The Undying Champions (The Eternal War Book 1)

by Brennan C. Adams

  Kheled had spent hours contemplating solutions, and so far, he’d come up with nothing. Their only possible course of action right now was-

  “-rationing. We do our best to minimize the situation to reduce panic, although most on board will know what rationing means,” Marcuset said. “It’s standard practice for being becalmed.”

  “And how long will that buy us?” Raimie asked.

  “A few more days maybe?” Marcuset morosely replied.

  “Wonderful!” Raimie exclaimed with a genuine smile. “That’s good thinking, Marcuset! Let’s squeeze every possible second out of this because each is a blessing that may grant someone the inspiration for a solution.”

  His friend’s optimism lightened Kheled’s heart. It was something they’d need in the coming days. He cast his eyes along the horizon. If the winds never came, and they remained becalmed, their only hope for survival was rescue.

  He spied a blip far to starboard. Squinting, he shifted his eyes so they could see like a hawk’s.

  “Boats,” he said simply, interrupting the argument that had broken out behind him.

  Of course, Raimie was the only person to hear him.

  “What did you say, Khel?” he asked, waving the others silent.

  Kheled pointed at the specks.

  “Boats.”

  Eledis and Marcuset scrambled to the starboard railing, each fumbling for a separate spyglass.

  “Alouin, he’s right,” Eledis said after looking for himself. “We’re saved!”

  “Not necessarily,” Kheled reluctantly argued.

  He hated to destroy their hopes, but it seemed necessary if they didn’t want the fleet obliterated.

  “What’re you talking about?” Marcuset asked.

  “They’re flying green and black colors and have employed oars. Considering the line of skeletons they’ve used in place of a figurehead, I’d say the fleet coming toward us is part of the Serpent Pirate Crew. You should be sounding the alarm now.”

  Kheled took in the blank looks directed at him with a sigh.

  “They’re known for descending on becalmed ships, murdering those who resist and enslaving the rest. If you don’t want to die today, you really should consider sounding the alarm.”

  Eledis looked back through his spyglass at the approaching ships.

  “How did you…?” he murmured.

  Kheled drew breath to unleash an irritable response.

  “Khel’s an Eselan. He can shape change,” Raimie said, rolling his eyes. “Marcuset do as he says.”

  The commander shook himself and stalked fore.

  “Oswin! Sound the alarm! We’re soon to be under attack.”

  As bells started ringing, Raimie passed in front of the healer to get to a ladder, presumably so he could go arm himself.

  “I swear, the reaction times of some people,” Kheled heard Raimie mutter irritably as he passed.

  The healer snorted back a laugh and followed his friend. He had no need to arm -his weapons were perpetually on him-, but he wanted to retrieve gauze, sutures, and salves. He had a feeling he was going to need them.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  I hadn't realized how nervous I was until I stood in front of his house, fist raised to knock on the door. Swallowing hard, I rapped politely. I waited in silence for several tense seconds until I heard the lock hesitantly unbolt. Clariss opened the door halfway, eyes on the ground with hair covering her eyes.

  “You can't come in right now, Erianger,” she muttered.

  “Hello, Clariss,” I said, brushing past her and into the home. “Where's Arivor?”

  “You can't.... Councilman Reive......”

  “Reive’s a pompous windbag who thinks he knows what's best for the nephew that he only sees once or twice a year,” I muttered, busily searching the familiar dark room. “Meanwhile, last time I checked, I'm the one that's been here for your family through thick and thin. I was at Rafe's last birthday for Alouin’s sake!”

  Clariss took in a big breath, held it, and then gestured up the stairs.

  “He's with Rafe,” was all she'd say before retreating to the bedroom and shutting the door.

  Dread filled me to the brim, and my guts clinched into knots. Clariss this depressed, and Arivor with his son when he was supposed to be recovering could only mean one thing.

  I took the stairs two at a time and burst through Rafe's door, barely catching myself from tumbling headfirst into Arivor's turned back.

  My friend leaned over his son's bed, holding Rafe's hand up to his forehead in a death grip. The teenager was pale and still, and I gasped as the air fled the room.

  “Is he...?” I asked.

  “Hey, Uncle Eri,” Arivor brokenly murmured. “We're not there quite yet. The kid has fight.”

  I slowly paced the room to stand next to my friend.

  “How soon?”

  Arivor faced me, and I observed the full wreckage of his face. The melted cheek bone and shorn away ear that I'd thought I'd healed had returned, but now streaks of black crept into the wounds as well.

  “The healers are amazed he's still alive. They say he should already be dead.”

  I barely comprehended his words, fascinated with my friend’s face.

  “I'm so sorry,” I murmured, reaching for the wounds. “If there's anything I can do…”

  “There is.”

  Arivor leaned away from my seeking hands.

  “Do it to him,” he numbly instructed, stroking Rafe's hair.

  My hand was stuck, suspended in space, while my brain numbly tried to comprehend what Arivor asked of me.

  “Do what to him?”

  My friend glared at me, a strange mixture of disgust, anger, love, and desperation in his eyes.

  “You know what I'm asking, Erianger. Don't play dumb,” he said. “I remember everything. The light exploding, landing in a white space, the dark eating me. I woke up screaming from pain that I've never experienced and you shrieking yourself hoarse right beside me. Your face took on my wounds, and they vanished. You fainted, and I was left, confused and afraid, shaking your unconscious body until my uncle arrived.”

  “Your face now, though.... It’s come back worse than when I woke beside you. What if that happens to Rafe?”

  Arivor's gaze hardened.

  “He’s out of options. At least this way, he’ll get a few more days.”

  I agreed hesitantly. The requested proposition terrified me, but a small part of me was delighted that I could have another test subject. Gulping, I laid a hand on Rafe.

  And nothing happened. No light blazed, no high-pitched whining burst against my eardrums. I slapped my hand against Rafe’s chest again, unsure what I was doing wrong.

  “Why isn't it working?” Arivor demanded. “You should be healing him!”

  I spun on my friend, exasperated.

  “I don't know what I'm doing wrong, Arivor. Maybe I need a bit more time before I can heal somebody in a way I've only used once before.”

  My friend’s mouth dropped open, and he motioned me silent. White light streamed from my hand, enveloping Rafe’s body in its embrace.

  “Well, I must have done something ri-”

  My whole body locked up, toppling onto the teenager and seizing uncontrollably. My bladder emptied, my teeth gnashed together, raking my cheeks and tongue, and my back bent almost completely in half. I was sure my spine snapped, but then, the seizing finished to be replaced by nausea. I managed to turn my face toward the floor before my stomach contents escaped my body.

  When it was over, I shuddered on the bed, extreme irritation and dehydration commanding my attention. Even that faded quickly.

  Arivor clutched my hands, pushing me to the side so that I wouldn't choke on my own vomit. He’d had enough practice doing that with Rafe.

  “Are you ok?” he asked hesitantly, panic in his voice.

  I coughed and sat up slowly, cataloging my body's condition.

  “I'm fine,” I cleared my throat,
“Embarrassed, but fine.”

  “You can borrow my clothes, and I’ll have Clariss draw up a bath...”

  “Uncle Eri, what are you doing here?”

  Instantly, my attention snapped to Rafe. The young man slid up in bed, a smile plastered on his face. His color was good, and the sickly pallor he’d adopted for the last decade had disappeared.

  “Rafe!” Arivor whispered in awe. “H-how do you feel?”

  I retreated to a corner, content to fade into the background.

  “I feel.... normal,” Rafe said hesitantly. “I feel normal, dad! What happened?”

  Arivor's breath caught.

  “Uncle Eri used his science to make you feel better, and I think it actually worked,” he cleared his throat. “What should we say to him?”

  “Thanks, Uncle Eri! I feel great!” Rafe exclaimed.

  Tears built in my friend’s eyes, and he mouthed a silent thank you.

  “Clariss! Get up here!” he yelled.

  He motioned for me to join them, and we fell into a hug while Clariss sprinted into the room, squealed, and frantically flung her arms around all three of us.

  Raimie nervously strapped Silverblade to his side, his fingers trembling as he did the buckles, and stuffed daggers into the top of his left boot and the waistline of his pants. He strapped a throwing knife to each of his wrists, slid a staff through the harness on his back, and slung his quiver over that. He held onto the bow as it would probably be used first.

  He wasn’t sure what type of weapons he might need, and this combination was a good balance of variety and functionality. There also weren’t so many hanging from him that his freedom of movement was restricted.

  He placed his hands on the cabin wall and leaned over. With his head hanging between his arms, he took a deep breath, trying to control his roiling stomach. He hadn’t taken a life since Allanovian, and he was unsure that he could do it again when he was fully in control of his actions. But this would be a battle, and he’d have to kill to survive it.

  Gods, a battle! One group of people doing its best to eliminate another group. It was senseless. The waste of life appalled him, but as long as there were people who didn’t consider others’ lives as sacred, there would be fights, battles, and wars.

  He could do this. There was no way to run, the fight was inevitable. He wouldn’t risk other’s lives before his own. He’d join them in protecting this fleet and its captains and crew.

  He pushed away from the wall. Before he opened the door, he pulled on his connection to Ele and packed energy into the soles of his feet, his thighs, and shoulders. He put it anywhere the light wouldn’t shine. Instantly, calm centered him, anxiety eased in pulses of order.

  He pulled the door open and had to step back to avoid being barreled over by the sailor sprinting down the hallway. He joined the soldier in his dash to the main deck and stopped short once away from the hatch. He hadn’t seen this many people topside since they’d successfully passed through the storms. Pushing aft to the quarterdeck, he made for where he’d left his family.

  The pirate ships had advanced quickly while he’d prepared. He could see them in greater detail now, and his feet faltered on the steps. There were five of them barreling down on the fleet, a number which normally wouldn’t have been a threat. Raimie’s tiny navy had more than double that number, but unfortunately, the enemy had superior maneuverability at the moment. The pirates could take on a ship, kill and pillage as they wished, and get away all without worrying about the rest of the fleet. His side’s greater numbers didn’t count for anything without the wind to assist them.

  Raimie was awed by the speed at which the ships glided over the water, their oars dipping in and out at a fast beat. A garland of skeletons hung from the prow to either side of the metal ram curving from the top most deck to a point just below the water. Would they even stand a chance if the pirates decided to use those rams? Fortunately, they seemed to be maneuvering into a position for boarding.

  Raimie came to parade rest beside Marcuset, just as Zetaneb had taught him. He felt a brief twinge at the thought of his tutor. Finding out exactly what had happened to the man was still on his to-do list.

  “Let’s hope they’ll see reason,” Marcuset muttered under his breath.

  He gave a signal, and the sailor beside him raised a flag. The deck beneath Raimie’s feet rumbled, and the ships beside them opened tiny windows in the sides of their hulls. From these windows, enormous black cylinders called ‘barrels’ extended outside, leaving the majority of the ‘cannons’ inside the ship.

  “These better work,” Marcuset murmured as he gave another signal

  The flag raised again, and the galleon lurched below them. Black smoke billowed from the ship’s side, and a line of water as long as the fleet’s configuration spewed high into the air.

  The pirates kept coming.

  “We’ll have to blow them out of the water,” the commander sighed as he raised his hand.

  “Marcuset,” Raimie commanded, surprised that his voice didn’t tremble, “unless they’re attempting to ram us, you’re not to sink those ships. There may be captives or slaves aboard. I won’t let them drown because the men who captured them have decided they’d like to try to kill us.”

  The commander opened his mouth to retort, but he withered upon seeing Raimie’s stern look.

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” he mumbled before swiftly departing to relay the order to prepare for boarding.

  Raimie hated to use his given authority like that, but he couldn’t have the deaths of a ship full of helpless people on his conscience. The men under his command would face greater danger, but that is what they were trained for, to protect, serve, and save those who couldn’t do so for themselves.

  The pirate ships split as they came near, four going straight for the galleons and the last weaving among the remainder of the fleet to keep them occupied. They were quickly coming within bow range.

  Raimie pulled an arrow from his quiver and nocked, joining the archers lining the starboard railing. He drew on a particularly cruel looking pirate swinging his grapple with vicious ease.

  His father’s bow sang out first, taking out two men near the wheel before the ship was in range of the average bows of the crew. Some of the pirates brought up shields to block the waves of projectiles, but others fell to bits of metal impaled in throats, mouths, or eyes. Still more men filled their abandoned spaces.

  Raimie’s fingers remained locked, refusing to release the string. He willed them to let go, but they wouldn’t obey his commands. A frustrated sailor pulled him back and took his place, immediately letting fly arrows to rain down on the enemy.

  Crushing shame blocked his throat. Was he destined to forever fail to protect those he loved and was responsible for?

  On the main deck below, Kheled caught his eye. He twirled the staff he held once and glanced significantly at the one rising over Raimie’s shoulder.

  That’s right! He didn’t need to kill to protect, and he could still fight. He smiled gratefully at his friend, dropped his bow, and released his staff from its harness on his back.

  Kheled jerked his head at the approaching pirate ship and raised his eyebrows at Raimie mischievously. The young man eyed the distance between the ships speculatively. He smirked and nodded. Kheled extended a hand, mouthing ‘after you’.

  Raimie twirled his staff behind his back, one end slapping the space between his shoulder blades and the other sticking out at an angle to the side. He backed up and took a running leap, driving energy from the soles of his feet as they left the deck.

  He soared over the heads of the sailors, and as he hovered in that empty space between ships, he gloried in the freeing feeling of flying. The astonished pirates’ faces loomed, and he smiled an especially fierce grim just for them.

  He snapped the staff in a complete circle as he landed, knocking a few stunned pirates off of their feet. Farther aft, a familiar figure thumped to the deck, joining the fight.

&
nbsp; The enemy quickly moved past their shock, and three blades came down on him as he rose from his crouch. He blocked all three and pushed them away with a twirl, jabbing one end of the staff in an enemy’s face before the next attack came. He dodged one cutlass, blocked another, and knocked a dagger out of a careless teenager’s hand.

  Before he could finish that particular enemy off, an arrow took him in the shoulder, and he spun from the impact, using the gained momentum to knock the air from a burly man’s gut. By that point, Raimie’s comrades had begun crossing and less pressure was on him to keep the attackers occupied. Still, he fought on against a host of opponents.

  With the swift reflexes granted by Ele, it was almost too easy. He blocked a variety of blades and even a couple arrows, the clacking of steel against wood a rhythm that Raimie hummed along with.

  In a break in the beat, he yanked the arrow in his shoulder away, unaware of the pain flaring from the wound. He plunged right back into the rhythm.

  He depleted his store of Ele at the most inopportune moment, facing down a giant of a man wielding a hammer. They were wearily circling one another when the energy cut off. Raimie stumbled, and instead of going for the kill as he should, the pirate kicked Raimie into the main mast. The back of his head smacked against the pole, and he blacked out.

  * * *

  “Do you want a turn?” Raimie asked.

  “I thought you would never ask,” Nylion replied.

  * * *

  Nylion opened his eyes to a giant lifting a hammer to bring down on his head. He flung a black smothered hand in front of his face when the giant’s head disappeared immediately following a bang. The body fell forward, and Nylion rolled out of the way and to his feet.

  A naval officer-Captain Oswin?-pointed his smoking pistol where the giant’s head had been a moment before.

  “I want one of those,” Nylion murmured, hungrily eyeing the weapon.

  “Oh, they’re not at useful as you’d imagine,” the captain said, lowering the pistol. “The rate of misfire is abys-”