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

by Kal Spriggs

  Aerion just shook his head. He looked in the direction the Norics had fled. A part of him wanted to chase them down, to ensure they would no longer be a threat. Yet he felt too tired, an exhaustion that sent him to set on the stone railing of the bridge. “How many, you think?”

  Aramer looked around. He had become spattered with blood and Aerion saw with shock that he had blood up to his elbows. Blood and bits of hair clung to his sword. Aerion saw the other man's arm tremble a bit as he lowered his sword. “Thirty or more.”

  Aerion looked up at the big stranger who had helped them. With how battered and bruised he felt, he expected to see the unarmored man with any number of cuts and contusions.

  To his surprise, the big man had only a couple scratches on his arms. He wore plenty of blood, Aerion saw, but none of it appeared to be his own. “Thanks for the help,” Aerion said.

  The big man gave him a grin and slapped him on his shoulder. The impact nearly knocked Aerion over the side of the bridge. He spoke in a deep rumble, in a language that seemed to consist entirely of drawn out vowels.

  “What did he say?” Aerion asked.

  Aramer shook his head, “I have no idea, never heard that language before.” Aramer spoke to the big man and it sounded like he tried several languages. The big man stared at him without comprehension.

  “Well, he's not Noric and he doesn't understand any of their dialects I tried. Or any of the Armen dialects I know.” Aramer climbed down from his mount, and cleaned his blade off. “Good to have you though.” Aramer said to the big man with a smile.

  The big man gave them both a smile. Then he walked over towards the center of the bridge. Aerion saw him pick up a leather pouch there and pull out something. He slung the bag over his back and walked back over to them. He held out his huge hand and Aerion saw a handful of nuts and berries.

  “Ah, some kind of greeting,” Aramer said. He reached into his saddlebag, and then passed over a water-skin, “Same to you big guy.”

  Aramer took several of the nuts and gestured for Aerion to do the same.

  The big man seemed happy at that, and drained the water-skin in a few gulps.

  Aerion glanced over the edge of the bridge. The creek down below looked clean enough, other than where several Norics had landed on the rocks. “What do we do now?”

  “Feel free to wash some of that gore off, Swordbreaker,” Aramer said. “I'll try to talk with our new friend. We'll wait for the column to arrive. Neither of us are up to further scouting I think.”

  Aerion nodded. He did not even try to reject the title. His third battle, and he had to admit, his third sword broken. He hoped that pattern didn't continue.

  ***

  Lord Admiral Christoffer Tarken

  Aboard the Ubelfurst, The Boir Sea

  Twenty-Seventh of Tremarn, Cycle 999 Post Sundering

  “This makes no sense.” Admiral Christoffer Tarken stared down at the diagrams then looked around the conference table. “You are certain of this?”

  “Yes, Admiral,” Captain Guntor said. The iron wizard shrugged, “We approached from high altitude and with Auir behind us, so high that we had to scrape ice off of our decks. They could not have seen us at that height, even if they could have spotted us with the light of Auir behind us. I saw this with my own eyes and also magnified with our spells and artifice.”

  Christoffer looked down again at the diagram. The two captured Boir men of war sat at dock in the old harbor, in the shadow of the ruined eastern tower of the Ryft Watch, along with a dozen Armen sloops. Even more confusing, the enemy had drawn sixteen Noric galleys up onto the beech, where they would require high tide to get back afloat.

  The Admiral stared between those diagrams and the map of that area of land which showed a large force of Armen and Norics, on foot, of all things, as they marched along the old trade road. “This is either too damned convenient or... or I just don't know what.”

  “They only have six ships still on station?” Captain Elias asked. Christoffer saw that the Captain appeared as confused as he felt.

  “Yes, two sloops and four of the lightest Noric galleys,” Master Schiffer said. If Christoffer understood his role properly, then he managed the telescopes and magical means the windship used to identify targets from afar.

  “Why would they send over a thousand of their warriors to the East?” Lieutenant Jonas asked. “This old trade road... does it even lead anywhere? Is it some attack on the Duchy of Masov?”

  “I'm not entirely certain,” Lieutenant Steffan spoke up, “but I believe it turns south at the old fortress of Southwatch. It leads out of the mountains near the Tucola Forest.” Christoffer looked over at the Marine Lieutenant from the windship. The ship's only non-wizard officer, the Marine stood taller than most of the other men in the room, except for Christoffer. His smooth face and blue eyes made him look young, though Christoffer doubted that his appointment as the windship's Marine Commander came at random.

  “You know this how?” Lieutenant Jonas asked.

  “I'm originally from the Duchy of Masov, my family left after the Usurper took power,” Lieutenant Steffan said. There was an almost apologetic tone to his voice. His story wasn't entirely unique, there were a number of minor noblemen who had fled along with a variety of other men and women. Most of them had started new lives in Boir, but some still talked about returning.

  “Could this be an attempt to open a front in the south?” Captain Elias asked.

  “It doesn't make sense, they left their ships almost unguarded and the Ryft without a serious blockade,” Christoffer said. “A thousand men... even from an unexpected direction, Hector must have sufficiently large garrisons to deal with that threat.”

  “He should, sir,” Lieutenant Steffan said. “He has large mercenary garrisons in each of the towns, and the nobility retain their own personal guards. Plus there are the town and village militias.” Clearly, Christoffer thought, the lieutenant stays abreast of things back home.

  “So, no, their target is not an invasion of the Duchy of Masov,” Christoffer said softly. “It must be something the Armen see as absolutely vital, however.”

  “Could it be something their allies the Norics are after, maybe?” Captain Guntor asked. The wizard sounded uncertain and Christoffer couldn't blame him. He didn't like the idea that they found some target in the Ryft Peaks valuable enough to risk their blockade. Either that meant they completely discounted the Southern Fleet as a threat or something else was more valuable to them or their allies. To include, Christoffer acknowledged, their unknown southern wizard ally.

  Christoffer started, “Their allies, perhaps, but maybe not the Norics.” He looked over at Captain Elias, who gave a slight nod. “Some of the captured correspondence mentioned a wizard, a southern wizard, who assisted the Armen. Marka Rusk, the chieftain in charge of this blockade, seemed to be the Armen's main contact with this wizard.”

  “That wizard may have some interest here in the south,” Captain Elias finished. “That makes sense, my Lord, although I can't imagine what would require a thousand of them to accomplish. Or what leverage this wizard has to convince them to leave themselves so open to attack.”

  “It doesn't matter,” Captain Guntor said calmly. “What matters is that our enemy is open to attack. We can hit their picket ships and then savage their ships at dock before whatever skeleton force can get them fully operational.”

  Christoffer smiled slightly, “Yes, we could. But this does matter. Remember, this same wizard is responsible for the death of over a thousand sailors and marines of Boir. We owe him for that... and that is a debt I want to repay in full.” His smile grew cold as his plan fell into place. “Gentlemen, this is what we will do.”

  ***

  Lady Amelia Tarken

  The Founding, The Eastwood

  Twenty-Ninth of Tremarn, Cycle 999 Post Sundering

  Amelia stood at the entrance to the Founding.

  I should be nervous, she thought. She knew how she shoul
d feel. Her shoulders would hunch, her heart would race, and she would sweat through her underclothes.

  Instead, she felt... alive. Things seemed sharper, clearer. She felt better than she had ever felt before. I can do this, she thought.

  She mentally reviewed her plan and she gave a nod. She had chosen this path, though others had advised her. Nanamak's words and Tirianis's wisdom had shaped the plan, but Amelia had come up with it... and the others had accepted her decision to follow through. Even though she had not told Simonel the full extent of her plans he had voiced his support for what he believed her intentions to be. Best that he be as surprised as some of the others, Amelia thought, just in case this doesn't go the way I had planned.

  Her opponents saw her as a threat, but most of them did not see her as a challenge. To most of them, she must seem an annoyance or inconvenience at best. To some, she wondered if she even registered as human or if they saw her much as she saw a mayfly. They worried about Simonel, Nanamak, and Tirianis, but they did not even consider Amelia as a player in their games.

  The time had come to change that.

  A Wold stepped out of the Founding, “Lady Amelia Tarken, Royal Guest, the Council will see you now.”

  Amelia glanced down at herself one last time. She felt a sudden relief that she had listened to Simonel after the attack and gone to Jasper. While someone might generously call the soft leather vest and pants 'concealing' they spoke more to the letter rather than the spirit of that description. The green leather clung to her figure, and though it ran from her ankles to her neck, she felt more undressed wearing it than she did fully naked. It also, she could admit, made her look undeniably adult and female.

  That it made her look good, Amelia had to admit gave her a bit of confidence that she needed just now. That it would also prove resistant to both blow and blade gave her added confidence, especially given the past two attacks on her life.

  Amelia stepped forward through the ring of trees and into the green meadow of the Founding. She saw six members of the council present, which meant either word of her plan had gone out or someone suspected her intent. I don't know for sure which of you is the one behind this, she thought, but I'll uncover you for Tirianis and Simonel to deal with... and shake the rest of you out of your cozy sets of assumptions along the way.

  “Lady Amelia Tarken of Boir, royal guest of King Simonel, has a petition for the Council,” the Wold introduced her.

  “What is this?” Ceratul said. He looked over at Simonel, who sat at his ease at the center of the massive stone table, in the largest of the chairs. “More of the investigation into the rogue construct that got loose from the sentinel school?”

  “No,” Amelia said. She saw surprise on the faces of several of the faces of the council that she answered. “I am here to request my acceptance as an adult... with all the rights thereof.”

  “What?” Listania asked. Tirianis had mentioned her as a possible enemy. The Wold Princess had mentioned the woman was old and intelligent as well as highly skilled at the use of High Magic sigils, but also arrogant and self-absorbed. The wizard woman looked down at Amelia much like she might stare at something foul she'd stepped in. “You can't be serious. You are not one of the People of the Eastwood... you don't even speak our language!”

  “She is a Royal Guest,” Simonel said simply. “That entails her to the rights of any of the People. Were she judged an adult, she would have the ability to exercise those rights.”

  “She has no adult skills,” Ceratul said. The Warmaster sounded more offended than Listania, but he also seemed more impulsive... and therefore less likely to send an assassin than to take direct action. “She has no trade skills to show she has matured.” His scowl seemed directed more at Simonel and Tirianis than at Amelia. Even so, his lack of consideration gave Amelia a spurt of anger.

  “I have judged her skill at mind magic,” Tirianis said calmly. “She has already achieved adept status. I will certify her now. She has worked with me for many days, and I can safely say that in some areas, she has surpassed my own skills.”

  “Truly?” a man who sat near Listania leaned forward. He stared at Amelia, as if she had suddenly materialized before him. “What talents has she manifested?” Amelia took the moment to study him in turn. He had a golden hue to his skin, and unlike the others of the Council, he wore metal armor, scale mail of bronze leaves, covered in a pattern of magic sigils. His bright gold hair, almost orange in color, hung long, much of it in his eyes. Tirianis had not mentioned him as either ally or enemy, or even of her People, so Amelia wondered at his presence.

  “Her skills lie primarily with telepathy, she has shown signs of empathy, telepathy, mental illusions, and suggestion, Warden Ivellios,” Tirianis said. “She has also managed to merge thoughts with Seraphai of the Shrouded Isle.”

  The man she had called Ivellios peered at her for a long moment, “Very interesting. I had thought that few of the younger races of men showed such abilities. I am fascinated to see one gain such proficiency so quickly. I would like to speak with you, Lady Amelia of Boir, after this session.”

  “Of course, Warden Ivellios,” Amelia nodded. She hoped that she would have the opportunity. If things went drastically wrong in her plan, then that would not happen.

  “This is preposterous,” Listania said. “She is what, twenty cycles of age, at most?” Her shrill tone set Amelia's teeth on edge. The tall, stately woman had a lighter coloration than most Wold she had met, her skin almost the same shade as anyone back in Boir. Her hair, too was lighter, a brown color that did not stand out as much as with most. It was still the same fine, straight strands in a flowing mass, however.

  “I am fifteen cycles of age, five cycles past the majority in my homeland,” Amelia answered calmly. “I ask only to be treated with the respect that would be my due and for the ability to take responsibility for my actions and to speak for myself.”

  She saw Ceratul set back, almost as if he actually listened to her, though she found that idea a long stretch. Perhaps I am too judgmental of him, she thought, he's arrogant, but I think he is at least well-intentioned.

  The last member of the setting Council spoke. Unlike the other Wold she had met, he had facial hair, and his long beard seemed to muffle his deep voice. “I can see her preference for this, but I am uneasy at the precedent. To many of our own children would seek to circumvent rules they disliked if given the same option.” If Amelia remembered right, he matched the description of Tharian, one of the council members who she had said would probably oppose her, just because she represented change.

  “Tharian, others have done the same, many successfully,” Tirianis said. “Amonel rose to adulthood at fifty, and became the Enchantress at seventy-five. Ceratul here proved himself an adult at one hundred.”

  Ceratul gave her a nod, “I cannot argue with that. If the woman feels she can accept such responsibilities and duties... and if you feel her to be ready, I will agree.”

  Listania glanced at her ally and Amelia felt a warm glow in her stomach as the woman pinched her lips in frustration. “I insist on a full vote of the Council.”

  The Warden Ivellios laughed, “And I insist that you must have become deranged. The whole council has not met in over four centuries. Starborn or not, she'll probably be dead and gone before the next time the full Council convenes.”

  Listania looked around and not even the cautious Tharian met her gaze.

  “What is the vote, then?” Simonel asked.

  “I vote yes,” Ceratul said. “She may take on the responsibility of adulthood.”

  “I vote yes,” Tirianis said. “She's a lot of fun.”

  “I vote yes,” Ivellios said, “She has the skills and the dedication. She wants to speak for herself and take responsibility for her actions, which is a sign of maturity.”

  “I vote no,” Tharian said. “Because we must never rush these things.”

  “I vote no,” Listania snapped, “And I protest the manipulation of the Co
uncil by politics. I insist that my protest be noted.”

  “It is,” Simonel said, his voice cool. “But the Council has voted, Lady Amelia, you are judged an adult among my people now.” He smiled, “It is customary for your family to throw a party for you, but I suppose your friends may stand in their stead for the occasion. Do you have anything you wish to do, on your first afternoon of adulthood?”

  Amelia gave him a slight bow, “King Simonel, thank you for your welcome.” She felt her blood surge through her body and her heart seemed like it might explode. Her fingers tingled, and the anticipation of what would soon happen made her both want to cringe and smile. “I do have one request.”

  “You may make any request that any other adult could,” Ceratul said, a faint smile on his face.

  “Very well,” Amelia said, and matched his smile. She took a deep breath, and once again, she felt surprise at her lack of nervousness. “I challenge Hunter Gedrain to a duel of honor.”

  ***

  Chapter Fifteen

  Aerion Swordbreaker

  Ryft Peaks, Duchy of Masov

  Twenty-Ninth of Tremarn, Cycle 999 Post Sundering

  “Can I let you out of my sight for even a few minutes?” Aerion's mother asked.

  Aerion looked down sheepishly, “I..”

  “Never mind, Aerion, well fought,” Despite her words there was a tone of resignation. She shook her head, “Though I had hoped it would be some time before Taggart's armor received its first test.” She walked over to where Gerlin and Arren stood near the big stranger. “Any luck on talking with him?”

  “I've tried every dialect of Noric and Armen I know, Boir's trade pidgin, even a couple of words I picked up from a sailor from Aoria,” Gerlin said sourly. “He just smiles or jabbers back in whatever language he speaks.

  Aerion's mother stared at the big man for a long moment. Finally, haltingly, she said a few words that Aerion didn't understand. The big man immediately turned to face her. A look of surprise and anger flashed across his face. Finally, with a look of distaste, he said several words that sounded similar to Aerion.