The Undying Champions (The Eternal War Book 1)

by Brennan C. Adams

“I am fine,” Raimie replied after a moment of wordless staring.

  “Are you sure?” Kheled asked insistently. “No ringing ears or nausea?”

  Comprehension dawned on Raimie’s face.

  “I am quite dizzy,” he confirmed, stumbling a bit.

  “I knew it! You hit your head pretty hard in that fight,” Kheled exclaimed. “You have a concussion. You need to go below deck right now and rest.”

  Raimie took a moment to think.

  “I would like to help the men. What will they think of me if I shirk my duties just as the hard work begins?”

  “The men will understand once I tell them you’re concussed,” Kheled reassured him. “It happens quite often in a soldier’s profession, so they’ll know you need rest now if you’re to be any use in the future.”

  Raimie began to protest once more, but he stumbled instead.

  “Thank you,” he said, his face twisting imperceptibly at the expression of gratitude.

  “Do you need help getting below deck?” Kheled asked when his friend almost fell on the stair.

  “I can make my own way,” Raimie insisted vehemently.

  Kheled decided not to argue.

  * * *

  The next day, a rowboat approached another galleon of the fleet bearing barrels of water to resupply the crew’s diminishing resources. Kheled hauled on the oar he’d been assigned, sweating freely under the hot sun. In the aftermath of the battle, he was doing his part to ready the fleet for departure when the winds returned.

  The rowboat softly bumped up against the galleon’s hull, and ropes fluttered down to be attached to the barrels. A rope ladder unrolled along the ship’s side, and after double checking the knots securing the ropes to the cargo, Kheled and his fellow oarsmen ascended.

  When he made it to the top and tossed one leg over the railing, he quickly assessed the situation aboard ship. This galleon looked much the same as the one he’d been quartered on, but it was crewed by men and women in black leather with gray eyes and two toned hair.

  “Welcome aboard Second Chance,” Gistrick said, coming over to join him.

  Kheled lifted an eyebrow at the name.

  “Well it did have some Queen given name, but since it’s been re-appropriated for Raimie’s navy, we thought a new one might be in order,” the Zrelnach commander explained. “Second Chance seemed fitting considering who’s been quartered here.”

  The members of Raimie’s original misfit army crewed Second Chance and a few other ships by themselves. It seemed that the young man’s new additions to the army were afraid that the stink of betrayal might rub off on them.

  “It’s a good name,” Kheled commented as he finished climbing aboard, “and a good idea. I don’t think my fellow crew members have thought to rename their own ship yet.

  Several men and women tugged on ropes to haul in their relegated bounty. Kheled and the other oarsmen would take a break until the barrels were onboard, and then they’d help transport them to the hold.

  “May we speak in private for a moment?” Gistrick asked hesitantly.

  “If we must,” the healer replied.

  He followed the Zrelnach commander to a less well-populated portion of the deck. Gistrick shuffled uncomfortably, hesitant to begin.

  “How did your first battle in command go?” Kheled asked politely.

  He’d have been happy to let Gistrick stew, but the healer wanted the impending conversation to be over with more than he wanted to watch the Zrelnach commander squirm.

  “It went well. We took minimal losses: three dead and a handful wounded. If you’d like, you could see to them while you’re here,” Gistrick flushed with pride. “Superior training only does so much in the chaos of battle after all, and we could use your help now. How did your ship’s crew fare against its opponent? Any casualties?”

  “None,” Kheled shortly answered.

  Gistrick didn’t seem like he believed the healer, so he explained further.

  “Raimie disrupted and distracted them initially so that our crew was able to board the enemy vessel with minimal resistance. When Raimie didn’t immediately fall to the mass of enemies that attacked him, the pirates lost their nerve. When he switched from staff to sword and slaughtered four in the blink of an eye, many simply abandoned their own ship. The strategy wouldn’t have worked in a real battle, but small scale as the conflict was, I’d bet Raimie could’ve taken their ships by himself if he wanted to.”

  “The rumors are true?” Gistrick asked with wide eyes. “He leaped across the gulf between the ships?”

  “Yes, he did,” Kheled confirmed. “It wasn’t that wide of a gap. I jumped it right after him.”

  “But you have magic to assist you!” Gistrick argued in a fierce whisper. “You could have shifted your leg muscles to allow them to generate the force necessary for such a feat! Raimie doesn’t have such an asset, or at least, I thought he didn’t.”

  The Zrelnach narrowed his eyes.

  “What did you force me to swear allegiance to?”

  Something brushed the back of Kheled’s neck, and he slapped a hand at it. His gaze drifted to the laboring crewmen, and he huffed. The barrels were on deck. They’d need his help to get them below deck in a timely manner.

  He wanted to check on Raimie soon. Knowing the young man as he did, the healer wouldn’t be surprised to find him stubbornly assisting his men in some small way.

  “Well?” Gistrick insistently asked.

  “Does it matter?” Kheled fumed. “Raimie is Raimie. What he is has no import on your limited vow of loyalty. Who he is and how he acts are the qualities you should consider.”

  “All right,” Gistrick conceded reluctantly, “but if I find out you’ve somehow roped me into serving a human magic wielder…”

  Kheled laughed.

  “Then Alouin help you and all Esela, yes?”

  Again, fingers brushed the back of his neck and riffled through his hair.

  “Are we done?” he asked.

  Gistrick paid him no heed, instead staring intently toward the ever present storms of the Tear. Kheled joined him in his contemplation just as a breath of fresh air smacked him in the face.

  “A breeze….” he murmured.

  “Release the sails, and weigh anchor!” Gistrick barked loudly, causing Zrelnach all over the main deck to scramble. “And someone raise that rowboat.”

  Kheled gripped Gistrick’s arm in a vice.

  “I need to return to my ship,” he said.

  “Apologies, but standing orders are to take advantage of the wind as soon as it returns,” Gistrick informed the healer. “You’re stuck with us.”

  He shook off Kheled’s hand and sprinted to take the wheel. The healer groaned, unhappy to be trapped with his own kind again, but he also sprang into action. The faster they got to Auden, the sooner he’d be back with his friend.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  The doors to the Council Chambers stood open, the guard to either side lying unnaturally still. I carefully picked my way around the slippery red liquid spilling from them and strode inside.

  I’d wandered the streets for the last half hour, unsure what I should do now that the central support of my being had been ripped away. I vaguely recalled passing through the wealthier sectors and observing the same amount of destruction and slaughter as I’d seen among the sectors of the slums. Money and power had done nothing to shield the nobles from the humans’ wrath.

  At some point, I must have picked a destination because here I stood in the midst of the worst depiction of carnage I’d ever seen, even during the years of the war. Body parts were strewn haphazardly across the chamber, and blood and viscera sprayed the floor, the walls, and impossibly, the towering ceiling. I took it all in, numb to the horror such a sight should evoke, until my eyes fell on the one huddled figure who still trembled with life beside his dead comrades.

  He raised his head at the sound of my approaching boots, his eyes filling with a strange mixture of hate a
nd relief.

  “Of course it’s you,” Reive muttered numbly.

  The Councilor was a mess. His robes crackled stiffly from the dried fluids they’d soaked from the floor. Soot starkly contrasted the lines on his face where tears and mucus had carved a path through it. A large bruise puffed his left eye closed, and bald spots atop his head spoke to tufts of hair torn away.

  “Are you here to finish what my nephew wouldn’t?” Reive asked wearily.

  “Do you remember this?” I asked as if I hadn’t heard, showing him the sword I’d clung to since I’d pulled it from…

  My mind shied away from the pain.

  Reive nodded, but I’d already continued speaking.

  “They folded my Lirilith around it,” I eyed the sword speculatively. “My baby girl’s a smear on the patio. You’ve lost any hold you may have had on me, so yes. I’m here to finish it.”

  Reive took a deep breath and lowered his head in resignation. Feeling nothing, I raised my weapon and brought it down on the man who’d destroyed the life I’d worked so hard to build.

  My muscles turned to stone halfway through the swing, halting the blade mere centimeters from the top of Reive’s head. Sliced strands of his hair fluttered to the ground beside him, and Reive jerked his head to the side in surprise, searching my face in vain for some sign of mercy.

  I furrowed my brow, confused, and tried again, coming at him from the side this time. Again, my body betrayed me, bringing the sword close enough to draw a line of blood but no further. Panting, I pushed against whatever held me back, straining with all I was worth to kill the man in front of me.

  I spun with a scream of frustration, stalked to the other end of the chamber, and flung the sword at Reive. It impaled itself in the wood of the platform he sat against, slapping his face as it swung from the force of the impact.

  “You can’t kill me,” the Councilor pronounced with a smirk.

  He rose, yanked the sword out of the platform, and brought it up in front of his face, inspecting the blade with an out of place intensity.

  “I’m considering doing it for you,” Reive told me nonchalantly. “Do you the favor of shoving this length of steel through my gut. Arivor has destroyed my life’s work in a day. It’s enough to make any man contemplate suicide.”

  I wished he’d get on with it. I’d never wanted someone’s death so much before, and a tiny part of me found that terrifying.

  Reive dropped the sword.

  “I want to spend whatever pitiful remnant remains of my life getting revenge, Erianger,” he continued, looking up at the ceiling. “I want to destroy my nephew, bring him low, and ruin all of his accomplishments. See how he likes it.”

  “It’s your fault he became this way,” I spat. “You could have left things well enough alone, but no. You had to set an example.”

  There I went again. Defending the man who’d once been as close as a brother.

  “That’s the past,” Reive said dismissively. “I’m planning his future.”

  “You want me to help,” I stated blankly.

  “Your unique skills could prove useful,” Reive nodded.

  “I’ll help end him,” I agreed immediately.

  The Councilor seemed surprised at my quick acquiescence.

  “We’ll have to decide what prison to send him to while we get the city running again,” he mused. “If there’s even a city left…”

  “No, you don’t understand,” I interrupted. “I’m going to END him. And you’re going to help me do it.”

  Raimie woke in darkness. He experienced a brief sensation of familiarity before he remembered the reason he’d been rendered unconscious in the first place and jerked upright.

  He’d lost Silverblade somehow, but he still had multiple weapons at his disposal. Reaching for the dagger in his waistband, he encountered nothing but cloth and skin and panicked briefly before realization hit that he wasn’t dead. If he’d been in combat, he’d have been struck down by now.

  He pulled Ele’s energy to his hands to push back the darkness and immediately slumped with relief. Releasing the energy, he lit a candle by feel and shuffled the few feet required to open the door to his cabin.

  A sailor stood at attention in the hallway across from his door. He saluted when Raimie emerged, squinting.

  “Can I help you?” he asked the man.

  “You gave me orders,” the sailor brusquely replied. “I have a message. May I relay it?”

  “I’d rather know what happened first, but sure. What could it hurt?” Raimie answered irritably. “What’s the message?”

  The sailor pulled up straighter with his hands at his side and looked over the top of Raimie’s head.

  “You ordered me to tell you upon awakening, and I quote, ‘Many apologies. I had to improvise.’”

  He relaxed somewhat once the message was complete.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Raimie asked, wrinkling his nose.

  “I’m sure I don’t know, Your Majesty.”

  Raimie groaned.

  “Not you lot too! I can’t tell you how many times I’ve told Marcuset not to call me that.”

  “Forgive me, Your Majesty, but I doubt he’ll stop unless you order him to. Even then, calling you anything less will make him uncomfortable,” the sailor said.

  Raimie eyed the man speculatively.

  “And what about you and your comrades? Do you insist on that ridiculous title?”

  The sailor shifted uncomfortably.

  “May I speak candidly, Your Majesty?” he asked.

  “I thought that’s what we were doing,” Raimie answered.

  The sailor chuckled and relaxed.

  “The title’s the soldier and sailor’s way of venerating you, our way of showing the highest amount of respect and regard that we can give. It’s also important when meeting other monarchs and leaders because it shows you have the respect and loyalty of your army and subjects. We understand, however, that singling you out in such a way might be uncomfortable. If I might make a suggestion, I’d tell you to endure the title when in public, but let it be known that you’d prefer otherwise in private.”

  “Then let it be known that’s what I’d prefer please,” Raimie soberly informed the man. “I’d have all of you call me by my name or ‘sir’ if you insist on using some designation when it’s only us.”

  “I think that’s wise, sir. I’ll make your preference known.”

  “What’s your name, sailor?” Raimie asked curiously when the man made to leave. “You’ve shown wisdom. I could make sure you receive a promotion to a rank more suitable to you.”

  The sailor appeared horrified.

  “If it pleases you, sir, I’d rather remain the faceless soldier. We may have a higher casualty rate, but our lives don’t seem nearly as miserable as you named lot.”

  As if realizing exactly what he’d said, he cringed and bowed low.

  “I beg your forgiveness, sir. Sometimes my mouth runs away from me.”

  Raimie waved a hand dismissively.

  “You’ve nothing to apologize for if you speak the truth, and you do. I respect that.”

  The man rose uncertainly

  “May I have your leave to carry on with my duties, sir?” he asked.

  “You may.”

  the sailor headed deeper into the ship.

  “Oh, one more thing,” Raimie called out before the sailor could descend the ladder into the hold. “I’m assuming the battle ended well since we’re not all dead or chained to an oar, but why was I left in my room?”

  “I don’t know for sure, sir,” the sailor called back. “I heard that your healer friend, the one you spend so much time with-”

  “Kheled?” Raimie asked.

  “Indeed. Someone told me that he diagnosed you with a concussion. If that’s the case, you really should be in bed, sir.”

  Well, that explained that. A brain bruise could certainly cause such a significant loss of memory.

  “Thank yo
u,” Raimie called, raising a hand and returning to bed.

  * * *

  “A concussion? Really?” Raimie asked from where he clung to the black wall beside his friend.

  “What would you rather I have said?” Nylion grunted as he sank his fingers once more into the cool unpleasantness of the wall. “ ‘Hello, Kheled! My name is Nylion. Despite what you may think, you are not Raimie’s best friend. That title belongs to me. Also, I am only an imagining in his head.’?”

  “I suppose that wouldn’t have gone over as well,” Raimie agreed, grimacing as he clawed upward another few feet. “Are we almost to the top?”

  “You are more than welcome to check for yourself,” Nylion answered gruffly.

  Raimie leaned away from the wall, searching for the crevasse’s precipice. His heart soared to see it so close.

  “Nearly there, Nylion. Nearly there.”

  * * *

  For weeks, nothing more interrupted their journey. Raimie spent his days assisting the crew, devouring the bawdy books that composed the sailors’ collection, and avoiding the attention of Eledis, his father, or anyone else who might want to scold him for some perceived failure.

  He continued to train in the evenings with weapons old and new even with Kheled stuck on another boat. He’d mastered a shaky concept of several of the new forms his teacher had introduced since departing Sev. Now, he worked to perfect them.

  He also received a new weapon from Oswin, to his absolute delight. The pistol’s polished wood handle and smelted iron barrel looked beautiful resting in his hands, and he’d been reluctant to fire it and mar its beauty at first.

  Once Oswin had convinced him to try it once, however, he’d fallen for the power the weapon possessed. Squeezing that trigger, hearing that roar, and watching the flimsy empty boxes blow apart gave Raimie a rush, unlike anything he’d ever experienced.

  Unfortunately, the weapon did have its drawbacks. It misfired more often than not, producing a click rather than a roar. Reloading took an interminable length of time, and Alouin help the man who had to fire the thing if its powder was wet.