The Undying Champions (The Eternal War Book 1)

by Brennan C. Adams

  “Oh, they are,” the big one confirmed. “We simply don’t care.”

  “You seem a decent enough fellow. I doubt you’ll intentionally end the world,” the female added.

  “And if that ever changes, we’ll be there to end the threat,” the quiet one whispered.

  “I just think primeancers are amazing,” Little shrugged.

  “Who exactly are you people?” Raimie asked suspiciously.

  Oswin stepped in front of the other four soldiers.

  “Their names are unimportant. If we survive the next few weeks, then I’ll introduce each to you personally, but for now, suffice it to say that they’re my subordinates,” he glared back at them, “no matter how many times they conveniently forget that fact.”

  “So they’re bodyguards?” Raimie asked.

  Please let it not be so. One person dogging his every move was bad enough.

  The female coughed, and the others bit their lips.

  “You could say that,” the big one snickered.

  “If they’re doing their job, you’ll never see them, sir,” Oswin assured him. “Now, it’s time for something long overdue.”

  He drew his sword and knelt, and Raimie groaned inwardly.

  “I, Oswin…”

  In the course of the next few minutes, Raimie took five new vows of fealty. Besides Oswin, none of his other new subjects were inclined to share their names even during the vow, instead choosing the generic ‘your loyal servant’ in place of it. Each of them departed as soon as they’d finished.

  Once he was alone with Oswin, Raimie was ready to crawl into his tent for the day and refuse to come out until morning. Unfortunately, the spy had other ideas.

  “Your father must be worried sick, sir,” he said when Raimie asked which tent was his.

  Raimie groaned and told Oswin to lead the way.

  Aramar had been dispensed a slightly larger tent than the average soldier’s to accommodate his need for extra space. It wasn’t quite as large as the command tent that Eledis slept under, but it comfortably fit Aramar’s chair, a cot, and a single visitor. Oswin waited outside within eyesight and earshot when they came upon it.

  His father was away on an errand, but Raimie didn’t mind waiting. This tent could provide the same solitude he’d been hoping to take solace from within his own.

  Two bundles of clothing blocked his access to the cot. Curious, Raimie sat on one end and unfolded them, lifting each piece for inspection. They were a pair of naval uniforms similar to that which Marcuset’s soldiers wore.

  “Why do the men continue to wear these?” Raimie asked, holding the uniform up for Oswin to see. “Doesn’t it bother you to wear the Queen’s uniform? We may seem far away from her wrath, but I wouldn’t put it past her to cross the ocean to retrieve anything she might view as her property.”

  “Kaedesa won’t care about the loss of the uniforms. Maybe the men, but not the clothing they wore,” Oswin chuckled. “She stole the design for her military uniform off of the bleeding corpse of the Audish standing army after all. She incorporated some changes in an attempt to make them her own, but what you hold there, the original Audish uniform, will soon be ours.”

  Now that Raimie’s eye was drawn to it, the differences were obvious. While the pants were very similar-loose with small pockets attached at the hip- the torso clothing was markedly different.

  That which Oswin sported leaned more ceremonial, a single-breasted jacket with a line of small black buttons culminating in a single silver clasp pinning the only lapel to the collar bone, midway between the shoulder and neck. It fell to just below the hips with a thin belt at the waistline to hold the fabric tight to the skin. The actual weapons belt hid below the jacket. Each soldier’s rank was embroidered onto the high, closed collar, in Oswin’s case a horizontal pair of silver bars indicating captain’s rank.

  What Raimie held seemed a much more functional uniform, something that could be worn into battle if it became absolutely necessary. It also displayed a remarkably stiff, single-breast with one raised lapel and a high collar, but the uniform’s jacket wasn’t a jacket at all. The outermost piece had no sleeves, making it a vest. Instead, a tight, long-sleeve shirt of a suppler material was worn beneath the vest and covered the arms, allowing the wearer more freedom of movement. Hard, leather shoulder caps, running from the base of the collar to halfway down the bicep, blended the seam between vest and shirt while also providing a minimal degree of protection. The vest ended above the waistline, allowing easier access to the weapons hanging from the belt.

  The only other difference Raimie noted between the two uniforms was an absolute lack of insignia on the collar of the one he held.

  “Who are these for?” he asked. “I’ve read books on Audish military history so I know that even the lowliest volunteer or pressed recruit had an emblem to designate rank. Are these uniforms unfinished?”

  “I can’t say-”

  “They’re for you, son.”

  Aramar rolled past Oswin.

  “Several of the men noticed your frankly deplorable clothing situation and asked if they could put something together for you.”

  “We had some spare uniforms in the holds of one of the ships,” Oswin explained. “From those, we simply modified as much as we could. As for the lack of insignia-”

  “You’re not part of their military structure,” Aramar said firmly.

  “And yet you are,” Oswin continued, unruffled by the interruption. “We honestly didn’t know what to give you. We considered the highest insignia, the gold star that Marcuset holds, but your higher rank than even him.”

  Raimie raised his eyes and begged the heavens for patience in dealing with people who viewed him too highly and insisted on placing him on a pedestal.

  “Then we got to know you,” Oswin added, smiling at Raimie’s frustration, “and we knew what the perfect insignia would be for you: none. Without anything on your collar, you’ll have the anonymity you desire without sacrificing the need for the average soldier to know you’re in command, which you are, sir, no matter how much you may dislike it.”

  They waited patiently for him to pass judgment. He carefully folded the uniform he held and held both in his lap.

  “They’re perfect,” he said quietly. “Thank you.”

  So much care and attention put into a simple item of clothing he’d wear. He was touched.

  “There are two additional sets of leather armor in your tent, courtesy of me,” Aramar informed him. “I wanted to fit you for chain mail, but both Kheled and Oswin here said that leather would fit your fighting style better. Something about you being so fast that chainmail might actually prove a hindrance.”

  “They would know best. They’ve both trained me how to fight in one way or another,” Raimie nodded. “I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve these gifts, but I truly appreciate them. As soon as I’ve cleaned up, we can see how they fit.”

  “You didn’t have to do anything for these, sir,” Oswin said gently. “As king, it’s your right to partake of your subject’s bounty, but since you refuse to do that, your subjects are volunteering what we can.”

  Raimie shot to his feet. This farce needed to end. Didn’t they realize they’d made a mistake?

  “I’m no king!” he cried. “I’m an eighteen-year-old kid who doesn’t know the first thing about ruling a nation!

  “What qualifications do I have? I found a sword with a prophecy attached to it, but what does that prophecy actually say? Simply that the finder would travel to Auden with Shadowsteal and return the land to peace and prosperity. Nothing about ruling the nation in there, and in case you haven’t notice, I’m missing Shadowsteal, the one item that gave me any worth! Makes you curious how accurate the seer who made the prophecy was, doesn’t it?

  “I’m supposedly of the royal family line, but even if that assertion’s truth, don’t you think my family abdicated their right to the throne when we lost it to Doldimar centuries ago? Even if by some crazy
happenstance the people of Auden accepted one of my family as monarch once more, then by every established rule of succession, the crown goes to the oldest living male which is not me. That honor goes to Eled-”

  “Sit down, Raimie,” Aramar cut in harshly.

  Raimie dropped to the cot like his strings had been cut. His father never directed such hostility at him.

  “You were right about one thing out of all the points you mentioned. You are acting like a child.”

  Raimie folded his hands, white knuckled, into his lap, drawing his shoulders up as if preparing for a cold wind.

  “Tell me, son, in all your lessons with Zetaneb, may he rest in peace, did he ever get around to explaining what the role of a king actually was?”

  Raimie frowned, searching his memory.

  “Ternidian said it was as head of state which doesn’t actually explain much...

  “Oh! But King Sephicus said in his autobiography, page 178, that ‘-the role of the monarch is to represent and protect his subjects both within the country itself and abroad. A king negotiates on behalf of his people with other nations for resources scarce within the kingdom’s borders, and when negotiations break down, leads the army in the nation’s protection. He maintains law and order within his country so that his subjects have every chance to advance in position and station….’ and then something about establishing laws in the first place and building infrastructure.”

  “Was that actually a word for word quote from Sephicus?” Oswin whispered. “Not only is his autobiography exceedingly difficult to get ahold of, but it’s also so dry that I fell asleep reading it when I had to…”

  He trailed off at Aramar’s glare.

  “That’s an excellent explanation, but it’s missing one crucial element,” Raimie’s father said. “The person accepting the role of king must understand that it’s a job, not a right or a privilege. Keeping a nation of diverse people safe and happy is rigorous work, and someone eager to accept it should be viewed with suspicion.

  “Now we come to the important question. What makes a king a king? I would argue that it involves three things.

  “One: a claim to the throne. Trust me, son, you absolutely have that. Eledis and I made a terrible mistake after your mother died when we vowed to forget our family’s past. In some ways, it was a blessing because you had the gift of a happy childhood, but it also meant you weren’t prepared for finding Shadowsteal. If you’d been drilled in how to be the prophesied one since birth like I was…”

  His father paused for the briefest moment.

  “Two: consent of the people. Oswin?”

  “The exiled nation of Auden supports Raimie as sovereign, sir.”

  “That’s everyone who’s come across the ocean with us, son,” Aramar said softly. “We can’t know whether those who’ve lived under Doldimar’s boot will agree, but the population we can ask consent from gives it to you.

  “Three: the power to keep the throne. This is what we’re here to test. Do we have the strength to take the throne back?

  “And for that matter, does a king need a throne to be king? What about a crown? According to Sephicus, the king represents and protects his subjects. You have subjects, Raimie. They may compose a small nation, but it’s yours. Oswin, what has my son accomplished since taking oaths of fealty?”

  “Represented and protected us to the best of his ability, sir.”

  Aramar nodded seriously.

  “That’s right. If we accept Sephicus’ definition as accurate, then you are king, son.

  “As for lines of succession, I promise you that we do not want Eledis in charge. Nothing good drives that man. If you value my opinion at all, you’ll never raise the idea of him taking control again.”

  For the first time in his life, Raimie hated logic with every fiber of his being.

  “Your argument’s sound, father. I do not like it, but I’ll accept the role if it’s what I’m forced to play,” Raimie intoned sourly. “Are we finished with the dressing down?”

  “I’d never think to admonish the king!” Aramar exclaimed. “Did you hear any such thing, Oswin?”

  “I heard no such dressing down,” the spy confirmed.

  “I do feel as if I should point out one other mistaken fact that I’m sure you misspoke,” his father continued. “You said that you’re an eighteen-year-old child. I know you meant to say nineteen.”

  “What are you talking about?” Raimie asked warily. “I think I know my own age.”

  Oswin looked pointedly to the uniforms in his king’s lap and then up at him.

  “Happy Birthday, Your Majesty!” he exclaimed with a quirky, knowing grin.

  The spy had to be aware of Raimie’s distaste for his own birthday. It was something he could easily find out from someone like Aramar. So, when he brushed past the man to find his way back to his tent, Raimie barely resisted punching him.

  * * *

  Four days later, he struggled not to tug on his uniform’s tight collar while he waited for everyone of significance to assemble. The birthday gift-he made a face at the thought-fit surprisingly well, but it was unlike anything he’d ever worn before. He was used to rough, cloth tunics and leggings and had acclimated somewhat to the tight discomfort of his leather armor, but this uniform presented a different set of difficulties.

  The stiff cloth that made up the vest constantly reminded him to stand straighter, and the small portion of it exposed to his skin around the collar raised red, irritated spots where it brushed against his scruff. He was thankful for the silkily smooth undershirt that kept the rough cloth off of his chest, but even that posed problems. The shirt tended to bunch, requiring constant smoothing, and it collected heat against his skin very easily causing him to sweat freely.

  Even with these disadvantages, he loved the uniform and not just because of the thoughtfulness it portrayed in his men. Each piece fit him like a glove, something he hadn’t realized he’d missed until he donned the pants, shirt, and vest for the first time.

  All of his clothes growing up had been generic second-hands, and being a gangly youth, they tended to gape at the waist and have shortened cuffs. Even the armor he’d borrowed from the Esela hadn’t fit quite right. Having pants that conformed exactly to his hips and left enough cloth at the cuff to securely tuck into his boots was a pleasure Raimie discovered he thoroughly enjoyed.

  He caught himself fidgeting with a sleeve cuff as Gistrick ducked through the tent flap. Eledis and Marcuset were already in attendance, and Kheled waited quietly behind his friend, sitting cross-legged on a crate while he absently tumbled a throwing knife across his knuckles.

  When he’d hiked to the beach this morning to partake in his morning exercises, soothed by the roll of the ocean waves and the shift of sand under his feet, he hadn’t been prepared for the disastrous news Kheled was soon to bring. An army come to wipe his friends and family, the people he’d vowed to protect, all of them from existence? When he’d received the news, Raimie had nearly bowed beneath the pressure and the despair.

  Several frantic hours later, the despair lapped on the shore of his calm, but it was much less distracting now that he had a plan. Thank Alouin that someone had thought to haul a veritable library along with them across the sea. The references had proved more than useful.

  Raimie’s requested table rested inside the tent, and he currently studied the papers strewn across its surface, leaning one-handed over them.

  “Oswin told me those of importance were asked to come to my tent,” Eledis stated. “I see everyone’s here. Let’s get started.”

  “We wait,” Raimie said simply.

  “Is there someone-”

  “We wait.”

  After a short time, Aramar rolled into the tent, Oswin trailing protectively behind him.

  “Now we can begin,” Raimie said, pushing away from the table.

  “With him here?” Gistrick asked. “Are you aware he’s a Spymaster, Ra- Your Majesty? I can understand if you weren’t. I o
nly recently found out myself.”

  “I’m aware of the profession he took while in Queen Kaedesa’s court,” Raimie replied calmly, “however, he currently serves as my bodyguard. That means he acts as my shadow. He couldn’t do his job very well if he wasn’t right beside me.”

  Gistrick grumbled to himself, but it was Eledis’ turn to speak.

  “What are we doing in my tent?” he asked irritably.

  “I’ve received some news of import, and this tent is the only one large enough to accommodate all of us. I apologize for invading your privacy, Eledis, but it seemed necessary. I’d like to keep this news to ourselves, at least until we have a plan to present to the troops.”

  “That sounds dire,” Marcuset commented with a nervous smile.

  “It is. If you’ll join me please.”

  Raimie gestured to the table, and Eledis, Aramar, Gistrick, and Marcuset gathered around it. Kheled stayed put, already fully aware of what his friend would say, and Oswin had already glanced over the papers on the table, quickly scanning for anything of import.

  “After Kheled and I washed up on shore, my friend took it upon himself to scout the immediate surroundings for us, and it’s to our advantage that he did. This is a rough map of the area drawn up off of his description.

  “There’s a small fortress here,” he pointed to the north-east corner of the map. “They call it Da’kul. Three days ago, a large army was assembled outside the wall. Kheled is estimating they number around nine thousand. He infiltrated the fortress and overheard the order for the army to move out.

  “Gentlemen, their destination is this beach; their orders, to wipe us out.”

  He gave them a moment to process and then moved on.

  “Now if we position-”

  “Some of us might survive is we split up-” Gistrick suggested nervously.

  “How would the survivors find one another once separated, you fool?” Eledis interrupted. “No, if we abandon everything but essential supplies, we may be able to stay ahead of them.”