The Heir of Ænæria

by Thom L Matthews

  They were quiet as they ate, tired from driving all through the night. Sierra returned with a gopher clamped in her jaw and held it like a prize. Ben patted her on the head and accepted the rodent. They’d probably have it for lunch. Hüginn returned shortly after and showed Ben with the screen on its head that the path ahead was clear. Whatever herd he had felt must’ve changed course.

  Darius had gotten the least sleep, so Ben and Mandi took the next shifts. Ben took first shift. He’d not driven many times in the past but knew the controls well enough. It was a good thing he took the first shift because Mandi was anything but graceful behind the wheel. Darius came to a rude awakening when Mandi hit the brake just a tad harder than necessary to avoid a patch of small boulders. Ben was the only one laughing, which was probably a first. Mandi looked so uncomfortable behind the wheel, and Darius let loose a string of curses every other word.

  Although Mandi apologized profusely, Ben agreed to drive while Darius rested.

  Poor Darius barely got another half-hour.

  Whatever had caused the shaking that Ben had felt at breakfast resumed its course. It wasn’t directly ahead but this time came from the south. Risking another migraine, Ben augmented his hearing to determine the source. He heard the trembling ground. It shook with no hint of stopping. It sounded like a charging stampede heading straight for them. Then it suddenly shifted. It pounded against his eardrums until he returned his hearing to normal to avoid the sensory overload. He looked to the right, through the window on Mandi’s side, and saw a horde of horsemen galloping toward them. Without a second thought, he slammed his foot against the accelerator. He ignored the curses upon Darius’s awakening. The ex-Rhion knew why Ben had woken him up again as soon as he took a breath and was quiet enough to hear the thundering hooves of the incoming riders.

  It was a race of machine versus beast. From everything Ben had seen in the past moons, he’d have bet on machine every time. The sheer power of a sung against a measly arrow. Mimir’s ever-expanding knowledge over the limits of man’s stubbornness. All that could be thrown to the wind when challenged by one thing: numbers. A hundred ships can carry thousands more than a single airship. It didn’t matter that the sun-carriage was faster because it just meant they drove straight into the next group of horsemen patrolling ahead of them.

  Ben took a sharp turn, hands climbing over the steering wheel again and again. They jolted into a sliding turn and drifted against the dusty dirt of the desert. As soon as they picked back up their speed, he told Darius to take the wheel. Darius’s eyes were glued to the path ahead, hardly blinking or looking at Ben or Mandi. Complete focus.

  “Mandi, get your spyglass and report what you see!” Ben ordered.

  She climbed into the back and grabbed her pack to remove the instrument. “Why don’t you have Hüginn show you?”

  “I will, but you can report back to me as soon as you see things. I’m using him to survey the entire area. That takes time, and we moved on too fast last time that he missed whoever these marauders are.”

  Ben reached for his sword and opened the hatch on the roof. He stood in the center of the moving vehicle with his upper body exposed to the ripping desert wind flying against the speeding sun-carriage. He called for Hüginn, and within seconds, the raven dove down to the carriage and matched their speed, gliding next to them. Ben gave the bird its orders to get a full survey of their surroundings and return only after checking their entire perimeter. Hüginn cawed and picked up speed, dashing through the air and ascending high above them. A major disadvantage of not having both ravens was that he couldn’t get real-time updates from them. Ordinarily, he’d send Müninn out to survey, who was better programmed for it, and Hüginn would show Ben the details on his forehead screen, sometimes also speaking basic descriptions that may not be apparent from a brief glance. Another thing organic life is better at than machines: adapting. They’re great at doing what they’re programmed for but struggle as soon as something different shows up. Ben’s powers were another point to biology’s side, though the Enochians were from another world, so perhaps an unfair comparison. He’d be using his powers now to get a sharper look at the marauders if it weren’t for the still lingering headache. He didn’t know if there were permanent consequences to overusing certain abilities without ample time to rejuvenate.

  Mandi unwrapped her spyglass and positioned it on the group now chasing them from their left. “Looks like we spotted the biggest group first—they have about twenty riders. Second party has eight. They’re adjusting their course. Looks like they’re trying to converge on our path to block us.”

  A grunt of Darius with an audible clank of metal as the accelerator pedal slammed against the floor. Ben jerked forward and nearly lost his balance.

  “Weapons?”

  “Curved swords, some crossbows, and a few spears. No guns that I can see. They just look like wastelanders to me.”

  “Is that so?” Darius asked. “I’m shocked. I mean, there are so many other people out here in the barrens.”

  “Could be people from a nearby settlement out on a scouting party. But didn’t you notice all the piercings and scars on the ones who attacked our camp? They’re like clan symbols. Nearly all big groups of wastelanders have obvious marks on their bodies. Helps groups recognize each other.”

  It reminded Ben of the body of Longinus’s opponent before Ben in Ignistad’s arena. He only got a few looks, but the image of the corpse had been burned into his memory because it made him think he’d be next. The announcer had called him Tauron. He knew nothing else about the man aside from the nose ring and long, horn-like piercings across his forehead. Maybe that man had been a wastelander, too. Thinking back, the men who’d attacked Freztad were covered in scars, and the slavers outside Vänalleato were bald save for long braids that hung from the back of their heads.

  A different idea sparked in Ben’s mind. “Mandi, what marks do these people have?”

  She took another focused moment through the spyglass. “Hard to tell exactly with all the movement and coverings their wearing, but they look like facial tattoos of some kind. They all have them. Both groups.”

  “Darius this is going to sound crazy but stop the carriage.”

  “Are you blazing kidding me right now?” Darius argued. “How many times do I have to call you an idiot before you believe me?”

  Darius whined but slowed the vehicle down as requested. “You know, I wake up every day wondering if this will be the day you get me killed.”

  “Hasn’t happened yet.”

  “Yet,” Darius muttered.

  The horses met them from both sides, and both groups merged into one. They hardly slowed their paces. They continued to ride in a circular formation around the group like vultures closing in on prey. All around them the ground shook, only making Ben’s headache worse, despite not actively using any of his powers. Soon the rumbling ceased as the riders steadied their mounts and slowed their rotation. There was a series of clicking from a rider’s tongue.

  The riders wore long and loose cloaks with hoods to cover them from the harsh summer sunlight. Ben imagined they were all sweltering in the heat with what looked like thick leather armor beneath the cloaks. Their faces were covered just as Mandi had reported, but enough skin showed that Ben could see the edges of shaded tattoos around their sun-goggles and above their cheekbones. Softer hoofbeats thumped against the dry earth as a single rider made their approach.

  “You are encroaching on our territory,” they said, loud enough for them to hear clearly through the windows and over the running engine. It was harsh and guttural. Possibly female based on their pitch.

  “Open the rear window, Darius. Just enough for me to speak with them.”

  Darius shifted uncomfortably in his seat before pressing the window control. The glass pane sunk slightly into the frame of the vehicle’s door.

  “Hello,” Ben said. Recalling the exchanges between Skalle and Gal, Ben considered carefully how to speak with
the Orks. He’d rehearsed it in his head many times over but hadn’t considered circumstances quite like this. The Orks in the prison had spoken plainly to one another, indicating that they either spoke primarily in another tongue or perhaps used simplified speech. He placed his hand over his chest, gesturing to himself, and said, “I am Benedict. I look for passage to Ney.”

  Mandi let out a low gasp, realizing that these were not wastelanders but the Orks of Ney.

  The masked face of the Ork betrayed no response. “Trespassing has severe punishment,” they stated. “Outsiders unwelcome.”

  Sierra let out a low snarl at the Ork’s hostile tone. The Ork didn’t move. They were unfazed by Sierra.

  Ben took a deep breath, hoping he wasn’t making a mistake with this journey. “I was given a fang for entry into Ney.”

  The Ork pulled down their scarf and lifted their goggles, revealing herself to be a woman. Her nose was large and wide with a ring through the septum and two metal horns through her lower lip. Her face was shaded in with dark tattoos to mimic the appearance of a skull. She was completely bald, including her brow and eyelids. By all the norms Ben had been accustomed, this woman was horribly ugly. But he had a feeling her own people didn’t see her that way. To them, she probably looked strong. Terrifying and commanding of respect.

  “Given?” she asked. It sounded as if they were shocked by Ben’s answer, though it was hard to tell with their thick accent and guttural voice.

  “Yes, by an Ork named Gal after I helped him and his brother escape from a prison in Ænæria. It’s a kingdom east of here—”

  “I am familiar with Ænæria,” she said. Her face twisted, and there was a loathing in her voice when she spoke the name of the kingdom. “Do you know what it means for one of our people to give an outsider a fang?”

  “Gal told me to take it with me if I were to ever venture into Ney. His explanation was brief, but I took it to mean that it made me an honorary member of his people.”

  “Show me.”

  He reached to the back of the sun-carriage and searched for his rucksack. He sifted through the disorganized piles of supplies and mementos he carried with him to remember home. The fang was supposed to be in a bright blue pouch so it wouldn’t be easily missed. There were packets of tea, a pouch of sols and another of old seeds, a small sealed container holding the Vault’s seeds, and a string of beads that had once belonged to Rakshi’s bow but had broken off during the cave-in outside Vänalleato with Arynn. He paused a moment, thinking of her. He hadn’t seen either the bow or Arynn since Jordysc. Still, he had no idea what happened to her. Many assumed she’d died at the battle, but Ben didn’t believe that. He very clearly remembered seeing her still breathing just before Longinus shot out his eye. She was still out there somewhere. She had to be.

  He resumed searching his pack until he came across something that made his heart sink into his belly. The blue pouch was nowhere to be found. And there was a hole torn at the bottom outlined with sap and splinters. It must have been ripped back at their camp during the fight. Probably when he’d knocked over the trees. Despite his quick survey around the camp, he must have missed the pouch. The bright color wouldn’t have mattered then. His night vision was colorless.

  His jaw hung open in horror. He broke out into a cold sweat. No, no, maybe it didn’t fall out in the forest. Maybe it’s in the sun-carriage somewhere!

  “What’s wrong?” Mandi climbed into the back seat and positioned herself next to Ben. “No rush or anything, but scary Ork person is staring through the window, and I think they’re getting impatient.”

  Ben’s face sank into a sallow grimace. “I can’t find the fang. It’s gone. This whole mission is ruined because of a stupid hole in my bag!”

  Since the window as still open, the Ork heard Ben’s panicked rambling. “No fang, no entry. You will be treated as invaders.” She started to raise her hand, probably signaling her people to attack.

  “Wait!” Mandi shouted at the Ork.

  Darius moved restlessly in his seat again. He was totally out of his element here, surrounded by an enemy he did not understand.

  “Can’t you tell by how distraught he is that he’s not making this up!” Mandi yelled.

  “Enemies lie—act to get their way,” the Ork said, glowering at Mandi. She did, however, pause the movement of her hand. She hadn’t given the signal yet.

  “Give us a break, it’s obvious we had the fang! How many people know about your tradition to make up a story about it?”

  The Ork woman paused, considering Mandi’s words. She made a compelling argument based on how little was known about the Orks. If neither Mandi nor her mother of all people had known about the tradition of the fang, then it was a good bet it wasn’t common knowledge to outsiders. Solely knowing about it can’t be enough, though. Otherwise, they wouldn’t extract an entire tooth. It’s something that’s meant to be presented.

  There was a slight twitch of the Ork woman’s upper lip. It was clear she was already angry, just barely holding back the fury raging inside her. Her eyes shot back to Ben, and she stared intently at him, trying to discern the truth in his face. Suddenly she broke away from them and returned to her party of horse riders. She uttered some words to them that were barely audible, and against his better judgment, Ben increased his auditory perception to listen in. He turned it off almost immediately, sparing himself from any side effects.

  “Can you tell what they’re saying?” Darius asked. His hand was gripped around a knife he’d had hidden in a nearby compartment.

  “No. I tried to listen in, but they speak a different language. Couldn’t even pick out a single word.”

  “Then we should prepare for anything.”

  Mandi agreed and retrieved Darius’s sword for him from the back. Ben held the Voidsweeper close by and nodded at Sierra. So much could go unspoken between those two, and she was always ready to defend him.

  The woman returned with three other Orks still mounted high on their horses. “To the border, you will follow us. There we will decide if you are worthy to enter our land.” The three Orks dismounted and removed any empty sack from their supplies. The woman spoke up again, presenting empty bags. “Surrender all weapons and climb our steeds.” She looked at Sierra and held up a metal contraption. “A muzzle. To follow, the beast must wear.”

  Sierra whimpered softly. Ben looked at his friends to see their reactions. “This is the best chance we have without the fang.”

  Darius buried his head in his palms. “I’m telling you; this is the day you get me killed.”

  Mandi looked more confident. She even half-heartedly smiled. “Let’s do it.”

  Ben accepted the muzzle and placed it around Sierra’s snout. They relinquished their weapons into the Orks’ sacks and mounted the horses. The Orks who’d been riding them climbed on the backs of their comrades’ horses. With a fierce cry, the Ork woman led the riders forward, and the horses that Ben and friends rode instantly knew to follow. They abandoned the sun-carriage in the middle of the barrens, and Hüginn flew above with watchful, hidden eyes as they ventured onward. Either toward their destination or their demise.

  17

  Arynn

  First Hearth, Vestinia; Ænæria

  Two Weeks Before the Council of Ignistad

  Randolph showed Arynn the rest of First Hearth over the next afternoon. It looked much different up close than it had from her luxurious prison tower. The exit had always been locked, and whenever she and Randolph left to see explore the town, a group of at least six heavily armed Rhion surrounded them. The town held over a thousand people—nearly a tenth of which were Rhion and new recruits. The new recruits were almost exclusively young boys from the age of five to twelve, and Arynn was surprised that none seemed unhappy. She would have thought that children taken forcibly from their families would be devastated and ill-tempered.

  There was an abundance of pride within the town. Both for their kingdom and their leaders. Portraits of Jul
ius were seen at the center of nearly every inn, shop, and home that she had seen. They depicted the late king facing forward with his left hand in a fist over a bright orange sun. His right hand was outstretched and held a pile of seeds that poured onto the ground. Next to the images of Julius were portraits of Fenwin that were smaller but no less extravagant and detailed. He had an open mouth breathing fire and the two sun-swords crossed over his chest. Whoever replaces him will have a lot to live up to, Arynn thought.

  Randolph told Arynn that Vestinia was known for two things: hospitality and war. It was an odd combination in Arynn’s mind, but Randolph explained it to her.

  “Vestinia, like many of the other provinces, is a former kingdom. They were known for welcoming travelers from all around. Those who accepted a roof over their heads were treated with respect and kindness, regardless of their race or creed. The Vestinians of old believed offering peace and warmth to strangers would grant them the same treatment in the next life. However, as other kingdoms were established and their populations grew, wanderers became more frequent. With their frequency came greater disrespect—and violence. The Vestinians were taken advantage of time and again until finally realizing they needed to defend themselves or else they would soon perish.

  “One day, a large group of travelers came to visit the defenseless people. They were wary of the newcomers, for they were great in number and all carried weapons at their sides. But Vestinia was bound by tradition to offer food and shelter. This group of people realized how dire the Vestinians’ situation was—and they offered to stay and teach them how to better defend themselves. After two years, Vestinia’s capital, First Hearth, was surrounded by great stone walls and had roads leading to its surrounding hamlets that were patrolled by armed and well-trained sentries. All who came to Vestinia were offered hospitality just as before, but the moment someone betrayed it, they were quickly apprehended and punished in a way that seemed to fairly fit their crimes.”