The Steel Lord: Book 01 - BannerFall

by Jason McWhirter

  “I was stabbed in the side with a spear,” she said, indicating a spot along her waist where she had been injured. “I fell next to my father. I knew that I had to appear dead, or they would finish the job. So I didn’t move; I lay sprawled over my father until they left. I was later found by your uncle, who was patrolling the road with a combined force of Dy’ainian Legionnaires and soldiers from Eltus.”

  “And her beauty entranced me even then, amongst the carnage,” Daricon added.

  “Thank Argon that you survived,” Jarak added.

  Mylena glanced up, her stunning blue eyes looking into him. “Yes indeed. I am very thankful.”

  “Pardon my ignorance,” Serix said, speaking up for the first time. “But how did you two marry? I thought that the nobility could only marry within their station.”

  Mylena looked to Daricon to respond. “Even though she is not from Dy’ain, her father was a minor lord in Fara. We bent the rules some, her lineage being far below mine, but I did not care. Mylena was going to be my wife. I believe your father,” Daricon looked to Jarak, “gave me some latitude considering the sacrifices I have made for our kingdom.”

  “I see. So, are you an Aurit?” Serix asked Mylena.

  “Unfortunately I am not. I believe that our bloodline was too weak and it did not surface in me.”

  “What of Tye and Colgan?” Jarak asked.

  “We do not know yet,” Daricon said softly, “It is still too early to tell.” The topic was clearly a sore spot for him. Jarak frowned, thinking that Daricon’s choice to marry Mylena, despite her beauty, may not have been a smart tactical move. The power of the royal family was dependent on the Way, without it they would be open for usurpation. But he was right; it was still too early to tell. Aurit abilities usually manifested themselves during puberty, and the boys had a handful of years left before that stage in their life.

  “I will be a Merger like you, Father,” Tye, the older son, announced boldly.

  “But I will be stronger than you, brother,” Colgan said, elbowing Tye in the side.

  Daricon and Mylena smiled. “That is enough, you two,” Daricon scolded softly.

  “Is it true that your family has bloodlines with the Saricons?” Jarak asked boldly.

  He did not miss the looks that the two officers gave to their lord, who in turn did not look happy with the question. “That is a rude question for the dining table, Jarak,” Daricon said, his voice a tense whisper.

  Jarak did not miss the absence of ‘prince’ before his name. But he pushed further, continuing his line of questioning. “I’m sorry, I did not mean to be rude. I simply am inquiring. You look so different from us, and I have heard that the Saricons are tall and pale skinned with blonde hair.”

  “That is true,” Mylena answered. “I have seen many of the fearsome Saricons.” She paused for a moment, and took a sip of her wine.

  “You do not have to speak of it,” Daricon whispered to her.

  Captain Hagen and Colonel Lorth both seemed uncomfortable, as if they knew something they should not.

  “My mother was raped by a Saricon soldier when she was eighteen. She had been married to my father, a minor lord in Fara, for a year, prior to our holdings being invaded. My father was away at the time. I was the result of that rape. My father raised me as his own, despite my evident differences.”

  The room was deathly silent. Jarak looked down at his food and wished he hadn’t asked the question. He had heard rumors that Daricon’s wife did have some Saricon blood in her. Many people spoke ill of Daricon because of this, thinking it a slap in the face to marry one who carried the enemy’s blood. But he had never considered the possibility of rape.

  “I am truly sorry, Lady Mylena. I did not wish to bring up ill feelings. I hope you will forgive me.”

  She looked up at Jarak. “My Prince, you are forgiven. My Saricon blood is not who I am. Now, let us move on to more pleasant conversation. How is the food?” she asked.

  Everyone, eager to change the topic, acknowledged the delicious food. Even Jarak thought the food was outstanding. “The food is excellent, Uncle. Who is your chef?”

  Everyone in the know smiled, even Captain Hagen and Colonel Lorth, who thus far had remained silent and businesslike.

  “You will meet her soon enough. She is a spirited one, and void of tact, but I cannot get rid of her. I’m afraid I would have a rebellion in my own castle,” Daricon said, smiling.

  “I can understand your reluctance. This food rivals that of the king,” Serix added, swallowing a piece of the fish cake.

  “It is the one thing we have here at this garrison,” Daricon said, emphasizing the word as Jarak had done earlier.

  Jarak noticed of course, but he did not take the bait, instead directing his attention to Cat. “Cat, where did you learn to use the sword?”

  She looked up from her plate. “How do you know I can wield a blade?”

  “I saw you from my balcony.”

  “I taught her, my Prince,” Captain Hagen interjected.

  “Captain Hagen is one of our best swordsmen. In fact he will be the one to train you,” Daricon added.

  “Thank you, my Lord,” Captain Hagen said, nodding his head to Daricon, acknowledging the compliment, and the honor.

  “Do you fight in the Legion?” Jarak asked Cat.

  She glanced over at her father. “No, he will not let me.”

  “But we have female soldiers. I saw your skill. Surely you could pass the training,” Jarak continued, trying to pay her a compliment.

  His words seemed to make her angrier. But she said nothing.

  “One day, my Prince, if you have a daughter, you will understand,” Captain Hagen stated coldly.

  Jarak looked at Cat and back to her father. Clearly this was a topic of contention for them both, and unwittingly he had just stoked the fires. The dinner table conversations had not been going well, and Jarak thought it best just to shut his mouth.

  And that is what he did. Other than answer a few questions, Jarak remained quiet for the rest of the excellent meal. It seemed his arrogance and forthrightness may have burned some bridges, and hopefully he would be able to make amends.

  ***

  Several weeks had passed and the crops they had planted were now breaking ground. He had to admit that it felt good to see the products of his labor. Things had progressed well and Brant was beginning to feel like part of the family. But he knew that his place here was only temporary, and he had already discussed his future plans with Kaan, who had recommended that he travel to one of the larger cities for work, and then return at harvest time. Brant wasn’t so sure that was the best idea, remembering what Master Rand had said about staying out of the big cities. But it wasn’t time to leave yet, so he still had a few weeks to figure it out.

  Meanwhile, his sword work was progressing well. Brant found that he was an apt learner, quick on his feet and of course strong. And Kaan was a capable instructor, so it wasn’t long before Brant was able, after a long bout of sparring, to eventually score a hit on him. It was after one of these practice sessions that Brant finally worked up the nerve to ask Kaan about his wife.

  “What was your wife’s name?” he asked, handing a ladle of cold water to Kaan as they rested after a long bout.

  Kaan looked at him, pausing momentarily as his minded drifted to his wife. “Her name was Elana.”

  Brant took the ladle and refilled it, draining its contents in a few deep gulps. “My mother died giving birth to me. I never knew her.”

  “I’m sorry. I guess I should be grateful that my children knew their mother.”

  “How long ago did she die?”

  “About this time last year.”

  “If you don’t mind me asking, how did she die?” This time Kaan turned his back on him, looking toward Bone Peak in the distance, his thoughts traveling elsewhere. Brant waited a few moments. “I’m sorry, I did not mean to bring up bad thoughts.”

  “I know. It’s just that it was a h
orrible death. I can hardly bear to think of it.”

  “Pretend I didn’t ask.”

  Kaan turned around to face him, and Brant could see the cold anger and deep grief in his face as he recalled the day he had found her. “I found her body in the trees over yonder,” Kaan said, indicating the location where her body was buried under a large oak tree. “She had been mutilated, but not by a wild animal. The wounds were precise; a sliced throat, puncture wounds across her entire body, skin ripped from her flesh. Even her scalp had been ripped off.”

  “In Argon’s name who would do something like that?” Brant was horrified, and he was now sorry that he had asked.

  “Not who, but what?”

  “You think it was some sort of animal, or creature?”

  “The wounds, although precise, were made by claws, not blades. I think it was a young kulg.” Kaan could barely get the word out, so painful it was for him to relive the experience.

  “What is a kulg?” Brant asked. He had never heard that name.

  Kaan sat down on the edge of a hay bale and motioned for Brant to do the same. “Do you know much about the Way?”

  Brant only knew what Kulvar Rand had told him, which wasn’t much. But he also remembered what Master Rand had warned, that he should not tell anyone that he possessed the Way. “I have heard of it, but I know very little,” he said honestly.

  “The Way is an inherited power. It is the ability to harness and then use the energy of one’s auras. The power is bred into the royal families and its use is strictly forbidden to those without noble blood. There are many different forms of the Way. There are Mergers, who are people that have the power to use their own auras which enables them to be stronger and faster than others. And talented Mergers can even direct their energy into their weapons.”

  “I was told that is why Kul-brite metal is so precious, that it is the only metal capable of withstanding the energy of a Merger.”

  “That is true. Some very talented Mergers, the ones without the skill to become a swordsman, become scion forgers, the only blade smiths capable of forging Kul-brite weapons. Others who possess the Way become Channelers or Sappers. A Sapper has the ability to absorb energy from an Aura Mage, to cancel their spells and dissipate them harmlessly. A Channeler, on the other hand, can steal aura energy from others, and filter it to make it usable for an Aura Mage.”

  “Filter it? I don’t understand,” Brant said.

  “I only know what I’ve been told. But my understanding is that not all auras are clean. If one is thinking unpleasant or evil thoughts, or doing a bad deed, or is simply a bad person, their aura will be dark. Negative. If an Aura Mage were to absorb such energy, it could impact them in a negative way, causing problems such headaches or illness. And over time the use of this dark energy can result in more severe problems, causing actual physical abnormalities.”

  Brant thought for a moment. “So a Channeler can take any energy, bad or good, and make it clean and useable?”

  “That is correct. Then an Aura Mage can take that purified power and manipulate it into spells,” Kaan continued. “A powerful Aura Mage, paired with a skilled Channeler, can make quite a team. When I was with the Legion and fighting in the west against the Saricons, I saw them work together on numerous occasions. It was something to behold.”

  “I would imagine so. But what does this have to do with this kulg that you spoke of?”

  Kaan sighed. “Kulg’s are evil creatures that were once Aura Mages.”

  “You mean they were once human?”

  “Yes. It is believed that they became so addicted to power that they greedily sought more and more energy, any energy, disregarding the dangers of negative auras. Over time, the dark energy warped them, changing them. They are very rare, and I’ve only heard stories of them. But they do not look human anymore. They are rumored to have incredible speed and strength. It is said that no normal human can defeat one. Their incredibly sharp claws, as long as a man’s fingers, have become their weapons, along with their ability to craft spells from the energy they hungrily devour. Their twisted and fragmented minds crave only one thing, the negative energy dispersed by the human body.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Kaan looked away. It was almost impossible for him to talk about, as his words gave way to images, images he had tried to repress, but were now released in his mind, and he saw again the reality of his wife’s horrible death. Kaan paused as he struggled to maintain his composure. Then he continued. “When a person is frightened, in pain, suffering, or dying, they release negative energy. It is this energy that a kulg feeds on.”

  Brant gulped. “You mean they try to prolong the pain and fear so they can feed longer on their victim?”

  “That is my understanding.”

  Brant didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t imagine anyone going through that type of horror, and when he thought of Kaan’s wife having to endure that type of death, it made him sick to his stomach. But as he continued to digest this information, a stronger and more familiar feeling emerged. Anger. “I’m sorry.” It sounded inadequate, but he didn’t know what else to say. Then he thought of something Kaan had said earlier. “Why did you say you thought it was a young kulg?”

  “Because it didn’t try to kill all of us. A young kulg would be satisfied after one feeding, but not a mature one. An adult kulg would have killed us all.”

  Brant suddenly wanted to change the subject. “You mentioned you fought against the Saricons in the west. Who are they?”

  Kaan looked at him with bewilderment. “You haven’t heard of the Saricons?”

  “No. I told you. I grew up in the mines and know very little about the world.” Brant replied defensively. He didn’t like to be reminded of his ignorance and was at first offended by Kaan’s tone.

  And Kaan picked up on it. “I’m sorry, Brant. I meant no offense. It’s just that I assumed that everyone knew who the Saricons were. They invaded the lands of Kael thirty years ago and have been fighting against the Kaelians and our Legion the entire time since. The land west of the Pelm River is a war zone, and has been for a long time. The combined forces of Kael and Dy’ain are all that stands between us and these foreign invaders. And if they prevail, they will pillage our lands, rape our women, and create a life of persecution for our people.

  “Persecution?”

  “Yes. The Saricons worship a battle god named Heln, and they are not known for tolerance.”

  “I see.”

  “Come, enough of this serious talk. Let us eat.”

  Brant, always eager to eat Jana’s cooking, walked with Kaan towards the cabin. But his mind was elsewhere, dwelling on kulgs, Mergers, and foreign conquest. He had a lot to think about.

  A week later they were sitting at the table eating a steaming bowl of potato and rabbit stew and a warm flat bread called balter, made from the coarse flour of ground balt, a hearty grain native to the surrounding meadows. The bread was dense, but when dunked into the broth of the stew it softened, becoming a delicious amalgamation of flavors.

  “This might be your best stew yet,” Brant commented to Jana.

  “Thank you.”

  “It is delicious,” Kaan agreed.

  “I wanted to make something special for your birthday, Papa,” Jana said.

  “Well, you succeeded,” he said with a smile.

  “Father, I made something for you,” Tobias announced proudly as he set a small gift on the table. It was wrapped in brown cloth and tied with a leather string.

  Kaan took the present and removed the cloth, exposing a carved symbol. It was a circle with an x in the middle. It was simple but well carved, the lines clean and not marred by many errors. The boy had done a nice job. “It is wonderful, Tobias. Thank you very much. I will hang it above the door for good luck.”

  “What is it?” Brant asked curiously.

  “It is Goth’s symbol. It represents harmony.”

  “I am not familiar with this Goth,” Brant admitte
d.

  “Have you not heard of the old gods?” Jana asked.

  Brant shook his head.

  “Goth is one of the old gods. He represents harmony in nature,” Kaan explained. “Another is Morlock, keeper of the dead, and Bowgoul, god of justice and revenge.”

  Brant had heard the common curse phrase, Morlock’s balls, and now he knew its reference. “So you are not Argonians?” They didn’t answer right away and Brant sensed that his question made them feel uneasy.

  “We are not. But I do not worship the old gods either,” Kaan said quietly, as he stared at his near empty bowl.

  “I like Goth,” Tobias said. “Mother prayed to him often.”

  “That is enough, Tobias,” Jana whispered.

  “It is okay, Jana. Tobias, I thank you for the gift. It will always remind me of your mother.”

  Brant could certainly understand why Kaan would find it difficult to worship any of the gods after his wife’s death. Goth had not saved her. Morlock now had possession of her. And where was Bowgoul? Certainly there was no justice for Kaan’s wife, nor had Kaan been avenged for her tragic death. He thought it was a good time to produce his own gift.

  “I too have a gift for you, Kaan. And I would like to thank you all for allowing me into your home.” Brant had never bought a gift for anyone and he had to admit that it felt good to be able to do so now. Reaching under the table he brought out a rectangular wooden box a little larger than a wine bottle. “This is for you,” he said, pushing the box across the table to Kaan.

  “What do we have here?” he said, obviously surprised. He carefully slid the lid off the box, exposing a glass bottle filled with an amber liquid. His smile disappeared and he looked up at Brant. “Is this what I think it is?” he asked, recognizing the wax emblem pressed upon the bottle.

  “It is.”

  “But how could you afford this?” he asked as he took the bottle out and cradled it in his hands.

  “What is it, Father?” Jana asked.

  “This is something that I’ve had only once, and I still dream of it. Again, I will ask you. How did you afford this?”

  “I was a fighter in the camps, and the day before I left I fought a warden,” Brant said.