Farindian Summer (Stavin DragonBlessed Book 4)

by Loren K. Jones

  Again, there was a disturbance among the Andarians, but the prince held them in check. “Lord General Zel’Jellan is my father-in-law, Prince Stavin.”

  Stavin looked him in the eye, then bowed deeply. “I regret any insult to you, Prince Jeffan. However, your father-in-law invaded Evandia’s new territory and waged a slash-and-burn campaign across much of the northern border region. He and his men murdered dozens, perhaps hundreds, of Evandian citizens. My father cannot ignore such a breach. Not so close to the signing of the treaty that was violated.”

  Prince Jeffan looked Stavin in the eye, then nodded. “The general’s commission has been revoked by my father. He will never again wear Andaria’s uniform. But I ask you for my wife’s father.”

  “He is yours. Warmaster, send for the prisoners.” Stavin didn’t turn as Barvil detailed one man to go get them.

  A different man rode his horse forward and stared at Stavin. “You have something of mine as well, Prince Stavin.”

  Stavin looked at the man, but couldn’t place him. “Do I? What is that?”

  “My father’s sword.”

  Stavin felt his breath catch in his throat as his head fell. He looked back up and stared into the man’s eyes as he asked, “You are the Heir of Zel’Hallan?”

  “I am Ambrin, eldest son of Shovar, Lord of Zel’Hallan.” He was taller than Shovar had been, but he had his father’s piercing gaze.

  “Stavi?” a young girl’s voice said, and he looked down to see Amarna standing beside the horses. She’d grown, the three years changing her far more than him. At six, or possibly even seven years of age, she was almost as tall as he was. But she didn’t look happy to see him. He dismissed that as the circumstances.

  Stavin smiled and dismounted. “Hello, Amarna,” he said as he stepped forward and removed his helmet. He felt a smile wide enough to hurt his face stretching his lips, but he didn’t care.

  When they were a pace apart she slapped his face and screamed, “You killed my grandfather!” in Old Tongue and a second slap followed the first.

  “No! Amarna, I didn’t! We didn’t fight! It was—”

  She screamed, “Liar! You killed my grandfather!” as she continued to slap at him with both hands. Stavin finally fell to his knees and had to protect his head with his arms as she continued to scream and slap him. When the blows stopped, he looked up to see her father holding her as she cried.

  “I didn’t,” he whispered. “Shovar yielded. It was his own general who killed him.”

  “I want my father’s sword,” the young lord snarled.

  “Kar, give it to him,” Stavin commanded. When Karvik looked at him with wide eyes, he snapped, “Now, Kar.”

  Karvik stepped forward and removed the sword from his baldric, then held it out on both hands by the center of the scabbard. Ambrin Zel’Hallan took the sword with all due ceremony, then drew it.

  Turning to Stavin, he said, “For the life of my daughter, I give you yours. Never again let our paths cross, Stavin Zel’Andral, or we shall see what happens when Dragon Gifts fight.” Then, as a last reminder, he reached out with the tip of the sword and cut Stavin’s cheek.

  As soon as Stavin’s blood touched the blade, the sword ignited and light engulfed it and Ambrin—and because she was still hugging her father, Amarna as well. Stavin screamed “No!” as the magic burned in front of him and didn’t stop until the sword fell to the ground. Of Ambrin and Amarna, there was no trace. Then all was silence except for the sound of Stavin weeping where he knelt.

  Barvil and the rest of his men moved forward to surround Stavin. “Prince Jeffan,” Barvil said, drawing the prince’s attention, “I think you should take your people home. Kar, pick up that damn sword before someone else gets hurt.” Looking at the prince again, he continued. “We rescued Amarna and the others three years ago, and I feel her loss no less than Prince Stavin.” Barvil stepped forward to look the young prince in the eye. “Prince Jeffan, tell your father about this. Pitting Dragon Gifts against one another is lethal. The greater of the gifts consumes the lesser.”

  The prince was staring at Barvil with a bewildered expression on his face, then bowed his head. “I will do as you ask, Warmaster. As soon as I have my father-in-law.”

  In a matter of moments, the prisoners were brought forward. The general surged forward, almost shouting, “Prince Jeff, you must attack these—”

  “Be quiet,” Prince Jeffan snapped, silencing the general. “You are relieved of command and dismissed from the Army, Naldan. If it weren’t for Betha, you’d be facing a headsman.”

  “But, Prince Jeff, I was only doing—”

  “You violated a treaty that was only a few moons old!” the prince screamed. “We have more trouble than we can handle north of the river, and you went to war with Evandia to make more!? You wait until my father gets hold of you. I don’t know what was in that empty head of yours.”

  The prince turned to Barvil and nodded. “We will be out of Evandia by sunset tomorrow.” He shifted his gaze to where Stavin still knelt. “Prince Stavin, I—” He bit his lips and shook his head, then mounted his horse and rode away.

  Barvil looked at his men. “Have Stavin’s tent brought up here and set it up. Tell Colonel Zel’Fordal that the Andarians are withdrawing and will be gone tomorrow.” He looked at his prince and son, but wasn’t surprised by what he saw. Karvik was standing so close to Stavin that his leg was almost touching his friend. Almost, but not quite. He shook his head, then said, “Kar, get that sword away from him. Go scrounge a new scabbard for it.” When Karvik had gone, Barvil knelt beside Stavin. He grasped Stavin’s wrists and said, “Let me see.”

  Stavin pulled his hands away from his face, but there was no blood. No cut marred his cheek. In the place where the Sword of Zel’Hallan had cut him, a patch of metallic gold glittered in the sun.

  Chapter 46

  THE PACIFICATION FORCE WATCHED IN SILENCE as the Andarian Army withdrew early the next morning. Prince Jeffan sent one last message over to Stavin, written out on a slip of parchment. “Prince Stavin, it is my hope that we shall one day share a bond of friendship. Until that day I say this: I am not your enemy. Jeff.”

  Stavin nodded, but didn’t make eye contact with the messenger. “Tell your prince I also hope for a more cordial future. You may go.” The messenger bowed deeply, then mounted his horse and rode away. When the Andarians had marched beyond a curve in the road, Stavin gave his instructions. “Gav, have that fortress investigated. Make sure no one was left behind. We’ll camp here another day.”

  “As you wish, Prince Stavin,” Colonel Zel’Fordal replied, then began sending out his men.

  Dahvin stepped up beside Stavin and laid a hand on his shoulder. “It wasn’t your fault, Stave. No one could have anticipated what would happen when your blood touched the sword.”

  “No, Dahvin, it was my fault. I should have given the sword back last year, but I let my greed, my own desire for the power it represented, overwhelm me.”

  “And what then?” Barvil asked. “He would have cut you just the same.”

  “I know,” Stavin whispered as he continued to stare at the distant fortress, “but it would have been different. There wouldn’t have been so much of the Dragon Magic in me. He could have left a scar as honor demanded, and that would have been that. And Amarna wouldn’t have been there.”

  “Yes, she would have, Stave,” Karvik said from his father’s side.

  “But she wouldn’t have died,” Stavin whispered. Now he turned so the rest of the men could see the tears running down his face. “She wouldn’t have died hating me.”

  No one had an answer for that.

  Stavin turned to gaze at the fortress once again. The map said it was Fort Zel’Nalvar. The town of Zel’Nalvar Crossings had once thrived next to it, farming and living off the trade that flowed up the road Stavin had come down, and through Farindia from Andaria to Kavadia. Now only scattered foundations marked the ruins of the town, and the gates of the fortres
s stood open to the road.

  A ten-man search party was sent through the fortress, but no people were found. It was evident that someone had been living in the fort, inhabiting several upper rooms of the keep and farming the inner courtyard. The best guess anyone could make was that the inhabitants had fled in front of the Andarian Army.

  Stavin received the report at the same time as Gavlin. When Gav had dismissed the searchers, Stavin spoke. “Leave the fort open, Gav, but leave a note that the people have to find somewhere else to live. The Evandian Army will be returning with an occupying force soon enough.”

  “I had thought to leave a hundred men and one of the Andarian supply wagons here, Prince Stavin,” Gavlin said as he faced his prince.

  “Why bother?”

  Gavlin smiled slightly. “Because Fort Zel’Nalvar is an Evandian Army fort now. Lord General Zel’Rantal is going to want to garrison it.” He shrugged and let a wry expression cross his face. “They can also see about repairing it a little before a full garrison arrives. At least enough to close the gates.”

  Stavin thought for a moment, then nodded. “Do as you think best, Gav. Give them instructions to let whoever is living there retrieve their things. There is no reason to dispossess these people. Also, offer the people the opportunity to settle here if they want to.”

  “As you wish, Prince Stavin,” Gavlin replied with a deep bow, then began giving orders. One of the Andarian wagons was brought forward and parked in the fort courtyard, though they did make an effort to not destroy the crops. Colonel Zel’Fordal left one of his young lieutenants in charge with a simple admonition: Keep the peace. Then the army marched on, turning toward Skykon.

  It was a fourteen-day march from Fort Zel’Nalvar to Skykon, and the weather turned nasty on the ninth day. Rain fell in sheets and Stavin nodded when Gavlin brought up the subject of stopping. “I hate riding in the rain, and I can’t even imagine what it’s like for the infantry. Choose some high ground, Gav. This looks like a bad one.”

  Gavlin bowed, then began shouting orders. Hardan and Dahvin were also giving orders, and Stavin’s big tent was set up. At Stavin’s questioning glance, Dahvin explained, “You might want to sleep in your tent, Prince Stavin, but that big one will make excellent storage for our gear.”

  Stavin had to laugh at that. It felt good. He hadn’t laughed since Amarna—

  The laugh died in the back of his mind, tripping over the body of a child.

  He and Karvik set their tents, then he climbed in and laid down with his eyes closed. For an instant, for one glorious moment, he had forgotten about the death of Amarna and her father. Now the guilt again tore into his soul.

  Those two deaths troubled him the way none of the others had, even Lord Zel’Hestel. And it really hadn’t been his fault. But at night, when he was alone in his mind, he thought that maybe it had been. He should have warned Ambrin not to let the gifts touch, but he knew the young lord wouldn’t have believed him. He should have dived into the boil of light and saved Amarna, but he was too hurt to think of it. He should have done something, but he’d just knelt and cried as father and daughter burned.

  He touched the spot of gold on his cheek. It was warm and flexible, like plain old skin, but the texture was wrong. It was smooth, like his armor. It was yet another manifestation of the dragon’s power, and it frightened him. My blood is magical now.

  The foot of his tent opened and Karvik crawled in beside him. “Scoot over,” Karvik said as he wormed his way up beside Stavin, dragging his gear.

  “What are you doing?”

  “My tent has a hole in it. Besides, I have this,” Karvik replied, pulling an earthenware jar from his kit.

  Stavin’s curiosity was piqued. “What’s that?”

  Karvik grinned and opened the jar. “Marmalade.”

  Stavin’s eyes opened wide. “Where did you get that?” he asked in a breathy whisper as he stared at the jar.

  “Home. Mom made it.”

  Stavin’s eyebrows rose even farther. Sahrena Kel’Carin’s skill at making jams, jellies, and preserves was legendary. He looked at the jar and his friend and said, “It’s nice to share.”

  Karvik laughed and offered the jar to Stavin first, just like old times. Stavin took a finger full and stuck it in his mouth. He sighed, “Oh, Gods Above, that’s good.” Karvik grinned and grabbed some for himself.

  In the next tent, Barvil lay on his back and smiled. It had taken some wheedling from both Karvik and himself to get Sahrena to part with the preserves. She knew all about her son’s sweet tooth, and she knew her prince’s sweet tooth as well.

  Then all he’d had to do was rub a hole in Karvik’s tent and wait.

  Chapter 47

  THE RAIN FELL FOR TWO DAYS. The Pacification Force stayed in their tents and did anything they could to relieve the boredom. Stavin and Karvik played at flip-stones for span upon span, and by the end of the first day Stavin was thoroughly convinced that his best friend in the whole world was a miserable cheat.

  “No one can be that lucky,” Stavin muttered as Karvik beat him yet again.

  “It isn’t luck, Stave, it’s skill.”

  “My soggy feet it’s skill. No one can play that good consistently.”

  Karvik chuckled. “And before this I would have sworn no one could play that bad consistently. Where is that finely-honed intellect you used to brag about?”

  Stavin sighed and rolled over onto his back. “Drown. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, Kar. It’s like all the subtlety has faded away, leaving nothing behind but a brute.”

  Karvik studied him for a moment before answering. “Like you want to ride ahead and bull through any opposition to the annexation?”

  “Yes.”

  Karvik reached over and turned Stavin’s face toward him. “Do you remember the last time you started dreaming of conquest?” he asked as he looked into his friend’s eyes.

  “When I—Oh, Gods Be—The amulets.”

  Karvik nodded. “It’s not as strong, and certainly friendlier, but it’s the same thing. The sword and your armor are working together, trying to get you to pick it up again.”

  “I am not going to take off my armor out here, Kar.”

  “Agreed,” Karvik said in all seriousness, “but you can do something about the sword.”

  “What? I can’t risk sending it to Andaria for the next heir of Zel’Hallan.”

  “Kel’Kavin is closer,” Karvik pointed out. “We’re five days from Trade Town and it’s six days to Kel’Kavin from there. Send a detail north to put the sword in the royal suite or armory. Have Charvil take care of it.”

  “But what if I need it again?” Stavin asked, then looked at Karvik. “What if you need it?”

  Karvik chuckled. “I got a really good sword from the Andarian war booty. Looked kind of familiar, like it used to be mine.” He grinned at Stavin’s puzzled expression. “When the Andarian weapons were collected, they found my sword and collected it as well. I’ve just been wearing the Sword of Zel’Hallan because I didn’t want it out of my sight. And it is a magnificent sword, even without magic.”

  “And you’d give it up?” Stavin asked.

  Karvik looked him straight in the eye as he answered. “In a heartbeat. Oh, I admit that I’d love to go into battle with it in my hand again, but not at the cost it exacts. I’d prefer to have you at my side and my old sword in my hand than you lost to the magic.”

  Stavin took a deep breath and sighed. “Thank you, Kar.”

  The morning dawned brisk and clear, and the Pacification Force prepared to move on. “Oh, Gods Below, it’s freezing out here,” Karvik complained as he and Stavin saw to their gear.

  Stavin looked at him and shrugged. His armor was, as always, keeping him relatively comfortable. “It’ll warm up soon,” he offered as Karvik continued to grumble.

  Barvil joined them with a steaming hot cup of kava in his hands. “Get it while it’s hot. Gav wants to get moving as soon as possible.” Stavin and Karv
ik both nodded their agreement and went to the cook tent. Once they were taken care of, Barvil continued. “I’m putting the Royal Guards out front, Stavin. You’ll be right behind them with Dahvin and his twenty men around you, but I want those tabards visible. Same reasoning as down south.”

  Stavin nodded. “Yes, Warmaster.”

  Barvil grinned slightly at that. “The last place we’re likely to receive any serious opposition is Trade Town. When they see it’s us, they should think twice about resisting. If anyone in Farindia knows what we’re really like, it’s the Traders.”

  Stavin and Karvik nodded their agreement. “Barvil,” Stavin said as he stepped closer, “once we’re sure of Trade Town, I’m going to send the sword north to Kavinston. Get Charvil to stow it away someplace safe.”

  Barvil looked between his prince and son for a moment. “Are you sure you want to do that?”

  “No,” Stavin answered softly. “I want to take up the sword and slaughter everyone who opposes us—me. That’s why it has to go. It’s like the amulets. So long as it’s here, I’m going to want to use it.”

  Barvil was nodding. “Not a word to anyone else. Except Kahndar. We’ll send him and ten men home after Trade Town. Urgent messages for the Elders’ Council. I’ll think of something.”

  Stavin and Karvik both came to attention, then bowed. They said, “Yes, Warmaster,” in unison, and it was all Barvil could do not to laugh out loud at their behavior.

  Dahvin wasn’t as restrained. “Oh, Gods Above, you two are just too much,” he chuckled and offered Barvil a slight bow. “We’re ready, Warmaster.”

  Barvil bowed in return. “Very well, Captain Zel’Fordal. Form your men up around these two and I’ll have Darak and Hardan lead the Warriors ahead.”

  The force moved out at the marching pace of the infantry, and headed down the road toward Trade Town. It was just five days away.

  Chapter 48

  THE FIRST INDICATION THAT THEY WERE going to face serious resistance came late on the fourth day. The force was just stopping for the evening when a shower of arrows fell among the leading guardsmen. None of them came anywhere near Stavin, but a dozen warriors fell from their horses. The rest broke ranks and rode into the forest.