Heirs of Vanity- The Complete First Trilogy Box Set

by R J Hanson

  Sir Eldryn’s head swam with multicolored visions. His heart was assaulted with the temptation to simply lay still and rest. His dizziness made him feel as though he needed to cling to the ground to keep from falling up. He had vomited, although he had no recollection of the event, and could still taste it on his lips. After what seemed an eternity, Eldryn managed to look around him to see Lord Kyhn limping toward him. Eldryn attempted to raise his shrou-sheld but his arm would not respond. He looked to his side to discover that his right arm was now broken, again, and bent.

  “You will die this day, son of Ellidik,” Kyhn said. “I took great pride in killing your whimpering father. Now I will see that the last of his blood is wiped from the earth.”

  Hate brimmed in Eldryn’s eyes. He tried to pull himself up but noticed for the first time that his legs were trapped beneath Lance Chaser. He also noticed that his ever-faithful mount lay still and lifeless over him.

  A cheer rose from the battlefield behind them that called the attention of both Great Men. They looked across the many bloodied bodies to see Prince Ralston and his men triumph over the remaining soldiers of Daeriv’s infantry. They also both saw a dark elf carrying paired shrou-shelds sprinting toward them.

  The last of the evil soldiers fell and Prince Ralston’s men cheered at their victory in the field. Men dispersed to all areas of the battlefield searching for wounded that might have been mistaken for dead. The paladins gathered near the Prince.

  “Begin to heal all those that might be saved,” Prince Ralston ordered.

  The Prince looked at the large iron gate to Daeriv’s Keep that stood closed. He noticed the wizard himself standing over the gate with his unholy guard at his side. Prince Ralston estimated the gate would be difficult to break through, not to mention that it would likely be laden with enchantments. He thought briefly of Isaak, of possibly teleporting men inside. One look at the young mage changed his mind. The boy wizard was exhausted for he had been turning blades and arrows away from the Prince and the paladins since battle had ensued. The Prince decided that he must regroup his forces before an assault on the Keep itself could begin.

  “Sleep tonight knowing that the man that killed your father will come for you one day, boy,” Kyhn said as he reached for a crystal that hung around his neck.

  “When we face each other again I will separate you from your coward’s escape,” Eldryn said with genuine hate in his voice.

  Kyhn crushed the crystal hanging around his neck and vanished.

  Eldryn, for the first time in his adult life wept. He wrapped his arms around the neck of his valiant friend, fallen Lance Chaser, and wept. He now understood the hate that drove his dearest friend to such extremes. If he had seen Daeriv and Engiyadu he would have noticed that they chose the same time to abandon this battle.

  Maloch reached Eldryn too late to engage Kyhn. It was only after sheathing his fine blades that he noticed the totality of Eldryn’s condition. Maloch removed his helm and knelt next to Eldryn placing a hand on his shoulder in silent support.

  The last of the black guard fell as he fled for the gates of Daeriv’s Keep. Roland’s dagger took him at the top of the spine and base of the skull.

  Sir Brutis rushed toward the gates of the Keep and collapsed before he was twenty feet from them. His might had served to carry him thus far, however, his strength was now spent. Roland moved to help his fallen friend but found the weight of his own legs and arms unyielding. He tried to speak but he breathed only a whisper as his words were stolen by weakness. Tindrakin fell to the ground next to Sir Roland, gasping for air and bleeding from more than a dozen wounds. Only Ungar remained upright.

  “Lack the dwarven endurance, you do,” Ungar said as he fell to one knee near his comrades. Ungar mopped the sweat and blood from his brow. He leaned heavily on his axe trying hard not to fall over.

  Chapter XII

  The Keep

  “Do you remember watching the first of their battles?” Bolvii asked.

  “You were the first to notice them,” Father Time answered.

  They both sat on a log under the branches of the first sectot tree. Father Time had chosen winter and snow covered the rolling hills below them and coated the silver leaves and dark wood of the tree. The air was cold, but no wind stirred. The sun was placed to the east and shone warmly on their skin. One of Father Time’s faces leafed through the pages of Arto’s most recent book, ‘Is Wisdom a Virtue?’. It was a treatise on the value of wisdom and how it pertained to, and was sometimes juxtaposed by, survival.

  “It still amazes me how all of their best and worst traits are brought forth in such stark contrast,” Bolvii said, turning the piece of wood he was carving, he thought this might be a key, in his hand. “How they can display both in this act.”

  “I must admit their creations surprised both me and your mother,” Father said. “Such wonderful things; surprises. They could never rival our power, of course, but their ingenuity. Wonderfully surprising.”

  “It doesn’t bother you that they attribute the invention of weapons and war to us?” Bolvii asked as he turned to face his father.

  One of Time’s faces turned to meet him.

  “Why should it?”

  “Some act as though we put the weapons of their own destruction in their hands,” Bolvii said, standing. “They act as though we sit up here and watch them for amusement.”

  “Are you shamed that they call you their god of war?” Father asked.

  “No,” Bolvii said after a moment of contemplation. “But those that call me so assign the virtues of their violence to me.”

  “There is a virtue, a wisdom, in violence,” Father said.

  “They place everything they call evil on my brother’s shoulders,” Bolvii said. “He is worshiped only by the worst of them. They call him the ‘UnMaker.’”

  “Surely you don’t speak to me of fair versus unfair.”

  “No,” Bolvii said. “I wouldn’t presume.”

  “Yes, yes you would,” Father said. “But that is alright. You have ever loved them and that is to your credit. Your brother has his task. All things must end. Anything living must die, for how could it truly live without death?”

  “I just want…”

  “Yes,” Father said, cutting Bolvii short. “You do. You want. Desire is the birth of conflict. And conflict is not wrong. Conflict is only opposing forces. There could be no universe without conflict. There is no victory without defeat.”

  “Yes, Father.”

  Roland awoke to the smell of meat being cooked and coffee on the boil. He could hear voices in conversation. He thought to himself that he was getting weary of coming in on these meetings from the dead of sleep.

  Roland sat up to find that someone had removed his armor. Somehow, he still gripped Swift Blood in his right hand, although now it wore its scabbard. He saw that Sir Brutis, Sir Eldryn, and Tindrakin were laying on their blankets near him.

  It was dark now, and the four men rested warmly near a large fire. Two dozen fires like this one burned against winter’s chill. The fires stood against the stark night sky and snow-covered battle ground.

  Roland came to realize that the voices he had heard were not a meeting but rather a communal prayer. He saw that the paladins were gathered around a large section of ground performing some sort of holy ritual.

  “They consecrate the ground,” came from a familiar voice behind Roland. “The Prince didn’t want the dead of the battlefield to be raised in Daeriv’s service.”

  “How fairs my dark elf friend?” Roland asked as he carefully rose from his blankets.

  He noticed that his wounds had been freshly bandaged. He realized with disdain that they would take months in the healing. The minor burns and slighter cuts he could deal with, however, he knew that he had lost a great deal of blood and had suffered a deep puncture to his chest.

  Roland managed to turn and see Maloch standing with Ungar at the edge of the fire’s light.

  “Better than
you, I’m thinkin’,” Ungar said as he looked at the large bandage wrapped around Roland’s injured chest. “It has been more than a day since the fight. The uninjured have been working to bury the dead while the paladins work to bless the graves.”

  “Daeriv?”

  “Vanished from the wall,” Ungar said. “Probably fortifying as we speak.”

  “I don’t think so,” Roland said as he looked north toward the Keep. “He looked tired to me. Beaten.”

  “Beaten, for now,” Maloch said. “Roland, I wanted to wait for you to wake before I took my leave. I wanted you to know that my words of friendship were not hollow. I should go now. The others were happy enough to have my help when their friends were falling. Their sentiment may be different now.”

  “Thank you,” Roland said as he extended his hand.

  Maloch took Roland’s hand in friendship.

  “Some day we will have time for me to explain why my thanks is owed to you,” Maloch said. With that he turned from the fire and walked out into the dark that lay so heavy about them.

  A group of armored men moving toward them caught the attention of both dwarf and Great Man. Prince Ralston and General Maditt were leading them.

  “My lord, it is good to see you in sturdy condition,” Roland said as they neared.

  “I sincerely wish I could say the same,” Prince Ralston said. “We haven’t even breached the walls of his fortress yet and already most of our fellows are dead or seriously injured.”

  “I can be armored and ready for battle within the hour,” Roland said.

  “You might be armored within the hour but I think it will be months before you are ready for battle,” Prince Ralston replied. “I came by to say that the General and I are taking most of those uninjured and attacking the Keep at dawn. Until Sir Brutis rouses, you are in charge of the remaining men. When he wakes, I want him to lead all of the wounded back south. Regardless of whether our final attack is successful or not, we should work on getting those injured back to safer lands south of here.”

  “My lord, with your permission, I would like to…” Roland began. He was cut short by the Prince.

  “You have your orders, Sir Roland,” the Prince replied. “I understand your desire to continue but you have done more than your part already and are in no condition to continue to fight. Do as I ask.”

  “Yes, my lord,” Roland replied with difficulty.

  As the Prince walked away Roland looked at himself and his wounds as if he were willing them to heal.

  “Hating them won’t make ‘em heal any quicker,” Ungar said. “Rest and I’ll watch. If anything needs doin’ I’ll handle it.”

  “I don’t suppose dwarves know much of herbal healing, do they?” Roland asked.

  “I know enough about herbs to season food and that’s about it,” Ungar replied. “That flower eatin’ friend of yours, him and Kodii, has been busy with those closer to the other side than you. Turns out they were pretty busy themselves handling some archers that had snuck out of the Keep and gotten in behind us. Now they’re pickin’ flowers and makin’ that awful tea.”

  Roland thought how much he would like to have Ashcliff with him now. He would likely heal just fine in a few months’ time; however, it was only hours before dawn.

  “Do you think your Prince is a foolish man?” Ungar asked.

  “No,” Roland said with a questioning look on his face.

  “Then don’t do him the disservice of ignoring his commands,” Ungar said in a harsh tone. “A good warrior you might be, but you still have a ways to go to become a good soldier. You have men that look up to you. How would they take it if you disobeyed your Prince’s direct order? You also have men that you are responsible for. You have men that would follow you if you went back into combat. Men that need mendin’, not rendin’. Bein’ a knight is a lot like being a father. You have to remember that someone is always watchin’ your actions. Someone is always learnin’ from how you do things.”

  “You make a good point, Ungar.”

  “Good point, hell! I’m right and you know it.”

  “Yes,” Roland conceded. “You are right. I suppose we should get our rest. Tomorrow will be a long day.”

  “Now you’re soundin’ more sensible,” Ungar said with some satisfaction.

  The sun could not yet be seen, but his radiance was already pushing at the winter night sky. Prince Ralston and General Maditt led a little over one hundred troops toward the large stone Keep. Forty men with ropes and grappling hooks marched toward the walls near the gate. Three ladders, each manned by ten soldiers, were carried toward other key points along the wall.

  Each man tensed as they neared the wall. Each was awaiting the arrow strike they all knew would be coming out of the dark sky. The ladders landed against the walls and the ropes sailed over the parapets. Eighty men went over the wall as the remaining troops waited at the gate. What seemed like several silent hours was actually less than a few minutes of quiet. The mechanism that opened the gate clicked loudly in the still air of pre-dawn.

  Soldiers rushed through the gate to find the courtyard of the Keep empty. The storage houses had been hastily looted and the main tower had been abandoned.

  Prince Ralston finally located the throne room that Daeriv had ruled from. He saw something there that deeply troubled him. Three summoning circles were chalked on the floor. The Prince was no scholar of magic or enchanted runes; however, he knew enough to know a summoning circle when he saw one. He knew that if Daeriv summoned it, it could not be good.

  “My lord,” came from a breathless soldier that had run into the room.

  “Yes,” the Prince answered.

  “We think we found where they went,” the young soldier said. “On the northern shore there are a few boat docks. It looks like he loaded what he could and set sail.”

  Prince Ralston arrived at the make shift docks on the northern shore behind Daeriv’s Keep. The mooring ropes had been cut in lieu of being untied. It appeared that someone left here in a great hurry.

  “Over here, my lord,” the young soldier said, indicating drawings on the ground near the docks. “This is the part we cannot figure out.”

  Prince Ralston approached and saw four circles traced in the ground. These circles were not meant for summoning, however. These circles were capable of teleporting a being a great distance. Four circles, curious, the young lord of the land thought.

  It was well past dark when Prince Ralston, General Maditt, and ten soldiers arrived at the camp where Sir Brutis and the other wounded had stopped for the night. It did not take long to find the fire where Sir Brutis slowly consumed a bottle of brandy, for medicinal purposes of course. Roland sat next to him, sipping tea.

  “My lord,” Roland said as he began the struggle to stand.

  “Stay where you are, Sir Roland,” Prince Ralston said as he dismounted. “All is well.”

  “The other men were lost in combat?” Brutis asked.

  “No, the ones I left behind now man our northern most garrison,” General Maditt replied. “There was no one there. We walked into a vacant house. It was our decision to leave one hundred men there to defend the Keep. They have enough stores for the winter and should have no trouble defending that structure with that number of men.”

  “Might I make a suggestion, my lord?” Sir Roland asked.

  “Of course.”

  “We could also leave the more severely wounded at the Keep,” Roland said. “It would be easier on them than the arduous journey back over land. Allow them to remain at the Northern Garrison to rest and heal. We could return for them with ships in a few months. I think we should also leave some of the not too seriously injured there. The ones that did heal quickly could supplement the troops already there.”

  “That is a wise plan,” General Maditt said. “My lord?”

  “Very well,” Prince Ralston said. “General see that it is done. Also ask if there are any paladins or knights that would volunteer to stay behind.”r />
  “Yes sire,” General Maditt said.

  The General turned and walked away from the group. Tindrakin returned to the fire with meat for a stew that he had begun cooking. Two more knights and one of the paladins, Lady Angelese, came to the fire after seeing the Prince return. Sir Eldryn was at the fire as well, however, his injuries had been severe and he had at some time suffered a bite from an undead beast where his neck met his left shoulder. The bite had become infected at a rapid rate. He slept in a fitful fever near the fire. The tired paladins had done as much as they could to help Sir Eldryn. Now all that could be done was to allow him to rest.

  It twisted Roland’s gut to see Eldryn that way and to know there was nothing he could for him. He felt angry. Angry that he wasn’t there to kill Kyhn himself. Angry at Kyhn and whatever curse smote the world with his birthing. Angry at Eldryn… Angry at Eldryn? Perhaps Roland was beginning to understand, really understand, how Eldryn must have felt when he discovered Roland near death.

  “There is something else,” Prince Ralston said. “Before they left, Daeriv apparently summoned three creatures. We found the summoning circles in his throne room. It seems that he escaped northward by sea. At the docks on the northern shore we found four teleporting circles.”

  “Three demons called and four beings teleported out?” Sir Brutis asked. “What could that mean?”

  “Engiyadu could not travel over the water,” Sir Roland said. “He could not have gotten past our sentries. He must have been one of those teleported out.”

  “The three others?” Tindrakin asked.

  “Any man’s guess,” Sir Brutis replied. “I think we would do well to get back to unprotected lands to the south as quickly as possible though.”

  “I couldn’t agree more,” Prince Ralston said.

  Chapter XIII

  The Birth of the Lamb

  “I… I… I don’t wwww… want to hurt yyyy… anyone,” Kullen said with more than usual difficulty.

  “It’d be a wonderful world indeed if we never had to, lad,” Battarc said. “But we have to live in the world we have and try to make it better. You’re a good lad and you have a responsibility to those that’ve been good to ya’. Now, take up your stick and hold it across ya’.”