Children of Wrath
Just because most of life is lived in shades of grey, does not mean that black and white do not exist.
St. Tarmus of Lorendon
CHAPTER ONE
THE CLEANSING OF ERRILYN
Josiah rode into the City of the Dead with Laelyn, a captain of ha'taren guard, on his way to see King Aejys, his lover. He had known Laelyn for barely more than a month, but liked the quiet mon. There was something very solid about her considering manner. She did not rush into things when they were important, and yet he had witnessed her rare displays of humor with relish. A few soldiers on foot and mounted ha'taren passed them, giving quick nods to Laelyn and him as they went.
He had felt stronger for the last two days, and had pressed the healers to allow him to leave their camp and enter the city. His injuries still dragged at him dangerously in a recurrent fashion that had many worried, yet Josiah refused to give into it more than he was forced to. He wanted to see the banyan forest that Dynarien — divine knight-errant and son of the Woodland God Willodarus — and the mages had raised to destroy the undead army that had risen from the sewers to battle the invaders.
The ruins of the city were lost in a forest that had been raised in mere moments. Growth enveloped everything except this one densely shaded path that led through the city walls to the gates of the keep itself. All Josiah could see was green and brown, leaves and trunks, with here and there a glimpse of gray stone walls and broken roofs. He dismounted to see it better, and marvelled at the incredible vegetation.
Laelyn frowned, fully aware of the healers' orders that he not tire himself, and swung out of the saddle to saunter along beside him. Josiah walked with the reins of his horse loosely in his hand; taking small steps, his head back as far as he could lean, trying not to trip while glancing frequently back and forth between his feet and the dark green ceiling of leaves dappled by sunlight.
"It's truly miraculous," Josiah said. "I've never seen anything like it."
Laelyn chuckled softly. "You should have seen it happen. One moment the undead was all around me and the next… Well, I can't describe it really. It just happened too fast."
"I imagine so. Mages can't compare to the divines."
Josiah had managed to assemble a fairly solid account of what had happened, just from the various things that people had told him over the past few days — Dynarien especially. He had shared a tent with Dynarien while they were both under Laurelyanne's care in the days following the battle.
Dynarien was healing at a phenomenal rate, and they would not be sharing quarters much longer. So Josiah had gotten as much of the tale out of him as he could, while he could.
"Dynarien said the memories lodged in the earth itself awakened."
In a single act of desperation, Dynarien had reached out to his father, and in that moment the Twice-Born Son and the Valdren earthmages became vessels of Willodarus to draw the divine power into this place of death, to bring life here. It must have been wondrous. Those mages would speak of it for the rest of their lives. As would every one who had witnessed the miracle. Josiah wished he could have seen it happen, but his wounds from an earlier battle and the recurrent fever they brought had prevented him.
"I wouldn't know about that," Laelyn said. "I'm not a mage. What I do know is the undead were going down like grain before the scythes."
Josiah wondered why Laelyn bothered with him. Maybe it was a favor to Aejys. He was afraid to ask, knowing how easily the question could be misinterpreted, and just asking it could led to revealing more than he wished to if she hadn't heard the rumors. On the other hand, there were so many Vorgeni in the ranks of his lover's army that he had no doubt that most, if not all, of the Sharani, like Laelyn, had to have heard at least some of it.
Those from the city of Vorgensburg still tended to think of him as Josh the Sot — the town drunk. He had overheard their gossiping about him. Sometimes they got in his face, openly disputing his right to a place in Aejys' bed. No matter what he did, it never seemed to be enough to stop the talking, as if they were all watching for him to fall on his face again. It hurt. A wave of desolation swirled up inside him and he fought it.
He almost told her what he was feeling, responding to that quiet way of hers. But Josiah held it in, tried hard to close it out and deal with it, barely managing to keep his silence. After all, he still felt the seiryn's call of the liquor when his nightmares pressed down upon him in the middle of the nights, and he had been fighting hard not to reach for the comfort of the whiskey.
Laelyn's wynderjyn drifted along beside them, it was a dappled grey equine, cloven hooved and dish-faced with a narrow delicate muzzle, large intelligent eyes and a deadly looking sword's length of twisted horn. The wynderjyns were sterile hybrids, the get of a unicorn stud on specially selected horse mares. The bradae, priests of Aroana, were bringing a large herd of mares, and six studs to Rowanhart — the studs had volunteered themselves for the journey and chosen the mares. Josiah could tell by the bemused look on the paladin's face that the pair had an animated conversation in full swing.
"What's her name?" Josiah asked, moving to a safer topic, afraid that if he allowed his inner desolation to show she would be offended or think less of him.
"His," Laelyn corrected. "Wylyeo. He's an ass-biter. Be careful." Her quiet face and easy bearing gave way to a flicker of impishness that surprised Josiah. Laelyn's skin was burnished bronze like all Sharani and her coarse hair was black, hanging in a thick braid down her back. She wore brown leathers with a coat of fine chain over it and a scarf in Rowan azure tied to one arm to indicate which army she belonged to. Her people had gathered and ridden out too swiftly for tabards or other signs of allegiances once they learned that Aejys Rowan, the Lion of Rowanslea, had founded her own kingdom and required an army to fight for her in Norendel. In their line of march, they purchased or bartered for every bolt of azure cloth they could lay hands upon.
The wynderjyn gave a whickering noise that could only be a laugh.
Laelyn thumped his cheek. "You know how the ha'taren are chosen?"
Josiah shook his head.
"They take the children up to the High Meadows in late spring. We get a bowl of porridge. Small bowl, small glass of water before dawn. Meditation is better when you're empty — or nearly so. Daylight is spent in prayer, meditation, fasting out on the meadows among the herds. I was so deep in my prayers that when he came to announce to me that our god had deemed me worthy and therefore he had been allowed to choose me, I did not hear him. After several tries he bit me on the ass to get my attention. The bond came upon me as a startling experience." Laelyn grinned. "Some are found to be unsuitable and other paths are suggested. Some are rejected entirely with no explanations. Some are told to train only for knighthood. Others are bid to deepen themselves in the sacred teachings and return again the next spring. All these matters are decided during that season of prayer on the High Meadows. This year there will be male children on the High Meadows. The first in a thousand years."
"Do you approve?"
Only one in four Sharani had been born male since the curse ended nearly twenty years ago, but that was considerably better than when there were none — except along the fringes of the kingdom where the affects of the curse frayed out.
Laelyn's manner reflected that inner stillness again that Josiah could not penetrate. "Yes. One of them is my youngest grandson."
Josiah looked startled at the youthful mon and almost lost his step, staggering to regain it as his foot came down in a nest of shattered cobblestones and twisted roots. He still had trouble getting used to the slow aging of the long-lived Sharani who often saw two hundred years, starting new families in their seventies although they achieved sexual maturity early and had an easy-going attitude toward precocious sexual exploration among their children — something they could afford since the magical energy called the kyndi protected them from pregnancy before their bodies were mature enough to handle it.
"You're tiring," Laelyn observed, seeing his steps falter. She cupped his elbows, steadying him. Then she caught Josiah by the waist, swinging him into the saddle as if he weighed nothing before he could protest. The Sharani were all at least half again as strong as they looked and Laelyn was as muscular as a blacksmith.
"Rest you, mage. I get you to your lover exhausted and she'll have me in irons on suspicion of having taken my liberties," Laelyn grinned widely. "I'll bet you were handsome when you were young."
Josiah's stomach clenched, yet he said nothing. He looked to be deeply into his forties; yet, he was only twenty-five.
Long years of hard drinking, combined with the rite that had burned the magic from him as a small child, had given his seamed, battered face its abraded complexion. His drinking had started when he was barely seven, soon after the loss of the magic. He begged and stole drinks before he was old enough to have money in his pocket to buy them. Josiah spent every odd coin he could get on the burning liquor long before he was a man, trying vainly to close out the anguish of finding himself mage-blind while not understanding what it was, because it had happened so young.
The healers did not want him drinking, but Aejys would not say anything if he did so. Private matters, she called them, and her philosophy did not include harassing or persecuting anyone for their private matters. It was one of the things he loved about her.
Laelyn, grateful for a chance to stretch her legs, led his horse rather than mounting when he did.
The keep rose up before them. Josiah could see the smoke blackened walls where the strafing runs by the fireborn, the giant birds of Vallimrah that some called phoenix, had destroyed the defenders upon it. The keep had been breached by the fireborn and a strange fishing dragon, a quetzlcoatlyz, who had allied with them.
Inside they found soldiers shoving a huddled group of myn in tattered finery into a corner of the outer courtyard while another six soldiers began throwing fagots around seven stakes in the center preparing for another burning. Josiah's lover, King Aejys of Rowanhart — the Sharani had no gender endings to their titles of power, calling both male and female rulers king — had ordered all captured sa'necari burned alive. A small band of Valdren rangers rested in the shade of a pair of sheds, watching the scene with passing interest.
Laurelyanne spied them, crossing quickly as Laelyn helped Josiah from his horse. She was a tall, elegant Valdren earthmage, walking with her staff, a moonstone orb clutched in the fingers at its top. Streaks of white contrasted against the dark auburn of her hair that she wore pulled back in a tight knot.
Site Map | Forum | Scientology Warning | Designed by Phil Smith. | All content © Janrae Frank 2005-8.