Heritage: Book One of the Gairden Chronicles

by David L. Craddock

  Edmund raised a hand as he heard the guards outside raising their voices in anger. Abruptly they fell silent.

  Aidan strode into the tent, livid. “Protection, Father? Even from me?”

  Edmund turned to his son. “What is it you need?” He kept glancing at the lantern.

  “Your men outside will be fine. I’ll tell them you were concerned.”

  “I asked what I can do for you.”

  Aidan blinked in surprise. Edmund didn’t seem to care whether the guards lived or died. He shook his head before continuing. “I’m done.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t believe in this war, Father. I don’t believe the Darinians to be guilty. You have not even made an attempt to negotiate with Nichel, or with Cotak, or the other clan chiefs. You taught me that war is nothing to be entered into lightly. You have been nothing but eager to engage Darinia, a people that have been friends and allies for decades.”

  Aidan took a breath before plunging onward. “I don’t believe in this war. I am through.”

  Edmund’s cold smile dipped into a dark frown. “You cannot walk away from this, Prince of Tears,” he said softly, stalking forward. “You don’t get to quit this like you have everything else. If you do, you will be a disappointment to me, and a failure to your line.”

  Shock filled Aidan’s throat like a gag. “Why are you treating me like this? You and mother both, you’ve never—”

  Edmund’s hand shot up, lightning fast, and slapped Aidan’s mouth. The prince staggered, more from surprise than pain, and raised a shaking hand to his lips. Edmund reeled back for another blow, but Aidan grabbed his father’s hand, grunting as his father’s arm shook, straining to reach him.

  “Stop,” Aidan said, sounding weak and pleading. He didn’t care.

  “I will not,” Edmund said, straining against his son. “This appears to be the only language you understand.” He swung his other fist, but the blow never came. Aidan raised his hand and kindled. A ball of air collided against his father’s chest, sending him sailing over the table and crashing into the snow.

  Edmund scrabbled back to his feet, snarling. “This is your last chance, Aidan. I will forgive what you just did. We will pretend this never happened, and that is something you should want very, very much. But if you turn away, it’s over for you, boy. Do you understand? You will be dead to me, and to your mother. This is your last chance.”

  The words cut Aidan like a knife. He began to tremble, but his jaw tightened. “I am sorry, Father. I will not take another life that I believe to be innocent.”

  Edmund’s smile held no mirth. “Guards!”

  Several Wardsmen burst into the tent. “General,” one said, “the men outside your tent are—” He cut off, looking slowly between Edmund and Aidan.

  “Arrest my son. The charge is... Stop him!”

  The Wardsmen ran forward, but Aidan did not even notice them. He had closed his eyes and begun murmuring. The Wardsmen lunged for him as he disappeared in a burst of wind, scattering maps from the table and leaving only a soft imprint in the snow where he had stood.

  Chapter 11

  Acceptance

  THE LAST LIGHT OF DAY winked through the tent flap before the Lady sunk into the west horizon, handing Crotaria over to the Lord of Midnight. By itself, that last glimmer of light wasn’t enough for Aidan to escape the madman that wore his father’s face. Topped off with the glowing jewels around his neck, it was just enough.

  Aidan lunged at the light, combining it with his lamp while his father shouted for guards. In his mind he pictured his safe place, maybe the safest place in Crotaria. The light he needed to complete the kindling was far greater than the prayer he had used to shift into Calewind on his birthday. That only stood to reason; he had been less than two miles outside the city then. The Language of Light passed through his lips in a whisper—he couldn’t let his father catch on to what he was doing—and suddenly wind rushed through the tent, spiriting him leagues and leagues to the north. A blink, not even a heartbeat later, and Aidan was slumped against Tyrnen’s tower door.

  Fever pounced on him, settling over him like heat that hung over Darinia’s deserts. Sweat broke out all over his body, dampening his hair and clothes. The arm he lifted to the knocker shook uncontrollably. Just before his fingers could grip the icy bronze knocker, the door flew open and Tyrnen was there, his expression flashing from surprise to concern.

  “My word,” the old man said, taking in Aidan’s disheveled form and bloodied lip. “You’re supposed to be in Sharem.”

  Aidan didn’t seem to hear him. He stared through Tyrnen with glazed eyes. “He hit me.”

  “Who hit you?”

  “My father. I killed them all, and then he hit me.”

  Aidan slumped forward, unable to stay upright on his quivering legs. Tyrnen caught him, throwing an arm over his shoulder and steering Aidan inside out of the cold. The Eternal Flame eased Aidan into his favorite chair in front of the fire. Aidan waved at the heat. He tried to stand but Tyrnen placed a firm hand on his shoulder until he settled back down.

  Aidan didn’t struggle long. He couldn’t. The spells he had used at Sharem had already left him weak and roasted, as if Helda had cooked him in one of her pans. The lamp clinked against his armor, empty save for a few drops of light that pulsed weakly. Even the thread of light he’d used to supplement the lamp’s full vials to shift back to Sunfall had almost been enough to burn his gift from his blood. To a Touched, losing the Lady’s gift of light magic was as crippling as losing both arms. Aidan would have given his gift and his arms if it meant escaping his father’s tent. He saw the king’s face again, his features twisted in rage and disgust, and... And other emotions he preferred not to think about.

  “How did you get here?” Tyrnen asked from where he rummaged around in his desk.

  “Shifted.”

  “From Sharem?”

  Aidan lifted the lamp from his neck. His hand shook, rattling the chain against his armor.

  “Incredible,” Tyrnen murmured, eyeing the invention. Then he carried over two mugs of tea and extended one to Aidan. He shied away from it, but Tyrnen’s hand followed.

  “Drink,” the old man said. “The light you drew heated your blood, stealing energy your body needs. You need sleep to dispel the fever, but you also need to keep warm. Drink,” he said more firmly, pushing the mug at Aidan.

  Aidan took it and raised it to his lips, pulling in sips.

  “Now, tell me what happened,” the old man said as he settled into his chair.

  Aidan smiled at Tyrnen over the rim of his cup. No matter what happened, the Eternal Flame was his friend, someone he could always count on. I thought I could count on my father. He frowned into his cup.

  “I killed them, Tyrnen.”

  “Killed who, Aidan?”

  “The clansmen at Sharem. The attack party stationed at Sharem was small. We had them, Tyrnen. My force was larger, and everything seemed to be happening as I expected. But the Darinians in the city were a decoy. A much larger force emerged from the forest after the attack began.” He shook his head. “I had to act quickly. If I didn’t, they would have killed my regiment to the last man. But I hesitated. I didn’t believe the Darinians were guilty.”

  He looked over at his friend. Tyrnen sat quietly, legs crossed, hands folded in his lap.

  “I killed them all,” Aidan finished in a whisper. “Not a single Darinian was left standing after what I did.”

  “You did it to save your people, Aidan. You had no choice.”

  “I know that. If there was any other way, don’t you think I would have—”

  “I was trying to make a point, which you have just reiterated: you did it because you had to. I know your heart, lad. You would not have killed for any reason other than need.”

  “I’ve never killed a man before. Today, I killed hundreds. A few words, and—” Aidan snapped his fingers “—gone. Just like that. They... they exploded, Tyrnen. Th
ere was so much blood. And I did that. I caused all that death.”

  “You did the only thing you could have done. And what’s more, I believe it was the right thing to do.”

  Aidan was horrified. “How can you say that?”

  “Do you believe the clansmen would have spared a single man from your regiment? You? Your father?”

  “No, but—”

  “Do you regret saving the lives of your people?”

  “No!”

  “Then whether or not you believe in your actions, you did the only thing you could have. You protected your people from a threat—and they were a threat, whether you regard them as an enemy or not.”

  Aidan stared into the cold hearth for a long time. “I know I saved the lives of my men by what I did. I don’t regret that part. But I don’t believe in what I had to do to accomplish that goal. I don’t believe in this war.”

  He took a deep breath. “Tyrnen, you know my family’s history, so you know what Ordine’kel and Ordine’cin mean. They’re not just gifts. I am the Guardian Light.” He made a sound of frustration. “Or at least, I was supposed to be. My point is, the Gairdens are responsible not just for Torel, but all of Crotaria. As long as I am involved in this war, every act I commit will feel wrong to me. What I did tonight feels like murder. I am not convinced of Darinia’s wrongdoing. And until I am—if I am—I will not fight them. I can’t.”

  Watching him, Tyrnen chuckled.

  “What’s so funny?” Aidan asked.

  “You, boy. Speaking of responsibility and duty.” He chuckled again, but his face was warm. He leaned forward and patted Aidan’s leg. “Don’t look now, boy, but I think you’re growing up.”

  “It snuck up on me,” Aidan said quickly, but he was also smiling.

  Tyrnen set aside his cup and gave Aidan a serious look. “But what if you’re right?”

  “Right about what?”

  “There is nothing you can do to change what you did. You can lament your actions, and I understand that. You have a noble and kind heart, just like your mother. But lamenting what happened will not bring men back from the dead.”

  “I know. Just as I know I will never do again what I did today.”

  “All right. What now?”

  The question caught Aidan off-guard. What would he do now? Maybe I should talk to... No. They don’t understand. My confrontation with Father proved as much. At that, Aidan’s lip throbbed with fresh pain.

  “Your father did that?” Tyrnen asked, gesturing at his face.

  “Yes. He’s never raised a hand to me, Tyrnen. Never. It’s not just that, though. It was the way he looked at me. He didn’t look angry, or upset, or disappointed, even. His eyes, they were... Blank. There was nothing there. Mother is the same way. They have been so cold since returning from the retreat with you to Lake Carrean. You saw mother strike me in the throne room when I refused to lead the Wardsmen to Sharem. She’d never raised a hand to me before that day. And Father—just before I left Sharem, he was going to have me arrested. Me! His own son!”

  “And did you share with your father what you’ve just told me?”

  “Yes. I told him I couldn’t continue with the war until I was convinced of—”

  “Those are treasonous words, Aidan.” The old man raised his hands when Aidan looked at him sharply. “You may have led the attack on Sharem, but your mother is still Crown of the North. I fear your failure to follow your parents’ orders could cost you more than the crown. Think on that.”

  Aidan’s shoulders sagged. Is all of this worth it? Tyrnen is right. Feeling sorry won’t bring back the men I killed.

  Heritage barreled into his thoughts.

  —Killing in defense is not intrinsically wrong, Aidan Gairden. You did save the lives of your men. But to save them, you went against something you believed to be true. Your struggle to stand up for yourself and for your beliefs was minimal. Instead, you gave in. You lashed out. You will hear the screams of the men you murdered for the rest of your life. They will follow you everywhere, even in your dreams. If you continue with this war, you will fight again, and you will kill again. Is that what you want? Can you do again, over and over, what you did today?

  “No,” Aidan said, resolved. “No. I won’t do it. I can’t. It isn’t right.”

  Tyrnen nodded after several quiet moments. Both men turned at the sound of boots pounding up the tower stairs.

  “Wardsmen,” Tyrnen said, rising.

  Aidan shot to his feet. “What? How?”

  “Your mother gave your father a magical means of communication so he could tell her of your progress at Sharem. He must have told her about your confrontation.”

  A fist pounded on Tyrnen’s door. Aidan looked wildly between Tyrnen and the door.

  “Aidan, you must—” But he was already gone.

  Aidan fell to his knees outside his bedchamber. Fingers scrabbling at the doorframe, he panted heavily and tried to pull himself upright. At last he succeeded, but his legs buckled as he took a step forward. He reached out with both hands, framed in the doorway like a scarecrow. He grabbed at the lamp around his neck, hoping he could drain its last ounce of light for a burst of energy that would keep him standing and awake, and whimpered. The vial was empty. He’d lapped up the last sip of the Lady’s light shifting to the base of Tyrnen’s tower. From there, he had dashed across the courtyard and through the side entrance.

  Aidan stumbled into his room and dropped down on his bed, too tired and frightened to move again. Like the lamp, his courage had dried up. Everything had seemed so clear a few minutes ago. He had felt proud of his decision. The sound of the Wardsmen rushing up the winding stairs of Tyrnen’s tower had boosted his adrenaline, masking the exhaustion caused by his long shift home. Now he was winded and teetering on the edge of consciousness. Even the short skip from the tower left him feeling like he’d sprinted all the way from Sharem to Sunfall. The candle on his dresser, its tiny flame an island of light in the sea of darkness, had more strength than he.

  He was spent—physically, mentally, emotionally. Perhaps if he just stayed here and waited for someone to find him, they would be lenient. He could explain that he’d come home to think, to talk with his mother about—

  —You must be brave, Aidan Gairden. If you give in, you admit that what you did at Sharem was right. Is that what you believe? If it is, by all means, take a nap. Otherwise, pull yourself together.

  His body shook with fatigue. “What can I do?”

  —Leave Sunfall.

  Aidan went utterly still. Leave his home? Could he do that? He had known taking a stand would anger his parents—they seemed so quick to anger these days, especially where he was concerned— but he had thought... Well, what had he thought, exactly? That he would be allowed to stay in his room and ponder the world’s mysteries while war raged around him?

  —It’s not forever, Aidan. Just temporary. Please trust me.

  Where will I go? I’m a Gairden. I can’t just disappear.

  —I will guide you. As I said before: trust me.

  Reluctantly, Aidan shambled to his closet and pulled out a thick cloak. As he threw it around his shoulders, a fist rapped against his door. Aidan froze, then crept over to the door. Tyrnen had said his parents had some way of communicating. Word of his treachery must have spread all through the palace. Perhaps if he waited just a few moments, the guard would leave.

  The door flew open and slammed into Aidan’s head, knocking him flat. Two Wardsmen barged in and stalked toward him as he struggled to regain his senses. One of the men closed the door while the other yanked him to his feet and drove a fist into his stomach. Aidan doubled over, gasping for breath. The hand around his throat tightened and hoisted him into the air. Aidan beat at the arm—Dawn, but he’s strong!—that held him, but that only made the fingers dig deeper into his throat. Spots danced in front of his eyes.

  “Keep watch,” the Wardsman said to his companion. The other man nodded and stood in the doorway.

/>   “Unfortunately, Aidan Gairden,” the Wardsman holding him said, “your usefulness has expired.” His lips tugged upward, a failed attempt at a smile. His eyes were flat and hadn’t changed— hadn’t even blinked—since he’d lifted Aidan from the ground. As the prince watched, the man’s free hand dug into his lower throat and peeled the skin away, tearing upward as if pulling off a mask. The flesh stripped back with a thick tearing sound until it snapped off and hung limply between the Wardsman’s fingers. In its place was a grinning skull covered in blood and dirt.

  Tossing the face away, the man—the man-thing—inhaled deeply and let out a slow, contented sigh. “Much better than hiding behind that suffocating layer of human hide.” It pulled Aidan close. Its breath stank of meat left to rot under the Lady’s searing gaze. “Soon there will be no further need to hide. Our freedom begins with your death.”

  Terror pierced exhaustion like a bubble. Aidan drew the candle’s light, plunging the room into darkness. The man-thing growled; Aidan felt its fist tighten. Pointing a finger, Aidan kindled, firing a blast of air from his fingertip like an arrow. Aidan dropped to the floor as his captor flew back and crashed into the wall. Blood pumping, he threw himself into the outline of the Wardsman stalking in from the doorway. They tumbled into the corridor, a tangled mass of limbs.

  Aidan kicked free and pulled himself up, chest heaving as he looked around desperately. Torches crackled along the corridor, but there was no way he could kindle again. Spots danced in front of his eyes and his vision swayed. He could hear the creatures, growling in the dark room behind him.

  —The sword chamber, Heritage said. Quickly!

  Spinning, Aidan slammed his door closed and took off down the hall. A crash sounded behind him. He glanced over his shoulder to see chunks of his door scattered across the hall. The two man-things burst through the doorway and turned toward him, shouting and pointing. The one that had removed its mask had attempted to replace it, but had apparently given up; it drooped like clothes over a line, half covering the skull. Aidan choked back a yell and staggered on.