by Amanda Young
Suriax
By Amanda Young and
Raymond Young Jr.
Copyright 2012 Amanda McLain-Young
Smashwords Edition
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Dedication
To RA McLain, a loving father and a generous, honest man. You will be missed.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Dedication
Author’s Note
About the Authors
Connect with A.D. McLain/Amanda Young
Chapter 1
Kern watched the blood run down his hand and arm. The cool blade glistened red in his hand. Those spots unmarred by blood were a clean, bright silver, making apparent to any who cared to look how well he cared for his weapons. With a sigh he pulled out a cloth and began wiping the blade clean. The body of the man he was just speaking with lay lifeless at his feet.
“We need a recorder,” he heard the bartender call. All around, patrons of the café glanced over briefly in curiosity and then went back about their business. A few didn’t even bother looking. The door to the back opened to reveal a young woman. A full elf, one of the first to be born here after the founding of Suriax two hundred years ago, she was the equivalent of a thirty year old human. Honey golden hair, a length only attainable due to her long lifespan, was pulled back in several twists and braids. Her lips were lightly painted, it was the only coloring she wore, and she was dressed in an apron with her hair slightly askew. Her cheeks were flush from her work in the heat of the kitchen, but that was not her only job. She worked there part time to help her brother Bryce, the bartender and owner of the Arrow’s Quill Tavern. Though Marcy normally made her pay through her work as a recorder, they were moving into the busy season, and the tavern could use all the help they could get. Seeing him right away, she smiled and walked over.
“Kern,” she chastised with a grin as she pulled out a notepad and pen. “That’s the third one this week. You know if you really want to see me that bad you could just ask me out and save the clean up fee.”
He grinned back. “What can I say, Marce? You’re the best recorder in town.”
“Umm, hmmm. You just say that because I already know what to put for all your information.” He shrugged. Shaking her head, Marcy began filling out the form, mumbling to herself as she went along. “Let’s see, name is Kern Tygierrenon. Rank: Lieutenant First Class of Flame Guard. Race: half elf. City of birth: Suriax. Age: one hundred twenty five. There, now, name of the deceased?”
“Cornerbluff.”
“And was the reason for killing by order of the crown, for money or personal?”
“Personal.” She looked up sharply. He understood her surprise. In all the times she served as his recorder, he never killed anyone for personal reasons. About ninety percent were ordered by the queen or other high officials. Ten percent were merc jobs he would occasionally take on for some quick coin. Either way, it was always a job.
Looking back down, Marcy found her place and continued. “Do you need to retrieve any items from the body?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, you may do so, now.”
Careful to avoid the slowly growing puddle of blood, Kern searched through the many coat pockets until he found what he was looking for. Pulling out a locket on a chain he checked to make sure the painting inside was still intact. Satisfied, he resumed his seat, tucking the necklace into his own pocket. Marcy noted what was recovered and handed Kern the form to sign. Signing under his name, she dated and stamped the document before putting it away. “So, are you done for the night, or should I get the next form ready?”
“You never know. Maybe you should come out with me tonight just in case I find myself in need of your services again.”
Marcy laughed and shook her head. “Don’t forget to pay Bryce on the way out.” Kern watched her return to the kitchen then gathered his things and paid Bryce the clean up fee, throwing in a little tip out of professional courtesy.
“You don’t have to do that,” Bryce argued. “You’re easy to clean up after, not like those mages. They always want to be dramatic and kill people with fireballs. I have to replace the curtains every other month, and then the whole place smells like smoke for at least a week. You’re no problem at all.”
“I appreciate that.” Bryce was taller than a typical elf, almost as tall as a human. Since most of his customers were half elves and full elves, he towered over a high percentage of the clientele, especially when he stood behind the bar, since the floor was raised there. A little extra height could be effective in commanding a sense of authority. It helped him deal with some of his rowdier patrons. “You guys take it easy.”
“Hey, wait a sec,” Bryce called before Kern could leave. “Could you bring this over to your uncle?” He pulled out a small box and handed it to Kern. “It’s drander pot stew. I heard him reminiscing about it the other day and tracked down some drander meat.”
“Thanks, I know it’ll mean a lot to him.” He turned the box around in his hands. The craftsmanship was not the usual wooden box. There was a series of magical runes carved into the lid, and he could not feel any warmth from the food inside. “What kind of box is this?”
Bryce grinned broadly. “Lynnalin made that for us. It’s got some enchantments on it. It keeps the food just the right temperature until you’re ready to eat. Then it returns here when it’s empty. We’re going to start a whole new delivery service with these. With the Summer Solstice Celebrations this week we should be able to do some really good business.”
“Well, good luck with that. If you get any more drander meat let me know.” It was a rare find, as the ruler of the land it came from wasn’t fond of Suriax and refused to trade with them.
“Will do.”
All around decorations were being put out. There was excitement in the air. Everyone looked forward to the yearly, week long, Summer Solstice celebrations to commemorate the founding of Suriax. Normally driven by the desire to excel at everything they do, in part due to the encouragement and direction of Queen Maerishka, this was one time a year when everyone took off to enjoy the festivities. There would be feasts, music, dancing, drinking and indulgences of every kind. People would marry, others would be conceived and vendors would make a lot of money. Some doubled their entire yearly revenue in the weeks surrounding the festival. It was one of the few times when tourists actually dared to venture into the city. With theft and murder legal in Suriax (given a few restrictions and monitoring to avoid rampant serial killers on the loose) it was not exactly a prime vacation destination. Those outside the city had this misconception that there were murders on every street corner, people routinely stabbed for their coin purse, and there was a certain amount of that, just as there was in any city, but criminals quickly learned that if murder was legal, so too was revenge killing. In more civilized cities, a victim’s family must prove guilt, go to court and sit through trials that may or may not find the defendant guilty. But in Suriax, if you knew someone killed your husband or brother you could go out and kill them yourself without fear of being arrested or executed for doing so. It led to more careful criminals who actually avoided killing whenever possi
ble. Most killings these days were on order of the Queen and she rarely troubled herself with killing tourists (unless they were particularly annoying and took the last pastry at the bake shop before she could get it – but that only happened once . . . that he knew of). In a lot of ways, Suriax was actually a safer place to live because of its controversial laws. The people policed themselves, and they were happier for it.
Kern made his way back through the city, past the racetrack and academies, to his small apartment just outside the walls surrounding the palace grounds. As a high ranking officer with the Flame Guard, he could easily get a larger, more elaborate home, but his uncle Frex had lived here for over two hundred years, ever since before the founding of Suriax. He would be six hundred and eighty this year. Old, even for an elf, he didn’t have many years left. Frex spent most of his days now reminiscing about the past and searching for company wherever he could find it.
“Uncle, I’m home.”
“In the back,” he called, his voice muffled. Kern made his way through the apartment. He heard several grunts and thuds coming from the den. His uncle stood on a small ladder in the closet, his body half hidden by coats and boxes. He grunted again, another box falling to join the growing pile at his feet.
“Uncle, what are you doing? You’re going to hurt yourself.” Kern rushed to the closet and helped his uncle down, careful to avoid the obstacles on the floor.
“I was looking for a scarf your mother made for me before she died. It was the green one with the blue on it.”
“That’s over here.” Kern pulled the scarf from behind the chair. Frex grabbed it and held it close, tears gathering in his eyes.
Kern pushed back a swell of sadness at seeing his uncle so emotional. “Bryce asked me to bring you this.”
Frex opened the box and looked up in surprise. “Drander pot stew? I haven’t had this in a hundred years. Where did he find it?”
“Don’t know, but he tracked it down for you.”
The gratitude on his face warmed Kern’s heart. Just the smell of the food brought more joy to the old man’s face than he remembered seeing in years. He grabbed a spoon and drink and let Frex enjoy his meal, content to watch and wait. He still had one more surprise, but he wanted to let him thoroughly savor the food first. Frex finished eating and sat back with a satisfied sigh. Kern cleaned up. When he returned, the box was already gone, returned to Bryce. His uncle rested heavily in his chair, his eyed closed and his breathing slowed. Although he was old, he was not a frail man, at least not by elven standards. To the many half elves who inhabited Suriax and Aleria, even the stoutest elf could appear a little frail. But he did carry a weary air about him. He witnessed many difficult times first hand in his almost seven hundred years. With nearly double the lifespan of a half elf and seven times that of a human, he was mostly alone now. Gently, Kern took his hand. Frex stirred and opened his eyes. “Uncle, I have something else I wanted to give you.” Pulling out the locket, he put it in his hands. “I got it back for you. The man who attached you and stole it is dead. He won’t be hurting you again.” He didn’t go into detail of how the man died. Frex never liked the idea of Kern joining the Guard, particularly because he didn’t approve of killing, a throwback to his Alerian days, Kern supposed.
Frex opened the locket and stared down at the painting inside. It held the image of a young girl. The resemblance to both Kern and Frex was undeniable. She had the same dark black hair as Kern. Frex’s was mostly silver, now, though it was once the same color. They all shared the same long nose, blue eyes and a slight curve near the tip of their pointed elven ears. She was Kern’s mother and Frex’s only sister. Kern had very few memories of her. Frex raised him from the time he was a baby. She visited, but it was always brief. She told him they would be together one day. This was just temporary. Then she died when he was in his thirties. She and Frex were very close and he took her death particularly hard. There were weeks he barely ate, and the sadness in his eyes never really went away.
Frex was silent for several minutes, his thumb tracing the lines of her face. Finally, he closed the locket and stood, walking to a cabinet across the room. Taking out a large leather bound book, he returned to his seat. “There are things I need to tell you. I should have said something before now, but I honestly never thought it would matter, and I could not bring myself to talk about certain things. But time is running out for me, and you deserve to know who you are and where you came from.”
“Uncle, what do you mean?” He could chalk the cryptic talk up to the ramblings of an old man, but for once, his uncle’s eyes were completely clear and his entire demeanor was serious. Whatever he needed to say was obviously important to him.
Opening the book, he revealed a map showing Aleria and Suriax as one single city.
“How much do you know about the history of Aleria?”
Kern thought back. “Not much. It was founded by King . . . Emerien. Then his son and grandchildren had a power struggle, and they split up the city, founding Suriax.”
Frex cringed. “I have much to explain. Emerien was a kindhearted, benevolent ruler, and a good and loyal friend to those he cared for.”
“You sound as though you knew him.”
Frex nodded. “We grew up together. I stood beside him at his wedding.”
Kern could not have been more shocked. Sure, he worked for the queen, but he hardly knew her. They only met on rare occasions when she needed to give her orders personally. She never remembered his name. To be friends with someone who founded a city was something else entirely.
“I still remember when he met Carol. She was a human, and he was a full elf. Back then such pairings were not that common. As long lived as we are, we elves have a tendency to look down on other races. Besides, if you live to be seven hundred years old, why would you want to choose a mate who will die in less than a hundred? But he loved Carol. Consulting with many wizards and clerics, he finally found a way to join his life force with hers. It cut his life in half, but it also extended her life by the same measure. Of course, since they were joined, were he to die, she would also fade away and die. His family was furious that he would shorten his life so dramatically for a human. He founded Aleria so they would have a place they could live in peace. Word of their love and sacrifice spread wide, attracting many half elves, humans and like minded elves. Aleria became a safe haven for those previously outcast. Emerien’s dedication to law and justice led to many prosperous, happy years for those who resided there. His rule extended north to encompass the mountain settlements and farming communities. Landowners practically begged to swear fealty to him to avoid harsh taxation and cruel treatment from other kingdoms. There was resistance at first. Kings do not typically want to lose a tax source, but Emerien’s troops fought out of loyalty, not fear, and other kingdoms soon learned it was not worth the trouble to resist him.
Eventually Emerien fell to old age. He was succeeded by his son, Veritan. Veritan was not kind or benevolent. He was a corrupt, vile man without an ounce of compassion in his entire heart.” Frex took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down. “His rule was known as the time of Black Law.” Many people were imprisoned for minor offenses. There were riots. People died. You were born during all this madness. Your mother asked me to hide you here, for your protection. Of course, that was before this became Suriax. At that time, this was mostly undeveloped forests and open land.”
“Why didn’t we return to Aleria once this became Suriax?” It was something he often wondered. Frex never hid his dislike of Suriax and its laws, but he insisted they must remain there.
“I considered it, but anyone who may look for you would do so there. Here no one would think to find you.”
“That is why you told me to lie about my age,” Kern surmised, finally understanding.
Frex nodded. “The fewer people who knew where you were from, the less likely anyone would be to ever put together the pieces.”
“But why did we need to hide like that? Who w
as after me, and why couldn’t Mom come with us?”
The pained look returned to his eyes. “Your mother wanted to come with us.” Frex paused, uncertain in his next words. “You mentioned before, the power struggle between Veritan and his children, but you did not say its real cause. Convinced things had gone too far after the death of their mother in one of the riots, his children took control of the city. More like their grandfather, they believed in the purity of the law. They blamed their father’s perversion of the law for the chaos that led to her death.”
“Their mom died in a riot? Sound like what happened to my mother.” It was odd to think he could have something in common with kings and queens.
Frex looked away, silently turning several pages. Once he found the page he was looking for, he handed the book to Kern. “This is a portrait of the royal family shortly before King Emerien’s death.”
Kern looked at the picture. The king was obviously old, but he looked happy, and his authority was easy to see, even through a painting. He draped an arm affectionately around a human woman who looked equally happy. Standing in front of them was their son, Veritan. He was dressed in a button up coat with a collar that reached to his chin, his hair carefully styled to command respect and display strength. Beside him stood three children, two boys and a girl, and their mother. Kern felt his breath catch. The woman had midnight black hair, pearly white skin and eyes a crystal pure ice blue. A slight grin played at her lips, her chin tilted up defiantly. Her spirit called out to him. He knew her face. It was the same face in the locket, the face of his mother. Kern felt the book slip from his hands and fumbled to catch it, closing it in the process. After several deep breaths he looked up at his uncle. “How could you not tell me this sooner?”
