Echo of the High Kings (The Eoriel Saga Book 1)

by Kal Spriggs

  Kerrel looked away from the other woman's intent eyes. “It must be difficult.”

  “Yes... but that is only the beginning, you see. The Starborn, when they arrived, did not invade us. They sent their emissaries and they showed us other paths, they talked of peace and yet they taught us how to defend ourselves,” Veruna said. The witch seemed to study Kerrel's face, as if to see if she understood. “At that time, the Armen controlled this island, and we worshiped their spirits and followed Andoral Elhonas.”

  “But that changed. We threw them out, and under the High Kings we reclaimed our freedom. And so, we follow the spirits of the High Kings... those priests we have, yet this island is thick with spirits, those of Armen, Manach, Camber, and even those of the Viani,” Veruna said. “So thick that for those of us who can see them, they hang like this fog across the land. You see only a handful of those powerful enough to show themselves, while I see them all, thousands of them, all around.”

  “So of course, we have witches to appease and placate spirits which might otherwise be a hazard, even while we have holy men who venerate the spirits of our ancestors and those of the High Kings,” Veruna smiled.

  “That's very interesting,” Kerrel said. “I would almost think that the presence of so many hostile spirits would give rise to warlockry as well as witchcraft.”

  “Oh...” Veruna said. “You've clearly had an encounter with one. There are some here, and I have seen their work. Most often they are called to silence those malevolent spirits which become threats. When we cannot appease or bargain with those that are threats, we instead compel or command.” She shrugged. Kerrel saw the woman seemed to view warlockry as just another tool.

  “I've seen a warlock who pretended at witchcraft, he fed his pet demon on the souls of the fallen and when we had no fallen he fed it on the mercenaries in our camp,” Kerrel said, her voice harsh.

  Veruna shook her head, “That is unfortunate. But I have seen Armen Holy Men do the same... only to their women and children, that their fighters remain for a fight. The spirits that we deal with all have their own prices... and there are those of any profession that are poor examples of their fellows.”

  “I'll accept your position, even if I disagree,” Kerrel said politely.

  “Ah, very kind of you, given your own position as a sell sword,” Veruna smiled.

  “Might I ask why we have received such hostility?” Kerrel asked.

  Veruna stood up, “We once had a great priestess, one of the most powerful we've ever had, able to speak to the most powerful of our ancestral spirits and to awaken them to defend us. In the battle at Green Harbor, Duke Peter sent help in the form of an experienced band of mercenaries, who volunteered to protect our priestess while our best troops led the attack.”

  Veruna shook her head, “We trusted them... as we trusted Duke Peter, and in the end, the mercenaries broke, and allowed her to be captured. The Armen tortured her for over a cycle, and their shamans fed her soul and that of the spirits who tried to protect her, to their own dark spirits.” She met Kerrel's eyes, “Her name was Hycania Nasrat.”

  “We tolerate Lord Hector's mercenaries and we let him use them to bleed the Armen who constantly raid our lands and seek to dominate us, but we will never trust anyone now, not without seeing their worth.” Veruna looked at them both, “And as far as why my father hates you in particular... that is another story, and one that will cost you to know the answer.” She nodded at them both and gave a slight smile, “Though I doubt you could pay my prices.” She turned and walked away. For a moment, Kerrel thought she saw some of the spirits in the fog swirl into dance around her.

  “So...” Kerrel looked over at Baran. “Was it just me or did she creep you out as well?”

  Baran shook his head, “I hate witches. She smiled the whole time she talked to us, always that damned smirk which suggested she knows more than she's telling us.”

  “Well, we know why the locals don't seem to like us... which doesn't encourage me much as far as how we'll be treated once we draw steel,” Kerrel said and chewed on her lip. “And at least I know that Nasrat hates me personally, not that I can imagine why.”

  Baran looked out at the fog, “And we know that we need to watch your back and that of the whole troop. I somehow doubt that Nasrat will shed a tear if he gets us all killed just to kill you.”

  “Maybe that's why she was so free with information,” Kerrel said. “Stick the dagger in and twist it? What a witch.”

  ***

  Lord Admiral Christoffer Tarken

  The Ubelfurst, the Boir Sea

  Twenty-Third of Igmar, Cycle 999 Post Sundering

  “Admiral, the Captain sends his greetings and wishes to inform you that the lookouts have spotted something on the horizon,” Midshipman Dunnis said.

  Christoffer looked up at the young midshipman, “Did he say more?”

  The stocky midshipman shook his head, “No, sir.”

  “Very well, I'll be on deck momentarily,” The Admiral set down his logbook and stood. He pulled on his outer jacket and took the time to button it up. Nikolas had already stepped into the room and gave a grunt of disapproval as he adjusted the jacket and brushed at a blemish on his brass buttons.

  “Do I meet your approval?” Christoffer asked.

  Nikolas gave a nod, “Sharp dressed officer is a respected one, sir.”

  “I know, Nikolas, and thank you,” Christoffer said. “I suppose those two goons await me?”

  “Yes, sir. Both Coxswain Jenkins and Carpenter's Mate Brussels are ready to go topside with you,” Nikolas said.

  “I hardly need bodyguards...”

  “Captain doesn't agree, not with Armen aboard. Speaking of which, Miss Siara has come aboard. I assume you'll want to meet with her once this is dealt with?” Nikolas made no attempt to hide his pleasure that his admiral had a proper escort.

  Christoffer sighed, “Of course. Thank you Nikolas.”

  He stepped out of the low door to his cabin, and his two looming bodyguards fell into a formation around him. The earthblood Brussels led the way. He still had his arm in a sling, but if it bothered him in the slightest, he showed no sign on his face.

  Jenkins fell in behind and the Admiral wondered absently if he could order them back to their duties. Normally such an order would be unquestioned... except aboard a ship, the captain retained authority. And apparently Captain Elias felt these two hooligans needed to guard him.

  They reached the deck without any assassins or deranged sailors attacking them, which Christoffer somehow doubted would reassure Captain Elias as to his safety. Christoffer stepped up the ladder to the bridge wing and found Elias with a spyglass in hand. “What news, Captain?”

  “Lookouts spotted it earlier, it's coming up with enough speed that we can make out some details now. Have a look sir,” Captain Elias passed over his own glass.

  Christoffer turned the glass to the direction indicated. It took him a moment to register what he saw. The ship, if it could be called that, didn't float on the waves. It hung in the air, high above the water. Its angular form and lack of sails marked it as a wizard's invention, even if its flight had not already done so. “Gunther's damned windship?”

  “It would appear so, sir,” Captain Elias said. “Though why we saw no sign of it until now, I cannot say.”

  “Has Master Lorens attempted to communicate, yet?” Christoffer asked.

  “No, sir. I didn't want to give away our position and that of the Mircea, not without checking with you,” Elias said.

  Christoffer watched as the distant windship drew near. “As little as I like it, we may have no choice. We need to know if it has fallen to the enemy before it draws close enough to fire its casters.”

  “What if it has?” Captain Elias asked, his voice pitched to carry only to the Admiral's ears.

  Christoffer looked down the deck to where the Wizard's Shot rested, nestled in its cradle midships and with a tarp lashed down over it. “We have one try, in
that case, to destroy it. Our casters won't bear, especially if they stay high.”

  “Very well, sir,” Captain Elias said loudly, “I'll have Master Lorens try to contact her and I'll message the Mircea to close with us.”

  “Very well, Captain,” Christoffer said.

  Christoffer waited a long while. A moment later, he saw Midshipman Bauer run up on deck and run to the Captain. The Captain gave a single nod and the Midshipman moved to the bell. The clanging of the ships bell sent the entire crew boiling onto deck as they prepared the ship for combat.

  Christoffer clenched his hands behind him and maintained his calm expression. He waited as Captain Elias walked over. “No response to messages, sir. Master Lorens says he tried three times. I've ordered the men to battle stations.”

  Christoffer nodded at the official notice. “Very well. As they draw nearer, prepare the Wizard's Shot. You may order your men to fire when ready.”

  “Understood, Admiral.”

  Christoffer moved to stand near the aft end of the ship. He watched the windship draw nearer, and he fought the despair he felt rise up. How had the enemy captured the windship? It was the newest of the Steel Wizards' inventions, and despite his own misgivings as to the ship's effectiveness, he would not have thought the Armen would be able to capture the ship. Destroy it with their shamanistic magic, possibly, but not capture it intact.

  He watched the windship draw nearer and then saw several shapes separate from the windship. Christoffer frowned at that, and his puzzlement grew as he saw the smaller aircraft approach. “Captain Elias... are those gliders?”

  The ship's captain peered through his spyglass, “Yes sir. Approaching fast.”

  Christoffer shook his head, “That doesn't make sense. I can see them capturing the ship, possibly even making it fly, but it takes months to train one of those glider pilots, and I can't believe the Armen would have anyone to train them.” The Admiral pursed his lips. “Raise flag signals, send friendly and raise my personal colors.”

  “Sir?”

  “Captain, I think, for some reason, they didn't receive Master Lorens message. In that case, they must suppose us captured, as with the Mircea. Their gliders are here to scout us, if that's Wizard-Captain Gunther in command, they'll relay our flag messages. It will at least get them to come low enough to identify us, rather than firing from long range.”

  “Aye, sir.” Captain Elias answered. A moment later, Midshipman Dunnis started to run up the flags.

  The first of the the gliders made a high altitude pass, then came back around as the flags furled. Christoffer saw the small aircraft lift back up and saw the pilot make use of his signal mirror.

  The second glider swung low and then circled the ship at mast height. Some of the crew waved at it and Christoffer let out a sigh of relief as the glider pilot waved back, before he swung around and headed towards the windship.

  “That is a relief,” Captain Elias said.

  “Yes, it would be unfortunate to be sunk by our own side,” Christoffer replied. “Now then, signal the Mircea to heave to and we'll see what Gunter has been up to all this time.”

  ***

  Captain Kerrel Flamehair

  Near Fort Isolation, The Lonely Isle, Duchy of Masov

  Twenty-Fifth of Igmar, Cycle 999 Post Sundering

  With the fog burned away, the day had become bright. The tall green grass and the small clusters of oak and walnut trees contrasted with the almost painfully blue sky. Kerrel glanced around at the grim formation that trampled that grass, and wondered what had set her on this course.

  Bit late to think on that, she thought. Indeed, she felt somehow that her arrival here must be inevitable. She glanced over at Baran, “Thanks for looking everyone over, the meeting took a bit longer than I expected.”

  “Not a problem, Captain,” Baran said. He glance over at Jonal, “Your cousin was a help, boy's learned a lot.”

  Kerrel grinned, “Yes, I'm sure he has with you watching over him.”

  Baran snorted, “Captain, he's got the fighting blood, and he's a good head on his shoulders. Though I wish he'd more combat experience.”

  “He's trained with us all, and he's fought before,” Kerrel said. Her green eyes went distant in memory, “He's seen more bloodshed than I did when I first enlisted with the Mongrels.”

  “True,” Baran gave a sigh.

  They rode in silence for a time. Kerrel noticed a dark blotch on a hilltop ahead. She pulled an inscribed glass lens off a chain on her belt, and peered through it at the distance. The distant encampment jumped forward. She mentally congratulated herself on the purchase yet again as she made out details of the camp layout.

  She lowered the glass, “Looks like a maze in there, we'll have to break down into squads after we hit the sentries.”

  “Any magical defenses?” Baran asked.

  “Not that I could see,” Kerrel said. “That doesn't mean there aren't some, just that they're hidden from the glass. We'll go to dispersal formation, just in case.”

  “That might not help if they've spirit defenders,” Baran grunted, “Then again, it might at that. I hate not having--” He broke off. “I hate not having one of your mother's Fire Wizards on hand.” He dodged the potential conversational landmine with a redirection, Kerrel noted, “You know, while we're supposed to be the securing force for the camp, I wouldn't be surprised if Nasrat holds the main body back a little too long with the pursuit. We could easily be overrun by the Armen if they get clear of the main battle.”

  Kerrel nodded, “Which is why I ordered you to detail Hamner and his platoon to watch our backs. I want everyone to keep alert, just in case.”

  “Oh, I don't think the men are going to get lost in the moment, with not just one, but two lectures on the dangers. Most of them will be too terrified of the Armen women to get a good sack going,” Baran said. He reined in his horse as he gave a whistle. The squad leaders closed in on him and Kerrel.

  She let him give the quick battle plan. She watched her cousin Jonal and felt a knot of tension in her belly as she contemplated the risks of his presence. As if it isn't enough that he's technically my heir, she thought, not only does he inherit my mother's lands if I die, but he and the others could return home too.

  Though Kerrel did not think her childhood companion capable of such betrayal. Her cousin seemed to innocent, more of a believer than even her in their secret goals. They looked more like brother and sister than cousins she knew, and many had mistaken them as such. They shared the same red-gold hair of their family, the same green eyes, and the same volatile emotions that got them in trouble more than once.

  Well, she corrected, my temper got us in trouble most of the time. The squad leaders returned to their positions, and Kerrel gave Jonal a smile, “Ready, cousin?”

  He returned it, though she thought he looked a little paler than usual. “Of course. It will be just like when we raided the cherry orchard as kids. Only we won't get caught this time.”

  Kerrel gave a snort, “You mean, I won't get caught. As I remember, you had the good sense to climb the wall rather than get caught stuffing our faces like Moira and I.” The sudden reminder of her sister hit her hard. She felt that hollowness in her chest again. She forced herself to continue, “We'll try to avoid the paddling that I got afterward too and the pounding you got from me for running off.”

  “Fair enough,” Jonal said.

  Kerrel glanced up and down the line and saw her people had formed up. “Sound the advance,” she said.

  Jonal took up his trumpet and gave the signal to advance. The other two musicians relayed it a moment later on the flanks.

  The entire formation broke into a trot. Kerrel eyed the widening gaps in the formation with a critical eye. Her people knew the dangers that magical defenses and attacks held and that dispersal played a critical role in minimizing casualties. Even so, like all attacking forces, they needed to maintain sufficient mass to roll over any enemy defenses.

  The forma
tion remained at that critical measure, though, and Kerrel returned her attention to the distant camp. As she watched, a small defensive force swarmed out of the camp and started to form up to face her. If she gave them enough time, they might mount a strong enough defense to cause serious casualties. If she signaled the charge too soon, her mounts would be exhausted before they closed the distance. She judged the closing distance and then called out, “Sound the charge!”

  Jonal and the other musicians gave the signal to charge. Kerrel's horse Nightwhisper seemed to leap ahead. She drew her saber and gave a cry as she led the charge against the distant mob of Armen. In only heartbeats her force closed the distance.

  She let Nightwhisper have its head as the war mount trampled forward. She rode her horse through his kicks and snaps, and swung her saber down at the nearest Armen. The older man gave a shrill scream as her blade slashed across his face. He dropped to the ground and disappeared under the hooves of Baran's mount.

  “Forward!” Kerrel shouted, “Signal forward!” Her men could not afford to bog down in the Armen force, especially not without greater knowledge of how the battle behind them fared.

  She blocked a thrust from a young man. She had just enough time to see his frightened face and his pale blue eyes before Nightwhisper's teeth locked on his shoulder and tossed him to the side. She slashed at the throat of another man who had circled behind her horse, ready to hamstring him. The man stumbled back with a spray of blood.

  Nightwhisper reared and struck another man in the chest with his hooves, and then they emerged into the open. Kerrel moved another thirty yards before she wheeled. Around her, her company reformed, ready to charge back into the defensive force.