The aeternum chronicles.., p.14
The Aeternum Chronicles- The Complete Trilogy, page 14
part #1 of The Aeternum Chronicles Series
“What about the life of a child?”
Oren hesitated.
“The lives of ten thousand children? Their parents? The life of the land itself?”
Oren only shook his head. He was troubled by the idea.
“Thus are the fruits borne from the orchards of war,” Khalil quoted.
“That’s…Kyovski?” Oren asked hesitantly.
“Maybe you are not so hopeless after all,” Khalil said with a slight smile. “Yes, Petrov Kyovski. It is from The Tides of War.”
“It was assigned reading for Mr. Alai’s class in first-year…” he trailed off. After not thinking about his past for nearly two years, it sure was coming up a lot lately.
They walked on in silence until the early evening, at which point Khalil stopped near a large, flat boulder. “We camp here for the night.”
“Good a place as any,” Oren replied.
They climbed up onto the large stone and began to make camp. Oren unrolled his bedroll, and placed his jacket at one end as a pillow. The sun’s light faded as it slowly descended behind the shattered peaks. They dined on dried rations with an unhindered view of the stars. Khalil appeared to be dozing as they sat there, but Oren’s mind was too busy to sleep.
“So what are all these massive stones from? Any idea?” Oren asked.
Khalil slowly puffed on his pipe before answering, “This land once belonged to a kingdom long gone from this world.” He took another puff and blew a smoke ring. “It was ruled by King Eurig Teyrnon, a fiercely powerful man. Despite his strength, he possessed wisdom well beyond that of other rulers. His people too were resilient and wise. They loved and respected their king so much that they would drink to him in taverns, and bless him in their prayers. Many strived to embody what he stood for, and dedicated their lives to it.”
Khalil paused again to puff his pipe and Oren took advantage of the opening. “If they were so powerful, how come they’re not still here?”
Khalil continued as if Oren hadn’t spoken, “These grasslands were known as Eurig’s Veld, and the stones are remnants of a single structure that stood over seven centuries ago.”
“A single structure? But these stones are everywhere. It would have had to be enormous…colossal!”
“Indeed. It was beyond colossal. The Tower of G’shiyrah stood thousands of feet tall. It was an immense beacon of power. Some have suggested that it was the source of Eurig’s strength. Of his kingdom’s.”
Oren was fascinated. “Power, as in gathering? As in kai?” Ever since Khalil mentioned it the night of Oren’s oath, he’d been frustratingly tight lipped about anything to do with gathering. As a result, Oren was beyond curious, and practically burst with excitement any time Khalil even hinted at it.
“Yes.” Khalil paused, considering. “There are places in the world where kai energy is more concentrated. It is said that the Tower of G’shiyrah was a nexus, a place where our world intersected with her sister worlds. Legends tell of pilgrims who would travel between them, collecting knowledge and seeking enlightenment.”
Khalil’s expression changed to one of despondent resignation. “The kingdom of Sunnmor was largely decimated in the Aeternum Wars. Those who survived were scattered and forced into hiding. The few remaining today have since abandoned their past, and no longer acknowledge their origins. If you were to ask them, they would deny Sunnmor’s very existence. Their descendants consider themselves citizens of the nations in which they currently reside, and will never know the great kingdom of their forefathers.”
“Why would they deny their history? I mean, maybe they could start over somewhere new?” Oren asked.
“Survival is a strong motivator. The Ministry Patriarch, or the Voss as it was known back then, had sworn a Blood Oath. He vowed to eliminate every last Sunn, down to the women, children, and elderly. For those who escaped, to acknowledge their past was a death sentence.”
“Why did the…Voss hate them so much? Couldn’t the Sunn fight back if they were so powerful?”
“They did fight back, for quite some time. Sunnmor was one of the few nations that held against the Voss Empire. The battles they fought were the stuff of legends. Their heroes overcame incredible odds. Perhaps one day I shall tell you of the battle of Caemon Fjord.” Khalil took a drink from his canteen. “The Sunn repelled the Voss for many years, and it seemed as though they would do so indefinitely.”
“What changed? How were they defeated?” Oren felt the bumpy stone beneath him.
“Gabrial was not one to give up, even after sacrificing tens of thousands of soldiers. You see the Patriarch is a frighteningly cunning foe. He is a man without conscience.” Khalil took another drink. “When he realized that he could not overcome Eurig with strength, he sought other means.”
“Other means?” Oren asked.
“Yes. You see Gabrial was Eurig’s brother.”
Oren interrupted, “The Patriarch had a brother?”
Khalil nodded. “Eurig was a righteous man. He chose to see the good in others, even when there was none. Despite Gabrial’s betrayal, he refused to give up on him. If he had, perhaps things may have worked out differently.”
“It began the night a large black raven flew in through Eurig’s window. It hopped onto his desk, and upon closer inspection, Eurig found a small messenger tube strapped to its leg.”
Oren settled in as Khalil’s story transported him into Eurig’s chambers, over seven-hundred years into the past…
Eurig removed the tube from the bird’s leg and extracted a small, rolled up note. He unfurled it, revealing the message within. It was written in neat, tiny script.
Brother,
I know we have had our differences of late, and while I do not understand your unwillingness to cooperate, I am unable to deny the blood coursing through my veins.
Alas, I have no illusions of true reconciliation. Things can never be as they were between us, and yet there is a part of me that mourns our brotherhood. Ultimately, this war will destroy one or both of us, but before it does, there is something I must tell you.
I have discovered who is responsible for the death of our beloved sister.
In three days I will arrive on the Plains of Euphrite, where we once hunted and played as boys. Meet with me, brother, and learn the truth.
Gabrial
Eurig stepped away from the window.
“Husband, what’s wrong?” Eliana asked from somewhere behind him.
He stood bent over the yellowed parchment on his writing desk without speaking.
“Eurig?” she repeated.
“It’s Gabrial. He desires a meeting…on the Plains of Euphrite.” He continued to stare at the message.
“Does he truly think you so gullible?” Eliana asked. “He must be exceedingly desperate if he has been reduced to such an obvious ploy.”
Eurig could hear the smile on her lips.
She waited for a response, but none came. “Eurig? My love?”
“He claims to know what happened to Caprice.” There was a long pause.
The smile was gone. “You can’t seriously be considering this? I know you and Caprice were close, but to be baited into what is so obviously a trap? How many years has it been? What could he possibly know, assuming he’s not lying, that would be worth such a risk?”
“She was twelve years old, Eliana.”
“I understand, but—”
“Twelve years old!” He turned around, pain distorting his features.
“My love…” Eliana whispered, her eyes filled with concern.
“Can you even imagine what it would be like? To be trapped like that? Burned alive? Well I have imagined it, thousands of times. The screams haunt my dreams…I wake up to the smell of acrid smoke, as if I were in the barn with her.”
“My love, I’m so sorry.” Eliana stood from the bed and walked gracefully toward him.
“It is an insult to her memory that we were never able to find the one responsible…Gabrial and I searched endlessly, questioned hundreds. For years we tried in vain to find a clue. Whoever it was, they left no trace…like a ghost.” He surrendered to the grief and collapsed onto her shoulder. They stood there motionless as Eliana cradled his head and whispered comforts in his ear.
When Eurig’s grief subsided, he looked at her and spoke, “I must know. If there’s some clue that could help me understand why she died…I must know.”
“Don’t you see it my love?” she said gently, “That’s exactly what he wants. Gabrial knows this is a difficult subject for you. He’s exploiting your pain. Even if he is telling the truth, why would he not tell you before now? Unless…unless you think he—”
“No.” He shook his head. “Gabrial is foolish and misguided, but he is not so depraved as to murder his own sister. We were only boys, Ellie…children.”
“Yes, of course,” she said, looking away. After a moment she looked into his stormy blue eyes. “It still doesn’t change the fact that he’s manipulating you. Whatever it is he has to say, it won’t bring her back.”
“Do you think I don’t know that? You speak as if I were an innocent babe, having never confronted betrayal. I know a trap when I see one, but I have no choice. It is a matter of family.”
“Eurig,” Eliana asked sternly, “am I not your family? Have I not earned your regard enough to heed my counsel? What has Gabrial done to earn your confidence? He throws his armies at you and would destroy everything you love. For what? For power? He is a despicable excuse for a man, undeserving of your acknowledgment!”
“He is my brother!” Eurig slammed his palm down on the desk, then took a deep breath. “I do not deny that he abandoned the path many years ago, but I will not accept that he is beyond redemption. I have made my decision. I am going.”
He saw the fear and worry on Eliana’s face and his own expression softened. “Ellie, you know I trust your counsel above all others—”
“Then don’t go!” she interrupted.
“I will be traveling in the full company of the King’s Guard, the finest warriors in Sunnmor. The Plains of Euphrite are vast and flat. It would be impossible to hide an army there. I give you my word that we will turn back immediately at even the slightest sign of treachery.”
She looked away. “Should anything happen to you…” Tears welled up in her eyes.
Eurig cupped her face in his rough hands. “I will be fine. There are no finer warriors than those riding with me. At worst, Gabrial aims to capture me as a bartering chip for the tower. He may be lost, but he is still my brother. Some bonds cannot be broken.”
“I pray you are right, light on my soul, for I fear in my heart you are not, and that I may never see you again.”
Khalil paused to refill his pipe, and Oren shifted positions. He stretched his legs, one of which had fallen asleep. “I never knew the Patriarch had a sibling. It’s hard to even think of him as being human. Everyone in New Arcadia acts like he’s…”
“What? A god?”
“A legend,” answered Oren.
“Hah! Gabrial Penumbra is a man. Flesh and blood like you and I, though I doubt he himself believes it. When you spend a millennium trying to convince the world you are a deity, you begin to believe your own lies.”
“Still,” Oren said, “he is ancient, isn’t he? You said Eurig ruled a thousand years ago? What would it be like to live that long?”
“Keep your head attached to your shoulders, and perhaps one day you will find out. Now, where was I? Ah yes, Eurig was determined to meet his brother on the Plains of Euphrite…”
Muffled hoofbeats thudded on the short grass of the open plains. Eurig and his legendary thirteen riders had set out soon after receiving his brother’s message. Now, after days of travel, he was eager for a chance to finally learn the truth about his sister, Caprice.
“Yah!” Eurig leaned forward and urged his steed to hasten. He rode at the head of a clump of deadly soldiers, though few would assume them so at first glance. Mercenaries, perhaps, and not at all the sort one would expect to see surrounding a king. These fighters were as varied as the beasts of the Miralaja. One, a dark beauty named Charce, wore thick, studded leather armor with steel plates on her shins and forearms. Two thin swords extended up over her shoulders, criss-crossing on her back. Another, Draemon was his name, wore thick plate armor, the color of the deepest blue night sky. No obvious weapon adorned his back or waist. Yet another, Akhil, rode naked from the waist up, save a black silk headband and a long katana strapped to his back. Silk wraps trailed him as he rode.
“The most curious of all was the surprisingly normal looking fellow, riding at the rear of the clump of thirteen. He was the kind of man one would expect to see behind the counter of a bank, not riding alongside the most esteemed warriors in Sunnmor. He wore brown breeches, a white shirt open at the top, and a red vest with gold buttons that strained to contain his girth. The hair on top of his head had long since abandoned him, leaving a graying semi-circle around the back and sides. His name was Thomes, and he was one of, if not the most deadly of the King’s Guard.
The king himself wore the legendary Sunnmor Royal Armorclave, passed down for generations. It was said to be made from star-steel, a material so light that it wore like chainmail, and so powerful that no weapon made by man could dent, or even scratch it. His sword, Eclipse, was also legendary, and made from the same material. It cut like a razor and never needed sharpening.
“There your grace! A camp, not seven leagues ahead!” Charce stood in her saddle, pointing. She shouted to be heard over the din of galloping horses. Eurig straightened in his saddle and held up a fist with his right hand. The clump of riders abruptly slowed to a trot, then stopped. Eurig pulled a brass spyglass from his saddle and peered through it.
“Thank you, Charce” he said. A small campfire burned in the distance. There were five men near it, one of whom was dressed differently than the rest. That would be Gabrial, no doubt. “Why light a fire mid-day?”
“Declaring his position?” Charce guessed.
“A sign of good faith,” Eurig concluded. He raised his voice loud enough for everyone to hear. “My brother awaits us seven leagues ahead. He is in the company of four armed guards. Remain alert!” He watched as the figures far ahead turned one by one to face him. “They know we are here. Watch for signs of an ambush.”
“Eyah!” Eurig yelled and heeled his horse. It cantered forward at a steady pace. His guard followed close behind. Eurig was contemplative as he traveled toward his fate. His guard bantered and made jests, but he heard nothing save his own thoughts. Caprice. How he’d mourned his sister. Her death was like a dark, unfinished chapter of his life. Now, fate once again held the pen, deigning to unveil the truth…or perhaps some fragment of it.
Eurig realized with a start that they had nearly reached the encampment. He shook his head to clear it. As he’d seen from afar, a campfire burned before a small cluster of tents. Three stood not far off. One was much larger and more ornate than the other two. Gabrial stood before him, several paces away. He wore a deep red velvet cloak draped over his shoulders, hanging to the ground. The hood was pulled up, obscuring his graying hair and the stolen crown atop his head. The cloak was embroidered with gold stitching in the design of elaborate, flowing, wind-like patterns down the sleeves, across the chest, and around the back.
Gabrial’s guard, by comparison, were decidedly plain. They wore the standard black Voss armor with a red sun painted on the right breast. Light, but strong, Eurig thought. Years of fighting men in that armor had taught him its vulnerabilities. He walked his horse forward, and dismounted.
Gabrial grinned and called out, “Brother!” Eurig was so stunned by the affection in Gabrial’s voice that he didn’t react when Gabrial put his arms around him in an embrace. Small clinks and clanks rattled from behind as the King’s Guard loosened their weapons. Gabrial stepped back smiling, his hands resting on Eurig’s shoulders. “Big brother,” he said looking him up and down. “How you’ve changed.”
Eurig collected himself, replacing what must have been a shocked expression with one of cautious companionability. “The sands of time have transformed us both. How long has it been, Gabrial?”
“Far too long, for certain. It is good to see you Eurig.” He released his brother’s shoulders.
“Would that we met under better circumstances,” Eurig frowned. “Your armies make camp just beyond our borders, and my scouts regularly report skirmishes within them. Will you not give up this foolish quest for the tower?” Gabrial’s smile did not falter, though a shadow crossed his eyes, and he did not answer. After an awkward pause, Eurig continued, “We were close once. We hunted pronghorn on these very plains. Let us end this quarrel and live as allies…as we once did.”
“Grant me the Tower, and you shall have the peace you desire.”
Eurig shook his head. “You know that this is not within my power to give.”
“But you are the great wise King of the Highlands! Leader of men, bringer of the light! Nothing is beyond your power.”
Eurig ignored his brother’s mocking tone. “The priests—”
“Boil the priests! You would side with a gaggle of moldy old men over your own brother? Your own flesh and blood?”
“If not for the priests, there would be no tower. They, not I, hold the key.”
“My dear Eurig,” Gabrial grinned, “the Tower of G’shiyrah is my destiny. One way or another, it will be mine.”
“If you will not listen to reason then tell me what I came here to hear. Tell me about our sister.”
“Ah, how I’ve missed your uncompromising directness….” Gabrial’s eyes grew distant and his expression darkened. “Yes, you wish to know about Caprice.”
A chill ran down Eurig’s spine. “What have you discovered? And why haven’t you shared it before now?”
Gabrial took a deep breath. “Caprice’s death…it changed me. Some days it seemed her kindness was all that kept the darkness at bay. I never told you this, but I often had nightmares as a child. She would comfort me while the rest of the world slept.” He stared at the ground, shoulders slouched as if bearing a great weight. “She was everything I could never be. Warm, compassionate, selfless. Even at the tender age of twelve, she possessed wisdom that most never know…” Gabrial looked up, and Eurig was surprised to see his own pain mirrored on his brother’s face.
Oren hesitated.
“The lives of ten thousand children? Their parents? The life of the land itself?”
Oren only shook his head. He was troubled by the idea.
“Thus are the fruits borne from the orchards of war,” Khalil quoted.
“That’s…Kyovski?” Oren asked hesitantly.
“Maybe you are not so hopeless after all,” Khalil said with a slight smile. “Yes, Petrov Kyovski. It is from The Tides of War.”
“It was assigned reading for Mr. Alai’s class in first-year…” he trailed off. After not thinking about his past for nearly two years, it sure was coming up a lot lately.
They walked on in silence until the early evening, at which point Khalil stopped near a large, flat boulder. “We camp here for the night.”
“Good a place as any,” Oren replied.
They climbed up onto the large stone and began to make camp. Oren unrolled his bedroll, and placed his jacket at one end as a pillow. The sun’s light faded as it slowly descended behind the shattered peaks. They dined on dried rations with an unhindered view of the stars. Khalil appeared to be dozing as they sat there, but Oren’s mind was too busy to sleep.
“So what are all these massive stones from? Any idea?” Oren asked.
Khalil slowly puffed on his pipe before answering, “This land once belonged to a kingdom long gone from this world.” He took another puff and blew a smoke ring. “It was ruled by King Eurig Teyrnon, a fiercely powerful man. Despite his strength, he possessed wisdom well beyond that of other rulers. His people too were resilient and wise. They loved and respected their king so much that they would drink to him in taverns, and bless him in their prayers. Many strived to embody what he stood for, and dedicated their lives to it.”
Khalil paused again to puff his pipe and Oren took advantage of the opening. “If they were so powerful, how come they’re not still here?”
Khalil continued as if Oren hadn’t spoken, “These grasslands were known as Eurig’s Veld, and the stones are remnants of a single structure that stood over seven centuries ago.”
“A single structure? But these stones are everywhere. It would have had to be enormous…colossal!”
“Indeed. It was beyond colossal. The Tower of G’shiyrah stood thousands of feet tall. It was an immense beacon of power. Some have suggested that it was the source of Eurig’s strength. Of his kingdom’s.”
Oren was fascinated. “Power, as in gathering? As in kai?” Ever since Khalil mentioned it the night of Oren’s oath, he’d been frustratingly tight lipped about anything to do with gathering. As a result, Oren was beyond curious, and practically burst with excitement any time Khalil even hinted at it.
“Yes.” Khalil paused, considering. “There are places in the world where kai energy is more concentrated. It is said that the Tower of G’shiyrah was a nexus, a place where our world intersected with her sister worlds. Legends tell of pilgrims who would travel between them, collecting knowledge and seeking enlightenment.”
Khalil’s expression changed to one of despondent resignation. “The kingdom of Sunnmor was largely decimated in the Aeternum Wars. Those who survived were scattered and forced into hiding. The few remaining today have since abandoned their past, and no longer acknowledge their origins. If you were to ask them, they would deny Sunnmor’s very existence. Their descendants consider themselves citizens of the nations in which they currently reside, and will never know the great kingdom of their forefathers.”
“Why would they deny their history? I mean, maybe they could start over somewhere new?” Oren asked.
“Survival is a strong motivator. The Ministry Patriarch, or the Voss as it was known back then, had sworn a Blood Oath. He vowed to eliminate every last Sunn, down to the women, children, and elderly. For those who escaped, to acknowledge their past was a death sentence.”
“Why did the…Voss hate them so much? Couldn’t the Sunn fight back if they were so powerful?”
“They did fight back, for quite some time. Sunnmor was one of the few nations that held against the Voss Empire. The battles they fought were the stuff of legends. Their heroes overcame incredible odds. Perhaps one day I shall tell you of the battle of Caemon Fjord.” Khalil took a drink from his canteen. “The Sunn repelled the Voss for many years, and it seemed as though they would do so indefinitely.”
“What changed? How were they defeated?” Oren felt the bumpy stone beneath him.
“Gabrial was not one to give up, even after sacrificing tens of thousands of soldiers. You see the Patriarch is a frighteningly cunning foe. He is a man without conscience.” Khalil took another drink. “When he realized that he could not overcome Eurig with strength, he sought other means.”
“Other means?” Oren asked.
“Yes. You see Gabrial was Eurig’s brother.”
Oren interrupted, “The Patriarch had a brother?”
Khalil nodded. “Eurig was a righteous man. He chose to see the good in others, even when there was none. Despite Gabrial’s betrayal, he refused to give up on him. If he had, perhaps things may have worked out differently.”
“It began the night a large black raven flew in through Eurig’s window. It hopped onto his desk, and upon closer inspection, Eurig found a small messenger tube strapped to its leg.”
Oren settled in as Khalil’s story transported him into Eurig’s chambers, over seven-hundred years into the past…
Eurig removed the tube from the bird’s leg and extracted a small, rolled up note. He unfurled it, revealing the message within. It was written in neat, tiny script.
Brother,
I know we have had our differences of late, and while I do not understand your unwillingness to cooperate, I am unable to deny the blood coursing through my veins.
Alas, I have no illusions of true reconciliation. Things can never be as they were between us, and yet there is a part of me that mourns our brotherhood. Ultimately, this war will destroy one or both of us, but before it does, there is something I must tell you.
I have discovered who is responsible for the death of our beloved sister.
In three days I will arrive on the Plains of Euphrite, where we once hunted and played as boys. Meet with me, brother, and learn the truth.
Gabrial
Eurig stepped away from the window.
“Husband, what’s wrong?” Eliana asked from somewhere behind him.
He stood bent over the yellowed parchment on his writing desk without speaking.
“Eurig?” she repeated.
“It’s Gabrial. He desires a meeting…on the Plains of Euphrite.” He continued to stare at the message.
“Does he truly think you so gullible?” Eliana asked. “He must be exceedingly desperate if he has been reduced to such an obvious ploy.”
Eurig could hear the smile on her lips.
She waited for a response, but none came. “Eurig? My love?”
“He claims to know what happened to Caprice.” There was a long pause.
The smile was gone. “You can’t seriously be considering this? I know you and Caprice were close, but to be baited into what is so obviously a trap? How many years has it been? What could he possibly know, assuming he’s not lying, that would be worth such a risk?”
“She was twelve years old, Eliana.”
“I understand, but—”
“Twelve years old!” He turned around, pain distorting his features.
“My love…” Eliana whispered, her eyes filled with concern.
“Can you even imagine what it would be like? To be trapped like that? Burned alive? Well I have imagined it, thousands of times. The screams haunt my dreams…I wake up to the smell of acrid smoke, as if I were in the barn with her.”
“My love, I’m so sorry.” Eliana stood from the bed and walked gracefully toward him.
“It is an insult to her memory that we were never able to find the one responsible…Gabrial and I searched endlessly, questioned hundreds. For years we tried in vain to find a clue. Whoever it was, they left no trace…like a ghost.” He surrendered to the grief and collapsed onto her shoulder. They stood there motionless as Eliana cradled his head and whispered comforts in his ear.
When Eurig’s grief subsided, he looked at her and spoke, “I must know. If there’s some clue that could help me understand why she died…I must know.”
“Don’t you see it my love?” she said gently, “That’s exactly what he wants. Gabrial knows this is a difficult subject for you. He’s exploiting your pain. Even if he is telling the truth, why would he not tell you before now? Unless…unless you think he—”
“No.” He shook his head. “Gabrial is foolish and misguided, but he is not so depraved as to murder his own sister. We were only boys, Ellie…children.”
“Yes, of course,” she said, looking away. After a moment she looked into his stormy blue eyes. “It still doesn’t change the fact that he’s manipulating you. Whatever it is he has to say, it won’t bring her back.”
“Do you think I don’t know that? You speak as if I were an innocent babe, having never confronted betrayal. I know a trap when I see one, but I have no choice. It is a matter of family.”
“Eurig,” Eliana asked sternly, “am I not your family? Have I not earned your regard enough to heed my counsel? What has Gabrial done to earn your confidence? He throws his armies at you and would destroy everything you love. For what? For power? He is a despicable excuse for a man, undeserving of your acknowledgment!”
“He is my brother!” Eurig slammed his palm down on the desk, then took a deep breath. “I do not deny that he abandoned the path many years ago, but I will not accept that he is beyond redemption. I have made my decision. I am going.”
He saw the fear and worry on Eliana’s face and his own expression softened. “Ellie, you know I trust your counsel above all others—”
“Then don’t go!” she interrupted.
“I will be traveling in the full company of the King’s Guard, the finest warriors in Sunnmor. The Plains of Euphrite are vast and flat. It would be impossible to hide an army there. I give you my word that we will turn back immediately at even the slightest sign of treachery.”
She looked away. “Should anything happen to you…” Tears welled up in her eyes.
Eurig cupped her face in his rough hands. “I will be fine. There are no finer warriors than those riding with me. At worst, Gabrial aims to capture me as a bartering chip for the tower. He may be lost, but he is still my brother. Some bonds cannot be broken.”
“I pray you are right, light on my soul, for I fear in my heart you are not, and that I may never see you again.”
Khalil paused to refill his pipe, and Oren shifted positions. He stretched his legs, one of which had fallen asleep. “I never knew the Patriarch had a sibling. It’s hard to even think of him as being human. Everyone in New Arcadia acts like he’s…”
“What? A god?”
“A legend,” answered Oren.
“Hah! Gabrial Penumbra is a man. Flesh and blood like you and I, though I doubt he himself believes it. When you spend a millennium trying to convince the world you are a deity, you begin to believe your own lies.”
“Still,” Oren said, “he is ancient, isn’t he? You said Eurig ruled a thousand years ago? What would it be like to live that long?”
“Keep your head attached to your shoulders, and perhaps one day you will find out. Now, where was I? Ah yes, Eurig was determined to meet his brother on the Plains of Euphrite…”
Muffled hoofbeats thudded on the short grass of the open plains. Eurig and his legendary thirteen riders had set out soon after receiving his brother’s message. Now, after days of travel, he was eager for a chance to finally learn the truth about his sister, Caprice.
“Yah!” Eurig leaned forward and urged his steed to hasten. He rode at the head of a clump of deadly soldiers, though few would assume them so at first glance. Mercenaries, perhaps, and not at all the sort one would expect to see surrounding a king. These fighters were as varied as the beasts of the Miralaja. One, a dark beauty named Charce, wore thick, studded leather armor with steel plates on her shins and forearms. Two thin swords extended up over her shoulders, criss-crossing on her back. Another, Draemon was his name, wore thick plate armor, the color of the deepest blue night sky. No obvious weapon adorned his back or waist. Yet another, Akhil, rode naked from the waist up, save a black silk headband and a long katana strapped to his back. Silk wraps trailed him as he rode.
“The most curious of all was the surprisingly normal looking fellow, riding at the rear of the clump of thirteen. He was the kind of man one would expect to see behind the counter of a bank, not riding alongside the most esteemed warriors in Sunnmor. He wore brown breeches, a white shirt open at the top, and a red vest with gold buttons that strained to contain his girth. The hair on top of his head had long since abandoned him, leaving a graying semi-circle around the back and sides. His name was Thomes, and he was one of, if not the most deadly of the King’s Guard.
The king himself wore the legendary Sunnmor Royal Armorclave, passed down for generations. It was said to be made from star-steel, a material so light that it wore like chainmail, and so powerful that no weapon made by man could dent, or even scratch it. His sword, Eclipse, was also legendary, and made from the same material. It cut like a razor and never needed sharpening.
“There your grace! A camp, not seven leagues ahead!” Charce stood in her saddle, pointing. She shouted to be heard over the din of galloping horses. Eurig straightened in his saddle and held up a fist with his right hand. The clump of riders abruptly slowed to a trot, then stopped. Eurig pulled a brass spyglass from his saddle and peered through it.
“Thank you, Charce” he said. A small campfire burned in the distance. There were five men near it, one of whom was dressed differently than the rest. That would be Gabrial, no doubt. “Why light a fire mid-day?”
“Declaring his position?” Charce guessed.
“A sign of good faith,” Eurig concluded. He raised his voice loud enough for everyone to hear. “My brother awaits us seven leagues ahead. He is in the company of four armed guards. Remain alert!” He watched as the figures far ahead turned one by one to face him. “They know we are here. Watch for signs of an ambush.”
“Eyah!” Eurig yelled and heeled his horse. It cantered forward at a steady pace. His guard followed close behind. Eurig was contemplative as he traveled toward his fate. His guard bantered and made jests, but he heard nothing save his own thoughts. Caprice. How he’d mourned his sister. Her death was like a dark, unfinished chapter of his life. Now, fate once again held the pen, deigning to unveil the truth…or perhaps some fragment of it.
Eurig realized with a start that they had nearly reached the encampment. He shook his head to clear it. As he’d seen from afar, a campfire burned before a small cluster of tents. Three stood not far off. One was much larger and more ornate than the other two. Gabrial stood before him, several paces away. He wore a deep red velvet cloak draped over his shoulders, hanging to the ground. The hood was pulled up, obscuring his graying hair and the stolen crown atop his head. The cloak was embroidered with gold stitching in the design of elaborate, flowing, wind-like patterns down the sleeves, across the chest, and around the back.
Gabrial’s guard, by comparison, were decidedly plain. They wore the standard black Voss armor with a red sun painted on the right breast. Light, but strong, Eurig thought. Years of fighting men in that armor had taught him its vulnerabilities. He walked his horse forward, and dismounted.
Gabrial grinned and called out, “Brother!” Eurig was so stunned by the affection in Gabrial’s voice that he didn’t react when Gabrial put his arms around him in an embrace. Small clinks and clanks rattled from behind as the King’s Guard loosened their weapons. Gabrial stepped back smiling, his hands resting on Eurig’s shoulders. “Big brother,” he said looking him up and down. “How you’ve changed.”
Eurig collected himself, replacing what must have been a shocked expression with one of cautious companionability. “The sands of time have transformed us both. How long has it been, Gabrial?”
“Far too long, for certain. It is good to see you Eurig.” He released his brother’s shoulders.
“Would that we met under better circumstances,” Eurig frowned. “Your armies make camp just beyond our borders, and my scouts regularly report skirmishes within them. Will you not give up this foolish quest for the tower?” Gabrial’s smile did not falter, though a shadow crossed his eyes, and he did not answer. After an awkward pause, Eurig continued, “We were close once. We hunted pronghorn on these very plains. Let us end this quarrel and live as allies…as we once did.”
“Grant me the Tower, and you shall have the peace you desire.”
Eurig shook his head. “You know that this is not within my power to give.”
“But you are the great wise King of the Highlands! Leader of men, bringer of the light! Nothing is beyond your power.”
Eurig ignored his brother’s mocking tone. “The priests—”
“Boil the priests! You would side with a gaggle of moldy old men over your own brother? Your own flesh and blood?”
“If not for the priests, there would be no tower. They, not I, hold the key.”
“My dear Eurig,” Gabrial grinned, “the Tower of G’shiyrah is my destiny. One way or another, it will be mine.”
“If you will not listen to reason then tell me what I came here to hear. Tell me about our sister.”
“Ah, how I’ve missed your uncompromising directness….” Gabrial’s eyes grew distant and his expression darkened. “Yes, you wish to know about Caprice.”
A chill ran down Eurig’s spine. “What have you discovered? And why haven’t you shared it before now?”
Gabrial took a deep breath. “Caprice’s death…it changed me. Some days it seemed her kindness was all that kept the darkness at bay. I never told you this, but I often had nightmares as a child. She would comfort me while the rest of the world slept.” He stared at the ground, shoulders slouched as if bearing a great weight. “She was everything I could never be. Warm, compassionate, selfless. Even at the tender age of twelve, she possessed wisdom that most never know…” Gabrial looked up, and Eurig was surprised to see his own pain mirrored on his brother’s face.
