The Godstone slid across the ground for what felt like hours. He turned back to look at Wolfmere, who was picking himself up from the ground, his eyes glazed over white. Wolfmere was about to wield.
Vallich turned back to his Godstone, jumping towards it with his hands outstretched. He turned his head back towards Wolfmere, trusting that he had timed his jump perfectly.
As he flew through the air, Wolfmere was quickly forming a giant block of ice in front of him. Vallich stretched out his arm towards Wolfmere and prayed to the skies that his other hand would find the Godstone in the dirt.
And it did.
Vallich felt the tips of his finger graze the top of his diamond Godstone. He let the connection flow through him, let the Godstone completely engulf him. For the first time, in that brief second of contact, he felt the full breadth of its immense power.
He twisted his other hand.
And before Wolfmere could even gauge what was happening, Vallich sent a diamond spear hurling through his chest.
Chapter 2
Village of Zar, 1st Day of the Month of Warmth, 1114 A.F.F.
Azanthea’s banners lined the village’s dirt roads. The ornate flags hanging in his rickety mountain town made Kuba feel uneasy. The flags weren’t usually there. They were too new, too expensive, too foreign for the mountain Village of Zar. Kuba tried to look away, but every few steps there was another wooden post that towered over him. The white banners flapping in the wind, the dull whooping sounding overhead, was a constant reminder that they were there.
Kuba’s stomach lurched and a prickling sensation crawled up his arm. He rubbed the back of his neck through his thick, black hair, trying to soothe the feeling of unease.
The whipping of the cloth in the breeze drew Kuba’s attention back towards the white flag with the picture of angular black wings. Each thick stroke of black represented a faction of the United Azanthean Army; one long stroke down the centre of the flag and five angular lines on each side, for a total of eleven. Eleven reminders that today was Kuba’s least favourite day of the year, the Highwings flag always there to preside over his misery.
Kuba swallowed the lump in his throat. His gaze fell back to the dusty ground in front of him. If only he could make it all go away.
“Y’okay there, m’ah boy?” said a familiar voice with a thick accent.
Kuba looked up, his round, honey-brown eyes meeting his Uncle Malek’s bright blue ones. The deep lines of his uncle’s face were drawn back in a warm smile.
“I’m alright,” said Kuba. A shiver crawled up his spine, and he instinctually rubbed the back of his neck again.
His uncle’s strong hand came down gently on his shoulder, almost too gently for someone of his massive size. Kuba had always been smaller than the other kids his age, but he felt particularly small in his uncle’s large grip. The weight of his firm hand stopped the creeping shivers in their tracks.
“Don’t ya fret, m’ah boy,” said Uncle Malek, taking a knee in front of Kuba. They were stopped in the middle of the moving crowd. “Today we’re just spectators.”
“But next year—”
“Is next year,” Uncle Malek said with both his hands firmly on Kuba’s shoulders. His bright blue eyes sparkled and the lines around the corners of his eyes crinkled. “And ya don’t have to worry about it right now. We’ve been training, just like we did with Ion. Try to relax.”
Kuba frantically searched the crowd at the mention of Ion’s name. Where was he?
“He’ll be here, Kuba. Don’t worry.”
Kuba sighed, shrinking even more under his uncle’s grip. The thought of Allegiance Day still irked him, but with Ion around, it was always bearable. Uncle Malek was right though, Kuba was still underage. At twelve he was still mandated by King Apollyon’s proclamation that all youth attend mandatory lessons. Next year he’d be thirteen, and then his fate would be up to the skies. He squirmed at the thought.
“Boys!” Aunt Evie’s cheery voice rang out from further up in the crowd. Kuba could see her hand peeking out above the heads of the other villagers. “Let’s go! C’mon, now!”
“We shouldn’t keep Evie waiting, else she’ll be giving us away today.”
Kuba choked out a laugh. Uncle Malek was right. You couldn’t keep Aunt Evie waiting—at least not calmly.
Kuba inhaled deeply. “Let’s go,” he said, pushing forward out of his uncle’s grasp.
Uncle Malek chuckled and stood up, brushing the dust off his knees. “That’s the spirit,” he said. “Today’s not the day to worry.”
Kuba smiled up at his uncle, who returned the gesture and tousled his short black hair. Kuba playfully smacked his uncle’s hand away.
The problem, though, was that Kuba did worry. Sometimes it felt like he worried about everything. But especially about Allegiance Day.
The day that, nine years ago, Kuba lost his parents.
Ion rolled over in his bed as the sunlight peeked in from the slit in the mud wall. He sat up and rubbed his swollen eyes, the thin silk sheet rolling off him and bunching up around his toned waist. He pulled his legs over the edge of the bed and managed to walk over to the window. His head pounded. He had been out late the night before at the village Drinkmaster’s.
Ion looked out at the sun hovering far above the horizon. Much too late, apparently.
He walked to the bear-skin chair in the corner of his small dwelling. He plucked a pair of trousers from the top of a large pile of clothes and pulled them over his long legs. The fabric scratched at his legs as he pulled them up, his skin dry from the drink of the night before.
A horn echoed in the distance.
Ion sat down on the corner of the coarse, furry chair and shook his head lightly. He had his mother to thank for this headache. At twenty, and gainfully employed as one of the top hunters in the village, Ion was one of the Village of Zar’s most eligible suitors. A family in the village had requested he come meet with their daughter. Ion had refused at first, but his mother insisted he attend; it was the polite thing to do after being invited.
Sarah was her name. Ion had known her since they were young, but they had never been close. She was very beautiful, and her family hosted him for a lovely meal, but he was not interested. And, not being one to hide his annoyance, he decided to have a few too many drinks at dinner and then stumbled into the Drinkmaster’s on his way home.
He was simply not ready for a partner—at least, not a permanent one—and most definitely not one from the Village of Zar. The village was home to about a thousand people, and he knew practically everyone. Besides, Ion quite liked his current lack of responsibilities. His days consisted of things he enjoyed: hunting with his parents, spending time with friends, and tutoring Kuba in his lessons.
“Kuba!” Ion jolted out of his seat.
More horns sounded, this time they were closer.
“Skies,” Ion swore. “Allegiance Day!”
Ion scrambled to pull on his shoes. How could he possibly have slept through the sounds of the entire village mobilizing?
He sprinted out the door, still pulling on his shirt. A few stragglers turned to stare as his door slammed shut. Ion lived in a dwelling wedged between the tailor’s and the butcher’s, right in the heart of the village, so he wasn’t too far.
Ion rushed along the street. His fair hair, which was normally drawn into a knot on the top of his head, was whipping in the wind. He cursed himself under his breath. Allegiance Day meant so much to Kuba, it meant so much to their family. It was the day Kuba’s parents were taken to serve in the capital, Azul. But it was also the day that Kuba was reassigned to their family.
It was the day that Ion gained a brother. A brother Ion refused to let down.
Although Ion hated admitting it, since he moved from his parents’ cabin on the edge of town a few years back, he knew he had begun to neglect his older brother duties. He’d been distracted by his independence, his hunting, and his newfound love of women and wine.
Ion t
ore through the town, the single-story rows of poorly constructed grey houses a mere blur. In just a few minutes, Ion reached the end of the buildings and found himself at the top of a small hill with a rough dirt road that led down to the giant grassy fields on the edge of the pine forest. Azanthean flags had been erected in a circle with a makeshift stage built in the centre. The entire town was there.
The smell of the mint plants being trampled wafted into the air. Ion inhaled deeply, thankful for the refreshing boost. Above the trees, directly to the east, loomed the great Mount Zar. Ion had spent his entire life beneath the mountain, but the intricacies of its jutting icy ledges and the sheer enormity of it never ceased to stop him in his tracks.
He jogged down the hill, scouring the crowd for his family. Each heavy footstep made his head pound. Dozens of horses mounted by the soldiers of United Azanthean Army circled through the crowd. Ion focused on their capes and a wave of relief rolled over him. Most of the soldiers had only partial Highwings on their capes—just one or two of the eleven strokes. He sighed a breath of relief. The First and Second factions of the United Azanthean Army didn’t frighten him. It would be an easier day than if higher factions were in attendance. Though, from what Ion knew, they rarely spent time in small towns. The highest ranked soldier he had ever seen in the Village of Zar was a Fifth.
As he made it to the bottom of the slope, he spotted his family on the other side of the gathering.
Weaving through the crowd and across the damp field, he passed the ornate carriages that were parked next to the stage. The carriages were made out of fine-looking cherry wood and covered in detailed carvings with the full Highwings etched in gold on their backs. Ion looked around, but he only saw soldiers walking amongst the crowd. The Historians must still have been in their carriages.
Ion continued through the crowd.
“Ion!” A high voice pierced through the low rumble of the crowd.
As he spotted his brother, a smile broke out across Kuba’s face. Ion couldn’t help but smile back.
“Hey, kid!” said Ion, sweeping his little brother into a hug. Even though they weren’t related by blood, they were closer than any siblings he had ever known. Kuba meant the world to him.
“I’m so happy you’re here,” said Kuba.
“Well, y’know, it was this or decapitation by one of the King’s lackeys. And I’m quite attached to my face where it is, thank you very much.”
Ion felt a light, familiar knock on the side of his head. “Oh, stop teasing your brother!”
“The ladies are quite attached my face, too, Ma,” said Ion as he turned to face his attacker. “Sarah especially.” Ion could hear Kuba trying to restrain his laughter from beside them. Even his mother couldn’t help but snicker.
“Alright, alright.” His father stepped in between them and eyed him up and down.
Ion quickly tried to straighten out his shirt and push his long, blond hair out of his face.
“Few too many last night, son?”
“Just a few, sir.” Ion stood tall, adjusting his posture.
“Well, we’re glad you’re here, m’ah boy,” Malek said. Ion’s shoulders melted into a comfortable slouch as his father’s face cracked into a wide smile.
“And we’re glad you get to keep that face of yours,” Kuba chimed in.
“Glad for the ladies, too,” His mother added, shooting him a mischievous glare. He smiled back at her; she was always good for a joke.
“Precisely,” Ion replied.
The family huddled together, giggling. For that moment, it seemed they had all forgotten they were standing in the middle of a field surrounded by their neighbours, awaiting address from the army and the Historians. The moment of peace slipped away quickly, and the group became sombre. The gravity of the day was not lost on Ion, nor did it seem to be lost on the rest of his family.
A noise coming from around the stage drew their attention to the carriages with the golden Highwings. Ion felt Kuba step behind him. The carriages were opening just as the last horn sounded. The Historians were getting out.
Allegiance Day was about to begin.
Kuba had the Allegiance Day schedule memorized. Every year it was nearly the exact same. The Historians would be the last to make an appearance, waiting in their horse-drawn carriages until the last minute. The soldiers were already mingling in the crowd, probably trying to intimidate people. And it worked; everyone in the village was on edge.
Kuba was always a nervous wreck leading up to this event, but something about the monotonous routine of the day managed to calm him and lessen his anxiety.
The crowd cleared from around the carriages as the first door creaked open. There were two types of Historians, and the first to step out were always the Skreeh. This year was no different. Although Kuba couldn’t see above the crowd—he was much too short—he could see the brilliant blue of their long, hooded cloaks through gaps in the crowd. He had always thought the colour was appropriate considering their studies of the skies.
The Tekera were always the last to emerge. Kuba’s eyes darted as they began to exit the carriages. Their robes were a red so vibrant that Kuba wouldn’t have known colours like that existed were it not for Allegiance Day. He looked at his own brown and grey clothing and frowned.
He watched the Historians as they climbed onto the round stage, their hoods casting dark shadows on their faces. There were only about ten of them this year, fewer than normal. Kuba narrowed his eyes and scrutinized their faces, although he could only see their side profiles from where he stood.
He was looking for his parents. It was part of his Allegiance Day routine. Even though he had been reassigned when he was three years old and loved his adoptive family more than anything in the world, and even though he might not recognize his parents if he saw them, it was part of his routine, and he had to look. The day he didn’t look would be the day where he truly lost all hope.
The Historians silently lined up on the stage, their heads hanging low. Kuba had always wondered why the Historians always seemed so submissive. He wondered if his parents also acted like that now. Had they become shells like the rest of them? Or was it all just an elaborate show?
A short woman with grey hair and a kind face mounted the stairs to the stage. She was dressed in beautiful, silky fabrics. The same kind as the Historians, the kind of clothes you just couldn’t get in the Village of Zar.
Kuba felt a soft hand on his shoulder. His aunt smiled at him, the cheeriness in her eyes never faltering, but her twitching upper lip gave her away. Kuba felt warmed by her touch.
“Here we go,” said Uncle Malek, also smiling down at him. “It’ll be fine, m’ah boy.”
Kuba looked up at Ion, who was slightly ahead of him.
“Pa’s right, Kuba,” said Ion. “It’ll be fine. Always is.”
Chapter 3
Village of Zar, 1st Day of the Month of Warmth, 1114 A.F.F.
“Welcome to Allegiance Day!” A voice boomed across the crowd. Kuba always wondered how the small woman, Lord Ceridia, could have a voice so loud and powerful, yet sweet. It made him cringe; Allegiance Day was anything but sweet.
“It is truly a blessing that our God-King, Apollyon, allows us to come together on this day. I would like to personally thank our friends from Azul for making their way to our small mountain town,” she continued, motioning to the Historians and soldiers.
“Pfff, our town. She comes once a year,” Ion said under his breath. Aunt Evie was quick to hush him. Ion grumbled in response, and Kuba chuckled nervously. Ion was right, though. Lord Ceridia may be the leader of their province, but Kuba had only ever seen her in the Village of Zar on Allegiance Day. She spent most of her time at her palace in the City of Reinbeck, only ever coming to the smaller villages when required to by the King.
“Today marks a day of tradition. A tradition I, for one, am proud to be a part of,” she said. The Historians stood eerily still behind her. Were it not for their robes rustling in the light bree
ze, Kuba could have sworn they had become statues.
“Starting during the Battle of Burrath, a war that raged nearly two long years, our countrymen and women have been selflessly volunteering themselves to—”
“Like skies we volunteer!” someone from the crowd shouted. Kuba couldn’t see, but it sounded like the town’s Drinkmaster.
A dull thud and groan followed, then the sounds of someone gasping for air. A soldier must have knocked the wind out of the offender. Kuba smiled to himself—not because the man was hurt, but because so far everything was going as it usually did. Every year, the Drinkmaster would yell something out, and every year Lord Ceridia would ignore him. Rumour had it that he had been recruited into the United Azanthean Army on Allegiance Day years ago, to serve in the Battle of Burrath. After losing his arm in a fight, he was one of the few who made it out of the army, one of the few who came home. Kuba didn’t know him very well, but from the stories Ion had told, the Drinkmaster did like to cause a stir.
Everything was going according to plan, and if everything was going to plan, Kuba was certain he would be looked over, just as he normally was. It was routine after all. The tightness in Kuba’s ribs released slightly.
Lord Ceridia continued, “For over a decade now, since the start of the Battle of Burrath, our countrymen and women have been volunteering—”
“And where were you?” the Drinkmaster yelled.
Kuba shifted his weight onto one leg and back again to the other. The Drinkmaster hadn’t ever belted out twice, at least not that Kuba could remember. The shift in routine brought the tightness back to Kuba’s chest. He rubbed the base of his neck; this wasn’t how the day was supposed to go. Another thud followed, and the Drinkmaster groaned louder this time. More soldiers moved towards the ruckus.
All the King's Traitors Page 2
