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

by Michael J. Sullivan

  She drew in a shaky breath. “Things have changed.”

  Persephone was alone in her room, isolated high in the Kype, surrounded by several feet of Fhrey-quarried stone. There was only the one narrow window, and it faced away from the rest of the Rhist. The door to the bedroom was closed. No one could hear. Still, the words were hard to say. She needed to hear them, needed to say them out loud to make it real. And maybe Reglan was listening. She hoped so because she needed to explain. “Things are different now that you’re gone. You understand that, right? You were always so practical, and I’m the keenig now. Yeah, can you believe that? Me, keenig.” She let out a little miserable laugh. “I have responsibilities, things I have to do. You taught me that.”

  She let the ring slip into her palm where she squeezed it. She closed her eyes and more tears fell. “I forgive you,” she said in a whisper, but the words were loud in her heart. “I forgive you, my love. I hope you can do the same for me.”

  She reached out her arm, opened her hand and let the ring drop. She heard the small circlet hit the floor and roll away. “Goodbye, Reglan.”

  She cried then, deep and hard into the palms of her hands. After what felt like a long time, she wiped her face and took a breath. She felt exhausted, all the muscles in her body sore and weak as if she’d been in a fight. And she felt empty and alone, so very alone.

  She sat with her eyes closed and head back, listening to herself breathe.

  Then she opened her eyes and screamed.

  * * *

  —

  Brin was known for being a fast runner, but she hadn’t been training daily for nearly a year the way Tesh had. She had slowed down to an air-gasping walk by the time they reached the second gate. That was where he finally caught up to her.

  “Keep…going…” She waved at him.

  Tesh didn’t bother wasting air replying. He couldn’t run, but he could still jog.

  “Right…behind…you…” he heard her say as he passed by. She still had a terrified look.

  At first, Tesh didn’t understand how those two pieces of clothes meant anything. So, Meryl was a thief. Who cared about that when he was harboring a monster? Brin hadn’t bothered to explain; she’d just bolted. Tesh finally put it together when they reached the steps to the first gate, where the Asendwayr kept their kennel of hunting dogs. Meryl was going to use his pet to assassinate the leaders of the rebellion. But Persephone was in the Kype, the safest place in an impregnable fortress. Even Raithe couldn’t get in there without an invitation.

  But could a raow?

  In the long dark of a Dureyan winter’s night, the older villagers told stories, tales recited by parents. Being Dureyan, the stories were never pleasant, always tales of woe and warning. The legend of the raow was typical:

  Roaming hills and forests deep,

  On human bones it makes its bed.

  But weary raow cannot sleep,

  ’Til once again the pile is fed.

  It prowls beyond the fire’s light,

  Warrior, hunter, girl, and boy.

  The raow savors every bite,

  A succulent face the monster’s joy.

  Steer clear of lonely hills at night,

  The sunset shadows you must race.

  The raow’s grip is oh so tight,

  As deeply she bites into your face.

  Tesh charged the last steps to the Verenthenon, following the spiral steps that circled the inside wall and spilled out to the long corbel bridge. A quick final sprint and Tesh reached the Kype.

  “Open up!” Tesh hammered on the door. He bent over, supporting himself with his hands on his knees, and took deep luxurious breaths. “I need…to see the keenig.”

  The little window in the door opened, and a pair of eyes peered out. “Too late. Come back in the morning.”

  “Can’t…it’s urgent.”

  “Who are you?”

  “Tesh of the Dureya.”

  “Dureya, huh? Try coming back tomorrow.”

  “But you don’t understand. I have to see the keenig.”

  “She’s already gone to bed.”

  “I don’t care—this is important!”

  “Did Raithe send you?”

  “Raithe? No.”

  “Then why do you need to see the keenig?”

  “Because—”

  “Techylor!” Tesh heard a familiar voice behind him.

  Turning, he spotted Sebek coming out of the Verenthenon and walking toward him across the narrow bridge.

  “Sebek!” he shouted with relief.

  “I thought I saw you run up here. I was hoping to catch you below, but you went right by me.”

  Sebek was dressed in his breastplate and shoulder guards. His bronze armor was customized, smaller, thinner, and lighter than the others. Even so, he rarely wore it even in sparring matches. He always complained that the metal sheets were hot in the sun.

  “Yeah, listen, you need to help me.”

  “I plan to.”

  Tesh looked at him, surprised. Did Brin already talk to him? Smart girl. He hooked a thumb at the door where the little window had already slid shut. “This idiot won’t let me in.”

  Sebek approached, quickly drawing Thunder and Lightning.

  For a confused moment, Tesh couldn’t make the connection. Is he going to use his swords on the door? How will that help? “What are you doing?”

  The Fhrey smiled. “Time for another lesson.”

  “Lesson? Didn’t Brin tell you? We need—”

  “You need to defend yourself.”

  Sebek closed the distance and attacked.

  Tesh dodged the blow purely out of instinct and spun solely out of reflex. Then he drew iron from both scabbards. “This is no time for a lesson!”

  Sebek grinned. “Winded, are you? Looked like a long run. Can’t expect enemies to be courteous and only attack when you’re prepared. Sometimes they catch you off guard in awkward places where you can’t retreat.”

  He attacked again, and Tesh noticed something different in his assault. He imagined no one else in the world would have noticed, but after so many bouts, Tesh knew Sebek’s technique—this wasn’t it. The attack was more aggressive, more dead-on—and it was faster.

  Tesh intercepted the blades and thanked Roan and the gods for the iron swords. Anything less would have given way. As it was, he felt the bone-jarring impact that nearly kicked them from his hands. In the past, that’s what always happened, but Tesh had learned a new grip, and a new way of deflecting a straight edge-to-edge stroke, sparing him the loss of his weapons.

  He saw the look of surprise on Sebek’s face when he didn’t lose his blades, and Tesh took that moment to strike back and to shout, “Stop it! We need to save—”

  That was all the time he had before Sebek came at him again.

  He swung straight on. No one ever did that. They all learned not to swing a deathblow. Instead, they were taught to angle the stroke so that a missed follow-through wouldn’t kill. Sebek was breaking that rule. If Tesh failed to block, Lightning would cleave him in half. What’s more, Sebek was stepping in, putting excess force into the blows.

  What’s he trying to do, kill me?

  None of that bothered Tesh too much. Sebek, unlike the other trainers, didn’t coddle. He pushed, and pushed hard. Famous for wounding students, Sebek had always upped the level of threat every time they fought. This was just another level. Tesh might have been flattered by the respect of no quarter shown, and he would have except for one thing—Sebek wasn’t smiling. Sebek always grinned in battle. The Fhrey loved combat, and the better the fight the more he grinned. At times, he’d even laugh. This was proving to be a very good fight, but Sebek wasn’t laughing, wasn’t grinning, wasn’t smiling. Sebek looked…miserable.

&
nbsp; Flashing metal jolted as Tesh caught another stroke.

  Sebek spun. Crash came the second blade. Lightning followed by Thunder. Sebek had never explained the names. After fighting him, he didn’t need to.

  Flash! Crash! The attacks came faster and faster, call and answer, and Tesh was tired from the run. He had built up stamina but not this much. He was finding it hard to breathe, and Sebek wasn’t giving him a chance to catch his breath.

  “What are you doing?” Tesh heard Brin’s voice. “Stop it!”

  She was behind Sebek, and the Fhrey instantly pulled back and whirled to face her.

  “Get out of our way!” Brin stood on the bridge.

  Sebek had one blade facing Tesh and one extended, pointing at Brin.

  For a flash of an instant, Tesh sensed death. He could smell it, feel it radiating off his mentor. Sebek would stab Brin through the heart, a clean, fast blow that wouldn’t alter his stance, allowing him to parry any retaliation from Tesh. All of this was so clear, so obvious. Tesh was seeing three moves ahead and witnessing an unspeakable horror. Like any wild thing, the true nature of the Fhrey revealed itself.

  Then it was gone.

  This time the flash wasn’t answered. Thunder didn’t follow Lightning. Sebek’s shoulders relaxed, and his weight shifted to a neutral stance.

  Brin pushed past the Fhrey, shoving him back against the stone wall as she barreled on.

  Sebek didn’t move. He watched her, and then Tesh. Still, no smile.

  Reaching the door, Brin hammered on the bronze with all her might. “Open up!”

  The window opened. “Who is—Brin?”

  “If you don’t open this Tetlin Witch of a door in the next two seconds—”

  That’s when they heard the screaming.

  * * *

  —

  Persephone screamed as she watched the thing come in through the window, pale as the dead, long and lanky, and with black oily hair that hung to the floor. Seeing it, staring at it, Persephone still couldn’t understand how it was getting through such a narrow opening. Mice do the same thing, squeeze themselves down like that. But this wasn’t a mouse. Persephone had seen its like before and backed away in horror. She bumped the bed with the backs of her thighs.

  I need to get out of here!

  She spun and ran for the door. Grasping the latch, Persephone lifted and shoved. The door unlatched, then hit something and refused to open any farther.

  “Help!” she screamed out the little crack.

  “No one is coming,” the raow told her, its voice the sound of snapping bones and hissing snakes.

  The thing was still squeezing through the window, oozing inside, the fleshy goo of its body revealed to be a boneless bag of skin.

  “Can’t get away,” it whispered.

  “Help! Someone! Anyone! Open this damn door!” she shouted again and rammed the door with her shoulder, hurting herself.

  “Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.” The raow used a singsong tone. Its head and shoulders were already in, the thing busily working on getting its hips through, twisting and pushing against the walls.

  If it gets all the way in, I’m dead.

  Persephone wished for the dwarven sword she’d once carried, but settled for a two-foot-long, four-prong brass candleholder. Keep the sword up. She heard Moya’s voice. Hold it back like this. Keep your left foot in front, and when that thing comes at you, step forward with your right as you swing.

  Across the room, the raow grinned, revealing jagged teeth. The thing was drooling. Long strings of anticipation glistened from its lips. Its red eyes glowed bright and wide with excitement as it stared at her. “Yes. Yes. Such a beautiful, succulent face.”

  With candelabra in hand, she charged. A good swing struck its head, but instead of hearing a satisfying crack, Persephone felt like she’d hit a bag of sand. She never got a second swing. Clawed hands struck fast as snakes. Persephone didn’t feel the pain—not much, just a sting. She actually said, “Oww!” which was an absurd utterance, given the amount of blood that followed.

  She backed away. The candelabra fell out of her hand. She hadn’t let go, didn’t mean to at least, but she’d heard the metal ring when it hit the floor. Persephone hit the floor, too. Her legs had folded on their own. One minute she was standing, the next she was sitting with her back up against the bed. She clutched her stomach as a dull but growing pain spread. She wanted to get up, but her legs wouldn’t have it. Something else—her nightgown clung, slicked to her skin.

  How did I get so wet?

  Her nightgown was shredded. The ivory cloth no longer white.

  Persephone wanted to scream again but couldn’t find any air. She wanted to get up and run to the door, but her legs refused to do anything more than slide around in the slippery puddle that formed beneath her. The only thing she could do was sit and watch as the raow continued to ooze through the little window. An outstretched and bony hand extended into the room, straining with grasping claws, reaching for Persephone’s face.

  “So soft, so sweet, so hungry. Don’t move. I can taste you already.”

  * * *

  —

  Reaching the fourth floor, Tesh saw two spears blocking the corridor. They might have fallen that way, if there was any reason for two spears to have been left in the corridor. The pair of poles leaned at an angle, their points digging into the wood of the keenig’s chamber door, bracing it shut.

  Tesh was out front with Brin right behind. Sebek—who couldn’t know the importance of the race—followed, a close third. Others were coming, too. Tesh heard the rapid footfalls of a dozen people, but they were far below and still had to climb the stairs.

  Without effort, Tesh cleaved through the spears, freeing the door.

  “Stay back!” he shouted to Brin as he flung the door wide.

  Inside, Keenig Persephone sat slumped near her bed. Coming in that window was a ghoulish creature with red eyes, clawed hands, and black hair.

  Raow.

  The thing was about halfway through the narrow opening, still trapped at the hips, a single outstretched hand reaching for the keenig. The raow looked up, first at Tesh and then its eyes bulged when seeing Sebek. Its lips snarled, and with a hiss and one final swipe for Persephone that missed, the beast began to retreat.

  Tesh stared in amazement, the way he’d once watched a snake swallow a whole mouse. That’s impossible, he thought, watching the raow melt back out the window. Almost like it doesn’t have bones.

  Sebek didn’t seem impressed in the least. Without hesitation, he leapt toward the window, drawing Lightning and Thunder as he went. The raow shivered and jerked as it struggled to escape.

  Too late, Tesh thought.

  The thing was trapped, caught as a rabbit in a snare, and Sebek was on it.

  Tesh expected a quick death for the raow. Lightning and Thunder were coming, and the raow wasn’t big and didn’t look too strong. If anything, the creature resembled a shriveled old woman.

  Just as Tesh would have done, Sebek thrust a straightforward stab. There was no need to complicate things. But to Tesh’s surprise, the raow slapped the blade away. Its long nails made a teeth-grinding scrape across the bronze blade. Then, fast as an adder, it swiped with the other hand, forcing Sebek to block.

  And then it was gone. The raow slithered through the opening with a grunt and fell out of sight.

  Sebek stared at the vacant window. “Culina brideeth!” he shouted and slapped the stone wall.

  Turning, the Fhrey glanced at Persephone. “She’s hurt.”

  Tesh didn’t need Sebek to tell him that; neither did Brin. “Oh, dear Mari!” she cried.

  The rush of feet reached the stairs, and seconds later Moya entered, her bow strung, an arrow fitted. “What happened? We heard—” Seeing Persephone, she froze and dropped the bow. She shou
ted at Brin, “Get Padera!”

  With a quivering hand over her mouth, Brin backed away in wide-eyed horror. “Moya?” she said in a pleading tone. “Moya, she’s…”

  “Go. Now. Get Padera! Run!”

  Brin blinked, nodded, then flew out the door.

  “We have a healer here in the Rhist,” Sebek said calmly. “He’s good.”

  “Get him!”

  Sebek strode out of the bedroom, leaving Tesh to watch as Moya fell to her knees beside Persephone and applied pressure to the gaping wound. The keenig’s eyes were open, staring at nothing. Her mouth hung agape, but she made no sound. Persephone was soaked in blood, her nightgown trapping puddles in its folds. She was breathing—that was good. That was about all that was good.

  Moya put an arm around the keenig, helping to hold up her head, which had flopped to one side.

  “Moya?” Persephone said in a soft voice. Her eyes found the woman’s face and a small smile appeared.

  “I’m here. I’m too damn late, but I’m here.” Moya held Persephone’s head with both hands, focusing on her eyes. Tesh wondered if she did that to help the keenig see her or to avoid looking at all the blood.

  “I’m hurt,” Persephone informed Moya.

  “I know—I know. I’m…I’m sorry I wasn’t here. I was told…someone said you wanted me downstairs. I didn’t even know you’d gone to bed.”

  “I’m hurt, Moya. Real bad, I think.” Persephone’s head was bobbing up as her body jerked.

  “You’re gonna—” Moya swallowed. “You’re gonna be fine. You’re gonna be all right, okay? We’re gonna take care of you.”

  “You’re crying,” the keenig told her.

  “Am I?” Moya asked. “I’m sorry.”

  “Moya…” Persephone said. “I don’t think I’m going to—”

  “Shut up!” Moya yelled at her so loudly and violently that it startled everyone in the room—everyone except Persephone. “Yes, you are, dammit! You’re going to be fine! You hear me?”