Heritage: Book One of the Gairden Chronicles

by David L. Craddock

  “We could have had everything,” the Eternal Flame said. Aidan was surprised to see tears in the old man’s eyes. Terror’s Hand dangled in limp fingers. “But you fought me. You railed against what was best for you.”

  “At least I fought,” Aidan wheezed, straightening painfully, one hand wrapped around his aching middle. “I saw your eyes, Tyrnen.” He gestured to the scepter. “You weren’t intending for me to touch that. It was her idea.”

  Tyrnen looked at the scepter and blinked as if surprised he held it. It disappeared within his robe.

  Aidan began to laugh softly.

  Tyrnen’s visage darkened. “What is so amusing, boy?”

  “You, Tyrnen. You condemn the choice I made that day at Sharem, and the choices I’ve made since then. But do you know something? I made them. For better or worse, no matter the consequences, I made them. They were mine. When was the last time you made a choice? Eight hundred years ago, I suspect. It’s sad, really. I resisted, my mother resisted. Did you show that golden rod to Christine, too? I bet you did. You seem to be the only person in eight hundred years who was stupid enough to actually touch that thing.”

  A growl rose from deep in Tyrnen’s throat. He took a step forward, then hesitated.

  Aidan’s eyes widened. “You’re afraid of me.” It wasn’t a question.

  “Afraid of you?” Tyrnen laughed, but the sound was hollow. “You don’t have that damned sword, and I’ve tied you. I could kill you right here.”

  “So go ahead,” Aidan said. “There’s nothing stopping you. I don’t have my sword, and I can’t draw light.” He smiled. “Or are you going to give me another scary dream instead? How did you do that, anyway? Shift away, I mean. You know about the wards set to prevent anyone from shifting in or out of Sunfall. Luria must be powerful indeed. That’s good. At least selling your soul gained you something.”

  Tyrnen bared his teeth in a smile. “The shadows hold many secrets. Not that your Lady would permit you to so much as glimpse them.”

  Aidan blinked. Tyrnen laughed, obviously mistaking his former pupil’s dawning realization for confusion, but Aidan ignored him. Of course, Aidan thought. He rode the shadows away, just like I rode them through the tunnels. All at once, the power of dark magic awed and terrified him. The tunnels were only a formality, a way for thieves and spies to move around unseen. A man could, conceivably, step into one shadow and emerge from any other, like a doorway that opened anywhere.

  “I gave you every opportunity,” Tyrnen said. Aidan saw triumph in the old man’s eyes. “But you’ve failed me time and time again. She—I have decided that there is no further use for you. You will be made an example of to all who would defy Lur—who would stand against this war. You will die today, boy.”

  Tyrnen strode from the depths and slammed the door behind him. The flame he’d created winked out.

  Aidan let out a breath, relieved that Tyrnen had finally left. An idea had come to him. He looked toward the darkest corner of his cell—and knew immediately that it wouldn’t work. The glow of torchlight from across the aisle lapped the bars of his cell like a low tide. It was faint, yet strong enough to push back the gloom and reveal a hint of grimy stone walls everywhere he looked. He intuited that he needed unfiltered darkness to ride the shadows far enough to escape, just as he needed a moderate source of light to shift a respectable distance. And wouldn’t he also need to select a pocket of shadows as his destination? He assumed that was so.

  He straightened, resolved. I tried, he told himself. But he hadn’t. His mind recalled the prayer he had shared with Kahltan. The idea of wrapping his tongue around those words, of twisting the Language of Light into something terrible, sent a chill through him.

  Shoving the thought away, Aidan went to the bars and peered out.

  I need to get out of here.

  —Yes, Charles agreed.

  “But how?” he said into the silence.

  Suddenly a grinding sound came from his left. Aidan stood and peered between the bars to see two large stones parting. Daylight filtered through, lifting some of the gloom from the depths. A Wardsman crawled through, a lantern held in one hand, his face hidden by his helmet and the gloom. Aidan squinted, straining to make out the newcomer’s face as the moving chunks in the wall slid back into place.

  “You’re the Wardsman from the street,” he said, surprised. “The one who retrieved my sword.” For a moment, he looked almost exactly like...

  The Wardsman removed his helmet before raising his head. Now Aidan could see his face clearly. Contempt bubbled inside him. It was the harbinger who wore his father’s life like a mask.

  To Aidan’s utter amazement, the man raised his head to face him. His eyes shimmered behind a blurry veil of tears.

  “My son,” Edmund Calderon finally said. His voice broke, and he wept.

  Chapter 34

  A Visitor

  THE HARBINGER LOOKED AWAY and pulled itself under control. Aidan took a step back from the cell door, frowning. He’s a fake, he reminded himself, caught off-guard by the uncharacteristic display of affection. His father—his real father—had been a solemn man in public, but had never hesitated to show his emotions in private. What sort of play was the harbinger attempting, breaking down in front of him now? And why had he changed into Wardsman’s armor?

  —What’s happening? Charles asked.

  ‘Father’ stopped by for a visit.

  “I know what this looks like,” the harbinger began, running a hand over his face. “But I swear to you—”

  “Your word means nothing. Do what you came to do, or be gone.”

  Edmund’s left hand clenched around the hilt of the sword at his waist. Aidan studied the movement. It was familiar; Edmund habitually clutched Valor’s hilt, and always with his left hand.

  “I should have known Tyrnen intended my trial to be a farce,” Aidan said. “Are you here to kill me, then?”

  Edmund tugged on his sword, the blade hissing against the sheath as it retracted, and held it up for Aidan’s inspection. His eyes were immediately drawn to the word etched into the flat of the blade, a word carved by his father’s own hand. Valor.

  Aidan went numb. He remembered his reaction when his grandfather had said that Edmund’s soul had not entered Heritage. Could it be...? Then he stiffened at a sudden thought.

  “That doesn’t prove anything,” he said. “You stole it. You stole every aspect of his life. You’re nothing but a—”

  Edmund nodded, and that surprised Aidan most of all. This impersonator seemed willing to accept his doubt, and accept it calmly. A far cry from the hostility and disgust the creature had displayed toward him since Tyrnen had set this whole farce into motion.

  Edmund slid Valor back into its sheath and absently fingered the hilt. “On your birthday,” he began. His voice was scratchy, an instrument only just removed from its dusty case after years of neglect. “On your birthday, I was so proud as I watched you walk toward me, and when you reached the throne, I whispered something in your ear as I pulled you close. I said, ‘Happy birthday.’ Do you remember what I said next?”

  Aidan stayed silent. He remembered. What was important was that his father remembered.

  “I said, ‘I am so proud of the man you are, and the man I know you will become.’” He smiled. “Does that sound about right, Prince of Mischief?”

  A lump welled in Aidan’s throat. He scrubbed at his eyes, blinking as if waking from a long, deep sleep. His father was still there, slumped against the cell door, travel-stained, scarred, bruised, and looking exhausted—but it was his father. The harbinger would not have bothered sneaking in through some secret entrance to see him. But that was not how he knew for certain. Edmund’s eyes told the truth. The eyes of harbingers and vagrants were glassy, devoid of life. Edmund’s eyes shone with emotion and vitality. With life.

  —What’s happening? Charles asked.

  My father is alive, Aidan sent back, reeling from a battery of emotions. Elation. Confu
sion. Amazement. Hope.

  —Aidan, you cannot allow yourself to be fooled by these impostors.

  Aidan reached through the cell door to touch his father’s face. Carefully he pinched at the skin, tugged at it. It did not pull away like a veil. It’s him, Grandfather, he thought, joy warming him in a way the Lady’s light never could and burning away the last of his doubts. It’s really him!

  Edmund did not seem to mind being prodded. He let his hands settle on the younger man’s shoulders.

  “How did you survive?” Aidan asked. “I saw what happened at Lake Carrean. The vagrants—”

  “Vagrants?” Edmund interrupted. “That’s what those creatures are called?”

  “I saw them overwhelm you. I used a spell to review a memory Mother extracted from your mind before Tyrnen... Before he...”

  Edmund’s eyes grew stony. “You remember the night of your birthday? The conversation we had?”

  Aidan nodded, though he wished he could forget.

  “Tyrnen was waiting for me when I left the sword chamber,” Edmund said. “I didn’t know it was him, at first. Someone leaped out from behind a corner and grabbed me before I could react. The next thing I knew, I was on Lake Carrean’s shore. I fought off those... vagrants. Then your mother...” He looked away, shaking his head. “The next thing I knew, I was being dragged by my arms through the woods. The man dragging me... it was me. Or at least, it looked like me.”

  “A harbinger,” Aidan said. “Like a vagrant, but a Touched.”

  Edmund’s brow rose. “That explains what happened next. I didn’t want the... the harbinger to know I’d regained consciousness. Not that I could see much, anyway. My eyes were almost swelled shut, and my entire body was a mass of pain. It stabbed me, the harbinger. I guess I passed out from blood loss. I don’t know how far we walked. I stayed quiet and still. I had little strength and knew I had to bide my time. Finally we stopped. The harbinger pulled me to my knees and said... dreadful things. While it talked, it slowly drew its sword. I lunged for it and swung. The harbinger disappeared into thin air, but I felt my weapon connect with something solid just before it vanished, like a practice dummy that I couldn’t see.”

  Edmund smiled grimly. “The harbinger reappeared almost instantly. Its mouth hung open, and its head slid off its body. And it rotted right there in front of me, like it had been dead for months.”

  He cleared his throat. “I staggered back to the cabin, and when I got there, I saw your mother.” His voice shook as he continued. “They’d just left her there, like discarded firewood. I wanted to come for you right then. I didn’t know if you were still at Sunfall— I prayed to the Lady that you weren’t—but I knew I had to find you. I went into the cabin and patched myself up, but it was days before I could travel. I got to Calewind as quickly as I was able, but talk was that you’d denounced the war and left. So, I stayed out of sight, figuring you’d come back eventually.

  “I’m sorry, son,” he said, unable to look at Aidan. “I wish I could have prevented all this.” He swallowed hard. “I wish I could have saved her.” His voice broke, and he looked away.

  “It’s all right, Father.”

  Suddenly the door flew open and the leering Wardsman who had arrested Aidan strode into the room. He jerked to a halt when he noticed the visitor standing before Aidan’s cell.

  “Who are you?” the Wardsman said, squinting in the room’s dim light.

  “Just wanted to pay my last respects to the prince,” Edmund said gruffly, keeping his face in the shadows.

  The Wardsman’s eyes narrowed further. “I didn’t see you come by the desk.”

  “That’s probably because you’re usually not there when you’re supposed to be, Lew.”

  “What are you—”

  “Do you want me to tell the general that you’re always leaving your post to get a bit of necking time with your Samantha?”

  Lew paled. “There’s no need—”

  “There’ll be need, unless you mind your own affairs. I’ll be back out in a bit. Why don’t you try to stay at a post for more than fifteen minutes at a time, eh?”

  Lew stiffened and strode from the room, slamming the door behind him.

  Determination lit Edmund’s eyes. “We haven’t much time, son. I couldn’t help your mother, but I’ll kneel at the feet of Kahltan himself if I fail you.”

  “Wait,” Aidan said. “Much has happened.” He gave his father a condensed version of events since Tyrnen had lured Edmund and Annalyn from Sunfall.

  “What’s our plan?” Edmund asked when Aidan finished. The question took Aidan by surprise. His father was looking to him to lead. Could he do that?

  Keys jangled in the door.

  Aidan bit off a curse. “I need Heritage.”

  “I had to take it to the throne room,” Edmund said as he quickly rose and made his way toward the wall through which he had entered. “Long story. But I’ll get it back.”

  “Good. Make your way to the west courtyard once you’ve retrieved it.”

  “Do you have a plan?”

  “Of course,” Aidan lied.

  The stones began to slide open again, the grinding covered by the creak of the opening door. His father rose and moved stiffly through the opening. The limp was slight, but it made Aidan sad— and angry. His father had defeated every vagrant that had stood against him, but at high cost. His wounds had not been properly treated and would likely have permanent effects. Edmund the Valorous, whose fighting prowess and dexterity had been compared to Ambrose Gairden’s, would never move the same way again.

  Tyrnen was as responsible for Edmund’s injuries as he was for Annalyn’s death. One more debt the old man would pay.

  The stones slid closed, safely hiding Edmund from view. Filled with hope, the sword-bearer turned his attention to his newest visitor. The face of Edmund Calderon leered at him from the other side of the bars, his lips peeled back to bare his teeth.

  “We’ve time yet before your trial begins, Prince of Tears,” the Edmund-harbinger said. Reaching to its waist, it withdrew a set of keys, turned one in Aidan’s door, and stalked in, tossing the keys up and catching them. “I thought we might talk for a bit. Just the two of us.”

  Chapter 35

  Trial

  EDMUND WOUND HIS WAY through the sneak tunnels that crisscrossed beneath Crotaria. He smiled as he went along. The labyrinth, and the band of thieves who maintained it, were two of Leaston’s best-kept secrets. He remembered telling Aidan bedtime stories about gangs of thieves that could pop up anywhere at any time. His son had lit up with wonder and curiosity. Edmund could not wait to see his son’s face when he revealed that the tunnels were quite real, and quite useful.

  Normally, marks on the wall guided travelers from one hub to another. But there were a few secret passages among the secret passages, unmarked tunnels that led to places of great convenience across Crotaria. Like Sunfall’s throne room, for example. Only Gairdens and high-ranking officers in the Ward knew of that particular tunnel. Edmund had considered informing Tyrnen some years back—the Eternal Flame would surely find such information useful—but Annalyn had convinced him that some secrets should stay in the family.

  Like Heritage, now as good as in the hands of the beast impersonating his wife. He had wanted to hide away and give Heritage to Aidan in the depths, but he hadn’t been able to do that while in a party of other Wardsmen. He had considered shaking them off his trail, and roughly. But that would have attracted the worst kind of attention. Besides, those men were his men. They had no part in what Tyrnen and his undead were doing.

  At that, black thoughts swept through him. He pushed them away. Revenge would come later. Right now, his son needed his blade.

  —Aidan.

  Yes, Grandfather?

  —Will you please tell us what’s happening?

  The Edmund-harbinger is leading me to my trial, from what I can tell.

  —From what you can tell?

  He put a hood over my head.
I can’t see anything.

  —You seem rather calm about all of this.

  Aidan was glad his grandfather thought so. The truth was he was having a great deal of trouble thinking of anything besides the stabs of pain flaring up along his body. The harbinger’s discussion in the depths involved few words but lots of fists raining hammerlike blows on his chest and torso. But Charles and the others didn’t need to know that. They had enough to worry about, what with the end of all life on Crotaria only days away.

  Where are you, Grandfather?

  —The throne room.

  Is there anyone with you?

  Charles was silent for a few moments before answering.

  —No. It’s empty. Wait a moment... Someone just came through the doors.

  Is it a Wardsman?

  —Yes. Should we be expecting someone?

  Aidan smiled, feeling cautiously hopeful despite the stench of sweat and blood soaked into the hood. My father.

  Charles listened as Aidan paraphrased Edmund’s tale of survival. When he finished, Aidan was surprised to hear Charles swallow a choked sob.

  —I am grateful your father is alive, boy. He is a good man, has been since the day he enlisted in Torel’s Ward. It just makes me wish there was a chance your mother could have survived. I hope that doesn’t sound unkind.

  I understand, Grandfather.

  Charles took a deep breath. —What’s your plan? he asked, voice steady again.

  Aidan heard other footsteps fall in with his and the harbinger’s. A cool breeze caressed his skin and ruffled his clothing. They were outside. Ahead, he heard the drone of murmuring voices. He stumbled slightly, catching against what felt like a step. The harbinger pulled him along, practically dragging him. He fell back into step and heard his boots clomp over wood. A stage of some kind? Yes, he decided. Likely the one his mother used to address assemblages out-of-doors. The hum of voices grew louder.