The Last Mayor's Son

by Leslie E Heath

  The Last

  Mayor’s Son

  The Nivaka Chronicles: Book 1

  Leslie E Heath

  The Last Mayor's Son

  The Nivaka Chronicles: Book 1

  Leslie E. Heath

  Elizabeth City, NC

  Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Cover Design: matthillbookdesign.com

  Editors: Maria D’Marco and Florence Weinberg

  Copy Editor: Anita York

  Printed in the United States of America

  Copyright © 2016 Leslie E Heath

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 0692899168

  ISBN-13: 978-0-692-89916-8

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to my husband and daughter, Jamie and Amanda. They supported me as I cased my

  dreams, even when they didn’t seem to make sense. Special thanks also goes to Kristy, for giving me the courage to begin.

  Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  1. The Letter

  2. Assignment

  3. Traveling

  4. Arrival

  5. Welcome

  6. New Friends

  7. Tour

  8. Nightfall

  9. Messengers

  10. Council

  11. Fishing

  12. Wedding

  13. Home

  14. Meeting

  15. History

  16. Decisions

  17. Kasanto

  18. Fairies

  19. Preparations

  20. Moving

  21. Visitors

  22. Ready

  23. Signals

  24. Attack

  25. Aftermath

  26. Goodbyes

  About the Author

  Review

  Other Books By Leslie E Heath

  Acknowledgements

  It truly takes a village to raise a story from a solitary idea to a full-fledged novel. I couldn’t have done it without the advice and support of Maria D’Marco, Alun Seymour, Connie Powell, and Lynn Fellows. Many others have helped through the process, but

  these four guided me as I developed this story into what it is today.

  1

  The Letter

  Eddrick huddled in the shadows near the edge of the arena and considered the recent changes he had seen. He remembered the old adage that change is the only constant in life. Maybe that wasn’t entirely correct. Changes continued well beyond the grave. Now, he looked at life happening before him—the crowd of people cheering as two young swordsmen faced off in a tournament. One of them had once been his son, Aibek.

  Aibek and his competitor, Intza, faced each other in one of three dusty circles marked out with fist-sized black stones. If either stepped outside the circle, the match would end, and the competitor remaining inside the ring would be declared the winner. They had each won six matches during the hot, humid day, and now traded blows in the final battle of the tournament. Only one could be the champion of the annual Xona Military Academy East versus West tournament, which pitted teams from the two branches of the Academy against each other.

  In Eddrick’s opinion, Aibek was a superbly skilled fighter, light on his feet with a lightning-quick strike. His adversary was larger and stronger, but Aibek had beaten him in an early round last year. This time, they faced each other late in the day, after hours of fighting in the blazing sun had drained both of much of their strength. Breathless, he watched as his son dodged an aggressive swing, then countered with a swift stab towards his enemy’s chest. His blow glanced off Intza’s shield with a loud clang of metal. Aibek ducked away from yet another heavy attack. He wiped the sweat from his eyes with the glove on his shield hand and watched for an opening in his adversary’s defense.

  The brightly painted fighting dragon on Aibek’s shield announced him as a member of the West Xona team. His opponent’s shield bore the likeness of the three moons of Azalin, the banner of the East team. The two emblems combined to form the insignia of the Army of Xona, which would employ all graduates from both branches as officers. Eddrick glanced away as the blindingly bright afternoon sun glared off his son’s polished chain mail. He kept to the back of the crowd and moved to the other side of the arena for a better view.

  Meanwhile, the two opponents danced in a slow circle, maintaining their weapons at the ready.

  Eddrick shouted encouragement to his only son. Though he knew no one could hear him, he yelled with all the volume he could muster. He wished again he had been able to raise his son and silently cursed the cruel fate that had prevented it.

  Glancing around at the wilted appearance of the other spectators, Eddrick was grateful he couldn’t feel the heat. The shadow from the ancient brick building, the West Xona Military Academy, had long since moved away from the dusty circle where the oldest students battled for the championship.

  If this matchup had come earlier in the day, Eddrick thought, Aibek would have easily beaten this slower, clumsier opponent. But, Aibek’s armored chest heaved with exertion, Eddrick could see he’d had enough. The score was tied four to four. According to the rules of the tournament, one more precise, forceful blow to the torso would end the match—and the championship. With his son only one point from winning, Eddrick swore he could feel his heart pounding with excitement, though he knew that was impossible.

  Aibek shrugged his shoulders (perhaps to keep his arms loose?) and raised his shield to defend his chest as the brutish opponent hacked at him once again. Both could taste victory. When his adversary’s sword swung down once more, Aibek leapt slightly right. The sudden movement threw Intza off balance. Before his adversary could regain his equilibrium, Aibek used the last of his energy in a perfectly placed swing of the sword. The weapon clanged against Intza’s chest-plate like a bell, signaling the end of the match. The rivals both fell to the floor, dripping sweat and struggling for breath. Their teammates rushed to their sides, tore off their helmets and the sweat-soaked padding beneath, and helped them to their feet.

  Breathless from the close battle, Eddrick watched as his son accepted his award, and lingered until the young man disappeared into the crowd with his friends. Bursting with pride, he rushed home to tell his wife of Aibek’s victory.

  ~*~

  Aibek looked up at the cloudless sky as he left the arena with his team, laughing and celebrating the day’s win. He remembered the cool, rainy weather he had hated the year before and wished they could have had such luck again today. The hot sun had baked him inside his armor and sapped his strength. His legs shook as he worked to keep up with his friends.

  Still, everyone on the team had won at least one match during the tournament. As the team captain, he considered the day a resounding success. He congratulated one of the youngest members of the team on an early victory, then looked up and saw his uncle Noral step toward him out of the crowd.

  “Good job on the win today!” His guardian clapped him on the shoulder. He held on a moment longer than was necessary, and Aibek paused, glancing at him over his shoulder.

  “Um…thank you.” Aibek’s steps faltered. He stopped, looked into his uncle’s face, and then dropped his gaze to the pebbled path. He stood frozen in place and waited for his uncle’s verdic
t.

  “You know; you could have beaten him without the theatrics.”

  Aibek furrowed his brow but didn’t raise his eyes. “I don’t know what you mean,” he mumbled.

  “Oh, come on,” Noral said with a laugh. “You know exactly what I mean. You didn’t have to let him get four points on you! If that had been a real battle, you’d be dead, not wearing a trinket.”

  Aibek’s blood turned to ice in his veins. He closed his eyes against the old, familiar feeling. He took several deep breaths to ward off the sense of failure and ran his hands through his sweat-soaked hair. “I put too much into the match before him. I used up all my energy.”

  Noral dropped his hands to his sides, and they resumed their progress toward the Academy where his nephew’s friends were waiting. “Look, you know you can do better just as well as I do.”

  “I know. I’m sorry,” Aibek answered quietly. “I’ll be stronger next time.”

  “Exactly right; learn from your mistakes and get better… fight smarter.” His uncle smiled. “Now, I have to get back to the shop. We’ll talk more later.” He strode away across the brown grass of the yard without waiting for a response.

  Aibek stared after his uncle for a long moment, wondering if he would ever be able to live up to the expectations of his only father figure. A breeze ruffled his still-wet hair and brought him back to the moment. He kicked at the path in front of him, scattering pebbles in every direction, and made his way up the stairs at the front of the imposing brick building. His teammates had gathered between the enormous, red marble pillars that marked the entrance. He welcomed the joyous celebration of his friends. As always, he painted a broad smile on his face and joined their conversation as if nothing had happened.

  ~*~

  Eddrick rushed along the streets to the entrance to his home and glided silently through the door, where he searched out his wife, Kiri. He found her sitting in her favorite chair, working a ball of brightly colored yarn. Several years ago, she had discovered she could still make hats and scarves. Since then, she spent much of her time knitting child-sized accessories that she deposited on the stoop of the orphanage in Xona in the dark of night.

  Eddrick strode into the small room that was an exact replica of the sitting room they had shared in life. The golden curtains hung by the window had never faded, even in the twenty years they had remained there.

  “I couldn’t have raised him any better myself!” Eddrick grinned, his eyes nearly squinting closed from pure joy. “He’s going to be a perfect mayor.”

  The lovely redhead rolled her eyes and continued knitting. “Of course he will, that was the whole reason we sent him to your brother and his wife. We knew they would do an excellent job. Now, what’s got you so excited this time?”

  A small smile brightened her face when she finally looked up from her knitting.

  Eddrick roared. “Aibek did it again! He won the tournament at the academy for the third year in a row. And every day after class—even after his own tournament today—he’s been helping some of the younger officers learn to fight. You just wait and see—”

  “I know, I know, he’ll be perfect,” Kiri interrupted with an indulgent smile. “You’ve said it every day since he graduated from the university and moved up to the Academy.”

  Her smile faded to a worried frown. “I just hope nothing bad happens because we interfered with Tavan.” Her voice dropped to a whisper as she stared into the empty fireplace.

  “Shush!” Eddrick glanced at the windows to make sure no one was near. “We shouldn’t talk about it. Besides, it’s not like we actually killed anyone. We just made things a bit easier for the boys.”

  “I know, but I still feel guilty.” She heaved a great sigh and shook her head. “You’ve always been the one with the crazy schemes. I always get caught whenever I try to break a rule.”

  Eddrick sat next to his wife and stroked her fiery red hair. “It’ll be fine, you’ll see. We didn’t tell anyone what to do.” He placed his hands on her shoulders and gazed earnestly into her eyes, “By the trees! We didn’t even give them the idea. They came up with the plan and carried it out on their own—we just made it a tiny bit easier. Now, no more worrying. Aibek’s coming home!”

  ~*~

  “You know I’ll beat you again next week.” Aibek taunted his friend over his shoulder as they left the training grounds behind the Academy.

  “Of course, you will!” Faruz choked out his words between breaths. “You’re a foot taller than me and everyone else, but I’ll beat you yet. It’s only a matter of time.”

  They strolled toward Aibek’s home, down the cobbled streets, past a row of low mud brick and stone buildings, common in this prairie city. The scrubby grass that would normally brighten the town with its brilliant blue flowers had turned brown and dry in the unseasonable heat wave. Aibek wished again for rain. It had been almost a month since they’d seen a single drop. At least the short, skinny trees that the last General had planted along the grounds of the school still had green leaves, though they hadn’t flowered that spring.

  They walked the familiar roads lined with low grey houses, laughing and talking about the day’s tournament and the practice session for the underclassmen that had followed.

  Aibek grinned when Faruz ignored the door to his own home and followed Aibek into his house. They entered without pausing to remove their shoes. Faruz made a beeline for the end of the couch near the window, as he did every day. He claimed it was so he could see his father when he passed by on his way home, but Aibek suspected he wanted the most comfortable spot. Aibek stood and stared at his friend for a moment, wondering how Faruz had gotten so lucky. His family was close, but not smothering, and his parents treated him like a capable adult. Aibek swallowed against the old envy and dropped his bag on the table by the door.

  “Wipe your feet,” Aunt Ira scolded, strolling into the room from the kitchen. “I don’t want you tracking dirt through the whole house.” She wiped her hands on her apron. “How was the tournament? I want to hear all about it. But first, put your things away. You can’t just drop them on the table like that.” She smiled fondly at the auburn-haired young man and his friend.

  “Hi, Aunt Ira. I won!” Aibek grinned at his aunt.

  The always-smiling, short, stocky woman moved closer to her nephew, tucking her chocolate-brown hair back as she walked. Behind her, the housekeeper entered the room carrying a heavily laden, wooden serving tray.

  Aibek held up the palm-sized medal for his aunt to see and grabbed a glass of water from the tray the housekeeper had placed on the low table before the couch. Ira took the prize from him and examined it at length. She handed it back and crossed the room to her favorite worn leather chair.

  Aibek gulped the cold liquid. “You know I wouldn’t have left my things here.” He started down the short hall with his satchel thrown over his arm.

  The house was small, with only two bedrooms on the ground floor, the main room, a moderately-sized, open kitchen that held an enormous coal-fired stove, a large prep table, a deep basin for washing, and a cozy dining nook. Up a narrow stair by the kitchen was a small servants’ quarters the housekeeper shared with their only maid.

  It was a large home by Xona standards, but Uncle Noral often complained how cramped it was. He also insisted on wooden furniture, though it was quite expensive. In a region with no trees, wood was a luxury reserved for the very wealthy. Most homes in the city had iron or steel-framed furniture since the iron mines were less than an hour’s walk to the north. The men and women who mined the ore worked long, hard hours. Still, Aibek had heard they earned a fair wage and were able to pay for food and shelter in the city or surrounding villages.

  He had shared a room with his father’s servant Serik since the day they arrived on his uncle’s doorstep nearly twenty years ago, though he had spent several years living away from home while attending university and beginning his training at the Academy. Narrow bunk beds occupied the far wall of the room.
Aibek slept on the top bunk since his roommate was too old to climb the ladder every night.

  On the opposite wall stood a simple, dark wood wardrobe. He placed his books, sword, vest and hat in it and closed the door. A full-length mirror leaned against the wall next to the cabinet. He glanced at his reflection and wiped a smudge of dirt off his broad nose and swept his still-damp hair behind his shoulders before he turned and ambled back through the narrow doorway.

  He returned to the main room, where Faruz had made himself comfortable on the large brown couch that took up the middle of the room. He grabbed a chunk of heavy, spiced cake from the tray by the sofa and settled in to relax next to his friend. Faruz was demolishing what looked like a muffin.

  Just as Aibek reclined on the couch, Serik trudged into the room with a worried expression on his weathered features. “We need to have a talk.” The old man spoke quietly as he slowly came farther into the room.

  “All right. What’s the matter? Has something happened?” Aibek examined his oldest friend. Had he gotten smaller since the morning? Serik’s white hair had mostly fallen out over the past several years, leaving only a few wild tufts in various places on his head. His hands now held a wadded parchment, grasped tightly and crinkling under the gnarled fingers.

  Serik limped to one of the two large blue armchairs opposite the couch. “I’ve received a letter from my old friend, the religious leader in Nivaka, the village where you were born.”