The Spirit of The Warrior: The Axton Empire book 1

by Ryan Copeland

  But Tiberius simply put his hand on the young man's shoulder and said, "Do not worry young one. You are with me, and there is no safer place in the whole empire or beyond, than by my side."

  Michael nodded at him, still unsure of the fate that would greet him at the top. Worst case, he would be expelled from the Magi and return to White Fyre, a failure and disgrace. Back to his family to toil the fields and fish the streams until he died penniless and alone. Best case, he would be executed. Neither option sat well with him. Nevertheless, he swallowed hard and prepared his spirit for what was to come.

  After a few minutes, they reached the top. The doors of the lift flew open into a grand circular chamber with a magnificent round table that consumed almost the room's entirety. The steel room walls were covered with large rocks and pebbles of many colors that sparkled in the sunlight pouring in from an enormous window at the rear of the chamber.

  Seated around the table in high steel chairs sat the ten kings of the empire, each with their counselors standing behind them. They each wore their kingdom's colors proudly, some in chainmail and armor, and others in silken fabrics of multiple colors. Some of these men had seen too many seasons in their lives, others too few to know the power and majesty of their rule. Beyond the table, standing on a slightly raised platform in front of the grand window, stood the emperor himself with the High Sorcerer close by.

  In contrast to the ten kings, the emperor wore a simple black and grey clothing more akin to the rangers and sentinels than the ten's frivolous clothing. His cropped haircut with flecks of grey and a trimmed white beard were mute evidence of his age. The lids of his eyes were dark, but his eyes were bright blue-grey and vibrating with life. Like the sentinels, he wore no adornment to mark his authority, for indeed, he needed none. He was the ruler of the Axton Empire, and no proclamation of his authority or stature was required.

  All commotion and chatter in the chamber ceased immediately at the sound of their arrival, and twenty-two pairs of eyes immediately shot to the two new people in the room. Undaunted, Tiberius strode in with all the confidence of a proud warrior and leader. It was all Michael could do to keep his feet from collapsing under him as he stood frozen in the lift.

  Tiberius circled the table making his way to the platform, and declared, "Hail, Luke Alexander Axton! Supreme Marshall, protector, leader, and steward of the Axton Empire! I, Tiberius, Commander of your Imperial Rangers, and my companion request your immediate attention and counsel!" He stopped at the platform's foot and looked upon the emperor, humble but proud, paying no mind to the ten men behind him.

  Silence fell upon the chamber, and the temperature from the men behind him raised a few degrees. Tiberius's gaze never left the man in front of him. Finally, a voice from behind spoke angrily, "I see one Ranger come to interrupt us, but no companion. Has your time in the wild dulled your mind, boy?"

  This apparent anger was from King White, ruler of the lands that bore his namesake. A tall, rail-thin man with balding hair and a long flowing red beard. The man was known throughout the empire to have an unmatched temper equaled only by his unmatched impatience. His pristine armor's all-white showed proudly; he was indeed the most majestically dressed in armor in the room. If not the only one whose armor was unblemished.

  But at the king's question, Tiberius turned, looking past the assemblage to the lift beyond and said, "My companion is apprentice to the Brotherhood of the Magi. Michael, step forward, and present yourself!"

  At the sound of his own name, Michael mustered what little strength he had and lightly stepped out of the lift and bowed to the assembled majesty before him. But King White's patience began to run thinner than usual.

  "A wild ranger and a baby wizard have come to interrupt our affairs!? Mage! Declare your king so that he may punish you in the manner you deserve for this offense!" King White spat, his pale face turning shades of red and purple.

  "Oh, will you shut your mouth!" Another king dressed in fine black silks spat. "If Commander Tiberius has deemed their presence worthy of this interruption, then it must be of most dire need."

  "I will ask that King Black shut his mouth and hold his tongue lest he faces my steel!"

  "And I will kindly remind King White, and all our fellow kings, that his sword has never even been unsheathed from its scabbard! Perhaps he should first learn how to properly draw it before threatening another man in anger."

  Michael's eyes shot between the two men. He, along with everyone else in their empire, had known of the intense rivalry between the Kings of White and Black. But to see it in person, nearly buckled his legs. From the head of the table, another man stood. Younger than the rest and adorned in well-worn red and blue armor and mail. By his colors, Michael knew he was King Alexander of Zelinka.

  "My Lords, please! Should it not be for His Majesty the emperor to deem, who is worthy of his audience?" the young king said.

  "Nay," another, older voice spoke, forcing Michael's wide eyes to swing to the table's other side. "We have ventured far for the festivals and our audience with Emperor Axton! We have much to discuss, and the hour grows late."

  The voice belonged to an aged man, dressed in beautiful orange and yellow clothes framed with gold and ruby necklaces. His garb's beauty and splendor were recognized at once as belonging to King Dabmanu of the Clastifet Kingdom. "Mage! Who is your King?" the ancient king proclaimed.

  Michael's eyes snapped forward as he shot a pleading look at the Ranger who declared, "This Mage is my honored companion and is under my protection! By my authority, which is derived from the emperor and the emperor alone, he shall meet the same judgment as myself." His eyes never left Michael's as he spoke. His words were firm, but his eyes were comforting and protective.

  Tiberius beckoned him to the foot of the emperor's platform. The Mage scurried as fast as his young feet would carry him around the large table to join Tiberius's side. At the foot of the pedestal, he met the emperor's impassive gaze. He immediately fell to one knee to echo Tiberius's words. "Hail, Emperor Axton! I, Michael of the Magi, have come to seek your attention and counsel."

  At these words, another man dressed deep greens and bright-blues flew to his feet, his steel chair scraping the floor beneath him. "This is an outrage! We have traveled far, and left our homes to treat with the emperor, and this is how we are met!? I demand an answer to these trespasses! I demand these men to state their business to us at once!"

  A raucous noise boomed from the ten men behind the companions. Each man shouting and raging against one another in hopes of winning their arguments. Some threatened to draw swords and duel. Others were content enough to simply rage at one another. But the emperor, calm and collected, simply raised his hand bringing the roar of the room to an instant conclusion.

  "No," the emperor said, "You will take your seat and regain your senses in this room. This man is my Ranger, and under Imperial decree, his companion is now under my judgment and mine alone."

  The emperor lowered his hand and addressed the assemblage, "Now then. My Kings and Lords, I beg you return tonight where we will continue our discussions and possibly begin a new one depending on what these men have to say. Until then, please enjoy the splendors of our city! That will be all."

  At his words, each of the men stood and bowed to the emperor. Each, of course, except for King White.

  "Something to add, Forval?" the emperor asked, growing agitated.

  The King of White burned holes into the Ranger and Mage before standing and rendering a halfhearted bow. The ten and their counselors entered the lift in silence and quickly departed the chamber.

  A heavy silence hung in the room. The emperor stood impassively, examining the pair below him before turning to the sorcerer and asking, "Do you know this Mage, Damian?"

  "I do, yes. This young man is one of our order's newest members," the sorcerer responded with a chuckle.

  "I see," the emperor replied, before turning his full attention to Tiberius.

  While his face remai
ned expressionless, his eyes were focused and searching as if trying to read Tiberius's mind. "Do you fully trust your companion, Commander?" the emperor finally asked.

  "I do," Tiberius responded.

  Oh, gods, this is it, isn't it? Michael thought, holding his breath in anticipation of the swift judgment that was sure to come.

  Silence as thick as ice permeated the hall when suddenly loud, boisterous laughter cut through like a bolt of lightning, causing Michael to jump. There was no judgment or anger for their untimely outburst. Instead, the other three men in the room burst into uncontrollable laughter as the emperor and Tiberius moved to hug each other on the platform's steps.

  Michael was dumbstruck. Surely, he had passed out and was now living in some sort of vivid dream. But it was not a dream. Before him, the two men were embraced in such boisterous laughter. He could barely hear the echoes reverberating in the chamber.

  "Did you really have to do that?" the emperor said, all decorum and sternness in his voice replaced by pure joy and merriment. "Let me see you," and pulled himself back to inspect Tiberius.

  "Those men are puffed-up idiots," Tiberius responded, smiling wider than he had in years. "And King White, with his fancy white and grey armor that's never seen combat. I thought I was going to lose all control when King Black called him out!"

  "You look good, Ti," the Emperor said, looking him over. "Though I imagine you and your friend didn't come all this way just to see a pair of old men."

  "We aren't that old, my friend," Damian said, moving to pour himself a cup of ale.

  Michael turned his head frantically, trying to reconcile what was unfolding before him. In all his time at the Citadel, he had never imagined the High Sorcerer himself being anything other than a wise old scholarly person. Still, he had come to learn of late, the truth of people is often reserved for the trusted and familiar, and not for the everyday person.

  Tiberius sobered. "Unfortunately, no, we did not. We ran into some trouble up in northern Childers and rode here immediately for your counsel." He began to remove his cloak and poured himself a glass of warm mead.

  "So serious that you interrupted my Imperial summit by sauntering in here and putting arrogant royals in their place?" the emperor asked, joining Tiberius at a seat on the round table.

  Michael stood in place, frozen and perplexed and slightly agitated as if some great prank was being played on him, and he didn't know why.

  "Excuse me! I'm very confused here," Michael interrupted.

  "What are you confused about, my boy?" Damian said, downing his cup and moving to pour a second helping. "Didn't Ti tell you he was the emperor's son?"

  Chapter 8

  The Axtons

  Michael stared wide-eyed at the three men for what felt like ages. His mouth had unconsciously dropped at the news that his savior and commander, the grim yet kind, the firm but gentle Ranger Commander, was the emperor's son! His eyes darted back and forth between them, searching for some clue that would make this seem possible to him. Their faces were indeed of similar shape. They both had identical beards in fullness and color. They were about the same height and build, and both had the same wide toothy smile. But it was their eyes that caught his attention. Bright and vibrant, but severe and stern at the same time. Surely this is some trick, he thought, shaking his head.

  "This is no trick, my friend," the emperor said with a smile as if reading his mind. "I'm sure my son didn't tell you before because, well, no one but our family knows." His face relaxed, and to Michael's eyes, it was more apparent than ever.

  "But, the Sorcerer," Michael began.

  "I'm the emperor's closest advisor and counselor," the sorcerer cut in, and moving to join Tiberius at the table. "And before that, I was his and my predecessor's bodyguard when I was a Battle-Mage. There's scarcely anything in this empire I don't know," he finished, patting Tiberius's knee.

  Tiberius nodded. "Forgive the deception, my young friend. But like I told you on the road, 'We have no secrets between us, but the secrets that bind us together.'" He raised his gloved hand, inviting Michael to join them at the table.

  Michael took a seat next to them, and cautiously asked, "If you are the emperor's son, doesn't that make you the heir to the Axton Empire?"

  "Aye, yes, it does. One day, many years from now, gods bless us."

  "Why are you leading the Rangers instead of, well I don't know, what else someone would be doing in your position?"

  The emperor chuckled. "My dear Mage, I too was once the rangers’ commander, as was my father, and my grandfather stretching all the way back to Alexander himself. Our family founded the rangers over six hundred years ago with the idea that they needed to be warriors in our land who served the people. Warriors who owed no allegiance to any crown but would fight and die to guard all the people of the land."

  He looked deep into Michael's eyes, willing his words to resonate in his mind. "It was the rangers who first resisted the Narzethian invasion five hundred years ago. It was the rangers who first departed our shores to contend with them in their homeland. And to this day, it is the rangers who wander our lands and defend all of our people."

  "That's all well and good, Your Majesty. But why? Why risk your lives before ascending to the throne?"

  "Because we believe that before one can rule, one must serve. That a leader will never know what it truly means to serve the people if they have never served them before. It has been our family's practice going back before the empire was founded, and it shall be our way until the unmaking of our world."

  Michael's head was spinning with all he had learned in such a short amount of time.

  "Now, Ti, what is so damned important you had to come all this way?" the emperor asked, turning his attention to Tiberius.

  At his father's question, Tiberius's face turned back to the seriousness he wore when he first entered the chamber. The sudden change in demeanor sobered Damian and the emperor, and they both sat upright to hear the story. Tiberius leaned back in the steel wrought chair, poured himself a new cup of mead, and began his tale in full. Michael wished he had whatever the sorcerer was drinking.

  The hours stretched on as Tiberius talked. Though the city below began to darken with the waning day, the music and dancing from the festival continued to echo and travel up to the spire's top. Lanterns began to appear at taverns and inns around the city. Street workers were fast at work, lighting the lamps that lined the cobble and stone streets as more and more people filled the squares to take in the nighttime entertainment. An hour after the sun sunk over the western sky, Tiberius finished his tale and sat back to help himself to a large mug of beer.

  "May the Spirit of The Warrior always be with you, brothers," the emperor muttered after Tiberius finished his story.

  "May the Spirit of The Warrior always be with you, indeed," Tiberius echoed, his voice somber.

  The four sat in silence for a moment before the emperor stood and began pacing the length of the chamber. He held his hands folded in the small of his back, his head down, lost in some internal discussion and thought. Damian sat for a few minutes before pouring his third mug of ale, which the Sorcerer downed in one gulp. Michael watched all this happening, unsure of what to say or do. Tiberius hung his head, inspecting the dark, foamy beer inside his steel mug.

  When the heavy silence was more than he could take, Michael dared to speak up. "I take it that you knew of our mission, Your Majesty?"

  "Yes, I knew," the emperor admitted without halting his stride. "Why do you think you had a company of rangers so close to where your Magi brothers were encamped?"

  As if anticipating Michael's questions, Tiberius interjected, "No, we didn't know about your mission, or about the disappearing magic until that morning in the inn. When necromancy was outlawed six years ago, numerous practitioners flew to the farthest northern kingdoms of the empire. After the war was over, we were ordered to continue enforcing the ban. That's why we were ordered to commence our ranging in Childers."

>   "Tiberius and his rangers did not know, young Mage," the Emperor added. "Damian shared his fears with me and me alone, in our council. And while I was bound by his secret to not openly act, I could ensure that a group of my rangers, the finest warrior in the empire, were close at hand. It would seem my slight deception paid off, luckily. As for what the purpose of excavating a dwarven outpost was, only Damian knows. And even that, he would not share with me."

  The companions now turned to Damian, who had lit a pipe and was also lost in deep thought.

  "Why didn't you tell my father what your purpose in finding the outpost was?" Tiberius demanded.

  The sorcerer sat, blowing smoke rings absentmindedly. "I did not want to give you father, undue hope."

  "Undue hope?"

  "Aye, undue hope. What if all this was rumor and legend, and there was nothing there at all, Ti? I could not promise answers to your father and my emperor, and then crush his hope."

  "Well, forget hope and speak plainly to us! If the outpost is real, what were you hoping to learn?" Tiberius demanded.

  "If the outpost is real, I hoped to learn some history, my dear boy," Damian began. "The dwarves were a fascinating race of people. Secretive and mysterious, but fascinating, nonetheless. The scrolls in our Citadel say they had such a deep understanding of the nature of the world and magic. That they could conjure it as easily as you or I draw breath."

  The sorcerer stood, moved behind the high steel chair he had sat upon, and continued. "The dwarves were enslaved by the Narzeth for an untold number of years before we freed them. In their captivity, they were forced to build great and terrible weapons, and to abandon magic lest they were killed. Then we freed them and brought them back to our country. They and the Magi built this city, and this very spire we stand in. After that, they ventured into the Land Beyond. And with them went many of their secrets, including the nature of magic as they understood it. With all that's going on, I felt it prudent we seek out all the information we could."