Fractured Throne Box Set 1

by Lee H. Haywood

“Ehwis, vapaj veppipa!” barked the Watcher in a commanding tone. Emethius understood enough of the old tongue to know he was being asked to surrender.

  A thousand questions raced through Emethius’s head at once, but the loudest was this — who still speaks in the old tongue? Their eyes locked, and for a moment Emethius couldn’t look away. The Watcher’s face was pockmarked with sores, and he was completely bald, brows and eyelashes included. Yet it was the man’s eyes that bothered Emethius the most. They were the color of the setting sun.

  “The Perim Lu,” said Emethius in wonder.

  “Ehwis, vapaj veppipa!” repeated the Watcher.

  “Pe,” replied Emethius in the old tongue.

  In one sweeping motion Emethius drew his dagger and hacked through the bottom rope. Their footing disappeared, and the yellow-eyed Watcher was instantly swept away by the current. The remaining Watcher hooked his elbows over the top rope and hung on for dear life. The archer, who was still on dry ground, rushed to the shoreline and leveled his bow on Emethius. Everyone was screaming, but all Emethius could hear was the thunder of the rushing current. The archer let fly. Emethius cut the hand rope.

  He plunged into a frozen world. The cold water was a punch to the stomach, and the air burst from his lungs. The rushing water dragged Emethius downstream, ramming his body against submerged rocks. Emethius kicked out with his feet, blindly hoping to fend off whatever hazards lay ahead. Rocks battered his legs, forcing his body whichever way they might have him go. He felt his ankle catch between two rocks, and for a second it felt like his leg was going to snap under the strain. His lungs were screaming for air, but try as he might he couldn’t reach the surface. Then, just as suddenly, his ankle twisted free and his head popped above the surface.

  I’m still holding the rope, realized Emethius in disbelief. Somehow his grip hadn’t failed him.

  Malrich was bobbing right in front of him. He spit a jet of water from his mouth and blinked in wonder.

  The rope drew taut with a stiff jerk. The current had pulled them as far downstream as the rope would allow. Emethius was shocked to discover they were only a dozen yards from the west shore. Emethius and Malrich locked arms around one another. Then mustering what little strength they had left, they pulled themselves onto solid ground.

  Emethius crawled trembling from the river while Malrich retched up water. Once he caught his breath, Emethius eyed the far shore. The three remaining Watchers were not attempting to ford the cataracts, and the two that had fallen into the water were nowhere to be seen. Satisfied that they were safe, at least for now, Emethius crawled over to a bed of leaves and fell into a well-deserved slumber.

  • • •

  When Emethius awoke, he found himself staring into Baylilly’s flaring nostrils. For a few panicked moments he thought the Watchers had somehow managed to ford the cataracts, and he frantically took in his surroundings.

  Night had come, and the gray light of the moon filtered through the trees and scattered across the ruined buildings of Vas Perloh. This was the grandest city in the Cul dominion until the armies of Emonia put it to the torch. The forest had reclaimed large swaths of the ancient city — everything was overrun by vegetation. Leafy vines blanketed stone walls, turning them green. Trees a dozen feet in diameter sprouted from the center of crumbling structures. There were a thousand places to hide within this landscape of shattered bricks and twisting vines, yet something in Emethius’s gut told him they were alone.

  It’s the aura that seems to accompany the Watchers, Emethius realized. That feeling that a storm is just beyond the horizon. The air somehow felt lighter. The Watchers were gone.

  “Then how did you get here?” asked Emethius, regarding Baylilly in disbelief.

  Baylilly answered by nudging him with her snout.

  “So that’s how it’s going to be, huh? You want a bribe for the truth.” He gave the horse a well-deserved scratch upon the neck.

  Emethius and Malrich had crawled ashore at the southern end of the cataracts, and a massive expanse of water lay before him. The water shimmered silver and gold, reflecting the light of the moon and the stars. This is the Red Water, realized Emethius. This was the site of the most horrific battle in the Culing War. The Emoni army would have been defeated were it not for the Faceless God. She descended from the monolith of Calaban to join the fray, and with a fiery chain in hand, she drove the Cul into the Red Water and then set the lake on fire.

  A place with such a wicked history should feel frightening, thought Emethius, as if the cries of the vanquished could echo across eternity and haunt the present. But in truth he felt a sense of safety. It was the silence, he realized. Save for the roar of the cataracts and Malrich’s snoring there was not another sound. Emethius doubted there was another living creature for a dozen leagues.

  Malrich sat nearby, slouched upright against a tree. He had failed at his sentry duties, and was snoring softly, his head bobbing with every breath. Emethius smiled at his friend’s failed effort to provide security. Marlich was a faithful and trustworthy companion, even if he was a bit of a bumbling guardian.

  Emethius was bundled in a warm blanket, probably Malrich’s doing. “Thank you,” said Emethius quietly.

  Malrich jumped, startled by the sudden noise. His first instinct was to reach for his sword, but after he saw they were alone, he settled down. “Oh, it was nothing,” said Malrich, finally making sense of what Emethius said. He pointed to Emethius’s forehead. “You’ve got a cut there. Sutures would be nice, but I don’t have a thread or needle.”

  Emethius gingerly touched his brow. It was wrapped with a bandage — a skill Malrich had mastered while caring for his wife.

  “The Watchers took Manos, but Baylilly bolted the second they let go of her bridle,” explained Malrich. “The stubborn old mare somehow managed to swim the rapids. Loyalty will drive a beast to do foolish things.”

  Emethius smiled. Malrich’s words could be used to describe any one of them. “I think we are safe for now,” said Emethius, propping himself upright. “If the Watchers intend to pursue us, they will have to go around the entire lake. That will take four, maybe five days.”

  “I’ve been sitting here, thinking about what they could possibly want,” began Malrich. “The Watchers seemed quite content with following us, that is, until it looked like we were going to slip away. The only thing I can figure, is that they hoped we would lead them to Meriatis’s allies — this Sage and Sorceress that Ftoril was so keen to tell us nothing about.”

  “All right,” said Emethius. “Suppose this is true. Why did they wish to find the Sage and Sorceress, and how would they know about them in the first place?”

  “Ftoril might have talked.”

  “All sound reasoning, save one thing,” said Emethius.

  “Oh, what’s that?”

  “Ftoril was taken captive by Merridian soldiers, and there isn’t a Merridian alive with eyes like the men who attacked us,” said Emethius. “Nor is there a Dunie or Emoni.”

  “Then where are they from, and who do they serve?”

  “The lost sons of Fenis,” said Emethius. “Do you remember the poem?” Everyone learned the nursery rhyme as a child; it was meant to scare children and keep them from wandering far from home. Emethius hummed a line and then recited the poem.

  “Of his second love, five babes were born,

  Of bastardly blood, by the public scorned.

  Benisor heirs but without royal hue,

  Yellow-eyed beauties of the Perim Lu.

  When they had grown up from boys to men,

  They chose the path that the gods condemn.

  In hubris they entered the Great Ador,

  The gods often claim what people abhor.

  Now their souls reside in the forest boughs,

  And all who enter may never come out.”

  Malrich laughed coarsely. “We are being chased by ghosts!”

  “It is not as if we were not warned. We just did not recognize the wa
rning. Ftoril already hinted at the Perim Lu being involved when she referred to Meriatis as the Wayward Prince. No, Malrich, it is time we open our eyes. The Perim Lu are alive, and I fear they may be serving the highest caste of all.”

  “The gods? Now there is a fine jest.”

  “I do not kid. Think about the Covenant.”

  “Between the mortals and the gods?”

  “No, Malrich. The pact that the gods have amongst themselves.” Emethius paused, troubled by the implications of what he was about to propose. “The Covenant forbids the gods from directly interfering in the lives of mortals. The Calabanesi can cajole with words and sway with reason, but they may not physically intervene. So instead they have selected certain mortals to serve as their agents on earth. High Lord Valerius is one. When he sits upon the Throne of Roses he is able to communicate directly with the gods. When Valerius preaches, he is expressing the opinions of the gods, and when he commands others to act, he is echoing orders that the gods themselves have made. In effect, he is the agent of the Calabanesi on earth.”

  Malrich wrinkled his nose. “I’m not a historian, but I seem to recall plenty of stories about god-saints saving the lives of mortals. What of Ilmwell and Niselus, or even the Faceless God of Vas Perloh?” He motioned to the ruins that surrounded them. “Weren’t they in breach of this Covenant?”

  “They surely were,” said Emethius. “After Ilmwell and Niselus helped the dwarves destroy the Cul in Tremel they were Sundered by the Calabanesi.”

  “Sundered?”

  “Killed might be a better way to put it. They were banished from this plane of existence and their souls were absorbed back into the One Soul. There is no higher price a god can pay. That is why Ilmwell and Niselus are so unique amongst the pantheon of gods. They are not revered as living gods, they are martyred.” Emethius motioned to the Red Water; the surface of the lake lay placid and still, smooth as a pane of glass. “When the Faceless God of Vas Perloh rescued the faltering legions of the Emoni king, she hid her face behind a veil of impenetrable mist. When the battle was through, the soldiers of Emonia flocked to the goddess, begging to know who she was. And just like that...” He snapped his fingers. “The goddess vanished into thin air. Her true identity was never revealed.”

  “She got away with breaking the Covenant,” said Malrich, nodding his head in sudden comprehension. “That is why she is revered as the god of cunning and guile.”

  “The gods bend the rules whenever it is necessary,” said Emethius. “They could not allow the Cul to win the war and for the Shadow to be triumphant, thus they intervened. But under typical circumstances the Covenant is upheld and the gods exact their will through intermediaries.”

  Malrich motioned across the water to the unseen shore on the far side of the lake. “These Watchers, these men you call the Perim Lu — you believe they are agents of the gods?”

  “I do,” said Emethius, growing more certain of the idea as he talked. “Most religious scholars agree that High Lord Valerius cannot possibly be the only agent of the Calabanesi walking amongst us. The world is too vast, and the evils that need to be contested are too many. When the Wayward Prince was captured by the Perim Lu, he claimed there was an entire civilization hidden within the Great Northern Ador. If this is true, we are not dealing with the five lost sons of Fenis, we are dealing with their descendants a dozen generations removed. There could be tens of thousands of them.”

  “A secret army that answers only to the gods. That is a terrifying thought.” Malrich paused, as if hesitant to even say the words. “I have a theory of my own.”

  “Oh?”

  “There was a god accompanying the men who attacked us.”

  Emethius had already come to the same conclusion, but he had not brought it to Malrich’s attention, fearful of how he might respond. “The fifth Watcher that remained within the shadows of the forest.”

  “The figure shrouded in a halo of light,” added Malrich.

  Emethius sighed. “By taking up Meriatis’s cause, I fear we have fallen afoul of the gods.” He looked across the lake. “This may only be a reprieve. I’m terrified by the prospect of what lies ahead.”

  “I’m suddenly pining for a drink,” said Malrich with a snort.

  “I think we both are.” For a brief moment Emethius thought he detected the flare of two yellow orbs staring back at him from the opposite shore. Emethius scowled in reply, ignoring the cold shiver that was working its way up his spine and causing all of his hairs to stand on end.

  CHAPTER

  I

  HARDTHORN

  Emethius eyed the valley with a mixture of disquiet and wonder. The land was barren — fields of dry grass and outcrops of basalt rock. Leafless trees studded the ugly terrain, their trunks knotted and twisted from the continuous wind howling from the west. A river bisected the land, its water so black, it could have been mistaken for ink.

  “The third realm of Eremel,” said Emethius, finding that Dunis looked nothing like he imagined. He could only wonder how this land ever stood on an equal footing with Emonia and Merridia.

  “My old school teacher used to say, if Dunis falls, the rest of Eremel will soon follow,” said Malrich, squinting into the distance.

  Emethius nodded his head knowingly. The Dunie were the marchwardens of the west, tasked with defending the talsani realms from the creeping Shadow of the Cul. “Perhaps the rest of Eremel should be counting their days,” said Emethius, noting the apparent ill state of affairs.

  From his vantage atop the valley wall, Emethius could see for leagues, yet he could count the number of homesteads on the west side of the river on his fingers and toes. For every home that remained standing, there were a dozen that were scorched husks. “There’s no one left in the valley. You can see why Mayal has been receiving so many Dunie refugees.”

  “Aye, and the land looks half-dead.” Malrich chewed at his lip, his nerves clearly frayed. “This isn’t what I expected. I don’t like this one bit.”

  “Neither do I, but we didn’t come all this way to turn back now.”

  Malrich grunted his discontent and gave Baylilly’s reins a gentle tug, guiding her down the road.

  The land was enveloped by a barely perceptible haze, which made everything seem out of focus; distances were almost impossible to gauge accurately. They descended quickly toward the valley floor, the road passing through fields of grass that rose thigh high. The land had clearly not been worked by a plow in years. All was brittle, brown, and dry. Winter still held this land, although Emethius doubted it would look much different come spring. There was a blighted and evil feeling about the land, and the faint scent of brimstone was ever-present in the air.

  “An ill humor,” said Malrich, sniffing at the cold wind that came wafting out of the mountains to the west.

  “That’s the Shadow creeping as it ever does,” said Emethius. “We would be wise to reach Hardthorn before nightfall.”

  They quickened their pace.

  Two ancient stone towers stood at the crossing of the Morium River, a matching pair, one built upon either bank. A narrow portal cut through the base of each tower allowing access to a bridge that spanned the river; a man on horseback would have to duck to manage the passage. The walls of the towers were higher than any fortified building Emethius had ever encountered in the east. The only difference between the two structures was the tilt of their respective foundations. One tilted north, the other south, forming a great “X” when viewed from a distance. A dozen tall, stalwart soldiers lounged about the east tower’s entrance.

  A stern looking soldier stepped forward to greet them. “Hail, travelers! What business do you have in the realm of King Iantir?” He was garbed in the livery of House Langlif, and a black eagle adorned his chest.

  Emethius held out his palms as he approached the tower. “I am Master Emethius, a master healer of the Tiber Order.” He saw no reason to use a false name this far from home. “We are bound for Hardthorn in hopes of easing the
minds of those afflicted by the Blackheart and giving peace to their souls.”

  “Then you have been misinformed,” said a different guard who was a head taller than Emethius and built like an ox. “There hasn’t been an afflicted person living in Dunis for a hundred years. We have found a cure.”

  “A cure?”

  “Steel seems to do the trick,” said the sentry with a sneer. He patted the pommel of his sword, while another guard made a chopping motion with his hands.

  The other soldiers laughed.

  “The Court of Bariil frowns on such barbaric practices,” said Emethius, staying in character. “I have come to provide you with alternative treatments. I possess soothing ointments and tonics that will ease the mind.” He produced a handful of small vials from a hidden pocket in his cloak.

  At this the men laughed. “Do you also have men in your saddlebags, or perhaps slings and bows?” called the chief marchwarden. “Your witches’ brew is not welcome here. Steel, men, and more steel is what we need. Your meager wares are not suitable to our needs.”

  “We have been sent here by the Herald of the Tiber Order,” interjected Malrich. He quickly flashed a piece of parchment with Herald Carrick’s signature at the bottom, fast enough for the men to detect the name, but not fast enough for them to tell that it was a testimonial from Herald Carrick’s journal.”

  “And who might you be?”

  “Brother Malrich. I am Master Emethius’s apprentice.”

  The guard looked Malrich over from head to toe. His eyes settled on the sword Malrich wore on his hip. “A leech boy, eh? A bit old, aren’t you? And so well armed...”

  “I served as a Soldier of the Faith before I heard my true calling,” said Malrich. “I thank the gods for every opportunity they have afforded me. Were it not for my training in the army, we might both be dead. We were attacked by bandits on the North Road. They took two of our horses and most of our provisions. A man may guard his spirit with the gospel, but only a fool is unprepared to guard his body with a sword.” He let his hand rest on the pommel of his sword — the gesture was not quite a threat, but it was certainly a reminder that the blade was present and ready to be used.