by E. V. Greig
The Sun King and the Sorceress
The Legend of Graymyrh – Book Three
E.V. GREIG
Copyright © 2018 E.V. Greig
All Rights Reserved.
Previously published as part of The Legend of Graymyrh – Complete Edition
Copyright © 2014 E.V. Greig
Chapter One
Hugo shook his head. “I’ve no interest in your brave quest.”
Ruiryk glared at him. “Slo’annathorys is Kaiwan’s guardian – if you truly care for her, then you’ll help us find him! Isn’t that right, Banor? Banor?”
“He’s over at the bar, drinking the tavern dry.” Hugo pointed. “Look, I don’t want to be a part of this. You people sicken me – keeping that girl hidden away, raising her to be a sacrifice!”
“What are you talking about?”
“Oh, didn’t you know about that part of the plan? They told her that she has to die to prevent the Vor’Barysk from entering this world.”
Ruiryk sat back on his stool. “I had no idea! Only Lonrari and Slo’annathorys ever had access to the scroll.”
“What scroll? Let me guess – an ancient scroll of prophecy, right?”
“Yes. They said only those of pure anthiri blood could read it. But I can’t believe they were planning to sacrifice her!”
“Aye, well that’s what she told me.”
“Well there must be some other way! I won’t stand by and let Kaiwan be killed!”
Hugo shrugged. “That’s fine by me - but given that Slo’annathorys and Lonrari were the ones planning all of this, why should we care what might have become of either one of them?”
“Well let’s say that I agree with you. What do we do?”
“Oh, that part’s simple enough.” Hugo drained the last of the ale from his tankard. “We start tracking down the minions of the Vor’Barysk and killing them.”
“And then what? What about the Vor’Barysk himself?”
“I figured I might leave him until last of all.”
“You think that you can kill the Vor’Barysk?” Ruiryk raised his eyebrows at that.
“Our other option is Kaiwan. Who could barely even wound me with her sylth, let alone the Vor’Barysk! She certainly doesn’t know how to fight. All it would take is a foot soldier with a blade, or a small rock. It wouldn’t even have to be someone powerful: a grelnath could finish her – a half-blind baby grelnath, at that.”
Ruiryk frowned. “That’s a horrible thing to say! Why would a grelnath serve the Vor’Barysk? Everyone knows that they are a peaceful race of peddlers and storytellers!”
“This world is insane!” Hugo signalled to the serving girl for a second tankard of ale. “Next you’ll tell me that anthir are bigger and stronger than men!”
“They are: most sylvanthir are around eight feet tall, and dryanthir are not far behind them. The winged anthir of Talaska are said to be smaller and lighter, but only slightly.”
“What do they eat to get so damnably tall?”
Ruiryk shrugged. “That’s just how they are. The sylvanthir can control stone, and some of them are able to travel vast distances using shadow sylth. The dryanthir are one with the forests. Legend says that many of their women are actually spirits of nature.”
“What about their men?”
“Pacifists: the women do all of the fighting whilst the men stay home and tend to the children, apparently. It’s all backwards if you ask me.”
“Uh-huh. Listen, I think maybe I’m going to follow Banor’s example and get roaring drunk for a while.”
∞∞∞
“Master Weeber! Master Weeber! There are two outlanders at the bridge: they want directions to Ullensia!” The young grelnath pointed back the way he had come.
Weeber the cartographer snatched up one of his hundreds of maps and bustled out of his shop and along the main village street to the bridge. As his apprentice had said, there were two humans standing there. The male held the reins of a pure white horse. “Greetings, strangers: I am Master Weeber, the cartographer. If you wish to know your way, then why not buy one of my maps?”
The male human smiled. “I would be most interested in acquiring several of your maps! Perhaps whilst we discuss the price, you and Seranor can go for a gallop along those fields, sorceress.”
“I would enjoy that very much, thank you, Efrym!”
“It will do Seranor good to stretch her legs. I shall meet you over by that rocky outcropping.” Bandhir waited until Kaiwan was out of earshot. “I have another request too. Is there an herbalist in your village?”
Weeber beamed up at his customer. “Why yes! Mistress Phoogii is the finest herbalist in this entire region! Her shop is just next door to my own. Come please: I shall take you there!”
Bandhir followed the grelnath back into the village. The cartographer’s maps were indeed of excellent quality, although quite how accurate they were would remain to be seen. In truth he was more interested in speaking with the herbalist. “Ah – you are Mistress Phoogii, yes?”
The white haired grelnath nodded. “Indeed I am traveller. Might I be of help?”
He smiled. “I believe so, wise herbalist. I am in need of a certain type of potion.”
“And what potion is that you require? I can make anything at all, and that is only if it is not already in stock!”
“I seek to court a shy maiden, but alas I am most poor at doing so. Indeed, I have embarrassed myself so much, that her family will no longer permit me to speak with her. I would like to disguise my appearance in order to approach them again and prove my worth.”
Mistress Phoogii cackled shrewdly at his explanation. “You mean that you need a means to disguise yourself in order to sneak past her family and seduce her, eh? Why of course I can help! What fine mischief! Would you like an extra strong potion of desire too, perchance? It always pays to be prepared!”
“I think that I like you, Mistress Phoogii. What if I were to tell you that the maiden in question is especially strong of will?”
“Then I should tell you to make certain that she drinks every last drop of it – she’ll be as a cat in heat mind, so be careful that you are the one that she lays her eyes upon first!”
“I shall indeed be mindful of that. How much will this cost?”
“The price to assist you in such a fine trick, traveller? Why, ‘tis my pleasure to do so! Here: you will need this to disguise your face, this to alter your voice, this to change your smell, and mix all three of these into her drink. Your disguise will last for a full turn of the moon. The potion of desire will last until she sleeps it off; which, in her heated state, may take quite some time!”
∞∞∞
“Getting roaring drunk was perhaps not my finest plan,” Hugo admitted. “Where are we?”
Ruiryk glared at him. “In a tribute cart, thanks a lot for passing out by the way. You and Banor were both real helpful back there: I especially loved the way that you just kept on snoring whilst the dark guard were dragging us out of the tavern. It was an inspired piece of passive resistance! In fact, I’d applaud you both but my arms are broken!”
“Tribute cart - dark guard...? What are you talking about?” Hugo rubbed at his head. “Is Banor still breathing?”
“Aye, he’s just completely intoxicated. The dark guard are all vandrethir. They collect people to feed from as tribute in exchange for protecting Anyosia.”
“What the hell are they protecting it from?”
“Themselves mostly: by collecting organised tribute, they claim that they endanger fewer people. They do at least drive out any would
-be invaders. I tried to get you both into the shelter when the tribute bell rang, but I wasn’t able to. The dark guard broke both of my arms when I refused to surrender. So I hope you have a plan, because I’m all out of ideas myself.”
Hugo looked about him. “They took our weapons and armour?”
“Of course they did! Do you expect them to give us a fighting chance or something?” Ruiryk began to cry quietly. “I don’t want to be one of Ravin’s army! I want a clean death!”
“Calm down, lad. I’ll snap your neck myself if it comes to that, I promise. But it may not need to.” The mercenary stood up and walked to the door of the cage. He had been in Anyosia for almost a month now, and had managed to develop a reasonable grasp of the language. “Hey you there – yes, you: vandreth! I am General Hugo Khuff of Alnaiea. I challenge whoever is your commanding officer to a duel: if I win, you shall let everyone in this cart go free.”
The vandreth laughed. “I am the commanding officer for this unit. Why should I entertain such a foolish suggestion?”
“Because if you don’t accept my challenge, then I say that you are nothing but a coward who is afraid to fight a human.”
“Release him,” snarled the commander. “Give him back his armour and weapons – I shall not only best him, but turn him too! Such a proud warrior will make a fine addition to the dark guard!”
Ruiryk was half laughing and half weeping by now. “Don’t suppose you could snap my neck now, before he turns you?”
“Have some more faith in me, Ruiryk. I’m not as useless as you might suppose.”
“You may have defeated me and Banor, but that’s a vandreth out there, Hugo! Actually, that’s a dozen vandrethir out there. Heavily armed and armoured vandrethir.”
“See, I know you have a point to make, but I’m just not grasping it.” Hugo stepped down from the cart. “I’ll have my armour and weapons back now, you restless filth.”
The dark guard sneered and tossed him his equipment. “This should prove to be entertaining, at least! I do hope that you can fight as good a fight as you talk.”
Hugo grinned and lifted Oathbinder in both hands. “My late father used this hammer to work metal and to perform marriage ceremonies, but he wasn’t always just a smith. In his youth, he studied for the priesthood. Of course, that was another world, and my dear father ended up smithing. Still, a holy weapon is a holy weapon.”
Oathbinder had begun to glow with pale silver light. The vandrethir hissed and drew back instinctively. Their commander appeared to be less confident of his success. “Ah – perhaps we have been too hasty! I think that in fact this is the wrong town after all! How fortunate that we realised in time: come, my brethren – we must leave at once!”
Hugo smacked him around the side of the head with the hammer. “No you don’t, restless one! Your foul unnatural existence ends this very night!” He swung again; this time Oathbinder crushed the vandreth’s skull. The creature slumped to the ground. Hugo seized his moment. Reversing the hammer, he drove its handle through the dark guard’s heart: grinning as the monster collapsed into ashes beneath him. Rising to his feet once more, he lifted Oathbinder above his head. “Well? Who’s next then?”
The rest of the dark guard were already fleeing: shifting into gaunt, bat-winged forms and taking to the air where he could not hope to pursue them further. Their terrified screeching was extremely satisfying. Hugo looked about him at the former prisoners. The townsfolk were also beginning to emerge from their hiding places. “Alright then, listen up, everyone! Is there anyone here who’s able to heal broken limbs?”
“I am.” A thin, red haired woman stepped forward, smiling shyly around a mouthful of broken teeth. “I know how to wield such sylth.”
Ruiryk snorted. “If you’re a healer then why are your own teeth broken?”
She hung her head silently at his retort. Hugo frowned and walked over to where she stood. “So what do they call you?”
The woman did not meet his gaze. “Whores do not need names, sir. I swear to you: I can heal your friend! My master knocked my teeth in when I refused him. I am not permitted to heal them – I did so once, and he shattered them again, this time with his boot.”
Hugo put his arm about her shoulders and led her over to Ruiryk. “See to his injuries, and your own too,” he ordered her curtly. “Your erstwhile master had best not argue the matter, if he values his own hide!”
A burly man in merchant’s garb protested at that. “Now see here, you! That whore belongs to me – I bought her, and I’ll do as I wish with her! Why, she’s naught but a filthy witch anyhow!”
The Alnaiean general glared at him. “Did you miss the part where I said that you ought not to argue?”
“Oh, go fuck yourself! You shan’t harm me: I’m wealthy! My carts help to transport grain across the length and breadth of this land! You people would starve without me!”
“I suspect that the carts will keep on rolling without you in the world.”
“Now wait just a moment! Put down that sword...!”
“So,” Ruiryk mumbled to the healer. “Have you ever thought of taking up adventuring? Only I think your master just died suddenly of stupidity.”
∞∞∞
Bandhir was worried. “This pass is far too quiet for my liking, sorceress. I suspect that we are being observed all too closely!” He edged Seranor into a trot.
Kaiwan looked around her nervously. “I do not sense anything, Efrym.”
“Can you be certain of detecting all threats, sorceress?”
“I would be aware if there were Ihldhyr or other such unnatural beings nearby.”
“Regrettably I can think of many threats that do not fall into such a category.”
“What do you mean, Efrym?”
Something zipped past her left ear then, and she heard her companion utter a grunt. He slumped backwards: one hand inadvertently dragging Seranor into a sharp halt, and the other pulling Kaiwan with him as he fell lifeless from the saddle. The white mare squealed and reared. Spinning in a half circle, she galloped back the way that they had come.
“Seranor, no!” Kaiwan stared after the horse. “Efrym – Efrym, say something!” She rolled him onto his back and sobbed when she spied the arrow that protruded from his neck. “Efrym!”
A gruff voice rumbled then. “What a shame that the horse has bolted. It was swift too – it would have brought us a fine price at market!”
Kaiwan scrabbled to her feet and began to cast a protective circle about her. There was laughter from behind her, and someone caught hold of her by her arms. Twisting her hands behind her back, they forced her down onto her stomach and knelt on her spine as they bound her tightly: wrist to elbow. “I expect we can still catch up to it, Kale. But have a look at this first, will you? A fine catch and no question!”
“Huh – an Ullensian.” Kale grabbed their captive by her hair and dragged her head up. “And a witch too: just look at these silver pupils, Falto!” The burly Anyosian shook his grizzled head.
“So what? We can manage her.” Falto was busy wrestling with the Ullensian’s legs. “Hold still, damn you! Kale, can you hold her down for me? Aye, that’s easier. Hush now, you!” He straddled the witch’s legs and secured her ankles with a second length of rope. “Good news, Kale: it seems we’ve bagged ourselves a caster!” The younger of the two men chuckled.
“Well, I suppose that should add a bit to her price,” Kale admitted. “Still, I don’t like Ullensians or witches either, for that matter.”
“Aye, well so what? Nobody’s asking you to marry her, for Anyo’s sake!”
“Let me go!” Kaiwan screamed.
“Well now, hark at that, Falto: she speaks Anyosian! She might be easier to sell than I feared.”
“Aye, and failing that we can always ransom her off to the Church. They pay well for witches - especially foreign witches.”
“Take your hands off me!”
Falto pulled the witch to him by her hair. “Now you stop your
screeching, witch,” he whispered into her ear. “Kale here may not like your sort in his bedroll, but I’m not so fussy. So hush up and mind your manners, eh? If you’re good, perhaps I’ll keep you, instead of turning you over to the Church. They’d have a lot of fun bringing you into the light, I’m sure.” She tried to bite him then. “Suit yourself, witch!”
He got to his feet and drew back his foot: aiming a hefty kick at her head. Somehow his leg simply refused to obey. Looking down, Falto saw a thin red line beginning to seep through the cloth of his breeches. The slave-taker screamed as he realised that his legs had just been amputated across the middle of both thighs.
Kale grabbed for his longbow, only to feel a sudden agony as their opponent buried his falchion in his chest. The grizzled Anyosian whimpered as he fell.
