by Kal Spriggs
Siara didn't say anything in response, and Christoffer shook his head, “How are you settling into the crew, no further... incidents?”
She gave him a slight smile, “Admiral, things have gone very well. I understood the punishment I received before. I thank you again for this opportunity.” She frowned, “I did, however, have a question about one of the crew members.”
“Yes?” Christoffer asked.
“The one... Carpenter's Mate Brussels, he is... what you call a mageborn?” She asked hesitantly.
“Yes,” Christoffer gave a slight frown. “He's an earthblood. They are the most common of the mageborn and, after the Angelus and the Gryphs, the most recognizable.”
“I had not realized that your people made mageborn,” Siara Pall said. “Did his parents fall into debt or were they some kind of criminals?”
Christoffer stared at her in surprise. She thinks we did that to the poor bastard, he realized. He shook his head in denial, “No, we do not condone such mistreatment of the unborn. I don't know Carpenter's Mate Brussels' specific history, but all mageborn in the Five Duchies are those born to mageborn families or created by rogue sorcerers.” He closed his eyes against a familiar pain, “And when we find someone has meddled in that area of blood magic, they face death. The most common punishment for sorcery is to be burned at the stake.”
Siara Pall stared at him, as if uncertain of the truth of his words.
“I assure you, we do not allow such perversion of someone's future,” Christoffer said. “I will admit, there is some level of prejudice against mageborn, but much of that is due in part to how sorcerers often control them to further their own ends. Much as we allow female enlisted, we welcome mageborn, though I will admit that the other common mageborn clans tend to stick to themselves. Only the Earthblood are commonly found among our ranks.”
“I think I understand,” Siara Pall said slowly. “I apologize for any insult I might have made... its just that having seen the Darkstar Mageborn, I thought that Brussels must be some equivalent.”
“Darkstar Mageborn?” Christoffer asked, he vaguely remembered stories of them, but he was vague on the specifics. He had never paid much attention to such rumors.
She nodded slowly, “They are their police and enforcers and sometimes act as their spies and assassins.” Christoffer saw her shiver at some memory. “They raise them to be fanatically loyal to the Masters of Darkstar. We know them for the symbol that burns on their foreheads, a sigil of black flame. It is their mark of authority.”
Christoffer frowned, “I had not heard of this, though it fits with what little I have heard of the Darkstar.” He shook his head, “I honestly had not thought much about them, or how their lands must be. They have always been a distant menace.”
“My people don't have that option, though many of the Solak have joined the Darkstar. Some feel that their Masters follow in the steps of the Dark Warrior, though the rest of us view them as misguided heretics.”
“The Dark Warrior you speak of, it is Andoral Elhonas?” Christoffer asked.
Siara nodded and she stood a little straighter, “Indeed. Our founder, the perfect warrior.” Her tone was one of pride.
“Is it true that your people worship his spirit?” Christoffer asked. He couldn't help his own note of skepticism. The histories he'd read which mentioned him painted him as a horrific and violent figure.
Siara smiled, “It is a common misconception. Most of us view him with reverence, though there are some clans who worship him as a god, most of the Solak seek to emulate him. We revere him as we do our own ancestors.” Her eyes went distant, “For women, of course, we can never approach his level of skill, but our greatest heroes are often compared to him.”
Christoffer frowned, “You speak as if he did great deeds. Our people tell the story differently.” He shrugged, “Though truth to tell, my ancestors came to this world long after his time.” All their histories that mentioned Andoral Elhonas came from either the Viani or the time of the Dragon Kings, who only had legends passed down from their first arrival to Eoriel.
“Of course,” she shrugged. “The Armen served as his main army, and the Solak as his royal guard. We know he did many things that the Viani and other southerners find unpleasant, but at the same time, he accomplished things no normal man could hope to match.” She held up her hands, “In battle, only the Viani's king could match him, both in combat and in strategy. In magic, he surpassed the greatest wizards of the day, matched only by Eianos. In love, he seduced countless women and fathered dozens of children. His poetry brings tears to the eyes of men after six thousand cycles. He led my people to victory after victory, undefeated until he was finally betrayed by his own son.”
“But look at the mess he left behind,” Christoffer argued. “The Semat raiders pillage across your lands and ours. The fall of the Viani brought centuries of chaos before the rise of the Dragon Kings. Look how much destruction that time wrought and how long your kin have threatened mine.”
Siara Pall shrugged, “One could say the same of the Starborn and their High Kings. They allowed their exiles to found the Darkstar Kingdom and they have fought and conquered my people for three thousand cycles. Their downfall produced chaos that has lasted a thousand cycles here in the south. You want to talk about legacies, what about that, Admiral?”
Christoffer looked away from the anger in her eyes, “I know, from the histories, just how terribly my ancestors fought to defeat the Darkstar here. They very nearly seized control of the entire world.” He frowned, “But, I see your point.”
“I notice you have not argued against how I described your ancestors, the Starborn,” Siara said. “Why is that? I thought you southerner's very concerned with your bloodlines and that many of you still worshiped the spirits of your High Kings.”
Christoffer looked away, “I will admit that I am of Starborn lineage and even of one of the Great Houses, though it is not something that fills me with pride.” He found his hands clenched on the wooden arms of his chair. His knuckles had gone white and when he forced himself to relax, his hands tingled. “Some of the Houses have legacies that their descendants must atone for... and others have pasts best left forgotten.” He thought of his wife and his youngest son, both dead, and both an additional stain upon his family's already dark history.
“That is something that seems odd, to me,” Siara said. “In the north, we judge people by their deeds, not their blood. To be certain, your own accomplishments would make you a great leader, among my people. Perhaps even a Warlord.” Christoffer could hear the emphasis that she put upon the title. The Armen Warlords were powerful indeed, ruling over their harsh lands and harsher people in the north. The best of them were murderers and pillagers, the worst... they left their names etched in history with broad bloodstains.
Christoffer snorted, “It is good that I am from Boir then. The last thing I want is to be a warlord. I serve my duchy and the people in it.”
“But that is what a good warlord does, is it not?” Siara asked. “Or a good noble, I would imagine, among your people. And you have as much as said you have a noble bloodline, so why is it that you are so opposed to taking command?”
“I command men in battle. I am not suited or capable of commanding a civilian posting,” Christoffer said sharply. “I do not want that, I am not interested in it, and I am certain that there are those better suited for it.”
Siara Pall cocked her head, “I understand your argument, but it still seems...” She trailed off as she searched for the correct word.
“Honest?” Christoffer supplied with a smile.
“Childish,” Siara answered, her voice calm. “You have shown an ability to lead and to manage and your people revere you much as the Solak do my father. By your blood, you must be called to some position of authority, by your accomplishments you show that you have earned that position. I cannot understand why you do not see that.”
Christoffer stared at her for a moment in silence. When
he spoke, he could not help but add a tone of rebuke to his words, “I think that this discussion has gone full circle. I will say that I am uncertain why you seem to find this so important, but I ask that you drop it.”
She nodded, “Of course, Admiral. I just found it curious, that is all. Shall I start to draft your response to the Admiralty on the war golems?”
Christoffer nodded and quickly immersed himself in the report. Yet even so, he could not stop a nagging thought. She thinks I'm afraid of that kind of authority, he thought, she doesn't realize the reasons I have to fear. A part of him wanted to tell her, but the knowledge of that private shame burned too painfully for him to reveal it. Especially not with how he had come to respect her opinion and what such a revelation might do to their relationship.
***
Lady Katarina Emberhill
The Hidden Valley, Duchy of Masov
Eighth of Tremarn, cycle 999 Post Sundering
Aerion seemed little more than a wooden puppet as he led them up a winding trail. Katarina chewed on a lock of her hair as she followed him and Gerlin. They had dismounted and led the horses. Now and again Aerion would have to pause to confirm that they followed the right path.
Gerlin rode beside her. The scout seemed restless and he would occasionally peer up at the ridges around them or into clumps of brush and trees. Finally, he stopped his horse and pointed, “There, see that?”
Katarina looked up at the ridge and the odd rock formation that jutted from it to overlook their canyon. “Yes, the rocks, what about them?”
Arren spoke, “It's the ruins of a tower, not a natural rock formation.”
“Yes,” Gerlin said. “I know these mountains are littered with ruins...” his voice trailed off. He kicked at the sandy soil and pulled his dagger. He knelt and dug at the dirt of the trail for a moment.
Katarina waited, but she felt impatience build within her. “What are you doing?” She asked finally. They didn't have time for this. They needed to find this refuge, else more days on the trail would wear them all to the point of uselessness. If nothing else, they needed time to forage for food.
Gerlin snorted with laughter and stood. He wiped the blade of his dagger and sheathed it, before he looked up to meet her eyes. “There's flagstones, buried under the soil. That's why this trail is so clear of trees and brush.” He shook his head, “Old flagstones, I'd bet with some kind of cement underneath, probably a good sized road at one time. Ruins and more... If we weren't on more important business I would have half a mind to lead a treasure expedition up here and do some excavating.”
“Really?” Katarina looked around. “I doubt there's much of worth. Surely the locals would know if there was?” She thought, suddenly, of fabled Pacenair, the lost city of the Dragon Kings. She and Jarek had pretended to search for it when she was a child. Inadvertently, she found her eyes drawn to Aerion. I wonder what he knows, she thought.
Bulmor snorted, “They'd probably have looted anything of value in the past three thousand cycles or so.”
Gerlin shook his head and smiled, “I know, but the thought of what we could find!” He gave a grand wave, “Who knows, maybe even the lost city of Pacenair?” He unwittingly echoed Katarina's thoughts, though his tone had enough seriousness that she wondered if he'd gone in search of it before.
Bulmor just shook his head, “Don't tell me you believe in that old legend?”
Ahead of them, Katarina saw that Aerion had drawn to a halt. He looked around for a long moment before he turned and he looked up at the canyon walls “This is it, it looked different, somehow, but the valley is just ahead,” Aerion said, his voice somewhat resigned, almost as if he were afraid what he might find here. He looked back and gave them a small, sad smile, then led his horse around an out-thrust rock cropping.
Katarina gave a sigh of relief, both that he was willing to face this and that they had finally found the refuge. She hurried ahead, eager to turn this final corner. Katarina led her horse around the rocks and then gave a gasp in surprise.
Two towering rock pillars jutted above her, and between them lay a narrow gap, only fifteen feet across at the narrowest. A small stream cut through the center. What amazed her though, was the ancient carvings that ran up the sides of the gap and the intricately placed stones that formed the gateway to the valley.
Her shock at the beauty and the ancient signs of previous occupation meant that she did not notice something else.
“Halt!” A voice shouted from ahead.
Bulmor's head whipped up and he moved to stand before her. Over his shoulder, she saw a cluster of men had assembled in the gap, all of them armed.
“Who are you, and why have you come here?” The voice came from a big, dark haired man. Like the others, he wore clothing made from what looked like deerskin.
Katarina rested her hand on Bulmor's shoulder and stepped out from behind him. “I am Lady Katarina Emberhill, rightful heir to Duke Peter of the Duchy of Masov. I am pursued by some of the Usurper's forces. We only look for a place to rest for a few days.”
“That's a funny story,” the man said. “Next you'll tell me that small army you've got is servants and a court?” The big man had a bulk to him that suggested he had once weighed more and lost it.
Bulmor stepped forward, “They are men and women who have volunteered to fight Hector the Usurper. She is Lady Katarina and I will settle the issue by combat with any man who says differently.”
Katarina felt a spiteful surge of amusement as the larger man stepped back into his group. “Now then–”
“Wait,” Aerion said, shock in his voice, “Innkeeper Solis, is that you?” There was a moment of total silence. “And Samen, you made it out of the village?” Aerion asked. “I...”
The men at the gap slowly lowered their weapons, one of them stepped forward, “Is that you, Aerion?” His voice was incredulous.
Katarina looked back and forth in surprise. Could it be...
Before she could finish the thought, a woman's voice called out, “Aerion!” At that moment, a blonde woman shot through the gap and struck Aerion in the chest in a big hug. Katarina saw Aerion stumble back in surprise, the look on his face mingled shock and joy. “Mother?”
Katarina stared at the small woman and then at the huge son she'd brought into the world. She felt tears well up in her eyes and she hoped no one noticed as she wiped them away. Katarina would never have expected such a happy reunion. Somehow, in the face of it, she felt something like envy burn in her heart. No matter what, she would never get such a reunion with her family. My entire family is dead, she thought, but Aerion at least gets a second chance. She felt sudden shame for the bitterness of her thoughts.
She looked up as one of the men shouted, “It's alright, they brought back Aerion.”
She bit back a laugh as the man referred to him as if he were a stray sheep or lost dog. She looked over at Bulmor, who gave a slight shrug.
“Mother, how did they get you out? Samen, I saw the inn in flames, how did you get her out?”
The tall and rangy man who stepped forward shook his head, “It's the other way around, Aerion. Eleanor got everyone out of the inn through a tunnel in the basement, Innkeeper Solis didn't even know it was there. She rounded us up in the forest and got us all moving, when most of us just wanted to lay down and die.”
Katarina saw him stare down at his mother in shock. She couldn't help a smile as she saw his look of consternation. “Tunnel?” Aerion asked. She felt her bitterness fade as she saw the joy in his face. She realized, with a shock, that the past few months had worn lines of worry and anger in his face, yet they seemed to ease as she watched.
“Something from a long time ago,” Eleanor said. She stepped back from him, and reached up to cup his chin in one hand. “You were down at the village, I see.” Katarina bit back a giggle as the woman licked her thumb and wiped away a smudge of soot. Aerion seemed too shocked to even notice.
“I knew... that is, I thought...” Aerion cleared
his throat, “I thought you were dead.”
“We thought the same, of you and the others they captured.” Samen said. “Fain and Laden, are they with you?”
He sighed when Aerion shook his head, “We heard that Baron Zielona Gora ordered you all given the Traitor's Death.”
Katarina spoke then, “We rescued him and would have rescued the others but they...”
“Thank you, my Lady,” Eleanor said. “Thank you for bringing my son back from the grave, as it were. She took a deep breath and spun on Samen, “Now, you heard them, before. They are here to fight Lord Hector. Why don't we show them how we've prepared for that ourselves?”
***
Lady Katarina Emberhill
Katarina stepped into the broad valley and shook her head at the display before her. Aerion had mentioned the valley's seclusion, but he hadn't seen the industry of his people. The sharp wall of the valley had a number of buildings carved out of it, probably from ancient times, and the locals had added new wooden doors and shutters to them. There were other signs of preparation and restoration in the valley, to include what looked like a gate for the gateway under construction. She saw almost a hundred adults had gathered, many armed with weapons, in a cleared area near the gateway. Further up the valley, she noticed other signs of recent construction, repairing the old redoubt.
“Where did they all come from?” She asked. She was also tempted to ask about the ruins, but felt that, at least, could wait until she knew what kind of forces they had.
Samen spoke, “Lots of families up in the mountains, many of them kin to those of us who lived in the village. I've got two brothers and several cousins who never lived in the village. I wouldn't have, except my wife wanted a home in town.”
“I don't see any children...” Katarina began to ask.
“We've stashed them at houses and with families. My son is safe with my sister and her children. Most of us who want to fight or want revenge, at least, made certain our families are cared for... what remains of them.” His voice went harsh at the end, filled with a dull tone of hatred.