The Descendant (The Diamond Sword Chronicles Book 1)

by M. M. Whan

  Eferath’s magical powers were innate. As much a part of him as the breath in his lungs. Such innate power was unheard of except for very rare circumstances, and bloodlines that had ties to powerful wizards.

  Lethaniel gently pulled out a scroll that was nearly as old as he was. The aged parchment crinkled and crackled noisily as the wizard unfurled it, tilting it to catch the flickering torchlight. It was a record of Eferath’s father’s lineage. Eralon had an impressive pedigree, but no one - not even in distant relatives - had been even remotely adept with magic.

  Frustrated, Lethaniel stuffed the scroll back where he had gotten it from, then tap-tapped his chin with his index finger in thought. It took some searching, but Lethaniel was finally able to locate Eferath’s mother’s history record. It was under foreign peoples. The old wizard picked up the heavy scroll and blew the impressive amount of dust off of its surface. He unrolled the scroll, taking special care to ensure the aged, degraded parchment wouldn’t tear, or simply crumble.

  “Lillyan… Half-elf. Human mother. Father identified as elven nobility. Distant relations… Ah, here we are.” Lethaniel rolled the scroll open more so he could see what was written below. “Wow. Nearly all spellcasters, and no slouches, either! But that still doesn’t explain the incredible power I felt from the boy.” Lethaniel skimmed through the names until he reached the very bottom.

  As soon as he read the name, Lethaniel nearly dropped the scroll. The name he read was none other than Hamarius Sorae. Better known as the most powerful spellcaster to have ever lived. Hamarius Sorae, it was said, was so powerful that entire kingdoms would give him a wide berth. Other magicians quaked in fear at the very mention of his name. Though there were some magicians that didn’t believe the hype, they foolishly challenged Hamarius to a duel only to be utterly obliterated – along with a good chunk of the country side as well – none were able to rival his prowess. Lethaniel often sought anything of Hamarius’ that might have survived the ravages of time, paying hefty sums for something as simple as a nearly unreadable scribbling that bore even a slight resemblance to Hamarius’ hand.

  It was commonly known that prowess with magic was often passed down through bloodlines in elves. It was one of the reasons why they were so proficient, and terribly powerful with spells. And if Eferath truly is a descendant of Hamarius Sorae, then the power Lethaniel felt the other night had barely scratched the surface of what Eferath is capable of.

  That thought terrified him. If Eferath were to discover the secret behind unlocking his inherited power, none in this world would be powerful enough to stop him.

  Which gave the crafty old wizard an idea.

  * * * *

  Dorien was startled out of his contemplations as a loud snap! ripped the air. Dorien glanced lazily over at the newcomer before returning to the parchment he was reading.

  “Lethaniel, answer something for me please.” Dorien said without looking up from his reading.

  The old wizard straightened his robes, then nodded. “Of course, my lord.” Dorien noticed that the wizard looked like he was bursting at the seams with excitement.

  “Do wizards never knock?”

  “Hamarius Sorae!” Lethaniel blurted out excitedly.

  Dorien stiffened, then with a sigh, turned the parchment he was reading face down and steepled his fingers. “Continue.” The short answer told Lethaniel that his words had hit home.

  Lethaniel explained what had happened the night before while keeping a close eye on Dorien, and how they triggered the suspicions that he had. He could tell that the news was not going over well with his king, but he bulled forward anyway. He ended with what he had found in the archives.

  “And so, I think we may have just stumbled upon the key to your plans!” Lethaniel said emphatically. What he had found pertaining to Eferath’s lineage seemed to have piqued Dorien’s interest and calmed the storm Lethaniel saw brewing in his eyes.

  “But you do not know where he is.” Dorien stated flatly.

  Lethaniel flinched and wrung his hands. “Yes. Well, I may not know where he went, but when we do find him, we can bring him in and condition him to be the ultimate weapon!”

  “But you cannot find him!” Dorien repeated, rapping his fist off the desktop to accentuate each word. “I think you may have something, though. There are some very powerful kingdoms around us, namely our closest neighbor to the east Nairfidel. Their battle wizard school is highly regarded, and their walls have never been breached by any enemy. Eferath may just be the tipping point.” Dorien trailed off, chewing on the end of his quill.

  “Very well, Lethaniel. Make your preparations.” Dorien paused as soon as he saw the old wizard’s features light up, then he pointed his finger at him. “Now I warn you wizard. I will be following your withdrawals closely just in case you decide to be frivolous with my coin.”

  Lethaniel’s expression hardened as his good mood deflated. “Yes of course, my king.” With that, the mage turned to leave.

  When he reached the door, Dorien called to him.

  “Oh, and Lethaniel?” The wizard paused at the door, looking back over his shoulder.

  “If you fail me, all the magic in this world will not protect you.”

  * * * *

  Eferath woke with a start. He didn’t know what had startled him out of his dreams, but whatever it was, he was filled with a profound feeling that something wasn’t right. It was not unlike one of those situations where there’s something stuck on the tip of your tongue, seeming just out of reach. The feeling drove him crazy. He was sore, but that wasn’t anything special; he remembered the events of the night before and realized that it was a miracle that he was feeling anything at all.

  “He’s awake!” A familiar voice called. It was his father, Eralon. The volume of his deep voice made Eferath’s head ache. It was similar to the way he felt after the first time he had stolen a keg of beer from his father’s stores and drank it with some of the local kids. Eralon had caught them, of course. His father didn’t yell at him, scold him, or lecture him, even though he was clearly furious and more than a little disappointed. That fact had scared Eferath more than a tongue-lashing would have.

  Instead, Eralon had made Eferath work harder than he ever had in his life. As fitting a punishment as he could have given.

  “What am I doing here?” Eferath asked groggily, wincing as each word drove a spike of pain into his brain.

  Eralon came into view, standing over Eferath’s bed with a look of concern on his face. “I was about to ask you the same thing.” Eralon replied, his tone thick with worry.

  “I don’t know how I got here.” Eferath said, alarm bells ringing louder now. “The last thing I remember…” Everything suddenly came rushing back. Dorien assassinating king Terryn, and Eferath’s subsequent harried escape from the castle grounds. He remembered being confronted by a handful of mages, but everything went blank after that.

  Eferath sat bolt upright, ignoring the wave of pain and nausea that threatened to floor him.

  “King Terryn is dead!”

  * * * *

  Eferath accepted a steaming cup of tea his mother brought him with trembling hands. It had taken some time for him to explain everything that had happened leading up to the night’s events as well as his role in it. It wasn’t easy; Eferath had endured a lot in the past few days, but he managed to get it all out.

  When he was finished speaking, Eferath looked down at his hands as his father and mother leaned back into their chairs and looked at one another.

  “I need to go, it is not safe for you if I stay here.” Eferath said quietly as he started to stand. Truth is, there was nowhere else in the world he would rather be at this moment. Nowhere else that he would feel safe. But he knew Dorien would come looking for him, and that would put everyone he loved in extreme danger.

  “Sit.” Eralon commanded him, his tone was soft, but the weight behind it made Eferath take his seat.

  “
But-“

  “Sit.” Eralon repeated, then he took a deep breath and leaned forward. “We need a plan. Dorien has made a very clever move here, and it’s strange that he chose now for his ascension. But no matter what you think, I am glad you came back.”

  “We think it best for you to visit your grandfather and stay with him until your father and I can find a more permanent solution.” Eferath could tell by the expression on her face, and the heaviness in her voice that she didn’t think that was likely.

  “Won’t your elven heritage be discovered, and the forest become Escoran’s prime target?” Eferath asked, seeing that particular detail as a major hole in the plan.

  Lillyan smiled a little. “Dorien wouldn’t dare go near the forest and risk the wrath of the elves.” She said softly. “That is the safest place for you, but it is a very long way. I don’t suppose you can teleport there?”

  Eferath was shaking his head even before she finished. “No,” he replied around a mouthful of hot tea. “Like I said, I can’t even remember how to cast it, it just sort of… happened.”

  Eralon and Lillyan exchanged concerned looks, then his father gestured toward Eferath’s magnificent sword, still secured in its sheath.

  “Quite the weapon you have there.” He said as he picked it up by the scabbard and handed it to his son. “Draw the blade, now, and let’s have a look see.”

  Eferath did as he was told and drew the sparkling diamond blade smoothly. He heard his mother gasp the moment she laid eyes on it. He looked at her quizzically and saw the look of recognition in her eyes.

  “It cannot be…” She gasped, reaching out a trembling hand before drawing it back to her. “That sword is one of the Five.”

  Eralon’s eyebrows raised in recognition, and he leaned back in his chair. Eferath looked from one to the other. “Both of you seem to know what that means, could you enlighten me?”

  “Forgive me, my son.” Lillyan apologized, visibly shaken. “That sword is reminiscent of a time that nearly saw mankind’s destruction. You may have heard about the Dark Times of Magic. No one, not even history remembers what caused it, all that is known is that it was sudden and catastrophic.

  Around two thousand years ago, magicians from all disciplines began clamoring for power. Small, isolated magic duels sprang up from place to place all over the known world. Weeks passed, then suddenly the mage duels ramped up in intensity, and entire towns, cities, and villages were caught up in it. It eventually reached the point where entire kingdoms were threatened by the awesome magics unleashed in seemingly unending duels.”

  Eferath leaned forward, completely focused on what his mother was saying. He didn’t know what any of this had to do with him, but he sensed that his mother would tie all of the loose ends together.

  “Eventually, one name rose above the rest. Hamarius Sorae. He won every duel with seeming contemptuous ease, and wielded some of the most powerful and ancient spells ever created. So powerful was he, that other spellcasters wanted to be like him, or best him and thus the very world was threatened. The five High Kings of the realm banded together in order to bring an end to the destruction.”

  “So what happened?” Eferath prompted, sitting at the edge of his seat in anticipation.

  Lillyan steepled her hands and took a deep breath. “They commissioned a blacksmith of no small renown, one who used powerful magics to create the finest of blades. And so the Five were forged, one for each of the High Kings. Four of each were created to control the four elements; bestowing the wielder with spells to control them. Little did they realize that the smith was none other than Baldr Halvestead, Hamarius Sorae’s only apprentice.

  Together, he and Hamarius forged the diamond longswords and enchanted them, and imbued them with some of his master’s power. Thus, when all of the five armies were assembled, on the hunt for mages and Hamarius alike, the powerful master wizard used his link to the blades to bend their wielders to his will and thus turned the armies against each other.

  The reason I am telling you this, my son, is because what you hold in your hand is one of the Five, the Lumarae Dorr’kan. In elvish it means The Light in the Darkness. The very fact that you’re able to hold it and have it not kill you is indicative of that.”

  Eferath stared at the magnificent blade as if it could turn into a serpent at any moment and strike him. “What do you mean?”

  Lillyan smiled comfortingly. “After the armies of the five kingdoms massacred one another, Hamarius used an enchantment hidden into the blade to make it so that only those of Hamarius’ blood could wield them, and gave them to the elves for safe keeping.”

  “So, what you’re saying is this sword is responsible for me being able to teleport from the castle courtyard to here?” Eferath asked, more than a little alarmed.

  Both Lillyan and Eralon shrugged. “That is what we think, yes, or at the very least it supplied the power needed. Now, the stakes have greatly increased considering you are in possession of one of the Five. I don’t even know if the elves will extend their hand in friendship to you as family, or as a thief.” Lillyan explained with a helpless expression as she clenched and unclenched her hands.

  “Can’t you do something?” Eferath asked both of his parents, but he didn’t like the doubt on their faces. Eferath looked down at his hands, feeling defeated.

  “I still have some contacts,” Eralon offered cautiously. “I don’t know what that will do for us, but it might be a start. The landscape right now is that we get you somewhere safe. My first suggestion would be Nairfidel.”

  “No,” Lillyan said quickly. “It is too populated. That is one of the most likely places for Dorien and his people to look. The dwarves?”

  Eralon shook his head. “Too paranoid. The dwarves would kill him as soon as look at him, or at the very least imprison him for the rest of his life while they decide whether or not he is to be trusted. No, he will be safest among humans.”

  Eferath slowly raised his hand. “I would like to have a say in all this.” He said with a slight edge to his voice. Both of his parents turned to regard him, his father quirking an eyebrow at the attitude in his son’s voice. “This injustice cannot stand! The crimes Dorien has committed, he shouldn’t be allowed to get away with them!”

  Eralon nodded. “I agree, my son. With all of my heart. Unfortunately, reality is a little more complicated than that. He is royalty. Royalty in the most powerful military kingdom in the known world. Who would risk war to bring him to justice? What proof do you have other than your own word – word of a boy no less – against that of a king? No, my son. I am afraid there is little we can do at this level. All we can do is keep you alive in the hope that someday our chance will come.”

  Eferath stood and began pacing around the kitchen, kicking shards of the broken table out of his way as he did so. “But it’s not enough! You would have me run away and… and… hide? Where is the honor in that? I am no coward, father!”

  “No one is calling you a coward, Eferath.” Lillyan said disarmingly, her hand gently resting on Eralon’s forearm to calm her husband. “What your father is trying to say is, this is the best we can do at this time. No one will believe that you would come home so that buys us some time, but not a lot. We need to come to a solution by the end of the week if you are to have a chance. We are not saying that justice will not be served, we are saying that you must be patient for an opportunity to present itself.”

  “I am going to bed.” Eferath announced, suddenly aware of just how tired he was.

  “A good idea, the hour is late, and we have much to sleep on.” Lillyan said, then she rose and wrapped Eferath up in a tight hug before ushering him toward the stairs.

  The next morning Eferath awoke with a start. His first instinct was to make a grab for his sword, but found it out of his reach. He took stock of his surroundings while his heart hammered in his chest. His hair was wet with sweat, as was his bare chest, and his breathing was ragged. After a few minute
s, the feeling of panic subsided and Eferath realized that he was in his own room in his family’s house. He even saw his sword leaning up against the wall not five feet from him.

  He took a few moments to collect himself, then brushed his hair with his hand while he took a few calming breaths. He stood up from his bed and nearly sat down again as his muscles shrieked with pain. The young man waited a few moments for the pain to dull, then limped toward the door to his room. His muscles were tight and sore and it felt as if he had been beaten by a bag of rocks - not that that had ever happened, but if it did, Eferath was certain this is what it would feel like - so it took him much longer than he expected to get downstairs.

  His mother and father were waiting for him. They sat at a table that looked noticeably different from the one that, to Eferath, had been there the night before. This time, a third person sat at the table.

  “Sword Master Morinth.” Eferath greeted formally, saluting crisply. “It is an honor to see you again, sir.”

  Morinth, a friend of the family and a man Eferath had known since he was a little boy, was always a stone-faced man, but his face lit up the moment he met Eferath’s eyes. “Oh enough of that foolishness, Eferath!” He bellowed suddenly, then he wrapped Eferath up in a tight bear hug.

  Morinth was a large man, larger even than his own father, and his muscles were as hard as corded steel even for his advanced age. White hair hung about the man’s shoulders, and he stood nearly a foot taller than Eferath. When the two shook hands, Eferath nearly flinched at the man’s stone-crushing grip.

  “Rugarkavatimilian, eh? By the gods, boy, your father trained you well!” Eferath was nearly taken aback by the lightheartedness of the village’s sword master, even as Morinth’s large hands pounded his back.

  “What are you doing here?” Eferath asked, not unkindly. He was pleased to see the old fellow, of course, but in the back of his mind he couldn’t help but wonder at his unusual presence. The young man could count on one hand how many times Morinth had been to their home.