by Kal Spriggs
Kerrel whipped her head around and tried to shake her red hair out of her eyes. She saw a motion to her left. Too late, she tried to bring her saber around and caught the blow full on her armor instead. The ax blow nearly knocked her out of the saddle. She thrust awkwardly across her body and managed to get her attacker to back away. Before she could turn Nightwhisper, the horse had moved on into another clump of the enemy.
Kerrel felt an arrow smash into her breastplate. She looked up to see a cluster of archers near the edge of the woods. “Take the archers!” she shouted. Her cry reached Baran, who spun his mount around and he led three more of her men at the enemy archers.
Kerrel returned her attention to the fight just in time. She caught a spear thrust with her saber. She wished that she had time to draw her own shield or at least had followed Hector's advice and donned her helmet. She ran her saber down the spear haft and sliced the fingers of her attacker. The man let out a howl and dropped his spear and Kerrel rode him down.
Kerrel saw one of her men go down to a sword thrust from behind. She caught his killer with a slash of her saber. A horse screamed as one of the assassins hamstrung it, and Kerrel felt sick as she saw it roll over its rider. Kerrel hacked down at the nearest assassin and split his face.
A moment later, she spun her mount to find no more enemies in reach. She looked up to see that the last of the enemy had fallen. Her troops milled around in confusion for a moment, until she saw Baran had one of the musicians sound a recall.
As she spun Nightwhisper around, she found Lord Hector and his bodyguards almost directly behind her.
“You're hurt,” he said. His face showed sudden concern.
Kerrel glanced down at the arrow in her leg. The pain hit her all at once. She grimaced. “It's not bad. Just in the meat, I think. I'll have one of my medics see to it.”
“Be certain,” He looked around. “Your cousin Jonal commanded the sentries?”
Kerrel frowned, “Well, yes. I sent him out to command them after I got your message, two days ago. I normally give him such tasks to improve his skills.” She hoped that Jonal and her other sentries had survived. She did not know how the enemy had slipped past them, but clearly they had.
“Good to know,” Hector said. “Once your people have had their wounds treated, reform them and get them back to camp. I will have one of the other companies relieve your of patrol duty, so that you can treat your wounded.” The concern had disappeared from his voice, and Kerrel saw that same distracted look to his face. What changed, she wondered. “There will be a meeting for all officers in my tent in three days time.”
“Yes, sir,” Kerrel said. She glanced down at the arrow in her thigh, “I may be a little late.” She had blocked the pain out in the fight, but it had seriously begun to hurt. She felt nausea twist her stomach.
Hector gave a snort, “Well, be sure to be there, you won't want to miss it.”
***
King Simonel Greeneye
The Green Heart, The Eastwood
First of Tremarn (Tremarn's Feast), cycle 999 Post Sundering
Simonel paused as he stepped into the Founding and saw Seraphai and Amelia. They stood in discussion with Tirianis and he felt a sudden surge of jealousy at the ease with which they talked with her. Yet, he felt pride, too, for Tirianis could win over anyone given enough time.
“Good evening, ladies,” Simonel said. All three turned to face him, Seraphai gave him a slight nod, while Amelia gave him a polite curtsey and Tirianis a graceful bow.
“Good evening to you King Simonel,” Amelia said. For a moment, the evening shadows softened her face and Simonel had to fight an urge to stroke one hand through her blonde curls. Now wouldn't that make things ever so much more... complicated, he thought wryly.
“Welcome to Mystvain Guli, or as you would say, the Green Heart,” Simonel said. “Though I am certain by your appearance that Tirianis has introduced you to quarters, clothes and the springs?”
“Yes,” Amelia answered, and he saw her flush slightly. “Though she didn't mention that men and women share the area for bathing.”
“A slight oversight,” Tirianis said, her voice solemn, “We of the Eastwood, of course, would never make any note of such a thing, after all. Why, it must have slipped my mind that you would find such a thing embarrassing.” At the same time, Simonel saw her give him a slight nod. He felt some relief at the signal that Tirianis felt confident that Amelia would only suffer minor embarrassment by such exposure and not trauma from her ordeals. That the young woman had progressed so much under her care made him grateful yet again for her offer of help.
“How are you liking the Green Heart, cousin?” Simonel asked. He turned his gaze to the red-headed woman. She met his gaze with violet eyes eerily similar to his late father's. He could see the darkness that lurked behind her eyes, though, as well as the shadows of something else. The will of the blade or perhaps even its master lurks there, he thought.
Seraphai spoke softly, “It is similar to home, though we certainly have more buildings and there's father's tower.”
“Yes... the Tower of Noth,” Tirianis said, her voice soft. “I would love to hear you describe it. Unlike Simonel, I have never been there to see it.” Her voice was eager and it reminded him that she had rushed to adulthood and so missed out on his own adventures in the wider world.
“It is incredible,” Simonel said. He thought back on his travel to the Shrouded Isle. Looking back, he saw how foolish he had been, to brave the island's defenses without obtaining permission to visit. A mixture of luck and guidance had seen him through, but only barely. Though, he would admit, the island was a marvel to see, protected as it was by defenses based upon the Eastwood's own Veil. Our now-sundered Veil, he thought darkly, and we can only hope that a new Enchantress will be chosen soon, else how will our defenses heal?
“Simonel, why don't you and Amelia go on ahead to the feast? I wanted to hear Seraphai describe her home, you know the deep curiosity I always felt for her father's island,” Tirianis said.
“Yes... of course.” Simonel could read the unspoken part of her request. She had not yet had time to speak with Seraphai alone or to evaluate how strong her bond to the sword had become.
Simonel offered Amelia his arm, “My Lady?”
For a second, he felt his heart stop as she blushed at his gesture. Yet she regained her composure in only a moment and he remembered to breath,“Thank you, King Simonel, you are very kind to your guests.”
Despite himself, he could not help from responding, “Well, only the guests I really like.” He heard her laugh politely, yet he realized how open he had become to her. That, in particular, was a danger he could not afford. Especially so soon after the loss of his father. The memory of his death and the attack brought an end to his elated spirits. “What do you know about Tremarn's Feast?”
She frowned, “Only some of the legends we have from the Viani, I fear.” She paused in thoughtful silence for a long moment, “I know that each of the months is named for one of the founding tribal leaders, the ancient kings of the Viani and...” she trailed off and managed to say, “the People of the Eastwood, as well. The first of each month is a feast day. The Starborn adopted the calendar and we've used the feast days for our own holidays as well.”
“True,” Simonel said. He considered his people's history for a long moment, “Tremarn's feast has some particular significance to us, as a people. Tremarn was Maghali Mede's closest friend and companion. He was also one of the men who cautioned him that our peoples had grown too far away from the natural order of things.” Simonel shrugged, “Tremarn's Feast is midway between the Spring Equinox and Summer Solstice which begins the new cycle. In many ways it is a forging of new times, a beginning of the rebirth of the world.”
“That's interesting,” Amelia said with a frown. “I fear that the Summer Solstice is not a happy event for most of the Five Duchies, for the last of the High Kings was slain that day, almost a thousand cycles ago.”
“So, too, was Tremarn slain on that day,” Simonel said softly, “As always, rebirth is often heralded with bloodshed. What you call Sundering Day was once a great feast day and holiday, but it has fallen out of fashion with us, as well.” He sighed a bit, “And all peoples call the Winter Solstice Andoral's Day.”
He saw her shiver a bit, almost as if she felt some echo of that chill winter day, when their continent had the shortest part of daylight to stand against the longest hours of darkness. Andoral Elhonas, he thought, the fallen prince, the dark one... and yet the center of so many of my people's traditions.
As they walked, the vibrant green growth of the trees gave out into an emerald expanse of soft, low grass. Stones spaced about the clearing held silver platters with crystal goblets or trays of confections. At the center sat a stone platform, rough hewn and worn by ages of weather and use. A long stone table sat atop the platform, ringed by elaborately carved wooden chairs, each worthy of the title of throne.
“Welcome, Lady Amelia, to Amuz Nebeli, the Founding in your tongue, my people's most revered location,” Simonel said. “Here Maghali Mede united my people over five thousand cycles ago... and here we hold court.” He gave a wave to encompass it all, “You are one of only twelve guests to this place since his death.”
Amelia took it all in, “It's beautiful... thank you.”
Simonel pointed to the stone platform, “We'll not step up there now, but that is where the Council meets. That is the Founding Stone and the center of our kingdom.” He saw Amelia nod, and he held back a smile at how lovely she looked. I cannot afford thoughts such as that, he thought and he turned his gaze out to the Founding. Simonel saw dozens of his people already present, most in conversation around food or drink. As he watched, others emerged into the clearing, many dressed in elaborate finery, though some wore their normal clothing and others wore nothing at all.
He heard Amelia gasp, and looked over to see Irios step out of the trees to his right. The Elder stood tall, on his four horse-like legs. Simonel gave the elder a wave of welcome, and walked over to greet him. He felt Amelia slightly resist the movement, but he gave her a single, reassuring smile, and she came along. Simonel gave Irios a deep bow, “It is good to see you, ancient one.”
“You, as well... young King,” Irios said. The mage had become reclusive long before Simonel's birth, yet his genius had developed many of the plants and animals which made his people's comfortable exile in the Eastwood possible.
He had last seen the ancient as a tiny child. A matter which Irios chose to to remind him, perhaps simply to amuse Amelia, “Last we met, you tried to climb me. It seemed that a horse with a man's upper half held too much wonder for you not to try to ride me, as well.”
“I was a bare three cycles, old, ancient one,” Simonel objected, “I think I have matured at least a little, since then.”
“Perhaps,” Irios said. Then, to Simonel's surprise, he gave a deep bow. He lowered his front half to his knees, before he rose to his feet, “Though I mourn your father's passing, I honor you as his rightful heir, you are a True King.”
Simonel swallowed a sudden lump in his throat, “Thank you, Irios. You honor me. I know how much my father respected your wisdom, and I only hope that you can give me such good advice.”
Irios gave a slight smile, “Your father was so surprised whenever I showed up that he never had the opportunity to disagree with anything I said. But thank you, I considered him a good friend.” The mage gave a nod of his head, “But I will take up no more of your time, especially since we are here to greet your guest, the first Royal Guest in... quite some time. And quite a beauty, at that. I greet you, Lady Amelia of Boir.”
Amelia gave a curtsey in return, “Thank you Irios, I am pleased to meet you.”
Irios cocked his head slightly, “You are of Starborn lineage, though you have no spellgrafts. Should you wish, let me know I and it would be my pleasure to perform any work you wish. As you can see... I do body augmentation as well as other things.”
Amelia smiled, though Simonel sensed some strain in her face. “Thank you, I appreciate that.”
“The peace of the Eastwood be with you,” Irios nodded to them both, and then cantered away towards a cluster of Enchanters.
“Are many of your people... like that?” Amelia asked.
Simonel felt a spike of defensiveness at her tone. “Free to explore whatever they wish?”
She flushed, “It's not that... It's just, how can he... you know... have children?” Her voice rose to a squeak of embarrassment at the end.
“Oh.” Simonel stared at her for a moment. From that perspective, he thought he saw her point and also where the misunderstanding lay. “Amelia, Irios is... well, he lived during the time of Maghali Mede, four thousand cycles before the Starborn arrived. He has had dozens of children, his children have had children, and their children.”
“Oh.”
“Yes, he is, even by our standards, considered to be of extreme age. He has served our people so well and he remains a source of wisdom and knowledge that is unsurpassed. If he chooses to modify his body, even if it were a form we found monstrous, we would still not gainsay him that right.” Simonel didn't mention the madness that fell over many of his people as they grew older. Some kept it a bay with elaborate hobbies or more esoteric forms of entertainment. Others, such as Irios, held it at bay through the discovery of new experiences. Still others sought challenges that tested their bodies and minds to the utmost limits and as often as not, they died in such a fashion.
“Alright,” Amelia said. “What about that one, is that a real dragon?”
Simonel looked over and he gave a slight nod, “One of the lesser ones. There are a handful that shelter in our lands. They find even our race of men to be ephemeral, but they find our lifestyle relaxing.” He frowned, “I believe that one is Axcenatos, though I still have trouble recognizing them by appearance. Would you like to meet him?”
“Is he... dangerous?” Amelia asked.
“Oh, extremely.” Simonel smiled slightly, “But those who live among our people agreed to abide by our rules and the one thing a True Dragon will never willingly do is break their word.” He guided her by the arm towards the dragon. He felt her heart beat race through their entwined arms, and for a moment, her wonder made him see his home with new eyes. The brightly dressed people, still whole and hardy after centuries and even millennium, the lush green trees and the silk banners that decorated them. And he saw the dragon through her eyes as a powerful and ancient creature, which measured time in geological movement.
“Well met, Simonel, King of the Eastwood,” the dragon said, as they drew near. “Axcenatos, son of Revantarus greets you.”
“Thank you, Axcenatos,” Simonel gave a slight bow, “This is the Royal Guest, Lady Amelia Tarken of Boir.”
The dragon's great scaled head lowered, and it peered at her, “You seem familiar, child. I knew a Amelia from Boir, she asked me a question once, one which I could not answer.”
“Perhaps it was a relative?” Simonel asked, intrigued.
“I was named for my great grandmother,” Amelia said. “Perhaps... though I don't know how you might have met her, she was the Duke's wife, and as far as I know, she never left Boirton.”
“You still seem familiar...” the dragon said. “I shall think on that.”
They stood in an awkward silence for a moment before Simonel nodded at Amelia and they moved away. The dragon seemed unaware of their presence or their departure. “Are they all like that?” Amelia asked. He could tell she was confused at the dragon's behavior, how it seemed lost in its own thoughts.
“No, some are quite mad,” Simonel said, his voice sad. “When I was a child, one of those came to the Eastwood. My father and some of his best hunters had to put it down. Thankfully, it was barely bigger than Axcenatos. Even so, many of the hunters died.”
“Bigger than Axcenatos?” Amelia asked.
“Yes, he's young for his kind, t
he older ones are larger, and the Ancient Dragons dwarf everything,” Simonel said, his voice soft. “I met Jaasendieth once, when I traveled the outside world. His head would serve as a base to rest this platform on. His teeth tower like trees.” Amelia seemed shaken by that and Simonel decided that some happier change of topic was in order, “I must introduce you to Jasmine and Jasper, everyone loves the twins,” Simonel said. “Just be careful, they craft clothing and armor for a living. Once they learn that you have no wardrobe, you will not escape them.”
Amelia gave a slight laugh and Simonel led her off to meet more of his people.
***
Captain Elias Wachter
The Ubelfurst, the Boir Sea
Second of Tremarn, cycle 999 Post Sundering
Captain Elias nodded at the Admiral as he stepped aboard the bridge deck, “Good morning, sir.”
“And to you, Captain,” Admiral Tarken said crisply. His blue eyes went to the horizon. “How are things aboard ship?”
Captain Elias bit back a grimace, for he understood the unsaid remainder. After Siara Pall's punishment, certain members of the sailors had become sullen and, in particular, a number of the Marines had taken to lingering in the sick berth during their off-duty hours in an unofficial guard roster. The absurdity of protecting her from the man she had brutally beaten had initially struck Captain Elias as amusing... until he realized that such an unofficial chain of command undercut his own position.
A rash of 'mistakes' regarding Midshipman Schultz's assigned tasks had not gone unnoticed either, although various sailor's creativity had certainly made the crew's displeasure with one Midshipman Randal Schultz abundantly clear.
“I think things have returned mostly to normal, Admiral,” Captain Elias spoke frankly. “With the exception that Midshipman Schultz has reported that his injuries have kept him confined to quarters more than the ship's doctor thinks entirely necessary.”
“Malingering?” The Admiral asked.