Age of War: Book Three of The Legends of the First Empire

by Michael J. Sullivan

  “You’re changing the subject,” Nyphron told her.

  “She can do that; she’s the keenig,” Moya said while smiling innocently. Persephone was certain she had the only Shield capable of wielding her eyes as a deadly weapon.

  “And good Shields are supposed to be silent,” Nyphron replied.

  A year ago, such a comment would have terrified both of them. Instead, Persephone braced herself for the inevitable reply. Moya always had a reply.

  “And Fhrey are supposed to be gods.” Moya shrugged. “Isn’t life just full of disappointments?”

  Moya’s mouth! Persephone had mentally turned the phrase into a curse. The three of them had spent nearly every day of the winter together, planning and organizing. At first, Persephone was certain Moya would get them both killed. She loved the girl to death, but Moya could make difficult situations impossible. Then, by the first snows, she realized Nyphron invited attacks. He appeared to enjoy her barbs. By midwinter, the two were regularly greeting each other with scathing insults. To aid her, Moya had Tekchin teach her Fhrey profanity.

  “How many more prisoners?” Persephone asked again.

  Nyphron continued to look at Moya a moment longer, then shifted over. “A little more than a hundred.”

  “A hundred? Why so many?”

  “I thought Instarya never disobeyed their superiors,” Moya jabbed again.

  Moya!

  Thankfully, this time Nyphron ignored her. “Petragar and Vertumus are the only Fhrey down there.”

  “You have humans imprisoned?” Persephone asked.

  “No,” he replied, as if the question was ridiculous.

  “Dwarfs?”

  “Why would we imprison dwarfs?”

  “I don’t know, but what else could there be?”

  “We use the duryngon as holding pens mostly. Patrols sometimes capture goblins, welos, or bankors. We even had an ariface once, and for a few years, we had a white bear that we named Alpola, after a Grenmorian legend of a snow giant.”

  Persephone didn’t know what most of those words meant but imagined a menagerie of mystical creatures, a terrifying collection of nightmares underneath her feet.

  “What do you do to them?”

  “Study, mostly. We learn weaknesses and strengths, attitudes, motivations, and languages if applicable.”

  “Are we done here?” Moya asked. At midday, she taught the bow to a hundred would-be archers.

  “Looks like it.” Persephone was getting the nod from the door guard, who closed the chamber on that side.

  “Then I’m off to belittle and humiliate this month’s crop of manhood.”

  “How are they doing?” Nyphron asked as he stood up and they headed toward the judge’s door.

  “Very well—but don’t tell them that. This is part of the same group I had back in autumn, and I’m pleased to find they’ve kept up with their practice.”

  “Any standouts?” Nyphron held open the door for the two women.

  Moya nodded. “A kid named Tesh is the best. He loves challenging me.”

  Nyphron was nodding. “Sebek has the same problem with that boy.”

  “He’s a natural, very athletic and driven. I’ve seen him practicing in weather so cold that stone cries. Made himself a pair of gloves without fingertips on his right hand so he could better feel the string. And he’s the only one, besides me, who can hold five arrows in the draw hand. The rest of my trainees hold them in their bow hand, which slows them down. Tesh isn’t accurate enough, and he’s not thrusting the shot with his bow hand, but he can loose three arrows faster than you can say your own name.”

  “He’s been asking for armor.” Nyphron closed the door behind them. “Wants to get used to the weight and balance. They keep telling him he’s not done growing, but that hasn’t stopped him from asking.”

  “He’s Dureyan, you know,” Moya said as they entered the Kype’s main hall, which was dominated by the huge doors and dangling chandeliers. Not a shaft of sunlight entered. The Kype was the fortress within the fortress; the only windows were four stories up and very narrow. “Explains why Raithe appointed him as his Shield. Well, that and great foresight on Raithe’s part. That kid is going to be a killer one day.”

  * * *

  —

  Persephone insisted on climbing to the top of the Spyrok once a day. She wanted to see the world, and there was no better view than from there. She also loved leaving behind the shackles of her keenig duties. If only for an hour, she could be just one of the birds that circled the tower. Recently, Nyphron had taken to joining her. At first, she’d found it irritating. This had been her alone time. She climbed the thousand steps, which she counted on five separate occasions, to find solitude. He was an invader. Yet as intruders went, the lord of Alon Rhist had proven to be…charming? Somehow, that didn’t quite fit but it was as close as she could come. How else could she describe how he matched her embarrassingly slow progress and pretended to need the occasional rest?

  The two reached the top and looked east at all creation, cast in shimmering gold by a setting sun behind them. Wind blew. Wind always blew up there, and Persephone gripped the icy stone ledge and leaned into the cold gusts, which felt good after the long climb. The world appeared so beautiful; hard to believe that out of that splendor death marched toward them.

  “Do you think it will be soon?” Persephone asked.

  “Yes,” Nyphron replied. “The fane will have built his new army over the winter, same as us. I suspect they are already on the move.”

  “How long, then?”

  “We have time. Armies, even experienced ones, are notoriously slow. Supply lines need to be established, which will be the first thing we’ll target after the initial battle. Disrupt an enemy’s supplies and it’s like poisoning a village well—everybody leaves.”

  “You’ve fought in many battles?”

  He nodded with a smile that said he was being modest. He walked around the circle of the parapet with his arms outstretched. “These mountains, forests, rivers, and caves were my playground. I grew up exploring every crag, cleft, and shadow. And those that came with me became legends.” He looked out at the purple and gold of the most distant peaks and sighed.

  She thought she saw sadness in his eyes and realized he was likely remembering fallen comrades. “Have you lost many Galantians over the years?”

  He appeared surprised and shook his head. “Just two.”

  “Medak and Stryker were the first?” She felt foolish for never having offered condolences for—

  “Stryker wasn’t a Galantian,” he said with a little chuckle. “Stryker was a goblin. One of the many guests of the duryngon. I pulled him out of his hole thinking he might be useful.”

  “And Grygor? Is he a Galantian?”

  Nyphron shrugged. “Sort of. We picked him up a few centuries ago in Hentlyn during a clan dispute where—”

  “He’s that old?”

  “Grenmorians age like trees. Act like them, too. Some fall asleep for years, the bigger ones especially. Furgenrok, the ruler of the dominant Rok Clan, allegedly fell asleep for so long that dirt built up on him, grass grew, and sheep were grazing on his face. Legend holds that one little lamb tugged on an eyelash and what was known as Mount Furg—for reasons no one could by then remember—got up and turned out to be Furgenrok himself.”

  Persephone smiled as she imagined a mountain getting up and dusting himself off.

  “My father was the leader of the Instarya tribe. That made him lord of Alon Rhist, commander of the whole frontier. This granted me certain privileges, although not too many as my father wasn’t one for favoritism. But I was allowed to handpick my cohort. I chose only a few, but that was all I needed because I picked the best.” He placed his hands on the balcony ledge and looked out. “And the adventures we had.” He sighed again.
“But I’m no longer five hundred, and there comes a time when you have to grow up, I suppose.”

  He turned to her, looked straight into her eyes, and asked. “Have you had time to consider the proposal I mentioned when we arrived? I don’t mean to push, and I admit that I have very little knowledge of Rhune customs when it comes to marriage, so I apologize if I appear to be rushing things.”

  Once again, Persephone was caught by surprise. “More than half a year between comments wouldn’t be considered a rush.”

  “Good,” he said and waited.

  Persephone felt flustered. “To be honest, I haven’t given the idea that much consideration. We’ve been together nearly every day, and you’ve never…I mean…I guess I thought you might not have been serious, or you might have changed your mind.”

  “Not at all. I merely wanted to give you the necessary time to evaluate the proposal.”

  I was right, charming really isn’t the right word.

  Persephone had contemplated the proposal a great deal over the winter, so much so that she’d refused to meet privately with Raithe, even though he’d attempted to see her dozens of times. During council meetings where all the chieftains were present, she made a point of avoiding him. Persephone couldn’t afford to be alone with Raithe, not even for a second.

  Over several cold months of contemplation, she determined that Nyphron was right. Their union wasn’t merely advantageous—it was necessary. Persephone also realized that, despite everything, she loved Raithe. Probably since the day I met him. Back then it wasn’t an option. Reglan’s death was so fresh, and they faced so many troubles. I made excuses. He was too young; he didn’t believe in me, didn’t believe in fighting; his dreams were childish, selfish things. But even though he knew he couldn’t win, he would have fought the Gula champion for her. And he was still there, still training men in Alon Rhist. He hadn’t seen her in months, but the man hadn’t left. I’m running out of excuses. And she missed him more than she ever expected she would. Strange how infrequently I thought about Raithe when he was here, but how important the man has become in his absence. Thoughts of love had always been a luxury before, frivolous and indulgent, but now she had to think. She needed to decide, and that decision led her to a comparison. Nyphron made his argument, which, while sensible, felt cold and empty. In his absence, Raithe couldn’t defend himself; he also couldn’t ruin the growing appreciation that bloomed in a rich soil of selected memories that became all the rosier in light of Nyphron’s calculated arrangements. All of her mental debates, all of her reasons to choose the Fhrey, sounded foolish against the powerful backdrop of longing that, instead of diminishing as she had hoped, had grown stronger.

  At first, she had been ridiculously busy. Now, she didn’t dare allow herself to see Raithe, to be alone with him. The winter had made her weaker. This couldn’t be a selfish decision. That was a girl’s choice. She was a woman, and the keenig. Her own happiness couldn’t get in the way of that.

  Persephone looked back at him with a concerned frown. “Do you…do you even like me?”

  Nyphron drew his head back in surprise. “I…is that important?”

  “I think so, yes. I’m not saying you have to be in love with me. I’ve seen Fhrey women and guess you find me somewhere between ugly and grotesque. But for a successful marriage, I certainly think a genuine, if only general, affection of some kind is necessary.”

  He nodded thoughtfully. “I believe I can honestly say I have enjoyed your company this past winter.”

  “Oh, well, that is…that’s wonderful. I hope you didn’t strain yourself with that admission.”

  She turned away and crossed the parapet to the south side. Leaning on the wall once more, she stared out at the Bern and Urum River valleys without seeing either. These climbs were so much more enjoyable alone.

  “You seem upset.”

  “Me? No. Not at all.” She refused to look at him. His blank, bewildered stare was too infuriating.

  Why am I so angry?

  Nyphron was being forthright and honest, offering her a very sensible arrangement that would benefit nearly everyone. To her knowledge, there had never been a Fhrey-human marriage. Such a thing would go a long way toward eliminating misconceptions and establishing respect between the races. That was the real battle, the real war that needed winning.

  So why does it hurt?

  Persephone remembered the first time they scaled the Spyrok together. She recalled laughing with him when, after climbing those thousand steps, they couldn’t open the door to the balcony because of the late winter snow. They’d just sat there, slumped on the top step cursing the gods. She remembered how he’d lent her his coat, putting it on her so thoughtfully, and how he’d caught her when she slipped on the ice, and held her hand as they crossed the rest of the bridge on their way to the general assembly for the midwinter address. His hand had felt warm; it had felt good; it had felt like…

  I thought…I thought maybe he…

  “Do you still need more time to decide?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she replied, and then, biting her lip, she sucked in an unsatisfying breath.

  Spring was supposed to be a time of new beginnings or renewal, of love and the joy of rebirth. Instead, spring was just a time of waiting, and death was on its way.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Monsters in the Dark

  He was handsome, brave, strong, and sixteen. Neither one of us knew what we were doing. We did not care.

  —THE BOOK OF BRIN

  Tesh wiped the sweat from his eyes. Sebek had beaten him again, but just barely. Tesh had also very nearly lost a hand. The better he got, the nastier Sebek became.

  “You’re still watching my blades too much, Techylor,” Sebek told him. The Fhrey wasn’t sweating, not even out of breath. “The story is in my eyes.”

  “Your eyes lie.”

  Sebek grinned. “Noticed that, did you?”

  “Nearly lost my hand because of it.”

  Sebek’s mouth grinned while his eyes laughed. “Yes, you did.”

  Despite Tesh’s success, the other trainees avoided Sebek, which was likely his intent. With no students, he spent his days drinking in the sun and shouting curses at the pitiful performance of the sword-fighting hopefuls. The insults started in Rhunic, but as he got drunk, Sebek slipped into Fhrey. By the end of the day, he routinely threw things.

  Sebek was also undeniably the best living warrior. Having trained with all the Galantians, Tesh knew this to be true. Eres had no match with a spear. Tekchin remained peerless with a thin, long blade. They all had specialties, but everyone knew that if the whole of the world fought, Sebek would be the last one standing. He was more than a pair of short blades, more than lean muscle, more than finely honed technique. Sebek was a killer. He enjoyed the sight of blood. Even the other Galantians didn’t challenge him.

  Tesh made a habit of it.

  He relentlessly dogged Sebek. At first, the Fhrey laughed at the stupid kid with the death wish. When Tesh refused to let up, Sebek taught him a lesson. Tesh had bled, but he’d also learned. Sebek hadn’t believed it when Tesh came back for more. After a few additional short-lived instructions in humiliation, Sebek became intrigued at the suicidal toddler who learned from his mistakes. When Tesh deflected an attack with a bare palm, Sebek stopped calling him stupid. He even stopped calling him kid. Tesh’s new name was Techylor—swifthand. He was pretty sure Sebek never knew his real name—positive the Fhrey didn’t care. Tesh didn’t care, either. All he wanted was to learn what Sebek could teach. All Tesh desired was to be the best.

  “He’s just trying to scare you, Techylor,” Eres said.

  The Galantian reclined on the grass of the courtyard, his hands behind his head, his chest bare to the sun. They were all there—all except Nyphron. The Galantians found the matches between Sebek and Tesh as entertaining as the trainees
did. Sebek liked the attention and usually put out the word that he’d be teaching Techylor again, which brought the rest running.

  “He should be scared.” Sebek returned his blades to their scabbards.

  “Give him a break,” Grygor said. He was sitting by the barracks wall, struggling to repair a tear in the sleeve of his shirt. “The kid is out here every day and most of the night.”

  “If we had a hundred like him,” Sikar said, “we could invade Erivan and be done with it.”

  “He’s not that good,” Sebek said.

  “He’s the best Rhune I’ve ever seen,” Sikar put in.

  Sebek gave Sikar a dismissive glance. “I’m not interested in the best Rhune. What good is that?”

  Sikar got up and dusted grass off his legs. “Just saying—he’s practically an infant, and been training with us for less than a year, and already he’s dangerous. Just imagine if he had been in Nadak or Dureya when they were burned.” Sikar paused and looked at Tesh. “Oh, wait, you’re Dureyan, aren’t you? Thought I heard someone saying that. Where were you when the attacks came? Out hunting or something?”

  Tesh didn’t answer. He’d spotted Brin sitting in the grass across the courtyard. He pointed at her and smiled. “Sorry, can’t talk. More important matters to attend to.” He followed this with a wicked grin and trotted away.

  Brin was leaning against the lamppost in front of the smithy with that same satchel in her lap. He grabbed his shirt and crossed the yard. Tesh expected Sebek to make a comment about the pitfalls of women, an insult at the very least. He didn’t. The only sounds were the light-hearted taunts of the boys and men in his squad, none of which he bothered addressing.