by Kal Spriggs
And it is not as if I can fully trust all of my people in this matter, he thought darkly. Just before he came to meet Aerion, a messenger from Listania had cautioned him of the dangers if he allowed the Starblade to leave the Eastwood. Her letter had warned of the hazards of a unified Five Duchies... of how the Viani would no doubt seek to restore the High Kingdom and that they might no longer be satisfied with the isolation of the People of the Eastwood. She had all but insinuated that to protect his people he should take the blade, perhaps even kill its bearer.
Considering that he suspected Listania was behind at least one attempt to assassinate Amelia, Simonel had taken her message as something of a sign. She was a skilled and powerful wizard, with thousands of cycles of experience and time to plan. The message could have multiple angles, designed to manipulate him into some unfavorable action. He didn't doubt she would use whatever he did against him at the next meeting at the Founding... and he didn't care.
He would do what was right... and ensure that she didn't harm Aerion while he still walked in his lands. Simonel nodded at Gantarel, “As your King, I charge you with escorting him safely to the border of our lands.” Gantarel gave him a bow and Simonel turned back to Aerion, “There is much I would say to you... but I feel we shall meet again. Kargad Zauroba: travel well.”
They clasped forearms again and Aerion's single blue eye met Simonel's, “Farewell to you, King Simonel... and thank you.” He bowed to Amelia, “Be safe, Lady Amelia.” He turned away and he and Gantarel loped off.
“I should have a knot of worry in my stomach,” Amelia said, her voice soft. “Yet somehow, I think that of us all that Aerion will survive and adapt to any dangers that come his way.”
“He does adapt well,” Simonel said. In truth he felt a bit of envy for the friends that Aerion had spoken of... and for the clear-cut enemies that he had mentioned. He cared little for the politics, the Usurper or Lady Katarina, either made little difference for his people... but to face ones enemies openly would be a nice change. “Still, I think in some ways he might be safer out there than here among my people.”
“Even with your protection?” Amelia asked.
Simonel grimaced, “Especially with my protection. Our mutual friend, Listania, has sent me a message regarding her 'concerns' about Aerion Swordbreaker.” He didn't want to go into the details with Amelia, not least of which because Listania had noted the potential danger of 'alliance' between Boir and Masov.
“Why am I not surprised?” Amelia's voice was flat. Simonel looked at her in surprise and saw her back straighten and a look of iron stubbornness came to her eyes. “Well, whatever her plan is, we'll face it together.” Her hand found his and he felt a sudden wave of warmth go over him, like the first warm breeze on a chill spring day.
Still, he didn't allow such emotion to overwhelm his senses, “Listania has survived since the time of Dzveli Eris Maghali, when my people and the Viani were one... well before the younger races of man founded their Five Duchies here on Eoriel and well before your ancestors had come to Aoria.” He had more than a few dark suspicions about Listania's goals, but her specific aim he felt more than a little uncertainty over. Certainly she wanted to return their people to the status and power they had once held. The why and the how he didn't know... not yet. “I feel that whatever her goals, she will hesitate to act directly against me, not without more allies than we already suspect her of having.” In her attempt on Amelia's life, Listania had made use of Nadiroba Mukhai, men and women who operated outside of the law, who specialized in dealing death from silence and without warning. Until recently, Simonel had assumed that, if they existed at all, they were some wing of the hunters. The title Nadiroba Mukhai loosely translated as Shadow Stalkers, though they were said to ambush their prey whenever they were most vulnerable, be it from ambush, deceit, or the cover of darkness.
He hoped that Amelia's confrontation with Gedrain would prevent further direct attacks from the Nadiroba Mukhai. He was not prepared to wager on that, however. And Gedrain's presence in the sport and his actions there suggest that he and Listania have goals I've not yet delved into, he thought.
“Why would she hesitate?”Amelia asked. It was a valid question, since she wasn't one of his People.
“It has to do with certain prophesies spoken by one of our better Spirit-talkers,” Simonel said.
“Prophesies?” Amelia asked. Simonel saw a mix of suspicion and doubt on her face.
Simonel restrained a sigh, “It is... perhaps not the best word.” It was hard to explain how much his people were dependent upon the spirits of their ancestors... and how closely tied those spirits were to his People's every day lives. They didn't make themselves known to Amelia, because of her status as an outsider. Compared to how most outsiders had very indirect relationships with their spirits, it would be hard for her to really understand. “Spirits, as beings of energy, perceive the world in a different fashion... but they see potential and they therefore spoke of the potential they saw in my birth.” He waited for her to nod and then continued, “This particular set of prophesies came about just before my birth... and the spirits of our ancestors spoke through this Spiritspeaker. She told my father that our next ruler would be born under the sign of Maghali Mede. With this omen, my people would recognize their next leader, the one who could guide them through their time of greatest peril. She also apparently said that the fates of the Kalakhi Salvet Khis and their leader will be matched... and that should he fall, so will they.”
Amelia's eyes went up and she looked suitably impressed. “So that is supposed to be you?”
“Well,” Simonel cleared his throat. “That's the part that isn't entirely clear. My father, the King, banished this spirit-speaker shortly after she spoke her prophesies. She has lived almost four hundred and fifty cycles in isolation. I will try to find accurate copies, but that will take some time and I'll need your help. I may have to go to her and ask her for more detail and for the exact words.”
Amelia frowned, “Why would he banish someone who your spirits were telling all of this to? I mean, from what I understand, shamans and priests rarely get anything so direct as what you've mentioned. Was she distrusted, some kind of rebel?”
“Oh, no, she was my father's lover, from long before he met my mother. They grew up together and of anyone, he said he trusted her wisdom most of all... until she earned her banishment.” Simonel smiled grimly, “She did something the King could not forgive. She tried to kill his newborn son, the very same person who she claimed would be this great leader.” He saw realization cross Amelia's face and he nodded, “Yes... she tried to kill me.”
***
Lady Amelia Tarken
The Eastwood
14th of Agmat, Cycle 1000 Post Sundering
Amelia paused on her way back from the clearing as she heard what sounded like sobbing. At first she wondered if she were hearing things again, but the sounds continued rather than disappearing and she followed the sounds up onto the balcony where she had observed the first part of the Nadir Ebeli. She paused, though, when she found Tirianis curled into a seat, tears rolling down her face.
“Tirianis?” Amelia asked, shocked to see her friend so troubled. The Wold Princess seemed so strong, she would not have expected to find her this way. Certainly she couldn't think of anything that could have troubled her so much.
“He's leaving,” Tirianis said, her voice rough.
Amelia followed her friend's gaze down to where Aerion continued on his way, oblivious to the Wold Princess. She felt a sudden dark suspicion, “Tirianis, don't tell me that you–”
Her friend wiped at the tears on her face and gave her a level look, “It's not that... well, not exactly that.” She smiled somewhat wistfully, “He's a nice enough boy and I've got to say, seeing you and Simonel so happy the other night made me wish I had someone like that. But that's not it. Not really.”
Amelia felt confused but she took a seat near Tirianis and waited patiently. As Aerion disap
peared into the trees her friend gave a sigh. “Young Swordbreaker is all of sixteen cycles... yet he has seen hardship, war, and loss. He has already traveled further than I ever will.” Tirianis's voice was bitter.
“I thought that your people were allowed to travel outside before they reached the age of majority,” Amelia said cautiously. She had heard that Simonel had traveled far and wide. Jasmine and Jasper had both gossiped a bit about that and used their own travels as a measuring stick.
Tirianis bowed her head and her dark hair hung in a wave over her face. “I manifested my skills as an empath when I was very young.” Her voice went distant, “Most of my first years were spent learning control and even now exposure to large crowds can overwhelm that... as it did during the Nadir Ebeli.” Amelia heard a note of self-disgust in her friend's voice. “At first I postponed such travels to ensure that I would have better control. Then I postponed them to improve my skills. Eventually I just focused upon proving my control and achieving adulthood.” She looked up through the fall of her hair and Amelia felt shock to see the tears in her friends eyes. “Until you, I had never met another outsider besides my mother. Until young Aerion, I have never met a man from the outside world. How then, am I wise? How have I tested myself?”
“Tirianis,” Amelia said quickly, “You are the most wise and kind person I have ever known!”
“But I have never tested myself, not truly,” Tirianis said harshly. “I found ways to avoid what I feared by embracing things that other people saw as hard.” She snorted, “I knew that I could prove my adulthood with ease, so I focused on that. I knew that I could master my control here in the forest, in familiar surroundings, so I practiced that.” She stood and went to the balconies edge, “I dreamed of what lay beyond the Eastwood. I feared what might happen to me out there.” Her voice dropped slightly, “One in five of our kind who leave never return, you know?”
“What happens?”
“We don't know,” Tirianis said softly. “Those who search for them find no signs or they don't return themselves. Simonel and I had a good friend, Annela, who left before Simonel. We never heard anything of what might have happened to her. No traces, no signs, vanished as if she had never existed.” She turned to meet Amelia's gaze and Amelia saw anguish there. “She was more beautiful, smart, and capable than I ever was. I wanted to help find her... but I also feared that I was too weak to survive the outside world, so I forgot about her. I haven't spoken her name more than a couple of times since Simonel left.” She smiled slightly, “You remind me of her, in many ways.”
“I'm sorry,” Amelia said. She could understand some of the weight that Tirianis felt. “But her disappearance isn't your fault. And you are not weak. You have helped me, you are more than capable of facing the outside world, trust me.”
She didn't know if Tirianis even heard what she'd said. The Wold Princess just stood by the rail, her green eyes focused in the distance where Aerion had vanished under the trees.
***
Chapter Four
Captain Kerrel Flamehair
The Doghouse, near Seidlyce, Duchy of Masov
15th of Agmat, Cycle 1000 Post Sundering
Kerrel reined in as she saw an assembled formation out front of the Doghouse. The wooden walled, semi-permanent mercenary camp stood on a low rise over the village which had grown up to support it. The three companies of infantry formed up in the parade field stood in silent ranks and at their front stood a smaller formation. She recognized, from a distance, the short, dark-haired woman who stood at its front.
Kerrel glanced over at Baran, “Wait here and have the formation dismount.” She didn't think that the Countess would pick a fight with her, but from how the Mongrels were formed up, they could easily attack or defend. It was best, she figured, to not provoke her with an armed and ready formation.
She waved Jonal forward and they rode up closer, “Greetings, Countess Darkriver.” Kerrel said as she dismounted. “I had heard you were still south on contract. Honestly I'm a bit surprised to see you here.”
The mercenary commander stood silent for a long moment. Her dark hair and pale skin stood out against the others around her, along with the dark blue tattoo that stained the right side of her face. “Good evening, Commander Flamehair,” the Countess said. “What brings you to the Doghouse?” There was an edge to her voice, as if she half expected an answer she wouldn't like.
Kerrel frowned, “I'm not here on official business. I'm on my way south on a mission for Lord Hector. Since we've been riding hard for several days, I was going to see if my company could avail itself of the hospitality of the Doghouse.” She gave a polite smile, “Not a lot of places here for a whole company of heavy cavalry to stage.”
The Countess's face softened a bit, “Well... that's understandable.” She gave a nod to one of her men, who stepped back and signaled the formation behind them. The mercenaries immediately went to port arms and began a countermarch back into the Doghouse. As Kerrel's eyebrow raised, the Countess shrugged, “I couldn't discount the possibility that Lord Hector decided we were too much of a danger to leave intact... what with his earlier threats.”
Kerrel felt her face go wooden. She had trained under the Mongrels, had fought in their ranks, and had most recently turned the tide of a battle thanks to Pargan, one of the Mongrel's captains, and his entire company. That the Countess thought she might turn against them, even for Hector, told her just how divided the Duchy had become. That same level of distrust has torn apart my own homeland, she thought, I have to stop it from spreading root here. “I can't say much about Hector's feelings on the Mongrels, but he has sent me south to try to forge a peace and prevent civil war.”
“Ah,” the leader of the Mongrels didn't show any surprise. “Well, why don't we head in to my offices. Alec can tell your men where to stay, we've plenty of room in the stables, what with our own heavy cavalry company being in the north.” There was no attempt to hide the bitterness in her voice.
“Thank you,” Kerrel said. She nodded at the man, “Tell Baran where to go and that he should come up to the offices once the men are settled.” She grimaced, “He should also bring Sergeant Lamar with him.”
“Yes, ma'am,” the young man answered. Kerrel followed the Countess towards the Doghouse. The palisade, as always, looked well kept, though Kerrel noted two locations where repairs were under way. They passed through the outer wall and Kerrel saw further improvements had taken place since her last visit. Like before, the outer wall served as one wall for the four buildings that ringed the inner courtyard. A stone keep was under construction, she saw, with piles of squared stone, gravel for the inner fill, and a leveled foundation laid out. “That's new,” she said, her eyes took in the details while she estimated the size and shape of the keep.
“Got to think of the future,” the Countess said around a lump of Bacca Root that she shoved into the corner of her mouth. She led the way to the wooden structure which, if Kerrel remembered right, held the offices, supplies, and other sundry. In her time as a recruit, the building had an almost mythical status. Now, however, it seemed a bit smaller and less impressive.
The Countess led the way down several corridors and at last to her office. It was a small, cozy room, one with Kerrel had only visited once before. This time she had a moment to study the contents, the odd collection of weapons, armor, and memorabilia which the Countess had collected from years of campaigns. The war club from the island of Nilues was particularly impressive, hung as it was behind her desk, while the elaborate war banner taken from the continent of Aoriel look up much of the wall beneath it. Kerrel pulled her eyes off the collection and turned her gaze to Countess Darkriver.
The mercenary commander was as short and wiry as she remembered, but there was more gray streaking her jet-black hair than Kerrel remembered and more lines that marked her harsh face, as well. Kerrel felt something of a shock as she realized that the woman who had always seemed unchanging was getting old. I knew she wasn't Starborn,
Kerrel reminded herself, still, it is easy to forget such things.
“So, the Usurper sent you to make peace,” the Countess said. She cocked an eyebrow, “Manipulative of him, isn't it?” The lump of Bacca root tucked in her cheek made her slur her words a bit.
Kerrel shrugged and looked away, “He knows my past, yes, but that doesn't mean he doesn't want peace made.”
The Countess shook her head, “He does, but on his terms.” She grimaced and took a seat behind her desk. “Oh don't look at me like that, Kerrel,” she snapped, “I know you're loyal to your pay... and I know that other things motivate you besides that. But you can't argue with my statement. There's no compromise in the man, he'll leverage everything to his way or else stubbornly fight you for every inch. It's the arrogance of a man who knows he is right... even when he's dead wrong.”
Kerrel sighed, “He's not often wrong, or at least not entirely... but I take your meaning.” She shot a glance at Jonal, who looked uneasy. “Relax, Jonal, Countess Darkriver knows far more about both politics and diplomacy than she lets on.”
“Hah,” the Countess grunted. “I'm just a simple Noric girl who rose above her means.”
Jonal started a bit at that and Kerrel suppressed a grin. The Countess didn't bother, she gave Kerrel's cousin a broad, toothy smile, her teeth stained yellow from the Bacca root juices, “Ah, you didn't know?” She pointed at the elaborate blue tattoo that covered the right side of her face, “I was born to a Noric tribe, high up in the Ryft Peaks, to a shaman. At my birth, our tribe's demon claimed me for his own, said I would be his bride, and had my tribe mark my face with his symbol.”