The Undying Champions (The Eternal War Book 1)

by Brennan C. Adams

  “Take for example the idea of life and death. Death gives life meaning; otherwise, every day seems cheap and colorless. Or take order and chaos. Chaos without order obviously seems like a poor environment to dwell in, but so does order without chaos if you really think about it. Rigid rules and inflexibility? No thank you. I like a little disorder in my life.”

  He stopped, turning his expectant face toward Kheled. The healer had to clear his throat in order to speak.

  “It’s funny that you mention Order and Chaos,” he said, deliberately ignoring Raimie’s opinion about choice. “Those are your splinters’ names, although-”

  “You already said that.”

  “Did I?” Kheled asked, concerned. “You’re right. I did. I apologize.”

  He was at a loss as to what to explain next. Raimie’d once again thrown him completely off balance, but fortunately, his student’s thirst for knowledge knew no bounds.

  “So what’s a primeancer?” he asked.

  “You’ve never heard the stories?”

  Kheled shook his head at Raimie’s blank look and forged onward.

  “A primeancer is someone who’s attracted a splinter and can draw on the energy of the primal force it’s tied to,” he said, giving the simple answer.

  “Dim said you were one, and it became very afraid. Why?”

  Kheled pulled Ele’s energy to his hand and held the illuminated appendage out.

  “The energy of one primal force cancels out the other’s, but living beings like us aren’t made up solely of energy like a splinter is,” Kheled explained, staring down at that cursed light. “While two opposing splinters might be reluctant to use their energies in a fight because it puts them in danger, we’ve no reason not to use it to banish them.”

  “Can I do that?” Raimie asked, pushing his hand forward like Kheled’s.

  Nothing happened, and his student tsked with disgust.

  “You already have,” Kheled amusedly answered, “but only during times of extreme stress. It’s something we’ll work on while we travel.”

  Raimie’s face lit up.

  “Let’s start now!”

  Kheled laughed.

  “No, let’s sleep now. We have a long day of labor ahead of us thanks to you.”

  Raimie made a face.

  “For now, I want you to reconcile with Bright and Dim. Try to move past your anger and ameliorate your relationship.”

  “Fine,” Raimie pouted.

  He groaned and stood.

  “Aren’t you coming?” he asked when Kheled made no move to join him.

  “I have to give Creation an explanation, and I’d rather not sound like a loon when I talk to thin air. You go ahead. I’ll be along shortly.”

  “Have it your way. Good night!”

  The youth crashed through the picked clean crops, abandoning the desire to preserve them in his haste to get to his bedroll. Kheled waited for a spell after the crunching had faded before he rose as well.

  He’d no intention of calling for his splinter while Creation was healing. In fact, he was rather enjoying the freedom from the constant monitoring and disapproval.

  No, he’d wanted to return alone. Raimie’d shaken beliefs and assumptions that had long taken root, and Kheled needed the solitude to wrap his head around these new ideas.

  Unfortunately, Ferin waited for him on the field’s edge, demanding his attention.

  “I wanted to give you some warning,” she said as Kheled approached. “I’ve been unsuccessful in my attempts to dissuade Eledis. If anything, his mind is even more set. We’re traversing the Withriingalm.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  “You look beautiful, mom,” I said reassuringly. “Stop fussing, and let’s go!”

  She really did look wonderful in her noblewoman’s dress. I’d spent weeks cramming every spare hour into cataloging and shelving books at school to earn the money necessary to purchase such an extravagant thing. All of my hard work had been rewarded by the look on her face when she’d unwrapped it.

  Now, ducked into an alley as we were, her frantic uncertainty alarmed me.

  “Someone will see. They’ll recognize me and ruin all of your hard work,” she muttered, eyes wide with the possibility of disaster.

  I grabbed her shoulders and forced her to look at me.

  “If you look the part and pretend like you belong, these pompous idiots will never question you. Trust me, I know,” I lifted her chin, “but if you’d rather go home, I understand. I’ll get you back safely.”

  My mother’s gaze hardened.

  “These assholes aren’t going to make me miss my son’s graduation,” she imperiously held out her arm toward me. “Let’s go.”

  I escorted her inside, and as I’d said, no one passed her a second glance. After guiding her safely to her seat, I joined the other graduates waiting backstage. Soon, the line began to move, and as I advanced forward, I wondered what I’d say when the time came. Before I’d decided, it was my turn, and I strode on stage.

  The candle and firelight temporarily blinded me after the long wait in the dark. When my eyes had adjusted, I took in the single podium with the school’s headmaster beside it and the long table with the city’s council members behind it. The audience further out was masked in shadows. Councilman Reive gave a slight nod as I advanced toward the podium.

  As I stopped behind it, I finished manipulating my vocal chords so my voice would carry through the amphitheater.

  “I, Erianger, declare for science,” I solemnly intoned, informing the world of my chosen profession. “The study of that which is physically real.”

  Beside me, the headmaster nervously cleared his throat.

  “I think you mean healing, son,” he whispered.

  Examining the Councilors’ shocked faces, I inwardly groaned. Fixing people would have to be enough. Besides, I was about to advance in station. Did it matter if I worked with what I truly loved if I was allowed to work in the first place?

  “Apologies, I meant the healing arts,” I amended. “You’ll have to forgive me. I’m not wonderfully eloquent with so many eyes fixed on me as you can probably tell.”

  I bowed to the indulgent laughter and left the stage. I quickly found a seat and collapsed before the shock fully kicked in.

  I’d done it! I’d graduated, and no one could send my back to the slums save by writ of the Council. My shoulders shook as I contained my delighted laughter.

  From behind, someone slapped my back.

  “There’s no need to cry, Erianger,” Arivor said. “I’m sure all of our teachers will miss you too.”

  I burst out laughing at the image of my teachers’ relief at the graduation of their two worst troublemakers. We spent the remainder of the ceremony reminiscing about the school life we were leaving behind.

  Before long, the ceremony concluded, and it was time to celebrate the recent graduates. Our old professors and teachers escorted us into a gaily decorated hall lined with tables stacked high with succulent meats and treats. A small orchestra softly played music from their corner.

  Our families waited inside. Parents sought out children and cordially shook hands and patted backs. My mother shoved through the line of nobles and gathered me in a bone crushing hug.

  “You did it!” she whispered. “I’m so proud!”

  The glow her praise induced almost overshadowed my dread. I carefully patted her back and quickly pulled her off of me, hoping the damage wasn’t too severe.

  “Trianen, isn’t that the woman you gave alms to during our temple visit last week?” a woman distastefully asked the man beside her.

  “I believe you’re right, my dear,” he replied.

  “What’s SHE doing here?”

  The whispers spread quickly until we were surrounded by a sea of onlookers. My mother froze, realization at what she’d done only now hitting her. The wealthy would never be so familiar with loved ones in public.

  I too was overcome with panic. My eyes flitted across
the room toward potential allies. The headmaster had turned away, school acquaintances’ faces had hardened, and Arivor’s father forcefully held him back from running to me.

  My face must have been as white as it felt because my mother’s quickly filled with shame and regret.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she mouthed.

  I shook my head, meaning to tell her not to worry, but her face twisted with hatred. She slapped me hard enough to cause me to tumble to the floor.

  “You’ve chosen your father and his society over me, is that it?” she asked viciously. “Well, take one last look at me because I never want to see you or your noble face again.”

  She twirled and stomped off. With everyone so focused on me, I was the only one to see her shoulders shaking.

  I picked myself up and delicately traced my cheek where her palm had landed. Burying my face in my hands, I took one gasping sob and flung my arms away.

  “Good riddance,” I said loudly, hoping I’d managed to cover my grief with faked arrogance.

  The nobles descended on me like carrion. They wouldn’t have been able to resist me, juicy gossip as I was.

  For weeks, they traveled across the plains, their progress only impeded by stops in towns to resupply. In some cases, foodstuffs and other provisions were provided willingly upon hearing the group’s tale. In others, however, the Roten required the persuasion of hard labor before supplies were imparted. Along with food, they’d acquired a few carts and horses to help carry the overwhelming supply of provisions they’d accumulated.

  Their numbers had swollen by another hundred as news of their plans flew ahead of them. The young and adventurous flocked to their banner in droves.

  In the days between towns, Raimie began his education in earnest. Zetaneb presented various forms of politics, culture, and logic, and Ferin drilled him in strategy and tactics.

  Although Raimie’s hatred of the Eselan woman waned the more he grew to know her, it never fully dissipated. Logically, he knew it hadn’t been her decision to put him through such pain, but he couldn’t bring himself to move past it no matter how much kindness she showed now.

  Eledis acted as though he’d resigned himself to the slow pace, but Raimie could see the anxiety lurking below the surface. The old man had refused to speak to him since Paft.

  At first, Raimie hadn’t thought much of his grandfather’s silence, but now, every unreturned greeting grated against his calm. Half of him wanted to apologize simply so that he could have his grandfather back, but the dominant half knew that what he’d done in Paft had been just and right. He refused to turn around and admit that he hadn’t made the right call.

  As they left behind the village where they’d resupplied the night before, Raimie was curious when they’d see another town. During the last week, their appearance on the horizon had grown sporadic to nonexistent as civilization fell far behind.

  As if the growing wilderness had summoned it, the mood among the troops had darkened inexplicably, and the change in temperament had Raimie concerned. He’d been afraid that they might be approaching another tear, but consulting with Dim and Bright had relieved that fear. He didn’t care to know what else could slather such an intense air of unease on the group.

  Thinking of his splinters, Raimie was again caught in a swell of wonder and bewilderment. Him, a primeancer? It shouldn’t, couldn’t be believed, but whenever he asked for them, there Bright and Dim were as proof.

  Kheled refused to teach him anything more about the primal energy he could supposedly summon to his frustration. He’d answer questions to a limited degree, but the healer insisted that Raimie needed to solidify his relationship with the splinters before they progressed further. Instead, they focused on martial skills during their lessons.

  In the end, Raimie took comfort in the fact that these skills could still prove useful. If he continued to fail at summoning primal energy as he did now, he’d have to rely on the power of his physical speed and skills during a fight after all.

  The ground beneath him squelched, giving way under the pressure of his foot, and Raimie stumbled. Barely avoiding a tumble in the mud, he pulled away from his thoughts and looked around.

  During his retrospection, the early morning mists had thickened, and Raimie found himself surrounded by hazy figures. The ground beneath his feet was sodden, and reeds poked from the mud a pace away.

  Raimie made for the large blur to his right and sprang to the seat of the wagon his father drove. Aramar shot him a startled glance before returning his intent gaze front and center.

  “What are you trying to do? Clear this mist with your mind?”

  Raimie couldn’t resist the jest but winced as soon as it passed his lips. Zetaneb would be disappointed by such callousness. His father flicked the reigns and nervously checked his surroundings.

  “Dad…” Raimie drew the word out as his father’s concern infected him, “where are we?”

  “Entering the Withriingalm,” his father absently replied as he continued to scan the horizon.

  “The Withriingalama? What’s that?” Raimie asked, making a face.

  Aramar snorted and smiled, easing up a little.

  “It’s Withriingalm,” he gently corrected. “It means land of the mist. The Withriingalm’s an enormous swamp in the middle of the plains. Here, the rivers that cross these grasslands meet, making soggy ground for miles.”

  “Ah. Is that why everyone’s so nervous?”

  Aramar snorted again.

  “You’re perceptive when it suits you, son,” he ruffled Raimie’s hair. “Marshes are always dangerous. If a traveler doesn’t watch where he sets foot, he could wander into what appears to be a shallow pool of water and disappear into the grip of the sinking mud that hides beneath.

  “If that wasn’t bad enough, the Withriingalm holds special status among others of its kind. People brave enough to live on the edges of this marsh tell stories of wraiths that haunt the mists, bringing darkness and leading people off the marked paths. They say the wraiths lead their victims to drown and devour their souls.”

  “I see.”

  Raimie quietly shifted back and forth on the seat. He glanced at the misted forms of the men following his crazy family.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t see,” he burst out. “Why are we here?”

  “We’re only cutting through a small corner, so don’t worry your head too much,” Aramar smirked. “We’re shaving off some of the time given as payment to the towns in order to stay far ahead of Teron.”

  Raimie froze.

  “Teron? The monster Kheled defeated outside Fissid?” he asked woodenly.

  “That terror continues to hunt us, I’m sure of it,” Aramar nodded. “Even if he wasn’t, Doldimar is sure to send other minions if Teron fails.”

  “Why don’t we fight the monster? What else are we going to do, keep running?”

  The idea of such cowardice made Raimie recoil.

  “How do you propose we fight him, son? You experienced how powerful he is. Kheled only won his fight with Teron because he had the element of surprise. Would you expose these men to such unnecessary danger?”

  Aramar shook his head.

  “No, we keep running until we arrive on Auden’s shores where we might discover anonymity. Where your damn sword might stop ringing out like a damn bell.”

  Raimie leaned his ear toward his scabbard.

  “Funny,” he said slowly, “I don’t hear Silverblade ringing.”

  Aramar leveled a no-nonsense glare at his son.

  “I meant Shadowsteal, and you know it,” he put up a hand to stop Raimie’s protest. “It’s yours even if you lend it to Eledis. Eventually, you’ll have to take it back, however far into the future that may be. For now, that cursed blade knows it’s not in the land of its forging, and it sings for Auden, drawing the attention of anyone of Audish descent including Doldimar and his minions.”

  “Why can’t I-?”

  “Raimie,” Aramar sternly barked, “it’s your s
word.”

  Raimie growled with frustration, baring his teeth at his father, and flung himself off of the wagon’s seat. His feet splashed mud up his pant legs, and the wagon’s creaking wheels sprayed a sheet of it over the rest. He yelped and held his arms to either side, flinging his hands free of mud.

  “Thank you, dad!” Raimie shouted after the cart. “Thanks so Alouin damned much!”

  This anger baffled him. His father made logical arguments for fleeing Teron, but something within him rebelled at the idea.

  If he was honest, it wasn’t even the running the set him on edge. The mention of Shadowsteal was what raised his ire. Every time he thought he was rid of the damn thing…

  He stopped mid-stride, almost spilling to the ground. When had he allowed the façade to slip? He’d never argued with his father in the past. It contradicted his role as the dutiful son.

  Forget that. When had he begun to act so irrationally? Jumping out of a moving cart to slippery footing was just plain stupid.

  The more he considered how thoroughly emotion had taken hold of his decision-making process lately, the more horrified he became. No wonder their journey so far had been disastrous! For some reason, these people had put him in charge, not seeing what a terrible idea that was. Inexperienced, ignorant, far from inspiring. He was all of these things and more.

  This couldn’t- couldn’t continue. Mo-mother wouldn’t approve. He had to strive-ive to be better for these people. He couldn’t- couldn’t be a wea-weakling anymore. The logic he’d cl-clung to all of his life, he need-eed-eed-eed-eed-eed-

  Nylion!

  A passing soldier jostled him as she stumbled on an unseen rock. She started cursing but blushed when she recognized who she’d run into.

  “My apologies, your lordliness,” she mumbled, bowing low and staring at his hugely enlarged pupils.

  The young man winced and waved at her to rise.

  “Please stop,” he said. “My name is Raimie. Only Raimie.”