Empress Aurora Trilogy Quest For the Kingdom Parts I, II, and III Revised With Index (Quest For the Kingdom Set) (4 page)

Creak,
creak, creak. Splash, splash, splash. Creak, splash. Creak, splash. Creak,
splash. Slowly, he returned to the surface. As of one coming up from the
darkest depths of the ocean and back to the light of the world, he fought his
way from slumber. Dazed, he lay in the darkness listening to the sound of waves
smashing against timber, the incessant creaking grating on his weary brain.

It was dark.
Even when he opened his eyes it was dark. Marcus lifted his head and winced.
Pain crashed through his skull and flashes of light darted through his vision.
Then he remembered; the blow to his head after the assault on the estate. But
where was he now?

Gingerly he
glanced from side to side. His eyes gradually adjusted to the darkness and he
saw wooden walls on either side of him. He became aware of a heavy weight on
his wrists and ankles. He tried to lift his arm and heard the clanking of
chains. He pulled up his legs, but they raised only so far. He was shocked into
complete awareness as the full truth of his position smote him: he was
manacled.

An
overpowering thirst suddenly assailed him. His tongue seemed cloven to the roof
of his mouth. It felt thick and furry. When had he last had any water?

He lifted his
head, only to let it fall back as the pain throbbed more intensely with his
head raised. He tried to cry out but only a hoarse croak escaped from his
throat. Was there any near who could hear him? Any to come to his call?

A door
suddenly crashed open, revealing a dimly lit corridor beyond the rectangular
frame. A burly guard with an unpleasant face thrust a lantern dangling from his
hand in the direction of Marcus’ face.

“Well,” he
jeered. “Coming around are you?”

“Where am I?”
Marcus croaked.

“You’re on
your way to a new world,” the guard snickered.

“Water, I need
water,” Marcus demanded.

“Don’t get so
high and mighty with me!” the guard bellowed, with a threat in his voice.

Marcus
measured him with his eyes, and noted that although he was only of medium
height he outweighed Marcus considerably, being heavily muscled. That fact did
not deter him in his outrage at being manacled.

“I am Marcus
Maximus, son of the great Valerius Maximus, the most honored General in all the
Imperial Army. How
dare
you speak to me like that?”

“Dare? Here’s
how I dare!”

The guard
slugged Marcus’ jaw, adding to the pain from the blow to his head.

“You may have
been
the son of the great Valerius Maximus, but you’re about to begin a whole new
life!”

The guard
laughed unpleasantly and stomped out, slamming the door as he went. The room
was plunged into darkness once more.

Marcus lay in
a blackness that was almost as bleak as the despair in his heart. What, what
had happened? Why had the estate been attacked? Why was he taken? And most of
all, what had happened to his father and mother?

Marcus thought
of his parents. His stern father with his erect military bearing, massive
shoulders, and his iron control of his emotions. Marcus could not remember ever
seeing his father lose his composure. Never had he seen him cry when tragedy
struck, no, not even at the death of his younger son five years before.

Callistus had
been a delicate child with a small piping voice and a smile that was quick and
bright. He adored his father and played soldier with an avid desire to someday
be as fierce as his father. Valerius delighted in the child and joined in his
games, acting the part of commander to whom Callistus must report for duty.

Then one day
while riding his pony Rufus, a rabbit that hopped across his path startled the
animal and he took off at a gallop, with Callistus clinging to his mane. Marcus
attempted to stop the runaway pony, but before he could catch the reins Rufus
tripped on hitting a gopher hole. His knees buckled; Callistus lost his grip
and sailed over his head. A frantic Marcus raced to the spot where his brother
lay white and still. But nothing was to be done. The child lay dead.

It was Marcus
who carried his young brother in his arms to his father’s library, where he had
retired to study some maps for an upcoming military campaign. The room was
usually a haven for Marcus, one where he liked to retire when he wanted to
retreat from the world. With its shelves of scrolls compiled from the great
works of literature, the large stone-circled brazier that warmed a winter
evening, and the atmosphere of hushed quiet that calmed his spirit after a busy
day, it embodied stability and a sense of life enduring as it had always
endured. But no more. With this day, life would never be the same again.
Wordlessly he entered the library.

“Father..”
Marcus whispered over the lump in his throat.

His father
glanced at the burden his eldest son carried and staggered to his feet. Marcus
placed the broken body of his son in his father’s arms. Valerius paled, and
looked without seeing at the still face of Callistus. Yet no tears escaped from
his eyes. Only a moan quickly stifled betrayed the devastation in his heart.

For Marcus’
mother Honoria the loss was unbearable. Upon seeing the body of her small son
she collapsed as if from a physical blow. Marcus caught her before she fell to
the ground and helped her to a chair. A cry escaped from her lips before she
clamped a hand to her mouth. Silent sobs racked her body as she struggled to
regain composure. With difficulty she quieted her breathing, then rose slowly
to her feet, every inch a matron of Valerium.

In the days
and months that followed, Marcus wondered if he would ever again laugh with
such carefree gaiety as he did in the days before he lost his younger brother.
His parents bore their grief in stoic silence as was the custom of their
people. Yet Marcus knew that for them the death of Callistus was a terrible
loss, but to be borne with dignity.

And now, were
they grieving again in the belief that their remaining son was lost to them?
And what of them, were they killed in the attack on the Villa Maximus, or did
they yet live?

After he
healed from the blow to the head, Marcus was taken to the hold of the ship,
where to his distaste he was incarcerated with other unfortunate souls,
prisoners like himself. He was given a berth so narrow and short that in order
to lie on it he had to curl up on his side, bringing his knees up in a fetal
position. He could sit on it during the day, but he was manacled and unable to
roam freely about.

His fellow
prisoners suffered likewise, and as no one was given water to bathe, the stench
of unwashed bodies quickly became overpowering. Meals were brought three times
daily, consisting of dry bread, vegetables cooked so lightly that they were
still half-raw, and surprisingly, meat, although it was not a good quality and
was cooked until it was tough and difficult to chew.

Marcus was
surprised at this last addition until he was enlightened on his second day in
the hold by one of the guards who brought him his meals.

“Here you are,
and eat up every last morsel,” the man chortled with a wry grin on his face.

“Why are you
so concerned for my welfare?” Marcus asked the man, astonished at what he at
first perceived to be kindness on the man’s part.

“Welfare?” the
guard snickered. “I am not concerned for your welfare! Do you mean to tell me
that you don’t know where you are bound?”

Marcus felt a
sense of uneasiness creep over him. He was suddenly afraid to ask any more questions,
but the guard was not about to let him off lightly.

“You truly
don’t understand, do you?” the guard queried. “Well, then allow me to enlighten
you, my haughty young lord! You are to eat meat so that you do not lose
strength.”

The guard
stopped and guffawed. Marcus felt the urge to slap his mocking face, but
restrained himself.

“Oh, this is
rich! Rich indeed!” the guard permitted himself the luxury of another laugh,
then stopped.

“Well, let me
inform you, young master, that you are bound for Eirinia, and the reason you
are allowed to have meat is to keep up your strength, because they don’t want
any weaklings up for auction at the slave market!”

With that, the
guard laughed into the stunned face of Marcus, and left the hold.

The sun was so
bright when he emerged from the darkness of the hold that Marcus saw green
spots dancing before his eyes. The day was fair, with billowing white clouds
drifting like the sails of a ship against a sky so blue that it looked like an
ocean hovering over the world. To Marcus, it seemed a mockery, a cruel joke
that his freedom should end on such a halcyon day.

What had he or
his father done to merit him being sold as a slave in the market? And in
Eirinia, of all places in the Valeriun Empire, why Eirinia?

Marcus was not
unfamiliar with the land of Eirinia, although he had never been there. Tales of
the wild people to the north had terrorized the citizens of Valerium for more
than a hundred years. True, they had been brought to heel under the feet of the
Valeriun Empire, but they were a savage and unlawful people with customs and
beliefs that were primitive and incomprehensible to the Valerians.

Here the
inhabitants made blood sacrifices to their gods, it was said. Blood sacrifices
of their own people, was the rumor. And strange sorcerers wove spells and
chanted incantations that produced dark magic and wicked enchantments.

If he had to
be sold as a slave, Marcus mused to himself, why in Eirinia of all the lands to
choose from in the Valeriun Empire? For surely his fate in such a wild land
would be horrifying to hear of, if indeed he lived long enough to tell about
it!

Marcus gazed
at the night sky. Such a vast expanse of glittering stars! Like lamps to
illumine the darkness of night, his mother once described them. Did they look
down on the affairs of men as some believed? There were those who alleged that
the stars were peopled by gods, and that they intervened in the lives of those
who called upon them.

Marcus held no
brook with such thought, nor did his father. Valerius had once, on the occasion
of the funeral of Callistus, shared his opinion with Marcus.

While Honoria
believed in the gods with her whole being, never missing a sacrifice in the
temple for whichever deity had a feast day, Valerius had his doubts. If the
world was governed by supreme beings, why was it so chaotic? As a soldier he
had been on many campaigns, fought in many wars, and subjugated many peoples.

He had heard
the prayers of many soldiers before marching into combat, prayers that their
lives be spared in the midst of battle. All too often those prayers went
unheeded. He had witnessed the desperate sacrifices of those villagers who were
being marauded by an invading army, prayers for protection from the conquerors.
But no one answered. And finally, what had Callistus ever done wrong that he
should be taken from this world at the tender age of nine years? Why, his life
had barely begun before it was ended! No, Valerius did not believe in any
higher power that interested itself in the affairs of men.

All this
Marcus thought on as he meditated on the starlit blackness above him. Did he
believe in a higher power? If he were to answer in truth, then that answer must
be no. For what had he done that merited being taken captive from his father’s
house and sold into slavery?

It was now
more than five months since the events that had shattered his world, and Marcus
was now a slave in the remote backwater of Eirinia. Backwater indeed! There was
nothing in Eirinia except rolling green hills, myriads of sheep, and the shaggy
wild men who raised them.

More than one
hundred years ago Eirinia had been but a rumor among the civilized men of
Valerium. Legend spoke of a wild people to the north who sacrificed their own
people to their gods and dwelt in a lush, green land encircled by mists that
rolled in from the sea.

It was the
Emperor Severus who took the initiative to determine the truth for himself. He
reasoned that a land so lush would be of great benefit for Valerium. And the
inhabitants would be enslaved to serve the Empire.

But, alas for
Severus, all was not as he envisioned. For one, the inhabitants did not see
matters in quite the same light that he did. They loved their land and decided
to keep possession of it for themselves. And when the soldiers of the Valerian
army first beheld the inhabitants of Eirinia, their hearts nearly failed for
courage.

Such sights
were rarely seen in the urbane, civilized world of Valerium. The inhabitants of
Eirinia that greeted the invading Valerians were wild beyond description. Naked
except for a loincloth, they carried spears that they could hurl at great
distances. On their heads each wore a leather cap with a pair of ram’s horns
attached to it.

Any soldier
who was hapless enough to get close to one of the Eirini (if he had not first
been speared) was quickly gored to death. Against such weaponry close combat
was difficult, the long Valerian broadsword being tricky to wield against a
weaving opponent who aimed at any exposed part of the body. Since the
Valerians’ battle gear consisted of a short knee-length sleeveless tunic, a
breastplate of metal to protect the heart, and a helmet to cover the head, it
was not difficult to find a vulnerable spot.

Coming behind
a Valerian soldier engaged in hand to hand combat with another foe was a
favorite trick of the Eirini. They simply charged from behind, bent their head
and gored the thigh of the Valerian and tossed him in the air as a bull might
have done. If he did not die of a broken neck in the fall, the resulting loss
of blood expedited death.

For more than
three years the Emperor waged campaign after campaign against the Eirini, but
to no avail. Until at last the day came when a soldier of Valerium came to
Emperor Severus with a solution. The Eirini depended entirely on their
livestock for survival. From their sheep they gathered wool for blankets and
clothing in the cold winter months and slaughtered them for their meat. They
depended on the forests to gather nuts and berries, medicinal herbs, and
firewood for kindling.

If, the
soldier suggested, the Valerians set fire to the forests and the grass the
sheep grazed on, the Eirini would be forced to submit for survival. The Emperor
delighted in the proposal and promoted the soldier in rank to execute the plan.
And that is how Valerius Maximus’s great-grandfather became the head of the
Valerian army.

When the
Eirini saw the Valerian legions with torches at the ready they rallied to
defend their land. The Valerians, however, determined on their course and
torched the straw-covered huts of their abodes, the grasses their sheep grazed
on, and headed for the forest. The Eirini women and children in the huts
perished in the devouring flames and the Eirini men were torn between fighting
to avenge them or trying to save their land. They fought on, but the fire
decimated their villages and turned their lush grasslands to a brown wasteland.

In village
after village it was the same, until at last after a summer of starvation the
Eirini sued for peace. The terms of the treaty were thus: the Eirini would
continue to raise their sheep and live on their land, but a tribute of
livestock and wool was to be delivered annually to the Emperor.

The treaty was
ratified; grass was reseeded, new trees planted, and now more than one hundred
years later, Eirinia was again a lush green land. The Eirini people had learned
enough of the Valerian language to be conversant, although they clung to their
own customs and manner of living.

Marcus glanced
at his master Cadeyrn. For several weeks the two of them had come out by night
to watch the flock. Someone had to protect the sheep from the wolves who roamed
after dark in search of tender meat. Marcus didn’t think a man’s life worth
endangering to protect a creature that could do nothing but eat grass.

When Marcus
had been taken from the slave galley, his eyes had been dazzled by the first
sight of a land so green he thought it must surely be a vision of some fantasy
world come to existence. Such an emerald verdure was undreamed of!

In time he
would come to know the mists that could roll in from the sea without warning,
transforming the familiar landscape into something out of a dream world, at
once terrifying and entrancing. He would come to hear the tales of strange
beings that walked in the wilderness, inducing the villagers to keep their
distance from the woods and be home by nightfall. How much was fact and how
much fantasy Marcus could not determine, since he never saw such beings with
his own eyes.

He was
transported to the village of Leith and informed that he would be required to
herd sheep. In return, he would be given two meals a day and provided with a
small corner of the hut of the family of Cadeyrn to sleep in. The two meals a
day both seemed always to consist of black bread, berries, nuts, and occasional
mutton. The corner of the hut was a space so tiny that he had to curl up in a
ball in order to recline. The floor was packed earth and always hard, cold, and
uncomfortable. He was provided with a blanket woven from wool, but he seemed
always chilled to the bone.

Marcus
remembered with longing his spacious bedroom at home; the large, airy chamber
with exquisitely tiled floors, the bed with its many blankets and cushions, and
the brazier that warmed and cheered his chamber. With even more longing did he
recall the ample meals that he indulged in so carelessly: mounds of luscious
fruit both tart and sweet, hearty meats with the juices running from them,
breads of a soft and dainty nature, and ices to cool one down on a hot summer
day. Would he ever taste such delights again?

Even more did
he miss the companionship of Felix, with his intelligent conversation, his
irrepressible sense of humor, and the friendly rivalry that made them such
excellent sparring partners. What had happened to Felix? Had he been caught in
the raid and unable to keep his rendezvous with Marcus?

The family of
Cadeyrn had no stimulating conversation, no humor to liven the dull days, and
worst of all the hut and its inhabitants reeked of sheep. Although the Eirini
had absorbed some of the customs of Eirinia, bathing among them, it did not
dispel the odor of sheep that clung to his own and Cadeyrn’s clothing. Marcus
felt his entire world had been reduced to the smell of sheep and the sound of
their bleating. His life was a far cry from the stately dignity he had enjoyed
as his father’s son.

Although
Marcus had not himself seen any evidence of the brutal savagery attributed to
the Eirini in warfare, nor witnessed any sorcery among those with whom he
dwelt, he was aware of undercurrents of secrecy; whispers between Cadeyrn and
his wife that stopped abruptly if he entered the hut, covert glances in the
village between certain men who gave hand signals to one another, quickly cut
off if any chanced to catch their exchanges.

No, he did not
evidence anything sinister with his own eyes, yet he sensed that the rumors he
had heard of Eirinia all of his life were based on fact. It did not make him
feel at ease in this eerie yet beautiful land…

Something
brushed against him in the dark, startling him. It was Monte, the lamb who
seemed to haunt his steps. Cadeyrn had named him Bleater because of all the
lambs he bleated the most. But Marcus dubbed him Monte because of his
black-tipped nose.

At first,
Marcus had been annoyed that some dumb, four-legged, smelly creature would
follow him so relentlessly. But Monte persisted in following Marcus, even coming
to lie down beside him to sleep. Gradually Marcus came to accept this, although
he didn’t think he would ever get used to the smell of these sheep! But in
truth, he was glad of the warmth of Monte’s wool on this chilly autumn night.

The hilltop on
which they tended was open on three sides, exposing them to the biting wind.
The fourth side was bordered by an ancient forest that ran down the hillside
and extended for miles. It offered shelter from the wind, but provided no
safety, as it was an excellent hiding place for wolves and wild boars. The
redolent aroma of pine and the musty scent of dead leaves came to Marcus’
nostrils, carried on the breeze. The air was cold, but it kept the mist which
concealed night terrors at bay. 

Cadeyrn
returned from his circling of the flock. It was his custom to walk the
perimeter of sheep and count heads before they settled for the night. Too often
a frisky lamb would wander from the flock, sometimes leading others astray and
exposing all of them to danger if there were any wolves about.

Now he warmed
his hands at the crackling fire. A log fell with a hiss that shot a spark into
the crisp air. Cadeyrn’s craggy face was momentarily lit with a ruddy glow as
the flames billowed into new life.

“Cold,” he
observed to Marcus.

He wondered
why Cadeyrn felt a need to state the obvious. Marcus knew it was cold; he felt
no need for the fact to be put into words. He saw this as yet another proof of
the lack of intelligence of the people he had been forced to live among.

He glanced at Cadeyrn
who was clearly waiting for a response, and realized that he was simply trying
to converse with Marcus.

Marcus now
stared at Cadeyrn. Why should he, the refined and cultured son of the commander
of the vast legions of the Empire, have discourse with this coarse and
illiterate sheep herder? The five months of bondage that Marcus had endured had
not endeared Cadeyrn to him. Did this man not comprehend who he was?

Cadeyrn
returned Marcus’ stare. For a long moment they took each other’s measure, as if
silently daring the other to blink or look away first. It was suddenly more
than Marcus could bear.

“Do you know
who I am? Who my father is?” he demanded.

Cadeyrn merely
shrugged.

“My father is
Valerius Maximus, the Commander of the Imperial Army of Valerium! And in
Valerium an inferior does not address one of superior rank until he is
addressed first!”

Marcus tossed
his wavy dark hair and sniffed his affront. Cadeyrn continued to look at him.

“Oh,” he
replied, and he turned his back on Marcus and stoked up the fire.

Marcus had
expected a more dramatic response. In Valerium such a statement of superiority
would have prompted an apology from the offending party, and he was puzzled by
the Eirini’s cool dismissal of him. It angered him beyond reason; suddenly all
the bitterness of his captivity erupted from his lips.

“How dare you
turn your back on me!”

Marcus grabbed
Cadeyrn by the arm. Cadeyrn whirled around. He grabbed Marcus’ arm and pulled
it behind his back.

“It is you,
Valerian, who forget who you are addressing!”

Marcus threw
his weight forward onto his right hip. With a mighty heave he sent Cadeyrn
flying over his head. Cadeyrn landed with a sickening thud. For a moment he lay
stunned.