Wrath of the Usurper (The Eoriel Saga Book 2)

by Kal Spriggs

  Once he was past, he slowed his pace and fought for air. A glance over his shoulder showed that the majority of hunters had converged on the four downed runners. Since two of them had looked battered already, Aerion didn't figure he wanted to know how badly off they had to be before they were considered 'out.' Ahead, he saw that Gantarel had slowed and seemed to be allowing him to catch up. Merenedar was the runner at the lead, he saw, and she continued without a look back.

  As Aerion closed the distance, he nodded at Gantarel, who gave him a macabre smile, his white teeth stark against the blood that coated his face and torso. “Well done, Swordbreaker. Now is the hard part. Follow me and we'll both finish.”

  He sped up again and this time he took a turn, headed straight west. Aerion wasn't certain, but he thought that way led to the canyon. The earlier warning to avoid it echoed in his ears. Yet a glance behind showed the hunters in full pursuit. His lungs burned and his legs felt like bags of wed mud. Could he continue to out-pace them on the long, winding trail? Do I dare risk running through the canyon, he wondered, or would them catching me be even worse? Simonel had said he would adjudicate when a runner was down, but that assumed he would be there in time to prevent serious injury.

  Aerion gave a curse and rushed off after Gantarel, the howls of the pursuing hunters close behind.

  ***

  King Simonel Greeneye

  Simonel bit back a curse of his own as the hunters finally drew back from Isalen. The runner was badly beaten and, worse, the hunters who had downed him hadn't stopped when he had first called out to them. It had taken Ceratul and Nanamak wading in to prevent further injury to the runner. Naratak and Nakora were little better off, Simonel knew, and only the fact that the mages were already doing their best would prevent either of them from crippling injuries.

  “He'll live,” Nanamak said.

  “Barely,” Ceratul snapped. A glance at the Warmaster showed rage smoldering in his dark eyes. Understandable, Simonel thought, he knows only too well that this tradition is supposed to represent a part of our past, yet this level of violence is far darker than any Nadir Ebeli I have seen.

  “Young Gantarel and Swordbreaker both made for the canyon, only Merenedar continues along the main trail,” Nanamak said as he watched the hunters lope away.

  “Good for them,” Ceratul said, his breath quick. “Merenedar has the speed to keep ahead of the other hunters, and perhaps Gantarel or Aerion can reach the lake before most of the hunters.”

  “Ceratul,” Simonel said sharply, “We adjudicate, we cannot take sides in this game.”

  “This has gone beyond a game,” Ceratul snapped. “These young bucks are in the throws of bloodlust, they spit upon the honor of the Nadir Ebeli.” He met Simonel's eyes levelly and it was Simonel who nodded and looked away. He had never enjoyed the aspect of the hunt and had always been drawn to the role of the runner. The violence had often drawn the darker aspects of his people out and for whatever reason, today's game had awoken something darker. “I will ensure the safety of all participants... for that is our true duty.”

  Simonel nodded. Yet, with a glance at the men and women who had watched as the hunters savagely beat the runners they'd caught, he saw that same hunger. Something is wrong, he thought, yet he didn't know what to do about it. As his gaze went to the hunters as they raced off, though, he knew he would have to do something.

  It would be best if the runners stayed far ahead of the hunters, he thought, though I fear that will not be the case.

  ***

  Aerion Swordbreaker

  Aerion shuffled quickly as he dared along the narrow path. Gantarel hurried along ahead of him, his feet far more certain on the path. Gradually the Wold drew ahead, although in the spots that the path widened enough, Aerion would break into a jog and close the gap somewhat.

  The rocky, overgrown canyon wound downward off the plateau where the Wold city lay. It made for a truly stunning sight, one which Aerion might have appreciated better if not for the sound of his own ragged breathing and the whoops of the hunters behind him. The drop to the side was incredible, with an almost sheer cliff face down to the bottom of the canyon. Now and again, on higher trails, hunters would send pebbles or even rocks clattering down from above as they ran the broader paths to overtake them.

  Gantarel had drawn almost fifty feet ahead when one of the hunters leapt down from a higher trail at him with a cry. Aerion barely caught Gantarel's reaction as the two Wold fought, teetering on the edge of the drop. Above them, Aerion saw two more hunters begin to climb down. If they block the path, I'm as good as dead, Aerion thought, without needing to look at the terrible drop.

  He rushed forward, heedless of the footing and caught one of the hunters just as he dropped to the trail. Aerion grabbed him and slammed him into the rock face as hard as he could. The hunter went limp and Aerion turned just as the other leapt for him. The Wold moved with viper speed and her blows caught Aerion in solid hits to his chest that knocked the wind out of him. Aerion bull-rushed though and body checked his attacker. The Wold gave a scream as she canted out, over the ravine. She clutched at the empty air, her dark eyes wide and her black hair streaming over her face.

  Aerion caught the woman's outstretched hand and swung her into the cliff face. Before the dazed Wold could do anything, Aerion put his hand on a rock and turned away. Gantarel had gained the upper hand and the Wold who had attacked him was on the ground. Before he could get up, Aerion kicked him hard enough to toss the hunter into the cliff face. Gantarel gave him a smile and continued his run. Aerion had no choice but to follow.

  ***

  King Simonel Greeneye

  “Who fell?” Simonel asked as he came up the path behind Nanamak. Ceratul had continued down after the hunters who pursued Merenedar. He hoped that the Warmaster would fare better in that area than they had thus far.

  “Antella,” Nanamak said, “Or nearly. It seems Aerion prevented her from a complete fall, but the other hunters nearly knocked her off again. I had to pull her back up. Irios is seeing to her, and three others as well.”

  Simonel just nodded, grateful that they wouldn't suffer any true losses in whatever bloodlust had overtaken the hunters. It was like the frenzy which sometimes took his people in combat, only worse, in that the hunters seemed driven, regardless of the risks to themselves.

  “They've made it past the narrows, then,” Simonel said grimly. That, at least, meant that Aerion and Gantarel both should make the lake. The problem was that they would reach the southern shore, which left almost a mile of open water between them and the island. Merenedar would approach from the west, which mean she would be able, if she outpaced her pursuers, to reach the rocky, partially submerged, isthmus that would let her run to the island. It also meant that she had only half a mile to run.

  If Aerion and Gantarel tried to swim, they might stay ahead of their pursuers. They would not, he feared, stay ahead of Merenedar's pursuers. In their current frenzy, the hunters might well leap from the isthmus and cut them off. If that was the case, Simonel didn't know how he would prevent at least a few of them, both hunters and runners, from drowning eachother. He looked at Nanamak, “I may have to end this, before it gets people killed.”

  “You can't,” Nanamak said, his voice hard. “You know that. At this point, no one can stop them. The runners must finish or the hunters will pounce. All we can do is try to arrive before it gets too out of hand.” Nanamak matched actions to words and took off in a lope after the hunters and Simonel followed, worried by what was unsaid as much as spoken. For the first time in Simonel's life, he had seen genuine worry on the elder's face. Even when faced with death, the ancient warrior had seemed almost serene. Nanamak spoke, his voice so low that it nearly disappeared under the sound of their footsteps on the trail, “The only thing that can explain this behavior is that something or someone has gained some influence over our people.”

  Simonel blanched at that. Only powerful spirits, energy beings, or those possessed
of tremendous mind magic could have such effects. His people should be resistant to all of those, even more so with the layers of defenses built into the Eastwood. Only something extremely powerful could not only bypass their defenses but do so without sounding an alarm. “We will do what we can,” Simonel said. Even so, he felt a surge of dread as he contemplated just how perilous their circumstances were. Under his father's rule, before the attack that had killed him, the Enchantress would have overseen the protection of both the People of the Eastwood as well as their allied spirits from such attacks. Simonel knew he could call upon any number of skilled spirit-talkers, enchanters, and even wizards among his people... but who could he trust? Already he had seen a conspiracy to murder his first royal guest, backed by one of the oldest wizards amongst his people. What if that were merely the first signs of this other, insidious attack against the People of the Eastwood?

  ***

  Lady Amelia Tarken

  Amelia had shifted with the others to the other side of the building as the runners left the city. The lake was a mile distant and she had not expected the others to be eager to watch the final outcome... yet she was wrong.

  Seraphai, even more than Tirianis, seemed caught up in the sport and almost before Amelia knew it, they had left the balcony and joined the others who rushed down the trails towards the lake shore. It seemed absurd, for she doubted they would see anything at all, yet there was not a complaint raised from anyone in the crowd. Many, in fact, seemed eager, excited.

  The most direct path to the lake shore was not one that hunters or runners were allowed to use. Amelia had walked that path once, in her time here as a Royal Guest. Now she was drawn along with the crowd, whose brisk paces made her almost jog in order to keep up. Normally, she had little doubt that they would be courteous and help her to her feet if she stumbled or fell. Yet, the intent looks to their faces and the brisk movements suggested that they would trample her if she fell and that they wouldn't even notice.

  They came down off the hillside and moved down into the trees. The path led right past the ancient grove that was home to the Founding, the central position of the Green Heart and the center of the Wold culture and where they held court. The trees in this area were huge, their ancient boles covered in moss, the bark gnarled and weathered. The trees weren't dense here, their bulk and growth too thick to allow younger trees to grow beneath their outspread branches. As the Wold hit the area, they spread out, a wave of men and women, drawn to the lake as if summoned by some siren call.

  Is this some attack, she wondered, maybe some mental assault? Tirianis had mentioned that the Wold were more resistant to such things than other people, yet Amelia had been able to overcome that resistance. If my brother, Xavien, has the same abilities, she thought, then perhaps he could bypass their defenses as well. Yet the thought of the effort and power it would take to affect so many people made her shiver. That was far beyond her, far beyond anything that Tirianis had mentioned as far as mind magic. There were hundreds, if not thousands of Wold in the crowd, and whatever it was had all of them enthralled.

  Not just them, she realized, but Seraphai as well. The Viani woman matched the others, stride for stride, her face intent and her eyes focused. Whatever it was, it had affected her as well.

  They came out on a slight rise above the lake shore. Down at the water's edge, Amelia spotted two figures running, pursued by at least a dozen hunters. Amelia recognized Aerion's larger figure lagging slightly behind the lighter frame of Gantarel. She looked to where the isthmus projected out, much of it just below the surface of the lake, with occasional stones that jutted above the surface.

  As she looked that way, Merenedar ran out of the forest and just behind her came another dozen of the hunters. They'll cut of Aerion and Gantarel, she realized. She barely knew the boy and she knew the Wold only by name, yet she felt compelled to do something. The sport had become far more violent than even the usual and Amelia felt certain that if she didn't intervene, both of them would be seriously injured or even killed.

  She agonized for a moment about what to do and then felt an iron-willed determination settle upon her. Amelia would not set idly by while others were in danger. She reached out with her mind, buoyed by her determination. She felt the minds of the crowd around her, but she reached past them and out to where the northern group of hunters raced. She felt them, their minds burned with a sort of dark rage, something that felt both alien and familiar at the same time.

  Never before had she attempted to affect the minds of more than one person at a time and she felt the strain as she touched a dozen of the Wold at the same time and pushed, ever so slightly. She could feel the rage that drove them flicker, if just for a moment.

  But then she felt something else, a powerful awareness, a mind ancient beyond anything she had yet felt and with a power that made her feel like a pinprick of light against a starless night. This other presence seemed to emanate from the island. It reached for her, with a vast hunger that terrified her. It was like looking into the maw of an avalanche: a gargantuan, ravenous force that could not be stopped. Amelia threw up everything she could against it and felt her defenses crumble beneath the assault. In a last, desperate attempt, she hid herself away from it and felt the awesome force of the alien presence roll past her.

  Even so the weight of the oppressive mind smashed her with an almost physical assault. Amelia stumbled and cried out and felt the world begin to spin as she lost consciousness. The last thing she saw was the shocked eyes of Tirianis as the Wold Princess reached for her.

  ***

  Aerion Swordbreaker

  Aerion stumbled out onto the lake shore and paused as he appraised the situation. The pebbled beach stretched to either side, thirty feet wide. The trail he and Gantarel had followed led right down to the water alongside the river which had wound out of the canyon behind them. The lake itself was a deep blue that suggested it was very deep.

  Aerion knew how to swim, but he'd learned in the mountain streams near his village and the mile or more of open water between him and the island was further than he'd like to try, especially while being chased.

  He saw Gantarel run north along the shore and in that direction Aerion thought he saw some kind of out-thrust stretch of land. He forced himself to run again, even though his legs felt weak and his lungs ached. Clearly Gantarel was lighter on his feet, for the Wold drew ahead steadily.

  A glance back showed that the Wold hunters had finally reached the shore. Their pursuit was far enough back that Aerion felt some glimmer of hope.

  A look ahead showed that Merenedar had just exited the forest less than two hundred yards distant. She moved with quick steps along the rocks that led out into the lake. Aerion felt his hopes dashed though as at least a dozen Wold hunters rushed out behind her. The two at the front continued their pursuit, but the others fanned out to better cut off Aerion and Gantarel from the isthmus.

  Aerion swore as he saw that he didn't have time to get past them before they would pounce. Even if he could defend himself from them, the hunters behind would have enough time to catch him. He saw Gantarel run down closer to the water, clearly in the hopes that he could bypass them in the water, but Aerion knew that would be a trap of its own. They would have plenty of time to run to where he would exit the water or to jump in close enough to catch him.

  Aerion slowed his pace, determined to fight them if he couldn't escape. As he readied himself though, he saw the Wold ahead stumble and hesitate. For just a moment, all of them looked around as if confused.

  Aerion didn't know what could have caused it, he didn't care. He saw his opportunity and rushed the nearest of the hunters. The Wold seemed to shake off whatever had effected him, but it still slowed his reactions just enough to matter.

  Aerion sprinted at him and tucked his shoulder. The Wold tried to grab him, but Aerion hit him like a battering ram and the hunter flew back. A woman came at him, but Aerion didn't break stride as he swung an arm across and struck her hard in
the stomach. As she doubled over, Aerion continued his run. He saw Gantarel trip the hunter closest to the rocks and lead the way out into the lake.

  Aerion followed as quickly as he could. The wet rocks jutted above the water, sometimes only a few inches, sometimes as much as a foot. They were all slippery with water and while the individual stones were relatively even, many were at angles with the others. Aerion's pace slowed as he followed Gantarel. A glance back showed that the two parties of Wold hunters had joined each other and that they had begun their pursuit along the rocks.

  Aerion tried to pick up his pace but almost instantly he missed his footing and fell. The water was icy cold and the shock almost made him pass out. He pulled himself back up on a rock and then to his feet and started moving once more. His brain felt fogged from the shockingly cold water and he could feel his muscles beginning to cramp. Ahead he saw Gantarel miss a step and fall into the water. Aerion closed almost half the distance between them before the Wold finally finished pulling himself out of the water and back to his feet.

  A look back showed that his pursuers were only a hundred feet behind. Aerion lengthened his stride and leapt for more distant stones in an effort to draw further ahead. It worked and Aerion's pace sped up, but only until his feet slipped out from under him and he landed, hard, on his back. The air rushed out of his lungs and it seemed to take him forever to stumble to his feet. He gasped for air and shuffled along as quickly as he could.

  Ahead, he saw that Gantarel had reached the end of the peninsula. At the end, more stones jutted out of the water and Aerion realized that it was the remains of a bridge. He guessed this was some kind of causeway though he couldn't imagine how old it must be. As he came to the bridge he looked back. The Wold hunters were a mere fifty feet behind and as they jostled one another in pursuit he saw several fall into the water. Aerion ran up the stump of the bridge and paused, five feet above the lake.