Heroes of the Crystal Star (Valcoria Book 1)

by Jason James King

  That part of him, the sleeping part that was “Rayome, Gevan’s Father” stirred. It had grown weak lately, rising only in short bursts of emotional memory. It felt sick, like it were a person with a debilitating illness trudging a downward path to eternal sleep. That made Rayome think of his wife, Darcivian, and his chest tightened. Although it had been twenty years since her death, the pain was as raw as the day of her burial. He remembered Kaiden trying to soothe him, telling him that time would heal his wound, but he had been wrong. It had only grown more painful as the passing years punctuated his loneliness―each holiday, anniversary, and fleeting dream mocking him, cruelly reminding him that she was gone. Gevan had been his only comfort, though the boy’s brown eyes, which were the identical shade of his mother’s, were another reminder of what Rayome had lost.

  Gevan’s Father stirred again.

  Darcivian had been his world, his reason for living, his everything. Something he had not fully appreciated until she was gone. That was the harshest part of his tragedy, the realization that he had not treasured his wife while she lived. At the time, he thought he had been a good husband, but his conscience convicted him of what he had always known, he had neglected her. It hadn’t been a conscious decision. His work had seduced him into an affair with studying the Valakyrian, and he had become obsessed; leaving for months at a time and rarely spending time at home even when he was not on an expedition. Even when she became ill, he had spent most of his time engaged in searching for clues that would lead him to the Aldor, time that he ought to have spent with her.

  Precious time.

  Darcivian had tried to tell him, she had tried to make him understand, but he had been too fixated on saving her. Had that been an excuse, a pretext that he used to hide from the pain of watching her slip away? It had been easier to lose himself in his academic passions rather than see his beloved’s pale and thinning face as her Janier’s syndrome made her look progressively like a living corpse. What would she say if she could see him now? What would she think?

  I do this for you. No, that was a lie. Destroying Salatia Taeo was what he wanted for himself. Darcivian abhorred violence and would condemn what Rayome had done, what he planned to do. Then why? Why am I doing this? He thought he heard a voice ask, not the Voice of the belt, but his own voice, the voice of Gevan’s Father. The feeling he had been repressing awakened and a sudden horror took Rayome. The shock of abrupt remorse was as a splash in the face with a bucket of ice water. Gevan was right! What am I doing? What have I done? He thought of Hirath and felt a sudden panic to get away from Lorta. He had to find Gevan, he had to take off the belt, he―

  The Voice slammed into his mind with the full force of its will. Rayome tried to resist but, like the last few times, his defenses shattered. An image of Darcivian dressed for burial, lying in her coffin, stabbed into his mind, accompanied by a mixture of raw hurt, infuriating injustice, and an overflowing river of rage. I could have saved her! his voice echoed from memory, a memory not called up by him. I could have saved her, but he wouldn’t let me. They wouldn’t let me! They killed her, murdered her!

  Rayome ground his teeth. Justice was on his side. Salatia Taeo deserved the fate he was bringing to it. He would conquer the city, use Valadin’s own daughter to find the Aldor, and then he would at last have its treasures.

  Just one treasure, the Voice whispered.

  What do you mean? Rayome asked, but the Voice was gone as fast as it had come. Well not entirely gone, he could still feel it stoking the flame of rage burning inside his chest, but it had retreated back to its hiding place inside his mind.

  Rayome was drawn out of his thoughts as he caught sight of a horse-mounted messenger weaving through the lines of marching soldiers, looking for someone. Lorta’s throwing another fit. He still was not in the mood to talk with the boy emperor, not trusting himself to control his tongue or restrain his strength. He had been avoiding Lorta since they left Hirath nearly ten days ago, by avoiding the front lines, secluding himself in his supply wagons, and spending the nights with the camp followers. Rayome turned his horse away from the inquiring messenger and trotted through the lines of marching infantry toward the cover of one of his supply wagons.

  He knew what Lorta wanted, another reassurance that his army would still be able to take the capital without their Niazeride advantage. Rayome had assured the emperor several times that their numbers were sufficient to take the capital and that he had a plan for how to breach the east gate. That had not been good enough for the whining brat, he wanted every specific painfully spelled out. Rayome had been able to quell his tantrum by making his contingency plan sound as though it required special secrecy. He chuckled to himself. The emperor was little more than a spoiled child, easily bent to his will by a clever mixture of suggestion delivered in a way that made Lorta think the ideas were his and frosted with enough flattery to appeal to his vanity.

  Not a very bright one.

  “Lord, Sage,” a voice called.

  Rayome closed his eyes and sighed before turning his mount and finding another messenger riding up to him. Two, the brat had sent two. Perhaps the emperor could be clever, when he wanted to.

  “Lord, Sage,” the messenger repeated as he reined up in front of him. “His Highness is demanding that you report to the front of the column.”

  He must have been threatened with execution if he failed to find me. Without saying a word to the relieved-looking messenger, Rayome prompted his horse forward and galloped toward the front of the column. The army was marching through Draciak Eletar, the canyon in the middle of Amigus’ pine forest, a landmark that signaled a travelers’ descent into the Aldora Valley. The narrow path, created by towering parallel walls of rock that were pockmarked by hundreds of small caves, fed into a steep slope making the march difficult as the army had to condense to a single column. Consequently, the body of soldiers found themselves slowed by the hundreds of wagons that they had to steady against the path’s decline.

  The Aldora Valley. Rayome scoffed. That name had been his first clue that the Aldor was entombed somewhere beneath Amigus, most of the kingdom itself being located in the Aldora Valley. Few knew that the valley had not come into existence by the patient hand of nature. Fewer still knew that the monstrous sky fortress, more a floating city than a single mammoth castle, had crashed where the kingdom of the white eagle now stood. Soon they would know, the whole world would know.

  The sight of the forward ranks slowing to a halt drew Rayome’s attention. “Why are we stopping?” he whispered to himself, but he soon had his answer.

  “There you are,” Lorta said as he stared through a telescope at something Rayome couldn’t see.

  “Why have you halted our march?” Rayome asked as he reined in his mount.

  Lorta lowered his telescope and turned to look at him. “Where have you been, Sage? I have had messengers looking for you for over a week.”

  “Planning,” Rayome said, “for our assault on the capital. I needed to―”

  “Yes, yes,” Lorta waved an indifferent hand. “Here,” he said offering the telescope to Rayome. “Tell me what you see.”

  Rayome warily took the conical looking glass, hoisted it to his right eye, and turned the lens to adjust its focus. He first looked toward the distant horizon fearing another Amigus army, but then he caught sight of a lone figure sitting on a horse directly in the path of the army.

  “Gevan,” he whispered.

  “What is your acolyte doing out there?”

  Rayome hesitated a moment before prompting his horse forward, galloping toward his waiting son. He heard Lorta bark commands and then the sound of multiple hoof falls.

  Copper wire hung from the small caves high up on both sides of the chasm’s walls, running along the ground and up to a blasting box resting on Gevan’s saddle. His right hand gripped the T-shaped plunger and he wore an expression as grim as death. Rayome rode within speaking distance and then slowed to a halt, throwing up his right arm in signal to
those following to do likewise.

  “What? What is it?” Lorta demanded from behind him.

  Rayome ignored the emperor and raised his voice to Gevan. “What are you doing?”

  “You are not well, Rayome,” Gevan shouted to overcome the distance. “I have come to take you home so you can get some help.”

  Rayome scoffed, “From whom? Tamaeon?”

  “Perhaps.”

  “It was you,” Rayome called, “You gave the counter measure to Amigus.”

  “He is the traitor?” Lorta hissed. “Take him!”

  Salache and another commander rode past Rayome but stopped up short when Gevan gripped the plunger with both his hands.

  “Call off your men, Lorta!” Gevan shouted. “Unless you want me to bring down the chasm walls on you and block the way with a mountain of rocks.”

  Salache hesitated as he glanced back to Lorta for instruction.

  “call them off!” Gevan screamed and for the first time Rayome could hear desperation in the boy’s tone.

  “Hold!” Lorta called and Salache and his subordinate moved no further.

  Lorta moved his horse up to Rayome’s side, and asked, “What are we to do?”

  He did not answer the emperor, but instead trotted his mount toward Gevan who was still some thirty feet away.

  “Stay back, father!” Gevan shouted, sounding unsure.

  “Father?” Lorta repeated. “He is your son?”

  “You are not going to blast the chasm walls, Gevan.” Rayome was now only twenty-five feet away from him.

  “I will!” Gevan shouted. “Unless you leave right now with me and return home.”

  “I am returning home.”

  Gevan looked nervous. “To our home.”

  “And you thought we would just be able to walk away from this?” Rayome scoffed.

  Twenty feet.

  Gevan tightened his grip on the plunger. “Stay back!”

  Rayome shook his head. “I know what you’re doing, Son. Once I am away from the front line, you plan to detonate your charges, forcing me to join you as we escape in the confusion of the resulting chaos.”

  “Sage?” Rayome heard Lorta call.

  Fifteen feet.

  “Don’t come any closer!” Gevan shouted.

  Rayome ignored his demand, his chest aflame with hot anger. He could feel that part of the emotion did not emanate from him, but the Voice, its hostility now entirely focused on the boy.

  Ten feet.

  “Disconnect the detonator and ride away,” he said in a low tone so that only Gevan could hear. “Perhaps if you are swift enough, you will be able to evade Lorta’s Imperial Guard in the forest.” At five feet, Rayome stopped his horse. “I offer you this mercy because you were my son.”

  “Were?” Gevan repeated, voice sounding hurt. “I am your son.”

  “Go,” Rayome ordered. “I never want to see your face again.”

  Gevan’s expression changed from wounded to angry, and without saying another word, he slammed the plunger down.

  Lorta released a fearful cry behind him, but it died into silence as no explosion followed. Gevan looked down at the blasting box, face incredulous.

  Rayome shook his head. “You really should have checked the detonator fuses on those firebombs.”

  Gevan looked up at him, expression horror-struck. “How?”

  “I removed them before you took the canisters and fled the camp.”

  Rayome heard Lorta barking orders followed by the sound of dozens of furious hoofbeats. Gevan sat frozen atop his horse, staring at him in disbelief.

  “You had better fly,” Rayome warned.

  Gevan’s gaze shifted to look beyond Rayome, and his eyes widened. He wheeled his horse around and launched it into a full gallop, riding toward the exit of the chasm still several miles off. Twenty Imperial Guards stormed past Rayome, hooves stirring up a terrific storm of dust. When the cloud cleared, Rayome could see that the Imperial Guard was closing in on Gevan.

  One of the black, armored knights rode up just behind and to the left side of Gevan’s mount. In an impressive display of riding skill, the man leaned so far to the right that it looked as if he were going to fall from his saddle. The knight swept his sword out, shearing off the horses’ rear legs at a slant. The horse cried out as it crashed to the left side, taking the Imperial Guard and his stallion down with it. The rest of the Imperial Guard caught up and three of them dismounted. One checked on his fallen comrade while the other two drew a mostly unscathed Gevan to his feet. One punched Gevan in the stomach before loading him onto a horse, and heading back.

  Rayome thought he should have felt something for his son. Wasn’t he supposed to be relieved that Gevan had not broken his neck in the fall, as well as fearful for what Lorta would do to him? Shouldn’t he desire to save him, even if it cost him his own life? Yes. He should feel all of those things and more, but he did not. It seemed that a hint of those instincts were there struggling to ignite like a flame in the hearth, but they wouldn’t―they couldn’t. A storm of cold rage doused all sparks of parental fervor.

  “Bring a mallet, spike and chain with slave collar,” Lorta commanded as the emperor drew close. He had dismounted and walked up to where Rayome sat on his horse, Salache at his heels. The general relayed the command and a soldier went running. “Get down here!” Lorta hissed up at him. It was one of his rules that no one be elevated over him when speaking.

  Rayome complied, eyes still on Gevan as the Imperial Guard brought him near.

  “Why did you not tell me that he was your son?” Lorta demanded.

  “He is not,” Rayome said coolly as he turned to look at the emperor―another of Lorta’s rules when speaking with him. “Not anymore.”

  Lorta sounded bemused. “You do realize that I will have to execute him?”

  “Do what you must.”

  Lorta nodded, an approving look on his face. “I commend you for your loyalty to the Empire. Rest assured, you will be compensated.”

  How could you compensate someone for killing his child? Rayome heard Gevan’s Father accuse. He is not my son anymore. Rayome tamped down his heart’s stirring rebellion.

  “Father!” Gevan screamed as they pulled him from the horse. “You can’t let them do this!”

  Marching Gevan to Lorta, one of the black armored Imperial Guards shoved him in the back, causing him to stumble forward so that he landed on his knees in front of the emperor. Lorta peered down at him, a malicious grin on his face.

  “The penalty for crimes of your kind is normally execution by hanging or firing squad. Beheading used to be an option, but I ended that when I ascended the throne―too quick.” Lorta smiled. “I think the scope of your crimes deserves a more creative solution.”

  An Aukasian soldier approached the emperor, chains and collar carried across his arms. Another man, the original runner, followed behind holding a large iron mallet and metal spike. Gevan eyed the mallet and spike fearfully.

  “Do you see these caves?” Lorta motioned to the hundreds of small caves pock-marking both walls of the chasm. “I am sure you found empty ones in which to place your explosives, but believe me when I tell you that most of them are not empty. This place is called Draciak Eletar. Do you know what the means?”

  Gevan said nothing, to which one of the Imperial Guards reacted by striking him on the back of his skull.

  “I know you speak the old tongue!” Lorta hissed.

  “Dragon’s Chasm,” Gevan replied as he squinted and gripped the back of his head.

  Lorta smiled. “Yes, home to a very large, very rare, and very dangerous species of carnivorous reptile.”

  “The Viska Aran,” Gevan answered, “the hissing dragons.”

  “Then you have heard of them.” Lorta flashed another cruel smile. “And you know that they only come out at night?”

  “Yes.”

  Lorta glanced at Rayome, perhaps to see if the method of execution he was hinting at might change his mind
. It didn’t.

  “They are, for the most part, reclusive and won’t attack large groups.” Lorta motioned to the soldier holding the chain and collar. “However, they will attack if you are alone.”

  Two Imperial Guards held Gevan while the soldier collared him, locking it by threading the chain through two small holes on the front of the metal ring.

  Lorta motioned to the man holding the iron mallet and spike, and the soldier approached. Gevan flinched as the man passed him. Did he think the spike was for him? You love him, Gevan’s Father said, that part of him again breaking free of his control. No, He betrayed me, he shouted inside as he began to strangle the man that was still Gevan’s Father, for it seemed the only way to truly be rid of his feelings for the boy.

  The soldier with the hammer picked a spot on a nearby boulder, stuck the point of his spike through the end link of Gevan’s leash, and waved his comrade over. The soldier who had delivered Gevan’s collar knelt next to the spike, holding it with both hands. Rayome’s ears rang as the hammer struck, driving the spike into the rock..

  “You are to be tethered here to watch my army pass.” Though he attempted a formal tone, Lorta’s couldn’t hide his giddy sadism. “My soldiers will be free to taunt you, but none will harm you. I will leave you adequate food and water so that you may live to face your executioners.” Lorta smiled as he leaned in close to Gevan. “I hear they go for the entrails first, which means you will likely be alive when their feeding begins.”

  Gevan stared at Rayome, eyes wide and pleading. The pathetic look called forth one last rise of the man that was once the boy’s Father.

  “No.” The voice spoke in Rayome’s mind, the first time it had communicated in a manner other than images. He waited, but no more words came. Instead, his veins turned hot, and though he could not see it, he knew his eyes were burning red.

  Rayome turned from Gevan’s stare and spoke to Lorta. “I believe it would be wise for us to move on. Though the Viska avoid groups of men, they have been known to pick off traveler’s livestock, even during the day.”