Aethir

by DeWayne Kunkel

  “Very well,” The guard turned and stepped through the gate.

  The gate was narrow and low and it took Connell a few moments to convince his horse to pass through. Once on the other side he stepped into a crowd of Soldiers. They stepped aside allowing him to pass.

  The guardsman called for a mount and one was brought forward. He mounted and adjusted the sword upon his hip. “Come,” He said turning his mount and trotting down the pass.

  They left the pass an hour before midday. The land stretched out below them in high hillsides covered by a dense pine forest. On a broad hilltop stood the high tower of Carich encircled by a stout wall of dressed stone. From the curtain wall’s bastion flew the colors of prince Gaelan.

  “Why do I not see the standard of the king above the gate?” Connell asked the guard.

  “King Gaelan does this out of respect for his father. He will not accept the title until the killers of his sire have been put to justice.” The guard answered. “We need no banners, we know who our rightful liege is.”

  Connell knew Gaelan was indeed fortunate to have such loyal men at his side. Connell wondered how much his cousin had changed since they last saw each other so many years ago.

  Marcos leaned over towards D’Yana. “Did you know Connell had such influence in these lands?”

  D’Yana shook her head. “I have known him for many years but he has always kept most of his past a secret. Perhaps Casius knows?”

  Casius grinned, “I know as much as he wishes to be known, and nothing more.”

  Marcos laughed and D’Yana looked somewhat vexed.

  “What kind of answer is that?” She asked in frustration.

  “I do believe young Casius is keeping his word, a promise to our companion.” Marcos said. “I will respect your loyalty and will not press you on this matter.”

  “Thank you Marcos.” Casius said with relief, the last thing he wanted was to be pestered with questions to which he could give no answer.

  “I have a feeling many of our questions will be answered soon.” Marcos added for D’Yana’s benefit.

  Casius marveled at the power the keep projected. This was no decorative wall surrounding a prosperous city. This was an instrument of war, strongly built with no decorations cluttering the clean lines of the stonework.

  The Bastion housed the dark open maw of the keep. The portcullis was raised and the sunlit cobbles of the bailey could be seen through the shadowed opening.

  Above them Men stood behind the crenellations, their armor reflecting the sunlight in bright flashes as they moved about.

  The guard led them past the curious sentries, and into the keep through the short tunnel. The murder holes yawned darkly in the gloom above their heads.

  Once in the bailey armored men stepped forward and took the reins of their horses. Connell’s large mount went willingly, it seemed the warhorse was comfortable in these surroundings.

  Their guide led them to the tower with a curt nod the guards stepped aside and opened the stout door. The opening led directly into a hall that took up most of the towers base.

  Gaelan stood within the center of the room studying a stack of maps placed upon the table before him. He looked up as they entered, his eyes narrowed for a moment before widening in surprise. “Connell!” He shouted rushing over to shake his cousins hand. “I had thought you to be still running about in Lakarra?”

  Connell shrugged, “I have only just recently returned, Gaelan.”

  Gaelan’s face grew somber. “Then you have not come with word from Kesh?”

  “No, our journey did not include Kesh.” Connell answered. “Gaelan what has happened here? I have heard the rumors, but I place little value in them.”

  “My father was murdered.” Gaelan said coldly. “By a man named Goliad. This scoundrel has claimed to be nobility from Ril’Gambor, but I say he is not. He comes to Galloglass hall and in the blink of an eye my sister is besotted with him.

  “It was only a matter of time until they were wed. My father saw through Goliad’s veneer, he only hoped that Weyass would as well given time.” Gaelan paused raising a tankard to his lips. “What she saw in that pale villain is beyond me.” He set the tankard down sharply. “Goliad allied himself with lord Vernal of the lesser houses. Together they killed my father in his bed chamber and conspired to accuse me of the crime.”

  “What of Weyass and the other lords?” Connell asked.

  “The Lords of the Landsmarch were either killed or imprisoned. A few escaped and they are supporting me in my claim to the throne. As to Weyass, she has not been well for a long time. It is as if her wits were struck from her. She does nothing without Goliad’s instruction. She remains secluded in her rooms refusing to see anyone save her husband.”

  “You were fortunate to escape then.” Connell said removing his gauntlets and tossing them onto the table.

  “It was Burcott’s men who freed me from the cells beneath my fathers keep. Would you believe Goliad has brought the Morne into Trondhiem?”

  Connell looked to Marcos at the mention of Morne. “Yes,” He answered. “I would believe it. The situation is far worse than you know Gaelan.”

  “How so?” Gaelan asked puzzled by Connell’s comment.

  “Let me introduce my companions to you first.” Connell said. “D’Yana, Casius, Suni, and Marcos.” Connell pointed each as he named them.

  They bowed their heads in turn to the young king who smiled in greeting.

  “Marcos has a tale to tell,” Connell said once the introductions were finished. “Keep an open mind Gaelan, you are about to learn things that I would find hard to believe if I hadn’t experienced much of them myself.”

  Gaelan pointed to the map-strewn table. “Then let us sit.” He said inviting them to take a place upon the worn benches. “I can have food and ale brought if you would like.”

  “After we have discussed what I must tell you.” Marcos said taking a seat at the table. “The fewer ears in this room the better.”

  Gaelan sat down. “Very well, please continue.”

  “The Morne are within your borders, and trolls are moving through Lakarra. Warlocks and Fell hounds have made their presence known as well. Your troubles in Trondhiem are but a small part of a greater danger we all face.”

  “What danger?” Gaelan asked. Ordinarily he would have scoffed at the news of Warlocks and Fell hounds but he had received word of the Morne’s hounds in his lands.

  “Once more the fate of the world hangs in the balance. The Morne have united beneath the Storm god’s banner.” Marcos answered. “He has returned to V’rag and has set his plans into motion. What has come to pass thus far are only the first tentative strikes of the war yet to come.”

  “Are you telling me that some Morne chieftain has proclaimed himself a god and is now seeking to start a war with man?” Gaelan asked wishing he had ordered the ale brought before Marcos began speaking.

  “No, King Gaelan.” Marcos said. “I am telling you that Sur’kar himself has returned. It is he who is your true enemy. Goliad may be nothing more than one of his pawns. In the end all kings will fall before the dark yet to come.”

  Gaelan shook his head and looked at Connell. “Do you think I have time for this?” He asked his cousin.

  “You know me Gaelan.” Connell answered. “I am not the type to go about the countryside spreading myths of woe and doom.”

  “I knew you once, Connell. But that was long ago, it is possible that you have gone mad during that time.”

  “He is as sane as any man can be.” Marcos said interrupting them and drawing Gaelan’s attention.

  The candles dimmed and even the roaring fire in the hearth suddenly went out. The room was cast into darkness. The very air seemed to grow cold and heavy, pressing down upon them.

  Gaelan jumped to his feet and stepped back from Marcos. The man’s left hand burned like the sun, a faint corona of argent light flickering across his body. “I am of the Tal’shear, king Gaelan. The last o
f my kind left to stand against Sur’kar.”

  The light faded and the candles brightened. Even the fire in the hearth flared to life as if it had never faded.

  “Believe as you may, King Gaelan.” Marcos continued once the room had returned to normal. “We are seeking the one thing that will stop Sur’kar, and we must cross your lands to get it.”

  Gaelan stood looking at Marcos in disbelief. He was not sure what he had just witnessed had truly occurred. He shook his head and walked to where the fire blazed in the hearth. “I need your help Connell.” He said leaning against the mantle. “We cannot stand against the Morne, while Trondhiem is torn asunder from within. Should Trondhiem fall then the Morne will have an open road to the east.”

  “What would you have me do?” Connell asked. “I am only one sword.”

  “Go to Kesh,” Gaelan said. “Have the King send aid. Although my numbers have grown, we do not have the strength to uproot Goliad and his lizards!”

  “You know why I must refuse,” Connell replied. “Send an emissary.” He suggested.

  “I have sent four to the Spire.” Gaelan said. “Two of them never made it. The two who did reach the city were turned away at the gates once their business was known.” Gaelan returned to the table. “It seems the king has no desire to be drawn into a war for Trondhiem’s throne.”

  Connell shook his head. “I cannot go,” He protested. “My journey lies westward, you know I have sworn never to set foot in the Spire again.”

  “Then all is lost,” Gaelan said sadly. “With out aid Trondhiem will fall to the Morne.”

  “Lets not be too hasty in refusing Connell.” Casius spoke up, slightly embarrassed at having done so. This was a King after all. “What good would it do to slay Sur’kar but leave the Morne to raise the east? Once entrenched their yoke will be difficult to cast aside.”

  “There is merit to young Casius’s words Connell.” Marcos said approvingly.

  Connell crossed his arms and exhaled a deep breath. “Your right Casius.” He said softly. “What kind of man would I be to put my pride before the lives of thousands that would die on Morne blades.” He looked to Gaelan. “I will go, but I make no promises. It may be better if you sent a less controversial emissary.”

  Gaelan smiled in relief, the fires of hope rekindled in his heart. He spared a quick glance towards Marcos. “I can think of no other group better suited to persuade King Wolhan.”

  “We will need supplies for the Journey.” Connell added

  Gaelan nodded, “You can have every bit of grain and wheel of cheese in this keep if you desire it.” Gaelan smiled. “That is what is left, I’ve sent much of our stores to Lord Fullvie.”

  “There’s a name I’ve not heard in a long while.” Connell said with a smile. “How is the old warrior?”

  “Well,” Gaelan answered. “He has traveled south with a large number of men several weeks ago.” Gaelan slid a map in front of Connell and put his finger on the inked tower to the south. “We have feared Morne coming across the Bal’Trae hills. His men will protect the southern border from Fro’Hadume.”

  “Fro’Hadume,” Connell said with a whistle. “He’s got more balls than brains to stay within that keep.”

  Gaelan laughed. “That he does Connell.”

  “I’ve heard of him,” D’Yana said. “Is he as formidable as people claim?”

  “Probably more so than you’ve heard.” Gaelan answered. “His family carries much of the old blood in their veins. They are large men, natural born leaders, and terrifying warriors. The men of his line are prone to heroic deeds.”

  Gaelan stood and started for the door. “Let’s have something to eat, while you tell me of your travels.”

  They dined in the hall on roast pork, cheese and dried fruit. Ale was brought, ice cold and strong. Gaelan listened to their stories with interest. He was staring at them in disbelief when they told of the battle between the wood king and Ma’ul.

  “Had I heard this tale from another I would call him a liar.” He told Connell.

  “As would I,” Connell remarked. “But it’s true nonetheless.”

  They talked into the early morning hours, Gaelan offering them rooms in the tower for what remained of the night.

  Casius was grateful, the fire in the hearth and thick quilts kept the bitter cold at bay, and he slept comfortably for the first time in many weeks.

  After a hearty breakfast Gaelan saw them off on their journey. He rode as far as the wall across Tro’marg pass. With packs full of supplies and a good nights rest behind them they bid farewell to the new king and rode down out of the pass and back into the uninviting lands of Brymir.

  Connell led them along the foothills heading northeast. He looked distracted, lost in his own thoughts.

  Casius prodded his mount forward until he rode along side Connell. “Deep thoughts?” He asked drawing Connell’s attention.

  “Remember when I told you about relinquishing my birthright? After an argument with my father I decided to leave Kesh?”

  Casius nodded, “Kesh is a large country Connell, I doubt we will run into your father.” He said guessing at what was weighing heavy on his friend’s mind.

  Connell chuckled. “There was bad blood between us and though I would have it otherwise, I’m afraid we will see him.” Connell lowered his voice, so the others would not hear. “You see Casius, King Wolhan is my father.”

  From the way Connell laughed Casius’s jaw must have bounced upon his horses neck.

  “We will soon learn if the better part of fifteen years has soothed the old wounds we inflicted upon each other.”

  Casius was stunned by Connell’s revelation. “Connell,” he said regaining his composure. “Do you have any other surprises we should know about?”

  Connell actually seemed to consider the question before answering. “No, that one was the last.”

  “Good,” Casius said shaking his head in disbelief. “Are you going to tell the others?”

  Connell looked over at his traveling companions riding a short distance behind them. He smiled as D’Yana waved to him. “Not now, they will find out soon enough once we reach Kesh.” He answered looking ahead once more. “I’m not in the mood to answer too many questions.”

  Casius shrugged, “It’s your call.” He said not agreeing with his friend. “But I know a certain woman who is not going to be happy about it.”

  Connell laughed, “Just let me prolong my demise a few days yet.”

  For five days they rode eastward keeping within the shadow of the Dragon Spine Mountains. On the sixth day the mountains turned abruptly northward leaving a line of rugged tree topped hills across their path.

  They made camp that night alongside a fast running rill. The ice-cold water originated far up on the mountain slopes. Flowing noisily down the moss covered rock until eventually disappearing into the forest.

  “Early tomorrow morning we will be in Kesh.” Connell informed them while they sat eating about the fire. “By nightfall we should be within the halls of Red spire.”

  “Is it true that the keep is carved within the peak of a mountain?” Casius asked, excited about seeing a place he had read about often.

  “Not so much a mountain, Casius.” Connell answered. “A pillar of blood red stone that rises over two thousand feet above the Ameldor plain.”

  “Gil’Galdov it was named in the days before the breaking of the world.” Marcos added.

  “No matter what you call it, the Spire is a wondrous sight to behold as the first light of a new day strikes the stone. Countless crystals within the rock capture the suns first rays, literally bursting into light as if the very spire itself was afire.” Connell smiled at the memory. “About its base there is a city, one like no other in this world. Old and noble, most Keshian’s reside within its great walls. A sanctuary of learning and philosophy, it is the home of some of this worlds greatest thinkers.”

  Casius laughed, “I thought Kesh was known for its warriors?”
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br />   “They are there Casius,” Connell continued. “The Spire rises from the middle of a great park. Within the gardens lay thousands of tombs, earthen mounds that house the remains of our greatest Kings and Heroes. The Wyremounds they are named, carefully tended by the same soldiers who guard the King.”

  “There is much history locked within Gil’Galdov.” Marcos said poking at the fire with a twig. “What you see now is only a shadow of what once was. The Spire as you call it was the heart of a great complex of libraries. Before the breaking there were six grand terraces, each higher than the one before it until reaching the central keep. Marvels of engineering and beauty, they were a testament to our peoples. From this place ruled the kings of the earth, men blessed with much wisdom.” Marcos tossed the twig into the fire. “Only the heart remains protected by the stone of Aytor.”

  “What is that?” D’Yana asked.

  “A legend,” Connell answered. “Something spoken of only in the oldest records.”

  “I have stood within the Hall of Kings, Connell.” Marcos said. “It is much more than a legend, it was a gift from my people to yours. An ancient talisman with the power to unveil falsehoods, many of the old Kings took their vows before the stone. For a deceitful heart could not suffer the touch of its light.”

  Connell shook his head in disagreement. “I have stood within the throne room Marcos, there is no magical Talisman.”

  “Odd,” Marcos said. “Such was its nature that it could not have been spirited away.” He rubbed his hands on his knees. “No matter, tomorrow will reveal what lies hidden today.”

  Gaelan stood alone in his sparse quarters, a tankard of wine all but forgotten on the small table near his bed. It was just past midnight, and even with the crackling fire the drafty room was cold.

  Pacing the floor, he devised plan after plan, only casting them aside as he considered their flaws.