The Descendant (The Diamond Sword Chronicles Book 1)

by M. M. Whan

  Terryn was wearing a black tunic that glittered and shimmered in what little light there was in the prison. He also wore black pants made of similar shiny material, and a long dark blue cape that swept the stone floor behind him. The scowling visage that he now wore had cowed hardy warriors for decades, and did likewise to Edward who wisely stepped away from the cell.

  “Leave us.” The king commanded absently, flicking his wrist to accentuate the point. Terryn watched Edward leave, waiting until he was well beyond ear-shot before he even began to speak.

  “So, young Eferath of Tallonin.” He began in a ceremonially monotonous voice. “I have heard much about you.”

  He turned to Eferath before he continued. “Your instructors speak very highly of your progress, and your skills. Eralon has done well in your teachings before you came to my academy.” Eferath cleared his throat impatiently.

  “With respect, my king,” Eferath interrupted with a slight bow. “How about we skip through the formalities so I can go back to staring at my wall?” As for what his instructors had to say about him, it meant very little to him. After all, it was an Academy wizard who immobilized him so he could get pounded like raw beef.

  Once again, Terryn seemed to look like he was about to explode, then, as quickly as the anger came to his features, it was gone.

  “Fact of the matter is, you struck the prince of Escoran. Such an attack on royalty, even nobles, would warrant lethal consequences.” A long moment of silence passed between them as Eferath digested the king’s words.

  “Guard!” Terryn called loudly, and a moment later the prison guard rushed into the room, sword drawn.

  “Release him.” Both Eferath and the prison guard stared at the king with a mixture of surprise and incredulity.

  “My lord?” The guard stuttered, fumbling with his sword and his keys at the same time.

  Terryn turned on him sharply, and the guard visibly paled. “Did I stutter? I said release him!” Fumbling with every move, the prison guard unlocked the door, stood off to the side and bowed low to his king.

  Eferath eyed Terryn suspiciously as the king bade him to follow. Once they were outside, the king was rejoined by his heavily armed body guards and they continued to walk. The winding path they followed was surrounded on both sides by dense trees, well out of the way of anyone that would overhear, or see the two walking together.

  “As much as I hate to admit it, my son Corbin is too arrogant for his own good. He has far too much attitude than one person should have, and a swelled head that makes it worse for him.” Eferath nodded but stayed quiet; there was nothing to add to the king’s accurate conceptions of his son.

  “I released you, because you did what many, many people have wanted to do for a very long time, and that was brought Corbin down a few pegs. Well, at least you would have if he weren’t too far gone.” Terryn even managed to laugh a little, but Eferath only nodded.

  “Did your father ever tell you about how he and I became such great friends when we were kids?” He laughed when Eferath answered him with a blank expression.

  “Oh yes, Eralon was my best friend a long, long time ago.” He looked over at Eferath and smiled. “You remind me of him, actually. Especially the attitude.” Eferath swallowed hard as he remembered his own discourteous comments toward the king.

  “I do not mean to disrespect you, my king.” The young man started but Terryn raised his hand to silence him and smiled.

  “Say nothing of it, your father used to speak to me in precisely that same manner every time I tried to order him to do my bidding.” He looked over at Eferath and offered a sly wink. “Exactly the same way.”

  “Your father was the best of friends,” he went on. “But it was not always so. As you can imagine, a soon-to-be king is constantly trained in propriety, and to always be prim and proper. Well, I met your father early into the academy, and, like my son, I looked down upon him as if he were not worthy to be in my presence.” After he said this, he turned to look at Eferath squarely, smiled widely, then showed what looked like a faint scar on his left cheek. He did not need to explain the significance of that scar, nor how he got it.

  “From that day forward, Eralon and I were practically inseparable. We watched over one another throughout the academy, but we were forced to go our separate ways when my father, the king, passed on and I was required to assume the duties of my station.” Terryn gave a great resigned sigh. “And when I heard about what happened to your father when he was promoted to general…” He trailed off and Eferath remained quiet.

  His father had never told him any of what King Fallherder was telling him, and he was eager to learn as much about it as he could.

  “What exactly are you trying to tell me, my lord?” Eferath finally asked him once it seemed that no further information would be forthcoming.

  “I am trying to say that Corbin had it coming to him.” He answered plainly, and though he tried, Eferath could not help but laugh a little at that.

  “Corbin has a lot to learn before he becomes king. A king should be about his people, not widening rifts that are already present between the classes. The peasants and farmers are the backbone of any kingdom. Without food, even the nobles shall starve. We need them as much as they need us. I fear my son does not understand that, and until he does, should something happen to me and the throne pass to him, he could do irreparable harm to this country. Do you understand?” Eferath nodded again.

  “With respect, my king, I believe your son needs more than to be punched in the face to change.” Eferath replied as respectfully as he could. “I am a nothing. A frontier born. The politics of royalty are beyond me, but I do agree with you so far that the prince will not make a good king.”

  Nothing was said for a long while after, and Eferath began to recognize that their walk had led them close to the spell quarry where the competition would be held. Trumpeters herald the approach of their king.

  Before Eferath walked away, Terryn touched his shoulder to stop him. “Before you go Eferath, I want you to know that you are not “nothing”. You are who you choose to be no matter the circumstances to which you were born. But make no mistake; you can be a good man but have a bad reputation for how to react. Do not let my son, or any other antagonize you. You do not wish to start your career in my military with the reputation of slugging royalty and nobles, do you? Such behavior is beneath you, Eferath son of Eralon. Now go, make your own mark and we shall see who is worthy of what.”

  With that, the king turned and walked away even as the heralds fumbled for their trumpets at the impromptu exit. If Eferath had the mind, he would have noticed the angry glares he received from many of Corbin’s companions, but he was more concerned with the fact that his entire body hurt, and every movement, no matter how small, caused him extreme pain.

  He didn’t, of course, and he continued toward the designated area for his group for the competition. Edward immediately came to him, clasped his arm, then clapped his shoulder with his free arm, recoiling as soon as he noticed that the contact made Eferath flinch.

  “Did the healers not tend to you?” Edward asked, concern heavy in his voice. “No matter, there are plenty of wizards here, I’m sure we can bully someone into giving you a spell or two. It’s good to have you here with us, my friend.” The added comment was probably the most serious thing Edward had ever said to him.

  Eferath nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt someone touch his shoulder. He looked and saw Denara staring at him, her concern for him evident on her expression. “Are you all right?” She asked, and it took a few seconds before Eferath was able to smile and nod.

  “Aye, I’m fine. Just a few bruises.” Eferath replied coolly, a little too coolly, apparently as Denara stared at him with disdain.

  “You are a mess. Are you able to compete?”

  Eferath was truly touched by her concern for him, and he couldn’t help but feel the flush of heat to his cheeks with her so close. “I wi
ll do my best.” He said reassuringly, offering her a warm smile.

  “Here.” She said as she took his hand. A moment later, Eferath felt a warm tingling sensation creeping up his arm. He stared at her quizzically as he felt his severe pain ebbing to a dull ache. Just as quickly as it started, it ended with Denara taking an unsteady step backward and swayed. Eferath grabbed her to steady her.

  “What did you do?” He asked her even as her face paled.

  “I gave you some of my strength.” She explained. “It’s not much, but it should be enough to allow you to compete.”

  “Why?” There was that stupid question again, but since, like last time, it slipped out on its own volition Eferath decided to go with it.

  “Because you’re my friend.” She replied with a smile. “When the others look at me, they see a being of two worlds. An outsider. Just like you. But you, you treat me as an equal.”

  “Thank you.” Eferath said quietly, then let go of her as she steadied herself. Edward clapped him on the back - that still hurt - and lead the way to the starting area.

  “How is the competition so far?” Eferath asked as they stared out into the quarry. Before either could answer, a deafening bang! tore the air and had everyone in the vicinity ducking instinctively.

  Another powerful explosion followed and Eferath and Edward shared a laugh. It was exciting! So much more so than the discussion of theory and practicum in the academy classroom.

  “It appears the spell of choice is fireballs!” Eferath shouted as loud as he could, he had to just to be faintly heard over the repeating explosions.

  “Mine weren’t nearly this powerful,” Edward admitted modestly. “Magic was never one of my strong points.”

  “Denara should do well.” Eferath said as he looked over at her. “You may be a being of two worlds, but I think you got the best of both.”

  Denara visibly flushed at the praise but before she was able to say anything, they heard her name being called, as well as Eferath’s.

  “Good luck.” She said to him, smiling.

  He smiled back. “And you also.” Eferath and Edward touched fists, then parted as Eferath made his way to his casting area.

  He stood upon the upraised platform and steadied his breathing. The crowd began cheering loudly, shouting and hooting praises, and at first, Eferath believed they were cheering for him. That thought disappeared a moment later as he discovered that the source of the excitement was none other than Corbin. The right cross the upstart received seemed to do little to squash his perpetual smugness.

  Corbin scoffed openly, his eyes looking over the young man as if he were sick with the plague.

  “I do not know how you escaped the headman’s axe, Eferath, but I promise you, your time here is ended.” Corbin said confidently.

  “Promises, promises.” Was the only response that Eferath bothered to say. Corbin’s mouth moved, forming words that did not get the chance to be spoken as the lead wizard interrupted.

  “Begin!” Came the command, and Eferath stared down into the water filled quarry littered with dozens of floating targets. Some were easily two hundred yards away, and some were barely specs in the distance. From the rumours that Eferath had heard, was that, in practice sessions, Corbin had been the only student to ever strike one of the distant targets. Not only did he accomplish what no other student ever had, his fireball was the most powerful ever thrown by a student.

  The rules of the spell quarry competition were simple: Participants had three chances, three spells to hit any of the targets. The caster with the most targets hit won. Corbin did not wish to be second place in anything, so it was he who cast the first spell.

  Not only was the prince a natural with magic, he was trained by some of the best wizards since he was old enough to make a flame flicker. Ever since the Dark Times of magic, anyone who could cast a spell was considered dangerous, and were outlawed, or even killed. Magic use was still frowned upon, but it was allowed, and regulated. Those who showed talent toward magic were identified early, and documented.

  The Dark Times of magic happened nearly a thousand years ago, but the devastation it wrought was still fresh in the minds of the people. Spell casters from all over the known realm individually decided that the world was theirs for the taking. The only problem was, there wasn’t just one spell caster with delusions of grandeur. Mage duels broke out everywhere with casters using more and more powerful spells to gain dominance over each other. The duels became so destructive, that the five kings of the realm banded together to put an end to magic use, and the lives of any who could even muster a flame.

  For hundreds of years after, magic was forbidden, under pain of death.

  For someone like Eferath, who knew well the stories of the Dark Times, to see competitions for such dangerous practices assaulted his senses. Never the less, he was a willing participant in the contest, and regardless of his logical reservations, he was determined to still do his best.

  A deafening crack! split the air, startling him from his contemplations as a lightning bolt was cast by Corbin. Eferath’s hair stood on end as the lightning bolt lanced out toward one of the distant targets like a crooked finger. Barely a moment later, the bolt struck a distant target with a sizzle, and a snap that sundered a wooden target, completely destroying it. Naturally, the crowd cheered at the extremely rare direct hit, even the masters whistled in surprise. And now, it was Eferath’s turn.

  Eferath took several deep, steadying breaths as he searched his mind for the necessary power words for his chosen spell. He closed his eyes tightly, stretched his arms out wide to either side of him, and widened his stance.

  “Compelli lithere!” He chanted, and if he weren’t concentrating so hard on making his cast perfect, he would have heard the communal gasps of surprise.

  Deep in the throes of spell casting, Eferath was not even aware of the forks and ribbons of electricity snapping and crawling their way from fingertip to fingertip. Eferath’s hair stood on end as the electrical field intensified. As he chanted, the sky darkened directly above the quarry. Large black clouds began forming, widening in every direction. Eferath’s eyes popped open, and he swung his outstretched arms toward one another to clap together loudly. At almost the exact same moment, the darkened sky lit up brightly as a single bolt of lightning rent the air to score a direct hit on one of the most distant targets in the quarry. The strike was so powerful, the impact sent chunks of dirt and wood flying in all directions. A great gout of steam rolled up from the surface of the water accompanied by a deafening hiss!

  Thunder boomed a moment later, echoing within the quarry a thousand times and more. Unlike Corbin’s spell, there was no chorus of cheers, no applause and praise for yet another rare hit. The only praise Eferath received was startled gasps from the masters, and a pat on the shoulder by his friend Edward.

  Next up was Denara. Her heritage made her a true natural, and incredibly gifted with magic. But that is only what Eferath had heard. He had never before seen her cast magic - even the small cantrips the masters at the academy let the students cast once in a while. Her skills were incredible, and she had a flare to her casting that made it almost impossible not to stare at her.

  With a flourish, the half-elf sent a spear made entirely of ice rocketing toward her target with unerring accuracy. The spear plunged deep into the wooden target, tearing it from its mounts and sending it flying a dozen feet to land in the water behind it. Similar to Eferath, she received a chorus of cheers and jeers for her performance with more of the former.

  Corbin, not one to be stood up by a mere frontiersman, and a half-elf, wasted no time in launching into his second cast. The contest was designed to test the level of skill with elemental magic; air, water, and fire were the most common.

  The prince’s second spell was a ball of ice that shot from his hand, trailing a tail of sparkling ice behind it as it arced high into the air. Though it was hastily cast, his aim was true, and the ball of ic
e shattered powerfully against another target. Once again, the crowd erupted in cheers, applauding wildly as if their very life depended on it. Eferath noted Corbin grinning smugly, but didn’t give him the satisfaction of looking at him. Unfortunately, however, Eferath’s spell was the exact same one.

  The moment Eferath reached out his arm to aim his spell, pain shot up his side from his battered ribs and he misfired. The ball of ice streaked through the air with fantastic speed, missed his intended target by a country mile, and exploded into a thousand fragments against the far wall of the quarry. Laughter erupted all around at the failed attempt and Eferath felt his face getting hot. Missing with his second spell meant that Corbin would be in a very good position indeed for the win.

  “No hit!” The range master commented unnecessarily which brought on another wave of laughter.

  “As I said before, frontier trash,” Corbin began. “Your days are numbered.” Eferath wanted to snap back but it was Denara’s turn to cast. Again, with her usual flourish, she cast her spell. The moment she released the magic, though her intended spell sputtered and failed. She swayed in place, then went down to one knee. Eferath made to rush over to her to see if she was all right, but was stopped when the range master’s voice lashed out.

  “If you leave your area you are disqualified!” So what? Eferath thought. His friends meant more to him than any competition, but it was Denara’s outstretched hand that stopped him in his tracks.

  “I am unfit to continue.” She said to the range master, then excused herself from the podium to the sound of several disappointed comments from the crowd. Eferath watched her go and he wondered if the energy she transferred to him was responsible and immediately felt bad. She turned to look at him and her eyes stared into his before she smiled and nodded.

  Corbin apparently didn’t care one way or another, and was already in the midst of casting. Within seconds, the prince’s perfectly cast fireball hissed through the air on the way toward its target. Like before, his aim was perfect, striking yet another target.