by A. R. Wilson
THE SWORD OF EINIKO
By Angela Wilson
Table of Contents
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
GLOSSARY
PROLOGUE
Heluska went outside and found her horse tied to the post near the front door with bridle and saddle secured in place. How could she have survived this past week without the faithful help of her sister? Climbing on, she pushed the mare into a gallop along the road.
Two left turns later the remains of her home came into view. Bundles of thatch lay atop broken boards and crumbled walls. Something her husband called a horsk dragon had crashed through the roof and kidnapped their sixteen-year-old daughter. For some reason, he believed the dragon to be a warlock’s minion. And somehow, he also believed he could find their daughter and bring her home. When he left on his quest, Heluska wondered when she would ever see either of them again. Now, her thoughts hovered over whether the screams from that night would ever stop ringing in her ears.
She pulled to a stop and slid off. Taking a knife from the holder on her hip, she gouged the phrase ‘Gone to see the lion’ into the remains of the single standing doorpost.
Her husband Jurren's battle with a mountain lion was one of their daughter’s favorite stories to hear as a young child. She was ever asking, “Tell me about when you went to see the lion.” Being six at the time, she was too young to understand that her father had had a brush with death. All she knew was that it happened while he was visiting their friend in the Great Northlands.
“That should be a vague enough clue for Tascana or Jurren to know where we’ve gone.”
Turning to mount her horse, she saw a line of people ambling the in distance. The exodus had already begun.
CHAPTER 1
It was done. Jurren and his companions had defeated and killed a horsk dragon from the Predator’s Den. A creature so great in size it could swallow a grown man whole. They were safe. Well, for the moment anyway. Safety had become a relative term for Jurren over the past few weeks. After an attack by goblin infected youths back in the ghostwoods of Bondurant, life had yet to return to anything resembling normal. Was he destined to never live in the quiet solitude he so yearned for?
Jurren kept pace behind the elf Azredan, following that drab, gray robe and copying the exact places where Azredan landed his feet. Left, right, left, right. Jurren had to match the footprints exactly. The quick paths through the mountains of Chlopahn could only be navigated by elves trained in the ability to sense them. If Jurren and Arkose didn’t keep in perfect step with their guide, their progress would slow, possibly enough for another horsk dragon to witness their passage.
The grunts further back assured Jurren that Arkose continued to keep up the rear with each bend of the path. Unable to turn his head with Kidelar slung over Jurren’s shoulder, he grinned at the occasional verbal assurance they were all still together. Though Kidelar protested the mode of travel repeatedly, it couldn’t be avoided. He couldn’t manage the steady pace with his goblin wound still healing.
Hours of marching grated on Jurren’s pain threshold. Though Arkose had offered twice to help share the burden, Jurren didn’t dare pause their momentum. After their battle earlier that day what other choice did they have? They had to keep moving. So Jurren ignored the tension building across his neck. The only thing that mattered was planting his foot in the next right place.
And the next.
And the next.
For unknown hours, they marched until Azredan held up a hand. He gave the other men a nod then slipped off his travel pack.
Jurren shifted Kidelar to the ground, bumping into Arkose in the process. They collectively tumbled into one of the millions of conifer trees coating these hills. Arkose’s shaved head came up covered in dried leaves.
“Do you forgive me?” Jurren rubbed against the spasms forming in his shoulders.
“I have yet to decide.” Kidelar stumbled to regain his balance. Once he caught it, he straightened his clothes and tried to work the kinks out of his sandy hair. “Such an undignified method of travel for a scholar. Hung like a sack of earthen roots.”
“But at least your complaints were dignified.” The pain of the massage no longer felt worth the effort and Jurren switched to pulling his shoulders back. “Trust me, as soon as you’re ready I will gladly allow you to walk on your own. The quick paths are the safest way to travel undetected.”
“Isn’t there some other method to attempt passage to Einiko’s castle? I don’t think my ribs can tolerate another venture. And just what are these paths you keep mentioning?” Kidelar bent into his side.
Azredan tucked his long dark hair behind his pointed ears. “They are a tool, for lack of a more proper word in your language. They allow travelers to cross great distances in a short period of time. Though they exist all over the world, elves are the only ones with the intuition capable of sensing their presence.”
“How convenient for you.” The heat in the Kidelar’s voice seemed to startle even himself. “That was most unbecoming and improper of me to say. Please, accept my apology.”
Jurren watched Azredan tilt his head as though merely curious by the insult. The elf closed the distance between himself and Kidelar.
“How long were you under the care of the healers in Chlopahn for the goblin bite you received?” Azredan made a gesture to indicate he wanted to look at the wound.
Kidelar slapped a protective hand to his chest. “Three days.”
“May I see how it is healing?”
“I’d rather not.”
“Then I must insist. Please, allow me to have a look.”
The scholar’s hazel eyes flicked to Jurren. Giving his friend a nod was enough of an encouragement for the man to comply.
Kidelar shrugged loose his cloak then winced. Jurren came up behind him to help loosen the clasps and straps of the outfit given to them from the elves during their stay in Chlopahn. Angry, red marks stood raised in a circle below the scholar’s shoulder blade from the massive bite. Three black lines, running over an inch long, snaked from the bottom most punctures.
Azredan scowled, hunching forward to get a closer look. “They did not finish the treatment for withdrawing the poison.”
Jurren gritted his teeth. Whatever venom those creatures possessed had the capacity to mutate its host. Images of battling goblin-infected youths to the death in the ghostwoods of Bondurant swirled through Jurren’s mind.
“I begged them to stop.” The words caught in Kidelar’s throat. “The pain was so great. I wanted to die.”
The elf nodded, prodding at the skin around the bite. “This breed of goblin is by far the most dangerous Einiko has created.”
“Help him!” Jurren fought to control the tension in his voice. “If the infection spreads he’ll turn into one of them. You helped Arkose after our battle with the horsk dragon. I saw you speak over his wounds. You have the power
to heal. Help him!”
Shaking his head, Azredan continued to inspect the wound. “It is not my power. As I told you before, I am in communion with the Ever One. He and He alone empowers me to do that which is most helpful.”
“Please, don’t.” Kidelar cringed beneath Azredan’s touch and stepped away. “I cannot bear to endure such treatment again. Spare me now and be done with it.”
Jurren’s throat constricted. What had those reclusive elves done to Kidelar that would cause him to prefer death?
“Worry not.” Azredan shrugged off his cloak. “My methods are far kinder than those you endured. If you dare not trust me, then ask Arkose.”
Running a hand along the back of his shaved head, Arkose gave a slow nod. Dried blood from his healed wounds crusted along a red scar running from his temple to his throat. That final jump to drive a sword into the dragon’s eye had defeated it, but at a great price. His companion dragon, Helmsley, had died in the attempt. The ensuing fall nearly killed Arkose, as well.
“You can trust him.” Arkose lowered his hand to the back of his neck.
Kidelar’s gaze returned to Azredan. “Are you certain?”
“I am never certain if the Ever One will give me what I ask. But I am always certain it has never caused pain.”
The scholar gave him a timid appraisal then turned his shoulder toward the elf.
Jurren watched Azredan position himself as he had once before. With one hand over Kidelar’s head and another next to his hip, the elf closed his eyes.
“By the power of the Ever One I declare a fullness of healing. Restore this man to what he once was.”
Kidelar flinched then relaxed. His eyes widened. “It feels warm.”
“Jurren, grab some of that moss over there.”
Following the elf’s gesture, Jurren stooped and gathered a clump of the green plant. After handing some to Azredan, he helped to wipe off the black ooze worming out of the injury.
When the last of the infected lines disappeared, Azredan dropped the remaining moss on the ground and spit. “Good riddance to demon filth.”
Kidelar took a few steps forward, rotating his arm in its socket, his breath heavy as he spoke. “That feels so much better.”
“Your mood should improve, as well.” Azredan winked.
“How about a few words over my shoulder?” Jurren put a hand over the spasming muscles. “I did carry him for hours.”
“That is not what will help you most.”
Jurren blanched. “Have I offended you?”
The elf chuckled, slinging his cloak back into place. “Not at all. As I said, I am to do that which helps most. Your shoulder will strengthen as it heals on its own. You do not require dire aid the same as your friends have.”
Though the words sounded kind, Jurren could not help but sense a tone of mockery. He glanced over at Arkose and received a shrug of ‘I don’t understand’.
“Well I feel more like myself already.” Kidelar moved to face Azredan. “I believe I am strong enough to follow you on the quick paths now.”
“There are no such paths in the land beyond.” Azredan pointed south.
Jurren turned. Below them the canyon opened into a grassy expanse. Beyond lay a rippling landscape of sandstone.
Nausea gripped Jurren. That old familiar stir accompanying every memory of the vision from the seer priestess Ellesha Shan Shair. The first wave of imagery weeks ago had crippled him into a fetal position. He had been unable to move for several minutes, paralyzed by a hurricane of his senses. Over time, he learned to seek for truth behind the onslaught. With practice, he grew to discern the promptings for the next step of his journey.
Wind, sand, pain, and a face.
The same wave of vision he received earlier that day spilled over his eyes. As before, he sought that inner knowing to show him the truth behind the images. While the waking nightmare of burning sand raged around him, he centered his thoughts. The stings lessened along his skin. Howling winds quieted to a breeze in his ears. Choking sand pulled out of his throat as the appearance of sandstone columns erupted behind his eyes. Again, Jurren’s vision showed him the face of Azredan with a white pinpoint of light at the forehead. The light stretched forward in a line, zigzagging through the columns like a route on a map.
The images began to fade, and Jurren sensed the world returning to him. Kidelar stood bent over with his hands on his knees. Their visions always came in pairs.
“Painful sand awaits us.” Kidelar coughed and shook his head.
Azredan nodded. “The elves refer to it as the chaukah. It is one of the barriers preventing entrance to these mountains.”
“To keep the bloodlines pure.” Jurren nearly spat the words.
“Yes. The elders of Chlopahn were quite displeased when the halfling came into being. The day the child Einiko received the inheritance of magic was also the day he committed his first murder.”
Jurren turned to face him.
“Lord Marvae probably didn’t tell you that story.”
Shaking his head, Jurren wondered if he wanted to know.
Azredan scanned the treeline north of them. “We should make for the valley of Genevra while I tell you the tale.”
“Why are there no quick paths after this point?” Kidelar reached to carry one of the two remaining travel packs but Arkose beat him to it.
“It is part of the damage caused by the chaukah. But one story at a time.” Azredan adjusted the set of arrows tethered at his hip. “Today you need to learn the beginning of the evil contained within Einiko’s heart.”
Kidelar shuffled forward to walk shoulder to shoulder with the elf.
Just like back home, ever the bookworm. Jurren shook his head.
“The magic inherited along the Lineage of Adjh can only be passed on to a firstborn son. At the time of a father’s death, he transfers this power to his son, creating an ever-increasing ability with each generation. Though all elves possess some ability for magic, the power of this line is a creation all its own.
“Centuries ago, a war broke out between the Fates and the line of sons was broken. Only daughters were born to Lesoeth, and also to his daughters. The eldest granddaughter of Lesoeth struck a deal with the Chance-Hand of Fate and secured the opportunity to birth a son. If she mated with a son of man, she would receive aid in restoring the line.
“Einiko became the first child born between the race of elves and men. Subsequently, both races rejected him. Soon after his twelfth birthday the time came for Lesoeth to pass on his gift. The power was too great however, nearly killing Einiko during the process, so Lesoeth poured the remaining potency of his strength into his sword. The same sword Einiko now wields to enslave an entire nation.”
Kidelar gaped at Azredan, hanging on every word. “So what happened that day? The day he received his power?”
Azredan paused and Jurren stopped short of slamming into him. The elf stood there, staring at the ground as though searching for the right words.
“Einiko put out his hand and took the life of Lesoeth. Pulled the last of the vigor from a man lying on his deathbed.” Azredan lifted his gaze. “When the girl stepped forward to grieve the loss of her grandfather, Einiko took her life too. His own mother.”
Heat cinch around Jurren’s heart. What kind of boy could do such a thing? Had the magic given to that halfling driven him mad?
Kidelar’s eyes widened then lowered.
“Over a dozen people died that day.” Azredan began walking again. “The elders of Chlopahn gathered to find a way to protect their people. They made a deal with the Heart-Hand of Fate and were allowed to physically remove the youth for a time. But Einiko returned with a vengeance. Using the sword, he created the Predator’s Den and lashed out against the entire elven race. By the time the goblin army was defeated, less than 2,000 elves remained. An entire race whittle down to a handful of family lines. They drove Einiko from the mountains, badly wounded.
“During his absence they ravaged the lan
d with a spell of their own device. A spell to prevent anyone or anything from crossing the borders of their land. They invented a curse which causes any creature with the breath of life in it to have that breath ripped from them when the chaukah winds release.”
At his last word, Azredan pointed to the sandstone columns in the distance.
Kidelar glanced back at Jurren before turning to Azredan. “So what is this chaukah? Where does it come from?”
“A maelstrom which tears through the valley every few hours. Even plants are stripped to arid stalks.”
Jurren shuddered as his vision slammed into clarity. “How do we go around it?”
“We don’t.”
Arkose shook his head, hand rubbing the back of his neck.
“Genevra runs for a month’s journey on foot in either direction.” Azredan gave a nod towards the eastern horizon.
“Then why did we allow the dragon’s to abandon us?” Jurren hurried his pace to walk until he stood face to face with the elf. “Why did you send our dragons to find the griffin island if you knew we needed them to cross this barrier?”
Azredan tilted his head with that same curious look he always gave. “Your questions assume there is no path through Genevra.”
“Wind capable of stripping all breath sounds fairly lethal. How do you propose we survive such a thing?”
An impish grin tugged at his mouth. “Very carefully.”
I hate you. “Must you speak in riddles?”
The grin spread to a full smile. “A door lies hidden among the stone columns. This will guide us to a path beneath Genevra and into the swamps beyond.”
Arkose’s words echoed Jurren’s own thoughts. “Well, this just keeps sounding better and better.”
Kidelar scratched the stubble on his chin. “How far into the valley must we travel to find this hidden door?”
“I cannot be certain.” Azredan maintained his amused expression. “The dwarves change its location from time to time. But they trust me, so they’ll allow us to find it once they sense we are near.”
“Dwarves?” Kidelar said the word as though it were the answer to a childhood dream.
Azredan lowered his head, furrowing his brow. When he looked up at them with pursed lips he folded his arms. “The peoples we encounter in the weeks ahead will despise you on sight. You need to anticipate this, and respect it.”
