An Empire Forged

by Michael Greenfield

  “You came with Collett?”

  “Well, I wouldn’t say we came with him. Its not like we know him.”

  Cal grinned, “Want me to introduce you?”

  “Sorry?”

  “Like I said, it’s a long story.” He looked about at the forge, “Is da here?”

  “No, he’s working at another forge on the eastern side. He got the one that was already built before the invasions, I got the wooden one.”

  Laughing, Cal grabbed his brother by the shoulder, “Let’s go and see him.”

  Eldur joined the laughter, signalling for one of the others in the smithy to carry on whilst he was gone.

  His older brother practically had to hold him back from sprinting to the site of the smithy that their father was working at. As it came in sight, Cal saw that it was a much more solid, stone construction. Obviously one that had been worked prior to the troubles, providing services for those inside the walls.

  Again, the tell-tale clink of metal on metal sounded from within, though it was darker inside the stone structure and Cal couldn’t see clearly who was inside.

  Eldur called as they reached the doorway, “Da! I’ve found someone who wants to see you.”

  This time tools were put up properly, as Allwyn Ironsson hadn’t seen who Eldur was escorting. When the older man strode out into the sunlight his eyes went wide and he stopped dead in his tracks.

  “Cal?” he whispered.

  “Da.” And then they were in each other’s arms, tears streaming down the blacksmith’s face.

  “Eldur, go back to the tent and grab that bottle of applecorn we were saving.” Applecorn was a strong drink that many of the villages to the west of Holdur made during the summer, and one that could be excessively potent if not made correctly, or if made correctly, depending on one’s viewpoint. “If this isn’t cause for celebration, I don’t know what is?”

  Cal smiled, “I’ll join you for one, but then I think you both need to get back to work, and I’ll get into trouble if anyone finds out.

  When you’ve finished tonight, get yourselves cleaned up and try and find something half decent to wear, then present yourselves at the palace gate and ask for me.

  Let’s have dinner and some wine and catch up in comfort with a few new friends I’ve made.”

  Allwyn wasn’t at all sure what his son meant by that, but he agreed nonetheless.

  Allwyn and Eldur made their way up to the palace as the sun was sinking close to the western horizon. Allwyn had no idea what his youngest son had planned but presented himself, as he had been requested, at the palace gate.

  If he’d expected confusion on the part of the guard, he was the one in for a surprise.

  “Lieutenant Ironsson, of course. I’ll get someone to take you to him.” It took less than a minute for a Paige to appear and lead them into the palace itself, eventually leading to a room with two serious looking guards stood outside it.

  “Allwyn Ironsson and Eldur Ironsson.” The Paige left it at that and made his way back to wherever he had appeared from.

  One of the guards nodded and pulled the door open.

  Inside was a table set for ten. Eight of the seats were occupied with two spare, obviously for the pair of them, but as Allwyn took in those sitting he started to feel faint.

  “Majesty,” he managed to half mumble.

  Myriana stood and quickly spoke, “If you kneel, I’ll have Collett and Luda throw you out.”

  Collett looked at the two men, both with the powerful physique common to blacksmiths, “Sorry, I’ll throw who out?” Luda burst out laughing at the comment whilst the new Empress fixed him with an icy stare.

  Then they were all out of their seats. Sat with Cal were the people he had come to call friend during their race from Holdur to Churek. Farsighter was there, along with Collett, Luda, Vorston and Dorrin. Tamala had been sat beside Myriana.

  Cal handled the introductions for the men, though they already knew Farsighter. Then Myriana and Tamala stepped forward.

  “Da, Her Imperial Majesty Myriana.” Stepping forward she surprised everyone by throwing her arms about the shocked man.

  “Myriana or Myri, please. There’s no way that any of Cal’s family call me Majesty.” She hugged Eldur in turn and then stepped out of the way of Tamala.

  “And this is the Lady Tamala, my fiancé.”

  The redhead was a bit more restrained than Myriana had been, but she to hugged Cal’s father, who stood shocked, tears again brimming in his eyes.

  “I think I need to sit down.”

  “You know, I actually only planned a quiet dinner with yourselves and Tamala. It wasn’t my idea to do this.” Cal was sat next to his brother, with Tamala now sat on the opposite side of him.

  His father had somehow got himself involved in some discussion with Collett and the Empress. Seeing this, Cal couldn’t help but smile. The serious of shocks his father and sibling had gone through as those around the table recounted the events of the last several months eventually reached the point that they both just felt numb.

  Tamala punched him the arm, “You think I would let you get away with a quiet dinner and miss out on the chance to embarrass you outrageously?”

  “It was a bit of an ask wasn’t it?”

  As they stood enjoying each other’s company, his father came over, followed by the others.

  “After hearing the fantastic tale you’ve told me this evening, letting me know how selflessly and bravely my son has acted these last few months, I think it’s time that I told you something else about him.

  Something that even he doesn’t know about.”

  The room quietened as they listened.

  “Master Farsighter, do you recall the request you made of me before you left Fallon’s Glen, regarding Cal’s bow?”

  “You promised that one day you would tell me how a Lighter bow had come into the possession of your family.”

  “Well, Cal’s thrown enough surprises in my direction this evening, time for me to throw some at him.”

  The group quietened as they leaned forward to listen to the smithy, “I’m sure you’ve all heard the tales from the Age of Legends, sorcery and heroic warriors fighting for the people, using magical weapons forged by the mythical Mage Smiths of the dwarves.

  And as we all know, their kind have now long faded into fable.” He paused, watching those around the table, “What would you say if I told you that they never faded away, but are still amongst us today?”

  “Its not possible Master Smith,” Vorston sounded very certain of himself, “We have kept meticulous records going back centuries and we have nothing to say that Mage Smiths still abide upon this world.”

  “And yet your own stories speak of a time when the world will reawaken, an era led by the ‘peoples of the past’.”

  “You know our stories, but the ‘people of the past’ could refer to anyone.”

  Allwyn smiled, “It could.

  How about if I told you that the elders of that bygone age knew that they would be needed again, and that they needed to find a way to avoid an enemy who would do everything that they could to destroy them?”

  “An enemy that very nearly succeeded.” The voice came from the shadow at the back of the room, and as heads turned Asrak stepped into the light.

  “Well Cal, I knew you were special, but I hadn’t thought you quite that special.”

  “Asrak,” it was Tamala that spoke first, “where have you been? Eshek attacked the temple.”

  Holding a hand up to forestall any further questions, he strode across the room, taking a spare chair from near the wall, and joining them about the table.

  “I apologise for not getting here sooner. My erstwhile brother managed to send me on a wild goose chase.

  It didn’t put me in a life-threatening situation, but he managed to tie me up for several months.” He looked to Tamala, “I’m deeply sorry I wasn’t able to stop his assault on the Temple. I’ve spoken to Arlena since you left, and I jo
in her in mourning the knowledge that was lost.”

  He returned his attention to Allwyn, “Perhaps we should finish one story before we begin another.” He motioned for him to continue.

  The older man’s face showed curiosity as to who the newcomer was, but he noted that the others seemed to be taking his sudden appearance in their stride, so left it at that for the moment.

  “As you say.

  The enemy that they fought were those from the daemon realm. They had managed to stop them breaking through to our world, but there were always those that would carry out dark deeds for those monsters.

  Minor wars kept breaking out, and it was noticed that specific peoples and areas seemed to keep getting dragged into them. Dwarven Mage Smith numbers were dwindling, and most of the warriors that fought the daemons had passed away, either through battle or just plain old age.

  It was decided that something need to be done, something that the enemy wouldn’t know about.

  Despite the obvious cultural issues involved, several families agreed for their children to marry and carry on certain bloodlines.”

  “I’m not sure I’m following this.” Dorrin looked about the table and saw that several others seemed as confused as he.

  “The families weren’t limited by race. Lighter, Dwarf and Human joined as one, and the seed of those families went out into the world to quietly carry on, out of view of their foe, and hopefully safe. Ready for when they would be called again.”

  “So, you’re saying that these families have been hiding for millennia, keeping these old skills and abilities alive?” Myriana was fascinated by what she was hearing.

  “That’s exactly what Allwyn is saying.” Asrak pointed toward Tamala, “I would say that Tamala descends from one of the human-lighter joining’s, allowing her to access the source where others can’t.

  The line needs to be pretty direct, otherwise we would now have an entire continent that had these capabilities. The ability lessens the further from the direct line someone is born.

  Cal is something of a quandary though.”

  This brought the youngsters head about sharply, “Why?”

  “Most of the families centred on joining only two lines, yet your family appears to be all three.

  Your father and brother are smiths of no small talent and having studied some of their work recently I have no doubt that they descend from the dwarven line.”

  Vorston couldn’t resist a jibe, “Your granny must have been the tallest dwarf we’ve ever seen.”

  Laughter broke the quiet air that had settled about the room.

  “Indeed, Master Dwarf.

  But Cal’s ability to use the Lighter Bow and the Fireblade speak of the Human and Lighter lines in your past as well.” He raised a questioning eyebrow to the older Ironsson.

  Allwyn shrugged, “I knew of the Dwarven and Lighter lines to our family, and my father had passed on the knowledge of why we were as we were, but I was unaware of the Human line as well,” he paused, “I mean the significant Human line.”

  He glanced at Farsighter, “That was the long story I promised you Magron, it was Cal’s great-grandfather, with several greats, that brought the bow into our family.

  Ready for the day one of our family would be needed to use it.”

  Farsighter inclined his head in acknowledgement.

  “So,” Dorrin spoke, “you’re saying that there are others like Cal and Tamla capable of helping our cause?”

  “There are, but the entire point was to hide them. I’ve no idea how difficult it will be to find them, or even how long it will take.” Cal’s father looked toward Asrak.

  “It will be difficult, but not impossible. Tamala should be able to help narrow the search some.” She looked surprised at this, “Think it through, you’ll see how.

  As for time, that is something we have gained some of.

  Eshek has tipped his hand early, it would have made much more sense to have eliminated me before letting it be known he was working with the Daemon Lord to affect an entrance to our world.

  The attack on the Temple was rushed, and I’m guessing your forcing the Shaler back has given him pause as well. He needs Needle Spire and he doesn’t have it at the moment.” The Source Guide paused for a moment.

  “Yes, I think we’ve gained time, but we mustn’t be complacent.”

  Mythra

  Eshek was fuming. His plans hadn’t totally collapsed, but his meticulously calculated timetable was in ruins. So far only one daemon had crossed the boundary between their world and his own, and he already knew that just one wouldn’t be enough to even destroy the young swordsman, Ironsson.

  He glared at Cor’dell as he sat in a darkened room, deep in the citadel of Mythra. They were waiting for the five ruling Lords to make their appearance to hear how he had failed so badly.

  The door to the room slamming open signalled their arrival, and the irritated muttering that accompanied their entrance spoke volumes. Eshek stood as they entered, Cor’dell stepping to place himself at Eshek’s right shoulder.

  “My Lords.” He performed a slight bow, but not enough to confirm any genuine respect.

  The Lords made their way past him to a slightly raised dais where five high-backed seats awaited them.

  “Sit.” He did as asked as the five Lords also took their seats in front of him. “We are not pleased.” That was an understatement. The five of them had spent the last hour discussing whether or not to kill the renegade Source Guide.

  “You promised that you would be able to stop the Kingdoms from joining together to resist our plans.”

  “My Lords,” he stood and started to pace slowly before them, “We could not foresee that Asrak would be able to find someone capable of using the powers of that bygone age they call legendary, let alone two at the same time.

  We have gone some way to slowing their understanding down, but it is your allies that have let us down in the field.”

  “You dare to try and shift the blame from yourself?” The centre Lord stood himself, slamming a gauntlet cover fist against the chair as he did.

  “Then tell me where your Shaler army currently is? They don’t even hold Needle Spire anymore, and the humans have let them keep that for nearly a millennium.”

  He straightened up to his full height, tall for a human, but still nowhere near as tall as one of the Mythraan.

  “The reports I get from the desert are that the J’dar are split, many of the western tribes now openly siding with that whelp of a queen!” Eshek’s voice was rising as well.

  “Enough!” It was one of the Lords still seated that spoke, the High Lord. “We get nowhere casting blame at each other.” He motioned for the one standing to be seated.

  “Understand Eshek, you have provided some interesting things for us to contemplate and use, but you are not irreplaceable.”

  Eshek chuckled, “No, you are quite right. I am not irreplaceable, but then neither are you.

  I’ve had enough of the temper tantrums whenever something doesn’t go as you wish. One thing I have learnt in the four millennia I have walked this world is that you should always be ready to adapt.

  Cor’dell, if you would be so kind.”

  He pointed vaguely at the five Lords, who were starting to come out of their seats. Cor’dell reached inside his tunic and flung his hand out in a rapid succession of throwing movements.

  The Mythra stared in incomprehension as each was hit by a small dart, which despite their small size penetrated clear through their skin, starting to glow almost as soon as it came in contact.

  They each staggered backward as if physically struck. Two fell, whilst the other three grabbed their seats to support them.

  “Don’t worry, I’m not going to kill you.” Their eyes were burning with hatred as they glared at the robed man, “the Daemon can’t inhabit a dead body.”

  Screams of rage echoed throughout the room, but Eshek had already ensured that a ward was in place to keep the noise from being
heard outside the four walls.

  As pain racked the Mythraan they were gripped by a tearing feeling at the very heart of what soul they possessed. Eshek had begun another chant, this one allowing for the passage of five voracious spirits to pass from their own realm to his own.

  He had known that the Lords would try and lay the blame for all of the chaos at his feet and had taken the time during the preceding hour to prepare for this exact confrontation. It was not a course of action he could take on a whim, unfortunately. The room itself had needed preparing with several sets of symbols and a part performed spell in place awaiting activation, but now he had the five of them exactly where he wanted.

  He continued chanting, the screams gaining in volume, until his own voice reached a crescendo. There was an instant of silence before another figure seemed to overlay itself in the place of the High Lord, a howl of joy escaping its lips.

  “Your Highness,” said Eshek.

  Here ends Book Two of the Southern Empire Trilogy.

  Acknowledgements

  Again, big thanks go out to all that supported me with encouraging words and praise for my last book. That’s the kind of thing that keeps a writer going, especially when they’ve only just started.

  Gill and Graham have always been there for me. I might complain about Gill’s harassing me to get work done, but I really do appreciate it. And Graham is always a ready sounding board for bits and pieces I’m unsure of.

  Thanks have to go to the support I’ve had from my friends at work. Not one of them has made any sarcastic comment that I’ve heard. They must be really struggling to contain themselves.

  My family for just being my family. I couldn’t ask for any better, even if we don’t always see each other as often as we would like.

  Here’s hoping that we can all struggle through my writing the finale to my tale, and thanks for reading. Without someone to read all these works (not just mine, but any book) the world would be so much poorer.