Tears of Eternity
Chronicles of Eternity Book II
***
Blake Arthur Peel
TEARS OF ETERNITY
Chronicles of Eternity Book II
Blake Arthur Peel
Copyright © 2019 by Blake Arthur Peel. All rights reserved.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission from the author.
https://blakearthurpeel.com
Cover art by Rob Erto
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Tears of Eternity (Chronicles of Eternity, #2)
Part 1
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Part 2
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Part 3
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Epilogue
Also by Blake Arthur Peel
About the Author
For Matthew,
You'll always be the best DM I ever played with.
Part 1
Jasper Aurelio
Chapter One
Jasper Aurelio, Blade of Valæcia and feared assassin of the Merchant City, rode his horse down a muddy road in a backwater part of the northlands, travelling toward a piss-poor town that he had never even heard of before. The air, humid from the recent rainfall, smelled of earth and wood rot from the forest, and it made him yearn for the finely perfumed and fragrant aromas of his home.
Thrice curse me for a fool, he thought to himself, shaking his head bitterly as he rode. Bowing to the whims of a sorcerer like a trained dog... some master assassin you are.
His horse, a fine gelding from a renowned Yralesian bloodline, clopped through the mud determinedly, kicking up clods of filth and staining his dappled white coat. Indeed, a fleck of the stuff landed on Jasper’s expensive breeches, the muck a gritty black against the soft brown leather. He made a disgusted sound as he wiped the mud away, further dirtying his already dirty gloves.
Why would anyone would live this far north? he wondered in irritation, shrugging deeper into his heavy cloak as the gelding continued on. Do people here fear the sunlight, or do they enjoy being freezing cold nine months out of the year?
He had been traveling for several weeks now, staying in one flea-infested inn after another, trudging ever onward to the northern metropolis of Old Barrow. The town, which wasn’t even included on most maps, contained answers to questions that had been plaguing him for some time now, like a burr caught in his boot.
The old man’s taken an interest in me, he thought idly to himself. It’s time to finally be done with him, once and for all.
Ahead, movement on the road caught his attention – several figures coming out of the forest and moving to block his path. They carried with them a barricade of sorts, a few lengths of timber lashed together haphazardly with rope, and from this distance, it appeared that there were five of them in total, half-starved men in filthy wools and leathers. As he drew near, Jasper could see that all of them were armed, swords and spears clutched in their hands as they watched him warily from behind their pitiful barricade.
Bandits, then, he thought, his hand straying to one of the curved swords hidden in a pack behind his saddle. Those have got to be the sorriest bandits I’ve ever seen.
One of the men strolled forward, stepping out from behind the barricade as Jasper pulled on the reins of his horse. His was a greasy, bearded fellow wearing an easy smile of crooked teeth.
“Well met, traveler,” the man called out in an uncultured drawl. “What brings you to these parts?”
Jasper eyed the man imperiously from astride his mount. “On route to Luthon,” he replied smoothly, using the cover story he had prepared. “Have business with the Duke and his family.”
“The Duke, eh?” The man responded, emitting a low whistle to accentuate his surprise. “Must be important business, then. Ol’ Iron Eye’s not known to be fond of southerners. That accent of yours... you a free cities man?”
“Valæcia,” Jasper answered coolly.
“Valæcia,” the man repeated, eyebrows shooting up. Behind him, the other bandits whispered quietly to one another. “Come a long way to meet with the Duke. Must be real important business. Iron Eye is an influential sod - very wealthy. Can’t imagine you’d be traveling so far for free, eh?” He ran a thumb along the edge of his sword, a blunted, rusty thing that looked like it hasn’t seen a whetstone in ages.
Jasper gave the man a friendly smile, though inside, he was as cold as ice. “I’ve introduced myself. Who are you fellows? It’s been a long time since I’ve run into anyone on the road.”
“Us?” The man asked, his tone indicating mild amusement. “We’re just simple tax collectors, ‘ere to collect for the privilege of using this road. Times are hard, what with the war ‘n all, and folk got to pay if they wish for the roads to remain safe.”
The threat behind the man’s words was not lost on Jasper, but he did not react at all aside from maintaining his friendly grin. “Certainly,” he replied. “I’m a law-abiding citizen. How much is the tax levied on this road?”
“Depends on how much you got,” one of the men blurted out from behind the barricade. Their leader shot him a furious look over his shoulder, but when he looked back at Jasper, he was all smiles once more.
“My associate speaks truly, I’m afraid,” the bearded man replied after a brief pause. “Everyone pays according to what he has. Fairness, and all o’ that. So, tell me, how much you got in that there coin purse?”
Jasper glanced down at the bulging pouch cinched to his belt. "Ten golden crowns, ten silver marks, a handful of copper pennies and a garnet or two." He said the words with such an air of nonchalance that for a moment, the bandits were left speechless. Each of them regarded Jasper with wide eyes and slack jaws. The sum was easily worth more than any of them had probably seen in their entire lives.
When the leader finally found his tongue, he cleared his throat. "Well, then," he said, licking his lips greedily. "Ain't that somethin'. The amount you carry is precisely what we'll be taking today."
The assassin feigned despair, clutching at his coin purse the way a fat noblewoman might clutch at her pearls. “Perhaps we can come to some sort of arrangement? I'm a very influential individual. Perhaps I can offer you half of what I carry, so that the rest can carry me to Luthon in comfort?"
The bearded man glanced at the other bandits, and they all had a good laugh. "Tell you what," he said, hefting his sword and taking a step toward Jasper's horse. "You hand over that pouch, and we'll let you live. Hell, we'll even let you keep that pretty horse of yours. Then, we can all go on our merry way and forget this whole thing ever happened. Savvy?"
Jasper made a show of thinking the matter over. Finally, he let out a long sigh and untied the coin purse, holding it out in front of him with a resigned look on h
is face. "I suppose that's as good an offer as I'm going to receive from you fine folk."
The bandit leader beamed. "There's a good man." He strode up to Jasper’s side, holding out a grubby hand expectantly for him to fill.
Jasper handed him the purse and the bearded man snatched it away, stabbing his sword into the soft ground and pulling open the leather pouch eagerly. When he did, though, his heavyset eyebrows furrowed together in confusion. He turned the pouch upside down and emptied its contents onto the ground. Polished river stones cascaded out and fell into the mud with a series of splats.
"What're you playing at?" The man growled, his confusion turning quickly to anger. He did not see Jasper reaching behind him to grab for his sword.
In a flash of motion, the assassin ripped Vitriol from its sheath, twisting in the saddle and swinging it in a wide arc. The blade passed effortlessly through the bandit's neck and out the other side, the red-slicked steel shining dully in the grey light of day. A spurt of blood shot out of the man's neck as his head rolled off his shoulders, falling to the muddy road with a heavy thud. His body followed a few seconds later.
The other bandits sputtered and cursed in surprise, scrambling out from behind their barricade and fumbling to ready their weapons.
Jasper pulled out his other blade Vehemence with a flourish, leaping from atop his horse and landing lightly on his feet. Even so, he grimaced as the thick mud squelched beneath his boots, causing him to sink nearly to the ankle.
One enterprising bandit rushed forward with a spear, outpacing his fellows in an attempt to skewer Jasper. The man, with his pockmarked face and stubbly chin, let out a wordless yell as he raised the spear to strike. Jasper easily sidestepped the attack and lashed out with one of his blades, taking the hapless bandit in the neck and slicing open a gaping wound. The man promptly dropped the spear and fell to the ground beside his companion’s severed head, clutching at his bleeding throat and gurgling helplessly.
The other three approached more warily, their movements slow and careful as they attempted to surround him.
Jasper smirked at each of them in turn, his blades held loosely in his black-gloved hands. He took a few steps to the side to distance himself from the horse, the well-trained beast silently watching the proceedings with unblinking dark eyes.
These miserable wretches couldn’t rob a caravan of blind monks, he thought to himself, noting the way they held their weapons in quivering, white-knuckled hands. This should be quick.
He waited for just a moment, giving them a chance to make the first move, then lunged toward one of them, bringing up his blades in a convincing feint. At the last second, he pulled away and diverted his momentum to the side, rolling away from the bandit and causing him to bring up his sword to block an attack that was not there.
At the same time, the two other bandits jumped into action, rushing for Jasper’s flank with sword and spear raised up. Both were surprised, though, when the assassin abruptly turned around to intercept their clumsy attacks, dodging the spear thrust and turning away the stab of the sword.
Seizing upon the opportunity, Jasper exploited an opening in the sword-wielder’s guard, ramming Vitriol into his gut and up into the chest cavity. Blood poured from the gaping wound in his torso and the man let out a gasp of shock.
Then, in a flurry of movement, Jasper released his grip on the blade and spun around, slicing up with Vehemence and opening the spear-wielder from groin to chin. That one, who was not much more than a boy, fell back into the mud with a scream.
With cold efficiency, Jasper ended the bandit’s life with a quick stab to the heart, then turned back around and yanked his blade from the gut of the other. The poor sod crumpled almost instantly, his guts laid bare for the crows.
The final bandit stood quivering in place, watching with wide eyes as Jasper turned to regard him.
“You idiots robbed the wrong man,” Jasper said calmly, blades red and dripping in both of his hands.
The bandit swallowed hard and shakily raised his sword in front of him, assuming something of a defensive position. “Who in the hell are you?”
Jasper smiled coldly. “I’m a man who has made his living by killing fools like yourself. They call me the Blade of Valæcia.” He began making his way toward the bandit, walking with an almost casual gait, completely unthreatened.
The wretch wet himself and threw down his sword in surrender, sinking to his knees and clasping his hands in front of him pleadingly. “I yield!” He cried, face growing pale. “By the Divines, have mercy on me, lord.”
Jasper stopped just before him, lip curling in distaste at the man’s pitiful display of weakness. “There are two things you ought to know about me,” he said, maintaining eye contact with iron intensity. “One, I’m at the top of the pecking order. Lowlife thugs and petty criminals have no business trying to shake me down. And two, I don't ever show mercy.”
With that, he rammed the points of Vehemence and Vitriol into the man's chest.
The blades went deep, ripping holes through the back of his jerkin, and for a moment, the bandit merely stared up at Jasper in disbelief. Then, slowly, his eyes glazed over and his head lolled forward like a rag doll.
Jasper withdrew his weapons and let the body slump unceremoniously to the ground. Sighing in distaste, he pulled a handkerchief from one of his pockets and began cleaning his blades. “You got me all dirty, you imbeciles,” he muttered, glancing around at the corpses littering the road. The bandits never stood a chance. Accustomed to robbing farmers and traveling merchants, they were completely unprepared to fight someone who knew what they were doing.
They paid for their lack of preparedness with their lives.
Sheathing his blades, Jasper grimaced as he trudged through the mud to pull the barricade off the road. It was a relatively easy endeavor, for, like the bandits themselves, it was wholly inadequate, a haphazard construction of thin saplings and twine.
With the barricade out of the way, Jasper made his way back to his horse and mounted up, stepping over the headless body of the bearded man. Taking up the reins, he dug his heels into the animal’s flank and continued up the road, making for his ultimate destination.
He had a feeling that these foolish bandits were only the beginning of his troubles.
Chapter Two
Old Barrow squatted like a toad in the mud.
The town was nestled between two hills on the northern fringe of Thaynia, a motley smattering of various shades of brown. The settlement spread out in a wide circle and was surrounded by a rickety wooden wall, making it resemble a large spot of mold growing on the forest floor from a distance. Woodsmoke rose from dozens of chimneys, and even from afar the sounds of industry could be heard.
Jasper began his descent into the valley, crinkling his nose as the stench of livestock from the nearby farms reached his nose. Travelers eyed him warily as he passed by, his fine clothing and well-bred mount making him stand out from the dismal poverty of the common folk. He ignored these stares, being completely unperturbed by his inability to blend in. These people were no threat to him, and he doubted anything in this backwater could challenge his well-honed and deadly skills.
As he approached the flimsy gates, he noted a pair of soldiers standing guard outside. Their armor and tabards clearly marked them as Thaynian, though the relaxed way they leaned on their spears indicated they had grown accustomed to rural life. Their breastplates were spotted with rust and their boots and greaves were stained with a layer of mud. They scrambled to attention as he stopped his horse in front of them, lowering their spears in what they probably thought was a threatening way.
“Ho, stranger,” one of them asked, chewing on a sprig of some sort of plant. “What brings you to Old Barrow today?”
“Business,” Jasper replied evenly, staring down each of the men in turn.
“Lots of southerners ‘ere lately,” the other remarked, hawking phlegm from the back of his throat and spitting to the side. “Not sure why fol
k are coming ‘round these parts lookin’ for work.”
“Didn’t say I was looking for work,” Jasper corrected testily. “I said I had business in your charming little town.” He said the word ‘charming’ with an obvious note of sarcasm.
The guards eyed each other, their deep frowns marking their displeasure.
“Testy, aren’t we?” The first one remarked at length.
“That’s not the sort of attitude a foreigner should have when he’s tryin’ to enter town,” the second murmured before spitting again into the muck.
Biting back his annoyance, Jasper reached into his saddlebags and pulled out a bulging pouch. “Listen, gentlemen. I’d like to stay here and chat – the conversation has been riveting – but I’m a busy man and would like to be out of this flea-bitten cesspit as soon as possible. Here,” he flicked a fat silver coin to each man. “Buy yourselves some soap and kindly get the hell out of my way.”
The two guards, dumbfounded, reached down and plucked their bribe out of the mud. Then, glancing at each other and shrugging, they pushed open the gates and moved to the side.
Nudging his horse forward, Jasper clopped into the town, resisting a grimace as he gazed about. It’s even uglier up close, he thought, riding into the main square.
Everything in the mud-stained town reminded him of every wretched farming village he had ever visited, right down to the suspicious looks on the locals’ dirt-smudged faces. Everywhere he looked, the buildings were made of thatch and roughhewn timbers, making everything appear dull and dismal. He had heard that Old Barrow was a frontier town filled with trappers and hunters and the poorest of farmers. They had not prepared him, however, for the overpowering smell of horse dung and tar. "What a miserable place," he muttered to himself as his mount clomped along the unpaved road.
The residents were more like sheep than people. They looked at him as if he were a wolf come to devour them, their eyes wide and full of fear. He smiled thinly at them and continued on, choosing to wander the little settlement aimlessly rather than ask anyone for help.
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