Heirs of Vanity- The Complete First Trilogy Box Set

by R J Hanson

  “You wonder at the wealth of the churches as compared to those they profess to care for,” she finished for him again.

  “Indeed,” Roland said.

  “The churches, all including my own, are comprised of people,” Angie said after several steps along their path. “In any large group of people, you will find several decent, caring individuals. You will also find those that are not. I am keenly aware of the divide between the churches and the lords and ladies of the land. That is why I have taken on the task of swearing allegiance to both the Church of Fate and Prince Ralston of Lawrec. It is my hope that by building such bridges we can learn to work together toward safe lands and prosperous lives.”

  “I had noticed that you wore the colors of both Prince Ralston, the blue and gold, and of Fate, the green and gray,” Roland said thinking of what his father had said to him some time ago. “Are you not concerned about the dilemma of serving two masters?”

  “Service to one is service to the other,” Lady Angelese responded, and quickly. Roland believed she’d been asked this before. “What is good for the Church of Fate is good for Lawrec. What is good for Lawrec is good for the Prince. It is quite simple actually.”

  Roland desperately wanted to prove his father wrong on this point, and Lady Angelese offered a good argument, however, in his heart he didn’t believe it. After several moments of contemplations all he could bring himself to say was, “as you say, my lady.”

  “You have made many enemies,” Sir Brutis said to Roland between gasps of breath. “A man’s enemies can tell you what kind of man he is.”

  Roland took a long drink from the water skin and handed it across to Brutis. Despite the chill of winter air, he had worked up quite a sweat and was breathing hard himself.

  “You really think Daeriv even knows my name?” Roland asked.

  “Boy, you’re as dumb as you are tall,” Brutis said taking a drink. “I was talking about Fynyll and Sanderland.”

  “There’s no love lost,” Roland said. “I wouldn’t call them enemies thought.”

  “You should,” Brutis said. “Both are vain, petty, and dangerous.”

  “Dangerous?”

  “Yes,” Brutis said wiping the water from his beard on his leather sleeve. “You’ve faced a Shrou Demon. Sanderland has slain several. You’ve faced giants and ogres while Sanderland has killed scores. Fynyll is not without his skills either. He has a way with animals. I don’t understand it, but it is there none the less. He is also capable with a sword and bow.”

  “I have considered pushing in both of their faces at one time or another,” Roland said. “But I think ‘enemy’ is a strong word.”

  “Then you should re-think,” Brutis said. “You have the Prince’s favor which makes you a target.”

  “Surely, in times like these, ego is put aside,” Roland said.

  “You have much to learn,” Brutis said. “Watch yourself around both of them. The favor of the Prince is no small thing. It will inspire jealously from unforeseen quarters.”

  “I will keep it in mind.”

  “Good,” Brutis said. “Are you ready to continue?”

  The word ‘yes’ was forming in Roland’s mouth when Sir Brutis suddenly bent, caught Roland’s heal, and flipped him over the log on which he had taken rest. Roland was taken by surprise by the move, but, once over backward, used the momentum to continue all the way over in a tumble and sprang to his feet a few yards away.

  Brutis came at him immediately throwing a wide, hard punch. Roland twisted to catch the arm, as he had been taught, in a move that would throw Brutis over his shoulder. As Roland caught Brutis’s arm, Brutis reached across over Roland’s head and hooked his fingers in Roland’s nostrils. With one swift pull Brutis laid Roland over onto his back. Roland hit the ground with a thud.

  “Do they teach that at the Silver Helm academy?” Roland asked as he sat up from the snow and the mud rubbing his nose.

  “They do not,” Brutis said. “They teach that in the alley behind the Rusty Nail in Modins. Remember young Sir Roland, where the head goes the body follows.”

  Leagues away and to the north, Brother Othlynn lay packed in a snow bank. It was cold at first but the snow did an excellent job of insulating him. He periodically put snow in his mouth to prevent any steam from his breath giving away his position. In his hands he held a long glass like the ones used by a few sea captains. He had always been careful about using it; knowing that a glimmer or reflection from it could be see for a great distance. After all, that’s how the glass had come into his possession in the first place.

  That had been several years ago and in other lands. Word had come to him from the Sword Bearers about an assassination attempt to be made on a High Cleric. They didn’t call themselves Sword Bearers but Brother Othlynn was very intuitive and quite clever. To his knowledge, none even knew the Sword Bearers still existed. If it was discovered he had worked with them, he would have been excommunicated from the church and possibly executed. Nor would he have found any refuge with the crown. Neither the King, nor any church, were willing to accept any organization that held itself above crown and faith. The Sword Bearers recognized no authority other than their own.

  Just the same, their information was accurate. Furthermore, the High Cleric in question was one of very few that held the view that the wealth of the churches should be used to do more for the people, and for that, Othlynn respected him.

  A scout for the assassins had used the long glass that he held in his hands now. Othlynn had spotted the reflection off of that glass and, acting quickly, he had saved the life of the High Cleric, not to mention his own.

  Now he looked through that same glass. Tucked deep within the snow bank, no sunlight reached the glass, and thus, no tell-tell reflections. He looked over Daeriv’s forces as they gathered; making sure to memorize as many details as possible.

  After several days of riding, Prince Ralston and his men found the opposition they had been searching for. They had approached the northern coast of Lawrec and had found Daeriv’s army. Under a bleak sky of winter six hundred eighty-six men faced an army of over three hundred infantry of men, two hundred undead, one hundred mounted cavalry, sixty ogres, and thirty-two giants.

  Kyhn was there, leading the cavalry, on a mount that seemed somehow familiar to Roland. Roland’s heart sickened when he realized that Kyhn sat atop Road Pounder, or at least his animated corpse. Engiyadu was nowhere to be seen.

  The invaluable reports provided by Kodii, Brother Othlynn, and others had given Maditt the information he needed to organize their approach. The General took note of the different banners carried throughout Daeriv’s forces. Some of them indicated groups of pirates turned mercenaries while others identified clans of ogres and giants. This force represented the bulk of Daeriv’s remaining army, and they were ready for a fight. There was no way the Prince’s force could have gotten near without scouts spotting them. This battle would decide the fate of Lawrec.

  The General dismounted and stood before five hundred infantry brothers. Sir Eldryn rode up to sit his horse before seventy-six cavalry. He was, after all, the only one here trained in the ways of the Cavalier. Prince Ralston was flanked by twenty knights, the remaining three paladins, and seventy-five infantry. Sir Brutis, followed by ten infantrymen, rode his mount up front next to where Sir Roland stood with Tindrakin and Ungar.

  “It is our job to seek out their mages,” Sir Brutis said. “We must remain together and watch each other’s backs. It will be simple, when we see a spell cast, we find the source and kill it. There are only fourteen of us but we are a deadly group.”

  This statement brought a solemn look to the faces of the men gathered there, however, it seemed to light Ungar’s mask of stoicism with a jovial expression. Mage hunting!

  Each man on the battlefield hefted his own weapon. Breath fogged from the mouths of the men gathered and the nostrils of the horses mounted. Two hundred infantry brushed the frost off the feathers of their arrows
and strung their bows.

  “Mind you I’m not needin’ help from any mage,” Ungar said. “But why didn’t the Prince bring along some of those well paid jabber speakin’ mages of his own?”

  “They are all needed to hold safe the lands on the other side of the river in case Daeriv gets any forces around us,” Sir Brutis said. “Few of them could have made it through such an arduous trip in winter’s harsh embrace anyway.”

  “What about their mighty magics?” Ungar asked in a sarcastic tone.

  “Magics or not, they are still men, and most of them have weak constitutions at best,” Sir Brutis said in an understanding voice.

  “You forget about Isaak,” Roland said.

  Ungar scoffed.

  “That boy hasn’t seen enough sunrises,” Ungar said. “And he may have seen his last.”

  “I saw him fight at Shrou Canyon,” Roland said. “I think you underestimate him.”

  Sir Eldryn moved his cavalry before the host of Prince Ralston’s forces. Kyhn raised his black shrou-sheld into the air. Daeriv’s horses and men began a steady advance. Kyhn bellowed a charge and one hundred mounted cavalry began tearing through the snow.

  Prince Ralston’s men could feel the ground tremble beneath them. They could feel the thunder of the hooves in their chests. The cold of the air fed their steeling nerves. There were no virgins to pain here. Each man gathered for this battle had been baptized in the blood of his foes. Men pulled swords from scabbards and axes from slings.

  Two hundred arrows were loosed and flew through the air in a silent, deadly grace. Two hundred arrows fell among Lord Kyhn's charging cavalry. Over thirty of his men fell from horseback with generally aimed arrows striking them down; many more were injured.

  Sir Eldryn lifted his lance high into the air. The discipline of the cavalry was tested, however, they advanced in a walk as commanded while their foes charged toward them. Eldryn knew something of a horse’s speed and strength. He knew that he must wait until his enemies were at just the right distance so that the mounts of his men would have time to reach their best pace and not charge too far and lose strength. Eldryn waited and spoke soothing words to Lance Chaser. He felt the eagerness in his horse’s muscles. Time slouched heavy on the scene before them. Seconds rolled past at the pace of ice melting in early Natus, the third month of the year. His men advanced and then the time came.

  “Charge!” The command roared from Eldryn’s throat. The word rang with authority and power.

  Prince Ralston’s cavalry formed a wall of charging violence just behind Eldryn’s lead as they rushed the coming enemy. Eldryn spurred Lance Chaser into a full gallop and lowered his lance. He brought his shield up and guided Lance Chaser with his knees. His target was Lord Kyhn.

  As the arrows landed among the cavalry, a spell was being prepared. Sir Brutis, Sir Roland, and those standing with them saw the ball of elemental frost fly from the far west of Daeriv’s army. The magical attack struck the center of the infantry archers and dropped over fifty of them in a freezing blast.

  “Roland on my left,” Sir Brutis yelled. “Ungar and Tindrakin, cover our rear.”

  General Maditt signaled his command and Prince Ralston’s infantry began their run onto the battlefield. Ogres and giants rushed out to meet them.

  “Bolvii,” Roland prayed. “Let me not fail. Bear me up with the steel of OathKeeper.”

  Sir Brutis and Sir Roland, flanked by Brutis’ men and covered by Tindrakin and Ungar, ran with that infantry charge. They rushed toward the west end of the enemy lines. They rushed toward the mage.

  The two cavalries flowed toward one another with unyielding speed. Lord Kyhn scabbarded his shrou-sheld and hoisted a dark lance from his horse’s side. He placed his lance in the usual attack position with the hilt running underneath his bent arm and braced for the jolt. Then Kyhn did something unexpected. He moved his lance from that attack position by extending his arm straight, pointing it directly at Sir Eldryn. Eldryn heard Kyhn cry out a command word and a stream of elemental flame sprung from the end of the lance.

  Sir Eldryn was an accomplished rider and a fine lancer. However, his skill could not compare to that of Lord Kyhn. If Kyhn would have continued with the conventional lancing attack, Sir Eldryn would have surely died. However, his attempt to unseat Eldryn with the magical attack saved El’s life.

  The elemental flame disturbed Lance Chaser but he remained on task. He was a fine horse and well trained. The magical fire engulfed Eldryn but was repelled by the enchantments of his white alloy armor, which extended some protection to his mount. Eldryn rode through the fire blast and charged Kyhn with his lance low and ready.

  Kyhn, seeing that the magical attack of the lance had been impotent at best, tried to lower his lance to the attack position again and prepare himself for the joust. The dwarven made horseshoes gave Lance Chaser an uncommon speed; a speed that Eldryn used now. Eldryn was upon Kyhn in a blue flash.

  Sir Eldryn aimed his lance tip low, just below the cover of Kyhn’s shield, and struck Kyhn just below the hip. The lance shattered against Kyhn's armor but the damage had been done. Kyhn could feel the fracture start and then grow long as it split the bone in his leg. Kyhn was forced backward out of his saddle and struck the ground with a breath stealing thump.

  Eldryn had a brief moment to recognize the horse Kyhn had been riding. It was Road Pounder, or rather what was left of the majestic horse. Road Pounder had been brought back from the dead; he had been made into an unholy mount. As he charged past, Road Pounder reached out with his head and bit Eldryn’s armored knee. The teeth did not pierce the skin but Eldryn felt the wicked twist his knee suffered.

  Cavalry clashed into cavalry. Horses were speared, men were thrown, and blood was spilled into the snow. The Prince’s infantry met the host of giants, ogres, and lost men in a crimson clash.

  Four giants came at Sir Brutis and Sir Roland. Sir Brutis knifed his shrou-sheld through the meat surrounding the first giant’s knee. His follow up slash took the large artery of the opposite leg and released buckets of blood from the limb.

  Roland called upon the speed of Swift Blood and feigned a high thrust at the second giant’s abdomen. As the giant’s club went high to block the attack, Roland quick-stepped under the creature and drove his blade hard up between the legs of the beast and deep into its torso. Blood spilled out to soak Roland’s left arm and chest in red.

  The third giant tried a swing for Sir Brutis but was set upon by his men before the attack begun. Three soldiers assaulted the giant, each delivering a critical wound. The last of the giants swung at Roland. The heavy club struck the leg Roland was standing behind first and the majority of the force crashed against the already wounded giant’s shin. Roland rounded the leg he had been using for cover and started toward the last giant.

  “Move on,” Sir Brutis called. “We must move on!”

  Roland was unsure of how he could continue to fight with a giant at his back. He reached into the leather pouch that hung at his side. He removed one of the clay balls that he had retrieved from Lord Mandergane’s belongings. The rising sun inscribed on the small spheres could mean many things. It was time that Roland discovered what they were capable of.

  Roland hurled the small missile of clay at the feet of the last giant. The ball burst open in a fountain of flame that consumed the creature’s legs and lower torso. The giant hurled himself about and crushed several of his smaller allies in a futile attempt to put out the fires that rampaged through his thick fur and scorched his flesh.

  Sir Brutis and Sir Roland fought side by side, cutting their way to the west away from the raging torch that the giant had become. It was not long before they, and those that followed them, had sunk deep into Daeriv’s forces, surrounded by enemies.

  Sir Eldryn and his remaining men charged past Kyhn's cavalry and on toward the pikemen that awaited them. Kyhn's charging force continued toward the infantry that surrounded Prince Ralston, however, their leader, and their morale, had fal
len. Pikes and spears were prepared and archers stood close behind the pikemen. The remnants of Kyhn's charge washed upon the spears of the infantry like the tide up the rocks. Once the cavalry was broken, Lady Angelese shouted a command and sixty carefully chosen archers stepped forward.

  Eldryn signaled to his men and his cavalry parted down the middle and turned aside just before reaching the enemy pikemen. Daeriv’s pikemen had abandoned their shields to heft the large wooden spears and pikes. Now sixty archers loosed their arrows down the lane that had been created by Eldryn’s parting riders. Sixty arrows flew and sixty pikemen fell.

  Sir Eldryn signaled again and his cavalry completed their full circle and came back together again bound for Daeriv’s infantry. Then they charged for the hole created by the archers. Several of the remaining pikemen tried to shift to cover the gap but they only stopped a small number of the charging cavalry. Eldryn and his men gouged deep into the unprotected infantry.

  Several bursts of magical flame and frost dropped among General Maditt’s fighting infantry. The giants and ogres they faced were killing soldier after soldier. Maditt had slain three giants and two ogres already but that was a small number compared to the hordes that were killing his men.

  The paladins surrounding Prince Ralston began their combined prayers. Prince Ralston saw the slaughter of his infantry. He knew it was not logical but at times a man had to do what he thought was right, regardless of whether or not it was smart. The Prince issued his command and led his remaining knights into the fray. The knights rushed among the infantry; they targeted the large creatures and began to cut them down.

  Brutis and Roland approached the area the wizard was casting from. Two more bursts of frost and one of flame had descended upon the struggling infantry. Suddenly the enemy troops parted and there was an open expanse of ground between the knights and their target, the wizard. A score of crossbow quarrels stabbed through the air. Two struck Sir Brutis, one in the right thigh the other in his right shoulder. Roland was struck in the left arm by two quarrels, and in the right leg by three. They wounded him deep enough to begin the flow of blood, but not so deep into the muscle. He had his armor to thank for that. Seven of Brutis’ men fell to the ground, dead.