Heritage: Book One of the Gairden Chronicles (12 page)

Cursing inwardly, ignoring his father’s smirk, Aidan raised his right hand. The back two rows of Wardsmen drew their longbows. Lieutenants shouted trajectories. Forty bowstrings went taut. The front lines hefted swords and spears in one hand, raised shields in the other.

Aidan’s right hand dropped. The Wardsmen let fly; arrows whistled as they took flight. They fell in a hail. Screams rang out as half a dozen clansmen fell. The rear line of Darinians responded with a volley of their own while the rest charged forward, racing across the flat ground and hefting axes as tall as stalks of corn in fists the size of a small man’s head. Aidan shouted an order. Every Wardsmen not holding a bow dropped to one knee and raised their shields, forming a wall of wood and steel. Missiles thudded and snapped against the wall like hail on a rooftop.

His archers dipped their hands smoothly into quivers, nocked a fresh round of arrows, and loosed. A third round leaped from bowstrings while the second was still in flight. The Darinians returned fire. Arrows filled the sky like flocks of crows streaking at one another. Several of the projectiles collided and plummeted in jumbles of splinters and sharpened heads. Below, the clansmen surged forward like a single arrow intent on flying up the hill and shattering Aidan’s men.

“Forward!” Aidan bellowed.

Aidan’s men charged down the hill. Halfway down, they split like a stream breaking around a rock. The unbroken mass of men had become a pincer designed to crush the Darinians. Meanwhile, the archers split, flanking the divided infantry, and continued their storm of arrows. The Darinian bowmen responded in turn, dividing into two groups and spitting arrows at Aidan’s divided force. This time the Wardsmen continued running as they raised their shields. Not every man raised his in time.

Aidan kindled and wove a flat, invisible barrier that hung over the heads of his infantry and archers. It was as if someone had lowered a dome of thick, polished glass over their heads. Arrows snapped and slid harmlessly to the ground. Still sprinting, the Wardsmen lowered their shields just slightly, holding them in front. The two forces collided in a thunderous crash.

“All goes well,” Edmund said from where he and Aidan watched at the top of the hill. Steel rang against steel. Shouts turned to shrill cries as blade bit through armor and tasted flesh.

Aidan chose not to reply.
Well
was not how he would have defined the battle. The Darinians, proficient fighters though they were, could not beat the numbers game. The Wardsmen cleaved through them, spilling their blood across the snow. For every Wardsman who fell, three Darinians crumpled. But fighting was still his least desirable course of action. He hadn’t been given even a moment to enter the city without bloodshed. The clansmen had stormed out almost immediately.

Aidan narrowed his eyes.
As if they had been waiting for an attack.

He turned the thought over and decided it wasn’t too farfetched. Any party that took a city by force would expect resistance eventually. Still...

A horn sounded from within Sharem. Aidan turned to his father, confused. Edmund wore a flat, emotionless expression. A roar erupted from the forest to the east of Sharem. Hordes of clansmen burst through the trees and poured forth, a swarm of pagan faces, steel, and a mail hide crafted using techniques known only by Darinia’s finest blacksmiths—form-fitting, yet as strong as plate mail—and mounted atop armored horses.

Aidan’s mouth hung open as clansmen continued pouring from the trees like wasps from an upset hive. Less than half a mile separated his men from the horde rushing toward them, a wave of steel that would sweep away everything in its path.

“They’ll all die,” Aidan whispered. His men had turned to brace themselves against the surprise charge, but Aidan knew it would not be enough. Many from the smaller attack force that had charged out from Sharem—a decoy, he understood now—were still alive and rallying, sending ululating war cries at the scores of brethren rumbling to their aid.

“You can save them, Aidan,” Edmund said.

“You said this wasn’t possible,” Aidan said, as if he hadn’t heard. “You said a force this size couldn’t possibly—”

“I was mistaken. You can save them.”

Aidan looked at him, face ashen.

“You haven’t lifted a finger in this conflict, Aidan,” Edmund said. “You’ve been content to simply issue orders, convincing yourself that you were only doing what had to be done, that the blood of your enemies would stain the hands of your Wardsmen instead of your own. Prove your worth, boy. Your gift is more than enough to prevent this slaughter.”

A line of sweat oozed down Aidan’s forehead. He didn’t want his men to be killed, of course he didn’t. But if he acted, he would spill the blood of a people he believed to be innocent. Raising his palms, Aidan quickly replayed the tale his mother had told the day the war had been announced. It still did not ring true. His hands lowered.

“The enemy outnumbers us at least four to one, Aidan,” Edmund said, his voice tight.

He didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t leave his people to die—and they surely would; clansmen continued to rush from the forest. The Wardsmen would make a stand, but it would not last long. But Aidan could not convince himself of the Darinians’ guilt. He wished he could just sit down and let his father figure everything out.

—The time is now, Aidan. Make your choice.

He had never been so thankful to hear from Heritage.
Tell me what to do! Please!

But the sword had gone silent.

“The lives of our people, Aidan. What will you do?” his father said.

Breathing heavily, Aidan swept his eyes across the battle below. The clansmen—there had to be close to a thousand, their masks and armor making them appear like wild animals —would cross the road and wash over his men in seconds.

—What will you do, Aidan?
Heritage asked.

“Make your choice, boy! Now!” his father said.

Aidan swore and drank in the light, raised clenched fists, shouted a prayer. The spell his confused and terrified mind latched onto was a difficult one and required a large amount of light. But the Lady heard his plea, and the results were suitably devastating.

The road in front of the approaching Darinian force exploded. Masses of rock, ice, and gravel rained down on the clansmen, crushing heads and bodies. The gash ripped through the roadway as Aidan kindled again. A pallid fire shot from his left palm and sparked through the first line of trees in the forest. The magical inferno melted through ice and snow to light wet branches as if they were dry. The remaining lines of trees followed suit, bursting into fiery existence one after the other. The forest became a funeral pyre. Tortured screams and terrified whinnies emanated from the blaze as flesh melted from bone and bone withered to ashes.

Aidan kindled a third time, gorging on the Lady’s light until he felt drunk, and spit out a third prayer. A bolt of lightning pierced the ground, shattering Darinians. Blood and limbs sprayed across the battlefield like sparks from a fire. More bolts stabbed down. Crackling energy spread outward like ripples from a pebble cast into a pond, shredding earth, flesh, and bone. The earth heaved like the deck of a ship caught in a storm, scattering what remained of the clansmen’s resistance.

Aidan slipped from his horse and fell to his knees, tears streaming down his cheeks. He kindled one last time. The fire chewing through the forest dissipated, leaving piles of ash and bloody slop. Silence resumed its hold on the day, broken only by the moans of the wounded and dying from below and Aidan’s deep, full-body retches. Snow drifted down, knitting a blanket to hide the gore smeared over the muddy ground.

Edmund stood over Aidan, oblivious to the scent of roasted flesh carried on the afternoon breeze. “You did what you had to do. You saved your men, Aidan. They would have died had you not acted.” Edmund raised his eyes to the smoldering, torn battlefield. “I’m proud of you,” he added, as if in afterthought. He galloped down the hill to round up the Wardsmen.

Aidan didn’t look up. He looked instead at the snow falling onto his hands. Hands that were stained with blood only he could see. Blood that could never wash away.

Edmund approached the guards outside his tent and gave orders not to be disturbed under any circumstances. He strode to the table and whispered a word, low and guttural, into the lantern.

The flame went low for a moment. A pair of eyes appeared.

“Is it done?” a voice asked.

“Yes, master,” Edmund said. “The boy passed the test, though not without a great deal of hesitation. Almost a pity, actually. I would have happily killed him right there.”

“If he passed, then he is still useful to us.”

“He used pure-fire, my lord,” Edmund said, his voice quivering with excitement. “It was magnificent. You should have heard the screams. And the lightning ripples... the blood...” Edmund shivered in ecstasy. He forced himself to take a calming breath. “What of the sword?”

“The tests continue to prove too dangerous, but there is still a chance the blade will accept Aidan. It is still useful to us.”

The flame flared as if in anger, causing Edmund to shrink back.

“Annalyn returned it to the chamber at no small risk,” the voice continued. “Her injuries were too grievous to go unnoticed. I discarded the body and replaced it. I fear the sword would react poorly to you as it did to her. It will remain in the chamber until the boy has use for it.”

“And if he uses it against us?”

“Aidan will either be tamed, or...” The voice trailed away for a moment. “Or he will die before he has the chance to raise Heritage,” it went on. Edmund blinked. It sounded conflicted. It continued, firm once more. “Should that come to pass, the sword must be destroyed. We—”

Edmund raised a hand as he heard the guards outside raising their voices in anger. Abruptly they fell silent.

Aidan strode into the tent, livid. “Protection, Father? Even from me?”

Edmund turned to his son. “What is it you need?” He kept glancing at the lantern.

“Your men outside will be fine. I’ll tell them you were concerned.”

“I asked what I can do for you.”

Aidan blinked in surprise. Edmund didn’t seem to care whether the guards lived or died. He shook his head before continuing. “I’m done.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t believe in this war, Father. I don’t believe the Darinians to be guilty. You have not even made an attempt to negotiate with Nichel, or with Cotak, or the other clan chiefs. You taught me that war is nothing to be entered into lightly. You have been nothing but eager to engage Darinia, a people that have been friends and allies for decades.”

Aidan took a breath before plunging onward. “I don’t believe in this war. I am through.”

Edmund’s cold smile dipped into a dark frown. “You cannot walk away from this, Prince of Tears,” he said softly, stalking forward. “You don’t get to quit this like you have everything else. If you do, you will be a disappointment to me, and a failure to your line.”

Shock filled Aidan’s throat like a gag. “Why are you treating me like this? You and mother both, you’ve never—”

Edmund’s hand shot up, lightning fast, and slapped Aidan’s mouth. The prince staggered, more from surprise than pain, and raised a shaking hand to his lips. Edmund reeled back for another blow, but Aidan grabbed his father’s hand, grunting as his father’s arm shook, straining to reach him.

“Stop,” Aidan said, sounding weak and pleading. He didn’t care.

“I will not,” Edmund said, straining against his son. “This appears to be the only language you understand.” He swung his other fist, but the blow never came. Aidan raised his hand and kindled. A ball of air collided against his father’s chest, sending him sailing over the table and crashing into the snow.

Edmund scrabbled back to his feet, snarling. “This is your last chance, Aidan. I will forgive what you just did. We will pretend this never happened, and that is something you should want very, very much. But if you turn away, it’s over for you, boy. Do you understand? You will be dead to me, and to your mother. This is your last chance.”

The words cut Aidan like a knife. He began to tremble, but his jaw tightened. “I am sorry, Father. I will not take another life that I believe to be innocent.”

Edmund’s smile held no mirth. “Guards!”

Several Wardsmen burst into the tent. “General,” one said, “the men outside your tent are—” He cut off, looking slowly between Edmund and Aidan.

“Arrest my son. The charge is... Stop him!”

The Wardsmen ran forward, but Aidan did not even notice them. He had closed his eyes and begun murmuring. The Wardsmen lunged for him as he disappeared in a burst of wind, scattering maps from the table and leaving only a soft imprint in the snow where he had stood.

Chapter 11

Acceptance

T
HE LAST LIGHT OF DAY
winked through the tent flap before the Lady sunk into the west horizon, handing Crotaria over to the Lord of Midnight. By itself, that last glimmer of light wasn’t enough for Aidan to escape the madman that wore his father’s face. Topped off with the glowing jewels around his neck, it was just enough.

Aidan lunged at the light, combining it with his lamp while his father shouted for guards. In his mind he pictured his safe place, maybe the safest place in Crotaria. The light he needed to complete the kindling was far greater than the prayer he had used to shift into Calewind on his birthday. That only stood to reason; he had been less than two miles outside the city then. The Language of Light passed through his lips in a whisper—he couldn’t let his father catch on to what he was doing—and suddenly wind rushed through the tent, spiriting him leagues and leagues to the north. A blink, not even a heartbeat later, and Aidan was slumped against Tyrnen’s tower door.

Fever pounced on him, settling over him like heat that hung over Darinia’s deserts. Sweat broke out all over his body, dampening his hair and clothes. The arm he lifted to the knocker shook uncontrollably. Just before his fingers could grip the icy bronze knocker, the door flew open and Tyrnen was there, his expression flashing from surprise to concern.