Eligium- The Complete Series

by Jake Allen Coleman

  Egilhard Teoma was Lord Commander of the Knights of Gabirel and was a stern leader with the grim task of rebuilding the mightiest guardians of peace in Cynneweald. At its prime, only the fabled Dragon Guard rivaled Gabirel. Now, Gabirel was in shambles from its defeat at the hands of the Krenon and the Dragon Guard itself. For the first time in an hundred years, the High Council was sending recruiting parties out to convince young men and women to join the cause.

  Each day the Squires spent their mornings moving through an orchestrated training regimen. Split into squads of twelve they rotated through sword-practice, archery, horsemanship, javelin, hand combat, and a myriad of other weapons depending on the day. Today saw Sebastian’s squad assigned to sword-work with Swordmaster Raginald, reputed to be one of the finest sword-masters Gabirel had ever seen. They arrived at the training ground in the bailey just as the sun peaked into view.

  “All right you cubs,” said Raginald, “You’ve been hacking away at each other up to now, learning the basic patterns. Today I’ll give you a real challenge. The sword is more than strength and brute force. It’s also about control and patience. You’re to work the patterns at one-quarter speed. First to score a hit earns an extra ration of mead on Friday. I catch you going faster than that one-quarter and you’ll be back out here in the yard at fourth watch tonight learning patience. Now pair up and fight!”

  Sebastian stood off against Martino, a recruit from Cale Conall who had arrived with a recruiting party not long before Sebastian returned. Since the Cale was one of the few places Sebastian had spent any time in his travels he formed a burgeoning friendship with the boy. Martino stood a hand taller than Sebastian and was thin as a rail. All arms and legs, he was deceptively graceful, and it showed in practice bouts. He could ride circles around the finest horsemen and was almost unbeatable at hand-to-hand. For all his grace, he did not seem to understand the sword and had yet to win a bout. Sebastian won a good two-thirds of his own bouts, only losing when faced with an opponent raised with the sword.

  Facing off with the boy, Sebastian began a standard series of strokes designed to throw the balance of a taller opponent. Martino parried and feinted with more skill than Sebastian expected, trying to force him to increase his tempo. Sebastian chided himself for forgetting one of Raginald’s first rules: Never underestimate your opponent. Even if you know their every move and have defeated them every time, they may bring something new this day. It reminded him of something his uncle would have said.

  “You’ve been practicing!” he said. Martino ignored the comment and began a second series, putting Sebastian on the defensive. They worked their way across the practice ground in a slow dance of death. Once or twice he heard Raginald call out to a classmate, “Watch your speed there! I’ll see you at fourth.” Sweat poured down Sebastian’s face and, as the mock battle continued, his muscles screamed from the effort. He had not realized the effort required to battle at this pace.

  At the edge of his vision, he knew Martino and he were the last pair fighting. The rest had either dueled to a draw or been called out for their pace. That moment of distraction cost him. He watched in vain as Martino’s wooden blade inched toward him. Despairing, he moved his own weapon to block. So close, but to no avail. Martino’s blade got there first, and the boy drew the edge along his side, simulating a killing blow.

  Reginald made his way over to the duelists, motioning the rest of the cohort to gather in close, “Well done, lads. That was how it is done. Control. Patience. Martino there kept his focus and flowed with the sword. Now Sebastian, what was your mistake?”

  Sebastian replayed the end of the fight in his mind, “I was distracted, Swordmaster. I split my focus between Martino and the rest of the cohort.”

  Reginald furrowed his brow, “Now listen here each one of you. There’s a razor’s edge of difference betwixt distraction and awareness. Each one of you needs to learn to walk that blade for themselves. In practice it’s one versus one. In a real battle it may be one-to-many, many-to-many, or many to one. Martino, did you know yours was the last bout?”

  Martino shook his head, “No, Swordmaster!”

  “Had this been a real battle and one of those bouts ended with an ally of Sebastian it would be you with the sword in his gut. Awareness is never a mistake and is like to save your hides one day. Learn the difference. Martino, you’ve earned that ration of mead and I’m of a mind to make it a double portion after that display. That’s enough for the day. You’re all dismissed to the mess. Be on the wall for the duty just after.”

  Sebastian filed out of the dingy mess with his squad after an uninspiring luncheon. The higher ranks rated better fare, while the Squires made do with old beef and even older bread, with broth to moisten it all. There were no light eaters in the ranks, but they knew they needed every morsel for the day's work. In better times the cooks might have tossed it into the midden. These were not better times. This was not exactly the glory Sebastian had dreamed of in his younger days.

  Making their way to the eastern wall, each recruit picked up a heavy cloak for warmth in the chill afternoon, and a pair of heavy gloves to protect their hands. Emerging from the hall, Sebastian squinted at the bright sun that provided scant warmth. No worries, they would be warm enough once they got started.

  Martino moved up next to him in the queue. “Well, Sebastian, what do you think Master Builder Jezreen has for us today? Breaking boulders? Digging out new? Mayhap we’ll have the chance to lay stone.”

  “I’d not count on that if I were you. I overheard Raginald telling Jazreen that we weren’t to lay stone. Too much chance of crushing our fingers he said, and he wants us fit for the Challenge.” Every year the full cadre of Squires took part in a tournament for scoring and ranking. It served several purposes; including informing the Masters which skills were lacking, which recruits ready for Raising, and which dismissed. This would be Sebastian’s first Challenge.

  “I hope we’re not set to breaking stone again today. My back ached for days last time.”

  Their squad, and two others passed through the breach in the east wall to find their Drill-master, Jarmo Dale waiting for them. Master Builder Jazreen was no where in sight. Sebastian cast an eye over the dwindling pile of stone carved out and waiting for the builders. He leaned over to Martino, “Look at the stone. We’ll be breaking more for sure.” Martino groaned and Sebastian agreed. His own back and shoulders still ached from their mock battle.

  “You have seen that pile of cut stone there,” said the Drill-master, “and I reckon you know what that means. You’ll be cutting more for the Builders. That stone you digged out last week ‘as been moved up and is ready for the cutting. Squads one and three, get to breaking. Squad two, you’re to move the cut stone into position for the builders.” Sebastian groaned this time. Their’s was the third squad.

  Under the watchful eye of a master stone-mason, Sebastian’s squad picked up their wedges and hammers and moved to the huge pile of uncut stone to begin working. Each piece of stone had to be squared off and made fit for the Builders to piece together into a huge jigsaw puzzle to seal the breach in the wall. The exact size of each piece was not so important, it was the squaring off that gave the builders what they needed.

  Working in tandem with Martino, the other lad placed the stone and held the wedge in place while Sebastian hammered away. With one stone squared off, they moved to the next, leaving it there for someone in the second squad to collect. They fell into a rhythm that left no room for conversation unrelated to the task at hand.

  It was back-breaking work and after just a short time, Sebastian threw off his heavy cloak, sweat rolling down his back even in the fall chill air. His back and shoulders screaming, he pushed through the pain. He told himself this was no worse than a long day spent hauling crops. Jarmo Dale was vocal with his opinion that hard work toughened the recruits and hardened them for the rigors of war.

  The afternoon passed quickly and soon Jarmo called a halt, sending the recruits off
to the baths to “wash the stink off of them.” Thankfully, a natural hot spring warmed the water in the baths at the Dazhberg and Sebastian luxuriated for a few moments, letting the heat penetrate his tired muscles. Tossing his grimy tunic into the wash pile, he pulled on a fresh one and made his way down to the mess, where he found supper to be a repeat of luncheon.

  The squad rounded out their day in lecture on the history of warfare and strategy. This day, they focused on an obscure battle out on the grasslands. It was all Sebastian could do to keep from nodding off. Or worse, daydreaming. He’d been very careful to keep his daydreaming in check since returning to the fortress. Lord Teoma had made it clear he was to discipline himself and not to use the wild elven magic running through his veins.

  Unsure his squad-mates even knew of his abilities with magic, he was less sure of their reaction should they discover the full extent of his skill. To be sure, Gabirel aligned closely with the Wizards of Uriasz, but these youth had grown up under the Ban. The common folk distrusted any use of magic, and the nobility considered it treasonous. They tolerated the alliance between Uriasz and Gabirel because it existed, in their minds, to sustain the Ban itself.

  Martino nudged Sebastian, and he realized that the lecture had ended. He had fallen asleep. Sebastian had no idea what the point had been, much less who won the battle. Come to think of it, he was not even sure who the combatants had been. Lectures and school were new terrain for him and normally he tried to pay better attention. He had seen the benefit of this education in his travels with Krystelle.

  #

  Returning to the barracks, Sebastian threw off his tunic and collapsed into his bunk. Around him, various members of the squad bantered back and forth about the day. Most days Sebastian took part as the evening wore on. Not today. The sounds of his fellow recruits faded away as he fell into slumber.

  The dream began as it always did. He awoke to find himself in a deep cave, lit in orange and red from the lava flow running through. The heat penetrated to his bones on the side facing the flow, the other side chilled from cool mountain air blowing down the tunnel. He maneuvered himself around and luxuriated as the heat warmed his body.

  Daylight streamed into the tunnel and he prepared himself to begin the hunt. There was a hunger deep in his belly and he knew he had slept overlong. Rousing himself to crawl to the surface, he felt the Call. A demand stronger than steel shackles pulled on his heart, beckoning him to a place far to the south.

  How can this be? He wondered. The Call had not come in the long years since winning the Great Battle and the Stone was entrusted to the mountain brothers. None there would dare summon him in this manner, which was why they guarded the Stone.

  When the Call came he was bound to obey. It was bred into him and his kind from time immemorial. Crawling and scrambling he made his way up the tunnel and out into the bright daylight. Perched there on the side of the mountain, he surveyed the valley. His domain. This small piece of earth where he held dominion. Far in the distance he saw the herd of elk he so carefully cultivated. Taken from other valleys as yearlings, he had acclimated them to his scent.

  Belly rumbling, he remembered the young bull he marked out in his last hunt. Perhaps he could just…no, the Call was too strong. Unfolding his leathery wings he shook them and launched himself from the side of the mountain.

  Catching the upswell of wind he soared high over the countryside looking for the familiar river that would lead him south. There! Banking hard, he dove to skim just above the trees. It was not long before the river widened into a clear blue lake and he enjoyed the moisture on his face. He dipped, letting his claws drag in the water, casting up a fantail behind him. Lifting off, he banked toward the distant mountains. There, the Call came from there.

  Nearing the foothills, he passed over an isolated farmstead and watched the family run, scrambling for shelter. Dragons had not been seen in these parts since the Ban and the homesteaders would have quite a story. He pushed on towards the pass and swept between two snow-covered peaks, the green of the forest rushing past him even faster now.

  Passing out of the mountains he smelled blood and smoke and fear in the air. Far ahead was the familiar outline of the Cinaeth rising over the Loegaire. Many years before he and his kin gathered there before retreating to their isolated ways in the far north. All around the fortress was chaos. From the carnage, he knew the battle had been raging and the Dragon Guard was not having the best time of it.

  The Call came even stronger now, calling him to the battle. The gentle warmth was a burning fire in his bones. He had to release that fire. Swooping down, he unleashed the fire on an unsuspecting enemy.

  Sebastian started awake, drenched in sweat. The dream always ended the same, with the dragon joining the battle. The one difference was that sometimes the dragon fought with the Guard, and sometimes against. He did not understand it any more than he understood why he had the same dream almost every night.

  “The same dream again?” said Martino in a whisper, sitting up on his bunk.

  Sebastian nodded, swiveling his feet to the floor. “Exactly the same. I wish I knew what it meant.”

  “Probably just that the cook used rotten meat.”

  Sebastian gave him a sour look, “Don’t jest. I did not mean to wake you though.”

  “With all that thrashing about, it’s a wonder you didn’t rouse the whole barracks. I still think you need to tell someone about those dreams.”

  Not this argument again. “I’m sure it’s nothing,” said Sebastian. Martino looked ready to dive in with his arguments and Sebastian held up a hand to stop him. “I’ll not hear it. I do not want the Drill-master thinking me daft.”

  “Well, you are daft. Everyone knows it!”

  Sebastian squirmed, still not sure how much the squad knew about how he had come to join the Squires. He shut it down before it went farther. “I suppose you’ve got naught better to do than berate your betters. I’m going back to sleep. First call will be here afore we know it.”

  Martino looked ready to press the issue further, opening his mouth to continue. Sebastian glared at him and he thought better of it. Grumbling, he laid back in his bunk, wrapping the blanket about him and turning to face away from Sebastian. For his part, Sebastian laid back down and fell into a dreamless sleep.

  #

  Bouncing along in the coach, Sterling Lex rode in silence with one hand resting on the leather-bound book in his lap. With the Chronicles in his possession, he was loath to let it out of his sight. Radomil and Witek sat across from him, deep in their own thoughts. He had brought the two sorcerers with him on this journey, leaving Tapani at Cinaeth to prepare the fortress and organize the myriad of small armies arriving even now. The pieces were moving into position and he would soon assume his rightful place—the place stolen from him—and exact his revenge on both Uriasz and Gabirel at the same time.

  On the road two full days, he had spent the time meditating on recent events and discussing his plan with his two companions. It grated traveling by these means, but it would not do for him to appear at this destination by a less traditional form of travel. His plans were at a critical juncture and he could not afford to jeopardize them through impatience or carelessness. The time spent was not completely in vain, he had a clearer picture now of this young upstart, Sebastian Pwyll.

  The source of the young man’s abilities had become more clear once his parentage was revealed. However, Sebastian's ability to control the Eligium troubled him. That should not have been possible, even with his half-elven ancestry. That knowledge instilled in Lex a feeling of urgency to accomplish his purpose and return to Cinaeth.

  Studying Radomil, he considered what to do with the sorcerer. Radomil failed in his last mission. He had returned with the Chronicles, but lost both Cenric Brice and the Dragonstone. All that effort spent to bring the boy over wasted. Lex still felt the boy through the link he had created. He was out there in the distance, most likely under the care of the healers at the Dazh
berg. Lex reinforced the link as he could, but dared not pour too much into it or the wizards at the Dazhberg would sense his influence.

  With a clatter of horses, the coach shuddered to a halt and the door opened. Looking out, Sterling Lex saw they had arrived at their destination. Stepping down, he waved away the footman who opened the door. Adjusting his robes, the sorcerer looked around the courtyard. Cynneweald still recovered from the devastation wrought by the Dragon Wars, yet this place appeared untouched in its grandeur.

  A marble fountain stood in the center of the courtyard, four leaping dolphins chiseled out of the stone with streams of water shooting from their mouths high into the sky. Even in the heart of winter, a green lawn surrounded the fountain, with a gravel pathway encircling the lawn. The granite making up the walls on three sides appeared to be marble itself. On the fourth side a set of broad steps led to the doors of the palace that was the focal point of the courtyard. Eight tall columns soared into the air, four on either side of the enormous oak doors.

  Sterling Lex was more than annoyed that the Chamberlain had not come to greet him, instead a minor functionary waited on the bottom step, his robes of office brushing the ground. With Radomil and Witek in tow, Lex stalked over to him. With a small bow, the functionary greeted Sterling Lex with the name he used to mask his true identity here, “My Lord Iacchus, I am Lorcán. We had not expected you to return so soon?”

  “Where is the Chamberlain?” said Lex, ignoring the implied question.

  “He is in the Council chambers. When the guards relayed word you were arriving, he left instruction for you to be brought there once you freshen yourself from your journey.”