"Stand back," roared Kargen, pushing his way through the crowd. In his wake followed Shaluhk, concern on her face.
"What has happened?" she asked.
"He collapsed," said Natalia.
Shaluhk reached forward, feeling Athgar's forehead. She knit her brows, then reached out to Natalia, feeling hers as well. "For comparison," she explained. "You Humans are far different than Orcs."
Natalia tried to calm herself, but her mind wouldn't settle. Time seemed to stretch out for an eternity as her tribe-sister cast a spell, and then her eyes began to glow. They all waited with bated breath as Shaluhk withdrew her hand, her magic complete.
"Well?" said Kargen.
"His life force is weak," she said, "but there is no physical injury. I suspect he is suffering from magic fatigue."
"Magic fatigue?" said Natalia. "How can that be? He's used his magic before without such effects?"
"Those who use magic seldom fight with weapons. It is the combination of physical exhaustion together with the depletion of his magical reserves. To put it another way, the spark within him is reduced."
"Is that dangerous?"
"No. So long as he rests, he will recover fully."
"I've heard of this before," added Rugg. "It is very likely that when it returns, he will be even more powerful."
"I don't understand," said Natalia. "I was taught nothing of this at the Volstrum."
"Athgar was not born a mage," Rugg continued, "rather his spark was born through great suffering. There are some who believe such inner fires grow in times of great distress."
"Are you saying he's a wild mage?"
"No," said Shaluhk. "However, had it not been for Master Artoch, his spark would have consumed him. His teachings have given Athgar the discipline needed to keep the spark at bay."
"That's contrary to everything I've ever learned," said Natalia.
Shaluhk looked at her square in the eyes. "Can you be so foolish as to believe this Volstrum of yours knows everything about magic? Magic is a powerful force, Nat-Alia. We can harness it, but we can not control it. That is why discipline is so important."
"And why wild mages are so dangerous," said Natalia. "I understand now. I'm sorry, Shaluhk. I meant no offence."
Shaluhk smiled. "And I take none, Sister mine. Now, I suggest we get Athgar to somewhere that he can rest. You must go with him, Nat-Alia."
"But there's so much to do here."
"I can take care of that," said Kargen. "Or do you doubt the word of a chieftain?"
"No, of course not. Thank you, all of you. You'll never know how much this means to me."
* * *
Sir Raynald knelt by the body of the father general. "Such a waste," he said.
"This Human," said Voruhn, "he was their leader?"
The knight nodded. "Yes, but he was following the orders of his superior, Master Talivardas." A sudden thought struck the knight, and he began searching the body.
"You think he will have something of worth?" asked the Orc.
"No. I search for his orders," said Sir Raynald. "He likely kept them with him as a reminder of his duty." He smiled as he withdrew a folded paper. "Here they are."
"What do they say?"
The knight unfolded the package to reveal a neatly penned letter. He scanned its contents, then looked towards the Orc. "As I thought. It's a letter from the grand master."
"How does that help us?" asked Voruhn.
"I'm not sure it does," said Raynald. "But…" His voice trailed off.
"What is it?"
"There's something here I can't explain."
"Perhaps I can help?"
"This letter is dated only three weeks ago."
"And?"
"It was written in Corassus, or so it claims."
"And of what consequence is that?" asked Voruhn.
"There's no way a letter could have travelled from Corassus all the way to Ebenstadt in only three weeks."
"Could it have come by mage?" suggested the shamaness. "It is said that some can use magic to travel great distances."
"The only users of magic in the Church are Life Mages," noted Sir Raynald, "and even they are few and far between."
"Then how do you account for the error?"
"There is only one answer; it's counterfeit. It appears someone went to great pains to legitimize the crusade."
Home
Winter 1104 SR
* * *
Athgar took a sip of the milky-white liquid, passing it to Kargen. The Orc chieftain drank deeply, draining the bowl.
"Kargen," said Shaluhk. "You're supposed to sip it, not drink it dry."
"Then it should not taste so good," he said.
A shout erupted from the doorway, and then Agar ran through the hall, his wooden axe held high. He pounced on Laruhk, who fell back, holding the young Orc above him.
"He has quite the spirit," said Athgar. "He'll make a great hunter someday."
"Perhaps he will become a shaman," suggested Shaluhk.
"It matters not," said Kargen, "so long as he is happy." He turned his attention to Natalia. "And what of you? How much longer must you carry this youngling?"
Natalia rubbed her swollen belly. "Not much longer, I hope. Skora thinks it will only be a few more weeks, and I must admit I'm eager to get her out. She's making me quite uncomfortable with all her shifting about. I think she takes after her father."
"I don't make you uncomfortable, do I?" asked Athgar.
"Uncomfortable, no, but you do shift around a lot. I don't think you've sat still since I started to show."
"You Humans are a curious race," said Shaluhk. "I could have birthed two younglings in the time it takes for you to have one. How did your people ever come to dominate the Continent?"
"Beats me," Natalia replied, "but I'm with you. I wish we had a shorter gestation period."
"More ale?" asked Athgar.
Kargen grinned. "Need you ask?"
Athgar poured the drink, filling the tankard to the brim.
"This is an excellent brew, my friend," said Kargen. "You have quite a gift for making it."
"It's Skora you must thank," the Therengian replied. "It's her recipe."
"Where is she?" asked Shaluhk.
"There were many spare huts after the battle," said Natalia. "She chose to take one for herself, though she still drops by every day to check up on us."
"Yes," added Athgar. "She's become quite the popular person now, with all her wealth of experience. Many's the young villager who looks to her for guidance."
"And you?" said Kargen. "How have you been?"
"I've been well. We both have, aside from the whole pregnancy thing, that is."
"And now you live in the chieftain's hut."
"We do, but that wasn't my idea."
"Then whose?" said Kargen.
"Don't look at me," said Natalia. "That was all decided by the villagers. They officially elected Athgar as their thane."
"What of the tribe?" said Athgar. "Have you finally decided where to build your new village?"
"We have," the chieftain replied. "We sent hunters far and wide, seeking the best location in which to build. Such a place must have fresh water and wood in abundance."
"That sums up the entire area," said Athgar. "There must be more to it than that?"
Kargen grinned. "There was indeed. We also needed a place in close proximity to our allies, so we could come to their assistance if needed."
"And what was your conclusion?"
"I think we have found the perfect spot."
"Go on," urged Athgar.
"Yes," insisted Natalia, "don't keep us in suspense. Where will you rebuild?"
Kargen looked at Shaluhk. "That depends," she said.
"On what?" asked Athgar.
"On what you might think," added Kargen. "We would not want to upset you."
"Are you going to tell us where you will settle or not?"
"Well," said Kargen, drawing out the conve
rsation as long as possible, "we thought we might build here, right beside Runewald."
"Beside us?"
"Yes. Naturally we would have to coordinate such a thing. The palisade, for instance, would have to incorporate your village as well as ours."
Athgar broke out into a grin. "That's a marvellous idea."
"Yes," added Natalia, "and you can use our great hall."
"Or better yet," said Athgar, "we'll build a new one, of stone, with rooms off either end, one for us and one for you. What do you think, Shaluhk?"
"I think it a grand idea," replied the shamaness. "It will bring our people even closer together."
"And we shall continue this great alliance," added Kargen. "We will meet regularly with the other chieftains and thanes to better us all."
"Yes," agreed Shaluhk, "but we must find a better name for our land."
"I have it," called out Laruhk. "The Great Alliance!"
"I think you should stick to hunting," said Shaluhk, "and leave the naming to others."
They all laughed, little Agar joining in despite his lack of understanding.
Natalia leaned back against the furs, soaking in the look of merriment on the faces of her friends and realized she and Athgar had finally found a home.
Epilogue
Winter 1104 SR
* * *
Illiana Stormwind was laid out in her formal attire as people shuffled past, paying their last respects. She had been head of the family for years, keeping an iron grip on the reins of power until age had finally claimed her. Now, with her death, the struggle for control of the vast influence of the family was set to commence.
Marakhova Stormwind gazed down at the body of the matriarch, a smile crossing her lips. There had been a bitter feud between them these last few years, fuelled by the matriarch's strange obsession with one of her students, Natalia Stormwind. The girl was a powerful mage, likely the most gifted student of the last decade. And yet there was something else to this graduate of the Volstrum aside from her power, something that took hold of Illiana's interest, and Marakhova was determined to discover what it was.
She moved away from the body, finding a window to gaze out as she struggled to come to grips with the ramifications of the matriarch's death. Outside, the winter winds howled across the courtyard, sending flakes of snow swirling in the air, but Mistress Marakhova had far more important things on her mind.
Malvar Stormwind, one of their most powerful Water Mages, cleared his throat. She turned, giving him a stern look. It was a well-known fact that the Grand Mistress of the Volstrum disliked interruptions, something of which he must surely be aware. This intrusion into her thoughts must indeed be important.
"What is it?" she snapped.
"We have news," he said, "from Ebenstadt."
"Go on."
"There has been a great battle, east of the city," he reported. "The Army of the Church has been defeated, exactly as you predicted."
A ghost of a smile flickered across her face. "It would appear that our Cunar Master, Talivardas, has been much more successful than we had hoped. How did he accomplish such a thing?"
"You can ask him yourself if you like. He's here, paying his respects."
Marakhova's eyes roamed the crowd, focusing on the dark grey mantle of Master Talivardas.
"Fetch him," she commanded. "I would have words."
Malvar bowed, then turned, making his way through the crowd.
Marakhova returned her gaze to the window. Malvar was a trusted ally, she reminded herself, and such allies would be scarce in the coming power struggle. She must remember to curb her temper.
"Grand Mistress," came a deep voice.
"Master Talivardas," she said, turning her head. "I hear things have gone well."
He bowed, a rather formal action easily noticed by those in the room. "They have," he said.
"And what are the losses?"
"The order has lost close to seven hundred knights, including more than two hundred initiates. The strength of the Temple Knights of Saint Cunar is now greatly diminished."
"This is excellent news. Is your own position safe?"
"Indeed it is, Grand Mistress. I took pains to pass the blame onto the grand master himself. He shall be hard-pressed to explain his actions. I have also sown the seeds of discontent within the rest of the order's hierarchy. I have no doubt that a review of the events leading up to the campaign will result in the election of a new grand master."
"I take it you are ready to take up this mantle, should it be offered?"
"I am indeed, Grand Mistress."
"Then it seems our plans are nearing fruition," said Marakhova.
Talivardas cast a glance at the gathering. "And this? Will it change things?"
"This is merely an interruption," she replied. "A distraction that should be sorted by spring. You, on the other hand, must return to the task at hand. I wouldn't want your absence to be noted."
"My magic will have me back before they know I'm gone."
She was about to dismiss him but noticed the indecision on his face. "Something is bothering you," she said. "Out with it."
"I heard rumours in Ebenstadt," he said.
"What kind of rumours?"
"There are reports that the renegade, Natalia, was spotted within the city limits."
Marakhova moved closer, lowering her voice. "Go on."
"Nikolai had her in custody, but then she escaped. He asked for extra troops to hunt her down, but the army had already begun assembling. There was little I could do."
"It is an irritation, to be sure," she said, "but understandable under the circumstances. Why bring this to me now?"
"Before he tracked her down, he told me something, something I think would be of interest to you. It seems she was carrying a child."
Marakhova's eyes went wide. "A child, you say? Are you sure?"
"Nikolai was adamant."
"Where is he now?"
"Unfortunately, his body was found the next day, along with those of his men. I'm afraid she slipped through his grasp. Why? Is it important?"
"Important?" said Marakhova. "Natalia is a powerful mage, one of the most powerful we have ever produced. If what we have heard is true, she has taken up with a relatively potent Fire Mage. We have waited generations for this. That child is the future of this family!"
* * *
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Servant of the Crown - Prologue
Heir to the Crown: Book One
Walpole Street
* * *
Summer 953 MC*
(*Mercerian Calendar)
THE sun was hot, and for what felt like the tenth time that morning, he removed his helmet to wipe the sweat from his brow, absently flinging the moisture from his hand. He cursed the heat yet again as the stink of the slums curled around his nostrils, causing him to gag. Even as he stood, someone emptied a chamber bucket from a second-storey window, the contents splattering to the ground. The waiting was agonizing, particularly with his old leg wound throbbing painfully. The men stood with their backs to him, waiting for the mob to appear, while beside him, the captain, Lord Walters, sat upon his steed surveying the street, as if it held some hidden secret. The line of men stretched across the road from the tavern on the right, to the general goods store on the left. The shopkeepers had already barricaded their doors by the time the troops had taken up their station, fearful of the coming bloodshed.
It had been a harsh winter, and the last harvest had been one
of the worst in years. The city was starving, and the poorer sections of town had risen up in protest. This morning, word had come from the Palace ordering the troops to prevent any rioting from making its way into the more prosperous areas of the capital, Wincaster.
The soldiers stood with weapons drawn, relaxed but alert. Sergeant Matheson wiped the sweat from his forehead again. It was far too hot. Tempers would flare; there would be trouble, he could feel it in his bones.
The captain, tired of watching the street, looked down at his sergeant.
"Sergeant Matheson!" he yelled in an overly loud voice.
The sergeant looked up at the lord and noticed he was nervous; the man’s eyes shifted back and forth. He was trying to sound confident, but the cracked voice betrayed his fear.
"Have the soldiers move closer together!"
Gerald Matheson had been a soldier almost his entire life. For more than twenty years he had served his country, mostly in the Northern Wars. Now, he was here, on the street, being told by an untried officer how to conduct his men.
"Yes, my lord!" he replied back.
He knew there was no use in arguing, so he gave the command and the soldiers moved together. After carrying out the manoeuvre, they did not entirely cover the width of the street, leaving their flanks exposed. Gerald had thought of forming a single line, but a shield wall needed men in a second rank to help support it. Here he was with only twenty men, stretched across the road in a sparse double line. A company was fifty soldiers on paper, but the realities were far different here in the capital. With the crown holding the purse strings, most were lucky to have thirty men. On top of that, with sick and wounded, his company could barely scrape together twenty at any one time. He looked up at the officer and knew that Lord Walters failed to grasp the danger of their situation.
Inferno Page 32
