Contents
Scions of Nexus
Front Matter
Map
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Author's Note
Also by Gregory Mattix
Acknowledgments
About the Author
SCIONS OF NEXUS
SCIONS OF NEXUS
BOOK 1
GREGORY MATTIX
Scions of Nexus
Copyright © 2018 by Gregory Mattix
Cover art by dleoblack
Map by Gregory Mattix
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner of this book.
This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and events are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or deceased, business establishments, events, locales is entirely coincidental.
Prologue
The stranger emerged from the forest without warning.
At first, Wyat didn’t notice the cloaked figure. He was engrossed in repairing the rails of a fence but then paused in swinging the hammer to wipe his sweaty face on the sleeve of his tunic. He happened to glance over at his son, Elyas, who had just turned three summers. The boy had been playing in the grass a short distance away but was frozen and staring at the wood line.
Wyat followed his son’s gaze and saw the stranger regarding them from a short bowshot away. He wore a burgundy tunic and black breeches beneath a dark-gray cloak with the cowl raised to conceal his features.
“Go inside and find your mother, Elyas.” Wyat gripped his old hammer in one hand, unthreateningly, and took a few steps toward the stranger. It was no warhammer but was the only weapon at hand. “Elyas!”
The boy looked over at him, his blue eyes wide, evidently not having heard him the first time.
“Go find your mother, Son.”
Elyas looked as though he’d protest at first, but he must have recognized the seriousness of Wyat’s demeanor. The boy picked himself up and went running toward the farmhouse with a toddler’s clumsy gait.
This doesn’t bode well. Has the past finally caught up with me?
The figure remained motionless, observing Wyat and his peaceful farmstead.
“Can I help you, friend?” Wyat closed the distance until the stranger was about five paces away.
“The gods have summoned you for a reckoning, Wyat, Steel Commander and guardian of Nexus. Step forth, and be judged.” The voice was low and rough, as though the stranger was intentionally trying to disguise it.
Wyat frowned. “I’m not in the mood for games. Speak your piece, and begone from my land.” He slapped the steel head of the hammer into the palm of his hand to punctuate his point.
“You’ve grown cantankerous over the years, old man.” The stranger reached up and threw back the cowl of his cloak, revealing a thick mane of blond hair. Green eyes glittered mischievously, and a broad grin spread on the half-elf’s face.
“Arron!” Wyat stood with mouth agape before recovering from his surprise. Relief washed over him. “Balor’s balls, you gave me a start! I thought trouble had caught up with me, old friend.” He stepped forward to embrace his good friend, the man who was almost a brother to him. He hadn’t seen Arron for nearly four years, ever since wedding Shenai.
Arron raised a hand, forestalling him. “Careful—I bear a precious burden.” He turned slightly, and Wyat saw a pack on his back.
A tiny face peeked out from an enveloping blanket.
Before Wyat could ask the obvious question, Arron clasped him warmly in a half embrace. “It’s good to see you, Wyat! Nera sends her regards. She wishes more than anything she could have come to you herself, but alas, such is not to be for her.”
“Aye, I know.” Wyat sobered as he regarded Arron and the infant. “Hers?”
Arron nodded. “Aye. We know this is a grave thing to ask of you, but would you be willing to raise the lad? Nexus is no place for a son of hers. Her enemies, if they ever found out about him, will seek to control him and use him as leverage against her. We both thought it best if he was raised in secrecy far away from Nexus by an honorable, decent family so he may grow up knowing an honest, simple life. You know that there’s nobody she would trust more with this precious burden.” He turned so Wyat could get a better look.
The baby was perhaps four or five months of age, Wyat guessed. The infant’s eyes were the feature that immediately struck Wyat. He had Nera’s eyes—an unusual rust color, and Wyat somehow knew they would glimmer with an inner fire, much like stoked embers, when the boy was in a particular mood. A thin tousle of dark hair stuck out on his head, and his small mouth was pursed as though studying Wyat in turn.
Wyat smiled at the infant. “Hello, there, little man. What’s your name?”
“Taren,” Arron said.
“Taren. That’s a good, strong name for a lad.” He glanced back to Arron. “He’s got her eyes. And the father?”
“Malek.”
“But how… Gods, it’s been six years!”
Arron shrugged. “I wondered the same. Nera told me of her pregnancy a few years ago but said she wasn’t ready to birth a child. Her belly never showed any signs until one day, a few months ago, she was suddenly swollen near to bursting. Her magic kept the gestation in check, ’twould seem.”
Wyat wiped some drool from Taren’s mouth with the blanket as Arron gave him a questioning glance.
“Let me speak with Shenai, but if it were up to me alone, then of course I’ll raise him. I fear the gods won’t bless us with another child. Not from lack of trying, though.”
“Of course. Take your time, mate.” Arron glanced up at the house and waved.
Shenai was standing in the doorway of their home, hands on Elyas’s shoulders, the two watching curiously.
“Apologies, I forgot my manners. Come—you’ll be our guest for dinner. I even have a cask of ale I haven’t tapped yet, which I was saving for a special occasion.”
“I like the sound of that,” Arron replied with a grin.
He noticed the half-elf didn’t seem to have aged a day since the Battle of Nexus. Wyat himself, on the other hand, felt as if he’d aged nearly a score of years. His knees and back ached much of the time from the hard life of a soldier, and his hair and beard were speckled with more gray than brown though he had seen but forty-three summers.
“Welcome back, stranger.” Shenai walked forward to greet Arron, her blond curls shining in the sunlight.
“Shenai, it’s a pleasure to see you again! You’re looking as lovely as ever.” Arron leaned in and kissed her on the cheek, clasping her hand in his.
“Aw, you’re too kind. We don’t get many visitors out here, but I’ve told Wyat his good friends are always welcome.”
“I appreciate that. And who’s this little man? You look a lot like your father.” Arron leaned over and extended a hand to Elyas. “I’m Arron.”
“Elyas.” The boy shook hands earnestly with Arron. Elyas had Wyat’s blue eyes and dark hair and was big for his age. His son would have his strong warrior’s frame when he grew up.
Shenai seemed to notice Arron’s pack for the first time and craned her neck to try to see the bundle he carried.
Wyat cleared his throat. “Honey, we’ve got something to discuss. Why don’t we go inside for a bit?”
***
Wyat and Arron were sitting outside under the stars in a pair of wooden chairs. The ale cask sat between them, and they’d already put a good-sized dent in it. For dinner, they’d cooked up a wild hog that the two men had brought down in the woods earlier, along with some fresh vegetables from the field. Shenai had baked a berry pie as well, which Arron had raved about.
As Wyat had suspected, Shenai hadn’t taken much convincing to accept Taren into their home. She’d fallen for him after seeing that pudgy little face and would be happy to raise him as her own. Her only reservations were about his heritage since she knew from Wyat’s stories that Nera was of an otherworldly nature. He’d never given up Nera’s secret, however. Shenai simply thought she was a magic user, which she was, although she was also much more than that.
“You think he’ll inherit their magical talents?” Wyat took another sip of ale.
Arron nodded. “Aye, I’d bet on it. I’ll do my best to visit and check on Taren every few years. If he starts to manifest his talent early, I’ll see what Nera wants to do about it though I suspect she’ll want to train him herself to learn to control his abilities. Or when he’s of age, he will likely come to find us. I know I would—the chance to meet his birth mother and learn of Nexus and his heritage… What young lad could resist that? One way or the other, I believe he’ll find his way to us when the time is right.”
“Aye, that seems like a fair plan.” Wyat took another gulp of his ale as his thoughts wandered. Ever since Arron’s arrival, Wyat’s thoughts kept going back to something or, more accurately, someone else, and the ale provided the fuel necessary to finally work up the courage to broach the subject. He heaved a sigh and glanced back toward the farmhouse, making sure Shenai wasn’t in earshot. “I still think about her, you know. All these years later.” He sighed and ran a hand through his graying hair.
Arron gave him a sympathetic look and took a long pull on his tankard. He stared long into the night. “I’m not sure if it’s helpful to tell you this, but Idrimel returned to Nexus not so long ago.”
“How was she?” he asked instantly.
“Lovely as always. Her calling agrees with her. She’s high priestess of the temple back on Ellorya now, and church business brought her to the Temple of Sol in Nexus. Nera, of course, knew the moment she arrived. Yosrick invited Idrimel, Endira, and Nera and I to dinner.” He smiled at the memory. “Nice family Yosrick’s got there. Their young ones are almost all grown up. Both want to be adventurers like their father, to Qixi’s consternation.” He laughed.
Wyat laughed as well, missing his old friends. He took a long draught but couldn’t help his thoughts returning to the priestess in particular.
“She asked about you,” Arron continued after a long moment. “I told her the quiet life agreed with you and that you married a lovely local lass.”
Wyat smiled sadly. “I’m glad she’s well. I suppose I always knew it wouldn’t work out. She was clearly chosen by her god for a higher purpose… It wasn’t really fair to expect her to give that up for a common human grunt, someone who’d be lucky to live out more than a few more decades. I reckon she hasn’t aged a day, am I right?”
Arron nodded. “Aye. Beautiful as the first day any of us ever laid eyes on her.”
“Huh. And I’m a beat-up old soldier with one leg in the grave, practically.”
“Aw, cheer up, mate! We could always go into the nearest town and visit the local brothel to relive our glory days.” Arron’s green eyes danced with mischief.
A melancholy descended over Wyat at the thought his longer-lived friends would have many years of adventures and camaraderie ahead of them while he was quickly becoming an old man.
“I can’t, Arron. I’m married now… have a son and all. Well, make that two, now.”
“Aye. My aim wasn’t to have you end up sleeping in the barn. I was merely trying to rouse a spark of the old reckless Wyat and not this depressingly introspective fellow.” Arron clapped him on the shoulder, and they sat in comfortable silence for a time, sipping their drinks. “Don’t blame yourself. She still cares about you.” Arron’s voice was quiet, as if unsure about revealing that last bit.
“And I her,” Wyat said huskily. He cleared his throat and looked guiltily back at the farmhouse. “Not that I don’t care for Shenai, of course. I love her very much, but there was always something about Idrimel…”
“An ethereal beauty, mate. That’s what the bards would call it. It’s that celestial heritage.”
“Aye.” Wyat thought to let the matter rest, but Arron wasn’t so easily put off.
“Surely, you can’t be feeling slight in comparison? The Steel Commander who rallied the troops and saved the city of Nexus! The staunch friend who followed Nera into the Abyss on a vital quest and prevailed! Those are surely impressive feathers for your cap.”
“I suppose they are, at that.” Wyat’s smile returned, and he finished his ale. “And what will you do now? Head back to Nexus? You’re welcome to stay as long as you like.” He’d already made the offer earlier, but Arron had politely declined, saying he must leave in the morn.
“Thanks, but I’d best be on my way. I won’t head back to Nexus quite yet. I was thinking it would be nice to feel the wind under my wings, breathe the fresh country air as I soar up toward the sun… then perhaps take a deer in the field.”
“That sounds like a grand way to spend a day, my friend.” Wyat yawned then frowned at his empty tankard. “I suppose I’d better turn in. Shenai might need help with the baby.” He started to rise then wobbled and fell back in his chair with a grunt.
Arron laughed. “A drunk bastard like yourself has no business tending to a baby.” He clapped Wyat on the shoulder again. “Might as well surrender that battle and keep at this besieged cask of ale instead.”
Wyat belched. “Reckon I could be a tad drunk. Can’t drink quite as much as I used to. Gods, man, you’d better come visit us more often than every four years.”
“I hope to. The boss keeps me busy, but all this shite business of the city pales in importance to keeping a watchful eye on Taren.”
“That’s good to hear. Next time, stop by the Zombie and bring a cask of Sven’s finest ale—this stuff I get in Swanford is tolerable, but nothing can compare to Sven’s.”
“Count on it.”
Wyat’s dutiful thoughts of turning in were soon forgotten, and the two stayed out, reliving old times, until the sky grew light, and just like in old times, the companions won their battle against the ale cask.
***
Arron walked back into the woods the next morning, finding that Wyat’s pensive mood of the past night had made him feel a bit melancholy himself. He was shocked at how the years had taken their toll on his human friend. Perhaps what had seemed to age him so quickly wasn’t just a physical but an emotional toll as well. A young lad had followed him and Nera from that wretched muddy village back to Nexus just a few summers back, it seemed. Arron briefly wondered if retiring from adventuring and turning over command of the Steel Rage to Rand, the young hero who’d accompanied them to the Abyss, had been the right decision for Wyat.
Better to live a nice, quiet life out here with a lovely wife and raise two young lads rather than dying in the mud in some campaign no one gave a shite about for unneeded coin.
Arron sighed and spoke aloud as if Wyat could hear him. “I hope you’ve found some peace, my friend. May little Taren bring some added joy to your life and not be a burden. I couldn’t imagine a better man to raise him than you. With your guidance, those two lads will be formidable indeed when they grow up.”
When he reached a secluded glade he had spotted the prior day, he stopped and, with a thought, shapeshifted into his true draconic form. His sudden transformation nearly scared the life from a nearby rabbit.
Arron leaped up with his powerful hind legs, and his leathery wings pumped the air until the ground swiftly receded below. He soared up into the clear morning sky, content to enjoy the fresh air and freedom of flight.
As he flew, he relived the old days, when he and Wyat had been carefree youths and the weight of duty hadn’t fallen upon the young shoulders of either of them.
His sharp eyes spotted just what he sought: a young buck grazing in a meadow below. Arron gained some altitude, careful to not pass before the sun’s disc and let his shadow fall over the animal and spook it, then he tucked his wings and dove toward his prize.
Chapter 1
A sudden fell presence descended over the small citadel at the edge of the Achronian Wastes in the Abyss. Nesnys was no longer alone with her minions—one of great power was intruding upon her territory. The simple presence of a greater fiend was a challenge to her authority, one that simply could not be ignored.
Nesnys forgot in an instant about tormenting the pathetic creatures before her. She wrenched Willbreaker from its scabbard and stepped to the window. As she did, her scaled armor flowed over her body like oil, covering her, save for along her flank and around her shoulder—the places where her skin was irrevocably scarred by the droexhal dagger’s corruption, the very same blade she wore on her hip opposite Willbreaker.
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