Circle of Reign (66 page)

Searching for comfort and strength, she let her right hand wander from the bowstring to the ornately carved pendant hanging from around her neck. The details of the Triarch carved leaves were beyond anything her husband had ever done as a carpenter, a symbol of his perfect love for her, he always told her. It had been a gift from her children but she knew he had done the intricate work on their behalf.

At the sight of easy prey, a few score broke off from their organized march formation and rushed the small line of villagers. When they were within fifty feet, Seilia released the arrow and quickly notched another, drew, and fired. This second one found a home within a leg. A third time she drew and fired. More soldiers detached and joined the charge with eagerness. Seilia thought they wore the countenance of rabid dogs that had not eaten in a span, but it was just the blood thirst. Wherever they came from had been far away and their anticipation for battle welled deep.

As more of the anxious northerners joined the building frenzy, Seilia saw they would soon be overrun. They could make it, she and those who stood with her. If they left now, they would easily put a safe distance between them and the rabble that chased them. Even the slowest wood-dweller could outrun the fastest of these large ox-like men. But, would that serve their home? Her children?

Seilia knew every invader she harmed or killed would serve her children best. She would stay and do all she could until she was overrun, though it would feel small in the grand reach of Heaven’s Light.

The bowstring sounded its brief song as she released another arrow. With nervous tension she notched a fifth and barely got it off, striking an assailant not four feet from her in the neck. That was the last arrow good mother Seilia had time to fire.

Prethor allowed the distraction, seeing it as healthy to let some of his men release cycles of pent-up anticipation. Only a few score joined in but the morale it created was contagious throughout the ranks. The number of fresh trophies adorning the beards of those who participated in the attack seemed quite numerous, Prethor thought, for the small number of those in the village. The Deklar’s nephew hesitated at feeling impressed when he learned the village had only women and old men to defend it. Would Vyath be pleased with such a meaningless victory?

“For you Prethor, as our ground force commander,” a Borathein warrior said as he approached. He held out in his open hand a curious circular trinket. Wooden carved leaves in the form of the clouds in the Low Season.

“I will not accept a token from slain women who were such easy prey,” he said adamantly.

“She killed two and wounded a third badly enough we had to leave him behind,” the warrior told him.

Now
this
impressed Prethor. Perhaps this pendant was worthy after all.

Hours later, their flight slowing to not get too far ahead of their ground forces below, Shilkath finally caught sight of a large city on the southern horizon. Its spires peeked through the top of the treed canopy amidst a large clearing in the otherwise jungle-thick growth.

Shilkath let out a cry of exhilaration that was echoed by two hundred thousand Borathein warriors and thousands of Alysaar. The Griptha would be fulfilled this night.

FORTY-NINE

Hedron

Day 5 of 2
^nd
Dimming 412 A.U.

HEDRON AND THOSE WITH HIM
made their way to the arena in the center of Calyn, where people from across Arlethia were gathering. A crowd of thousands thronged him as word spread about his appearance in the city. Many who had been fleeing abandoned their efforts and joined the crowd. Some shouted his praises as the rightful heir of the Arlethian Kingdom; others denounced him as an imposter, claiming that Hedron Kerr had died alongside his mother. And there were those who seemed totally indifferent, not caring if Hedron was who he claimed to be or not because they had no hope in these desperate times. Still others, who apparently did not contest his identity, mocked and berated him for being a member of the family that had brought such death and destruction among their people. Even a span ago he might have agreed with this sentiment.

No longer.

Tensions ran high as they traveled, and Hedron gave no heed to those who called after him. Aiden and the wolf cubs managed to keep the people to a distance of roughly six feet and prevent the crowd from thrusting in on him.

Hedron’s entrance was impossible to miss as the already crowded area became saturated with the addition of the crowd he brought in tow. Three men stood elevated on some wooden crates and were in turn addressing those present. On the arena floor were tens of thousands of wood-dwellers loosely organized into different groups. Men, women and children scurried about uneasily. Most were armed with weapons of crude create, some with nothing at all. Few were properly armed or clad, and of those who were, Hedron doubted they were skilled with steel. He knew he was among the latter class. This fact worried him. He even spied a score or so of soldiers dressed in the apparel of the Arlethian army. Most of them were physically injured but all of them had a blank look upon their faces that bespoke damage on the inside as well as out.

The three men stopped when they noticed Hedron and his strange entourage. Each appeared middle aged and well dressed, though completely out of their depths. They were probably chosen as leaders due to their social standing but Hedron could readily see not everyone here accepted their assumed authority.

“You must be strong,” Aiden counseled quietly. “Do not doubt your name or the honor of it. Demand their loyalty.”

Hedron took a deep breath and looked at Aiden. His face was bruised and crusted with dried blood around the lips. He felt a pang of guilt as well as pride that he was able to land any kind of attack on Aiden, but realized his face must be similar looking, and he was left feeling mostly foolish. Aiden gave a curt nod and the boy took a step forward.

“Wait,” Aiden said, grabbing his shoulder. “I almost forgot.” From his small travel bag, he withdrew something wrinkled and loosely folded. It was dark green and thick, covered with stitching that mended scores of tears and rips. Aiden unfurled it and Hedron saw the symbol of House Kerr in the center of this cloak.

“My father’s cloak?” Hedron asked.

“No, yours. Jayden would not let me part without taking it. She hoped you would grow into it.”

With that said, Aiden wrapped the cloak around Hedron’s shoulders and fastened it at the top of his sternum.

“Rise now, Lord Kerr.”

With a confidence he did not feel, he strode to the makeshift risers. Stepping up on the crates, he addressed the three speakers who had been doing their best to organize the people into battalions and platoons.

“Greetings. Who are you?” he asked with a smile to the first man and extended his hand.

The man furrowed his brow with caution and responded, “Glimon, of Turla.” Glimon took Hedron’s hand and shook it hesitantly.

“Yes, I loved running through the swirling trees of Turla as a boy. And you?” He turned to the second man again with his hand outstretched.

He also looked uncertain but taking the first man’s cue he answered. “Teagan, from the coast.”

“The famous fishing merchant? Yes, of course, I know you. My father always boasted your catches were the freshest in Arlethia.”

Turning to the third man, Hedron felt his façade start to fracture. He was large and muscular with a shock of disheveled hair that made him appear most unapproachable. Hedron forced himself not to waver.

“And you, friend?”

The man did not take his hand. He stood with his arms crossed for several long moments that made the scene become awkward.

Hedron stepped closer to the man and said quietly, “I am not your enemy, my friend.”

The man capitulated and took Hedron’s hand. “Merrick, a blacksmith of Faldraig.” His grip was iron.

“Men,” Hedron said addressing all three, “I thank you for your loyal efforts, bravery, and service. You are dismissed to join your people.”

The men did not move and a murmur went through the ranks of those closest that could hear. Hedron could see the effect of his
sudden arrival that had caused these three to momentarily play along was wearing off.

“Now see here lad, we have—” Teagan began but was cut off by Hedron’s glare. Teagan’s eyes widened.

“I am no boy! I did not ask for further comment, master fisher! You have been dismissed!” Hedron saw that Teagan was taken aback by the authority in his voice and he saw recognition flash in the fisherman’s eyes. Merrick unfolded his arms and Hedron prayed that was not a preamble to the man striking him. The blacksmith’s forearms were larger than a sledgehammer’s head. No blow came.

Hedron held Teagan’s gaze unflinchingly.

“Who are you?” Teagan asked while looking hard at Hedron’s features, searching. The man seemed to be lost in a state of wonder.

Surely I look no more than a mere boy in worn clothing to them
.

“Yes, I apologize for not making that clear at the outset.” Hedron turned to face the tens of thousands around him. A knot swelled in his stomach. Ignoring it, he found his voice.

“I am the only son of Lord Thannuel Kerr, who was the son of Lord Branton Kerr before him, the same Thannuel who was murdered by a treacherous High Duke for daring to protect his only daughter! I am the son who heard his mother’s screams as she was killed by those who professed loyalty! I am the brother who hid and sheltered his twin sister to protect her from those that cruelly sought her life though she was under the age of innocence and innocent of any crime all the same!”

Disbelief streamed through the masses. Hedron did not know which claim he had shouted caused the undercurrent, or if it was the confluence of all the claims. He continued undeterred.

“I am the cousin of Lord Banner Therrium who was slain in the midst of traitors whilst defending this, our long inhabited home! I am the friend and student of Master Aiden who slew hundreds of the Khansian Guard to protect that same Lord Therrium with no thought for his own life!”

Remembering the words his father had spoken at many public events, he said, “I am your Lord and therefore your servant. I will
be first to lift your weary heads and first to stand in front of you when nightfall casts her long shadow! I am
Hedron Kerr!
”

Hedron was roaring. His words carried throughout the arena with a depth that Aiden had never experienced. They were captivating, not allowing any to turn away for even a moment. As he listened, he saw the boy become his father. The mantle of authority that had been in the Kerr bloodlines before they were called Kerrs descended upon him as the words exploded from him with undeniable power. Emotion swelled inside Aiden and his jaw became tight. Tears stung his eyes and the heat of pride burned deep within him.

“Enemies encircle us from all sides, my brothers and sisters!” Hedron bellowed. He was shaking. “They think us defeated, cowering. They think to have our lands and put our race to an end! I swear to you, by all the Ancients, while I yet have air in my lungs and strength in my limbs, this will never happen! Join with me now. Cast out the fear and find the strength; the strength to stand against tyranny, genocide, treachery, and all things of the Ancient Dark!”