and he watched his opponent turn to accept the applause through the tears that misted his vision. The initiate bowed, and Raimie saw his chance.
Faster than he would have believed he was capable of, he clambered to his feet, sprinted screaming at his enemy, and flung himself at the Eselan’s back. He locked his uninjured arm in a choke hold around the trainee’s throat and bit as hard as he could into the exposed neck, missing the jugular by a fraction of an inch.
His opponent bellowed in pain and surprise. He tried to rise to his full height from his bow, but the human’s extra weight made that nigh impossible. The Eselan pummeled Raimie’s back with fists of fury, attempting to knock him off even as they toppled.
The Undying Champions (The Eternal War Book 1) Page 16