The Descendant (The Diamond Sword Chronicles Book 1)

by M. M. Whan

  With that Eferath spun around haughtily, hands balled into fists, and stormed back toward his camp. He did not trust himself to look at her any longer.

  At least, that’s what he intended anyway. He may have made it three steps before an explosion of pain erupted from the back of his head. The last thing Eferath saw was the sight of the dirt path rushing up to meet him.

  Chapter 11

  “…see why… kill him now…” The words sounded as though they were spoken on the other side of a long tunnel filled with water. Eferath’s skull throbbed furiously, causing dashes of colours to splash behind his closed eye lids with every heartbeat. He wanted to try and move, to try and sit up, but something in the back of his mind warned him not to. It wasn’t a hallucination that caused him to hear the voices. It was definitely someone speaking. The young man gently eased his eyes open, squinting as his eyes were bombarded by light. He looked around the room and immediately noticed that his surroundings had drastically changed from the dark mountain scenery, to the brightly lit interior of a large, decadent room.

  It was still night time, Eferath noticed, and something told him that he hadn’t been out long enough for a whole day to pass. The curtains over the windows located not far away at his feet were drawn, but that didn’t prevent Eferath from seeing the inky blankness beyond. He flexed his arms and legs experimentally. Just as he expected, his arms and legs were bound securely. Somehow, that little detail didn’t help him to believe that he was here for idle chit-chat. A gag had been forced into his mouth and was tied at the back of his head. The cloth dried out his mouth something terrible.

  The sound of booted feet thudding on the hardwood floor off in the distance stirred Eferath out of his reverie. He turned his head to regard the source but saw only the door as it slammed shut.

  “Ah, Eferath you are awake. Good.” Said a deep voice from somewhere out of sight. Eferath froze and his heart began to race. He strained to look around for the source of the voice, but knew who that voice belonged to, even if he didn’t see his face.

  Dorien walked closer until he stood at Eferath’s feet. The smug grin on the man’s face made gooseflesh rise on Eferath’s skin. There was something in the man’s eyes that seemed cold and dead. It immediately made him uncomfortable, and that was not something that happened often. “I am so glad you could join me. I know my methods were… direct in getting you here, but do not doubt how pleased I am that you could join us.”

  Alarm bells started ringing even louder in Eferath’s mind as he considered the statement. There was no love lost between he and Dorien, and now the commander of the academy was pleased that Eferath was brought here against his will, and trussed up like a turkey. Eferath had a barbed comment ready, but due to the gag in his mouth, the young man decided to save it for later.

  “So you survived, huh? Wow! What an incredible feat!” Dorien congratulated with mock sincerity. “The dreaded stone wyrm killed by your hand, something that no other warrior has been able to accomplish. You survived an orc ambush, too, and managed to complete your mission with nearly your entire squad intact!” As Dorien finished, he started to chuckle. That chuckle turned to a maniacal laugh, and suddenly, Dorien had grabbed a chair, picked it up off the floor and spun a complete circle before releasing it, sending it crashing through the large nearby window.

  Dorien staggered to keep his balance, then wheeled on Eferath, rage burning in his eyes. “How dare you!” He was visibly trembling now, and his face had become a bright shade of red. Eferath merely glared at him, which only seemed to upset Dorien more. Dorien took a few steps, then kicked Eferath square in the face. The young man felt the cartilage in his nose crackle and crunch, followed by the hot blood pouring down his face. Eferath felt his consciousness fade in and out, and yet another sharp pain joined the competition with the others to see which could hurt the most.

  As he lay there on the edge of consciousness, Eferath was still able to hear the steely hiss of a sword being drawn. His senses on alert, Eferath was acutely aware that he was about to die. But that was not the worst part. He was to be killed while helpless. Restrained like he was nothing more than hunted prey prepared on a spit. Of all the ways he would want to die, this was the farthest from.

  Eferath was barely aware of the sound of a door opening and closing quickly a minute later.

  “My liege,” a breathless man puffed and Eferath struggled to turn his head enough to get a look at the speaker. “The king approaches with his guards. He will be here any minute!” Dorien nodded to the newcomer, who promptly exited through the same door he came from. Dorien’s nostrils flared as he regarded Eferath again. “I will deal with you later.”

  Eferath had gained a measure of his vision back by that point. Enough to see that Dorien wasn’t preparing to use the sword on him. The truth was much worse. Eferath’s eyes stayed locked to Dorien as the prince moved to lean against the nearby pillar. Dorien inverted the blade in his grip so that the point was held down toward the ground, lifted it up in the air, then brought it down to stab himself in the abdomen. Eferath cried out through the gag, not through any concern for the safety of the treacherous noble, but out of sheer incredulity.

  Dorien gave vent to a gasp of surprise and pain, almost as if he was not expecting the wound to hurt as much as it did, then slumped back against the pillar and slid down to the floor. Dorien’s sword clattered to the marble floor as the nobleman slumped further, blood pooling out around him.

  Eferath stared at the man as if he had lost his mind in the brief moment of interaction. Dorien stared back into his eyes, a smile full of cold malice stretching across his face.

  “Guards!” Dorien shouted with surprising volume and desperation. “Assassin in the castle! Assassin in the castle!”

  Cold reality washed over Eferath then, and he knew he had been brought here for a purpose. What the purpose was, however, he hadn’t the faintest. Somehow, as cold dread filled him, Eferath knew that it would not take long for him to find out.

  A group of at least twenty guards crashed through the only door leading into the room, swords drawn, and skilled, keen eyes alert for any signs of possible danger. Their eyes settled on Dorien, who lay propped against the pillar, blood pooled around him, chest rising and falling in a weak, sobbing shudder. Dorien raised his arm slowly, then pointed a trembling finger at Eferath. Eferath felt his heart fall to his stomach as the guards strode angrily toward him.

  “How did he get in here?” He heard one guard ask.

  “’Ow the blotty ‘ell are we s’posed t’know?” The guard next him asked, cuffing him in the shoulder. “We jus’ got ‘ere!”

  “Oi! Git the healers in ‘ere now! Tell ‘em the prince is injured!” Ordered another guard, even as several guards roughly pawed at, searched, and heaved on Eferath.

  He needn’t have bothered as the King, surrounded by his most trusted guards, and led by his court wizard Lethaniel Xance, rushed into the room.

  “What is going on here?” Terryn bellowed over the commotion of raised voices and scurrying bodies. Somehow, Terryn’s voice worked as effectively as any spell might, as the sound of his shout made everyone in the room freeze mid-action. All eyes swung to regard the King, including Eferath’s. As soon as he and the King made eye contact, he noted the expression of alarm that crossed Terryn’s face immediately after he was recognized.

  Lethaniel reached into the depths of his robes, then produced a vial filled with a red, thick liquid. The mage then forced Dorien’s head back, and emptied its contents down his throat. Dorien sputtered and spat, and Lethaniel regarded him with disdain while he wiped spittle from his face. Almost immediately, Eferath watched with surprise as Lethaniel was able to lift Dorien to his feet. A solid minute later, and Dorien was moving around freely.

  “What is going on here?” Terryn demanded again, his expression, and tone reflecting his anger at having to repeat himself.

  Dorien, still breathing heavily, wiped the sweat off
his brow with the sleeve of his shirt. He turned to face the King, and Eferath noticed that, despite his increased mobility, he still favored his formerly injured side.

  “I caught Eferath breaking into the castle, my king!” Dorien reported exuberantly. Terryn’s eyes flicked from Dorien’s, to Eferath’s, then back again. As soon as their eyes met, though the king made no motion of recognition, Eferath could clearly see the disappointment in his eyes.

  Eferath shouted as loud as he could with the gag in his mouth, and shifted violently in the grips of the guards holding him. Terryn looked his way again, and Eferath desperately gestured as best he could to the window. The window that had been broken outward. For a moment, Eferath’s heart leapt as Terryn turned his gaze to regard the window, but fell a second later as Dorien wrenched attention back to him.

  “It would appear as if this young man abandoned his patrol mission, returned here on a clandestine agenda, and scaled the wall to your castle. It is clear that agenda was to kill you.” Dorien reported dutifully, even as he paused a few times during his recounting to his and groan through his teeth in pain. Pain, Eferath wondered, that may be as artificial as his story.

  Terryn took a deep breath, then looked around the room. “Leave us.” He said to the guards in attendance, and inclined his head toward Lethaniel to indicate that he was included.

  “But, my King!” The guard captain sputtered in protest. “The boy could still be a threat!”

  “You heard me, Captain.” Terryn said evenly. “Besides, my brother apprehended this intruder. Dangerous as he may be, I believe I will be fine. Now go.”

  Reluctantly, the guard captain did as he was bade, and ushered his men out of the room. He tossed a glance back over his shoulder before closing the door behind him.

  “What were you doing in here at this late hour, Dorien?” Terryn asked. His tone was level, and his face gave nothing away.

  “I was unable to sleep, so I thought I would come here. The fresh air, and the view overlooking the courtyard always seems to work well to clear my oft troubled mind.” Dorien humbly replied. Terryn nodded once in understanding, then peered closely at the broken window.

  “Did you see him come through the window?” Terryn asked after several minutes of silence.

  Dorien cleared his throat before answering. “Ah yes. Yes, I did. Came in through that window there, smashed it before he entered the room.”

  Eferath shouted against the rag stuffed in his mouth, but an icy glare from the King stopped his protests in his throat. The young man struggled against his bonds with any strength he could muster, but the felt as if they were designed to manacle giants and did not flex in the slightest.

  Eferath almost grinned smugly as Terryn moved to examine the window more closely. If he would only look down! He would see the chair that Dorien had thrown through it! Relief flooded Eferath as Terryn did exactly that. The King carefully leaned out of the window, looked this way and that, then ducked back inside.

  “How did he scale up a sheer, nearly completely smooth castle wall, with thorny shrubs all along the base of the wall?” Terryn asked Dorien. Eferath’s heart fell as the king made no mention of the chair that should have shattered to a hundred a hundred pieces all over the ground. Dorien’s men must have moved it! He thought to himself, but Terryn wasn’t finished.

  “And could you explain to me why, if Eferath broke in through this window - which, I admit I am not so certain that he did - why are pieces of broken glass strewn all about outward from the window, and not all over the floor?” Eferath clearly heard the suspicion in the king’s tone, and the twitch in Dorien’s eye told him that he had, too.

  “You are aware that magic is taught in the academy, but only very few have The Touch? It just so happens that Eferath is one of those few.” Dorien replied without missing a beat. An awful cold feeling crept into Eferath then, as he realized that this whole thing seemed like it was planned down to the last detail. Dorien did not strike him as the kind of person that was quick enough on their feet to answer such a question in the manner in which he had.

  King Terryn nodded, but had his face hidden from view as he stared at the damage to the large window.

  “Release him.” The king ordered quietly, still staring out the window. “I would speak with the lad, though, in pri-“ His words were cut off suddenly as Dorien rushed forward and stabbed his brother in the back. Terryn gurgled incredulously as his head tilted down to stare wide-eyed at the blood-soaked tip of a sword protruding from his chest. Within seconds, Terryn fell off Dorien’s sword and crumpled to the floor in a heap.

  Eferath’s strangled warning cry had been too late, but now he screamed until he tasted crimson in his mouth, and then screamed some more. He struggled against his bonds, heaving mightily at the restraints in a desperate attempt to free himself so he may cut down the traitor where he stood. Dorien kicked him in the chest, blasting the wind out of him, then the nobleman kicked Eferath in the shoulder to roll him onto his stomach. Eferath groaned as his vision bruised and speckles and sparks erupted at the corners of his vision.

  There was a clattering of metal, then Eferath finally felt his hands move free of the restraints. His instincts honed to a fine edge, Eferath did not waste a single moment of that unexpected opportunity. The young man dropped to his belly, then tried to roll away from Dorien. It almost worked, too, but as he suspected earlier, this whole thing had been meticulously planned out, and thus his attempt failed miserably.

  Eferath felt white hot fire flare in his left shoulder as Dorien’s blade sliced through flesh and bone and into the floor, effectively pinning him in place. The young man writhed in agony, especially when Dorien twisted, or moved the sword even the slightest.

  The pain was unbearable! All thoughts of escape left him, and all Eferath could think about was the mind-numbing, horrible pain that consumed the left side of his body. With a merciless yank, Dorien tore his sword free from Eferath’s shoulder, then brought it down in a mighty over-hand chop.

  A sharp clang! filled the air as steel met steel. Somewhere far distant, a part of Eferath’s brain registered the fact that the restraints that bound his legs had been cut off. Fight, or flight no longer occurred to him as he clutched his bleeding shoulder. Only the pain that seared through his consciousness like a knife through water.

  Eferath was distantly aware that Dorien was shouting for guards. Distantly aware of the sound of armoured soldiers crashing through the doors. He did, however, keenly feel hands roughly grabbing him, and yanking him to his knees. Why couldn’t they just leave him alone? He thought tiredly.

  A feeling of pure cold swept over Eferath then. It doused the flame burning like hell fire in his shoulder, and it completely enveloped him until everything felt as dull and disconnected as if he had been telling a story of the events. The world snapped back into place, nearly startling him with its suddenness. Someone kicked him in the back between the shoulder blades, but the blow felt like nothing more than a nudge to get his attention. A gauntleted fist entered his vision for the brief second it took to travel from its position to the side of Eferath’s face. There was a brief moment where he felt a twinge of pain, but cold soon replaced it like water freezing over a crack in its surface.

  “Enough!” Eferath heard Dorien shout. He looked up as the nobleman knelt down level with his face. Eferath wanted to spit in his eye, but something stopped him.

  “You are going to die, traitorous filth!” Dorien growled, but even despite the haze that covered his sight, Eferath could see the slight grin twitching at the corner of Dorien’s mouth. “And then, I’m going to kill your father.” He accented his words by slapping Eferath across the face and the young man felt the taste of blood in his mouth.

  Eferath felt the coldness intensify inside of him at the threat to his family. Dorien stood, then nodded to his guards. They grabbed Eferath roughly by the scruff of his armour and forced his head down, exposing his neck.

  He was a
ware of the two guards at his back, as well as the dozen or so guards milling about all around the room. He was also especially aware of Lethaniel kneeling over Terryn’s body. Eferath heard the intake of breath as the guard behind and to his left raised his sword in preparation to execute him.

  It just felt so… wrong to him. He was brought here against his will, only to die for a crime he didn’t commit. And not just any crime, either. Regicide. He would be branded a King Killer, and his family would be shunned and forced into exile which was pretty much a death sentence.

  Eferath heard the grunt as the guard lifted a little higher, and brought his blade down.

  NO! Eferath’s inner voice shouted and the young man exploded into action. He launched himself into a backward roll and his sword flashed out of its sheath the moment he exited the roll and made his feet. Eferath used the momentum of drawing his blade to bring it up the side of the guard that had been behind and to his right. He followed through with the motion, bringing his sparkling diamond blade flashing down in a diagonal cut that took the other guard’s leg off at the knee.

  He had acted so fast, that by the time his last stroke fell, and the bodies fell with it, only then did the others in the room react to what happened.

  A single word burned itself into his mind, each letter flaming into existence to spell a single word. Eferath had no idea what it meant, but it seemed important so he recited it out loud. He felt compelled to raise his hand and point it at the closest group of guards.

  “Spell!” He heard Lethaniel shout, but it was too late.

  “Ikowebinan!” Eferath roared, feeling the coldness inside rising to the point where he felt as though he would explode. A ripple of pure energy erupted from Eferath’s outstretched palm and it struck the group of guards with the force of an avalanche, sending a half dozen flying through the air to land on their backs at the other side of the room. One soldier was not so lucky and ended up embedded in the wall.