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

by Kal Spriggs

  “How many... how many died?” Katarina asked. She had ridden past the ruins of the village, but she hadn't lingered.

  “Fifty three, including my pregnant wife and our unborn child,” Samen said. He met her eyes, “And if you oppose the Usurper, well, you have found allies. There's not a man or woman in this place who doesn't hate him.”

  “I understand,” Katarina said softly.

  “No... you lost your family, but you don't understand. We're all Starborn, Lady Katarina. We had not just decades, but centuries to look forward to our loved ones. Hector's men took that from us and we'll take that price out of his hide.”

  Katarina nodded slowly and she saw that the fire in Aerion burned in all of them, and that rage might be both useful and terribly dangerous. These people are fanatical in their hatred for Hector... and I cannot blame them, not even in the slightest, she thought. Katarina took a deep breath, “Well, Samen, I think you and I and some of my companions should set down and discuss what we should do about that.”

  ***

  Aerion

  Aerion followed his mother to a more secluded area. He patiently allowed her clean the soot off his face and listened to the patter of her voice. All the while he thanked the ancestors that he could hear her voice again.

  “Oh my boy, what did they do to you?” She asked. Her hand lightly brushed over his eye patch. “Anything beside the eye?”

  Aerion shook his head, though he knew she would hear about the scars on his back soon enough. “I'm fine, mother. I'm just so happy to see you. I never had the chance, that day, to tell you I love you, and... you're the best mother in the world.”

  “You big lump,” she gave him a hug. “Now then...” she broke off as she stared past Aerion. “You.” Her voice lost its previous cheer.

  “Hello Eleanor,” Aramer said from behind Aerion. He spoke without Arren's normal quavering tone.

  “Does he...” His mother shot a look of worry at Aerion.

  “He knows who I am. He knows that you know who I am. The rest I kept vague to protect him,” Aramer said as he walked forward.

  “It figures. I let him out of my sight and you immediately got him embroiled in your schemes. Who else is involved, the girl?”

  “She remains unaware of my activities. To her, as to all but the wizard and your remarkably alert son, I am Arren Smith,” Aramer reverted to his Arren voice, “A well aged adventurer, who has quite a number of stories to tell.”

  “Of course,” Aerion saw his mother shake her head. She ran a hand through her blonde hair. “We'll need to discuss this, but at a later time. I won't let you ruin my reunion with my boy.”

  Arren gave a deep bow, “Of course, good miss Eleanor, I shall endeavor to please. Might I mention that, this time, you came back from apparent demise...”

  Eleanor gave a snort, “Go bother someone else.”

  ***

  Lady Amelia Tarken

  The Eastwood

  Eighth of Tremarn, cycle 999 Post Sundering

  Amelia spent two days. She spent most of that first night either in tears or rage or some mix of both. The thought that Tirianis and Simonel viewed her as a child made her feel so completely helpless. What could she do to change their opinion of her, when by her very outburst she would reinforce that idea?

  She spent the next day and most of the night thinking of what she had to do. Her only option, she had decided, was to leave. To go home, to return to her old life, and to put all this behind her. Yet the idea terrified her on many levels. In seeing the Wold, she saw the greater world held more than she'd ever imagined. Her father had sought to protect her from the dark things, hidden away in the Citadel. Yet, in doing so he had imprisoned her away from the wonders as well. She had been his unwitting accomplice, she realized, trapped by her abilities which had made her feel sick or sad or even a bit mad at times.

  The series of revelations and the weight of what she must do left her completely exhausted when she heard the soft knock at the door. Amelia just lay in her bed for a long moment. She considered remaining still until the knocker went away. That will certainly show them you are not childish, she thought, sulk in your room until they leave you alone. That thought finally goaded her to rise from her bed and open the door.

  She expected to find Tirianis or perhaps Jasmine and Jasper. Instead, King Simonel stood in the doorway. He had a patient look on his face, yet there was still his core of underlying strength. She wished she had some measure of that strength, just then. All she wanted to do was collapse. He cleared his throat and smiled and Amelia realized she'd stood staring at him for too long. “Might I come in?” he asked

  Amelia felt her heart rise in her throat. She nodded mutely and then stepped out of the way as he entered. As he went past her, she smelled his scent, a mix of his leather armor, the scents of the woods, and his own unique smell that she somehow affiliated with sunlight on a grass meadow. “That is a lovely dress,” he said, “Jasmine's work?”

  She looked down at herself. She still wore the dress from the fitting. She had wrinkled it from laying in it, and she realized how horrible she must look right now, her hair in tangles and her face puffy from crying. “Yes,” Amelia said. “I need to return it to her and to apologize.”

  “I talked with her,” Simonel said. “She says to bring the dress back when you feel better and she'll finish it.”

  “Thank her for me,” Amelia said. She forced her next words out, “But tell her it is not necessary, I will leave soon.”

  “Leave?” Simonel seemed shocked.

  “Yes.” Amelia took a deep breath. “I have to go, and the sooner the better.”

  She saw Simonel's nostrils flare, “Why? Has someone offended you? Is this about your argument with Tirianis? I'm sorry-”

  “You have nothing to apologize for,” Amelia said. She closed her eyes. She felt so lost. No matter what she did, she seemed to hurt those who helped her. “Look, it's nothing any of you did... it's just that I have come to realize that I don't belong here. More... I could never live here. And... I haven't been entirely truthful with you.”

  Simonel stared at her and Amelia forced herself to look away from the compassion in his green eyes. “Look, from the beginning, I knew more about the wizard who attacked you than I told. I didn't tell anyone because I was afraid you would hold it against me, but I should have told you.” Amelia took a deep breath. She met Simonel's eyes, “I knew Xavien, before his men abducted me. He was my brother. Five cycles ago I stumbled across him using sorcery and I turned him into my father, who reported him to Grand Duke Beckett. I thought they executed him, I saw them burn him at the stake, but he lived somehow.”

  She waited for the revulsion to appear in his eyes. She knew that look, one she had seen in the eyes of most of the nobles when they saw her. Some had suspected her involvement with Xavien's perversions and others had merely thought her bloodline contaminated. The old rumors about her family had reemerged and she had overheard whispers and rumors about her throughout the Citadel for the past decade.

  “I am sorry,” Simonel said. “We could have used that information, earlier, but we have managed fine without it.” Amelia searched his face for any signs of revulsion or hate. He seemed calm and she saw sadness in his face, but nothing more. “In fact, we have already put together a tracking spell which should allow us to locate Xavien. That said, I think, especially given your ties of blood, you would be safer here.”

  “That doesn't... you aren't disgusted with me?” Amelia asked.

  Simonel shook his head. “Amelia, my people, more than most, know better than to hold the actions of ones family or kin against them. And, I will say that I suspected that you knew more. I cannot blame you for your fear.” He frowned, “Though I still do not understand why you feel you must leave.”

  “Because!” Amelia said. “You and Tirianis try to protect me, but it makes things more difficult for you. Jasmine and Jasper told me what some people say about me... and what they fear about me.�
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  “I see,” Simonel said. “And I remember once more that those two chatter too much. Yes, there are those who hate you and there are those who suspect you of dark intentions. There are even some salacious gossips who have nothing better to do than speak of things that are none of their damned business.” He stepped forward and rested his arms on Amelia's shoulders. “But they would do the same things no matter what. If not to you, than to someone else.”

  “But what they said about your father...” Amelia said.

  Simonel dropped his arms and turned away. She saw him hang his head for a moment. “Then they spread that rumor, did they? I shall have to speak with the pair of them... they love to stir things up.” He turned back to face her. “I will miss my father, yet he has always been a distant figure, one whose heart was given first to his people, then for himself, and lastly for me. In that, he was a good king, but hard to love as a father. My people's greatest curse is that we endure. I will still mourn his loss ten thousand cycles from now, when I will no longer clearly remember his face.”

  “If they spoke of what I have heard, then you know that some of my people fear I will fall in love with you... and what you may not understand is why my people fear that,” Simonel said.

  Amelia looked away, “It's none of my business. I should not put you in the position–”

  “The reason they fear that was my mother,” Simonel said. “She was not of our people... and our mages feared that in trying to give her the longevity of my people, they might kill her. My father could not bear the risk and so they lived out her short life together, here in the Eastwood. They had many happy cycles,” Simonel said. She saw sorrow twist his face. “She lived over fifty cycles here, a very long time for one who lacks even Starborn heritage. But to my father, the time passed far too quickly. He watched her as she aged and died... and a part of him died with her.”

  “My father never healed from that. Until the day he died, he never fully recovered. It made him a stronger king in some ways: more compassionate, more determined to speak the truth, and to repair the fractures in my people. But it weakened him and he never became the King many of my people thought he would become.” Simonel met her gaze. “My people fear the same would happen with me. They know that the loss of my father hurt and they fear that if I loved a woman who died so soon after that first loss, that I too would become a cripple.”

  Amelia looked away, “All the better that I go.”

  “If that is what you wish,” Simonel said. “I cannot stop you. But I ask that you talk with Tirianis first, at least. Speak with her and I ask that you apologize for your outburst to her. She blames herself for setting you off and I hate to see her in pain.”

  Amelia nodded. “I will. But I will leave soon.”

  ***

  Lady Katarina Emberhill

  The Hidden Valley, Duchy of Masov

  Twelfth of Tremarn, cycle 999 Post Sundering

  “So if we pool our resources, we have a hundred and fifty fighters, sixty horses, and enough weapons for about half of our number,” Bulmor said as he looked around the table. The locals and her own group had spent the past two days evaluating their resources. Katarina's followers had also rested and recuperated during that time, a necessity, especially for the wounded after the long journey.

  They had finally met in one of the larger stone buildings, carved into the side of the mountain. Katarina wondered at the age of the place, but not as much as she worried about their resources, especially if any of Hectors men had followed them.

  Katarina's council had grown larger. Arren, Cederic Bulmor and Gerlin sat at one end of the table with her, while Samen, Eleanor, and Solis sat on the other. Aerion sat near the center of the long table, almost as if he belonged to both groups.

  Which he did, in a way, she had to admit.

  “We have two, maybe three months of food,” Solis said. The former innkeeper either disliked something about her or simply had a naturally unpleasant attitude. Even so, the others seemed to trust him implicitly with their supplies. “More if we augment it by hunting. Though with this many people, we may hunt out the game nearby.”

  “We need weapons, food, and, of course, more recruits, which will require more weapons and food,” Arren said. “Other equipment too. Armor, horses, wagons...”

  Katarina nodded, “And money. As soon as we can, we need to give you all official ranks and start pay. For that matter, we can use money to purchase a lot of the things we need.”

  “Pay?” Aerion asked.

  “It legitimizes us,” Eleanor said and Aerion's mother gave Katarina a nod. “Other people will see us as soldiers, rather than bandits or rebels. For that matter, our own people will feel more like soldiers.”

  “So, we need a plan,” Gerlin said. “But our distance from anything else hinders that. And it's too late to hit another tax caravan.”

  “Priority is weapons and equipment,” Katarina said. “We can forage for food, if necessary.” She peered around at the others and saw a mix of frustration and worry on their faces. She felt the same. Starting an army was hard enough, funding it and keeping it fed was harder by far.

  “I know a place we can get weapons, armor, and even coin,” Cederic said.

  The room went quiet.

  “I hope you aren't suggesting we go loot the ruins of Pacenair, I think enough people have hunted for that city in vain,” Katarina said. She noticed Samen break into a coughing fit and she thought she saw him jerk, as if someone had kicked him under the table.

  “I'm certain he had something else in mind, didn't he?” Eleanor said, her tone dry.

  “Yes, actually,” Cederic said. He had a slight smile on his face, almost as if he shared in some private joke. Stupid wizards and their secrets, Katarina thought. Cederic continued, “There is an old outpost, north along the old road. It was once called Southwatch, I believe you have all heard of it?” he asked. Cederic looked around the room.

  “Yeah, there were soldiers there, back during the Sundering, right?” Solis asked.

  “Yes, Royal Guardsmen, who went into exile after Moral took the throne. They had a sizable amount of treasure they guarded, as well as a number of weapons, runic weapons, and armor.”

  “Surely someone has looted it all by now, the Norics if no one else,” Gerlin said. “People talk of ancient ruins and abandoned fortresses all the time, but those places are often picked clean before the fires go out.”

  “Not this place,” Cederic said. “They swore an oath, on their very souls that they would guard the treasures of their order until relieved. While I have not been inside, I understand that their spirits still guard the place.”

  “So why would they let us in?” Samen asked.

  “That's simple. They swore service to the High Kingdom and we are here to restore Lady Katarina to her rightful position as the ruler of the Duchy of Masov.” Cederic took a deep breath. “There is one thing that would allow us to pass and give you the coin you need for your war and the weapons to fight it.”

  “You would have to swear loyalty to the High King.”

  ***

  Aerion

  Aerion stared around the room at the shocked faces and he said the obvious thing, “But... there is no High King, there hasn't been one since the Sundering.” How could anyone swear an oath to something that no longer existed?

  “True,” Cederic said. “But if she swears obedience to the High King, the spirits will view her as the rightful heir, especially as her bloodline goes back to before the Sundering.”

  “But, that would mean that if someone does step forward as the High King, I would have to give him my obedience,” Katarina said. “That's an issue.” She looked conflicted, Aerion saw, but also determined.

  “It hasn't happened in a thousand cycles,” Gerlin said dryly. “I think that puts that issue to rest.” The cynical halfblood looked as if he thought the whole idea were some joke.

  “Except... we have a Shrouded Wizard here, and he's the one making
the suggestion,” Bulmor said thoughtfully. “Why do I feel certain that there's more to this than what you put forward?”

  Cederic smiled slightly, “There is. Quite honestly, no one expects the High Kings to reign again. They have become a myth, little more than legend to many. Yet... if the ruler of the Duchy of Masov is known to have sworn an oath like that... well, it might cause people to start to believe again.”

  “And that's part of why you are helping me?” Katarina asked. “To stir up belief in the High Kings? Why?”

  Aerion noticed it was Aramer in the guise of Arren who answered her, “Why not, my Lady? They ruled for two thousand cycles, the longest stretch of peace our world ever knew. They ruled over all of Eoriel, as well as parts of Noriel and Aoriel. What could be wrong with giving people hope that those times might return?” Aerion thought he heard a genuine note of yearning in his voice. Though he mentioned the wizard knew who he was, Aerion thought, does that mean they worked this out ahead of time?

  Katarina shook her head, “Who says that they would? The line of the High Kings ended with Moral the Warlord. I don't think I need to remind any of you about what terrible actions took place under him.” Aerion winced at the sharp tone of her voice. Still, she wasn't wrong. Maral had become legend, the faithful son who betrayed and murdered not only his brother and father, but tens of thousands of his own people. People still told stories about how he had hunted down those who dared to oppose him and of the terrible punishments he had levied. Some of the legends said that he put entire families, down the the last babe, to the sword.

  “Oh yes, regicide, patricide, and fratricide...” Arren shrugged, “He makes a mockery of their line.” His voice took on a tone of lecture, “But most of the High Kings ruled fairly, let the people live peaceful, independent lives, inspired times of learning and...”