The Burning Age (Fight For The Crown Book 1)

by L. J Nicholson

  Chapter 2

  A fire roared in the hearth of the great hall in the Clemington keep to the North. A fire always roared there, banked and re-fueled by servants in their green and silver livery. It was always cold in the north, even during the summer months that saw flowers blooming in the southern climes. Only the hardiest plant life could grow in the north, and only the hardiest folk could thrive.

  Lord Jasper Clemington was among such hardy folk. Ever since his sister’s coronation twelve years earlier, he had led the family with an iron fist. His other brothers and sisters, and all of their many children, looked up to him with fear and respect. While Jasper was not the wisest nor the shrewdest Clemington, he was by far the wildest. And he had other talents, talents which would have named him head of the household anyway, based on an ancient internal law passed down by their family.

  The lord stared into the flames from his great chair, watching them lick hungrily up the hardwood logs piled in the hearth. He often felt he could see his entire family’s past and future in the flames, if he watched long enough. It was a meditation that could take him many places, away from the harsh barren lands which were his to rule by right.

  A knock came at the large double doors at the front of the hall.

  “Come,” Jasper called, “I said COME!” He bawled in the vastness of the chamber. The door creaked open slowly, and his Head Scribe stooped in, clad in a brown tunic and fur cloak. The balding man bent at the waist because of a bad back, and made his way slowly to stand before the platform that housed Jasper’s chair and table.

  “Forgive me my lord,” he said, “there’s been a raven from the capital. Terrible news, I’m afraid.”

  “Well, spit it out,” Jasper said with a careless wave of his hand.

  “Your sister, her majesty, has been murdered.” The old man whispered, as if speaking louder would make the news more real. “She was poisoned, according to the account given by your cousin.”

  Suddenly the hearth was not the hottest place in the hall. An inferno raged in Jasper’s chest, where most men kept their hearts. He had never loved his sister the way the soft southerners adored their family members, but he had respected her, and in a way, looked up to her. She had been the symbol of the Clemingtons’ power for over twelve years, and now with a single raven, she was gone forever.

  “Gather my brothers and sisters,” Jasper said, gripping the arm of his great chair so forcefully his fingernails gouged the wood. “Gather my nieces and nephews. Bring every Clemington in the North to this very chamber. I would share words with them.”

  “As you say, my lord,” the old man bent his back further in a short bow, and then hobbled back out the way he had come.

  Jasper rose from his chair, the legs scraping noisily on the stone floor. His thick leather boots made muffled slaps on the steps as he ascended the spiral staircase in the alcove behind his seat. Up and up he went, carried by a swelling tide of anger, past guttering torches and cracked masonry, until he came to the heavy trapdoor at the top of the flight. He pushed it open and climbed the rope ladder up onto the main tower’s roof.

  Wind whipped through his wild brown hair and cut through his furred leather garments. He’d left his warm cloak on his chair in the great hall, but he didn’t care about the chill. He stalked to the edge of the roof and leaned on the parapet, gazing out over his frozen domain. The sparsely vegetated ground stretched for miles in every direction, before being blotted out by horizons of mountains and woodlands. The heat of his rage boiled over, like a pot left unattended, and he reared back and lifted both hands.

  “Annabelle!” He screeched her name into the gathering darkness of night, and as he roared, twin gouts of arcane flame erupted from his hands. They lanced up towards the heavens, as tall and thick as stone columns, as hot as glowering coals. It was the kind of fire that could lay otherwise impenetrable gates to waste. The kind of fire that could swallow dozens of men whole. The kind of fire that made the Clemingtons the most powerful family in the kingdom.

  The flames fizzled out, and Jasper leaned heavily on the parapet, exhausted from the output, his rage quieted to a slow burn at the back of his mind. They would find who had done this, and they would have their revenge, and at the end of the day he would claim the gilded crown, and sit on the throne. No one could contest a Clemington claim after twelve years of peace under his sister, and no Clemington had a better claim than the departed monarch’s eldest brother. Jasper turned on his heel and slid down the ladder into the tower, pulling the trapdoor shut behind him. He swept down the spiral stairs, legs bearing him faster and faster until he was almost running. Despite his thirst for revenge, a hunger had seized him… that everlasting hunger for power.

  His family was arranged around the tables and chairs closest to his seat in the great hall. An angry buzz of conversation filled the room, echoing off the stone walls and drowning out the crackle and pop of the hearth. A silence washed over them as Jasper climbed atop the platform and sat in his great chair. Someone coughed, a wet, phlegmy sound, but no one dared to speak.

  “By now,” Jasper said evenly, “I’m sure you have all heard of my beloved sister’s passing. You have also heard that she was poisoned by persons unknown. I intend to take a force of our finest soldiers to the capital to rout the murderer, and once their head is on a spike… I shall make my rightful claim to the crown.”

  A hubbub broke out as everyone seemed to speak at once.

  “Who says you should be king?” One of Jasper’s elder nephews, a boy of seventeen, called out. “You’re already Lord of the North. Let someone younger, and stronger make the claim!”

  “You wish to challenge my strength, Irad?” Jasper sneered at the boy. He snapped his fingers and a fireball appeared in his palm, flickering and spitting sparks. “No one has wielded the flame like I have for a hundred years or more. According to our most ancient customs, I am the rightful leader of this family, and therefore the claim to the crown is mine.”

  “Maybe we should forget these ancient customs,” Irad argued. He clapped his hands and summoned a fireball of his own, which undulated angrily between his palms. “And maybe you aren’t quite so strong as you think, old man.”

  Jasper’s temper flared, and so did the fireball in his hand. He had more than the occasional strand of grey in his brown hair, but he was far from weak with age. If anything his years had made him wiser, stronger, and more cunning.

  “Close your mouth, or I’ll drive a spike through your lips.” He sneered at Irad. “You’re nothing but a boy. Be a good lad, and I may let you be my squire on the march South.”

  That triggered a fresh round of squabbling. Irad was not the only youngster who fancied himself a monarch. Flames sprang to life all around the chamber as members of the Clemington household menaced one another. Jasper hammered the tabletop with his fist, leaving a dark scorch mark on the sanded surface. Eventually, order was restored. Flames fizzled out, and faces looked toward their leader.

  “I have led this household for the past twelve years,” Jasper said, slowly walking down from his pedestal to stand in the middle of the room. “I have led well, and none of you have ever challenged my rule. Now, with my departed sister’s body barely cold, you would all seek to seize my power. I am disgusted in all of you, and yet I am proud. A Clemington knows that all one has in this world must be taken. Nothing is given freely.” He rotated slowly, looking at each of his relatives in turn. “I will not stand for any scheming or subterfuge. All of you will support me, or suffer the consequences. But I am duty-bound by the laws of the Clemington household to answer any who would challenge me to a trial by fire. So… who thinks they wield the flame better than this old man?” He spread his hands, and sparks erupted menacingly from both of them.

  For a time, no one spoke and no one moved. And then Irad stood up, summoning fire to his palms once more. He moved to the center of the room, and was joined shortly by his father, and one of his female cousins. The four Clemingtons squared off, t
ossing balls of fire from hand to hand as they sized each other up.

  “So, this is how it has to be.” Jasper snarled. “Such a tragedy. Now I must mourn four of my brethren, instead of just one.” He drew as much heat as he could from the ether, and then plunged forward, meeting his family members in arcane combat.

  Chapter 3

  The eastern reaches of Clementia featured the greatest mountain range in the kingdom, a wall of massive teeth biting at the darkening sky. The Fowler family had ruled there for many generations, after their ancestors carved a great keep out of those mountains. For all of the capital’s high walls and liveried guards, the Fowler estate was still the most secure place in the realm. Many sieges had failed to penetrate the twisting passageways and chambers of natural stone. Many lords had dashed their armies upon the mountain walls, seeking to gain entrance. But no one other than a Fowler had ever claimed that protected seat of power.

  Fiona Fowler, head of her family and Lady of the East, sat in her bedchamber amongst the mountains’ highest peaks. Looking out the glass-covered window, she felt she could see forever. Her powerful blue eyes could make out the detail of each rocky crag she gazed upon, no matter how distant. She could see a mouse twitch its tail at a hundred yards, or a hawk dive from the sky at a thousand. Her ancestors had passed the gift of long sight down to her, along with the teachings to see into the past, and the future.

  A knock came at the door, and then her most trusted advisor ducked in. The grey-haired woman wore a perpetual scowl and a shawl that matched her long, immaculately combed locks. She bent her knees in her own brand of curtsy and dipped her head. Despite the fact she had practically raised Fiona, she was always one to stand on ceremony.

  “Forgive me, my lady. One of our eagles returned from the capital bearing a letter.”

  “What news, Mildred?” Fiona asked, sitting on the window ledge. She gestured for the woman who had been her wet nurse to take the only chair in the room. Mildred sat gratefully before pulling a small scroll out of her sleeve. She produced a monocle as well, reading the entirety of the letter aloud.

  “To the Lady of the East. Disaster has struck in the capital. The queen is dead, poisoned by unknown hands. Inquiries are being made.” She paused and returned the monocle to the pocket inside her tunic, making the scroll disappear back up her sleeve. “Leaves quite a bit to the imagination, doesn’t it?”

  “Thank you for bringing this to me.” Fiona said with a nod.

  Most servants would have taken that as a dismissal. “What do you intend to do about it?” Mildred asked, leaning back in the stout wooden chair.

  Fiona took a deep breath and looked over her shoulder, back out the window. The skies roiled with uncertainty. It was neither bright nor dark, neither clear nor stormy.

  “I haven’t decided yet.” She said easily. “The Bradburies will be able to make the first claim, of course. Their keep lies closest to the capital, and they already have a seated king. And they will make that claim, if I know Abraham. The Clemingtons will fall to infighting, who knows what will come of that. The Cleavers… now there’s an interesting lot. Suspicion will naturally fall on them, with their affinity for poisons. Perhaps they will attempt to make a claim as well, or perhaps… perhaps something else entirely.”

  “What about the Fowlers?” Mildred pressed her. “It is our actions that should concern you most.”

  “I must consider. I must look deeply into this matter, deeper than any other family will or can. You taught me that, Mildred.”

  The old woman gave a rare smile. “Taught you well, I did.”

  Fiona gave her a second, more decisive nod. “Send my condolences to the royal family, and to the Clemington keep. And have my niece Jana prepared. We will need her gift, before we lay our plans.”

  Mildred nodded, scowling again as she climbed to her feet. Her hips pained her, although she never complained of it. She gave another respectful bob and exited the chamber, closing the heavy door behind her.

  Fiona turned back to watch over her realm. Nothing escaped her far-reaching eyes. Nothing could, and nothing would. She sat there until another knock came at the door, this one far more tentative.

  “Come,” Fiona called, and the serving woman poked her bonnet-clad head around the dor.

  “My lady,” the young woman said, scooting into the room and dropping a quick curtsy. “Mildred wishes you to know that Jana is ready, but that she isn’t climbing those bloody stairs again. Her exact words my lady.”

  “It’s fine,” Fiona said with a smile, “you and the other girls may have the evening off. Mildred and I can handle Jana.”

  “But Mildred said we were to attend y-”

  “I said, you may have the evening off.” Fiona repeated firmly. “Mildred is just being lazy. Two people is all the ceremony requires. Go and get the other girls, now.”

  The serving woman hesitated, and then curtsied and rushed off so fast her bonnet ribbons were sent aflutter. Fiona would have laughed, if not for the seriousness of the ceremony she was about to participate in. She swept down the stairs in her servant’s wake, running a hand callused from swordplay along the rough stone walls. Her keep was perhaps the most formidable in the land, and she was proud of it.

  She followed a path of lit torches to the chamber where the servants had prepared Jana. Her niece, no more than twelve, lay nervously on a bed in the center of the room. Mildred stood over her, a cool cloth applied to her head. They would have already fed her the sacred medicine passed down through her ancestry, and it often brought a fever, alongside the visions.

  “How are you, child?” She asked as she stopped at the bedside.

  “I’m scared, auntie.” The girl said around a hesitant breath, “I don’t like it when the waking dreams come.”

  “Hush now,” Fiona said, “it’s too late to change your mind.” She stroked Jana’s shoulder comfortingly. “You’re an important part of this family, Jana. We need your gift.” The girl nodded, and seemed to relax somewhat. Suddenly her eyes rolled back in her head, showing only whites.

  “Are you there, Jana?” Fiona asked delicately.

  “Yes auntie,” the reply was automatic, and filled with a confidence not heard before. “I’m here.”

  “What can you see?” Fiona asked, still stroking her niece’s shoulder.

  “I can see far, and old, and young.” Came the answer. “I can see deep, and true.”

  “Good,” Fiona replied. “Look to the capital, some days ago. Look to the queen’s death.”

  “I see our monarch Queen Annabelle Clemington, murdered by means of poison. They have not caught the killer, though the city guard is incensed. I see a bull arriving from the West, and an army of dragons assembling to the North. News has not yet reached the south, but it soon will.”

  “Look to the future now, little one. Who will be next to wear the gilded crown?”

  “Whoever shall bring peace to the realm, in the violence that shall follow Queen Annabelle’s death, will wear the crown.” The girl sounded as confident as ever. She had never been wrong.

  “Are you saying that whoever wins the fight for the capital will wear the crown?” Fiona demanded, louder than she intended. She almost shook her niece. “Answer me!”

  The girl’s eyes rolled forwards, and she focused on Fiona.

  “Auntie?” She said. The Lady of the East sighed. The moment of clairvoyance had passed. It would not be safe to perform the ritual again for another six months, at least. It put considerable stress on Jana’s young body, but she was the only one in the family who currently had the gift.

  “You did well, child.” Fiona said, bending down to kiss her on the cheek. “You told me all I needed to know.” Jana nodded contentedly and closed her eyes. She would sleep for hours after the exertion of a foretelling. Mildred waited until the girl’s breathing became steady. She spoke in a hushed, beleaguered tone.

  “You did not learn all you need to know.”

  “Oh, hush.” Fiona said
. “I was speaking for the good of the child.”

  “You barely learned a thing. Jana’s foretelling’s are vague. The only information you can truly trust is that the Bradburies and Clemingtons received word of the queen’s death before us. But the Cleavers have yet to hear. You could put some stake in that.”

  “More can be inferred from what the girl said.” Fiona insisted. “I must think on this further. You stay here. Watch over my niece.”

  “It would be better if you had my council,” Mildred advised, “if only you hadn’t sent the girls away.”

  “Why do you think I sent them away?” Fiona said with a smile as she slid out of the room.

  She extinguished torches as she passed them by on her way back up to her chambers. No one else except the guards were up so late. They mostly stayed outside, and carried lanterns besides. Doing such a menial task grounded her in her place in the realm. She had power and she had privilege, but there was more for the taking. There was always more for the taking, and times were particularly ripe.

  As she climbed the spiraling stone staircase, carrying the torch from the last bracket, Fiona watched her shadow play up the hewn wall. It grew and shrank, undulating with every step upward, as her presence had since her birth. She had always been bound for great things. Her dearly departed grandmother, a seer like Jana, had spoken often of it. It was only up to her to determine the nature of those great things.

  Fiona closed the door to her chambers and extinguished the torch with a swift wave, placing the smoking stick on a table and moving through the space by memory. She made her way to the window and leaned on the ledge, watching over her realm like an owl perched in a tree.

  She had many decisions to make, and many actions to take… but for a time, it wouldn’t hurt to just enjoy what she had.

  Chapter 4