“In the past when the pass was clear, caravans of merchants and parties of humans would enter one side, and very few came out the other. Those few survivors reported their comrades succumbing to madness: attacking friends and family, jumping into the tear, or just plain ending themselves. We closed the pass years ago when surrounding human towns blamed the disappearances on Allanovian.
“As you can see, it’s not an option.”
“Our only other choice involves our men dying from starvation,” Raimie contested. “I’d think the possibility of madness based off of tales from years ago would be a better choice than that.
“Or am I wrong?”
The question hovered in the air, daring someone to answer it.
“He’s right,” Eledis said, “and anything that might save us time will be a blessing. I know for a fact that Doldimar will be sending more of his servants after us. We’ve already spent more time in one place than I’d like.”
The other three men around the table shuffled with indecision, and Ferin slapped her hands against the wooden surface.
“Those of us in this room who’ll be risking their lives with this course of action have agreed upon it,” she said sternly. “Besides we agreed that Raimie is our long-awaited king and that we’d help him with his quest in whatever way we possibly could. He’s offered his opinion and provided logical reasoning for it. Would we be helping if we dismissed his suggestions solely from fear?”
Ramie cocked his head. King? Surely that had been a slip of the tongue. The prophecy only stipulated that he was to free Auden, nothing else.
The reluctant Councilmen shifted in place guiltily.
“We don’t approve of this plan, but we’ll support it if it’s the will of the expedition’s leaders,” the middle-aged Councilor conceded.
“That’s decided then. What else must we discuss?” Raimie asked, eager to move on to a potentially less prickly subject.
“We need to consider in greater detail our route to the sea and which port city we’ll launch from, but those decisions can wait,” Eledis replied. “For now, our only other pressing concern is the number of Zrelnach that will accompany us.”
“Why is this even an issue?” Raimie interjected before Eledis could harangue on the lack of military support proffered by the Esela. “I’m sure that Allanovian knows what’s required for its defense, and I trust that its esteemed rulers will lend what it can of its warriors knowing that every additional body will increase our odds of success. Is that not the case?”
The shared looks of chagrin were enough to tell him that yet again he’d expected too much of his fellow living beings. Perhaps one Councilor was retaining soldiers to establish greater dominance of the surrounding territory. Maybe another wanted extra men to help safeguard the children. Their reasons didn’t matter. Once again, a truth about life was driven home: personal selfishness would trump the greater good. Every single time.
Now that he and Eledis had Ferin to validate any Zrelnach concessions and now that they’d been called out, the Council would have no choice but to supply the maximum number of soldiers to be spared.
“Allanovian will, of course, contribute what it can,” the graying Councilman responded, “but the call will have to be voluntary. While we can strongly encourage, we can’t in good conscience order our finest warriors on what could quickly become a suicide mission.”
“That seems only fair,” Raimie acquiesced, quietly seething behind his smile at the politician’s blatant bullshit. “Don’t you agree, grandfather?”
Put on the spot, Eledis hesitated only for the briefest of moments before murmuring acquiescence.
“Well, then. Council members. Eledis. If there aren’t any other issues that will dissolve this meeting of revered leaders into squabbling children, I shall retire for the evening. It’s been a long day.”
Raimie left the room before anyone could think to respond, ignoring the stares piercing his back. His hands began shaking as soon as he was alone. He’d remained in that room, wearing that mask, for as long as he could.
Bright and Dim popped into being, marching backward in front of him.
“That was well done, taking control so quickly,” Dim complemented.
“I enjoyed the orderly manner in which you ran the meeting,” Bright added.
Raimie made a face.
“There’s no need to play nice. I’m the one that made a mistake. I apologize for attacking the two of you,” he whispered quietly. “I wasn’t exactly thinking straight.”
“We noticed,” Dim grimaced, “but don’t kid yourself. You couldn’t touch us with such a simple blade anyway, so no harm done.”
Raimie inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. He’d been afraid of what the two anomalies would do once provoked.
“What do you want?” he asked. “Now’s not a good time to sit down and attempt to clarify communication.”
“We know that you’re busy,” Dim said sarcastically, “but until you –zzz-.”
He screeched off to the side, spitting angrily.
“Suffice it to say that for the time being, we’re stuck with you,” Bright calmly continued for his counterpart.
“However much we all might prefer otherwise,” Dim added with a giggle, its demeanor changing unnervingly from angry to cheerful in an instant.
“Brilliant,” Raimie muttered, grateful to emerge into a populated section of the caves.
As more Esela crowded the hallway, Dim and Bright popped in and out of existence with greater frequency, continuing some inane argument even through every cutoff. Raimie had never been as happy to be surrounded by people as when he wandered into the Zrelnach common hall and Bright and Dim disappeared completely.
He had no idea how he’d again stumbled into the Zrelnach’s sanctuary, but his reception was decidedly different this time. Whereas before, he’d been met with open hostility, now he was greeted with curiosity and wariness covered with a thin layer of ice. He shuffled backward, hoping to escape before too many eyes took notice of him.
“Son!” a voice called from a table within the first few rows.
Raimie flinched. Flipping around, he almost ran from the room in a panic, but a meaty hand landed on his shoulder, holding him back.
“I believe your father is calling for you, boy,” a deep voice grumbled behind him.
Raimie blanched at the sight of the mountainous man the hand belonged to. He meekly allowed the Eselan to lead him to the table where his father laughed and drank with a group of warriors.
“This,” Aramar slurred, “this ish mah son. He passed his trials today and lives to fight another day. I say that callsh for another round. What shay all of you?”
“Ooos!” the Zrelnach roared, all throwing back a mugful of ale.
Aramar slammed his tankard down with everyone else, smacking his lips with satisfaction. He gestured to an Eselan woman dressed in plainswoman’s garb for another round.
“And bring an exshtra for my son!” he shouted after her retreating back.
“That’s not necessary,” Raimie stammered.
“Son, looshen up,” Aramar snarled back. “Would you have me lose this celebration ash well as my legs?”
Raimie ducked his head. The bile at the back of his throat burned on its way back to his stomach.
Aramar laughed uproariously at the look on his son’s face. He pounded a palm against the table, and mugs and cups all down its length jumped with each impact.
“Hahaha!” he gasped as his laughter petered out. “I’m fucking with you, son!”
Raimie’s head darted up long enough to check that his father spoke true and then retreated once more. He’d never seen his father so drunk before, and his shame doubled.
“Wait,” Aramar said slowly, “you don’t blame yourshelf for the paralysis, do you?”
Raimie frantically searched the room for the serving woman retrieving the alcohol necessary to cloud his father’s faculties, but she was nowhere to be seen.
&nbs
p; “You do!” Aramar breathed.
“That’s silly,” the Zrelnach beside him scoffed. “Injuries happen in battle. You’ve no control over them.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about!” Raimie lashed out. “I could have fought or run or done anything besides stand there terrified while that thing crippled my dad.”
“What were you fighting?” a voice behind him asked.
He turned to retort that the issue was with his lack of fight, not his opponent, but his angry reply died upon observing the human behind him. Hunched and withered, the old man’s white hair contrasted sharply with his dark skin. His eyes flit every which way behind enormous spectacles. Clutching an armful of books tightly to his chest, he drummed his fingers on the tome at the bottom.
“Teron,” Aramar answered for Raimie. “We fought Teron.”
“Ah. I’m surprised you’re alive,” the old man jabbered before hobbling on.
After a few steps, he halted as if he’d forgotten something, his drumming fingers increasing in intensity.
“Ah!” he exclaimed as his fingers stilled. “Young man, the blame for your father’s disability lies squarely at Teron’s feet, not yours. If the entirety of that monster’s magic was directed at you, nothing in this world would’ve given you freedom of movement especially if you’re as inexperienced with magic as I’ve been told. Spend the energy you’re investing in guilt on more productive activities.”
Having dispensed with his duty, he shuffled to the fireplace, dragged a chair up to the blaze, and collapsed in it. Carefully arranging the stack of books beside him, he opened the top one, scanned the front page quickly, and flipped to the next. Within minutes, he snapped the book closed and carelessly dropped it, reaching for the next.
“Much as I hate to agree with him, the old man’s right,” Aramar said. “I certainly don’t blame you for what happened, but if it will help eash your conscience, you can make me a promise.”
“Anything, dad!”
“If you ever meet Teron again, you beat his sorry ass until he’s ground into the dust, and then you let me finish him,” Aramar said grimly, eyes hard.
“I’ll do my best.”
Finally, and much later than Raimie would have liked, the serving woman returned, her tray laden with foam topped mugs. She placed the platter in the middle of the table, and each person snatched up their drink. Aramar lifted his tankard in the air.
“To Raimie, my son,” he shouted to the whole room. “To the one who’s proven himself to be the coming king of prophecy, who will liberate the downtrodden and crush the wicked in his wake!”
A cheer rang out as several additional tables joined in on the toast.
Embarrassed, Raimie sipped at the liquid contents of his tankard and immediately gagged. It tasted exactly as he’d always imagined piss would. A burning sensation followed the awful flavor, and he couldn’t control his own diaphragm as it sought to expel the air from his lungs. The guffawing Zrelnach pounding his back beside him was not helping with the cough.
“Can’t handle his liquor?” someone asked Aramar.
“It’s probably just the awful brew you serve here. He’ll like this,” Aramar replied as he reached to unbuckle a flask from his waist.
Raimie nervously accepted the proffered object and looked questioningly at his father.
“Brandy,” Aramar answered. “Go on!”
He mimed raising the flask to his lips, and Raimie reluctantly followed the example. The burning was much more intense, but he was prepared for it this time, and the intensity had the benefit of masking the slightly less awful taste.
He grimaced and smiled up at all of the watching faces.
“Mmhmm,” he mumbled, raising the flask with approval.
The cheering was beginning to wear on Raimie’s nerves.
The serving woman came by again, and another round was ordered with the distinct substitution of one ale for brandy.
By the time she’d left, Raimie enjoyed a glowing, care-free relaxation. Fuzz invaded the edges of the room. A random thought occurred to him, and where his brain would normally caution against asking, he blurted it out instead.
“Are you Esela suddenly so friendly towards humans because I passed your trials, or is it simply the alcohol? After all, I have yet to hear a superior tone or an it reference this evening.”
Mugs and tankards lowered, and angry glares pierced Raimie. For the first time in years, he found himself praying to Alouin for safety.
And then the entire table burst out laughing.
“You’d best be grateful we’re drunk, young one, or that question wouldn’t have been nearly as funny,” the Zrelnach beside him said, slapping his back once again.
“I’m… serious… though,” he said between pounds. “Why are we humans treated normally now?”
“I see three humans here: you, Aramar, and the strange one,” an Eselan across from him answered, pointing to each of the objects of his words. “You, we laud because you shall lead us to victory; your father because even on his worst days, he can outshoot the best of us; and Zetaneb because he’s both respectful and easy to ignore. Even with that, the old man makes me uncomfortable.”
“And why ish that?” Raimie asked, downing another glass.
“He’s of a different persuasion,” the Zrelnach replied with a pause before the last word.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“He prefers men,” Aramar answered shortly.
Raimie cocked his head, but he determined not to ask for further clarification. This was one of those rare cases where his curiosity could remain unsatisfied.
“For sex!” his father exclaimed exasperatedly despite Raimie’s lack of a question.
“And with young men at that,” the Zrelnach added. “Alouin help those he takes under his tutelage.”
Aramar unsteadily rolled back from the table.
“Don’t say that!” he roared. “He’s tutoring my son!”
Raimie blushed and glanced over at the fireplace. The old man’s eyes flicked off of his current page and over to their table for a millisecond before returning to the book.
“I take it back!” the offending Eselan retracted, raising his hands in the air. “I’m sure the rumors are worse than the truth.”
Raimie’s father returned to the table, mollified.
“Maybe you’ve had enough,” someone further down called.
“I’m fine,” Aramar waved off the concern. “Besides thish may be the last time we can drink together for a long time. Let’s not waste it!”
“I’m really sick of the cheering,” Raimie mumbled into the next tankard.
The world became a blur, a snapshot of multiple scenes. He caught himself dancing on the table, weeping in his father’s lap, and swinging Silverblade at frustratingly unsteady apples on top of a straw man’s head.
The next clear thing he knew, someone roughly kicked his shin.
“Wake up!”
Raimie mumbled and shifted away. The kicking resumed more quickly than he’d have liked.
“We’re going to be late!”
He shifted away again and fully woke just before flopping belly first to the ground. Raimie groaned and blinked past the headache pounding behind his eyes. He blearily noted the straw bale where he must have been sleeping and the lack of people.
“Are you hungover?” Kheled asked over crossed arms.
“Ahhhh,” Raimie hissed, squeezing a hand to his temple. “You’re so loud. Why are you so loud?”
“I’ll take that as a yes,” the Eselan said, drawing a bottle from his cloak. “This should help.”
Raimie snatched the bottle away and gulped its contents down. By the time he’d emptied it, the piercing pain had faded to a dull ache, and the firelight didn’t induce nausea.
“Thank you,” he said, wiping the drool from his face.
“Can we go now?” Kheled asked, shuffling impatiently.
“Go where? Where is everyone?”
“Waiting for you!”
Raimie groaned and lifted his hands to the heavens beseechingly.
“What do they want this time?”
“I assume they want to make the trek through the mountain as fast as possible. Those who’ve volunteered have gathered with Eledis’ recruits at the gates. The Council wasn’t pleased to have so many human feet treading their halls,” Kheled answered, an impish smile forming at the picture of the irate Councilors.
“What, now? We’re ready to leave now?” Raimie asked incredulously. “I thought it’d take longer to gather up provisions for transport and arm the volunteers.”
“Speaking of which.”
Kheled threw a stuffed knapsack at him. Raimie caught and clutched it against his stomach.
“You have a change of clothes, a pair of gloves, and a full set of leather armor in there along with several other day-to-day essentials. They left off the black dye for your armor. Better to avoid antagonizing anyone if we can help it. I’ll take you by the armory to pick up arrows and any other weapons you feel you may need.”
Raimie shoved his arms through the knapsack’s straps and shifted it to a few spots until the knapsack hung comfortably from his shoulders.
“That doesn’t explain anything.”
Kheled extended a hand. Two pieces of hardtack appeared in midair and fell into the Eselan’s waiting hand. He offered one to Raimie who took it hesitantly.
“We’ve got magic. As long as we’ve provisions waiting here, we don’t need to gather or transport anything.”
“How do I keep forgetting magic exists? I don’t understand why my family kept it from me.”
“Who knows?” Kheled said, shrugging and taking a bite of breakfast. “Maybe you can ask when we join them. Can we go, please?”
“Right. Sorry. After you,” Raimie said in a rush, gesturing for the Eselan to take the lead.
True to his word, Kheled brought him to the armory first. Raimie had never seen so many weapons in one place, and he failed miserably to hide his gawking. He pretended that he knew a single thing about weapon quality and chose a quiver stuffed with arrows along with two additional knives.
Next came a stop at the privy for Raimie to relieve himself of all the brandy imbibed the night before, hastily wash up, and make himself presentable. Once he was finished, they headed for the gate.
The Undying Champions (The Eternal War Book 1) Page 23