The Stars of Areon (The Chronicles of Areon Book 1)

by Aaron J. Ethridge

  The Stars of Areon

  By Aaron J. Ethridge

  Additional info can be found at:

  Areonuniverse.com

  Copyright © 2015 by Aaron J. Ethridge

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  First Printing, 2015

  ASIN: B017HJG9EM

  Kindle Edition

  Ethridge Publishing

  2311 Lake Drive

  Williston, SC 29853

  Aaronjethridge.com

  Table of Contents:

  Chapter 1: Two Roads

  Chapter 2: In Pursuit

  Chapter 3: Hunters and the Hunted

  Chapter 4: To Battle

  Chapter 5: Rest for the Weary

  Chapter 6: The Neres Bridge

  Chapter 7: A Dangerous Road

  Chapter 8: A Time for Flight

  Chapter 9: A Friend in Need

  Chapter 10: Righteous Wrath

  Chapter 11: An Unexpected Meeting

  Chapter 12: Into Innalas

  Chapter 13: Against the Foe

  Chapter 14: Friendly Farewells

  Thank You!

  Chapter 1: Two Roads

  “Is everything ready?” Lord Valrak asked, leaping from the back of his large, dark steed.

  “Yes, my Lord,” answered the old man who had rushed into the courtyard to receive him.

  The pair turned and marched quickly across the dark pavement. The sun, which was just coming up over the horizon, flooded the fortress with light but was set at defiance by the black stone walls it tried hopelessly to warm. The sound of ringing hammers and a laboring grindstone spoke of worn armor and blunted swords. Large, heavy chains rattled in their blocks as the drawbridge slowly rose. It slammed closed with a clap that cut all ties to the outside world.

  They made their way to a flight of stone steps leading up to the main hall. Its thick iron doors were thrown open at their approach. Passing silently through the doorway, they entered a room filled with the weapons and armor of fallen foes. The walls were lined with the banners of men who had dared to oppose Lord Valrak and paid for it with their lives. What little light gained entry to this dark chamber crept through the narrow windows that ran along its walls. The dim glow that lit the scene presented an image of strength that was both cold and hard. This was not the hall of some merry king, but that of a powerful, mercenary warlord.

  The older of the two men seemed almost ancient. Deep wrinkles and bushy eyebrows gave Galrin a look of aged gentility, while his long white beard and hair added the appearance of ancient frailty. Both these impressions were false, however. The venerable wizard who walked at the side of Lord Valrak was neither gentle nor frail. Age was powerless to lesson his strength or his ambition. His dark brown eyes still burned with life and passion. If they truly are the windows of the soul, one looking into them would see a being of unquenchable determination; one without mercy and without pity. He was the perfect teacher, companion, and now adviser of the man destined to rule all of Areon.

  “I still feel we should have used our own elite men,” Valrak said as the two passed into the private chambers behind the main hall.

  The room they entered was well decorated – even lavishly so – filled with trinkets that attested to the wealth of their possessor. Valrak closed the heavy wooden door behind them, sealing away the eyes and ears of other men. The pair moved in silence, crossing a floor of red and black stone laid out in the pattern of the rising sun; Lord Valrak's own standard. They made their way toward two large, fur covered chairs that dominated the center of the room.

  “Do you think so, my son?” Galrin replied at last, taking a seat and gazing deeply into Valrak's eyes. “What would we have told them? Nerrian has been with you since the very beginning. Would you trust him with the truth?”

  Lord Valrak lowered his large and powerful frame into the seat beside his foster father. The chair creaked under the burden as its occupant settled thoughtfully into place. The appearance of the mercenary lord gave no false impressions. The armor that he wore was black and cold, the only symbol upon it that of his own standard. The sword at his side was no courtier's bejeweled blade worn merely for the purpose of displaying wealth and rank. It was a simple steel weapon, the tool of its wielder's chosen profession. The hilt was adorned, not with colorful gems, but with worn leather and burnished metal. It was the sturdy, reliable weapon of a man who used it not to display power, but to take it. Valrak's beard and hair were like his temper, short and black. His piercing blue eyes were wild and fierce, daring to be defied. Men who had never heard of him would leap at his command. Of those who served him only the boldest or most favored would dare oppose him. Galrin was both.

  “Well, not the truth, certainly,” Valrak laughed.

  “Then what? 'Lord Valrak wants you, his finest men, to go capture some fourteen-year-old girl from a village in Mikral.' The men would talk, they would ask questions. If she were a queen, it could be explained away with the simplest lie, but she's a peasant of absolutely no importance. What would they think? They know Lord Valrak does nothing without a reason. People would ask questions and, if they found answers, where would we be?” Galrin asked, leaning back in his chair.

  “Again, I take your point but, it still strikes me as risky. This meaningless peasant – as you describe her – is the key to all our plans.”

  “You think I don't know that!” Galrin replied, a touch of temper in his voice. “Remember, my dear son, that it was I who searched the stars; I that read the signs; and I who found the girl at last. In truth, it was I who found and raised you as well.”

  “That's true, father,” Valrak said, sitting up with a flash of pride and anger passing over his face, “but now, I am your master and you are my servant. I love you dearly but, should this plan of yours fail, you are just as likely to suffer from the loss as any.”

  “I know it well, my Lord,” Galrin humbly replied, bowing his head. “The risk was necessary, son. If this first group fails, we'll send another. We can't chance our own men finding out more than they already know. Even now, they whisper of the Gates of Death.”

  At this remark, Valrak grabbed the arms of his chair tightly in his hands. “How have they heard of such a place?”

  “Well, not from me,” Galrin chuckled. “Son, we've spent the last ten years searching for it. An idle word, a nosy servant; rumors run like water through the fingers. They can't be contained. However, we have nothing to fear. At least, for the moment. Most think that I'm mad and that you've been misled by your devotion to me. There'll be no connection in their minds between the girl and the Gates. As long as we don't draw that line for them, they'll never see it for themselves. That's why I thought it best to recommend using mercenaries from outside our ranks.”

  “I'm still not convinced this was the wisest course. We can't accept failure; we must succeed.”

  “When the plan does succeed, my lord?”

  “You'll have my gratitude, for what it's worth,” Valrak laughed.

  “Should we succeed, I expect it to be worth a kingdom.” Galrin replied, a dark grin spreading over his aged features.

  “Should we succeed, it will be!”

  Darian glanced over his shoulder; he could still make out his family in the distance. They stood as he had left them minutes before; watching him to the last. He raised his hand and gave them a final wave before urging his horse down the narrow woodland trail that would hide them from view. The sun, which was quic
kly rising, flooded the glen with light. The rows of trees that edged the road cast their shadows across the young knight's path, while their interwoven branches formed a natural canopy of bright green leaves above his head. Countless birds filled the wood with their merry songs and the cool morning breeze, which blew gently through the knight's short brown hair, smelled distinctively of spring.

  Many a young traveler might have taken such a route just to enjoy its sights and sounds, but Darian's thoughts were elsewhere. This was his first journey as a knight; soon the Eilian would lead him to victory and to glory. Pulling the reigns suddenly, he brought his mount to a stop. Which way should he head? Which road led to destiny?

  Opening his pack, Darian dug through its contents until he found the small map that Daegon had given him. He spread it out on the back of his horse and studied it carefully; his light brown eyes passing thoughtfully from one point of interest to another. To the east lay Hiveral, then the mountains. To the west lay Tagril and, much further on, Halik; to the southwest was the capital, Mikral City itself. If his destination were Halik or Mikral City, he could easily take the time to pass through Tagril on his way. So, the real choice was: east to Hiveral, or west to Tagril.

  Which road was he meant to take? He would leave it to the Eilian to decide. Darian plucked a single silver coin from his pouch, bowed his head and prayed for guidance. He flipped the coin. Heads. Tagril it was.

  His destination decided, the young knight once again set his horse in motion. Within an hour, he found himself on the main road that connected Tagril to Hiveral. Of course, this far on the outskirts of the kingdom even the highroad was nothing more than a simple beaten track. Still, it would lead him where he wanted to go. That was all that mattered.

  For hours, the Telian rode in lonely silence until the lengthening shadows told him dusk was at hand. Soon, he would stop for the night. Already, he had covered half the distance that separated Tagril from his home. Unless something interrupted his journey, he would reach his first destination by tomorrow. The young knight sighed. The first day of The Journey had not been what he had hoped. He had done nothing more valorous than driving a few flies away from his horse's head; nothing more adventurous than crossing an old stone bridge that looked as if it were in need of repair. This changed, however, as his stallion trotted down a slightly more overgrown section of the road.

  A man leapt suddenly from the bushes, aiming a crossbow directly at Darian's chest.

  “Stop there, friend, or you'll never see another dawn!” the highwayman's gruff voice warned him.

  The Telian yanked the reins and brought his horse to a stop before examining his assailant closely. The crossbow he held was visible even in the dim light, but the dark hood that covered his head made his face impossible to see. The highwayman seemed less powerfully built than the muscular young knight and he was at least two inches shorter. Darian slowly smiled; destiny had arrived.

  “Who are you?” the Telian demanded, his tone confident and almost threatening.

  “To you, friend, I'm death. At least, if you don't do what I tell you. That's all you need to know. Galfas, Tenner, watch him closely lads; don't let him make a move!”

  Darian turned both his horse and his head hoping to spot his other adversaries.

  “None of that, friend!” the cloaked figure yelled at once. “You don't worry about seeing them; they see you and that's the important part. Now, get down off of that horse.”

  At this demand, the young knight grinned; it was clear his enemy wasn't much of a tactician. Darian slid from his saddle, effectively shielding him from his hidden foes. If he could quickly subdue the first, he could take cover and then deal with the other two rogues.

  “Take off that sword belt and throw it to the ground!” the highwayman demanded, taking a few careful steps closer to the young knight.

  Darian bowed his head, slowly untying his belt before letting it fall to the ground. He straightened up and squared his shoulders; he was ready.

  “Right! Now...” the cloaked figure began, but got no further.

  Darian sprang upon him. Before the highwayman could even think of taking aim, the crossbow was knocked from his hands. The young knight grappled his foe, hoping to quickly overpower him. However, of the two, the highwayman proved the stronger. As the pair struggled, each grasping the other by the wrist, the dark figure slowly reached for a dagger stuck in his belt. Darian begged the Eilian for aid and at once his prayers were answered. In an instant, the young knight's strength seemed to double. He pulled his enemy's reaching hand away from the weapon with ease before drawing the blade himself. In a single fluid motion, he whipped his foe around, twisted his arm behind his back and held the dagger to his throat.

  “You two! Lay down your arms and you'll be spared.” The valiant knight yelled into the darkness. “You'll be turned over to the local authorities for punishment.”

  “Which means hanging, boys! Don't do it! Look, lad, you've had a bit of luck, and I congratulate you. Let me go, and neither of us will be the worse off. You can go your way, and I can go mine.” As he spoke these last words, the dark figure's voice changed from the gruff barks of his previous demands. It was with a gentle pleasant tone that he made this offer.

  “Even if I believed you, which I don't, I can't let you go.”

  “Sure you can! You're a free man, I've no doubt!”

  “I'm a Telian Knight, and it is my duty to see you brought to justice.”

  At this, the highwayman burst out laughing.

  “I would pick a Telian!” he said with a deep sigh.

  “Thank the Eilian you did!” Darian roared, holding the dagger even more tightly to his enemy's throat. “If you hadn't, some poor helpless soul might be suffering at the hands of your little band!”

  “Well, I wouldn't say suffering to start with,” the rogue replied, pulling his throat as far away from the dagger as he could. “I only intended to rob you. I didn't even fire my crossbow.”

  “You didn't have time to shoot!”

  “No, I didn't have it loaded...”

  At this, Darian turned his head, glancing down at the still cocked crossbow near his feet. Even in the dim light, he could see that the weapon was, in fact, unloaded.

  “You're out of bolts!”

  “My quiver's hanging on my side...”

  “If you didn't intend to harm me, why were you reaching for your dagger?” Darian asked accusingly.

  “Well, I'd just been attacked by a wild man covered in steel armor,” the rogue explained. “I just intended to frighten you into letting me go.”

  In truth, all the thief's answers seemed, at the very least, plausible. Of course, there was still one obvious question left.

  “Why would you try to rob someone with an unloaded crossbow?” the young knight asked, slightly loosening his grip.

  “Well, imagine if it accidentally went off,” the thief replied, waving his free hand in the air in front of him. “Where would that leave the poor body I was trying to rob? I may be a thief, but I'm not a murderer.”

  “What about your two friends?” Darian asked, making sure to keep his prisoner between him and the not too distant bushes.

  “I don't have any friends. Well, I mean, not with me. I have lots of friends really, just not here and now, if you follow me. Sorry if I seem to be babbling, I'm always like this when people hold knives to my throat.”

  “Why should I believe you?”

  “What fool would help a man with an unloaded crossbow try to rob someone?”

  Darian could certainly see the logic in that, but this man seemed to be the most unusual villain he had ever heard of. He would take no chances. The knight cleared his mind and gazed into the darkness beyond; the Eilian would show him if enemies were nearby. A moment later, he loosed his grip on his defeated foe.

  “It seems you're telling the truth.”

  “Of course I am!” said the man turning himself around to face his captor. “I think this has been a lesson f
or both of us. Well, good bye!”

  Darian grabbed his prisoner's shoulder in an iron grip as he went to step away. “I still have to take you to the authorities.”

  “Oh, I wouldn't do that,” his captive replied with a chuckle. “We have a bit of history, the local authorities and me. Trust me, we don't get on.”

  “I'm sorry to hear that,” Darian said, shaking his head, “but I have a duty to perform.”

  “They'll hang me sure enough,” The rogue said, raising his voice as he spoke. “You might as well cut my throat here and now.”

  “I'll testify that your crossbow was unloaded,” Darian replied, hoping to console his captive. “Then, the charge would only be attempted robbery.”

  “For which the punishment is hanging,” The rogue said, reaching up and feeling his throat. “I don't see that it'll do me a load of good... Still, you have to see the difference, though! I never meant to hurt you! In fact, I wouldn't have even taken everything you had. Only enough to get a little food and one or two nights in a decent inn.” As the unusual highwayman spoke, his voice began to tremble. “You see, after my parents died, I had to learn to make it on my own. I was only five years old when they died of the plague. We had just moved to the area and knew no one. I was marked as a plague child and no one would have anything to do with me. I moved from one gutter to another, living as best I could until someone beat me, forcing me to move on. It's been a lonely life, but I do the best I can...” Near the end of this speech, his voice began to crack.

  “I'm sorry...” Darian slowly replied. “Your parents both died of the plague?”

  “No, actually they own an inn right in the middle of Mikral City,” the rogue laughed. “But, what can I say? They bore me...”

  “So, they didn't die?” Darian asked, a hint of puzzled concern in his voice.

  “Not yet, the Creator bless 'em. Anyway, it's just as I thought!” the rogue nodded. “You're a sucker, lad! What are you doing out here all alone?”