The Elder Blood Chronicles Bk 1 In Shades of Grey (2 page)

“Put him to rest, Tyber. End his suffering in
thanks for the loyal service he has given you. Then fetch your
brother and his comrades and bring them to me at my tent. We have
much to discuss.” Damon’s voice was barely above a whisper.

A ragged cheer broke from his pathetic army,
and they both turned to look in amazement. A cheer was the last
thing Damon expected from a defeated army wracked with plague.
These men could barely stand and hold swords; how did they possibly
find the energy for yelling? His eyes found the source of their
attention soon enough. Victory, the young man on the white horse,
gestured toward a ship with one hand. Damon tried to ignore the
sick irony to the boy’s name. It was like the Faydwer, to name
their children in such a fashion, no matter how wrong it might
prove to be in the future. No, that wasn’t fair. This was his
defeat, not the young Faydwer’s. Damon felt the brush of strong
magic wash across him. He narrowed his eyes and watched Victory
with curiosity. The boy’s hand was still raised out in front of
him, his arm rigid with the muscles straining. His palm turned
upwards as though he were lifting a great weight.

Tyber raised his eyebrow and looked to his
father. “The ships are protected. The Barllen on the hulls will
absorb the magic. What is he doing?”

Damon shook his head slowly in answer. Tyber
was right about the Barllen. They had discovered that fact the
first day of the assault. Magic was useless when Barllen was
involved. The metal was not picky about what it absorbed. Whether
helpful or deadly, it stole both.

Victory’s hand rose slightly and his horse
pranced in the surf sending a spray of seawater several feet in the
air. Damon wondered idly,
how is it that the plague chose its
victims with such care. Only days before, Tyber’s horse had been as
hale and healthy as the white. Today, it stood on death’s door
while Victory’s danced
. His musings were suddenly silenced as
the army gave another cheer and a thunderous bellow split the air.
The water around the anchored ships boiled and churned. Screams of
terrified men washed back toward them. A scaled head nearly the
size of one of the ships broke above the waves and let loose
another bellow that seemed to shake the ocean itself.

“By the Aspects,” Tyber said in a voice
barely above a whisper. “He summoned a bloody serpent and a damn
big one at that,” he finished in a tone of disbelief.

The enraged serpent rose higher in the water
with its neck and head now cresting nearly thirty feet over the
biggest of the fleet. With a triumphant yell, Victory released the
magic that controlled the animal and sagged in his saddle. Cheers
erupted from his army once again as the serpent turned its full
wrath upon the ships. The sound of cracking timbers and dying men
came to them faintly across the harbor, and Damon watched in
silence as half a dozen of his enemies’ ships found a grizzly
end.

“Impressive,” Damon admitted with a slight
nod. He turned back to Tyber. “Still not enough though. See to the
horse Tyber, and then fetch them as I said,” he said as he walked
slowly toward his tent. As far as he could see, only one choice
remained to save his sons, and it wasn’t a good one. He could try
to convince them simply to leave Veir, but he knew without speaking
the words, they would refuse. As much as he himself would refuse,
had anyone suggested it to him, which left only the most drastic of
choices.

The tent flap pushed open, and Zachary strode
in. Although his raven black hair was in disarray and he seemed
worn down, he wore a fierce grin. “Did you see the serpent,
Father?” he asked.

“How could he miss it?” Havoc muttered as he
followed into the tent. The Firym was typical of his people in
coloring with swarthy skin and red hair. In this tent, he looked as
out of place as a cardinal amongst ravens. Damon gave a slight nod
and motioned them to a seat. The news he had was not pleasant, and
he’d rather his son be seated and disarmed. Getting his sword away
from him was doubtful but he would settle for seated. Zachary was
fiery of temper, a trait he must have gotten from his mother. Damon
doubted he himself had ever qualified as fiery.

Victory entered next, looking exhausted from
his efforts yet triumphant. He gave a respectful bow to Damon and
took a seat himself. Damon motioned the boys to the food on the
table. He, himself, had no appetite He hadn’t felt hungry for days,
especially not since the fever had finally gone. And, it’s already
begun on my lungs he thought grimly. He watched the entrance and
waited patiently for Tyber.

The tent flap pushed open for a last time,
and Tyber entered, his expression bleak and his eyes filled with
grief. “I just received the report from the capital, Father,” Tyber
said.

Damon gave a slight nod and motioned his son
to sit. “Your brother has not as of yet,” he reminded Tyber
gently.

“What news?” Zachary asked, his tone filled
with concern. He looked between his father and brother and his
expression darkened. “What news?” he asked again, this time making
it more of a demand.

“Calm yourself, Zachary,” Tyber warned.

Havoc and Victory exchanged glances, and
Victory rested a hand lightly on Zachary’s arm. “I’m sure that is
why Lord Veirasha has called us in here, Zach, to tell us.” Victory
smiled gently as he spoke in a weak yet firm voice.

“They have broken through our northern
border, Zachary,” Damon began. He watched Zachary tense at the
words, exactly as he had expected him to. If he didn’t push forward
now, Zachary and his two companions would be riding north within
the hour. It would seem the way to tell his children the wretched
news was quickly and bluntly. He didn’t have the luxury of time to
spare Zachary’s feelings. “Our capital was already lost, however. I
received word this morning that your mother and sister died in the
night. What remains of our people have set the city to flames.
There were too many dead for the survivors to tend properly.” Damon
watched grief wash over his child’s face and had to force himself
to continue speaking. “Veir is lost,” he finished, his voice hoarse
with emotion.

“We still live! Veir is not lost until I no
longer breathe!” Zachary all but yelled his defiance in a voice
that burst with pure raw emotion.

“My Lord Veirasha, if I call, my people will
answer. Give me leave, and I will send for Faydwer’s armies. I know
my father would never refuse you,” Victory offered.

“The Firym are always ready for a fight. We
will guard your borders while your lands recover. My cousin waits
even now with a full contingent of Flame Riders at the borders.
Give your word and they will fight either here or in Merro,” Havoc
added, not to be outdone by Victory.

Damon shook his head slowly. “Your offer is
generous, both offers. But no, I will not bring my troubles to
allies. I cannot risk that the plague would spread farther,” he
said with regret.

“You mean to surrender?” Zachary demanded in
an incredulous voice

“Never,” Damon returned. For that single
word, the grief and despair was gone from his voice, and the word
came strong and filled with determination. Damon Veirasha High Lord
of Veir did not surrender.

“What do you mean to do?” Tyber said, cutting
his brother off before he could speak again.

All eyes were on him, each expression
different from the next, Damon noted. He saw grief and hope and
outrage painted clearly. Victory alone wore an expression of
respect as if the boy could already see what Damon would do. “I
mean to end this,” Damon answered in cold finality.

“How?” Tyber asked in a voice heavy with
skepticism.

Damon ignored the question and turned his
attention to Zachary’s comrades. “While I cannot think of proper
words to thank you both for your assistance, I’m afraid the two of
you will have to leave Veir very soon. This is not proper treatment
for such valued friends, but I’m afraid it’s for your own safety
that I ask you to go,” he stated in a cool and firm voice. There
was no room to argue with him when he used that voice.

“As you say, Lord Veirasha.” Victory bowed
his head and gave Havoc a light smack on his arm. “We will not
argue, Havoc. We will do as the High Lord requests.” He spoke
firmly, and Havoc’s eyes narrowed.

Damon watched the two of them for a moment.
Neither of them realized he knew of their status with the
Fionaveir. Normally he would avoid bringing the topic up, given the
Fionaveir were considered outlaws by most, but he did not have the
time for delicacy. “I would ask you to take word of this day back
to the Fionaveir. I would ask you to give my regrets to Caspian. I
think his plan would have worked, had we been given the time,” he
said, and both young men froze. Havoc actually looked down at his
own arm, as if to see if the telltale tattoos of the Fionaveir were
showing.

Victory recovered first; the shock slowly
melted away. As his green eyes stayed attached to Damon’s face, he
gave a slight bow. “As you say, Milord. We will report all we have
seen,” he agreed.

Damon gave them a nod and turned his
attention back to his sons. “I do not intend to surrender. Veirasha
do not surrender. Death before dishonor.” He reassured them both.
He picked up a bottle from the table and poured them all a glass of
the fine dark wine. “All of you have one last drink to Veir and
House Veirasha. We end this soon and when it is finished, neither
will exist. Drink to the memory of what was bright and true. What
is left will be much darker I fear.” Damon lifted his own glass to
his lips as he spoke. He watched the confusion play across their
faces, but they humored him and drank. “Tyber,” he said and waited
until his son set his glass back down and gave him his full
attention.

“Yes, Father?” Tyber asked.

“I name you lord of this land now before
these witnesses. What is left of me after this will not be fit to
lead. What remains of Veir will not be much and you may hate me in
time for what I gift you with. But if our line is to continue we
must take what remains to us and make it our strength.” Damon’s
voice was filled with resignation.

Both of his boys looked at him in confusion,
and Zachary looked ready to object, but Damon silenced them both
with a gesture. “Victory, Havoc you should go,” Damon said as he
looked back down at the wine in his hand. It set poorly in his
stomach, and he wasn’t sure if it was the sickness or the
situation. Either could turn a man’s stomach. He watched the two
outsiders leave, and looked to his sons. “Be strong, be honorable,
and always remember this day. This plot was not Merrodin’s alone,
Tyber. Merrodin hasn’t the wit for the plague that was sent to us.
Watch for his accomplice and see that he is punished for his
crimes,” he said and stood slowly. The boys followed him out of the
tent, their expressions unsure.

“I have no idea what is going on,” Havoc
complained. Victory had nearly used the last of his magic to
transport them beyond the borders of Veir. He sat on Avalanche, his
great white warhorse, with his eyes locked on the green hills of
Veir in the distance.

“Damon is going to do something very
drastic,” Victory replied, his eyes never leaving the distant
hills.

“But what?” Havoc asked.

Victory ran a hand down his horse’s neck and
gave a slight shrug. With a grim smile, he slowly dismounted. “Why
don’t we see?” He offered. With a slight gesture of his hand, a
small circle of light formed before the two of them. In moments, it
coalesced into a perfect image of the encampment they had so
recently left.

They both watched in silence as Lord Damon
moved to a hill overlooking his eastern seashore. The lord scarcely
looked older than his two sons. He moved gracefully, despite the
plate mail he wore, and his jet-black hair was as unmarred by grey
as his face was of wrinkles. Tyber and Zachary followed in his
wake. Zachary walked with a defiant set to his shoulders, with the
reins of his horse held in a clenched hand. Tyber followed, moving
with grim determination. To anyone watching, the remaining Veirasha
did not look defeated. Tired? Yes. Grief stricken? Most certainly,
but not beaten. Damon took a moment then, at the top of the hill.
He turned and looked to his lands. The lush green fields, once so
full of life. The once shining sands of his coasts now reflected
the bloodstained battlefield. It looked to Victory as though he
were trying to commit these last sights to his mind.

Havoc raised an eyebrow and looked to Victory
with a questioning glance but remained silent. Victory shook his
head slightly and gave a faint shrug but never took his eyes off
Damon. The old lord was gathering power. It was done so subtly that
Victory had thought him simply admiring his lands. He should have
known better. Damon was coldly practical, and that was an action of
a sentimental man. He was gathering a lot of power Victory
realized. Far more than he himself would even dare to attempt to
hold. Tyber and Zachary seemed to realize what was happening then,
and they looked to each other for an answer.

It all happened so quickly, not even the
greatest mage could have countered it. Damon gave very little
indication he was gathering power and none at all when he released
it. The air around him blackened and the sky above went pitch, all
signs of the clear spring morning gone. The land of Veir began to
wither and what remained of his army died where they sat. Victory
watched dark mists swirl around the Veirasha lords, and they seemed
to disappear in its embrace. With a roar, the magic consumed Veir
with savage hunger, and then standing in the midst of it all was
Damon, stepping from the black mists like some terrible wraith.
With a pale hand, he gestured toward the ships and then to the
east, toward Merro and the Lord who had sent these disasters upon
them. The magic seemed to swirl faster and part of the blackness
gave way, leaving Veir seemingly trapped in twilight.