Wrath of the Usurper (The Eoriel Saga Book 2)

by Kal Spriggs

  “Wait, the last runner to finish?” Aerion asked. “No one else has in thirty cycles?”

  Simonel nodded, “The hunters are very competitive. Most runners don't reach it to the lake shore. Gantarel has the best record in recent cycles.” He coughed slightly, “While I haven't played in some time, I almost never miss the opportunity to watch.”

  “He'll also be adjudicating to make certain none of the hunters get too enthusiastic with bringing down a runner,” Nanamak said dryly. This was the most that Aerion had heard the wizened little man speak, he was still something of a mystery to Aerion, something between a bodyguard and mentor to Simonel.

  “How are runners selected?” Aerion asked.

  Simonel's smile grew strained, “They call for volunteers to fill the number, there are always six, that number is important.” He shrugged, “But if this is your first time... you must be a runner.”

  “Oh,” Aerion said. He had walked the Green Heart, what the Wold called the Mystvain Guli in the weeks of his recovery. By his estimate, the Founding was almost nine miles away, with the lake being beyond it. Aerion had run further than that in his flight from the Armen and Norics, but that had been a life or death event. Well, perhaps the circumstances aren't entirely different, he thought suddenly.

  “Gantarel will run, so will Isalen and Nakora,” Nanamak said.

  “Probably Merenedar and Naratak, too,” Simonel said with a nod. “Which means the leader of the hunters will be Fanovar.”

  “Fanovar?” Aerion asked.

  “He's the oldest,” Simonel said. “Six hundred cycles. He's actually completed the run, though he doesn't take that role any more. Once you do, you aren't allowed to run anymore.” His voice was distracted and Aerion wondered why the Wold King had given up the sport. Clearly some aspects of it excited him. Aerion felt a brief moment of insight at the tone of regret in the King's voice. Perhaps the challenge of running had been what drove him.

  “Any advice?” Aerion asked.

  “Don't hold back,” Simonel said. He leveled his gaze on Aerion. “Don't worry about hurting anyone, we've healers aplenty who can heal just about anything short of a smashed skull. Don't try to be the fastest. Everyone here knows the ground, they'll be able to cut you off. Don't let them slow you down. Stick with the other runners, they know the shortcuts and the ambush points.”

  “Don't try to run the canyon,” Nanamak said, “not unless the benefits outweigh the risks.”

  Simonel nodded, “True. Gantarel almost pulled that off two cycles ago, but that just means that they'll be even more prepared for that. If you see him peel off from the other runners, don't follow.”

  “What's so bad about the canyon?” Aerion asked.

  “That's where most runners are killed,” Nanamak said. “Terrain is rough, the trail is very narrow and the fall is enough to seriously injure, if not kill.” He smiled slightly, “which of course means the youngest hunters always try it. Gantarel was bed-ridden for six months and this is the first run that he's been healthy enough to participate.”

  “Oh,” Aerion said.

  Ceratul leaned close, “Most likely, they'll bring you down before then. Most runners don't reach the halfway point. No shame in it.”

  “Have you run?” Aerion asked quickly. He could see, instantly, that he had asked the wrong question. The older Wold straightened up and something flashed across his face.

  “Nadir Ebeli is not just a sport,” Simonel said softly, “It is also a form of justice. When one of the People commit a crime that cannot be forgiven, they may ask for the Nadir Ebeli as judgment. When we do it in that fashion, there are no rules and the hunt only stops when the runner reaches the island or dies.”

  They hunt one another, Aerion realized. He shivered a bit at that... and at the grim set of Ceratul's shoulders. The implication was that the man had selected that judgment... and that he had survived it. Aerion wondered what his crime had been... and whether he regretted it.

  “Good luck, Swordbreaker,” Ceratul said formally. He started to turn away, but he paused, “If you reach the lake, keep to the rocks, else the hunters will catch you as you swim.” The Warmaster strode away.

  ***

  Aerion stopped in front of Gantarel, “You could have told me something of the rules.”

  The shorter man merely raised an eyebrow at him, “Would you have turned down the opportunity to prove yourself?”

  Aerion cocked his head, “What do you mean by that?”

  The hunter gave a quick look around, as if to see if anyone was within hearing, “Some of the hunters talk about your flight here, but others say that it is just a story. You don't test yourself as the hunters of the People do. This gives you the chance to show your mettle, understand?”

  “Why would that matter?” Aerion asked and his single eye narrowed. He planned to leave, why would he care how the other Wold saw him?

  Gantarel blinked at him, as if confused at the question, “A hunter must be known for his achievements. You are a Royal Guest, yes, and you have brought us the Medis Sakveri, but these are honors that went unseen by many. The Nadir Ebeli is an honor that will be seen by all.”

  Aerion gritted his teeth, “That assumes I succeed.”

  “Then succeed, else you'll be an embarrassment not only to yourself, but also to the King, as he is the one who so honors you,” Gantarel said the words as if he didn't care, but Aerion's eye narrowed as he realized the Wold sought to manipulate him. Gantarel sighed as Aerion took a step closer, “Runners should work together, Swordbreaker, not argue. You'll need my help, I've gone further than any other runners.”

  “Fine,” Aerion growled.

  “Stick with me,” Gantarel said. “Between your strength and my knowledge, we'll complete this. Don't try to run fast, the hunters will cover the ground faster, and they don't have to follow the approved paths. They'll be waiting for us in numbers and still more following behind.”

  Aerion opened his mouth to ask another question, but then he heard Simonel's voice, raised to reach all in the clearing. “Today we perform the Nadir Ebeli as we have since before Dzveli Eris Maghali. As always, six shall run, and thirty shall hunt. We do this from tradition and for honor, so restrain yourselves to limit the violence to what is necessary and no more.”

  Aerion felt his stomach drop at that. Simonel had said to limit the violence to what was 'necessary' which wasn't the same thing as saying to avoid it. This was going to be a very brutal time, indeed.

  “Runners, come forward,” Simonel said.

  Aerion followed Gantarel to the head of the clearing. He saw four other Wold step forward, a woman he vaguely recognized as Merenedar, and three others who he didn't recognize at all. “Some of you have come from the furthest stretches of our lands to compete today, and one of you has come from beyond that. Do not forget that this ritual has its roots in our strongest traditions.” Simonel raised a hand and Ceratul stepped forward, a large cup or bowl in both hands. As Aerion watched, Ceratul poured the contents over Gantarel at the front. Bright red blood, still steaming, dribbled down over the young Wold's head, soaking his clothing and staining his skin. “Runner Gantarel, you are marked,” Simonel intoned, his voice grave. “You must run until the waters of Gulis Sqali cleanses you and only by reaching the shore of Entraluri Mitsa will you find amnesty.”

  Aerion restrained a sigh as Gantarel stepped out of the way. He glanced down at his new clothing, the first clothing he'd ever worn that ever truly fit. Well, he thought, it seems a waste, but perhaps the King will see fit to replace it. He stepped forward.

  He closed his one eye as Ceratul poured the hot, salty blood over him. He wondered, absently where they had acquired such a large sample, but he wasn't certain he wanted to know. “Runner Aerion, you are marked.” Simonel's voice had no inflection, just the words of tradition carried out for cycles uncounted. “You must run until the waters of Gulis Sqali cleanses you and only by reaching the shore of Entraluri Mitsa will you find amnesty.” Ae
rion stepped out of the way. The hot, sticky mess caused his tunic to cling to him and made his new leather boots squelch.

  He mopped at the blood that ran down into his one good eye and restrained a sigh as Merenedar stepped up behind him. Ceratul and Simonel repeated the ritual until the six of them stood. Despite the summer warmth, the blood quickly became chill on Aerion's skin.

  “Runners,” Simonel called. “You may begin.”

  Before he had finished speaking, the other five had already turned and started off at a brisk pace. Aerion bit back a curse as he turned to follow. A single glance over his shoulder showed the mass of hunters as they lined up in front of Simonel.

  ***

  Lady Amelia Tarken

  Amelia squinted against the bright light as she stepped out on the balcony. Tirianis gave her a smile as she did so, “Wonderful day, is it not?”

  “Yes,” Amelia said. She couldn't disagree. The forested city of the Wold looked beautiful under any light, she felt, but in the warm summer sunlight the bright colors and artistic blending of forest and structures was indeed wondrous.

  “Ah, cousin, what brings you here?” Tirianis's voice had just the slightest change in tone. Amelia looked over and found Seraphai sat at one end of the balcony, her hood up and her face in shadow. She looked tired and irritable, Amelia noted. Several stray locks of her red hair hung down in her face and the liquid she drank had an odd, purplish color to it. Probably another of her concoctions to counter the effects of her curse, Amelia thought.

  The Viani woman cocked one red eyebrow at Tirianis, “The same thing that brings you, I suspect. I hear that the Wold muster the Nadir Ebeli today.” Amelia saw Tirianis' lips pinch at the insulting word. While the rest of the world knew them by the term 'Wold' they preferred People of the Eastwood or Kalakhi Salvet Khis and normally, Amelia knew, the Viani woman would have used that term. “I had thought that such rituals were a thing of the past.”

  “They do it in sport,” Amelia said, “A challenge for young men and women to prove themselves.”

  “Indeed,” Seraphai said. The dry tone of her voice suggested that this wasn't an excuse.

  “Are you certain they'll come this way?” Amelia asked. In the past she had watched at the clearing or near it, where the hunters and runners all started. Even there, she had seen violence in plenty, especially as both participants were brought back for healing.

  “The path always leads through here. This should be the best view of the event,” Tirianis said.

  “Oh, yes,” Seraphai said, “The path leads through town, so that all can watch the justice unfold.” Her tone was biting. “And so the condemned know despair as not even their own blood will help them.”

  Amelia felt her smile die on her face. A glance between Tirianis and Seraphai showed that both women were tense, their postures set almost for battle. She realized that she was holding her breath and she released it in an exasperated sigh. “Really? Whatever the cause of this, you two are friends, family even. Why all the posturing?”

  Both princesses looked at Amelia with surprise, “Tiny but fierce,” Seraphai said and then they both chuckled and Amelia felt the tension ease. “It was, perhaps, less than diplomatic of me to be here,” Seraphai said after a long moment.

  Tirianis nodded, “And perhaps I should have suggested some other entertainment for us all for the day. I hadn't thought... well, I didn't think, let us leave it at that.”

  “Well,” Amelia said, “Since we're here, why not watch?” She didn't want to, not really, but she felt more than a passing concern for Aerion. The boy probably had no idea what he was in for, and despite his size, she recognized a gentleness in him. She didn't know how he would manage in the violent sport, but she felt she owed it to him as a fellow outsider to at least watch.

  “Yes,” Seraphai said, “I suppose we should.” She glanced at Tirianis, “Warden Ivellios mentioned that the Starborn lad was participating.”

  Tirianis nodded, “He is, poor boy. Still, I expect he'll give it a good effort.”

  “He might surprise you,” Amelia blurted. The unthinking assumption that Aerion wouldn't do well stung her, because it was part of the same assumption of superiority that she often saw amongst the Wold. They thought themselves a superior race of men, above and beyond the rest of humanity.

  “Indeed, he might,” Seraphai smiled and sipped at her potion.

  “Well,” Tirianis nodded, “He is, indeed, an accomplished young lad, so I shouldn't discount him.” Amelia didn't miss her tone of apology, but she also heard placation. Tirianis thought well of the boy, but she saw him as just that. “In any case, should any runners reach the lake, we can move around the other side and watch.”

  “How much longer, do you think?” Amelia asked.

  “They should have begun, so we'll soon see the first hunters arrive. They don't have to stick to the approved paths, so they'll be here and waiting for the runners who make it through the first section,” Tirianis said. “This is where most of the runners fall.” Amelia didn't miss how the Wold Princess leaned forward in her seat as she said that.

  “Here they come,” Seraphai said. The Viani woman pointed and Amelia saw a band of Wold jog up out of the trees. Most of them went to stand around the marked path, the ropes and bright cloths that marked it seemed far to bright and happy for the events about to occur. A handful climbed into the trees and moved into position above the paths. They laughed and joked with one another as they did so, their voices carried lightly with the breeze.

  Amelia waited in silence for a long while. The initial part, the paths that led here, were a set of winding paths through some of the most dense growth in the Green Heart, she knew. From what she had heard, most of the runners would make it through that area with no issue, though any that fell behind would find a dozen or more hunters close behind. Occasionally runners or hunters would be tripped up in the dense undergrowth and be seriously injured, but that was rare. Those trails led into this part of the town.

  Down below her, Amelia saw hundreds of Wold had gathered to watch. Many of them laughed and talked, their voices eager to see the sport begin. The marked lanes led through the town, most of them led out of the north end, and then down through the rolling, forested hills and back west towards the lake. One set of trails led straight west, though that path led down through the canyon on that end of the city. Few of the runners went that way, because the trails were treacherous and there were many positions for hunters to ambush. Also, a fall off one of those trails could easily be lethal, she knew.

  No one had reached the lake, much less its island in cycles, she'd heard, though Tirianis had mentioned a runner and hunter had both fallen to their deaths three cycles ago in the canyon.

  “Ah, here they come,” Seraphai said. Amelia leaned forward to watch as Aerion and the other five runners bounded out of the dense forest and into the town.

  ***

  Aerion Swordbreaker

  Aerion ducked under a limb and then stumbled as the trail rose under his feet. They were rising, he realized, as the trail led into the part of the forest that held the Wold city. Ahead of him, he saw Merenedar and Gantarel run up the hill towards the buildings, their heads moving as they searched for ambushes.

  A glance behind him showed an even dozen of the hunters emerge from the growth. They gave hoots and calls as they ran, many of them with smiles on their faces.

  Aerion turned forward again just in time to see the runner ahead of him tackled to the ground as a pair of hunters dove on him. He slowed, about to give help, when something struck him hard in the right side of the head. Stars exploded behind his eye and he stumbled and fell. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a Wold land lightly on his feet nearby. Through the ringing in his ears, he heard a triumphant shout as the Wold wound his leg back for a kick.

  ***

  Lady Amelia Tarken

  “Oh dear, there goes young Swordbreaker,” Tirianis said as she shook her head, “I don't think he saw that coming
.” She pointed at where one of the Wold had dropped from the trees. From how Aerion was on the ground, Amelia suspected the hunter had probably kicked or punched the boy in the head as he dropped.

  Get up, Amelia thought as she watched the other hunters converge. If he didn't get up, they'd be on him in a minute, and they'd beat him until he couldn't continue.

  Two of the other runners were down, Amelia saw. One near Aerion and another further ahead. She saw the lead three runners in a rolling skirmish with four other hunters, but the pursuit would focus on those runners already brought down.

  She winced as she saw the Wold wind up a kick at Aerion's head. Get up, she thought again, even as she tried to pry her eyes away.

  ***

  Aerion Swordbreaker

  Aerion reached out a hand and caught the Wold hunter's leg and pulled. His triumphant shout turned into a startled yelp and before the Wold could gain his senses Aerion punched him as hard as he could in the face. The Wold went limp and Aerion pushed himself to his feet.

  A glance back revealed that the pursuing mob had closed the distance to no more than a hundred yards. When he looked forward he saw three of the other runners some distance ahead, with a handful of hunters in steady pursuit. Aerion took off at a lope. One of the hunters who had downed the runner nearby leapt at him. Instead of a block, Aerion lunged and caught the man by his leathers. As his two companions left off and came at him, Aerion swung the hunter around and gave a grunt as he threw him, physically into the two others. As all three went down, Aerion continued his run.

  He had to watch his step, because there were three more unconscious hunters and then another of the runners, dazed and trying to crawl. Aerion didn't pause, he didn't have time. Besides, the Wold had volunteered for this, so Aerion had little sympathy for him.

  Aerion lengthened his stride as he drew closer to the edge of the city. One of the three runners ahead stumbled as a blow got through. Two more hunters pounced on him, but Aerion saw that it left the other two runners free to make a break for it. Aerion burst into a sprint as he ran past the last hunters, clustered around the downed runner. One of the Wold reached out to catch him, but Aerion shouldered through and sent the man spinning away.