The Descendant (The Diamond Sword Chronicles Book 1)

by M. M. Whan

  “Your father reached out to me and so I have come.” Morinth replied heavily, setting his hand on Eferath’s shoulder. “You are to come with me to my cabin to the north east of here and there we shall plan our next move.”

  “Wait.” Eferath said, holding his hands up to stop him from continuing. “Our next move?”

  “Yes, Eferath.” Eralon replied, standing up from the table. “Since I cannot be there to help guide you, Morinth has thankfully offered to accompany you on your journey.”

  Eferath opened his mouth to protest, but the expression his father gave him promptly shut his mouth. It was useless to argue. Nothing would be gained from it, and he knew that the events of his life were no longer within his control, and the stakes were much higher than his pride.

  Eferath breathed a deep sigh, then turned to Morinth. “When do we leave?”

  Chapter 16

  Morgan Stouthammer perused the wares of several of the merchants that had come to Tallonin this week end. He was on the lookout for certain precious metals for his father’s forge, but so far had come up empty handed. He picked up a lump of silver roughly the size of his fist. It would be large enough for several pieces, but wasn’t what his father was looking for. Out of the corner of his eye, Morgan spotted a group of merchants huddled together and talking excitedly.

  Guild members were tight lipped, and it was every bit as possible that they were discussing a particularly wealthy town or village, but something told Morgan that that wasn’t the case. As he wandered closer, his suspicions proved accurate as he caught a glimpse of a wanted poster being examined by members of the group.

  “That’s Eralon’s boy!” he heard one of the men gasp under his breath.

  “Are you sure it is legitimate?” Another asked.

  “Aye, go’ it from a mage I did! Old fellow, too! Popped outta nowhere an’ handed us this, then popped out again!”

  “Bah, ye ain’t thinkin’ to be givin’ up the boss’ boy, do ye?” Another man said as he slapped the back of the previous speaker’s head.

  “Nay! Even if I knew where ‘ee was, I ain’t ne’er do the boss wrong!”

  “What in the hell be regicide, then?”

  “It means ye killed a king, ye dolt!”

  Morgan no longer heard a word they were saying as they continued their banter. Eferath. Regicide. It was all too delicious for him to pass up. He had always known Eralon’s boy to be a coward, but a king killer? This was just too perfect! He just had to see how the family was handling the crippling blow to their honour.

  Morgan headed away from the merchant quarter with an extra spring in his step. Today was shaping up to be a very great day. It only took him fifteen minutes to traverse the distance to Eralon’s home, but the young man was careful to stay out of sight. He stuck to the shadows of one house across from Eralon’s and it was there where he kept a close eye on the house. He looked up into the sky, it was late in the afternoon, so Morgan knew that Eralon would be home.

  As he looked on, he spotted a figure heading toward the home. Even from behind, Morgan recognized the man immediately as none other than sword master Morinth. That was odd. Morgan thought. Morinth was a recluse, and very rarely left his cabin to the north of the village. It was no secret that he and Eralon were close friends, and had even served together, but Morgan couldn’t remember the last time that he saw the old master within town limits.

  Eralon greeted the sword master at the door before he had even had the chance to knock. Curious, Morgan thought, how Eralon checked his surroundings before quickly ushering Morinth inside.

  “Curious indeed.” He said under his breath, his interest piqued. He checked his surroundings, then dashed across the road and flattened himself against the exterior wall of the living room and ducked below the single window. He could hear words, but couldn’t make out what was being said as the speakers were talking in lowered voices.

  Morgan was a persistent fellow, however, and decided to move closer.

  “…likely they are looking for him. I do not believe for a second that he did what he is charged with.” Morgan guessed that the voice belonged to Morinth by the timbre alone. He and Eralon both had distinctive voices; honed by decades of training and leading troops, and neither seemed capable of lowering their voices much quieter than was the norm.

  “Agreed, but the charges are still serious none-the-less.” Eralon rumbled back.

  “Dorien will suspect that Eferath will come here to seek refuge.” Lillyan said in a matter-of-fact tone.

  Morgan slowly rose so he could peer through the window without being noticed. He wasn’t too concerned with that happening, though. He was looking through the window into the living room, but his quarry stood in the kitchen. He could still see them, but the staircase leading upstairs partially blocked his view. Both Eralon and Morinth were standing, arms crossed in front of their chests, and Lillyan sat. There was a curious amount of debris on the floor. Shattered remnants of a broken piece of wood furniture, he figured. They never struck him as the lazy type, so why had they not cleaned up the mess?

  “No, I don’t think so.” Morinth replied, shaking his head. “They know who Eferath’s father is, if that was the only factor to consider, I would say that it would be enough, but it isn’t. I have heard from many of Eferath’s instructors. He is definitely a chip off the old block, eh Eralon? I would consider the chance of Dorien looking for Eferath here to be very remote indeed.”

  Morgan took a moment to chew on those words. Of course the son of Eralon would be highly regarded even in the Academy. If only Morgan’s father had allowed him to join the academy, too, it would have been him to distinguish himself. Morgan wanted nothing more than to become an officer. Someone important. Someone… powerful. He wanted to be the one who ordered others around. To have people respect and heed his every word.

  Eferath didn’t deserve such recognition, Morgan decided. He was just about to step away from the home when he heard what sounded like footsteps creaking down the stairwell. He knew that they had a daughter, but Morgan’s keen ears could tell that these were not the footsteps of a young girl.

  He turned to look at the stairwell and saw none other than Eferath standing at the foot of the stairs. The revelation nearly caused Morgan to lose his footing and hit the side of the house, but he managed to keep his balance, and the breath from escaping his lungs in a loud whoosh. At first, the young man thought it was nothing more than a trick of his mind. Seeing what he wanted to see, and all that, but then he heard Eferath speak and knew then without a doubt that it was he.

  A cold smile crept across his face, then Morgan crept back the way he came.

  * * * *

  Eferath stretched his sore muscles, then scratched the back of his neck. He took in a shuddering breath, then released it heavily. Time had passed so quickly you would have never known two weeks had passed since his impromptu arrival. He reached over to his foot locker and grabbed another article of clothing to pack away. He was leaving. He was leaving his home, and his family. How did he, someone who wanted to follow in his hero father’s footsteps, become the greatest traitor in the kingdom’s history? The very thought of that caused his blood to boil. His very presence in this town put all of his loved ones in unparalleled danger. Now he must flee all that he knows due to the machinations of a charlatan, and a usurper. Eferath clenched his fists tightly at his sides, then punched the top of his bed table hard enough to make him wince.

  “That coward!” Eferath spat, giving his stinging hand a shake.

  “Yes, son, he is.” Eralon’s voice rumbled into the room behind him. Eferath turned to regard his father, and all of his anger just washed away. “He is a coward because he uses the power he was born to inherit to cast blame on you – a scapegoat, as it were – in order to further his own goals.”

  “And now I must leave you.” Eferath said quietly, not looking in his father’s eyes. He couldn’t trust the thread of self-control holding
back the torrent of tears that threatened to break through any moment. He loved his family dearly. The very thought of never seeing any of them again tore his heart out in every painful way that he could imagine. He felt his father’s large hand gently rest on his shoulder. From the sound of his breathing, Eferath could tell that his father was having a hard keeping it together as well. That simple contact nearly destroyed what little bit of strength Eferath had mustered.

  “It won’t be forever.” Eralon promised, but Eferath felt that even to his own father those words sounded hollow. “Once everything blows over, you’ll be able to return to us. Until then, this is the only way we can protect you.”

  A sour taste came to Eferath’s mouth. “I don’t need protection.” He grumbled stubbornly. “What about you and mother?”

  Eralon forced a smile to his face. “Do not worry about us, my son. We will be safe enough.” A thought seemed to come to him at that moment and he cleared his throat. “Do you have everything you need?”

  Eferath nodded, not trusting himself to speak at that moment, instead hoisting his tightly packed duffel for his father to see. Eralon clapped his son on the shoulder, leaned in to kiss the top of Eferath’s head, then left the room.

  Eferath waited until he could no longer hear the heavy footsteps of his father before the cracks in his visage began to tell. Tears began to stream down his face. He felt that he was betraying his family. What if all of this was for naught? What if Dorien in his deluded state decided simply to kill his family out of whim just because he could? Eferath shook that thought from his mind. That was not a possibility he was willing to consider. Still, he was concerned for their safety if for no other reason than he was their son and they his parents.

  Suddenly, Eferath heard a series of loud bangs on the wood door to their home. Someone was banging on the door downstairs loud enough to wake the dead, and given the slant of the sun’s rays, it wasn’t likely the caller was afraid that the occupants of the house were sleeping. No. Whoever this was had news to deliver.

  And that news was important.

  Eferath hurried to slip a fresh tunic on, checked the straps to his boots, then headed for the top of the stairs. He would be careful not to be seen, but he wanted to make sure he heard every word.

  Eralon glanced up at him and made brief eye contact as he passed the bottom of the stairs on his way to the door. Eferath heard the door creak in protest as his father opened the door, and immediately after the sound of someone panting tiredly.

  “What is it?” Eralon asked patiently, though Eferath could hear the worry in his father’s voice.

  “Soldiers… sir… Escoran… infantry… they are headed directly… for us!”

  “Soldiers?” Eralon echoed. “How many? What could they possibly want? There have been no word of bandits or orcs in the area for quite some time.” Eferath’s heart hammered in his chest, and pounded in his ears so loudly he was surprised the man didn’t hear it.

  Escoran was coming. Regardless of how many of them there were, their presence made the likelihood possibility of coincidence remote at best.

  “No less than a hundred of them,” the man replied breathlessly. “Moving at forced-march pace. Less than two days away. I couldn’t see who was leading them, but they definitely look like they have a purpose.”

  Eferath swallowed hard, then looked around his surroundings. His eyes settled on the duffel bag that he had packed in preparation for him leaving to Master Morinth’s cabin in the woods. All he needed was enough time to escape. There was no way he would put his family in danger any longer.

  Chapter 15

  Eferath walked through the small village that he called home with his cowl pulled low over his face. He stuck to the shadows, only walking out into the open when there was no one around. He tightened his grip on his duffel bag, and threw another cautious look over his shoulder. Eferath was certain no one saw him leave, but that didn’t set him at ease. It was better this way, he knew. If they didn’t know that he had gone, they wouldn’t be required to lie on his behalf. A merchant riding a wagon stared at him as he drove by, and Eferath pulled the cowl of his cloak down lower. He watched the man out of the corner of his eye. The man shrugged eventually, and paid him no more mind.

  Eferath breathed a sigh of relief, then dashed across the street, and made his way closer and closer to the edge of the city. There were guards posted at the south gate. They were a decent sort. Eferath knew both of them quite well. That wasn’t the problem. The problem was that news of Escoran soldiers approaching the city would put all of the guards on high alert, and no one would be allowed in or out of the city. Which meant that anyone would be highly scrutinized for the trying. Anyone trying to leave would be detained, so Eferath knew that he needed to find an alternate exit.

  Thankfully, he already had an exit in mind. It was a small passage he and several other boys from the city found some years back while they were getting into stuff they shouldn’t have been. They had all pretended that it was some kind of bootlegging tunnel dug for the purpose of smuggling. The truth was probably far less interesting than that, but they were young. Now, that childhood source of amusement and intrigue could very well serve the purpose he and his friends had imagined.

  It wasn’t long after that Eferath found himself looking back on the walls to Tallonin. He huddled in a nearby bush thick enough to conceal him from sight and took one last long look at his birthplace. There was a very high chance he would never be on the other side of those walls again, and it was that thought that nearly stole what little strength remained in him. Somehow, he managed to force his muscles to obey his commands, and he turned away and headed into the forest his heart as heavy as the duffel that hung over his shoulders.

  Eferath strode through the forest, and did so with the reluctant, trudging gait of a packhorse that was running out of strength. As he passed through the first hundred feet or so of the forest realm the trees became denser. The canopies blocked out most of the sun save for hundreds of little coins filtering through the boughs. The dark, dreary, scratchy landscape did nothing to improve Eferath’s mood. He shivered and pulled his cloak tighter around himself. The days were growing colder, and the young man knew that winter was only months away. As soon as he thought of that, he remembered that his father would be needing help with the harvest soon. He would also need help around the farm with the animals, and the house itself which always seemed to need extra tending to in order to ward off the winter chill. He looked once more over his shoulder, back in the direction of his home where he left his family behind.

  He looked down at the magnificent sword still belted to his waist. He would put this sword to use someday, only next time he crossed blades with Dorien, only one of them would walk away. He took a moment to gather himself and check his bearings, then continued trudging. Frustrated, Eferath kicked a nearby rock for no better reason than the satisfaction of venting his anger. He used to roam the forest when he was younger, though carefully so as to not let his father find out. It was no secret that the woods were dangerous. All manner of wild creatures roamed the forest, most of which could kill a hardy warrior before the predator’s presence was even known. For reasons Eferath never understood, aside from his home, he felt safe and secure in the forest. That feeling was gone, now, though. The trees were there, sure enough, but everything seemed older, unfamiliar.

  Game trails that he himself cleared were nearly impassable. Thicket and thick branches crisscrossed over the paths making it difficult for him to see more than a few feet ahead of him. This, if nothing else, helped to set Eferath’s mind at ease. As he was trekking through a seemingly unfamiliar landscape, so too was he venturing forward into the unknown. The thought of it was overwhelming.

  With a thoughtful smile – the first smile that had come to his lips since he set out on this venture - he glanced over at a young tree nearly six inches thick, and over fifteen feet tall. Perhaps the tree would be fully grown the next time he passed
by this way.

  Eferath shook himself from his contemplations and suddenly realized that he was lost. The air smelled different here; thicker, stale, more of a heady tang to it. There was a cloying sweetness as well that seemed to hang like a blanket from everything in the area. Eferath looked around. Everything looked completely the same; the thick trees even dampened all sound so all that was left was an eerie, unnatural quietness of the dense forest. It took only a moment for his highly trained senses to pick up on the fact that there were no sounds from game or foul. No birds sang in the trees; no small rodents chittered and chattered their angry protests at his passing so closely to their burrows. Nothing.

  Eferath’s keen sense of hearing picked up something faint and distant. He couldn’t be certain, but whatever it was, it sounded like… Yes, now he was certain. It was definitely a voice. Despite his reservations, Eferath crept closer toward the source of the voice. Whoever it was, they shouldn’t be here, he knew. There were no trade routes, or travelled roads within kilometers from here.

  Bandits! Eferath assumed immediately. He came to a decision in the fraction of a second. He may not be able to do anything about the soldier’s approaching his home town, but he would do something if these bandits meant Tallonin ill will.

  Eferath utilized every ounce of the training that he had received at the academy to remain in stealth. It was nearly impossible for him to maintain a straight path but after what seemed like an eternity, he found himself on the edge of a large clearing.

  The clearing had surprisingly short grass for not being tended to and it was a luscious emerald green filling a near circular area. The ground sloped down on all sides toward the middle making a bowl-like shape. The clearing immediately triggered his memories, and he saw himself standing in this very clearing, to him, not so long ago, with his father in preparation of hunting deer. Only this time, the clearing was completely devoid of life, and the sounds that once brought this area to life were replaced by an eerie stillness. Now that he recognized where he was, he knew there was definitely something wrong here.