As if she knew this, she always sought him out when they played war, as if it were a personal vendetta. He did his best to defend himself from this diminutive amazon.
Aedan glanced around the battlefield, searching for Michael and Corwin in the melee. Corwin had been right next to him when they began the charge, but now he was nowhere in sight. He could only risk quick glances, but could not spot him anywhere among the two dozen or so mingling bodies and, worse yet, he could not see Michael, either.
“Ow!” Ariel had scored a telling blow upon his thigh. it stung, and Aedan knew that it would leave a nasty bruise.
“Down!” she shouted. “Down to one knee! I’ve crippled you!”
‘You have not; it was a glancing blow, merely a scratch.” He could not afford to be crippled at this stage; he still had to find Michael and Corwin and make sure they didn’t take each other’s heads off.
“Liar! I say you’re crippled!” Ariel shouted, smashing away at him with a flurry of blows as she kept up the litany with each furious stroke.
“Crippled …
crippled … crippled … crippled … crippled!”
Aedan backed away and tripped. Ariel immediately pressed the advantage as he tried to regain his feet, but managed only to get up to one knee before she was upon him.
“Die … die … die … die … die!”
She’s out of her mind, thought Aedan, cowering behind his wooden shield as he warded off the rain of blows. And then, miraculously, she struck a blow that hooked his shield and sent it flying out of his grasp as he watched in stunned disbelief.
Thunk!
“Ha! Dead!” Ariel cried out triumphantly.
The blow had come down squarely on his metal skullcap, and Aedan’s vision swam. The sound reverberated inside his head like a ringing gong. The ground came up to meet him as he fell and everything went black.
Toward sunset, it seemed certain Azrai’s forces would prevail, but as the sun sank beneath the horizon and darkness descended on the field of battle, the elves suddenly crossed over to join the forces led by Haelyn, and the tide began to turn.
No one knew precisely what occurred to make the elves change sides.
According to some versions of the story, as darkness fell, the elves saw Azrai revealed for what he truly was and realized they had been duped.
Other versions had it that the elven generals discovered that at the close of battle, when the humans were defeated and the elves were at their weakest, Azrai would betray them and have the gnolls and goblins eliminate the last potential threat to his dominion. But whatever the true reason may have been, Haelyn’s embattled forces were in no position to refuse their help. Elf and human, who for years had tried their utmost to destroy each other, turned and faced the greater enemy, fighting shoulder to shoulder against the troops of Azrai.
to rise, the champions of the As the moon began gods, led by Haelyn and Roele, managed to break through a weak point in the ranks of Azrai’s troops.
Haelyn led the charge straight up the slopes of Deismaar to where the lord of darkness himself stood upon the higher ground, flanked by his generals and priests. Beside him stood Raesene, the traitor, and at Azrai’s signal, the Black Prince led his troops down in a countercharge to meet the attackers. The brothers met midway up the slopes, each determined to destroy the other, while Azrai and his priests retreated to still higher ground. And it was then, at the climax of the struggle, that the gods themselves appeared in human form and joined the battle, uniting all their powers in an all-out effort to annihilate the lord of darkness and his priests.
Never before had god battled against god. The ground shook on the battlefield below, and the slopes of Deismaar trembled. The sky was cracked with lightning, and thunder drowned out every other sound. The earth heaved, and men and beasts fell screaming to the ground. All eyes turned toward the summit of the mountain, where the skies were lit up with a blinding glow unlike anything ever seen before.
It was the Twilight of the Gods, and it lasted only a few brief moments, but those who had survived the conflict never forgot the sight as long as they lived. The light grew brighter, and then brighter still, until the upper portions of the mountain where the gods were locked in combat was totally obscured from view. Then an incredible, thunderous explosion shook the sky, leveling the mountain and everything else for miles around.
The blast of the cataclysm washed down the mountain with the force of a hundred hurricanes, and no one was left standing. The ground cracked and split and swallowed up whole regiments as smoke and flames shot up from the fissures. Of all the hundreds of thousands of combatants who had clashed from dawn till dusk upon the bloodsoaked battlefield, only a few survived, and later, when they looked back on what had happened, they counted it a miracle.
The final part of “The Legacy of Kings” was called “The Birth of the New Gods and the Abominations,” and it told the story of what happened when the old gods died, having given up their lives to destroy the evil that was Azrai. The cataclysmic explosion that had leveled Mount Deismaar in an instant and reduced it to a smoking crater had released the cosmic essence of the gods. Those who had stood closest to the holocaust caught the full brunt of this searing wash of divine essence as it radiated from the epicenter of the blast like an incinerating wind.
The champions of the gods, who had followed Haelyn in his bold assault up the mountain slopes, were closest, bathed in the full force of this raging wind of divine essence. Their bodies were discorporated in an instant, and in that same instant, their souls rose up to become new gods.
Haelyn became what Anduiras had once been, the noble god of battle.
Aerik the druid took the place of Reynir, the patron of the forests.
Seramie inherited the goddess Brenna’s role as the deity of fortune, and Avanalae took the mantle of Basaia, goddess of the sun. Nesirie supplanted Masela as the lady of the seas, and Vos, the moon lord, was succeeded by the new god, Ruornil, who became the god of magic. But the dark essence of Azrai had been released as well, and it imbued two of his grim champions among the Vos, the warriors Kriyesha and Belinik, who became the Ice Lady and the Prince of Terror.
These were the new gods, created from the old, and in time, the people of Cerilia would learn to worship them, erecting new temples to their glory and passing on this story of the new creation to the succeeding generations. But those days were yet to come when the survivors of the cataclysm rose, astonished to discover not only that they were still alive, but that they had changed in ways that would forever make them different from ordinary mortals.
The god essence the cataclysm had released had been much dissipated when it reached them, but the remaining energy had still imbued them with abilities no humans had possessed before. In the coming years, these wondrous powers would be passed on to their descendants, who would be called “the blooded,” those who had inherited blood abilities bestowed on the survivors of that battle where the gods themselves gave up their lives.
Among these comparatively few survivors were
Roele and Traederic, who were not as close as Haelyn when the earthshaking blast occurred. They had turned to pursue Raesene, who fled when the old gods joined the battle, and though he made good his escape, he too was changed.
As smoke and flames rose up from the fractured battlefield, the earth began to groan and tremble.
Slowly, the land bridge started to sink. Even then, the survivors turned upon each other. As Azrai’s minions struggled to fight their way clear before the land bridge sank, Roele marshaled his remaining troops to stop them from escaping. Many were killed on both sides, but soon they realized that they had to look to their own lives if they did not wish to sink beneath the waves that threatened to inundate them.
In their battle frenzy, they did not notice the strange new feelings surging through them, and it was only later that they discovered they had inherited the powers of those whom they had slain in the cataclysm’s aftermath. They found that god esse
nce could not be destroyed, but could be ripped or drained from those who had possessed it, and this dreadful practice soon received a name-“bloodtheft.”
Bloodtheft soon became a way of life for those of Azrai’s minions who had escaped, for outnumbered as they were, they realized their vulnerability and sought every opportunity to kill those who were blooded, the better to insure their own survival and increase their powers. And as their powers grew from the blooded men they’d slain, they gained the ability to transform themselves with the god essence they had seized. In their greedy quest for greater power, they became abominations, travesties of their once human form, and the elves, who were the first
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to learn of these perverse new creatures, gave them a new name-awnsheghlien, “blood of darkness.”
The traitor Prince Raesene became the mightiest of the awnsheghlien, a fearsome and grotesque creature who was called the Gorgon. Among others of his kind were the Ghost, the Kraken, the Serpent, the Sinister, the Hydra, and the Hag. Still others were in the process of their transformation, and once the metamorphosis became complete, more power gained through bloodtheft enabled them to create others like themselves and, in this manner, a new race came into being in Cerilia-a race of monsters who bore only a faint resemblance to the humans they once were.
However, this took many years. While the soonto-be awnsheghlien went into hiding in Mount Deismaar’s aftermath, those few who had fought Azrai’s evil and survived returned to their own kingdoms to recuperate and rebuild what had been lost. Haelyn became the new god of the Anuireans, and his brother, Roele, became their king, founding the dynasty that bore his name. In time, through conquest or alliance, he unified the disparate human kingdoms under his rule, and the Anuirean Empire was born.
Over the years, the sons of Roele became known as the Emperors Roele, ruling their domains from the Iron Throne in the Imperial Cairn in the capital city of Anuire, built on the shores of a large bay in the Straits of Aerele, tens of leagues from the shattered islands where Mount Deismaar was destroyed and sank beneath the waves.
As Aedan came to and shook his aching head, he looked up to see the bodies of the “dead” lying all
around him, craning their necks or sitting up to watch the next occupant of the Iron Throne battle the goblin general. Oh no, thought Aedan as he sat up, rubbing his sore head. Michael and Corwin were hard at it, bashing away at each other with grim determination. The survivors of the battle stood around them in a loose semicircle, watching for the outcome. Most of them cheered on the future emperor, but a few brave souls were shouting out encouragement to Corwin as the two opponents flailed away at one another.
Aedan’s practiced eye saw that the older boy was holding back a bit, taking care to avoid injuring the younger warrior, but Michael was laying on for all that he was worth and, despite his smaller stature, was giving Corwin lots of trouble. Aedan tried to get up, but dizziness overcame him, and he sat back down again with a groan.
Suddenly, Corwin knocked Michael’s shield from his grasp and, sensing victory, raised his wooden blade and moved in for the kill.
As his stroke came down, Michael parried it, holding his wooden sword in both hands. He launched a devastating kick at Corwin’s groin. Had Corwin not been wearing a codpiece, he might well have sung soprano for the remainder of his life. As it was, he grunted and doubled over from the blow, dropping his shield and clutching at the source of his acute discomfort, while Michael, instead of moving in to deliver the coup de grace, stood back and broke out laughing at the older boy. It was a bad mistake.
Corwin came up out of his doubled-over crouch, eyes blazing, and with a cry of rage, unleashed a hail of blows at Michael as if he were purely determined to kill him. Aedan jumped to his feet and started running toward the boys, but before he’d covered half the distance, Michael’s sword went flying and Corwin brained him on the helm with all his might.
Michael jerked and stiffened, then went down like a felled tree.
As Michael lay motionless upon the ground, a shocked silence descended on the battlefield. Aedan came running up and crouched beside him.
“Michael!
Michael!” he repeated with concern, forgetting in his anxiety to address him by his title rather than his name.
Michael did not answer. Carefully, Aedan removed his helm. He sighed with relief when he saw there was no blood, but that was still no guarantee he wasn’t seriously injured. He patted Michael lightly on the cheeks, but there was no response.
“Michael!”
Corwin stood over them, eyes wide, shocked as the realization of what he had done sank in. The pain of Michael’s kick to his essentials, evidenced by his awkward stance, was completely overwhelmed by the thought of what he’d done.
“I-I didn’t mean it!” he stammered in a small voice. His lips continued to move, but no sound came out.
Aedan could spare no thought for Corwin. He gazed down at Michael, slapping his cheeks lightly.
“Michael? Come on, Michael……
There was no response.
“My god,” said Aedan, glancing skyward. “Haelyn, help me!”
Michael made a small moan. His eyelids twitched, then fluttered open.
His gaze appeared unfocused.
He groaned.
“Michael! Michael!” Aedan said. “How many fingers am I holding up?”
He held up two. Michael tried to focus. “Four?”
“Lie still,” said Aedan. “You may have a concussion.” He glanced at Corwin. “Pray that it is nothing worse.
Corwin’s lips were trembling. He had gone completely white.
Aedan gently picked up Michael in his arms and started carrying him back toward the castle. Behind him, the young warriors of Mount Deismaar trooped silently with their wooden swords and shields. The war was over.
**chapter TWO**
Seaharrow stood upon a cliff overlooking Miere Rhuann, the Sea of Storms, roughly two hundred miles from the capital city of Anuire. The castle’s crenelated towers dominated the broken landscape for miles around, its machicolated battlements gave a commanding view of the surrounding countryside, and its thick, massive walls defied assault.
Situated on a high and craggy rock formation, with the sea and a sheer wall of granite at its back, Seaharrow was a virtually impregnable fortress that a small body of men could easily hold against an army.
Archduke Arwyn of Boeruine had rather more than a small body of men, however, which was one of the reasons he was an archduke and one of the most powerful nobles in the empire. Seaharrow was his holding, and his ancestors had held it before him for hundreds of years.
Below the castle, the town of Seasedge lay spread out upon the rocky coastal plain. It was the capital and seaport of the nine provinces governed by the archduke. It was not a very large town, but it boasted a hardy population. Only the Northern Marches were less settled than the windswept western coastal region, which reached from the waters of the Tael Firth to the Straits of Aerele and east to the Seamist Mountains. During the winter, fierce storms battered the coast and strong easterly winds howled through the castle battlements. A visitor to Seasedge at this time of the year would wonder why anyone could possibly wish to settle on this desolate, stormlashed stretch of coast.
In the summer, however, the climate was more temperate, and each year, at the end of spring, the Imperial Court of the Empire of Anuire traveled en masse in a heavily armed convoy to the Archduchy of Boeruine, to take up residence at Seaharrow. The brisk northern breezes coming in off the Sea of Storms at this time of year provided welcome relief from the hot and humid winds that buffeted Anuire during the summer season, bringing with them the monsoons that boiled up from the Adurian coast.
But the monsoon season at the beginning of the summer was not the only reason the emperor came to Seaharrow each year.
The Archduchy of Boeruine had strategic significance by virtue of its geographical location. On its northeastern borders lay the Aelvinnwode
, the thick pine forest that covered most of the territory known as the Northern Marches, and the hostile goblin kingdom of Thurazor, as well as the lawless, mountainous region known as the Five Peaks, which was home to goblin bandits, gnous, and renegades of all description. To the north of the Five Peaks and east of Thurazor lay the elven kingdom of Tuarhievel, ruled by Prince Fhileraene, whose great-grandfather was the only elven chieftain who had remained loyal to Azrai at the Battle of Mount Deismaar.
Rhuobhe Manslayer had remained with Azrai not out of any love for the dark lord, but out of a fierce hatred of humans. After the battle, he became awnsheghlien, and together with the renegade band of elves who followed him, he had seized a small portion of the Aelvinnwode on the northeastern border of Boeruine, where he still relentlessly pursued the gheallie Sidhe, for which he had won the appellations of Manslayer and Foresttaker, both of which he had defiantly adopted as his own.
The Prince of Tuarhievel did not seem to share his great-grandfather’s belief that the only good humans were dead ones, but it was difficult to tell precisely what Fhileraene believed. His mother, Queen lbeicoris, was still the ruler of Tuarhievel, but Fhileraene held the actual reins of power in the elven kingdom. Though he traded with the humans, he still maintained good relations with his great-grandfather, the Manslayer, whose followers were made welcome at his court. Though he outwardly condemned the gheallie Sidhe, there were still sporadic outbreaks of it in his kingdom, and human traders who did business with Tuarhievel did so at their own risk.
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