Fate of the Tyrant (The Eoriel Saga Book 3)

by Kal Spriggs

  The creature’s defiant roar cut off as Simonel’s blade sliced through muscle, sinew, and bone. The bloodbeast’s severed head dropped to the ground, jaws agape and snapping. The beast continued to stumble forward, black blood spraying from the stump of its neck until it fell with an earthshaking crash.

  Simonel looked up and saw that Nakadi stood, her eyes focused on him rather than the beast, a look of calculation upon her face. Somehow he realized this was a test of some kind. Whether she had stirred the beast herself or merely taken advantage of its appearance, she had come to evaluate him.

  “Have you taken my measure?” Simonel asked, even as he lowered his blade and put Medis Sakveri back on his hip. He then cleaned Mede Khmali with a rag.

  She simply gave him a nod as she came around the smoldering corpse of the bloodbeast. “We should be certain that the entire corpse is entirely consumed,” she said. “A beast this powerful may be able to regenerate if we don’t destroy it in its entirety.”

  “Tell me,” Simonel said with a narrowed gaze, “Do you know this because you created the beast or because you drove it here?”

  “Don’t be absurd,” she said. Her gaze went behind him and her eyes went wide, “Down!”

  Simonel didn’t hesitate, he dove for the ground as she leveled her hands. He was close enough to see spellgrafts worked within her hands flare with light. A moment later, a column of fire geysered out, hot enough that the grass around him withered and the glyphs within his armor activated to protect him from the residual heat.

  He heard a whistling shriek and turned to see the bloodbeast had risen to its feet, a second mouth already formed with teeth and all from the stump of its neck. Nakadi continued the column of flame, forcing the creature down and causing it to burn, shrieking as it died.

  When Nakadi lowered her hands, her face showed strain, but her hands were steady as she bent to pick up her knives. “I did not awaken the bloodbeast, nor did I lie when I said I had tracked it here.”

  Which isn’t to say she didn’t chose to track this one on purpose, Simonel thought as he rose to his feet.

  Then, to his surprise, Nakadi knelt in front of him.

  “What are you doing?” Simonel asked in shock.

  When she spoke, she used the ancient tongue, “You bear the blade of the king and you used the King’s Horn. I say this as someone who saw Maghali Mede, who remembers his call to war and has marched under his banner. No one in that time has born Mede Khmali as he had, no one used Medis Sakveri like him, and no one had his mark, no one… until now.” She rose, “The time soon approaches when we must be one people. No longer can we be divided by our ancient animosities.”

  “Why did you come here?” Simonel asked.

  “Because the end times are upon us,” Nakadi responded. She met his gaze, “I came to see if you are worthy to be my King.”

  Simonel shook his head, “I am the King of the Eastwood, of the Kalakhi Salvet Khis. Not of your people.”

  She shook her head, “Our people cannot survive if we remain divided, my King. Because the Herald of Andoral Elhonas marshals his armies and our ancient enemies in Vendakara have assembled their strength. The New Gods of Aoriel and other new foes would drown our lands in blood to sake their thirst for power.”

  “Are you saying I’m supposed to fight all of that?” Simonel snorted, “Why should any of it concern me? My people have endured in their exile for ten thousand cycles. Why could we not endure for ten thousand more regardless of what happens outside of our forest?” His face went hard, “Why should I care what happens to your people with what mine have had to endure?”

  Nakadi’s face went hard, “Do not think that your people have suffered any more than any other race of man. I have seen the rise and fall of nations for ten thousand cycles, witnessed the rape and sacking of entire cities, while your people have nursed their ancient grudges in safety and seclusion.”

  “All the more reason for us to remain in our exile,” Simonel said, “rather than for me to undertake and impossible task.”

  “The powers we face will not allow you to stay secluded. They seek to destroy all free lands, to take us individually and to let our internal animosities isolate us.” She shook her head, “And as for the difficulty of your task, even I find it hard to put aside my sense of betrayal and accept your right of rule… and I have seen you with my own eyes.”

  Simonel’s thoughts went to the words of Aralanar and what the spirits had told her. She said that he was the Maghali Mede reborn. Amelia had told him that Maghali Mede had empowered him. I do not want to be some sort of messiah, he thought, I will lead and defend my people. “The Viani have their Queen, let them look to her to lead you.”

  Nakadi shook her head, “She has already withdrawn, called those who will help her to defend her lands… she cannot unify us, the Viani, the Maghali Khalakuri, and the Wold must be whole again. That will be your task, and mine to support you.”

  “You will not convince me,” Simonel said.

  “I will not have to,” Nakadi said. “When the time comes, when the High Kings return and Maghali Khalakuri and Kalakhi Salvet Khis stand side by side, you will be there to lead us.” She gave a small smile, “And I will be there to witness it, as I have watched all that has come before.”

  ***

  “My King,” Nanamak said with a slight smile, “how was your hunt?”

  Simonel gave him a look, but the ancient warrior’s expression showed only pleasant interest. He is far too calm about my return, Simonel thought, as if he already knew what had happened. He let none of his suspicion reach his voice or face, though. “The beast is dead,” he said and held up several teeth he had pulled from the creature’s jaw.

  Many of the hunters broke into cheers and Gantarel gave him a nod. Nanamak’s broad smile suggested even more that he had known the result of the hunt. “We will return to Dybnar Rapids, Simonel said, “and after we ensure that no more creatures will trouble them, we will venture back to the Green Heart.”

  He let them celebrate and strode away, caught up in his own thoughts as he walked away. Nakadi’s words haunted him. She had departed after cautioning him that this attack and the ones before it were only the start. He felt blind, in truth. The bloodbeast had killed at least one of his people while the other maddened creatures had damaged the forest which would make the coming spring harder for his people.

  Something awoke the monster, possibly drove it here to attack, he thought, Amelia’s brother, Xavien, was a sorcerer…

  Xavien was also a wizard and had been behind the attack that killed his father. The wizard had also broached their defenses and sundered the Veil. She also mentioned the Vendakar, who have raided us before, he thought. Vendakar slavers particularly valued the children of his people, as slaves and sacrifices for their dark gods. I need to know if they are involved and what threats may develop.

  To serve and protect his people, he needed to be able to see the threats as they came. While he had dismissed the very idea of some kind of alliance with the Viani… well, perhaps some method of communication with the other races of men would not be a bad idea.

  If handled properly, he thought, it would not violate the rules or intent of our exile. In all probability, even if the rest of Eoriel fell into chaos, his lands and people would see few threats. Only an organized, powerful attack would penetrate the defenses that his people could muster… and even then an enemy would see little gain and great cost to such an attack.

  If, he thought, Nakadi is right, though, then it is best that my people be ready. It would be possible to develop a network of discussion and communication into something stronger. From shared information on threats to mutual support and from there…

  He would have to talk to Amelia. She had said her father was a military figure in her homeland. Perhaps that was the place to start.

  ***

  Enchantress Amelia Tarken, Queen of the Eastwood

  The Greenheart, The Eastwood

  5th
of Annat, Cycle 1000 Post Sundering

  Amelia raised one eyebrow as Simonel arrived at their home, with the Warden Ivellios in tow. Since he had already expressed some of his concerns to her, including the odd words of the Viani Nakadi, she was not surprised that her husband sought the Warden's opinion. She was, however, intrigued that he had brought him here to their home.

  And that is an odd thought: our home, she thought. She would never have contemplated that such a thing might occur, not when Simonel first emerged out of the primeval forest and certainly not before all this, when she was a little more than protected child.

  The stone home, built around the growth of several trees, contained relatively little of the luxuries and clutter of what those in her homeland would have considered important. Everything, in the way of the Kalakhi Salvet Khis, was simple in form, though often crafted with such attention to detail and effort as to make them valuable beyond their appearance.

  The chairs and tables, crafted from hardwood and sealed with strengthening and preserving high magic sigils, looked deceptively delicate, yet Amelia knew that they were stronger than steel and far more comfortable. The home, sealed with protective wards, would be proof against any wandering spirits and would withstand a group of determined attackers, as well as retaining warmth so that the simple fire pit kept the home comfortable.

  It was laid out, too, in a way that seemed at once both simple and natural, and yet with so much thought as to make it perfect. Everything fit where it felt right and logical, despite the small size they never had difficulty moving from one room to the next... and still the home felt small and comfortable.

  And if feels like our home, she thought. Which surprised her the most when she considered it. She knew that Simonel had lived here for centuries, had, in fact, built the home with the help of those among their people who specialized in such things. Some part of her had expected for it to feel like his home, yet she had felt as welcome here as she could have wished.

  "Welcome," Amelia bowed to Ivellios. "Please, come in. Would you like some wine?" She asked.

  "My thanks, but I'll decline," Ivellios said as he stepped inside. "I must admit, my thirst is a desire to know your purpose in having me here," he nodded at both Simonel and Amelia. His mannerisms, his method of speech, even his mannerisms and the way he moved seemed so different to her, so out of place among the Kalakhi Salvet Khis that she wondered how she had ever grouped him in with the others.

  "It is simple enough," Simonel said, even as he gestured for Ivellios to take a seat. "You are well aware of the various attacks that have occurred over the past cycle. I have come to fear that they have been orchestrated by external enemies, with the intent of destabilizing our lands and causing my people to turn to the Dark Warrior."

  Ivellios's eyes narrowed. "Straight to the point it is to be, then. Given the... gravity of the situation, perhaps I'll have that wine after all." He gave a slight smile, "And here I thought this would be something of only minor discomfort, such as an appeal for Merendar's request to depart the Eastwood."

  Amelia controlled her features at his words. She well knew that Simonel had authorized Merendar to depart in search of her missing brother. Apparently, Ivellios didn't know that... and he hadn't agreed to it.

  "No," Simonel said, "this is something rather more grave." He reached over and drew a bottle of wine and several glasses from within a spell-woven cupboard. Amelia well knew that the cupboard's design would keep the bottles chilled to the ideal temperature, though she could admit it seemed a silly effort given the time required to craft such a device.

  I know of seven ways to do it, she reminded herself, and the simplest one would take over a week. She took a glass from Simonel and sipped at the wine, savoring the taste even as she studied Ivellios.

  The Viani Warden seemed uneasy. She wondered at that, whether he worried for his safety or for the weight of the decisions that he carried. For that matter, she couldn't help but wonder at his motivation, at the sense of duty that had kept him here, for over ten thousand cycles. Even the Enchantress hadn't known. If the spirits of the Eastwood knew, they weren't telling.

  One of the greatest warriors of his time, she thought, one of the deadliest men alive... and he chose to live among those who consider him as little better than a jailer. She knew of no less than thirty attempts on his life. While most of the Kalakhi Salvet Khis no longer hated him, there were plenty who had merely hidden their hatred.

  "So you believe that external enemies coordinated these attacks," Ivellios said after he sipped at his own wine. "Having heard the evidence you have uncovered at the Founding, I can see the underlying points that might lead to such a conclusion." He held up one hand as Simonel opened his mouth to speak, "However, I might as easily say that all of the incidents from your father's murder, to the attacks orchestrated upon your people since and culminating with the battle at Entraluri Mitsa all point to something even more sinister: your own manipulations."

  "What?" Amelia asked, "That is absurd!"

  "Is it?" Ivellios asked with a raised eyebrow. "Simonel survived the attack that killed his father. He found you, the new Enchantress, upon the edge of the forests. He gave the orders that killed the entirety of the Armen raiders who trespassed here in the Eastwood." Ivellios took a sip of his wine and swirled the vintage around his mouth as Simonel and Amelia stared at him in shock. He set the crystal glass down and considered it for a moment. "It is such a fragile thing, is it not?" Ivellios asked. "I always wondered why it is that the most beauty is to be found in such transient things."

  He looked up and his gray eyes showed an almost inhuman tranquility. "I say these things not as one who believes them, but as someone who must acknowledge that outsiders may make them out." He nodded at Amelia, "Where even the most jaded observer who has seen the pair of you together cannot help but recognize the love and mutual respect you two share... an outsider who has not seen you two together might see an ambitious and power hungry man seducing a child in order to forge a diplomatic alliance."

  Amelia stared at him in shock, "You cannot think --"

  "I don't," Ivellios interrupted. "But I acknowledge that many of the Viani would see it that way. The idea of proving adulthood is not one that my own people ascribe to... merely one of many points of contention between our people." He nodded his head at Simonel, "And while some among my people have met you, knew you as a child..." Ivellios gave a slight wave of his hand, "The vast majority have not. They will see what their prejudices allow them to see."

  "Then I take it you already know what I'm here to discuss?" Simonel asked.

  "I can hardly claim to know what you have not yet spoken," Ivellios said with a smile. "But I wanted to make that point clear before you do speak. No matter what I say or agree to... many will still not trust you."

  "I'll keep that in mind," Simonel said. So will I, Amelia thought. He gave her a look and she nodded encouragement. "I think the time has come where I will need to open relations with the outside world," her husband said. "What I plan to do is to open lines of communication to the other powers in Eoriel. To discuss threats, to see if they know more about our enemies..."

  Ivellios quirked an eyebrow, "And perhaps to coordinate defenses?"

  "Only should it prove necessary," Amelia interrupted. "Surely you can see the wisdom of this?"

  "I think it is an important decision," Ivellios hedged. His gaze went to the crystal goblet. "A fragile thing, peace. So easily broken by the smallest of actions." He looked at Simonel, "You would not ask this if it did not involve someone leaving the Eastwood. Do you have a specific messenger in mind?"

  "I do," Simonel said. "I wish to go myself, with my bride and an appropriate retinue."

  "I see..." Ivellios nodded. "I can not deny you permission to leave. Nor could I do so for Amelia, who, as a daughter of the younger races, does not share in the Exile." He gave a slight smile, "And I could not fault you for wishing a proper escort, given the attacks you have already endured."


  "But?" Amelia asked, sensing something left unsaid.

  "But there are Viani who will see it as a violation of the terms of your exile, in spirit if not in word," Ivellios said. "While I understand that most of my people have withdrawn from the world, those who have not will confront you." He smiled a bit, "If nothing else, I am certain that they will feel they must respond to something that has never happened in ten thousand cycles." He cocked his head, "What of the Eastwood in your absence? I trust I need not remind you that there are some supporters of Andoral Elhonas within the Eastwood."

  "I've taken some precautions," Amelia said softly. She didn't look over at Simonel but met Ivellios's gaze, "They will not be prepared to move before we can return."

  "Very well," Ivellios nodded. He spoke in a formal, stilted tone, "I give my approval for your party and escorts to depart the terms of the Exile." He smiled more naturally then and picked up his glass. "Now then, a bit more wine?"

  ***

  Chapter VII

  Commander Covle Darkbit

  The Greenheart, The Eastwood

  15th of Annat, Cycle 1000 Post Sundering

  Covle Darkbit rubbed at his wind-chapped face with bloodstained hand and wondered if perhaps things had gotten a bit out of hand.

  He stepped over the half-naked corpse of a teenage girl and then paused at the edge of the village. Here in the open, beyond the charred remnants of the village's palisade, the bitter cold wind coming down off the mountains stripped the warmth out of his extremities. He would much rather be ensconced in the old inn that he had selected for his headquarters.

  Yet he didn't dare refuse the summons he'd received.

  Even as he thought that, he heard a sibilant voice behind him, "Ah, Covle Darkbit, so glad you pulled yourself away from your pleasures and could join me."