Aethir

by DeWayne Kunkel

  What had started out, as a promising day with Connell’s departure for Kesh was suddenly made darker by the arrival of Burcott’s messenger.

  The news of Burcott’s victory over Goliad’s raiders was well received. But the messenger also told of a large force of men that were encamped not more than fifteen miles from here.

  Their number was well over two thousand; many of them appeared to be conscripts but they bore weapons nonetheless. And now, not less than an hour past a messenger had reached him from Lord Hurin, his force had been routed. What remained of his men was even now retreating towards Timosh.

  Goliad had attacked with a large force of men and Morne, they now held the Northern highlands and it was only a matter of time before they attacked Carich.”

  Gaelan cursed, he had waited too long. He had been foolish believing he could gather enough men to challenge the combined forces of Morne and the men of the lesser houses.

  An idea came to him as he paced, bold and reckless. It was a dangerous gamble but should it succeed he would end this war in one fell stroke.

  Throwing open the door to his chambers he called for his officers.

  Chapter Seven

  Wrapped within their heavy cloaks they rode across the frost-laden hills. The sun had risen over an hour ago but the day was yet bitterly cold. A strong wind blew in from the west bringing with it thick dark clouds burdened with snow.

  Cresting a high hill, Connell reined Tantalus to a stop. A break in the trees afforded them a view of the land below. The dense forest covered the land ahead for several miles. Beyond it lay a fertile plain bordered by the mountains on one side and the wild waters of the North Sea to the east.

  “There is Red Spire, our destination.” Connell pointed to a slim needle of blood colored stone on the horizon.

  Casius stared in wonder. It must be a magnificent sight to behold if it was visible from this distance.

  “Riders!” Suni warned pointing westward.

  Bursting through the evergreens rode twenty men. Their horses charging at a full gallop, they would be upon them in less than a minute.

  Casius gripped his swords hilt, “Do we fight?” He asked knowing that there was nowhere for them to run to.

  “Only if you wish this to be your last day upon this earth.” Connell answered. “They are the Keshian Home guard, it is their duty to protect the borders of this land.” Connell looked to his companions and could see the wariness in their eyes. “Let go your weapons, we are in danger.”

  Despite Connell’s assurances, Casius was apprehensive. Watching such a large force of armed men bearing down upon them while they did nothing was unnerving. The horses they rode were monsters, every bit as imposing as Connell’s mount. Powerful dark colored brutes that shook the earth beneath their hooves.

  The approaching men were dressed in dark leather with breastplates of bronze. A single black stripe crossed the burnished metal diagonally starting at their left shoulder.

  They carried neither shield nor spear. The only weapons visible were long curved sabers upon their hips. Behind them streamed mottled cloaks of deep green and black, on their heads were close fitting helms of leather and steel.

  The charging warriors rode around behind the group, reining their horses to a stop between them and the lands of Kesh. Harsh eyes studied them, while gauntleted hands rested upon their sabers hilts.

  One of the riders let his mount take two steps forward. He was an older man with wisps of graying hair falling out from behind his helm. He was clearly their leader his breastplate marked with two ebon stripes. “The way ahead of you is closed.” He said firmly. “Go back into Brymir, do so at once!”

  “Never have I heard of such a thing,” Connell exclaimed. “First Trondhiem and now my own homeland. Has the entire north gone mad?”

  The warrior ignored Connell’s remarks. “Leave at once,” He repeated sliding his saber from its scabbard.

  “I come bearing a message from King Gaelan of Trondhiem.” Connell said inching Tantalus forward. “I must speak with your liege.”

  The men drew their sabers, the steel ringing in the still wood.

  The man looked into Connell’s eyes, “I am to allow none passage.” He seemed to hesitate as if something in Connell’s gaze seemed familiar.

  “Would you deny a son the right to speak with his father, G’thur?”

  The man exhaled one long breath that clouded the air about his face. A smile spread across his weathered features. “By the gods!” He exclaimed sheathing his blade. “It is good to see you, although the boy I remember is gone.”

  “You too old friend,” Connell said shaking the man’s hand.

  G’thur turned to his men, “Put away your blades,” He ordered. “Connell Malkor has returned!”

  The men sheathed the gleaming steel and sat in their saddles their backs arrow straight. There was surprise in their eyes but they said nothing.

  Casius could not help but smile at the look upon D’Yana’s face. There must have been a thousand questions fighting to burst from her lips. She caught Casius’s eye and her face became serene and disinterested.

  “G’thur,” Connell said softly so the others would not hear. “Why is the Home guard turning aside wayfarers?”

  G’thur’s face grew solemn and anger filled his gaze. “Not three days after the death of his brother, the King himself was attacked. Within the very halls of the spire two assassins came upon him.”

  “Attacked?” Connell could not believe that someone would attempt to murder his father. “How fares he?”

  “Well Connell,” G’thur replied. “He took a nasty cut to his shoulder but the assassins took worse. Your father is no easy mark for a killer’s blade. With nothing but a dagger he slew both men ere the guards could render aid. Had the assassins used poison I fear the outcome would have been far worse.”

  “Father?” D’Yana asked, having over heard the entire exchange.

  Connell drew in a deep breath, he knew the moment he dreaded had come.

  “He ordered the borders sealed,” G’thur continued ignoring D’Yana’s outburst. “The men carried a fortune in coins stamped with the crown of Ao’dan.” G’thur removed his helm. “Connell these are dark times, your father has lit the crown of the Demilion. War has come upon Kesh and he means to attack Ao’dan.”

  “This is foolishness!” Connell muttered. “A few coins are no reason to go to war.”

  “Ao’dan and Kesh have not enjoyed good relations as of late. There is bad blood between the Kings, I believe he merely seeks an excuse to invade.” G’thur frowned. “I had hoped never to go down this path.”

  “Then don’t,” Connell offered.

  G’thur straightened in the saddle. “I am one of the King’s swords. I go where he leads, even if it is into the halls of death herself.”

  Connell nodded, “Of course G’thur, you are an honorable man.”

  G’thur smiled, turning in his saddle he selected ten men and sent the others back to their posts. “We will accompany you to the city.”

  “I do not need an honor guard G’thur.” Connell protested.

  G’thur laughed. “My Lord,” he said. “These men are not an honor guard. When you left Kesh your father issued a decree that should you ever return, you were to be detained and brought before him immediately.” G’thur urged his mount closer to Connell’s. “You my prince are my prisoner.”

  They both laughed loudly. Casius looked D’Yana wondering what was so funny. She merely shrugged not knowing what to say.

  “Lead on good jailor,” Connell said with a bow. “I am both tired and cold, even a dry cell would be a welcome respite from this weather.”

  G’thur looked skyward concern in his eyes. “Damned peculiar, it’s as if winter has never ended.” G’thur shook his head and spurred his horse forward.

  With an escort of five men on either side they traveled out of the woods and into the shadow of the Spire.

  They reached the city before suns
et. Hidden behind a massive curtain wall with many bastions, the tall buildings reached skyward. Some were five stories high; small keeps in their own right. Crowded close together as if they were seeking to rise above the shadow cast by the towering pinnacle of stone in the cities center.

  Casius and D’Yana stared in awe at the Spire. To Casius it resembled a blood red finger pointing to the heavens. A half mile wide at its base it stretched skyward until its crown stood over two thousand feet above the city. Archways and ornate balconies pierced the upper third of the spire. Towers crowned the stone carved from the very rock.

  In the dying light they could make out sweeping staircases and thick pillars of polished stone framing windows and doorways leading into the spires heart.

  The light of the setting sun blazed across its western face. The crystals embedded within the rock springing to life, making the Spire a blazing beacon. A tower of living light that could be seen for hundreds of miles.

  As if the Spire was stunning enough, Casius could not believe the sheer size of the city. It seemed to grow the closer they came. It dwarfed every other city he had ever seen. His home village was little more than a single homestead. Even Graystone faded to insignificance in comparison.

  It stretched for miles in both directions, outside the western curtain wall stood hundreds of buildings. The city had grown until it was too large to fit within the protective wall. Spilling out onto the landscape in orderly rows of broad avenues lit by oil lamps.

  Just beyond the buildings they could make out thousands of small tents crowding the landscape, a sea of canvas that wrapped around the western half of the city. Beyond them stood picket lines with horses beyond count.

  Connell’s brow furrowed in consternation, “The host has gathered then?” He asked G’thur.

  “Aye,” G’thur answered. “We await only the men from the north. The Kadril steppes are being hard hit by this unending winter.” He led them away from the camp towards the eastern end of the city.

  “All for a few coins in an assassins pocket.” Connell muttered.

  “It is not my place to question the King.” G’thur said.

  “It is mine!” Connell said forcefully.

  “Now listen,” G’thur said stopping his horse. “The King has become withdrawn over the last few years.” G’thur shook his head. “Even your mother can do little to improve his demeanor when it turns sour.” G’thur looked into Connell’s eyes. “He is growing old and he needs an heir, when you left you took that away from him.” G’thur stopped speaking. “Forgive me Connell,” He said. “It is not my place to speak of such things.”

  “Go on G’thur,” Connell said. “If any man has the right to speak to me in such a manner it is you.”

  G’thur nodded, “When you left it broke your father’s heart. He felt betrayed and when you failed to return it only fed the grief within him.” G’thur reached out and grabbed Connell’s forearm stressing his words. “He is a good King ad a great man, try to remember it.”

  Connell urged his horse forward. Looking up at the towering stone he felt the years weigh heavily on him. “I am not the same boy I was back then, G’thur. Maybe a little wisdom has found its way into my head.”

  Around the wall they traveled until coming to a large gate in its eastern face, the opening easily twenty feet across. The doors were ornate, fashioned from thick wooden timbers covered with heavy bronze plates. The image of a winged lion rearing on its hind legs was fashioned into each door. When the gate was closed the lions faced one another with a large crown being held by their front paws.

  The wall was thirty feet in height its stone polished until it gleamed like dark glass. Lanterns were placed along its length every twenty feet. Men manning the walls were now beginning to light them as the sun set behind the Dragon spines. The Mountains had become a dark featureless mass that would soon disappear as night fell.

  One of the bronze doors stood open, the portcullis beyond was raised. Men in dark tabards stood in the opening long spears at their side.

  A line of people awaited entry; the guards questioned each one before allowing them to enter the city.

  G’thur guided them along the line to the gateway. The guards saluted and stepped aside allowing them passage.

  The tunnel through the wall was over eighty feet in length. Lit by oil lamps set in sconces along its length. They passed beneath three separate portcullises on their way. The ceiling above was peppered with murder holes from which arrows could be shot down onto invaders. A few of the holes were spouts for dispensing boiling oil.

  Once through the tunnel they passed another set of gates and rode out onto a broad thoroughfare. Encircling the inside of the wall, it was fifty feet wide and paved with flagstones of slate.

  A large avenue ran arrow straight through the bustling city. Like spokes in a giant wheel, each of the cities twenty gates opened out onto a similar avenue. At the heart of the city stood another curtain wall, protecting the Wyremounds and the base of the gigantic stone column.

  The avenue was split in two, divided by a median of raised marble. Every hundred feet stood a life-sized bronze statue of a warrior in a heroic pose. Most were men but there were a few women immortalized as well.

  “Heroes and Kings of Kesh,” Connell informed them. “Every king and queen who has ever ruled Kesh is immortalized on one of these avenues.”

  “All but one,” G’thur added.

  Connell nodded. “Aye for him there is but an empty pedestal.”

  “Why is that?” Marcos asked.

  “He was a black hearted bastard named Amthur who cared for nothing in this world but power. He tried to build an empire on the blood of millions. A vile and evil man who nearly destroyed this land in his greed.” G’thur answered.

  “It was one of my ancestors, Bel’Vir a distant cousin of his that put an end to his tyranny.” Connell added. “He was a general in the kings army, a great warrior of unmatched prowess with the blade.”

  “Runs in the family,” D’Yana quipped.

  “King Amthur destroyed much in his day, he set fire to the hall of records within the spire. His callous act destroyed a thousand years of written history. He conscripted every able bodied man into his army. Those who refused to serve were impaled and hung from the cities walls.” Connell motioned vaguely to the western wall.

  “But those were not his foulest deeds.” Connell continued. “While Bel’Vir was away Amthur forcibly took his wife, as if she were his own. While Amthur fell into a drunken slumber the lady Tessa threw herself from the highest parapet of the Spire. She was unable to live with the shame, the kings act had robbed her of her dignity and honor.”

  “General Bel’Vir learned of the treachery and he turned his army from the frontier and returned to Red Spire. King Amthur believed his men returned in victory and he rode out to greet his General. Bel’Vir slew Amthur in single combat while a legion of his men watched on. No man would render aid to the rapist and he died a death more honorable than he deserved.” The people rejoiced in the death of the animal. In gratitude they made Bel’Vir their King.”

  “Bel’Vir had no desire for the crown but he took on the burden and dissolved the Empire Amthur had built. With his wisdom Kesh prospered and the conquered lands grew into the nations they had once been. He ruled for sixty two years before dying peacefully in his sleep of old age.” Connell watched the statues pass remembering the tales he had learned about each. “I carry the blood of Bel’Vir,” He said with some pride. “As have all the Kings of Kesh since that day.”

  “As I have said,” D’Yana interjected. “Being a hero is in your blood.”

  Connell did not like her tone, he knew D’Yana well enough and could tell she was still angry with him for keeping his past a secret. “A man is free to make his own decisions, blood has nothing to do with ones character. There is no such thing as destiny.”

  G’thur arched an eyebrow. “Destiny?” He said. “Tis yours to wear the crown. No matter where you go
it is a responsibility that follows you.”

  “That is not my destiny G’thur.” Connell said sadly. “It is my doom.”

  “A doom many men would consider an answered prayer.” G’thur said in response.

  “Then be careful what it is you pray for.” Connell replied. “As a boy I fled the constraints my father placed upon me. As a man I now face those same fetters, but now I have knowledge of all I have to lose.” Connell waved his hand towards the crowded street before them. “Look well G’thur, even the poorest of them has more freedom than the King. They are responsible for themselves and perhaps a family. My birthright makes me responsible for them all. A fetter though made of gold is still a chain.”

  G’thur chewed his lip in thought, “You would know better than I Prince Connell, but I still don’t think its as bad as you make it out to be.”

  “Spend more time at court and less in the field.” Connell said with a smile. “Perhaps a transfer would help you see my point.”

  G’thur’s face grew pale. “I am best suited for the wilds, not a circus full of pomp and ceremony.”

  “Then you do understand what it is that I speak of.” Connell said pleased with the trap he had set for the man.

  G’thur considered what had just transpired. “These people need you now, Connell. Your voice may prevent a needless war.”

  Connell’s jaw tightened. “I have come to send us into one.”

  G’thur looked surprised. “What?”

  “The Morne are in Trondhiem and will soon fall upon us if we should look the other way.” Connell looked into G’thur’s eyes. “The Storm God has awakened, and the days of man are at risk.”

  G’thur reined his horse to a stop and stared at Connell. He wanted to say something but was at a loss for words.