“How can I do that?” he asked. “That’s not how I use magic.”
“We have methods to help you learn,” she said.
“And my family?” he asked.
“The safety of your family, of all Melkier, is in your hands,” Nicadilia said warningly, her eyes boring into him.
He looked back at his family with every apology he could fit into a glance. His wife held hands with their children, tears down each cheek, but remained quiet. She nodded vehemently.
“What’s to keep it from happening again?” he asked. “What’s to keep Unsel from taking away our protection?”
“We have a new source of material,” Crloc said. “Not just the bones of any dragon, but bones from the mother of all dragons.”
Vex’steppe
Three men of ages, young, middle, and old, sat at the corners of a large tent. Long staffs with daggers at both ends rested in their laps. Leathers barely covered their fit, muscular physiques. Their disapproving eyes missed nothing.
“This is the best I could do,” Vivek stated. “All things considered, much more than you deserve, and better than I expected.”
ANduaut sat up to the gasps of everyone in the tent. The front left side of his forehead was gone. The entire corner, from his eye socket to the middle of his head, was caved in. Fresh pink skin had grown over the indentation, and he blinked one eye rapidly, looking around the room.
“He is lost,” said the middle-aged man.
“Gone,” said the older man. “How can he lead us? He must be blind and dumb.”
“You judge too quickly,” replied the Vivek. “Just wait.”
“We are not fools,” said the younger man. He moved closer, placing a hand on the dent in ANduaut’s head. “It’s magics keeping him alive, nothing el— I... Urk.”
ANduaut stood abruptly, grabbing the man’s throat. He squeezed until there was a pop, and the man hung limp in his hand. He stood, walked to his father’s stadauf, and picked it up. He held it, swinging it around several times before slicing the throat of the older man. The old man grasped at the wound, and as he fell, ANduaut rested the blade against the throat of the Vivek. He leaned forward to the remaining man, his sinewy muscles taut and ready to pounce.
“Will you follow?” he asked briskly.
“To?” the middle-aged man asked, looking at the other bodies nervously.
“Victory,” ANduaut replied, his voice cold and distant.
“Yes, my Iroquia!” he replied abruptly. “All of us. All of your tribes!”
ANduaut pulled his two-bladed staff from the Vivek’s throat and stood. He walked out of the tent to hordes of tribesmen, each resting on their knees, waiting to learn their future. Silence fell as they looked at their new leader, frightened and awed by his deformation. The middle-aged man and Vivek crawled out of the cloth tent. The man dropped down and lowered his head to ANduaut in respect. ANduaut raised his staff high to the cheers of all tribesman.
“Much better than I expected,” Vivek muttered to himself.
Rohjek
Guldrich left the Nordruaut furs behind as he crossed the border to Rohjek. The sight of this land left his mouth dry. The Vex’kvette had wreaked havoc randomly throughout Unsel, reaching out with its hungry orange fingers, changing or killing everything in its path. But this, this was far worse devastation. As far as he could see, the ground was hot and dry, as if from a long summer’s drought, but in the middle of a wet winter. The air above was cold to his shoulders, but the ground below was a seething heat, and he sweated profusely.
How could he possibly survive this? He had fought Nordruaut weaklings, struggled through freezing cold and snow, had his arm cut off, only to be besieged by hunger and thirst. For the first time in his life, he wanted to give up. Only sleep and rest, for a thousand years or longer, would quench his exhaustion. Where was this champion the bitch had promised? He was on a fool’s journey and was only driven to live because he wanted so badly to wrap his hands around her beautiful neck.
Days passed, maybe weeks, as he trudged through this new wasteland of heat and desolation. He wanted to collapse, but his new body wouldn’t let him die. He spent his time wondering what could have happened to this place. Was it all like this? Had the capital been destroyed? What could have burned the entire nation?
Guldrich crested a hill, and saw down into a ravine that looked ravaged by the Vex’kvette. The ground was parched and dead, like all of Rohjek, but he could smell the sickeningly sweet residue of honey and molasses. He wanted to vomit, but only tasted bile. There was a shape at the bottom of the ravine, and he stumbled to it, hoping it was something to eat.
A hand the size of his torso stuck out from the dried earth.
“I seem to be too late, my champion,” he said. “You’re already dead, like I should be.”
He kicked the giant hand in frustration, and it grabbed his leg.
Nordruaut
“Shame has befallen us,” Jarle began as he paced. “Our moment of greatness, of proof, is lost to the thirst.”
He tried drawing them in, making eye contact with every leader of eastern Nordruaut standing in a circle around Owenqua. They stared at him with non-committal eyes.
“Few remember this story, so listen as I tell my tale,” he said and several heads nodded in acknowledgement. “In the beginning, the Nordruaut were like humans, and we hungered like them. We were a greedy, covetous people, always thirsting for more. More land, more things. It was a pit with no bottom!”
Jarle knelt in his leather loincloth, swinging his arm horizontally in a slicing movement. His skin dripped with sweat from the nearby fire.
“A noble race of beings lived on our borders,” he said dramatically. “The Mendahir were neighbors and friends who lived close to nature. They were tricked into an alliance with the Angorians. The Nordruaut wanted their lands, and when that alliance fell apart we watched the Mendahir perish. We stood by as all of them were killed.”
The faces were still cold, and he didn’t understand their distance.
“It was as if the Nordruaut destroyed them, an entire race of creatures, a unique people lost but for ghosts,” he said sadly. “When we realized that, when we came to our senses, we tried following their path. We decided to become caretakers of Ehrde, living in congruity with nature, seeking greater balance with living things. We threw away our want, our desire, for something much better.”
“And that’s why we let spies and villains kill our people,” Niihlu interrupted. He stepped into the circle unwelcomed. Several gasped at his impetuousness. “Too long have we sat idle, waiting for our enemies to have their due. War is coming, and we will not be its victim.”
“No, not its victim. We can be its better,” Jarle said. “Our passion is for the hunt, not for the drums of war. Not for killing. We have strength and power now. Do we use it for conquest, or do we use it to become better?”
“We use it to defend ourselves against a world coming to war,” Niihlu said. “And you are too old and naïve to see this.”
“Then let us decide here by vote,” Jarle stated. “Who will stand for peace? Who will stand for Ehrde? Be brave and stand with me!”
Moments passed, and none did.
“It seems you stand alone,” Rasaol stated, walking out of the circle.
“That is unfortunate,” Jarle replied, lowering his head. “The west will not be with you in this.”
“We need a unified Nordruaut,” Rasaol commanded.
“The west will not war with Ehrde,” Jarle said.
“Then you will war with the east,” Rasaol said sadly. “Until we are one.”
“You may kill me now,” Jarle said, his heart wrenching in pain at the loss he knew was coming.
“No,” Rasaol said, holding up a hand to stop Niihlu’s approach. “Speak to your leaders in the west. We will give our sisters and brothers the respect they are due. They will decide to march with us, or there will be war.”
Jarle approached Rasaol an
d placed his hands on the man’s shoulders. He lowered his head in despair and muttered, “I know what they will say, and I fear for all Nordruaut.”
68
Epilogue Two
Like stalwart guardians, Dulgirgraut and Chryslaenor rested on their tips at both sides of the main entrance to Victoria’s chamber. The red aura of Dulgirgraut and the blue glow of Chryslaenor was comforting, and Angst hoped that, for a brief moment, they would get to enjoy some privacy and safety. Weeks had passed since the battle. He felt out of sorts and out of place in Victoria’s bedroom. The last time he had stumbled into this room, it had been a mess, a mistake that seemed a lifetime ago. Now, she felt much older, and the bright pastel colors of her room no longer seemed to fit the woman standing before him. It was as though she had returned to her childhood home after being away for many years. Despite its great size, her bedroom felt smallish, and he looked at her forlornly from across the room.
“Yes, that’s exactly how I feel,” Victoria said, turning away from the window.
“You’ve gotten better at that,” Angst confirmed with a wry smile. “Even after I bonded with both foci, you can still read my thoughts.”
“You don’t mind, do you?” she asked. “I mean, I can’t do that with everyone, but with you, it just seems to happen now. At least when you let me.”
“I don’t mind, Tori,” Angst stated sincerely. “What else is there to hide?”
Victoria giggled then looked at Angst. Her thin brows furrowed, and the corners of her pouty mouth pulled back. She walked toward him. Her white gown flowed regally behind her, almost glowing in its majesty.
“There isn’t a little something to hide, Angst?” she asked, stepping too close.
It was that game she had played to make him uncomfortable when she was younger, mere months ago. Rather than stepping back, Angst pressed forward and embraced Victoria, not as a friend but something more than a friend. He cared for her so much, he felt so much love for her, that an embrace hardly seemed enough. Angst felt sorrow, a loss for this moment that was temporary and fleeting. Their adventure was over, the last month had been a lifetime, more than he could have ever asked, everything he had ever wanted with her. And when he thought this, Victoria held on even tighter, clasping the back of his tunic, gripping it tightly with her little fists. He couldn’t hear her crying, but his shirt was nevertheless wet.
Angst felt a catch in his throat as he was struck by the realization that he would have to share her. She would be in demand by her entire kingdom, as well as by others. Once again there would be boys. Jaden, or the Jadens of the world, would be vying for her attention, and he would have to patiently wait his turn. He would wait, Victoria meant that much to him, but his deepest insecurity made him wonder if he meant that much to her. They were more than friends, yet far, far less than lovers, and as always, it was complicated to keep that balance. He had lost so much, first Moyra, and now...
At this, she started to pull away. “It doesn’t have to be over, Angst.” Victoria said, pulling back only a little.
“I don’t want it to be over, Tori,” Angst said, more pleadingly than he had intended. “But I can’t ask for more, nor do I have more to offer. Tonight, you take the crown. Unsel needs you, and there is no way you can leave again. I wouldn’t consider taking you away. It’s just—”
Victoria pressed her finger to Angst’s lips to shush him. “I love you, Angst, you know that,” she said quietly. “You’re my best friend. I trust you. I can tell you anything. You will always keep me safe and will fight the world to be there for me. It feels like you’ve already started.”
Angst nodded, not knowing what to say or how to share his feelings. He pulled her hand away from his face and held it.
“You make me feel important in a way different than being queen. You make me feel special. You love me unconditionally,” Victoria said in a whisper. “You deserve more than I will ever be able to offer you.”
Victoria drew away from him, walking to stand between her bed and the servant’s entrance. Light reflected off her golden hair and her long white gown. Angst was certain it was one of the most beautiful sights he would ever see. He gawked, unashamed, even when she blushed. He was proud that his friend was so beautiful in his eyes, even as a part of him hurt to know that this was all, that she wasn’t completely his. He turned to look out the window, sighing deep in his personal anguish.
“You’ve kept your hair blond,” Angst said wryly.
“You like that, don’t you?” Victoria asked.
Angst nodded but was otherwise quiet.
“Please, Angst,” Victoria asked. “Don’t you have anything to say?”
“Do I have to say it out loud?” he pleaded. “You already know—”
“It’s nice to hear,” she replied hopefully. “Don’t be a chicken.”
Angst smirked at the taunt Tarness had used throughout their adventure. She had taken steps back, so very far out of arm’s reach now that not even their fingers would touch. He steeled himself to answer.
“I love you so much,” Angst said in a deep, raspy voice. “I love you and everything about you. I will always try to be here for you, to be everything you need. This last month...I don’t know what to say but thank you. It’s almost everything I’ve ever wanted. I want more, but friendship is all I have to offer.”
Now Angst heard a catch in her breathing, as though she were gathering her strength. It sounded as if this was as hard for her as it was for him. He felt like they were breaking things and parting ways forever. That nothing would be the same once this meeting was done.
“It doesn’t have to be over, Angst, not completely,” the princess said. “It’s already better than I visioned it to be. I don’t want it to be over.”
“I don’t understand,” Angst said firmly, clenching his fist. “What do you mean? Better than you visioned? I don’t understand.” He continued staring out the window in frustration; it felt like she was teasing him, and prolonging the inevitable. A cool breeze made him shiver.
“You’re right. It won’t ever be like our adventure. But we don’t have to be apart. I still... I want you...” Victoria took a deep breath. “I want you to be my—”
There was a sloppy wet sound, a sad sound, an angry sound that made Angst spin about. One of Jormbrinder’s large triangular blades pierced Victoria’s stomach. She was grasping the point of the blade with both hands, looking at Angst in panic. Slick, hot blood covered the end of the foci and dripped to the floor.
“No!” he cried out.
Angst blurred to Victoria, catching her before she fell to her knees. He held his princess as she slowly lay back in his arms. She gripped the blade in one hand and held Angst’s face with the other. Her blood was warm on his cheek. Her eyes were wide in shock and fear and death; her face paled as her breaths grew increasingly short. He would heal her. He could do it with two foci! He gripped the back of the dagger and drew in every bit of knowledge the foci would impart to him. The dagger was stuck; he couldn’t pull it free.
“I love you, Angst.” Victoria coughed weakly. “I love you.”
Angst looked over his shoulder. Alloria stood with one hand covered in thick, crimson blood and the other holding the second blade of Jormbrinder. She seemed in shock, as though surprised by what she had done. Her hand, her entire body, shook violently. She looked at Victoria and then at Angst with sorrow-filled eyes. Tears streamed down her cheeks.
“Angst,” Alloria said pleadingly, her face contorted in anguish. “Angst, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” And in a blur, she was gone.
Angst scrambled around his princess, tripping over his own feet to reach Dulgirgraut. The twin foci were still glowing. They hadn’t been glowing in honor of him and his princess, but in warning. He had failed again, but for the last time. He would set things right. Drawing Dulgirgraut, he looked at Tori on her knees, the long golden blade of Jormbrinder through her chest, and decided.
He walked to the center of the room, and w
ith every ounce of resolve and fury, slammed the foci into the ground, calling forth the great spell. “At all cost!”
Front Matter
Cover art by:
Alessandro Brunelli
Editing by:
Angela D. Pedersen
Danielle Fine
© 2015 by David J. Pedersen
Odysia Press
All rights reserved.
Created with Vellum
Acknowledgments
It takes a team of very patient and dedicated people to make one of these novel things happen. I couldn’t do it without their encouragement and support. I couldn’t do it alone and have to thank all of them! My wife, Angie, does an amazing job of editing the first, very rough draft. She patiently listens to me drone on about ideas, saves me dinner after late writing sessions, and encourages me to keep going when I don’t feel like it. Speaking of patience, Becky, Matt and Mike provide invaluable insight and ideas as they review small handfuls of chapters that sporadically trickle in. Cristi not only provides excellent and colorful critiques for those rough drafts, she also models chainmail bikinis for me at cons – which I’m pretty sure is the real reason I sell books. Danielle Fine edits the final draft, challenging me in all the right ways. I truly believe she makes me a better writer. I also need to thank Alessandro Brunelli for his incredible cover art!
Finally, I thank you, my reader. It takes me a long time to write a novel, too long. I know that many have patiently waited, sticking with me the entire time. Your comments, reviews, messages, tweets—all keep me going. I couldn’t be more fortunate, or more grateful! Thank you!
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