“But…this? This cursed field and raising people from the dead? Was this really the right thing? Killing thousands of soldiers? Would you have done something like this to the army if you’d had the choice?”
“Yes.”
The one word rang within Aiden’s mind, circling and sweeping through him like a hurricane for several moments while Carol’s gaze bore into him.
“Aiden, you do not know some of the horrifying things the Ancients could do that I could have built if I had the time.” She turned, looking out over the black scar and gestured over it. “Weapons that would make this dark curse pale into insignificance and poison the land for a thousand years. Yes, this was terrible, and it makes me very afraid of what you can do, but as I hate to see this self-loathing and fear in your eyes, I am also thankful.”
“Thankful?” Aiden said, uncertainty flooding through him. “What do you mean, Thankful?”
Carol sighed, slumping as she turned back to Aiden and looked at him with a tear running down her cheek. “You take no joy in this, Aiden. I hate that one as young as you have to carry this burden, but I had to see your face when you looked upon this. I had to know that it terrified you as much as it terrified me. I will have my own burdens to bear before this is all over, and I will be there to help you with yours, but you must take this burden.”
Aiden felt tears streaming down his face, but slowly, his eyes moved back down to the walking stick. He stood like that for many minutes in silence. No one moved or made a sound until finally he bent and retrieved his burden.
Perhaps it was his imagination, but it felt heavier as he lifted it in his hand. He would change it. He would not leave the weapon as it was, able to take lives with a sweep of his arm, but he knew he could always change it back if he ever needed. And he hoped he would never have to need to again.
Despite his hope, he could almost hear the deep voice of the Mourning Lord telling him he would make Aiden save him. So be it. He would win this war.
***
The Duke of Brun
Chapter 1
Count Stavix stood and quietly watched his double shadow stretch over the broken ground around him. It was night and well-lit by the two moons Hagri and Tulugri. Despite the late hour, the two moons lit the surrounding area well and coupled with the many guards he’d brought with him to these desolate ruins; he was not concerned about anything actually hiding in the shadows themselves. It would be a desperate fool who tried to attack him here.
Still, he had been summoned here at this hour for a reason. The message he had received was unusual, and he should have ignored it. Instead, it had spurred his curiosity. I wish to discuss how to make you the new Duke. Signed; Man of Action. Meeting out in the middle of nowhere was folly for any great lord such as himself, especially in these dire times since the old Duke was supposedly dead, Terek Naval ships were off of their coast, and every lord was figuratively staring around themselves and fingering their collective daggers.
No, he thought sadly, it had to be an ambush by a rival. Maybe even that cretin General Rhendu had finally worked up the nerve to challenge him directly. The message hadn’t said anything about not bringing troops, so he’d brought plenty of them. Several companies of his best men surrounded him along with outriders for several kilometers so he would be aware of any threats. If anyone could muster a force large enough to successfully attack him here, he also had several escape routes planned.
Despite himself, however, the intriguing element was waning as the cold and boredom began to mount. He turned, lifting his hand for one of his men to approach.
“Bring the dancers around,” Count Stavix said, sneering out at the darkness for daring to waste his time. For whatever reason, the promised person had not appeared. Most likely they were apprehended out in the desert sands by one of his patrols. There were enough of his men combing the dunes around the small ruin that it was far more likely they would capture someone trying to get to him. At least he would have the pleasure of interrogating whomever it was in the morning.
Instead of nodding and retreating, the guard continued to stand by his side. When Count Stavix turned, he realized he wasn’t looking at one of his men but at a robe wrapped figure with a steel band where his eyes should be. There was a slit horizontally cut into the metal which was dark, and he couldn’t see the man’s eyes.
Stepping back, he looked and saw that all of the other soldiers that had been standing with him, a good dozen of his chosen guard, were gone. All of them replaced with replicas of this dark, faceless figure standing next to him. Stavix froze, his mind reeling. Were they assassins? Could he yell out in time for his other guards to hear? He could see some of his men moving further back and around the ruins though none were close. Had these strange figures been with him as he walked in and he just hadn’t noticed? Or somehow replaced them as he stood contemplating the foreign, dark landscape?
Did it matter? No. No, it didn’t. If these men were here to kill him, he was already dead. There were twelve of them and even the clumsiest hand holding a knife would find him many times before his men could save him. These intruders hardly looked like clumsy amateurs. There were only two choices, and he decided to go with the one that let him live.
“So, you are the ones I am supposed to meet, then?” Count Stavix said calmly. He knew his eyes had widened when he’d turned. It was impossible to erase that fact, so he gathered the armored robes of both confidence and power and wrapped them around himself tightly. “I am here, so speak. I do not have all evening to dawdle on fool’s errands.”
The figure closest to him shifted slightly. He could not see any features on the face though he imagined the same amused smile that would have graced his own if he were in the other’s position. The voice, however, was anything but amused. Cold would be a better word to describe it. Cold and rasping.
“Fœri,” the figure said.
“What?” Count Stavix responded in mild annoyance. He didn’t recognize the word but the way the man had said it felt like it held great weight.
“An old word, meaning opportunity,” The figure said slowly. Its accent was strange and clipped as if not used to speaking his tongue. “I am here to offer it to you, Count. It will be a prize to be sung about and fodder for stories written well into the next age. Things you find meaningless though it is also power we offer. The power you already seek, yet are dangerously close to losing.”
The Count could feel his eyes narrow as he frowned at the faceless men and began to recognize the accent. He had not heard it in many years. It was from the deep desert. Foolish idiots, he thought as he inwardly grimaced. Always following their saga’s filled with half-hidden meanings and stories. They were mystics, and the rabble of Brun filled their nights with tales of them meant to frighten their children.
All lies of course. The eastern lords kept to themselves and grew fat off of the crystal fields that they tended. The fields yielded some of the best quality glimmer stones on the planet and also remarkable breeder stones. There was no better quality, but it resulted in an unprecedented amount of power allocated to their reclusive tenders. No, their true power lay in their ability to keep the fields hidden and only dole out the crystals in their own time. He did not put any stock into any of the other stories about some of the supposed powers attributed to them.
At least, he didn’t use to. Looking around at the small group of robed and faceless men, he wondered once again how they had managed to sneak past all of his soldiers and then replace his personal guard. A small shiver trailed up his spine as he pondered how easily they had done so but he forced himself not to show his discomfort. Instead, he tilted his head and continued his charade of control.
“Power and opportunity,” Count Stavix drawled out slowly. “And what power am I seeking? I am already one of the most powerful lords of the cities, and I am well aware of who my rivals are. There is nothing more.”
The lie slipped easily off of his tongue. There was more. Much more. The Throne of Brun w
as what he desired though he wasn’t about to voice it out loud to strangers. Not that he hid his desire. He had already moved into the palace to assist the steward with handling the Ducal duties. The only things standing in his way was that damnable General Rhendu and the hard-to-ignore Navy of Terek floating off of their coast. Still, he had plans, and he was certain they would succeed.
The Easterner watched him for a moment before answering, the metal mask with the slit seeming to bore into Stavix more deeply because he could not see the eyes underneath. “The Ducal throne, as you well know, yet your grasping towards the throne as a child after a piece of candy. You are not alone. Others seek it, and while your power is great, it is not enough to take the throne and hold it. Your children shall never see the gold upon their heads but instead will only feel iron on their necks.”
“Bah!” Count Stavix said, turning away from the figure angrily. He did not like being told his plans were foolish and most especially did not like being called a child. “What would you know about such things? You hide in the deserts. Yes, I know who you are, Eastern Lord. Why should I bother to listen to you now?”
“Because we offer you a way to succeed,” the man said, pulling out a wrapped bundle from his robe. “One that cannot and will not be questioned.”
Count Stavix stepped back, watching as the man slowly began to unwrap whatever it was from its tattered bindings. Slowly, a gentle glow emerged as bindings fell away from the prize and Stavix could see elegant, golden bands appear in the man’s hand. They cast a warm glow on the desert around him, similar to firelight, and the Count could only stare in awe.
“Do you recognize these, dear Count?” said the figure, bathed in the gentle warm glow of what he held.
Count Stavix recovered his step and moved closer still, one of his hands twitching as he restrained himself from trying to grab at the prize. “This…this can’t be. These bands are only a myth.”
“Stories are power.” The old man said, holding the large rings up and turning them slowly as if admiring them himself. Their real effect was on the Count. “They hold root deep in the minds of men, and even you, mired in your gold and soldiers know what this is and also what it promises. It is the only way you will evade the grasping hands of your enemies, Stavix. It is the only way for you to secure your place on the Throne of Brun for you, and for your children.”
“Why,” the Count half-growled as he kept his eyes glued to the glowing prize. “Why offer me this? Why not offer it to General Rhendu, or even to that brat, Ashrak?”
“Because times are dark and we need strength on the throne.” The robed figure said, holding out the bands to the Count. “You are the path to that strength, Count. At the right time, when the high priest verifies the dead, you need to call for the trial of the Occulate Raun and play the part of one of the seekers. Only when the rest of the seekers return will you present the prize. No one will be able to challenge the rightful Duke.”
Count Stavix only had eyes for the glow of the magical Bands. They were the key to the throne that he needed. No one had called for the Trial of the Occulate Raun for generations, and even longer had it been since the bands had been seen to declare a new Duke. Still, when he presented these at the conclusion of the trial, he would be Duke. No one would question it in Brun. The Count shivered as they were placed in his hands, glowing and warm to the touch.
He didn’t even notice when strange, softly glowing strands slipped out of the air around each of the robed figures and seemed to pull them backward into nothingness. The Count stood like that, in a trance for at least ten minutes until he blinked and looked. He was alone. Quickly, he slipped the bands into his robe and called for his mount. It would be a short ride back to the city, and he had quite a lot of planning to do.
Chapter 2
“Ugh, what’s that smell?” Valeran said, wrinkling up his nose and making his beard bush out.
Ashrak leaned over the railing of the Skywitch, looking out over the reds and yellows of the sandy ground far below them as well as the brownish green ribbon of a river that broke the desert terrain. The river itself flowed only a kilometer or two further and then emptied into the ocean, creating a patchwork of flowing silt before finally settling into the deep blue.
They were descending toward the camp sitting along the banks of the river. The Lords of Brun had been reluctant to let any force of Terek gain a foothold, but Valeran had pushed hard with his negotiators. Ultimately he threatened to dump the bodies of the deceased ex-duke of Brun and two of his sons far out in the ocean if they weren’t allowed to have some protections for himself, Ashrak, and Chari.
It also didn’t hurt to have the powerful Terek Navy doing exercises just off of the coast and within easy reach of the tall spires and sweeping, decorated arches of the city of Brun. If the city had been an inland one, it might have been a different story. Between the two threats, they’d managed to secure a temporary camp for two-hundred or so troops that they could use as a base.
They located the camp about five kilometers outside of the city walls and only about a half-kilometer distant from the tanneries which were operating just upstream. There was also another, larger camp of Brunish troops nearby to keep an eye on them. Not close enough the two camps of soldiers might cause each other issues, but close enough to be a threat.
“Yep,” Ashrak said in disgust. “I thought this place sounded familiar. They put us right next to the tanneries.
Valeran snorted, joining Ashrak at the rail and frowning. “I knew they caved too early. Sometimes I miss the old days when all I had to worry about was pirates. Politicians are so much worse.”
“Well, the last time we had to deal with pirates, they erupted into spiders,” Ashrak said, looking at Duke Valeran out of the side of his eyes. “I don’t think that was very fun.”
“True,” Valeran said, pursing his lips and shuddering lightly. “I could have done without that nasty business. This won’t be a cakewalk either, Ashrak. I’m sure you know better than I do how much of a nest of vipers your father’s court is. With him gone, they’ll be more dangerous, and this will be a slow negotiation.”
Ashrak nodded glumly, letting his eyes drift over to the silhouette of the city where he’d grown up, and feared for his life almost every day of it. “I know. In a sick way, I wish I’d paid more attention to what was happening, but honestly, I never expected to be alive this long. When I arrived at Terek, I was hoping never to see Brun again.”
The Duke clapped his large hand on the tall, white-haired youth’s shoulder. “It is what it is, Ashrak. Romald gave us some good information on what the current political climate was like, at least as of a few weeks ago. He also said he would arrange to have one of his people meet us at the camp that will be able to update us. One thing is for certain; I won’t abandon you or Chari. We need to stabilize Brun so we can deny the Mourning Lords another power base.”
“Are you two worrying each other again?” Chari said, coming up and slipping her arms around Ashrak’s slim waist before pausing and wrinkling up her nose. “ugh? Smell?”
Ashrak put his hands over Chari’s as she hugged him from behind. “Tanneries, they put our camp just down from tanneries.”
Chari narrowed her eyes at the city five kilometers distant. “Well, at least I’ll have a project all lined up once we get things settled.”
Valeran glanced over at the silver-eyed girl and raised an eyebrow. “Project?”
“Oh, yes,” she said and smiled. “To find out who made that decision and make their lives a little difficult. This place has a terrible smell.”
The two men laughed and didn’t disagree as the Skywitch settled into the clearing that had been made available for the large skimmer. The ship had sleek lines and a gull-wing construction. Easily as large as a medium-sized sea-going vessel, it needed a lot of space, but that was one of the advantages of this being a desert clime. There was no shortage of wide-open spaces. Still, they would have to disembark from the vessel from one of
the lower hatches since there had been no time to construct a high enough platform.
As Ashrak stepped out onto the red desert sand with Chari by his side, he could see a small group of people waiting for them. Most looked like those he would expect. The Terek Ambassador waited with Several officers and two more figures who looked like natives of Brun. One was hooded and heavily robed, obviously trying to hide from the many eyes that were most likely watching the camp, but the other was a small, thin man who seemed to be eternally twitching and his eyes never seemed to rest.
“Your Grace,” Said the ambassador as he bowed low to Duke Valeran. He was a tall, graying man wearing well-trimmed clothes and carried himself like a lord. Ashrak could well imagine the patience it would take to deal with the Brunish lords, and he took an immediate liking to the man. “The camp is ready for you and your guests, sir. Let me escort you to your tent, and then I can fill you in on some of the more recent happenings.”
The Glimmer Steel Saga, Boxed Set, Books 1 - 4 Page 90
