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

by Kal Spriggs

Hector gave her a single nod. He waited as one of his men returned with a handful of straws. Kerrel took the time to study Commander Pradjahdar. The Vendakar mercenary stood shorter than most of the others in the room, but his disproportionately broad shoulders and thick arms made him look even shorter. He had the caramel skin tone and sharply defined facial features that Kerrel recognized from other Vendakar she met. His hair, however, ran in a white-gold cascade down his back, longer than her own. His eyes, also, were a pale rose color and flecks of gold shone in his iris. He met her gaze with one of calm arrogance. When she looked away from his strange eyes, a slight smile crooked his lips.

  The straws arrived and Hector's man moved quickly around the tent. She felt a surge of relief as Pargan of the Mongrels raised one of the short straws. He gave her a slight nod and Kerrel had a moment of hope for her cousin's survival.

  That hope faded as Commander Nasrat held up the second of the straws. He cleared his throat slightly, “It appears I will command the tribunal as the senior man.”

  One of the junior officers from Hector's personal troops raised the third short straw. He moved to stand next to Nasrat. Kerrel shot a glance over at Jonal. His bruised and bloodied face showed despair. Kerrel's hand dropped to the hilt of her sword. He met her gaze and he shook his head slightly. Even he can see that to fight now would get us both killed.

  Kerrel gave a slight sigh. She looked over at Hector, who stood in conversation with one of his officers. He looked up a moment later, “Now that this issue is settled, on to business. Our witches have confirmed that the other Armen raid camps have heard of our previous victory. They have also heard of the successful Armen attack against Boir.” He paused and his gaze swept the waiting officers, almost as if to take their measure. “Every Armen raider remaining on the island has moved to consolidate and my spies say they will march on the Lonely Keep in one week.”

  “Every Armen?” one of the mercenaries asked. “Surely not all of them– ”

  “There are four thousand of them,” Hector said. “And they know that with their numbers, they can overwhelm our scattered elements. Therefore, all of my forces will consolidate on the Lonely Keep. My messengers have already called for all available forces to converge there. We will defeat the Armen at Lonely Keep.”

  Kerrel could have cut the silence with a knife.

  Hector looked around the tent one last time. “We will march out in the morning. Commander Nasrat has established a patrol plan for our cavalry to screen our infantry as we move back to the south. Priority of effort will be our heavy infantry, then skirmishers, and lastly our baggage train. If we run into any delaying forces, we will push through, I will not allow this army to get bogged down and then destroyed by the Armen's superior numbers.”

  Hector's gaze swept the tent again. He seemed satisfied with the determined looks that he received in return. He gave a nod. “Very well, more specific orders will be delivered later tonight. Make your preparations.”

  ***

  Chapter Twelve

  Captain Grel, the Duke's Hound

  The Tucola Forest, Zielona Gora Barony, Duchy of Masov

  First of Tremarn, cycle 999 Post Sundering

  “My Lord Hector, I must apologize, it seems the prey has slipped the net,” Grel spoke down into the small mirror and he heard his liege lord's voice reply a moment later.

  “Yes. From what you said, they were clever about it and some of our mercenaries weren't nearly as capable as they implied. What happened with the witch? You assured me that she could take them,” Hector said.

  “She's a witch, my Lord. They might have offered her better payment,” Grel said. “My men have met up with her and I'll question her when she arrives.”

  “Very well. If she betrayed us make an example of her. If not, send her to the north, I could use another witch on the front.” Hector sounded almost bored. “This imposter has grown irritating. The raid went too successfully and whoever planned their escape timed things very well. You say your scouts report more than fifty?”

  “Yes, my Lord, somewhere over fifty, possibly sixty horses, and their attack force met up with the rest of their people here at the edge of the forest,” Grel said.

  “Very well. Take a company and hunt them down. Capture whoever is directing this imposter, but kill the girl. The last thing I need is the bitch getting loose or someone else using her as a puppet. Out,” The mirror went cold in Grel's hand.

  The Hound gave a small snort, “So much for easy meat.”

  “Sir, the witch arrived,” Grel's second in command, Naran, said.

  “Very well,” Grel stepped out of the shelter of his tent. He saw Moratha immediately and he grunted as she refused to dismount. The witch was a short woman, with dark, curly hair and she wore a deep blue dress. Her tan skin was smooth and even, though Grel suspected she'd used magic of one sort or another to enhance her looks. Some druids could be convinced to do that... and from her reputation, she might even see fit to deal with a sorcerer. She looked down at him with a calm expression and he glared up at her with a sullen anger at her refusal to dismount so he would have the advantage of height.

  He felt his anger drain away and a chill go up his spine as he met her gaze, despite his own protections. Her strange, mismatched eyes met his with confidence he did not trust. The violet and yellow eyes contrasted so sharply that each almost made the other seem to glow. Grel had to clear his voice before he spoke, “My scouts confirm you met them, yet I see no prisoners or dead. Lord Hector has already offered substantial payment for the death of this impostor-”

  “The Usurper didn't give me enough to fight a wizard, particularly not the one who has chosen to protect her.” Moratha interrupted, “And you and I both know the girl is no impostor.” Her voice was cold, leached of her normal friendly charms. She knows she doesn't need to pretend with me, Grel thought.

  Grel gave her a scowl. He chose to ignore her last words, especially with so many ears around. “A wizard? Who is he?” Any rune worker strong enough to go by the title of wizard was, by nature, knowledgeable and dangerous.

  Moratha shook her head, “More powerful than me and if you want more than that, we can discuss the price of information. However, I am in your master's debt, so if he would consider that information payment...”

  “No. Lord Hector says that as long as you didn't betray him, he wants your skinny ass up in the north. Seems the Armen spirits are more feisty this cycle and two witches won't cut it.” Grel spat. “You can go, witch.”

  “A pleasure, as always, dog.” Moratha gave a polite nod and then urged her hose into motion. Her fourteen silent guards followed behind.

  “Why let her go?” Naran asked. Unlike most of his men, Naran knew more of what was going on. Grel didn't trust him with all of their business, but enough that he could make some limited decisions on his own. The good thing about Naran was that he was smart enough to know he wasn't as smart as Grel, so he didn't try to out-think him or worse, to get the upper hand. He just did what he thought Grel would want. Sometimes, though, the joy he took in their work got the better of him.

  Grel turned a glare on his second in command. “Because Hector would question us killing her and she could probably take down a lot of the men with her. And she's got her puppet-men.” Grel felt fairly confident he would survive that, but he didn't want to risk his neck, not when he felt certain he could slip a dagger in her back some other day. The thought brought a smirk to his face, especially as he imagined what he might do while he watched her bleed out.

  He saw Naran give a disappointed look in the direction of the witch, but he clapped him on the shoulder. “We've got those rebels to hunt down. You'll get some killing soon.”

  His face brightened, but he still sounded anxious when he spoke. “I hope so, its been boring since that village up in the hills,” Naran said. “And the handful of bandits we caught before that...”

  “Yeah, I know.” Grel sighed a bit, Naran knew his job, but he tended to get antsy
when the fighting grew slim. “Look, go and prepare our men, and tell...Henderson to get his men ready as well. Let the others know to head back to their posts.”

  Naran nodded, and a broad smile lit up his face when he realized that Henderson's troop of mercenaries had only slightly less of a bloodthirsty reputation than Grel's men. The Hound watched the other man jog away and shook his head, “Like a little naughty little boy.”

  He stepped back into his tent and drew out his mirror again. He activated a set of runes on its surface and the mirror grew warm again. This time, however, it was not Hector's voice that answered. “What is it, Grel?” the high pitched voice on the other end sounded impatient. Best if I give him something else to focus his ire on, Grel thought.

  “My Lord, the woman and her followers escaped. They encountered Moratha, who said they had a wizard, powerful enough to scare her off.” Grel closed his eyes, hopeful that enough mitigating factors would prevent any of his master's anger from focusing on him.

  “That's... interesting news. Which direction are they headed?” Xavien asked. His tone was ambiguous, which made Grel's stomach twist in terror. He'd seen Xavien rip a man's guts out of his body in just such a tone, before.

  “West. They captured horses from some of Hector's new hires and they cut across country, but they should reach the road before sunset,” Grel said. He didn't volunteer any more information. Xavien didn't pay him to talk or to think for that matter. If Grel didn't hate the man so much he would envy him for the fear he managed to encourage among his employees. Come to think of it, I still envy him, even though I want to kill him, he thought.

  “That is very interesting. I am glad you contacted me, Grel. This changes things, somewhat. They will make the Ryft Peaks in a week... possibly less,” Xavien said. “Take one company, men who won't ask too many questions. I wouldn't recommend your own men, though; we may have to dispose of them after.”

  “Understood, my Lord. Should I depart tonight?”

  “No. Leave in the morning, that will be sufficient.” Xavien paused. “I will need to finish up my current task. I will meet you with some... allies along the way. Keep the mirror on you, I will track you with it.”

  Grel felt sweat break out on his forehead, “Sir, in addition, the witch, Moratha said that she knew the girl was no imposter-”

  “Moratha will not bring that up to Hector, not when she knows it'll annoy me to lose you,” Xavien answered. “But don't worry, Grel, I'll caution her against any thought of blackmail. She knows better than to anger me.”

  Grel let out a relieved breath, but Xavien's next words caused his blood to freeze.

  “Of course... If things don't work out, I shall be very disappointed in your failure to kill the heir the first time I sent you after her,” Xavien said. “And that level of disappointment tends towards the fatal end of the spectrum.”

  ***

  Lady Amelia Tarken

  The Eastwood

  Sixth of Tremarn, cycle 999 Post Sundering

  Amelia spun in place and her dress flared out around her. Jasmine gave Amelia a broad smile and clapped her hands, “Excellent! It is always such a pleasure to work with you, such a change from my normal efforts.”

  Amelia snorted, “A very polite way of calling me a short, fat cow.” Still, when she looked down, she had to admit that Jasmine had done wonders with what she had to work with . The dress started a deep blue at the top, and faded to an emerald green at the bottom. The flared gown set off her figure well, though it did little to make Amelia stand any taller.

  Jasmine shook her head, “Our people are slender, yes, and it is something that some have taken too far, in my opinion. You are far from fat, however. And your height makes you stand out and it is an additional challenge, especially to craft armor.”

  “And I do so love challenges,” Jasper said from nearby. He still labored on the leather scales, each of which, so he'd said, would receive parts of a high magic weave so that the whole would interlock in a fashion stronger than steel.

  “I told you before, I don't need armor,” Amelia said. She rolled her eyes at the pair of them. Simonel had cautioned her wisely, for they seemed determined to equip her with an entire wardrobe of clothing.

  “Everyone needs armor,” Jasper said. “Especially my armor. Cloth and leather to turn a blade or spell... and though you are protected as a royal guest and by your age, it does not hurt to have a more physical protection.”

  “Protected by my age?” Amelia asked. That sounded odd and she couldn't help but frown at her own reflection.

  “You are under the age of majority,” Jasmine answered. “You're little more than a child to us, unless you established your adulthood with the Council, you'll retain the protections of any child.”

  “Child?” Amelia said. She heard her own voice turn frosty, “I am no child, I'm almost fifteen cycles, veritably an old maid by the standards of Boir nobility.” In large part because of what happened with Xavien, she thought. Then again, she was glad that her father hadn't been forced to marry her off to some empty-headed nobleman for some minor political favor. Thank the ancestors that father never played those games, Amelia thought.

  Jasmine and Jasper burst into laughter and Amelia felt herself flush in anger and embarrassment. She glared between the pair of them while they chuckled, until Jasper finally shook his head and managed to speak. “My dear, I am over seven centuries old, and compared to some, I am still considered a 'flighty young woman.' Among our people, the age of majority is four centuries for a woman and four hundred and forty four cycles for a man. That is why you are protected.”

  “But...” Amelia shook her head, “Most people die of old age before they reach a quarter of that. And that is a very long life to a Starborn.” She had heard legends about some Starborn approaching that age, but not even the first Starborn to Eoriel had surpassed that, even with their medications and treatments.

  Jasmine shrugged, “It is a trivial thing for our people and it allows young people to learn their own boundaries, to experiment, and test the patience of their elders. King Simonel has only just reached his majority...” Her voice went hard, “The very same night that we were attacked, actually.”

  “Oh,” Amelia felt a shock, she knew that Simonel had more experience than her, but the thought that he lived over four centuries made her head spin. The implications took her a long moment to think through, which left the largest assumption she'd had as flawed. “When did he marry Tirianis?” Amelia asked distantly.

  “Marry–” Jasmine stared at Amelia, her mouth wide open in surprise. “Why that's preposterous! It would be as if Jasper and I married!”

  “Why?” Amelia could not keep a tone of bitterness from her voice, “She's beautiful, smart, wise...”

  “And his sister!” Jasmine shook her head. “I don't know what policies your people follow, but incest is something that we do not tolerate.”

  “His sister?” Amelia asked. She couldn't help the tone of surprise in her voice.

  “Yes, his twin sister, younger by a few seconds,” Jasper said. He cocked his head, “Did you truly not realize that?”

  “I never asked,” Amelia said. She felt stunned by the information, which seemed to make so much sense now, when she actually considered it. “Sorry, I made a fool of myself with that, I had no idea.” She did not feel sorry though, she felt a sudden hope spark. Too bad he's never shown any interest in me, Amelia thought, not even the least flirtation, always so proper...

  “Well, not your fault,” Jasmine said, “Though I'm glad you didn't say something like that in public, the ones who don't like you would definitely use that against you.”

  “What?” Amelia asked. She didn't know that she was seen as important enough that someone would seek to use anything against her. Hadn't these two just said she was seen as a child? That's probably part of why Simonel doesn't see me as attractive, she thought, how could you be attracted to a child... or a mayfly?

  The twins looked at ea
ch other. Amelia didn't catch the flow of emotions that flickered across their faces. She felt a sudden temptation to open herself to their thoughts and emotions, but squashed it after a brief struggle. They had shown her generosity and friendship, she would not betray their trust by an invasion of the privacy of their minds. She saw Jasmine chew on her lip and she finally spoke, “There are some, you must realize, who do not value your presence here.”

  “I've met some who did not seem...” Amelia frowned as she searched for the right word, finally she shrugged, “Well, they were rude and clearly dislike me.” That seemed the best way to describe it. Most of the Wold she'd met were either indifferent to her presence or were like Jasper and Jasmine, so excited with the prospect of a new person to talk with. And why not, Amelia acknowledged, when they've practically forever to relive the same conversations with the same people? The thought actually made her cringe, trapped with the same people forever, in a sort of prison. No wonder some of them did things to themselves, like the mage Irios.

  “Yes,” Jasper said. “Your directness gets to the heart of it. Despite your status as King Simonel's guest, in some cases because of it, there are those who hate you.”

  “Because of what Xavien... used me for?” Amelia asked.

  “Yes, for some, but it goes beyond that at this point,” Jasmine said gently. She looked over at Jasper, who gave her a nod. “We hear a great deal of gossip, almost everyone comes to us for fittings and they often have little to do here for hours besides talk. We hear things from many people. Many, most even, consider you charming, if young, and they no longer fault you for your part in the attack we suffered.”

  Jasper spoke then, “But some still do, some lost too deeply, and others fear the change that your arrival brings. We have not had a Royal Guest in many centuries. More, we have not tolerated an unwelcome intruder to our lands since before your Sundering. Many of my people remember the arrival of your ancestors to our world, and no few number of them view you as interlopers.”