Fractured Throne Box Set 1

by Lee H. Haywood

  “Then the gods should have protected King Ordin from that Cul arrow,” said Malrich with a snort.

  “It was our people who broke the line of succession, not the Emoni.”

  That much of the tale, Malrich knew. At the dawn of the new age, King Ordin guided the talsani pilgrims across the sea. When he was killed in battle the line of succession was unclear. Most assumed Ordin’s eldest son, Fenis, was the rightful heir. But Benisor, King Ordin’s brother, proclaimed himself the prophet of Calaban and crowned himself high lord. Eremel became a broken land. One realm became two, and then two became three. Talsani made war against talsani, and the true enemy was forgotten. Thus, the Cul survived in Eremel when they should have been driven into extinction.

  “We’ve been noticed,” said Malrich. He directed Emethius’s gaze to a group of horsemen gathered near a cow pen. They were conversing amongst themselves, gesturing toward the travelers.

  “Press on,” instructed Emethius. “If they demand a toll, we’ve brought coin for that reason. And if they want more than copper, we have also brought steel.” He patted the pommel of his sword.

  The horsemen did not accost them, but Malrich had little doubt they were unhappy to see two unknown riders crossing their land, even if one appeared to be a master healer.

  As dusk neared, the fortified city of Caore came into view. It served as the region’s capital, and was the seat of Citilian authority. The town was perched atop a mesa that soared hundreds of feet above the valley below. They skirted the city’s north face by a wide margin, avoiding the watchful eyes within the sentry towers that wreathed the city like the prongs of a crown.

  Both agreed it would be wise to avoid the local inns and taverns, and instead took shelter within a narrow grotto situated a league west of the city. The grotto was carved into the rock face of a hill and clearly served as a religious shrine. Its portal was north-facing toward the monolith of Calaban. Hundreds of spent candles littered the floor, and in the back stood a wooden effigy built in the likeness of a winged man. Folded pieces of parchment were stuffed in hollow alcoves near the statuette. Each one was a personal prayer to the gods.

  Malrich lit a fire to ward off the evening chill and collected a small pile of folded prayers. He carefully unfolded each one, reading the message within. Most concerned the Blackheart.

  ‘Save my mother, o’ gods on high.’

  ‘My father is sick.’

  ‘My son is dying.’

  ‘My wife’s flesh has lost all of its color and her eyes are as black as coal.’

  ‘The Shadow creeps as it ever does.’

  ‘The Shadow creeps as it ever does.’

  ‘The Shadow creeps as it ever does.’

  “You should leave those alone,” chided Emethius, as he ate his rations; a strip of dried pork that was as hard as leather and a hunk of stale bread. “Those messages weren’t meant for mortal eyes.”

  “You don’t actually believe the Calabanesi care what is written here, do you?” said Malrich. He took a swig from his canteen, filling the alcove with the pungent smell of liquor.

  “Is it hard to be so spiteful of the gods?”

  “No,” said Malrich with a sneer. “When you beg and plead with the gods and your only answer is more suffering, it becomes obvious real quick that the gods don’t give one damn about you. They’ve abandoned me. It wasn’t so hard to abandon them back.” He took another draw from his canteen. “The gods haven’t time for our troubles, Emethius. They never have.”

  “Perhaps you’re right,” replied Emethius hotly. “But neither do I.” Emethius snatched the canteen from Malrich’s hands as he was fumbling with the cork. He dumped the canteen’s contents into the fire. With an audible swoosh, the alcohol ignited in a blast of heat. He hurled the empty canteen onto Malrich’s lap. “You can wallow in self-pity all you want, Mal, I won’t fault you for it. But you’re going to do it sober.”

  Malrich looked at the canteen, then Emethius, then back again. Finally, he just shook his head and continued reading the folded prayers.

  Soon, Emethius was snoring, but Malrich couldn’t sleep. He read every single folded prayer, and when sleep continued to elude him, he read them all a second and then a third time. It was haunting to see how similar all of the evocations were.

  ‘My brother is speaking in tongues.’

  ‘My wife almost killed our child.’

  ‘My husband poured boiling water on himself.’

  It’s as if they are all of one mind, thought Malrich. Each message darkly reminded him of his wife and the vile curse the Blackheart had brought upon their home. Unable to take it any longer, Malrich cast the lot of prayers into the fire. The pieces of parchment curled and wilted like the legs of a dying spider. Malrich settled his back against the wall and closed his eyes. Sleep never came.

  I needed that drink more than I thought, Malrich realized as the night wore on. By midnight his hands were shaking and his head ached liked someone was drilling into his skull. His stomach curdled, and he cursed Emethius under his breath as he tried to keep the contents of his supper down. Malrich had always known he would have to forgo alcohol at some point in their journey. He just wasn’t ready for it yet — not mentally, not physically, certainly not emotionally.

  All night long ethereal visions danced in the shadows of the grotto. He saw a woman standing over him, wagging a disapproving finger in his face. At first it was his wife, but later the shadowed figure became his mother-in-law. She held up a scorched shoe, as if it were evidence of his inadequacies as a father, a husband, a man.

  A bear-faced figure visited him a few hours before sunrise. The man seemed intent upon telling Malrich something, but every time he opened his mouth it was like a thousand voices were speaking at once; all Malrich’s anxiety-stricken mind could discern were growls and gasps. He counted the minutes until dawn, sweating and freezing in turns.

  At first light he shook Emethius awake, grateful for companionship. If Malrich had slept a wink, he did not remember it. With eyes rimmed in black and a back bent in exhaustion, Malrich mounted Etso. They began west along the North Road before the sun had fully crested the horizon.

  • • •

  The farther west they went, the more desolate the land became. The road had once been carefully tended, as it served as the main highway linking the realms of Merridia, Emonia, and Dunis. But that was before the fall of Cella and the coming of the Cul. Few now traveled the interior of Emoni, save for the odd merchant bound for Hardthorn. The road had fallen into disuse. Its bridges were crumbling, and in places, the road was swallowed whole by the rolling grasslands of the pristine northern plains. Malrich hardly saw any of it. His body was starving for a drink.

  In his youth, Malrich developed a special love for booze. But that love turned into something more severe after Ali took ill. It became a need that had to be fulfilled. Now that he was sober, his whole body ached. He bobbed atop his saddle in a sleep-deprived stupor, and on more than one occasion he caught himself about to fall off his horse. Emethius didn’t say a disparaging word concerning Malrich’s condition. He’s going to let me suffer through this without rubbing salt in the wound, Malrich realized as the day wore on.

  The second and third nights without alcohol were much like the first — waking nightmares broken by brief moments of sleep. But on the fourth night, when Malrich finally laid his head down to rest beneath a canopy of stars, he was taken by the deepest dreamless slumber he had ever experienced in his life. When he finally opened his eyes the following morning, he was shocked to find the sun was well above the horizon. Emethius sat beside the fire, boiling water in his canteen.

  “Feeling better?” asked Emethius, not taking his eyes off the fire.

  Malrich sat upright, finding that he felt shockingly refreshed. His head was clear, and all of his senses were honed and aware. He could hear birds chirping and the ceaseless rustle of the prairie grass. The brush of the cool morning breeze stirred the hairs on his arms and cause
d goosepimples to creep over his flesh. The sky above was bright and blue, and for the first time in several days the sun didn’t hurt his eyes. He felt reborn. “Yeah, I guess I’m feeling better.”

  Emethius nodded and the slightest of smiles curled the corner of his mouth. “I need you at your sharpest, Mal, that’s all. We’ll both need to be at our best if we hope to survive this journey.”

  Malrich looked sheepishly at his toes. “Thank you, Emethius. I... well..., ever since Ali took sick...” He shrugged. “You know what I’m trying to say.”

  “I know,” said Emethius, rising to his feet. “There’s no need for an apology.” He kicked dirt over the fire, smothering the embers, and nodded toward the horses which were already tacked. “Let’s head out. It’s going to be a long day and we’re already getting a late start.”

  They reached the Ulma River as the sun neared its zenith. The river was as old as the land itself, and meandered almost aimlessly as it flowed toward the great sea to the south, creating a vast flood plain. A month from now, the snowmelt from the Lehan Mountains would cause the river to double or even triple in size. It would be nearly impassable except at a few fords the Emoni held under guard. But the snowmelt had yet to arrive, and they only needed to ride a few miles upstream before they found a spot where the river was shallow enough to cross on foot.

  Despite the calmness of the waters, Emethius and Malrich arrived to the far side of the river drenched and freezing. They disrobed, laying their clothes over rocks to dry, and started a fire. They ate lunch and sat lazily beside the crackling fire, enjoying its warmth.

  “All right,” began Malrich, as he rubbed his hands eagerly over the flames. “Here is the question of questions. When we return to Mayal safe and sound...” The mere mention of that concept caused Malrich to stifle a laugh.

  “Do you have any doubt?” Emethius playfully hit Malrich’s shoulder.

  “My apologies,” said Malrich waving his hand. “Let me continue.” He cleared his throat. “When we return from our harrowing mission to the Cultrator, with the cure for the Blackheart in hand, what precisely do you plan to do with it? You can’t get near Meriatis, your cover has already been blown. So what’s your plan?”

  Emethius smiled. “For a man who doesn’t believe he will live to see the next full moon, you are awfully concerned with the future.”

  “Logic would dictate that you should have a plan, is all,” argued Malrich.

  “My plan is simple. I’m going to walk up to High Lord Valerius and hand him the cure.”

  Malrich laughed, but quickly noted that Emethius was not smiling, nor was he even looking at Malrich. He was staring into the distance. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “No, I’m not,” said Emethius, his eyes still set upon the horizon. “But we haven’t time to discuss that right now. We’re being watched.”

  Five horsemen were standing atop the riverbank only a few hundred paces downstream from where Emethius and Malrich had forded the river. They sat in their saddles as still as statues with their hands clutching their reins. They wore heavy tan cloaks that concealed most of their features at this distance. Still, Malrich imagined he spied swords at their hips.

  “Emoni soldiers?” asked Malrich quietly, as if the watchers might be able to hear him.

  “Probably marchwardens, or hired muscle from Caore,” said Emethius, although there was uncertainty in his voice. “If I had to guess, someone got wise to the fact that we crossed the Osspherus without paying tribute.”

  “Well they haven’t a right to collect a tax any longer,” said Malrich, pointing to the river that separated them. “If they’re from Caore, their claim ends at the Ulma River.”

  “As right as you might be, one of them has a bow,” noted Emethius. “If they feel so inclined, they can shoot us full of arrows and collect whatever duty they see fit off our corpses. Justification will have little to do with it.”

  The two quickly packed their goods and donned their wet clothes. Malrich shivered — despite having sat next to a fire for more than an hour, the sodden fabric felt colder than when he had stripped it off his body. No, he corrected himself. It wasn’t just his clothes that were colder. It felt as if the temperature had dropped a dozen degrees. It reminded him of the air just before a storm.

  He watched the riders from the corner of his eye with growing disquiet. The five riders made no motion to advance or retreat. Swords remained in scabbards. Arrows were not strung to bows. Still, the whole image brought chills to Malrich’s heart. This isn’t normal, he thought to himself, as he strapped the last of his belongings to Etso’s saddle. He looked to Emethius and found he had the same worried expression on his face.

  Something wasn’t right, Malrich could feel it in his gut. His first instinct was to reach for the canteen at his hip. He reminded himself it was empty, and his hand wandered to the pommel of his sword instead.

  “No,” whispered Emethius. “Not two against five.”

  “I’d rather confront the bastards and have a fight than be hunted,” said Malrich.

  “Aye? So would I,” said Emethius. “But I’d sooner live. If they give chase, we’ll have a league on them before they manage to cross the river. It will be a test of endurance. We can trade off riding Baylilly to give our horses a break. They’ll ride their horses into the ground before they catch us.”

  Malrich cursed under his breath. He had never been one to turn tail and run, but he knew Emethius was right.

  “We need to find a way out of this riverbed as soon as possible,” said Emethius. “Be prepared to ride hard.”

  They mounted their horses and headed north along the dry portion of the riverbed, hugging the sheer earthen wall of the west bank. The five riders shadowed their movement on the far side of the river.

  “I’ve got an ill feeling about this,” muttered Malrich under his breath.

  “Stay patient,” said Emethius. “They have yet to show their intentions. Steady and with a purpose, look ahead, fifty paces to your left.” There was a cleft in the earth wall and a narrow path leading out of the riverbed.

  “Quickly now,” ordered Emethius. With a slap of his reins, he spurred his horse up the incline. Malrich followed right behind him. Only Baylilly struggled with the steep grade, but Malrich managed to lead her to the top. Once they reached the open plains beyond, they drove their horses into a full gallop, putting a rapidly growing distance between themselves and the five riders.

  Malrich glanced over his shoulder. The five riders had arrived parallel with the cleft in the river bank, but they made no motion to ford the river. Malrich was overcome by a sudden sense of relief; they’re letting us go. But just as he had that thought, there was pulse of light above the lead rider. For a moment Malrich imagined he saw a pair of wings, black as onyx, sprouting from the man’s back and a halo cast of shimmering light above his brow.

  “I’m seeing things,” muttered Malrich. He blinked in wonder and gave his head a sharp shake. The wings and halo vanished, and the lead rider was once again indistinguishable from the other four. A cold shiver ran down Malrich’s spine. What witchcraft is this?

  “Did you see that?” Malrich had to yell to be heard over the thunder of horse hooves.

  “Aye, I saw it,” yelled Emethius in reply. “Although what it was I cannot say. Now drop your head and ride like you’ve never ridden before. Ride like the gods are nipping at your heels. Ride like your very life depends on it.”

  Malrich dared one final glance over his shoulder. What he saw left him even more confused and terrified. The riverbank was barren. The riders had disappeared.

  “The gods help us,” said Malrich, finding a prayer involuntarily passing from his lips. He kicked his heels into Etso’s flanks, speeding the horse along even faster.

  • • •

  Malrich and Emethius rode until their horses were frothing at the mouth and the moon was high in the night sky. They had entered the vast open plains of the Varen Downs and there was very little
cover to be found. Finally, a wall of deep black materialized out of the gloom. At first Malrich thought it was a cliff, but as they drew near, he discovered it was in fact a grove of ancient willows. The trees stood like wardens against the wind, wreathing the base of a lone hill.

  “It’s best we stop here for the night,” said Emethius, as he surveyed the hilltop. “There’s not a higher peak in a dozen leagues. If we’re being followed we’ll be able to see our pursuers clearly come dawn. Get a fire going, but keep it hidden on the far side of the hill. We don’t need a beacon announcing our position to the surrounding countryside.”

  Malrich stumbled half-blind around the hilltop collecting kindling. Emethius remained atop the pinnacle, squinting off into the seemingly endless fields of grass that glowed gray-blue in the light of the waxing moon.

  “They’re out there, somewhere,” said Emethius. “I can feel it.”

  “Blasted demons, they are,” huffed Malrich as he broke a branch over his knee. “I’ll tell you one thing, those riders weren’t Emoni.”

  “No, I don’t think they were,” said Emethius, nodding his head in agreement. “But if not, then who?”

  Malrich hadn’t a clue. He examined a downed log in the evening light, but decided it was too rotten to burn well. “Are we doing something so damned important that someone might want us dead? I mean, the Cul will surely want to kill us once we reach the Cultrator, but that’s for a completely different reason. It’s in their nature, so to speak. But to be hunted by our own kind? That’s not something I expected.”

  “We have no reason to assume those riders want us dead,” replied Emethius. “That archer could have pinned us down then and there, but he didn’t.” Weak laugher passed Emethius’s lips. “I think by journey’s end this day will rank amongst our less eventful.”

  Malrich snorted. “So you say.” Having gathered a sufficient pile of brush, he joined Emethius at the peak. He felt exposed atop the crown of the hill and dropped his voice. “There was something unnatural about them, Emethius.”