Book 3-Yeah I know
So I had to leave my young hero...who really isn't coming off as young as he should...must work on that...and jump to his future. This is the first few pages of the third book.
“When did I get so damn old?”
There was no answer to the question posed to no one in particular. He sighed and stretched once more, somewhat amused at the cracking sounds his abused body made. Deft fingers wound his golden, shoulder-length hair into a braid, carefully avoiding the two rings that pierced his left ear. He pulled on a pair of fitted, brown leather trousers and sturdy two-tone brown boots. The same deft fingers made quick work of winding the cord around the nine buttons up the sides of each boot. He pulled on a black long-sleeved shirt, tucking the bottom into the trousers. He belted Karvanya around his hips with all of the respect she deserved. He hesitated at the last piece of his wardrobe. The wine-colored robe rested on the trunk that the rest of his meager belongs were stored, its folds spilling onto the floor of the tent like old blood. The seal of Odeva no longer hung on the right sleeve, a mocking reminder of past mistakes, disobedience and failure.
“Brother? Are you well?”
Kierian Pendragon turned to face his brother, Shinoran. The older man looked as harried and tired as he felt, perhaps more so. For all that they shared the same father, both men were as alike as night and day. Shinoran stood perhaps five inches taller than Kierian who had only reached the lofty height of five and seven at the age of thirteen. Strands of gray had started to pepper Shinoran’s midnight hair held back from his face in a high tail. While Kierian was slender and had more delicate features, with high cheek bones, a slim nose and eyes the shade of a deep forest at high summer, Shinoran had his father’s broader shoulders, face and flat nose, but with his mother’s beautiful blue eyes and black hair. He was not by any means unattractive, far from it. At home, he had been the object of affection for any lady who happened to cross his path. He was dressed as Kierian but in gray and black with the burnt orange cloak of Soldara around his shoulders. Excalibur hung from his belt, a harsh reminder of loss.
“Just many regrets, Shinoran,” Kierian sighed. He refused to give into those destructive emotions of pity and self-doubt. He couldn’t afford it. More importantly, those who depended on him couldn’t afford it.
His brother said nothing, but the understanding was there. So many had been lost, friends gone, allies few. Memories haunted them both, but they persevered. Outside the tent, Kierian could hear the movement of the camp as they packed supplies and made ready to march. For a brief moment, Kierian was overwhelmed by the faith and trust that those who followed had placed in him, especially after all that had transpired. With a heavy but determined heart, Kierian picked up the robe, swirled it about his shoulders and made for the entrance of the tent. Shinoran’s hand on his shoulder gave him pause.
“Captain?” Kierian asked quietly, assuming the authority he had been given by the small force outside.
“You are not the only one who regrets, Warden,” Shinoran said, meeting his gaze, tears barely restrained. “But you are the one who perhaps carries more of the weight than the rest.”
Kierian forced a small smile onto his lips. “The price I pay, brother. Luna-“ He choked on her name before regaining his composure. “Luna had said as much.”
Shinoran nodded but said nothing. Luna was not been the only loss Kierian carried, nor the heaviest. Kierian had risked everything and as a result the one person he cared for more than life. For a brief moment, Kierian Felt Shinoran’s anger at the Wardens on his behalf.
“Shinoran,” he said quietly, placing a hand over his brother’s. “They did what they felt they must. I cannot fault them nor be angry for that.”
“They didn’t give you an opportunity to explain!” Shinoran replied tightly.
“No, but it is what it is.” Kierian removed his hand and shrugged, all the time concealing his heartache. He couldn’t change what had happened, but he could continue on as he could in his own way.
“But Shika-“
“No more, captain. We are on borrowed time and we needs must move.”
Shinoran removed his hand and sighed heavily. He nodded and removed himself from the tent. Kierian took to find his composure before following in his brother’s steps. The wind stirred up dust clouds from the dry plain. The crackling of the dried grass served as counterpoint to the creak of leather, and the jingle of harness. The small army made no conversation as they broke camp, moving with efficiency and swiftness. The force that pursued them would show no mercy if they were caught unprepared. Kierian knew where they must go. He dreaded it, but it had to be.
The fields of Kalamdar.
He knew them well. He had been dreaming about them since he was a small boy. Always the same bloody scene, always out-numbered, always defeated.
Not this time, Kierian thought savagely.
He had to admit some amusement at the current situation. He wasn’t sure what was worse, being pursued by the Valaire’s army or being hunted by three of the greatest assassins in the universe, one of which was a former mentor. None of his visions had ever included that. It forced him to think on his feet and hope he could stay one step ahead of the three Wardens who pursued him. Too much depended on his success.
Commotion from the north side of camp wrenched Kierian from his thoughts. Tell-tale dust clouds and hoof thumps declared newcomers to the camp. Shinoran only a few feet ahead of Kierian turned to look at their leader with a raised eyebrow. Those nearest to Kierian were already drawing weapons, Shinoran brandishing Excalibur. With a nod to his brother, Kierian sprinted toward the tumult, hand on Karvanya, prepared to take on even the spirit lord’s hellhounds if necessary. They arrived just as a contingent of hooded riders slowed. Tamara appeared at Kierian’s side, her long knives in hand. Asher, in his gleaming armor, placed himself before both Wardens. The owlcat unfurled his wings and growled deep in his throat, a warning to those who approached. His tail flicked and a soft yellow-white glow emanated from his cream and brown fur and chocolate feathers.
“If you are here for quarrel, I ask you to reconsider.” Kierian’s voice rang clear over the shifting of the horses and whisper of weapons. “We have purpose elsewhere with another enemy and wish no trouble.”
“It is to that purpose we have come, Prince of Soldara and Warden of Odeva!”
Kierian started. He knew that voice! One of the riders dismounted from a huge bay mare. While not as tall as the warhorses of Rohn, she was a sight to behold. The rider threw his hood back, revealing a man with skin as dark as chocolate and startling gray eyes.
“Ambin!” Kierian released his hold on Karvanya and jogged toward his friend who embraced him in a bear hug that nearly left him breathless. Ambin had always been taller, broader and well bigger than Kierian, but the boy he had known had grown into an ox! His dark hair was separated into individual braids that were tied back in a tail. He wore leather armor and the cloak of Soldara. On his back, was an axe large enough to split a man in twain. He laughed as he pounded his friend’s back, careful of the large weapon.
“When did you become a warrior, my friend?” Kierian asked, once Ambin had released him.
Ambin’s joviality faded. “There is much I must relay, Kierian, and none of it good.”
Kierian nodded. “That is the way of it apparently. We are breaking camp. Can your new be relayed as we ride or must it be done in private?”
Shinoran had joined them before the riders. Kierian caught the question and urgency in his brother’s eyes. They needed to move and as quickly as possible.
“Iriel and Lanora are dead, Kierian.”
Shinora’s expression was nothing but startled as he stared at the mage-turned-warrior. Kierian closed his eyes against the waves of emotion unknowingly projected at him, chief amongst them accusation. He opened his eyes and only nodded once in acknowledgment. His grief and anger, he locked away, buried with the part of his soul that was cracked and wounded.
“We must break camp,” Kierian said authority in his voice. He turned away and signaled to his followers to finish packing. Even as he walked away, he could feel Ambin’s shocked indignation and rage and heard Tamara’s soft voice.
They moved quickly and less than half an hour later, the army was moving, the hooded riders mixed into the ranks. Kierian led the way, guided by his intuition. Tamara rode at his side with Asher flying above them. Shinoran rode with the seething Ambin. Kierian knew his brother would try to calm the mage down, but he also know Ambin’s temperament. Iriel had been the world to Ambin and a dear friend to Kierian. He would never understand why Kierian could not openly grieve.
If I open that wound, the other will bleed me dry, he thought. His heart ached, his soul cried for that which was lost. . The bond was damaged, like an open wound that refused to be healed, but it wasn’t broken. He wasn’t doing himself any favors when all he had to do was think about him and he knew where he was, what he was doing and that he was actively blocking Kierian out. Kierian caught himself before the lump could form in his throat. He could feel Tamara’s gaze on him.
“You should grieve for your friends,” she said quietly.
He looked over at the much younger woman with a weak smile. She was a petite woman, with an athletic build.. Her fire hair, cropped short, crowned a heart-shaped face. A few errant strands made a habit of falling into large violent eyes and tickling a button nose. She wrinkled that nose as she stuck her tongue out at him.
“You allow yourself neither joy nor tears, brother mine. If I thought I would succeed, I would take you for a midnight tumble to loosen you up.”
A man of his age shouldn’t blush, but he did at her bold statement. Thirty-nine years and he still had no idea how to handle a female. Shika would have laughed at him. The despair closed in on him so suddenly, he clutched at the reins, stopping the mare he rode. Tamara stopped and reached over to steady him, worry alighting on her lovely face. Shinoran with Ambin in tow galloped up.
“What happened?” Shinoran demanded.
“It’s nothing,” Kieiran assured his brother, attempting to force a smile onto his face.
“You’re pale, Kierian,” Shinoran argued, concern also overtaking his features.
“I’m fine. Truly.”
“Bullshit.”
Kierian turned his gaze to Ambin who was glaring at him. “Your judgment is rather unnecessary, master mage,” he snarled, in response. He shook Tamara loose and kicked his horse into a trot, leaving the trio in anger, shock and sympathy accordingly.
He was well aware that he was damned. Every day he woke feeling the weight of all of the lives he had lost, the rejection of him who he loved and needed most. He had been forced on this path and the price it exacted. If he waivered now…he couldn’t think of the alternative. He could and would pay any price but that even Shika’s hatred and rejection.
“You hold the fate of this universe in your hands,” he had said. “But will that destiny kill you?”
The laugh that had echoed through the ruins of Valkar still taunted his dreams. He had been too late to stop it. He had seen the signs, tried to warn those who could stop it, but to no avail. In the end, he had faced the Darkness alone and in return was labeled a traitor and outcast. And he allowed it, letting everyone believe all that was declared against him. He allowed the Wardens to believe a lie and suffered the greatest price for it. He had no choice. Even his brother wasn’t privy to the truth. It killed him.
:Secrets do that.:
:I am finding that.:
:She has a point though.:
Kierian sighed. Tamara did have a point, and it had been unforgivably inconsiderate on his part to brush her concern aside. On the other side of the argument, Kierian’s mental stability was at stake. It was a cruel joke played by some perverse power. The bonding should have broken, killing both Warden and Ward. That was the rule and as far as anyone knew, as there had never been an exception. In his vision, while it had broken, it had not resulted in either of their deaths. Kierian had continued on, a shell of a being, ruthless in his crusade, only to witness Shika’s suicidal battle with something he had not yet encountered. In reality, the bond had shattered like the delicate glass in a mirror. And yet, there was still…something; some tangible thread connecting two lost souls.
:You are an anomaly.: The mind voice was spiced with amusement.
:Not so much and anomaly as someone who possesses knowledge he shouldn’t.:
:You give yourself far too little credit.:
Kierian sighed. :And I suppose you are going to elaborate on why I should be grateful for my current situation? Again.:
:You truly should take yourself much less seriously,: the voice chuckled.
“When did I get so damn old?”
There was no answer to the question posed to no one in particular. He sighed and stretched once more, somewhat amused at the cracking sounds his abused body made. Deft fingers wound his golden, shoulder-length hair into a braid, carefully avoiding the two rings that pierced his left ear. He pulled on a pair of fitted, brown leather trousers and sturdy two-tone brown boots. The same deft fingers made quick work of winding the cord around the nine buttons up the sides of each boot. He pulled on a black long-sleeved shirt, tucking the bottom into the trousers. He belted Karvanya around his hips with all of the respect she deserved. He hesitated at the last piece of his wardrobe. The wine-colored robe rested on the trunk that the rest of his meager belongs were stored, its folds spilling onto the floor of the tent like old blood. The seal of Odeva no longer hung on the right sleeve, a mocking reminder of past mistakes, disobedience and failure.
“Brother? Are you well?”
Kierian Pendragon turned to face his brother, Shinoran. The older man looked as harried and tired as he felt, perhaps more so. For all that they shared the same father, both men were as alike as night and day. Shinoran stood perhaps five inches taller than Kierian who had only reached the lofty height of five and seven at the age of thirteen. Strands of gray had started to pepper Shinoran’s midnight hair held back from his face in a high tail. While Kierian was slender and had more delicate features, with high cheek bones, a slim nose and eyes the shade of a deep forest at high summer, Shinoran had his father’s broader shoulders, face and flat nose, but with his mother’s beautiful blue eyes and black hair. He was not by any means unattractive, far from it. At home, he had been the object of affection for any lady who happened to cross his path. He was dressed as Kierian but in gray and black with the burnt orange cloak of Soldara around his shoulders. Excalibur hung from his belt, a harsh reminder of loss.
“Just many regrets, Shinoran,” Kierian sighed. He refused to give into those destructive emotions of pity and self-doubt. He couldn’t afford it. More importantly, those who depended on him couldn’t afford it.
His brother said nothing, but the understanding was there. So many had been lost, friends gone, allies few. Memories haunted them both, but they persevered. Outside the tent, Kierian could hear the movement of the camp as they packed supplies and made ready to march. For a brief moment, Kierian was overwhelmed by the faith and trust that those who followed had placed in him, especially after all that had transpired. With a heavy but determined heart, Kierian picked up the robe, swirled it about his shoulders and made for the entrance of the tent. Shinoran’s hand on his shoulder gave him pause.
“Captain?” Kierian asked quietly, assuming the authority he had been given by the small force outside.
“You are not the only one who regrets, Warden,” Shinoran said, meeting his gaze, tears barely restrained. “But you are the one who perhaps carries more of the weight than the rest.”
Kierian forced a small smile onto his lips. “The price I pay, brother. Luna-“ He choked on her name before regaining his composure. “Luna had said as much.”
Shinoran nodded but said nothing. Luna was not been the only loss Kierian carried, nor the heaviest. Kierian had risked everything and as a result the one person he cared for more than life. For a brief moment, Kierian Felt Shinoran’s anger at the Wardens on his behalf.
“Shinoran,” he said quietly, placing a hand over his brother’s. “They did what they felt they must. I cannot fault them nor be angry for that.”
“They didn’t give you an opportunity to explain!” Shinoran replied tightly.
“No, but it is what it is.” Kierian removed his hand and shrugged, all the time concealing his heartache. He couldn’t change what had happened, but he could continue on as he could in his own way.
“But Shika-“
“No more, captain. We are on borrowed time and we needs must move.”
Shinoran removed his hand and sighed heavily. He nodded and removed himself from the tent. Kierian took to find his composure before following in his brother’s steps. The wind stirred up dust clouds from the dry plain. The crackling of the dried grass served as counterpoint to the creak of leather, and the jingle of harness. The small army made no conversation as they broke camp, moving with efficiency and swiftness. The force that pursued them would show no mercy if they were caught unprepared. Kierian knew where they must go. He dreaded it, but it had to be.
The fields of Kalamdar.
He knew them well. He had been dreaming about them since he was a small boy. Always the same bloody scene, always out-numbered, always defeated.
Not this time, Kierian thought savagely.
He had to admit some amusement at the current situation. He wasn’t sure what was worse, being pursued by the Valaire’s army or being hunted by three of the greatest assassins in the universe, one of which was a former mentor. None of his visions had ever included that. It forced him to think on his feet and hope he could stay one step ahead of the three Wardens who pursued him. Too much depended on his success.
Commotion from the north side of camp wrenched Kierian from his thoughts. Tell-tale dust clouds and hoof thumps declared newcomers to the camp. Shinoran only a few feet ahead of Kierian turned to look at their leader with a raised eyebrow. Those nearest to Kierian were already drawing weapons, Shinoran brandishing Excalibur. With a nod to his brother, Kierian sprinted toward the tumult, hand on Karvanya, prepared to take on even the spirit lord’s hellhounds if necessary. They arrived just as a contingent of hooded riders slowed. Tamara appeared at Kierian’s side, her long knives in hand. Asher, in his gleaming armor, placed himself before both Wardens. The owlcat unfurled his wings and growled deep in his throat, a warning to those who approached. His tail flicked and a soft yellow-white glow emanated from his cream and brown fur and chocolate feathers.
“If you are here for quarrel, I ask you to reconsider.” Kierian’s voice rang clear over the shifting of the horses and whisper of weapons. “We have purpose elsewhere with another enemy and wish no trouble.”
“It is to that purpose we have come, Prince of Soldara and Warden of Odeva!”
Kierian started. He knew that voice! One of the riders dismounted from a huge bay mare. While not as tall as the warhorses of Rohn, she was a sight to behold. The rider threw his hood back, revealing a man with skin as dark as chocolate and startling gray eyes.
“Ambin!” Kierian released his hold on Karvanya and jogged toward his friend who embraced him in a bear hug that nearly left him breathless. Ambin had always been taller, broader and well bigger than Kierian, but the boy he had known had grown into an ox! His dark hair was separated into individual braids that were tied back in a tail. He wore leather armor and the cloak of Soldara. On his back, was an axe large enough to split a man in twain. He laughed as he pounded his friend’s back, careful of the large weapon.
“When did you become a warrior, my friend?” Kierian asked, once Ambin had released him.
Ambin’s joviality faded. “There is much I must relay, Kierian, and none of it good.”
Kierian nodded. “That is the way of it apparently. We are breaking camp. Can your new be relayed as we ride or must it be done in private?”
Shinoran had joined them before the riders. Kierian caught the question and urgency in his brother’s eyes. They needed to move and as quickly as possible.
“Iriel and Lanora are dead, Kierian.”
Shinora’s expression was nothing but startled as he stared at the mage-turned-warrior. Kierian closed his eyes against the waves of emotion unknowingly projected at him, chief amongst them accusation. He opened his eyes and only nodded once in acknowledgment. His grief and anger, he locked away, buried with the part of his soul that was cracked and wounded.
“We must break camp,” Kierian said authority in his voice. He turned away and signaled to his followers to finish packing. Even as he walked away, he could feel Ambin’s shocked indignation and rage and heard Tamara’s soft voice.
They moved quickly and less than half an hour later, the army was moving, the hooded riders mixed into the ranks. Kierian led the way, guided by his intuition. Tamara rode at his side with Asher flying above them. Shinoran rode with the seething Ambin. Kierian knew his brother would try to calm the mage down, but he also know Ambin’s temperament. Iriel had been the world to Ambin and a dear friend to Kierian. He would never understand why Kierian could not openly grieve.
If I open that wound, the other will bleed me dry, he thought. His heart ached, his soul cried for that which was lost. . The bond was damaged, like an open wound that refused to be healed, but it wasn’t broken. He wasn’t doing himself any favors when all he had to do was think about him and he knew where he was, what he was doing and that he was actively blocking Kierian out. Kierian caught himself before the lump could form in his throat. He could feel Tamara’s gaze on him.
“You should grieve for your friends,” she said quietly.
He looked over at the much younger woman with a weak smile. She was a petite woman, with an athletic build.. Her fire hair, cropped short, crowned a heart-shaped face. A few errant strands made a habit of falling into large violent eyes and tickling a button nose. She wrinkled that nose as she stuck her tongue out at him.
“You allow yourself neither joy nor tears, brother mine. If I thought I would succeed, I would take you for a midnight tumble to loosen you up.”
A man of his age shouldn’t blush, but he did at her bold statement. Thirty-nine years and he still had no idea how to handle a female. Shika would have laughed at him. The despair closed in on him so suddenly, he clutched at the reins, stopping the mare he rode. Tamara stopped and reached over to steady him, worry alighting on her lovely face. Shinoran with Ambin in tow galloped up.
“What happened?” Shinoran demanded.
“It’s nothing,” Kieiran assured his brother, attempting to force a smile onto his face.
“You’re pale, Kierian,” Shinoran argued, concern also overtaking his features.
“I’m fine. Truly.”
“Bullshit.”
Kierian turned his gaze to Ambin who was glaring at him. “Your judgment is rather unnecessary, master mage,” he snarled, in response. He shook Tamara loose and kicked his horse into a trot, leaving the trio in anger, shock and sympathy accordingly.
He was well aware that he was damned. Every day he woke feeling the weight of all of the lives he had lost, the rejection of him who he loved and needed most. He had been forced on this path and the price it exacted. If he waivered now…he couldn’t think of the alternative. He could and would pay any price but that even Shika’s hatred and rejection.
“You hold the fate of this universe in your hands,” he had said. “But will that destiny kill you?”
The laugh that had echoed through the ruins of Valkar still taunted his dreams. He had been too late to stop it. He had seen the signs, tried to warn those who could stop it, but to no avail. In the end, he had faced the Darkness alone and in return was labeled a traitor and outcast. And he allowed it, letting everyone believe all that was declared against him. He allowed the Wardens to believe a lie and suffered the greatest price for it. He had no choice. Even his brother wasn’t privy to the truth. It killed him.
:Secrets do that.:
:I am finding that.:
:She has a point though.:
Kierian sighed. Tamara did have a point, and it had been unforgivably inconsiderate on his part to brush her concern aside. On the other side of the argument, Kierian’s mental stability was at stake. It was a cruel joke played by some perverse power. The bonding should have broken, killing both Warden and Ward. That was the rule and as far as anyone knew, as there had never been an exception. In his vision, while it had broken, it had not resulted in either of their deaths. Kierian had continued on, a shell of a being, ruthless in his crusade, only to witness Shika’s suicidal battle with something he had not yet encountered. In reality, the bond had shattered like the delicate glass in a mirror. And yet, there was still…something; some tangible thread connecting two lost souls.
:You are an anomaly.: The mind voice was spiced with amusement.
:Not so much and anomaly as someone who possesses knowledge he shouldn’t.:
:You give yourself far too little credit.:
Kierian sighed. :And I suppose you are going to elaborate on why I should be grateful for my current situation? Again.:
:You truly should take yourself much less seriously,: the voice chuckled.