Echo of the High Kings (The Eoriel Saga Book 1)

by Kal Spriggs

  Her dusky skin, green eyes, and straight black hair showed her heritage clearly. Though Christoffer knew that if rumors of her father's age were accurate, she likely could claim a Starborn ancestry. The pedigree of that ancestry probably included captured slaves or Darkstar conquistadors, but among the Armen tribes such sordid pasts were common.

  “Miss Siara, Lord Admiral,” Nikolas said.

  “Thank you, Nikolas. You may wait in the hall,” Christoffer saw his steward cast a suspicious glance at the Armen woman. He barely held back a smile. He felt confident that, if nothing else, he could defend himself long enough for the two behemoths in the hall to come to his rescue. “I'll be fine, Nikolas. Why don't you make some tea for our guest?”

  He waved Siara Pall to take a seat in front of his desk. “Miss Siara, I apologize for taking so long to find the time to interview you. I could say blame it on things that have come up, but that would just be an excuse. In truth... I wanted to get my emotions more under control after learning about my son's death.”

  “Your son was aboard the Mircea, my Lord?” Siara asked.

  Christoffer nodded and the dull ache of loss hurt a bit more at the reminder, “He was Captain.”

  “Oh...” she nodded, “Then he died well, my Lord. He lived longer than the other prisoners and he remained defiant,” Siara said. “He tried to get me to kill him, when they had me give him food and water and heal him.”

  “You... you met my son? Spoke with him?” Christoffer leaned back in his chair. He hated the weakness he heard in his voice and the pain that seemed as if it would shatter his heart.

  “Yes, they wanted a woman who could speak to him in his tongue and knew how to tend wounds. Also, my training meant I could heal him, between his torments,” Siara said calmly. “He impressed me with his courage, my Lord.”

  “He did?” Christoffer asked. “He... he told me once how he feared capture and torture, how he would do anything he could to avoid it.” Christoffer tried not to think of his nightmares, where he saw his son go to their ancestors as a broken spirit... or worse, sacrificed to some dark spirit or demon.

  “Yes my Lord, I believe that,” Siara said. “I could tell that he feared, yet he never gave in. His resistance caused Turan Khal to have two of his best torturers executed for their failures. He was a brave man and he died well. I am certain his ancestors will welcome his spirit, and that the Dark Warrior will judge him favorably.”

  Christoffer covered his eyes with one hand. He clenched his jaw and though his eyes filled, he did not allow himself to shed tears. He must be strong. “Thank you for that, Siara. It is good to know that my son died well under the circumstances.” He took a deep breath. “You are a healer then?”

  “Yes my Lord, what you call a mage, here in the south,” Siara said. “My father would trust no one besides family to see to his wounds, so I learned from my aunt.”

  “That can be very useful,” Christoffer said. “We have a number of wounded who would benefit from healing magic. We have few mages in Boir, we are a more mechanically inclined people I think. We will of course pay you as a doctor's assistant.”

  Siara shrugged. “I will be glad to help, my Lord. You freed me from the Semat, for which I owe you a debt of honor. I find your offer of payment for translating and for treating the wounded overly generous. These are tasks I would perform at my father's direction before or by the commands of Turan Khal or one of his chieftains after my capture.”

  Christoffer waved a hand, “Miss Siara, it is only proper that we pay you, as well as all the women who work. Indeed, despite initial my initial misgivings... your fellow women have proven so useful that Lieutenant Gunnar has asked permission to enlist some of them for the duration.”

  Siara gave a slight start, “You would accept women as warriors?”

  “As sailors,” Christoffer said. “Though I suppose if any qualified as Marines they would be accepted. We have always had a small number of female enlisted, though our regulations require they serve on the Southern Fleet under normal circumstances. In the most part, due to what the Semat do to female prisoners.”

  Siara shook her head, “That seems impossible to believe, yet your men have treated us far better than I expected. We are not used to such grace after capture. The Darkstar enslave men and women and the Semat...” She made a small gesture with her hand, as if pouring water out, “Though truth to tell, we do similar things to enemies we capture.” She looked up, “You mentioned female enlisted... are there no female officers?”

  Christoffer smiled slightly, “It is a tradition that educated women do not bother themselves with work such as that... but there are a handful. Many leave the service for marriage and to have children.” He frowned, “They are the exception, however. And our regulations are very draconian on things such as fraternization between enlisted and officers, as well as senior and lower officers.”

  Siara shook her head again, “This all seems so strange. Perhaps, though I shall see if I might enlist. With my disgrace, my return to my father would only dishonor him and he would be required to kill me.”

  “Kill you?” Christoffer asked. “What disgrace is this?”

  Siara gave a slight shrug, “I was taken captive. Granted, it was arranged for me to be a hostage, but I had no male relative to watch over me and though the Semat did not harm me for fear of my father's retribution, it is as if I were raped by all of them.”

  “Your father let you go knowing this would happen?” Christoffer asked, horrified.

  “He had no choice,” Siara said softly. “The Semat required a close relation for a hostage. Faced with threats from the Semat and the Darkstar, he had no other children to send. His sacrifice of his only child for our tribe showed great leadership and many chieftains pledged to his banner.”

  “I am sorry, Siara.” Christoffer said. He privately noted the information that the Darkstar Kingdom had forced the issue with the Solak warlord. It might come in handy later.

  She shrugged, “Life is pain, my Lord. What suffering we manage to rise above defines us. I can not regret it, for I am still whole of body and mind and have regained my freedom... though the thought still unsettles me.”

  “Well, then,” Christoffer shook his head at the remarkable young woman. “I understand you are able to speak several languages. Are you literate, and do you know your sums?”

  “I can read in Armen, Darkstar, Vendakar, and Southern. I know algebra as well as some simple calculus, which I learned to improve my skill with blood magic. I also know a great deal about chemistry and botany, a necessity for the same reason,” Siara said.

  “That's very impressive,”Christoffer admitted. He suddenly realized how arrogant he must seem, that he had assumed her ignorance from the beginning. He could not help a flush of embarrassment as he saw how pompous he must seem. “Our navy pays an extra stipend for literacy. I cannot, unfortunately, think of any immediate use for calculus. I do, however, have a number of messages we captured from aboard the Mircea, that I hoped you might transcribe for me.”

  “Of course, my Lord.”

  Nikolas arrived then with tea and Christoffer felt amusement as he saw the steward assume a semi-protective position near the bulkhead. Christoffer took a sip of tea and used the time to consider his next question. The Armen woman had proven so cooperative to this point, that his next question seemed almost insulting, yet he must ask. “You are the daughter of Marka Pall, so I must ask this... Do you retain loyalty to your father and, if so, will that conflict with our current fight against the Armen?”

  She frowned and rocked back in her chair and her thoughtful expression made Christoffer hopeful that she would give him a truthful answer. “I am no longer a member of my tribe, yet I retain some loyalty to them. Also, my father is my blood and, though I may never return, I must honor my family and my home,” She said. “However, I do not think that this will be a conflict.”

  “No?” Christoffer asked.

  “No, my Lord. From... friends
of my father, I knew that he had already sought a means to break his alliance with the Semat. Their loss of me as a hostage gives him such an excuse. I would be very surprised if he had not already made preparations to return home and upon the news of the Mircea's destruction or capture, broken off from his alliance and withdrawn his forces.” She held up her hands, “Clearly you have no way to verify this... but I expect it to be very unlikely that anything I do in this region will be of threat to my father, my family, or my tribe.”

  Christoffer immediately thought of the two captured ships who's signifiers showed them leaving the Boir Sea. Master Lorens had confirmed their departure, and that seemed the most likely explanation, especially if Marka Pall had used those ships to escort his transports back home.

  “Very well, then,” Christoffer said. “I will authorize Captain Elias to put you to work with the ship's doctor, and I wish you to start immediately on our captured correspondence.” Christoffer reached in his desk and pulled out a packet of documents. “You will receive the temporary pay of a doctor's assistant as well as the five hundred coin payment for your translation duties.”

  Siara Pall stood, and she gave him a polite bow, “Thank you, my Lord.”

  Christoffer smiled, “I'm an Admiral, before I am a noble. Please, just call me sir.”

  “You are of high rank, though, are you not?” Siara asked. “I had thought that Southerners take their bloodlines very seriously.”

  “Some do,” Christoffer said. “I prefer to judge men and women by their actions.”

  “I heard one of the men say that your Duke has fallen,” Siara said. “And another said that you are a relative, does that mean that you will become the next Duke?”

  “No,” Christoffer said. “Even if I were the next in line after him, and I am not, thank my ancestors, I would decline that position.” He shook his head, “I am a military man, not some effete noble.”

  Siara cocked her head, “My Lord, that seems a remarkably selfish attitude.”

  “What?” Christoffer Tarken could not stop the surprise from showing on his face. He heard Nikolas either choke with indignation or snort with laughter... knowing his steward, probably both.

  Siara stood tall, “My Lord, it is the duty of good leaders to lead their people. If they consign that position to men of less ability, then they doom their people to less glory, less accomplishment, and less vision. If a man is selected for that honor and has both the blood, the authority, and the dedication of his people, it becomes his duty to accept.”

  Christoffer stared at her, mouth open in shock. “I don't think I am fully qualified to lead the Duchy of Boir,” he finally said. “Especially in these times of crisis.”

  Siara shrugged, “Better you than, as you put it, some 'effete noble.'” She gave one last nod, as if satisfied that she had won the argument, and departed.

  Christoffer, for the life of him, could think of no appropriate response.

  ***

  Aerion

  The Tucola Forest, Zielona Gora Barony, Duchy of Masov

  Third of Eoban, Cycle 999 Post Sundering

  Aerion stared at the man he had come to trust in such a short time. His hands clenched on the hilt of his sword, “You can explain everything, like how you lied to everyone from the start? You can explain why I should believe anything you say when I can see with my own eyes that you are a total stranger?”

  The man he had thought of as Arren Smith gave a sigh. He pulled off the floppy brimmed hat, the gray wig, and the long gray beard as well. “Aerion, I promise you that everything I have done, I have done for good reason.”

  “Good reason?” Aerion shook his head, “You can explain it to Lady Katarina and the others. We're going back to camp.”

  “No,” the other man said.

  “You may be better with a sword than me, but you'll have to kill me to keep me quiet. And we aren't too far from camp, a shout might bring others.” Aerion grimaced, “You may well kill me, but you won't get away with... whatever it is you intend.”

  The stranger gave a sardonic smile, “You assume such malice to my deception, I forgot how it is to be so young and to see things so clearly.”

  Aerion flushed, “I may be young, but at least I am not a liar and... whatever else you are.”

  “Well spoken,” the other man said, his voice dry. “Look, Aerion, I will set my sword aside, and I ask you to do the same. I will explain everything I can and when we are done, I will let you chose my fate.” The man unbuckled his sword, Aerion recognized it as the one Katarina had given Arren after the battle. He drew a breath, “But if you want me to go into camp and do the same, you might as well sign my death warrant, and that of everyone else there.”

  “What?” Aerion asked. He lowered his own sword, though he kept it in hand.

  “Like a great many things in life, it's rather complicated,” The man looked around the clearing, “You went hunting alone this morning, right?”

  Aerion's brow lowered in suspicion, “Yes.”

  “Good. The fewer who know any of this, the more likely we won't come to a grisly end,” The stranger who pretended to be Arren Smith and Yarris Ingolsby rubbed his jaw in thought, eerily reminiscent of how Arren would rub his beard when in thought. “My name, and I beg you reveal this to no one, is Aramer Jameson.”

  “Aramer?” Aerion asked.

  The other man nodded, and he seemed to relax, “It truly does take some weight off to reveal that much. It's been so long since I wore my own name...” The spy's voice trailed off.

  “So, why the disguises?” Aerion asked.

  Aramer's gaze returned to Aerion, “They are necessary. I have lived ten cycles under one disguise or another, Arren Smith, Yarris Ingolsby, Jens Margan, Tom Wolno... there's a lot of names and stories I've spun.” He frowned, “I need you to realize that this isn't a game, this isn't done by anything other than absolute necessity. People, very dangerous people, want to kill me, and they'll torture and kill for any information on where I might be.”

  “What, men such as Lord Hector?” Aerion asked, enthralled by the other man's seriousness and intensity.

  “Men who make Hector look like a child playing with toy soldiers,” Aramer said. “More than men... beings, who view men as playthings.”

  “Spirits, like An-”

  “Do not invoke his name, not here, not right now. Don't even think of his name,” Aramer said. “I would prefer not to draw his attention, nor that of any who side with him.”

  Aerion stared at him, and after a moment he shook his head, “No, it's too...”

  “Absurd, preposterous, magnificent?” Aramer raised one eyebrow. “Boy, I understand exactly the thought. I fully understand how crazy I must sound, but I swear to you, every other man, woman, and child who has become involved in this particular circumstances has come to a painful end... or worse, become corrupted and chosen to serve themselves or other dark powers.”

  Aerion shook his head again, but he sheathed his sword. “You are either the best liar I've ever met, or you're insane. I'm not certain which.”

  “A little of both, Aerion,” Aramer gave a deep bow, “A little of both.”

  “So...” Aerion bit his lip, “All the rest, your stories, everything was a lie?”

  “Not everything,” Aramer shook his head, “The best lies have some part of truth. You ask, I believe, because I spoke of your village. The truth is, I did know your mother, and I have visited Watkowa.” Aramer rubbed his jaw again, “Aerion, have you heard of the High King's Heralds?”

  “What?” Aerion asked. The change of subject threw him for a moment, and the few stories he remembered took some time to gather into a coherent thought. “They were messengers, right? Back before the Sundering, they carried the High King's orders and that sort of thing.”

  “They were more than that,” Aramer said. “Much more. They acted as his couriers, his investigators, and as the need arose, they became his spies and assassins.”

  “Assassins?” Aerion
said. The thought jarred with the stories he remembered of the High Kings and their rule.

  “Yes, sometimes certain high nobles hereditary power and prestige mixed with an individuals naked ambition and corruption endangered the Kingdom, threatened civil war or worse. Sometimes such evils had to be disposed of, in a manner that both served as an example and prevented further bloodshed.” Aramer shrugged, “It was not, as I understand, a common occurrence, but in two thousand cycles, it did happen more than once.”

  Aramer looked out at the rain with a sour expression, “Hold on.” He rooted through his large chest and pulled out a second folding camp chair. “I never expect guests, but I prepare for everything.” He set the chair up near his own, on which he sat down backwards, arms crossed and resting on the chair back. “Come in out of the rain, this will take some time and we might as well be comfortable, right?”

  Aerion took the seat with some hesitation, but Aramer made no hostile action or gesture. After a moment he settled to the chair, which creaked alarmingly but held under his weight.

  “When Moral killed his father, High King Haden, when he shattered the Starblade... well, it ended so much. Like many of the Royal Guard, the Heralds were at the Plains of Sorrow, many fell in that battle and many more died in Moral's short but terrible rule after the Sundering,” Aramer sighed, “During the reign of the High Kings, many Heralds intermarried, often there were long bloodlines and extended families of those who had served the High Kings for centuries, some since the very founding of the Starborn High Kings.”

  Aerion frowned, this all seemed ancient history. “The High Kings have been gone a thousand cycles... not to be rude, but why does this all matter?”

  “Because, not all the Heralds died. Moreover, many of those old families survived. They lost their King, but they still served in his name.” Aramer shrugged. “We are a secretive lot, often clannish and never operating in the open. Herald families still keep the old traditions, still travel the roads and sometimes take on tasks of which we feel the High King would approve.”