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

by Michael J. Sullivan

  As self-satisfying as it might be to deflate the egos of the Miralyith, who had indeed become too full of themselves, doing so was dangerous. The riot of the year before had proved that the Miralyith might not dutifully accept a place at the back of the line. Handled poorly—no, even if handled well—Erivan could explode into civil war. She considered going to the Garden to think, but she’d avoided the bench across from the Door since her unexpected encounter with the unseemly stranger who announced he’d be watching her. As far as she could tell, he hadn’t been. She’d asked around and discovered nothing. Imaly had gone so far as to send people to walk by that bench to determine if he was still there. He was. She found this both unsettling and reassuring. Yes, he was still around, but obviously not stalking her. Her initial thought that he might be a threat had faded over time. Now she wondered if she should have gone back. The fellow on the bench was an enigma that haunted her, but he was also a potential source of information. He appeared to know more than he ought to.

  Imaly had been on her feet far past the usual two hours, and they were screaming at her because of it. Lifting them up helped drain the swelling. She’d take a soak when she got home in the hope that they would be recovered for the next week’s assembly.

  She heard the echoing clack of shoes on the marble floor and jerked her legs off the arm with an unhappy grunt. She didn’t need Volhoric or Kabbayn to see her lounging on the sacred chair. Little things like that had the ability to become big things when said in the right way to the wrong people. Only it wasn’t Volhoric or Kabbayn, nor any of the councilors. She was most certainly the last person Imaly expected, and seeing that familiar face, Imaly was both stunned and terrified.

  With hands clasped before her, Makareta entered the Airenthenon. The Miralyith, who had seduced Mawyndulë into unwittingly aiding a revolt against his own father, walked across the marble floor.

  This is how these things happen, in empty, hallowed chambers when no one is looking. I wonder if she’s in league with the fellow on the bench. Both of them lying in wait. Both remarkably patient.

  Imaly was reminded of the broken leg and sprained arm Makareta had given her as a result of a magical toss across the chamber. It still hurt, still ached on rainy days. Yet Imaly wouldn’t give the child the satisfaction of showing fear.

  She sat up, brushed the folds from her asica, and smiled. “What brings you out of hiding?” she said as casually and good-naturedly as possible.

  “I need help,” the girl replied.

  Only then did Imaly notice the filthy state of Makareta’s asica. Stained and torn in places, it looked more like a rag. And she had hair. Not just a bit of stubble, the result of lazy neglect, but locks that covered both ears and the back of her neck.

  She’s been in hiding. By the look of her clothes, she did most of it in a hole.

  “I suppose you do, but why come to me?”

  “You’re the only one who might listen.”

  “Why would I help? It’s not like I have fond memories of our time together.”

  “Because you’re wise and compassionate.”

  Imaly laughed despite—and possibly because of—her fear. Terror had a way of making her overreact. The Miralyith standing in front of her wasn’t only incredibly powerful, but given that she’d already killed Fhrey, Makareta was no longer bound by Ferrol’s Law. She was a wanted fugitive, desperate and unchecked, and in her eyes, Imaly saw her own death. Having revealed herself, she couldn’t allow Imaly to live past the end of their conversation, whatever that might be.

  “You have me confused with Mawyndulë. Flattery won’t work.”

  The girl smirked. “I’m not flattering you. Those aren’t compliments; they’re facts. I’ve watched you under this dome for years. You listen. You hear. You’re fair, and you have the best interests of your fellow Fhrey at heart. You are the only non-Miralyith I respect.”

  Imaly clutched her arm. “Was it respect that caused you to fling me across this room?”

  “Yes,” Makareta said. She pointed at a marble statue of Fane Ghika. With a snap of her fingers, the statue burst into powder.

  Imaly hated herself for it, but she flinched at the loud crack, magnified by the echoing dome. The point was clear. Looking at the dust and rubble that had once been a very fine depiction of Ghika, Imaly took her life in her hands and said, “I’m sorry, but I can’t help you. I don’t have the power, and I wouldn’t even if I did. What you did and what you tried to do were unforgivable—incomprehensible. We only just repaired the scars you left in this building and the square outside. Our whole society is based on the principle that Fhrey don’t kill Fhrey, and most of all that we revere the fane.”

  “Do you think Lothian is a good fane?”

  “Good or bad, he is fane. There is nothing anyone can do about that. Besides, you would prefer a world where Miralyith were gods and those like me your slaves. I hope you can see that it’s not in my best interest to bring about such a transition.”

  “Right now, I’d settle for a non-Miralyith fane, if that fane didn’t want me dead.” Makareta looked at her own feet. “Aiden, Rinald, Inga, Flynn, Orlene, Tandur—they were all killed or executed without hope of an afterlife. Flynn was kept alive by the Art as his skin was melted from his body.”

  Imaly nodded. The fane had decreed that all Fhrey in the capital had to witness the executions. Imaly had defied Lothian’s edict, claiming illness. Having seen how he killed Zephyron of the Instarya during the challenge in the arena had been enough for her. Still, she had heard the stories. Dozens of people in the audience had become physically ill, and several had suffered nightmares for weeks afterward.

  “You’re the Curator of the Aquila. You have influence.”

  Imaly noticed fear in Makareta’s eyes. What stood before Imaly wasn’t a rabid dog; she was a frightened child, an orphan on Imaly’s doorstep. Makareta’s face was pale, her eyes outlined by dark circles. She was thinner, too. The Miralyith might be able to explode a marble statue, but she was wasting away.

  Where have you been hiding? What life have you led for the past year that finally drove you to me?

  “I’ll do whatever you want—whatever you ask. I’m actually a very skilled Miralyith.” She looked at the pile of rubble that had been the statue, and with a few words and a flip of her fingers, the powder reassembled back into the likeness of Ghika, as if nothing had ever happened. “A Miralyith without a tribe, without a friend. I thought such a thing might be of value to a Nilyndd Curator of the Aquila. And, you owe me your life, sort of.”

  “What exactly do you want from me?”

  “Right now?” Makareta licked chapped lips. “Food and a safe place to sleep. Later, maybe you could make a case for leniency? Or, perhaps convince the fane to stop looking and let me go somewhere far away where I can try to live. It’s so hard to constantly block the searches. I can’t even shave my head. It’s disgusting.” A tear slipped down the girl’s cheek. “I’m—I’m only a hundred and sixteen. I’m—” She sucked in a sharp breath and squeezed her lips tight, then wiped her eyes. “I don’t want my life to be over before I’ve had a chance to do anything. I made a mistake. I know that, and I’m sorry. We were all so swept up; it was all so—I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

  She sobbed then.

  Imaly let her. The girl was a manipulator, but then Imaly had spent nearly three thousand years dealing with far more savvy ones than Makareta. She got up, walked the distance between them, and put her arms around the girl, hugging back while she cried into the curator’s chest.

  “I’m so scared.”

  “You should be,” Imaly said.

  The sound of footfalls came from the outside steps. Makareta looked up, pleading.

  “Hide behind the pillar.”

  The girl sprinted out of sight.

  What am I doing? Harboring a fugitive—a traitor to the fane,
no less!

  She was still shaking her head when the Fhrey who made the noises came into view. Imaly knew him only vaguely, a face seen on occasion. She couldn’t remember the name, but the uniform said everything she needed to know. He was a courier from the Talwara. In his hand, he held a dispatch.

  “A message,” he told her with a modest bow of his head.

  “Message? From where?”

  “Bird from Alon Rhist. Usually, we would let it sit, waiting for the fane’s return. But it’s possible the fane sent it from there, and if that is the case, it would be meant for your eyes.”

  She took the sealed wooden tube encased in wax and cracked it open.

  The palace servant waited.

  “You can go,” she told him.

  He obviously wanted to know what was in the message, and so he gave a look of disappointment before he pivoted and walked out.

  Listening to his fading footfalls, Imaly drew forth the small bit of parchment and unrolled it. She read it three times before Makareta emerged from the shadow of the pillar and approached.

  “What does it say?” the girl asked with a hopeful tone.

  “It doesn’t say the fane is dead,” Imaly assured her. “In fact, this isn’t from our forces at all. This appears to be from the enemy holding Alon Rhist.”

  Makareta appeared disappointed. “What does it say?” she repeated.

  Imaly crushed the paper in her hand and smiled at the girl. “It says I could benefit from the services of an outlawed Miralyith who is willing to do whatever she’s told.”

  Afterword

  And there you have it. We’ve concluded another installment, and I hope you’ve enjoyed the tale. My name is Robin, and I’m Michael’s wife. I asked him if I could write the afterword for this book, and he agreed, so here I am! Michael says I tend to proclaim my favorite book to be whichever novel I just finished reading. He’s probably right. As we were finalizing the edits for Age of War, I recall I used the word favorite several times.

  Don’t get me wrong; I love Age of Swords (my previously self-proclaimed favorite book of the series). One of the reasons was learning more about the characters of Roan, Moya, and Gifford. I cried at the heartbreaking sacrifice of Suri, and I cheered that Persephone went off and accomplished the impossible while men in power sat around, trying to advance their ambitions. Ah, it makes me smile just thinking about those things now.

  Okay, so let me bring the focus back to this book. What did I like so much? I’d say the number one factor is how often it pulled at my heart. I cried when Suri once more had to kill someone she loved to serve the greater good. Had she not, I’m sure it wouldn’t have been possible for the Rhunes of Alon Rhist to survive. I loved Suri at the opening of Age of Myth, but her growth from caterpillar to butterfly is a remarkable transformation. In many ways, I can’t help but see corollaries between her and Myron from the Riyria books, and as much as I loved him in Theft of Swords, he was even more incredible in Heir of Novron. But I’ve digressed once more.

  What else…oh, Gifford. He’s been one of my favorites since we first met. Michael writes about unlikely heroes, and no one better illustrates that point than this incredibly talented cripple. I loved that Padera’s mistreatment of him paid off after all, and I was thrilled Tura’s prophecy came true. But even better than those events is the moment when he finally felt Roan’s embrace. How great was that?

  But for me, the most significant emotional impact of the book revolved around Persephone and Raithe. Having read The Riyria Revelations, I was aware of Novron’s marriage to Persephone. But I also knew that there were lies in the historical records, and I hoped history got the identity of her husband wrong. When I first read Age of War, I begged Michael to give Persephone and Raithe one last scene together. I wanted her to be able to confess that she did love him. It tore at my heart that he would die not knowing the truth, and she would be forever burdened with regret. Having them reunite was one piece of advice my husband didn’t implement. Damn you, Michael! Instead, he added the scene at the grave, which stomped on the heart he’d already ripped from my chest. That man can be so cruel sometimes. I’m sure you feel the same way about his sadistic tendencies. Remembering it now is still difficult. I’ll have to take a moment. I’ll be right back.

  Okay, I’m better now. So how about other things I liked. What about the revelations! I always knew that Nyphron was using the Rhunes to do his dirty work, but I never suspected that he orchestrated the war by an unauthorized attack on Dureya and Nadak—sneaky bastard. And then there was Malcolm! Since the ending of Age of Myth, we knew there was more to him than met the eye, but whether he is “good” or “evil” is a determination that eluded me. Ultimately, we still don’t know at this point in the book, but it was great seeing him reveal himself (somewhat), and I loved being present while he smacked Nyphron around, taking him down a peg or two.

  Well, those were my favorite moments from Age of War. I hope you had some as well. As Michael mentioned in his author’s note, he genuinely enjoys receiving email, so if you want to drop a line with some of your favorite aspects (or things that didn’t work for you), then, by all means, send an email to michael@michaelsullivan-author.com. Oh, and leaving a few comments on sites like Amazon, Goodreads, and Audible.com is always graciously appreciated. It’s third-party validation like that that helps to give others the confidence to give the books a try.

  In conclusion, I’d like to express that Michael and I are forever grateful for all the support you’ve given the books. Did you know we are coming up on Michael’s tenth anniversary? Yep, The Crown Conspiracy was first published by Aspirations Media Incorporated in October 2008. Back then we never thought the books would earn any “real money,” but the joy Michael received by writing was more than enough reward for us. Still, people have spread the word, and the Riyria books have sprouted incredible legs, and the readership for that series keeps growing. It’s your continued support that makes it possible for me to forgo a day job, and that means I can help Michael get more stories out into the world. It’s a rare thing to be able to do the one activity you love the most for a living, but Michael is one of those people who has become that fortunate, and it’s because of you. We both thank you from the bottoms of our hearts.

  Glossary of Terms and Names

  Agave: The prison of the Ancient One, which is deep in the heart of Elan and was discovered by the dwarfs when excavating Neith. During Persephone’s trek to find and destroy Balgargarath, the Agave was rediscovered.

  Agave Tablets: Written by the Ancient One, these tablets detail the creation of the world, the secrets of various metallurgy (such as bronze and iron), and the weaves (spells) to manifest the Art into immortal creatures to do the summoner’s bidding.

  Aiden (Fhrey, Miralyith): One of the leaders of the Gray Cloaks, a secret Miralyith society that tried to kill the fane and raise the Miralyith’s position above all other Fhrey tribes.

  Airenthenon: The domed and pillared structure where the Aquila holds meetings. Although the Forest Throne and the Door predate it, the Airenthenon is the oldest building in Estramnadon. It was nearly destroyed during the Gray Cloak Rebellion, saved only by the efforts of Prince Mawyndulë.

  Alon Rhist: The chief outpost on the border between Rhulyn and Avrlyn. Staffed by the Instarya, the fortress acts as a bulwark preventing the Rhunes from crossing into the Fhrey lands. It was named after the fourth fane of the Fhrey, who died during the Dherg War. After the death of Zephyron, rule of the Rhist was granted to Petragar.

  Alward (Rhune, Nadak): The new chieftain of Nadak, one of the two clans destroyed by the Fhrey.

  Alysin: One of the three realms of the afterlife. A paradise where brave warriors go after death.

  Amphora: A delicate storage vessel with an oval body that tapers near its base. It has two handles near its top.

  Ancient One: Also known as “The Three.” A bei
ng whom the Dherg claimed predates the gods of Elan. He was found locked deep underground in the Agave, where he wrote a number of tablets about his existence and the origin of Elan.

  Anwir (Fhrey, Asendwayr): Quiet and reserved, he is the only non-Instarya Fhrey member of Nyphron’s Galantians. He has a penchant for knots and uses a sling for a weapon.

  Anyval (Fhrey, Umalyn): Healer of Alon Rhist.

  Aquila: Literally “the place of choosing.” Originally created as a formalization and public recognition of the group of Fhrey who had been assisting Gylindora Fane for more than a century. Leaders of each tribe act as general counsels, making suggestions and assisting in the overall administration of the empire. Senior council members are elected by their tribes or appointed by the fane. Junior members are chosen by the senior. The Aquila holds no direct power, as the fane’s authority is as absolute as Ferrol Himself. However, the Aquila does wield great influence over the succession of power. It is the Curator and Conservator who determine who has access to the Horn of Gylindora.

  Aria (Rhune, Rhen): Mother of Gifford who died when giving birth to the cripple.

  Ariface: A rare and vicious creature.

  Arion (Fhrey, Miralyith): Also known as Cenzlyor. The former tutor to Prince Mawyndulë and onetime student of Fenelyus. Arion was sent to Rhulyn to bring the outlaw Nyphron to justice and was injured when a Rhune named Malcolm hit her on the head with a rock. After partially recovering from her wounds, she fought Gryndal, a fellow Miralyith, when he threatened to destroy Dahl Rhen and kill all its residents. She now resides with the Rhunes and hopes to find a peaceful end to the conflict between Rhunes and Fhrey. During Persephone’s trek to Neith, Arion was critically injured and returned to Tirre in a comatose, near death, state.