wyrdstonethenovel

[wyrdstonethenovel]

27. Matters of the Empire

AN: this blog is where I post my novel so it gets off my hard drive. I post a new update every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Follow for magic, a good ol fashioned 'fight for a throne' and as we learn in this chapter.... a mounting rebellion. Dun. Dun. Dun. Enjoy.

XXVII. MATTERS OF THE EMPIRE

Admrilia glowered at the two story sandstone walls that barricaded Legate Xur’s private villa. She frowned at the mature palm trees over the walls, wondering how the legate’s murderers could have climbed over the slanted walls. Governor Kai groaned as he was eased down from the palanquin. Admrilia waited for his feet to touch the cobblestone streets before approaching the gates of the villa. They were unlocked. 

The grounds were modest. Well kept considering the desert's extreme heat. Palms and tall shrubs lined the entire perimeter of the yard. Admrilia frowned. “And he kept no family, no company?” She asked as they entered the main house. 

“No princess.” Wyn-Kai struggled to keep up with her long stride. “The legate never married or had children of his own. His life revolved around the legion. After his retirement, he became increasingly reclusive.” 

Admrilia turned to the Governor. “Why is that?” 

“The legate was nearly two decades my senior. I think at a certain point, a man craves the ability to pass with dignity.”

“Are we certain he didn’t die of natural causes?” Advisor Khispen asked. 

“His slit throat suggested otherwise.” Wyn-Kai said flatly. “Come. I should show you the study. This is where his servants found him.”

“Where were his guards?” Admrilia asked as they walked up a narrow stairwell to the second floor landing. 

“The ones he had kept watch on the estate at all hours of the night. We can certainly track them down in the city for you to talk to if you wish.” Wyn-Kai pushed open a set of double cedar doors. Admrilia hid her couch at the dusty air. 

Xur’s war spills were proudly displayed against the far walls. A vast collection from a long and storied career. Spears, swords, animal hides and kerai armor straddled a bold gold banner. The fabric was torn and singed displaying the motif of a ram. The last physical remnant of the destroyed House. 

Xur’s collection was considerably impressive, but the rest of the room was sparsely furnished. The desk was barren of papers, with only a stylus and ink pot waiting on the left hand side of the chair. Admrilia walked forward, noticing the stain on the rich cyprus. She pointed to it and the Governor confirmed her suspicions. “Blood, yes. His throat was cut as he slept over his desk.” 

“Was it common for him to fall asleep in his study?” Khispen asked. 

“According to his household it had become increasingly common.” 

“And his household?”

“They’ve been cleared. A few self-exiled after the incident. But you may speak to those who remain at the estate later if you wish.” Wyn-Kai said. 

Admrilia nodded, filing the information around the room for later. She walked around the desk. “Entry?” She clipped. 

“The door was locked from what I’ve been told. It was his preference when he was in his study to be left alone.” 

Admrilia eyed the tall windows above the bookcases. She dragged the chair over to the bookcase and stepped onto it to gain a better view of the ledge. “A child couldn’t fit through here.” She scoffed. She looked down at her advisors. “His household very easily could have betrayed him.” 

“Nothing's for certain.” Wyn-Kai disagreed. 

“What the governor is neglecting to tell you princess Admrilia, is that no man could have fit through the window.” Advisor Clavo’s ocean blue eyes were filled with accusation. “But a talented kerai, perhaps one who could aiya into a bird, could easily have accomplished the task.” 

Admrilia fought back her scoff as Wyn-Kai inclined his head. “That is our working theory as well. We have found evidence to substantiate that claim.” Wyn-Kai walked to the desk and produced a piece of papyrus from his robes. He hunched over, his brushstrokes quick and efficient. Admrilia dropped down from the chair and walked over. The Governor stepped aside to allow them to peer at the kiyr glyph. 

“The assassin left this on his body. A calling card of sorts.” 

Admrilia’s understanding of the complicated kiyr language was elementary at best but it appeared to be the visage of a woman sitting within a box. Or perhaps a roofline of sorts. Advisor Clavo hissed through his teeth. “What is it Advisor?” Admrilia asked. 

“The Ten Houses of Ker.” Clavo’s thick hand pointed down at the glyph as if it personally offended him. 

“The Ten?” Advisor Khispen asked. 

“Yes. The symbol originated from the Ballad of the Ten.” Wyn-Kai cleared his throat. “House fought House through decades of strife, and their sons and daughters died. Over their bodies their father’s cried—”

“And from their children’s love the Houses unite.” Clavo spat. He scowled. “This is the symbol of Ker unification. This is the banner they rode under during the Ker Conquest, when all ten Houses joined forces against the Conqueror.” 

“And now it’s the symbol of their rebellion.” Admrilia finished. She glanced up, Advisor Khispen and Clavo’s expressions grave. They mirrored her own. 

“The legate’s last correspondence was with Legate Fillium over in De-Anu. But to be honest, Xur had no shortage of enemies.” Wyn-Kai said. “He was a destroyer of a House. That has not been forgotten. His hatred for the kerai was arguably greater than the Conquerors.” 

“Don’t be a sympathizer.” Advisor Clavo said quietly. 

“I’m simply providing the group context. The search for Legate Xur’s murderers will be extensive.”

“But more broadly, the whole territory could be teetering on the brink of rebellion. If we find the Legate’s killers, it could lead us to these insurrectionists.” The crushing weight of the Conqueror’s directive settled over her shoulders. Legate Xur’s killers could be as far as Pi-Yenja by now, or the rebellion's leader could be as close to those in this very room. Her eyes slid to Wyn-Kai the Wise. The Betrayer. Did her grandfather have it in him to rebel against the empire? After the Conqueror granted his House the mercy of life? Was Legate Xur’s murder some sort of elaborate scheme to get her here? 

Admrilia bit her tongue, relishing briefly in the sharp sting. She could not accurse the Governor, her own family, of treason without considerable evidence. But she could hardly trust them either. 

“There is more.” Wyn-Kai said. Alexandros and Flavius quickly shared disbelieving glances near the doorway. “Advisor Clavo, you asked me why the Uros are here. When they arrived, they claimed they knew nothing of your impending visit. They are here on behalf of your son. He wrote to me.”

Advisor Clavo snatched the outstretched letter. His eyebrows shoot higher and higher with each line of text. The advisor handed the letter over to Admrilia without a word. She immediately recoiled at the hideous penmanship. She silently read: 

Governor Wyn-Kai, 

I write to you with great urgency. It is with great humility that I admit that the city of De-Asha has failed to produce the Conqueror’s tribute for the upcoming triumph. The Conqueror has tasked me with recovering the most unusual prize. I am to present a star. 

Admrilia paused, then reread the line. A star? How preposterous. Surely the Conqueror did not mean a physical star like the myths. Admrilia did not believe in destiny, or the stars as Asho did. No, she firmly believed that the wyrd myth was used by the Conqueror, and his forefathers before him, to justify the subjugation and continued conquest of the continent. End of story. 

Unless, there is already one wyrdstone. Her mind rushed to reason. Why couldn’t there be others? Admrilia continued reading. 

I firmly believe the Emperor desires a relic of the Conquering, a weapon of which the Ten kept fiercely hidden  inside Anu-Uro-Set during the war. But the excavation of the site has yet to yield results. The nature of, and power of this star has alluded my men and I. 

Admrilia’s mind spun like a top. Why was the Conqueror demanding such an extensive search? And if the wyrdstone did exist, and if she found it? Admrilia could nearly bask in the warm praise upon her skin as she presented this other star to the Conuqueror. A wyrdstone restored. Her duty to the Empire would be fulfilled. It surely would be enough to force the Conqueror to name her his heir. Admrilia could become Empress. Admrilia scanned the rest of the lines. 

Upon learning of the legendary legate’s passing, I grow more frantic in my search. The city of De-Asha requests that all of Legate Xur’s personal accounts of the siege, as well as any supplemental documents be sent in our aid.  I pray to the Stormlord, merciful is our god, that we may recover the star before the Conqueror’s arrival. I have sent an envoy in my stead. With great humility, Legate Titus Crassus Clavo.

Admrilia wordlessly passed the letter to Advisor Khispen. She walked over to the Legate’s bookcases. “Are the journals here?” She asked Wyn-Kai directly. 

He eyed her knowingly. “No. His accounts are kept in the Houses private repository along with all other records of the Conquering.”

“Then we should go there next.” Admrilia nodded to herself. “We need to discover what connection Legate Xur had to all of this.” 

“Of course.” Wyn-Kai bowed his head. “And do you wish for the Uro’s to join us?” 

Advisor Clavo vigorously shook his head. “Absolutely not. You cannot seriously trust a matter this dire to those kerai dogs.” Clavo grumbled. 

“Bring them.” Admrilia turned and eyed her advisor. “Your son clearly had entrusted them with a task of this magnitude. So either your son finds them useful to the empire or he is as dumb as a mule.” She fit the advisor with a piercing glare. “The blade stills close by either way.”

[wyrdstonethenovel]

26. The White Jarl

AN: Wyrdstone is a web novel that updates every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday here on Tumblr! It is a good ol' fashioned "rivals fight for the throne" TM. With magic. And rebellion. And gayz. Did I mention the gayz? Enjoy.

XXVI. THE WHITE JARL 

“You can surely hit him harder than that brother.” 

Morgaine stood at the entrance of the training yard, dressed in an elegant stola draped over one shoulder. The copper tinted fabric contrasted with her fiery hair. The pommel of Kohl’s sword collided with his stomach, demanding his attention. Asho glared at his friend. He reached up to unbuckle his helmet as Morgaine entered the yard. Her hands ran along the shelves of swords, spears, and axes that rested on the racks. 

“Those might be a little heavy for you.” Asho smiled. 

“It’s no matter." Morgaine paused at the vast collection of bows. “Archery suits me better.” She raised a hesitant eyebrow. “Would you care for a round?” 

“I’d enjoy that. Kohl?”

His friend eyed them as he restocked his equipment. He removed his helmet and shook his sweat damp hair out of his eyes. “No. I’ll leave you to your peace.” 

Morgaine’s cheeks inflamed as her brother exited the training yard. It wasn’t lost on Asho that they were now truly alone for the first time since his arrival. Asho took his time examining the longbows. He ran his suddenly clammy hands down his pants. “How was your morning?” He asked. 

“Autumn is at our doorstep.” Morgaine selected a lighter shortbow. Asho grabbed a longbow and hefted two quivers over his shoulder. He followed Morgaine as she walked over to the targets. “You should join me for a ride sometime.” Morgaine offered quietly. 

Asho smiled to himself. “I’d enjoy that.” 

“You finally learn to ride?” Morgaine turned around, raising an eyebrow. 

“Well I’m hardly the equestrian you are.” 

Morgaine snorted under her breath. Asho set the quivers on the ground. They fell into companionable silence as they took their practice shots. It had been months since Asho had held a bow in his hand, and his first shot went high, clearly missing the target fifty paces away. Morgaine’s shot was slightly better, embedding itself in the target’s flank. Morgaine smiled challengingly. Asho shook his head. “I’m warming up.” 

“Sure you are.” 

 Asho’s next shot flew true, embedding itself in the bullseye. The prince smirked. Had he been with Kohl, or those boot licking Sugian nobles, he would have already been gloating. But of course, Morgaine was a better archer than Ditas or any in his entourage. The prince knew better than to challenge Morgaine. Her next two shots flew straight into central mass. Asho languidly nocked his next arrow instead, admiring Morgaine’s slender form as she drew back her shortbow. She inhaled, her mossy eyes narrowing in concentration. When she exhaled, Asho knew from the resounding thump that the arrow found home. 

Morgaine lowered the bow, her fierce eyes locked on his. “My brother tells me you are to marry a Pi-Yenjan princess. Is that why you’ve been avoiding me?” Asho flushed from forehead to neck. Morgaine continued. “Have you met this betrothed of yours?” Asho aimed for the furthest target in the field; a hundred and fifty paces away. He calculated the arching shot, picturing a great white stag as he pulled the bowstring to his ear. “Well, have you?” Morgaine demanded. 

Asho inhaled, exhaled, released. His shot bounced off a nearby tree. He cursed under his breath. “Yes. I have.” Asho slung his bow over his shoulder and marched towards the targets. 

Morgaine’s sandals quickly followed. “Asho! Wait. What is she like?” 

“She’s not you, okay?” 

“What is that supposed to mean?” 

Were his cheeks burning from excursion or from the embarrassment of his admission? Morgaine ran ahead of him, placing herself between his body and the target. “Asho?” 

Asho stared down at her. This close he could see the dark rim of forest green around her irises. The dance of freckles across her nose and cheeks. Her sweaty copper hair, coming undone from her braid. His fingers itched to place her curls back behind the shells of her ears. Asho chided himself and looked away. “Your father certainly had no shortage of suitors for your hand.”

“On the Horned God of course I do. I have refused to hear any of it because I thought that we were, well, more.” She whispered. 

He looked away. “We were children Morgaine.” 

“You are a man now, and I a woman. Are you really going to stand here and tell me that you will allow this? Will you not fight for me? For us? If what we had was true, by all the gods of the Skytops why won’t you—” 

Asho’s chest cracked. “Please, Morgaine, not you too. I cannot fight the will of the Conqueror.” 

“If you were to become Emperor, your will would move the sky and sea. Not his!” Morgaine placed a hand to his chest. Asho’s cheeks inflamed at the heat. “Please, Asho. I cannot wait forever.” 

I don’t know if I can promise you forever. Asho fought bitterly. Morgaine’s hand was still against his sternum. So warm, so tender, so tantalizingly close. Asho wondered what it would be like to feel her skin against his again. To brush his lips against hers. All he had to do was lean down. What if this was his only change before that awful day when he was wed off to that fourteenth daughter of the Pi-Yenjan Emperor. What if, after the triumph left Ironore, he never saw Kohl or Morgaine again? 

Your hedonistic desires are noted prince. The Conqueror’s words flooded through his mind like a bucket of cold water. 

Well let them be noted. Asho thought fiercely. He leaned down, cupping Morgaine’s head in his palms, and kissed her. 

It was late when Asho collected his clothes and left Morgaine’s quarters. He snuck past the Ironoaks guards with inflamed cheeks and rushed down the stairwell back down to the rung that housed the guest quarters. Asho scurried through the halls for his rooms and stopped dead at the Conqueror’s voice. “I see your party has arrived from Thrys. Welcome to Ashenia.” 

From Thrys? Asho threw himself against the wall. He crouched down, riveted in place. “Thank you, Emperor Ashiphiex. Governor Ironside. We have come to pay tribute for your generous leniency towards our nation.” The man’s voice was painfully raw, as if severely dehydrated. Asho gulped and peered around the brazier to get a glimpse of the stranger. His body was covered in a thick collection of white pelts and furs that encased his torso and limbs. A scarf, blood red with intricate ruins was pulled to the bridge of his nose. 

A young attendant hovered at the corner of the White Jarl’s robes. The boy was half the looming figure’s height, with a red caul that ran across his brow in a bowl of thin, dull strips. His skin was nearly translucent; his cheeks pockmarked. The boy noticed him, and he pulled on the White Jarl’s sleeve. 

The hood turned slowly towards him. His eyes were hidden in the shadows of his intimidating hood. Asho had no idea what color they were. If the White Jarl even had eyes at all. Asho’s stomach shot into his mouth. 

The Conqueror cleared his throat. “Come here prince.” he barked. 

Asho stood and walked towards the small group. The White Jarl and his strange attendant were not alone. There were perhaps another two dozen guards in the hallway, all dressed in thick pelts and furs from the north. The White Jarl tilted his head and evaluated Asho meticulously. “I take it this is your heir?” He rasped. 

“One of them.” The Conqueror clipped. 

“I know what this looks like!” Asho interjected hurriedly. 

“And I know what this is.” Ream Ironside countered with little humor. 

“I see.” The White Jarl’s bony hands receded into his robes. “A philander does not bear well for Thrys.” The Thrysian ruler turned back to the Conqueror. “Is your heir to join us for our discussion?” 

The Emperor’s lips thinned. “Not tonight, I believe the prince has found himself otherwise occupied.” 

Asho’s cheeks inflamed. 

The White Jarl inclined his head, and the acolyte hastened to open the door to the Conqueror’s chambers. The Conqueror shot Asho a withering stare when his guests' backs were turned. Governor Ironside scornfully shook his head. “Go to bed Asho.” He ordered. “Your bed.” 

Asho flinched as the Centori closed the door behind them. The White Jarl’s guards watched him curiously from their posts along the hallway. Asho straightened his spine and hardened his eyes. Like the Conqueror’s; like the Stormlord’s. He walked with his head held high down the hallway towards his rooms, instinctually knowing the White Jarl’s party’s eyes were following him. His legs screamed at him to flee as his mind raced. Urging him to get away from the Conqueror’s venomous contempt. To run from his continuous blunders. To hide from the ugly, awful wrongness that had  radiated off the White Jarl.

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[wyrdstonethenovel]

25: The House of the Ibis

AN: AN: Wyrdstone is a serial fantasy novel updating every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday here on Tumblr. Wyrdstone is a good ol' fashioned rivals fighting for the throne TM. With magic. And gods. And world building. And the gayz. Did I mention the gayz? Enjoy:

XXV. THE HOUSE OF THE IBIS 

“You bite your lip anymore it’ll fall off.” 

Admrilia shot Flavius a dark glare, her teeth releasing from her gum. She threw her momentum into her first step towards the sizable group below. The governor was shorter than she had been anticipating, but undoubtedly her mother’s father. They shared the same complexion, set jaw, and observant brown eyes. He had a large nose and set brow with permanent worry lines etched into his forehead. 

“Governor Kai.” Admrilia said when they had reached him. “The triumph thanks you for your service to the empire and for your people’s hospitality.” She paused. As a member of the royal family, she should present her hand. But the Governor was her elder, her mother’s father, and she was in his land. 

The Governor kissed her knuckles. Admrilia mentally chided herself as he rose. “The people of Ash-Kai have eagerly awaited your arrival. As have I.” Wyn-Kai gestured to a cluster of individuals who shared an uncanny resemblance to her mother. “Princess Admrilia, allow me to formally introduce you to the rest of our house.” 

Our. Admrilia soured at the Governor’s deliberate word choice. Her lips tightened as he pointed to a tiny elderly woman who shared her mother’s heart-shaped face and warm smile. “This is my wife, and your grandmother, Ibi-Kai.” The woman’s pleasure radiated off of her as she kissed Admrilia’s knuckles. “My brother Hubei-Kai, and your uncles naturally, Jax-Kai and Tho-Kai.” He gestured to two shaven men in their mid-forties wearing scholarly robes. “And this is Tho-Kai’s wife, Ola-Kai, and their sons, Sena and Seta.” 

Admrilia blinked twice. She felt overwhelmed. Her family was in Aegtrys a world away. Asho was her only living cousin, not these boys looking at her with fear in their eyes. She was simply the byproduct of a political marriage. Her existence simply a condition for the surrender of Ker. Admrilia didn’t share anything with this family from the other side of the world. The House of the Ibis had never seemed like living, breathing, tangible people. Until now. 

The Governor was looking at her expectantly. “What an honor it is to be formally introduced.” She said shortly. 

“The honor is all ours, Princess Admrilia.” Ibi-Kai bowed from the waist. “We have long dreamed of the day when we could finally meet our granddaughter.” A few of the Kai’s nodded stiffly. Admrilia did not know how to respond to that. 

“Governor. I demand to know what these two are doing here.” Admrilia turned as Advisor Clavo pointed to two individuals on the edge of the group. A legionnaire and a woman. Admrilia had assumed they were attendants of some kind. But then why would Advisor Clavo recognize them? 

The legionnaire stepped forward. “We are here on behalf of your son, Advisor.” 

“Preposterous.” Clavo barked. 

Wyn-Kai raised his hand. “Advisor Clavo, I am confident we can all discuss matters of the empire when we are within shade and out of prying ears, hmm?” 

“Matter of the empire.” Clavo scoffed. “What could that beast possibly have to do with the empire?” 

“Name yourselves.” Admrilia demanded. 

The legionnaire stepped forward and saluted. “I am Lero-Uro, son of the House of Uro. I report to the legate of the Ninth Legion. With me is my sister, Nia-Uro.” 

Admrilia observed Nia-Uro with calculating eyes as she bowed. She clearly was not a legionnaire like her brother beside her. She didn’t have the posture. The discipline. But her arms were tanned and taut with sinewy muscle. She was wearing riding pants underneath her tunic and a long knife was sheathed at her hip. Not a woman kept indoors. There was something unmistakably off about the Uro woman, and not just because of Advisor Clavo’s uncharacteristic outburst. Maybe it was the way she was holding a hand against her chest. Or it could have been those eyes, like pools of melting metal. Admrilia wrenched her gaze away when amber eyes locked with hers. 

“We shall discuss these matters later.” Admrilia said, inclining her head to the advisor. “Lead the way, Governor. My men tire of this heat.” She was confident that Helmsman Ros would finish docking and unloading the ships. No doubt her men were eager to be released into the streets and taverns after the long weeks at sea. 

She slowed to match the Governor’s shuffling gait. He extended a hand to the crowds that had formed around the harbor and spread into the marketplaces. Ker, Ashenian, Thrysian, Pi-Yenjan. They all screamed for her. Asho would love this. Admrilia thought wryly. At the end of the harbor, The Governor escorted her to a set of awaiting palanquins. A burly attendant helped her into the cushioned platform. The Governor grumbled as he was aided into the seat across from hers. They were heaved overhead by a team of twelve men. 

Admrilia rested her hands on the thin armrests, schooling her features into stoic disinterest. Their adulation meant nothing to her. She had spent the early dawn hours in her cabin, carefully cultivating her appearance as she laced up her boots. She was not some long lost relative returning to the homeland. Nor should there have been any mistaking her visit as one of diplomacy. The Conqueror had not sent her here on a mission of peace. Her black eyes roamed the crowds as they were carried. Where among them were the rebels harboring insurrection against the Empire? Where were the Legate’s murderers? 

“It is truly an honor to meet you.” 

“Thank you, Governor.” She said, clipped. 

“You know, in private, you don’t have to be so formal.” The Governor whispered conspiratorially. 

Admrilia pulled her eyes away from the sloped Ker architecture and regarded the Governor. “It’s a matter of respect.” She insisted. Admrilia could not fathom disrespecting the Emperor by anything other than the titles he had earned, and certainly not his birth name. 

The old man leaned forward. “If grandfather is too intimate then call me Wyn-Kai at least. I insist.” 

“Grandfather.” She rolled the sharp kiyr term across her tongue like a barb. 

“You speak well.” Wyn-Kai complimented, switching over to Kiyr. “My daughter has done well.” 

“She ensured I was fluent in the language.” Admrilia’s hand found the creased letter in her pants and passed it over. “My mother has insisted I hand deliver her letter to you myself.” 

The Governor brought the missive to his nostrils and inhaled. “My Raja.” He said fondly. “Thank you. My wife and I will certainly cherish this gift.” Admrilia inclined her head. “I must admit, I feel as if I have known you through your mother’s letters, but this is the first time my eyes have beheld you.” 

His eagerness caught her off guard. She extended the verbal olive branch. “The sentiment is mutual. My mother raised me as Ashenian, for the role of my birthright.” Admrilia’s eyes darted back out into the crowd. “She was wise in that, I think.” When the Governor did not respond, Admrilia turned back to him. “Tell me, Wyn-Kai.” His name caught on her tongue. “What do you know about this rebellion?”

“We can get to the grave matter of your visit in the morning.” The governor deflected. “Tonight, I wish to introduce you to your mother’s homeland.” 

“Argenti?” Admrilia swiveled her head from the window to where Flavius stood in the doorway of her chambers. She had just finally had a moment to herself after the hours of feasting, and she felt a flare of irritation for being interrupted. “The guard has been established.”

“Thank you.” Her head was already turning back to the window.

“Is everything alright? You seem to.” Her friend paused. “Troubled.” 

Paper lanterns lit the streets where crowds gathered in the forums and marketplaces. “They welcome me into their home as if I am one of them.” 

Flavius took a cautious step forward. “This is your mother’s homeland. THey have great cause to celebrate.” 

Admrilia took a steadying breath. “Some lines cannot be crossed, Flavius.” 

“I just thought you’d like it, Argenti.” 

Admrilia turned back around. “It’s not up to me.” Don’t you see? She wanted to ask him. It never has been. 

[wyrdstonethenovel]

24: Ash-Kai

AN: Wyrdstone is a serial fantasy novel updating every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday here on Tumblr. Wyrdstone is a good ol' fashioned rivals fighting for the throne TM. With magic. And gods. And world building. And the gayz. Did I mention the gayz? Enjoy!

XXIV. ASH-KAI 

The Kerxa river flowed into the lush farmland that surrounded Ash-Kai. The city’s colorful gates shimmered in the mid-morning heat. An oasis at the edge of the world. The well-kept road was lined with mature palms and swelled with other travelers. They were ushered in through the unguarded gates and into the territory’s capital. Later that morning, Lero spotted a bathhouse, and they paid to wash off the weeks of travel. 

Nia was still pulling down the hem of her nicest tunic as they exited back out into the marketplace. She had braided her hair in the bathhouse in a half-assed attempt to make her seem somewhat presentable. She gnawed her bottom lip, worried. “Do you honestly believe the Governor will meet with us?” 

“I don’t see why he wouldn’t. We have the letter from Clavo, and I am a legionnaire.” Lero gestured down to his armor. He stopped walking as a shopkeeper rushed past with a cart of freshly baked bread. “Watch where you're going! What’s the hurry?” 

The whole marketplace had that frantic air. Thousands of people were milling about near the fountains and shops. The stallowners yelled out their hot bread and freshly caught fish. Her stomach rumbled as they passed a stall with chicken skewers. Her stomach grumbled, the scent of tangy chicken, pickled fish, and honeyed dates invading her nostrils. Across the way, a group of men worked together to hang a string of paper lanterns in a nearby alleyway. A boy knocked into her hip and ran past with purple strips of cloth tied to a long stick. Nia quickly checked to make sure the Peddler’s knife was secure at her side. “Do you suppose there is a festival tonight?” 

Lero shrugged, stopping at a nearby stall to buy some oats for their exhausted horses. They maneuvered back out in the crowd, the heat stifling. The tall towers of the governor’s estate loomed overhead. Nia remembered again that they were about to meet the man who had surrendered the Houses, and all of Ker over to the Conqueror. Wyn-Kai the betrayer. The aker growled and Nia ran her knuckles along her sternum to sooth the beast. 

The shops and apartments gave way for larger, walled off villas. Their doorways proudly display banners of the Ashenian falcon. A legionnaire stood guard as a group of young children played in the street, laughing as they kicked a ball back and forth. Bitterness punched Nia in the gut as she steered clear of the group. In De-Asha no occupied child would willingly go near a purple cape. 

The Kai’s estate was walled off from the surrounding city. The fortress’ towering walls are several stories taller than the nearest roofs. Ashenian flags flown beside the white ibis crest. Legionnaire’s manned the steps leading up to the compound’s gates. 

“Here goes.” Lero said. Nia trailed her brother as he neared the nearest legionnaire. Her brother kissed his knuckles and extended them outward in a quick salute. “Greetings. My sister and I have rode for the past fortnight to seek the Governor. I bear urgent news from my commanding officer, Titus Crassus Clavo. Legate of the ninth legion.” 

The legionnaire waved them through. “The stables will be on your right hand side when you enter the estate. Please seek out a magistrate for rooms and for an audience with the Governor.” 

That was painless enough. Nia thought with surprise. Lero nodded his thanks and they entered the House of the Ibis. After passing their horses off to the stablehand and collecting their bags, Lero and Nia walked through the grounds. The gardens were overflowing with palm, date, and pear trees. Shallow ponds ran alongside the limestone walkways. Directly up ahead was the pristine portico of the Governor’s Hall. To the right of the grounds led to an equally ostentatious building. 

“That’s the Great Library of Ash-Kai.” Lero said, nodding over to where white robed scholars walked up the marble steps. Nia eyed the sculpted columns as they led up to a terra-cotta roof. So that was a library. She had never been in one before; the old building in De-Asha had burnt during the Conquering. It had never been rebuilt. She mused that if it had, she may have spent a foundational amount of her childhood within its walls. That was, if the legate had ever allowed her to learn to read. The kindling need to explore each and every corner of the building for the pathia raged against the fear of getting caught. She pressed her knuckles against her sternum. The aker seemed unusually aggravated today. 

Inside the atrium of the House they found an attendant and were quickly deposited to a guest quarters. After dropping their bags off in their shared rooms, they met back out in the hallway. “Now what?” Nia asked. 

“Now we find Wyn-Kai.” Lero led them back down the hallways the servant had taken them. They were back in the imposing atrium. Lero waved down the nearest white cloaked scholar as they busied past, their arms overlaid with scrolls. “Excuse me. We are here to have an audience with the Governor. It’s urgent.”

“Everything is urgent!” The scribe said irritably. “Can’t you see I have my hands full? Just go wait outside his office and wait your turn like everyone else!”

“And where might his office be?” Nia asked. 

The clerk rolled their eyes. “Down the hallway to the right!” He left in a huff. The siblings followed his instructions and the growing crowd, further into the estate. Nia admired the artwork as they walked. Tapestries and ceramic vases bearing the ibis. It was undeniable that the Kai’s clearly had a refined taste. 

Another magistrate stopped them in their tracks. “If the two of you are looking for the Governor, he is far too busy to meet with you. I am sure the security is more than adequate for tonight.” 

“I-” Lero blanked. He flashed the shrewd woman a hesitant smile. “I apologize, but you are mistaken. I report to Legate Clavo of De-Asha. We’ve just arrived. Please, I need to meet with him, it is a matter of the Empire.” 

The woman eyed them quickly. She sighed. “Now really is not a good time. But if you insist you are more than welcome to sit.” She deposited them around the corner into a small sitting area with perhaps twenty other white robed scholars. Nia slid next to Lero on a narrow bench. She ran her sweaty palms down the length of her riding letters. The whole room’s attention was trained on the double cyprus doors. 

When they finally opened, three overworked magistrates filed out. The sitting room shot to their feet, yelling over each other as the Governor exited. Lero brought his fingers to his mouth and whistled sharply. The room turned towards them. “I bear urgent news from Legate Clavo, Governor Wyn-Kai. Please, I must speak to you.” 

“Name yourself.” The Governor demanded. 

“I am Lero-Uro, son of Baset. With me is my sister, Nia-Uro. I report to Legate Clavo and march under the Ashenian Falcon in the ninth legion.” 

The Governor nodded. “Very well, let them pass.” 

The grumbling magistrates parted to let them through. 

For the man who had sentenced Ker to the Ashenians, the elderly man who eased himself behind the desk was unassuming. He was neither short nor tall; frail nor fat. He was balding, with thick black bushy eyebrows and a large hawk-shaped nose. His scholarly white robes left one shoulder bare, displaying a tattooed ibis carrying a scroll in its beak. They remained standing until the Governor made them sit. 

“Please forgive our lack of hospitality today, Lero-Uro. It is not like our House to be so, well, unwelcoming to another of the ten.” The Governor’s voice was warm, inviting. His tone didn’t meet his flinty gaze. “Tell me the reason for your visit.” 

“I carry word from Legate Clavo.” 

Lero began to pass over the letter and Wyn-Kai waved it off. “No, no. Read it aloud so that we are all on the same page.” 

“Of course.” Lero slit the wax seal with his thumb and cleared his throat. “Governor Wyn-Kai. I write to you with great urgency. It is with great humility that I admit that the city of De-Asha has failed to produce the Conqueror’s tribute for the upcoming triumph. The Conqueror has tasked me with producing the most unusual tribute, I am to recover a star. I firmly believe that the Emperor’s desire is a relic of the Conquering, a weapon of which the Ten kept fiercely hidden inside Anu-Uro-Set during the war. But the excavation of the site has yet to yield the result. The nature of, and power of this star has alluded my men and I.” 

Wyn-Kai laced his fingers together and rested his hand in his palms as Lero continued. “Upon news of the legendary legate’s passing, I grow more frantic in my search. The City of De-Asha requests that all of Legate Xur’s personal accounts of the siege, his journals, and any supplemental documents be sent in our aid. I pray to the Stormlord, merciful is our god, that we may recover the star before the Conqueror’s arrival. I have sent an envoy in my stead. With great humility, Legate Titus Crassus Clavo.” Lero finished. 

“That oaf should have written for aid years ago if this was the Conqueror’s directive.” Wyn-Kai leaned back in his seat. “His procrastination has likely damned himself and your House.” 

Nia gulped, taken aback by the Governor’s candor. Lero leaned forward in his chair. “Please Governor, it is not just my House that I care for. It is my entire city. I can only imagine the carnage the Emperor may inflict if we do indeed fail. I have only just learned of these demands weeks ago, and have no idea what a star is. Much less why the Emperor desires a piece of the heavens.” 

“I see.” Wyn-Kai said slowly. “And the excavation of Anu-Uro-Set?” 

“It’s been extensive but my sister has explored more of the tunnels than I have.” Lero looked over at her expectantly. 

“I’ve seen the site. The tunnels are filled with the dead both recent and ancient.” The Governor’s thick eyebrows pitted together at her barb. “But there have been hundreds of workers. All of the treasure has been plundered or catalogued by the legion.” 

“So you were his digger.” Wyn-Kai concluded. “Am I correct to presume you also were not told what you were seeking?” The Governor flashed up and down her body quickly. “By all the gods of the Skytops, if this star does still exist, it could be a world over by now.” 

“And the journals?” Lero asked urgently. 

Wyn-Kai held up his hand as the door opened. The shrewd-nosed woman from before peaked her head through. “Wyn-Kai, the ships have been spotted. They’ll be in harbor by the hour.” 

“Thank you, Ola.” Wyn-Kai groaned as he stood. “Prepare the palanquins. We shall go to the harbor immediately.” 

Lero rose. “Whose arrived?”

“Ah. You’ve missed much in your journey here. It’s likely your legate has just received word. News of the Legate Xur’s assassination has reached the Conqueror himself.” 

Life drained out of her brother’s face. “The Conqueror is here?” He asked in disbelief. “The triumph isn’t sent to enter Ker for months!” 

“No, no. The Conqueror has continued his original route. It seems he has also sent an envoy in his place.” The Governor’s lips twisted in a thin smile. “Admrilia Hortus Ashiphiex, the crown princess of the Empire, and my granddaughter has been sent to investigate.” The Governor looked at them in turn as they gaped like fish. “Come. You should attend my House to the harbor. You are still members of a Ker House, after all. But we should really hurry, I’ve learned it’s best not to keep an Ashiphiex waiting.” 

Stunned into silence, Nia and Lero followed the Governor back out into the hallway. The House frantically moved towards the gardens, and they were ushered into a horse-drawn carriage. 

As the horses pulled them through the streets, Lero closed the curtain to the screaming crowd and put his head in his hands. “This is bad. This is so very bad.” 

Nia placed a hand on his shoulder. “You need to breathe.”

“Me breath? You should be the one panicking. The princess is here to investigate the legate’s killers!”

“Yes, but you didn’t have anything to do with that.” Nia assured. At her brother’s silence she shook him. “Right? Lero!”

“Of course I had nothing to do with that! I barely get away from Clavo long enough to piss. But Nia we are kerai. Someone always takes the fall. Not to mention this star the Conqueror is after. If the Emperor is after this, this—” He waved his hands together in frustration. “The princess will be as well. Just watch, the betrayer will surely tell her of our mission.”

Nia nodded. She had already arrived at the same conclusions. “We could run. Leave tonight. Grab Baset and Cythe and Titus. Go North.” 

“And go where?” Lero let out a choked laugh. “And don’t say Aker-San. Even if you knew where it was Nia, we would never survive the Dunelands.” Lero ran a hand along his cropped hair. “Besides, we are still the House, despite the legion. If we ran, we would be condemning all of De-Asha to their demise. I cannot have the blood of thousands on my hands. Cowardice is not the answer.” 

Nia flushed with shame. “Then what do you suggest we do?”

“I’m at a loss.” Lero whispered. 

They lulled into silence. Nia only knew one thing for certain. She had to learn if the pathia existed in Ash-Kai, and fast, or they were as good as dead. 

Their horses stopped, and a white robed attendant pulled back the curtains to reveal Ashenian triremes. Nia couldn’t tell if her shaking legs were due to the bumpy ride or her nerves. The crowds behind them screamed, waving purple cloth. Nia overheard as a young mother hiked her daughter up on her hip. “I want to see the princess mommy. Do you think she’s beautiful?” 

“I’m sure Princess Admrilia is just as beautiful as you, my sweet girl.” 

The conversation faded as Nia followed the procession down the rocky hill to the docks. She found her place at Lero’s side as the Kai’s arranged themselves. 

Who she could only assume was Princess Admrilia took a militaristic step off the ship, flanked by two guards. The princess was tall, every muscle in her broad frame chiseled by a Skytops’ blessed sculptor. Nia had never seen a woman so strong, so threatening. Her skin was a couple shades lighter than Nia’s own and her long hair had been braided meticulously down her back with golden beads. She wore Ashwnian armor, her purple helm held at her side as she approached Wyn-Kai. Nia noticed that her irises were obsidian black. Nearly purple. The woman in the crowd had been correct. Admrilia Hortus Ashiphiex was beautiful; in all the ways she was utterly terrifying. 

[wyrdstonethenovel]

CH 23: The Ironoak

AN: Wyrdstone is a serial fantasy novel updating every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday here on Tumblr. Wyrdstone is a good ol' fashioned rivals fighting for the throne TM. With magic. And gods. And world building. And the gayz. Did I mention the gayz? Enjoy:

XXIII. THE IRONOAK 

Asho tightened his grip on Hellion’s reins as the massive warhorse came dangerously close to decapitating a few heads. Iornore’s narrow streets that switchbacked through the city had not been built to contain the sheer amount of people. The city had swelled with the population who had amassed for the triumph’s arrival from the surrounding villages. Men bowed their heads and pressed up against the legionnaires’ shields as they maneuvered past the wooden cabins. The wooden walkways that connected the cabins above the streets were bustling with children dangling their legs over the planks. They waved purple strips of cloth. Asho smiled up at them. He had always felt welcomed in Apki’s mountains and among his people. This had been his home for three summers, and he basked in his arrival after the long journey. 

I’m finally home. He thought. He cherished the crisp, cool mountain air as Hellion’s hoove dug into the next switchback. The crowd roared upon spotting them. After another tedious hour of winding through the dense cabins, the Triumph crested the ridge. The air grew cooler still, more ancient, more potent, as they left the screaming crowds behind them. The prince coaxed Hellion forward as the Ironwood trees on either side of the road swelled in size. We’ve entered the land of the gods now. Asho thought as they came upon the legendary Ironoak. 

The prince’s mind could never conceive where the Ironoak truly began, and where it ended. It simply was. Roots shot through the clumpy red soil as thick as horses, digging and rising through the earth. Asho ran his hand along a root as Hellion ducked to pass underneath the overhang. The rust brown tree’s bark was as hard as metal. His ocean eyes craned upward. The legendary tree’s branches reached far out over the forest like a dancer’s limbs. With it being midsummer, the Ironoaks forest green leaves shaded the entire clearing. The base of the mighty Ironoak was preposterously colossal; the perimeter easily the length of two triremes. It rumbled with the same ancient, undeniable power as Thrysne Island. 

The Governor’s great hall had been constructed on the forest floor and extended up the Ironoak with a series of platformed structures. The following rungs were connected by a series of ladders, bridges, and stairwells. The platforms roofs were slanted, built with the strong ironwood to fuse with the organic structure. The prince had always considered the Ironside’s home to look like a pinecone, with the middle rungs bulging out before narrowing at the ninth rung. 

The prince shifted on Hellion with anticipation as the triumph fanned out. The Governor’s party was already waiting for them. Governor Ream Ironside was a stout, burly man, with a rust red beard that had begun to fade grey in the two years since Asho had last seen him. The Governor approached the Conqueror’s horse and kissed his knuckles. He was followed by his wife, the Lady Maple, and his children. Kohl gave Asho a lopsided smile as he met his eye. Even from atop Hellion Asho could tell that his friend had grown considerably taller. His hazel wood eyes almost hidden by his overgrown rust red hair and beard. 

A candle lit within him at the sight of his younger sister. The prince hungrily drank in Morgane’s juniper green dress as it hugged her curves. A bronze hair clip pushed her fire red curls behind her ears and exposed her freckles and mossy green eyes. She had filled out in their years apart, her face losing the roundness of adolescence. 

Asho ran a thumb against his chin and the beard growing there. He flexed his arms when he caught her looking. The prince smirked as her face turned beet red. Morgaine never could hide her blush. 

The next three days were blissfully quiet. After months marching northwest, Asho relished the opportunity to relax and reconnect with the Ironsides. His meals were spent at the Governor’s table. Ream Ironside loathed court life, and his preference to dine privately with his family was well known. Without a hall of eager retainers, it was effortless to melt into easy conversation. Governor Ironside filled the table with his carefree banter, often getting so drawn into a story that his wife would have to throw him a rope to pull himself out. Even the Conqueror, for all of his stiltedness, would grunt in amusement on occasion. After a couple of drinks, Ream’s hearty laugh rumbled throughout the wooden walls of his fortress. 

After dinner one evening, Asho followed Kohl up onto the ninth ring of the Ironoak. High above the forest floor, as the wind whipped his hair, Asho felt  more at peace than he had for a long time. 

“Here, brother.” Kohl said, passing over a skin. 

Asho accepted the mead and took a long sip. He leaned over the platform’s railing, starting out into the dark clearing below. Up above, the stag was so close that the prince could trace the stars with his fingers. He passed the skin back to his friend. “How is the legionnaire life serving you?” 

“The coast is bare and desolate. The nearby villages have reported that no one has attempted to cross since, well.” Kohl shrugged. “But enough about my boring station. How goes your travels?” 

Asho thought of the bootlicking Ditas and the other magistrates who vied for his attention. “They are a poor substitute for your company.” He said shortly. “The march here was long, eight, twelve hours a day of heavy riding. We only stopped to sleep when we ran out of daylight.” 

“Surely you prefer it over Aegtrys. In your letters you said you loathed it.” 

“It was the two most boring years of my life, truly. Sea life is not for me.” Asho sighed, thinking back of the two years spent patrolling Aegtrys’ coast and the parties he had held to starve off the loneliness he felt. He didn’t want to mention his pursuits in front of Morgaine’s brother. 

Kohl took a long swig of the mead. “Well. I’m glad to see you now. Even though the Governorship is dreadfully dull. All my father does is attend meetings and listen to the people complain about their taxes. But I will do it, on your behalf—” Kohl paused dramatically. “While you marry my sister and make disgusting little babies.” 

Asho’s ears grew hot. Marry Morgaine? As if! Morgaine, who had gone from Kohl’s sister into a beautiful spitfire of a woman. Who made Asho’s insides burn red hot every time her moss green eyes landed on him. He let out a choked laugh. “The Conqueror has promised me to some Pi-Yenjan princess by the end of the year.” 

Kohl cleared his throat. “You could marry the princess off to your cousin.” 

“Admrilia?” Asho snorted. “I doubt the priestesses would take kindly to that.” 

“What? She acts like a man anyways!” Kohl snorted. “If she was here now she would be ordering us around in our own home. Remember that one time when she flung you into the harbor.” 

“Yes, Kohl.” 

“And when you finally surfaced you had kelp on your head.” 

“Yes, I was there. And that was years ago.” Asho said exasperated. 

Kohl smiled and settled against the wall. “Those were the days.” 

Asho took another swig and stumbled as he stood. “Asho—” He snapped, raising his voice to match Admrilia’s unchanging pitch. “You must respect your position and act like a true heir to the empire. Why I single-handedly sent three hundred poor pirates to the bottom of the Semperimar today.” He flicked his imaginary hair back. “The Conqueror will be so pleased. Cousin, I made water flow uphill today, what have you done? Nothing.” 

“Wait!” Kohl shook his hand through a fit of laughter. “Asho, what was that last part?” 

Asho sat back down, growing serious. “The Conqueror has made Admrilia and I swear an oath to the Stormlord.” He whispered, sentencing his friend to know his damning secret. “He will only select one of us as heir if we are able to tap into the wyrd. The magic that has killed the rest of our line. I’m scared, Kohl. Admrilia has already begun to figure it out. Because of course she has. She’s perfect at everything while I’m a dynastic disappointment.” 

“You are not a dynastic disappointment, Asho.” 

“I’ve spent the past two years hosting parties on a senator's barge and turning every noblewoman in Aegtrys against me.” Asho said. Kohl raised a knowing eyebrow as Asho continued. “And I’ve sworn this oath to my bloodline. And my god. And I think, I think I will not fulfill it. The Conqueror doesn’t favor me. He will choose Admrilia. And I will rot away in some Pi-Yenjan court if Admrilia doesn’t get to me first. I will fade into nothingness!”

“Asho, you need to stop.” Kohl ordered, any earlier mirth replaced by steel. “You are catastrophizing. You will become Emperor, and if it truly comes between you and your cousin, my family will stand beside you.” 

“It already has.” Asho stared up at the stag as it ran from the hunter. “I declared her my rival in Sugia.” 

Kohl whistled. “I’m sure she took that swimmingly.” 

Asho hiccuped. 

“Asho, your grandfather is a wyrdling. You are a literal descendant of the gods. Your lifeblood is tied to the very Skytops! But you are also human.” Kohl offered him his trademark smile. “And to be human is to challenge the gods. You will be alright. I swear it. And think, you are in the Horned Gods land. In his very seat of power. The wyrd flows through this tree. Where else would you get a better opportunity to practice?” 

“Thank you brother.” Asho said. He exhaled, composing himself. Steeling himself. Eyes hard. Like the Conqueror’s; Like the Stormlord’s. “Now tell me what I have missed since I have been gone.” 

[wyrdstonethenovel]

CH 22: At Sea

AN: Wyrdstone is a serial fantasy novel updating every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday here on Tumblr. Wyrdstone is a good ol' fashioned rivals fighting for the throne TM. With magic. And gods. And world building. And the gayz. Did I mention the gayz? Enjoy:

XXII. AT SEA 

The Semperimar was calm as the first neptor made their stops along the continent’s coastline. Admrilia’s days fell into a busy routine spent keeping careful stock of the tributes and dispatching ships back to Aegtrys. The grain from Kinos was already well on its way to being distributed among the small towns and villages that lined Aegtrys Territory’s coast for the upcoming winter. 

Inside the Conqueror’s large tent, Admrilia ran a hand along the Conqueror’s map of the empire, her thoughts drifting to what Asho would be doing in that very moment. She was certain that Asho would drink and whore his way through Iornore. So what if he received training in the wyrd at the Conqueror’s side? The Conqueror could hardly stand Asho— 

Besides, her cousin had always had grandiose notions of himself. Surely his hubris would be his downfall. And, the Conqueror had trusted her, not him, to root out a rebellion. Admrilia’s hand found the letter that had been delivered to the Conqueror back in Kinos. She had reread the missive so many times she knew it by heart. 

Atesh the Conqueror: Divine Emperor, Stormlord Chosen, First Citizen of the Ashenian People, and he who is most merciful, it is I, Wyn-Kai, Governor of Ker, writing with the most grave suspicions concerning your personal safety as you embark on your most honored Triumph. 

There are whispers of a rebellion brewing throughout Ker Territory. The kerai in the remaining Houses may be planning to overthrow your legions. I have recently received the most horrible news that the honorable Legate Xur has been assassinated. The House of Sky is in chaos. More of your Houses may be on the brink of uprising. 

Please be cautious in your travels. 

Your humble servant, 

— Wyn-Kai 

Governor of Ker Territory 

This was her mission. To be sent to the capital of Ker Territory, to root out a rebellion and crush it beneath her fist. She had done it before, she was the Argenti. Admrilia pressed the papyrus back down on the desk. And it will not be like last time. Her scowl deepened as Advisors Khispen and Clavo dipped their permanently balding heads into the tent. Of course the Conqueror would not have left her completely unsupervised… 

“What news.”

Khispen looked down his shrewd nose as he kissed her knuckles. “Yes, Argenti. The ships have been making steady progress as anticipated.” 

Admrilia nodded. “And of Ker?”

“I have written to my contacts, Argenti.” The senior Clavo’s voice was calm. “My son has yet to respond.” 

“I trust you have informed all of the legates of Triumph's changes.” 

“I have, and I will inform you at once when I receive a response.” 

“And from the Emperor?”

“No news.” 

Admrilia bit the inside of her lip to hide her disappointment. “Very well.Thank you both?” Advisor Clavo bowed stiffly and took his leave. Khispen stood halfway between the desk and the tent flaps. “Is there anything else?”

“In fact, there is. News from Aegtrys.” Khispen pulled the missive from the folds of his never ending robes. Khispen’s arthritic hand held the letter aloft for a honeyed moment before passing it off.

Admrilia eyed the seal. “If you’d excuse me.” 

The letter smelled of her mother’s cyprus as she opened it. The letter was written in kiyr cypher, and Admrilia cracked a smile. She spent the next hour deciphering her mother’s letter. 

Daughter, 

I trust that you are well. Your father has received news that the Conqueror has continued to Iornore while you sail for Ash-Kai. The Conqueror is wise in his council. 

It hits me that we have never discussed much of my homeland. This is entirely my fault. You were sired and raised for your role to the Ashenian Empire. I see now the potential error of this. Forgive me if I am belaboring your beloved tutors. 

The Kingdom of Ker was once a collection of ten noble Houses. The Houses were run by their ruling families, and coexisted in their separate territories. Fifty years ago, when the Emperor had his conquest he eradicated the House of the River, the House of the Valley, the House of the Ram, and the House of the Embalmers. The remaining Houses joined forces and fled into the Dunelands, seeking aid from the First House. 

The Conqueror’s legion followed and laid siege. The carnage was terrible as the survivors were trapped with no food or water. My father, the wise Wyn-Kai, negotiated a surrender. Some in Ker call my father ‘The Great Betrayer’ but make no mistake, my father saved Ker. For the Conqueror can— 

Admrilia groaned in frustration. Her mother had scratched out several lines of blocky text, clearly changing her train of thought. Adrmilia scanned to where the letter picked back up. 

While I pray that a brewing insurrection is nothing but a fantastical plot, I fear the worst. I would turn to the remaining Houses with surviving members of the old ruling class. They have lost everything to the Conquering. My father, as a loyalist to the Empire, has no shortage of enemies. 

Attached to this letter is another for my parents. Please present it to them and enjoy their company as much as possible in my absence. I hope you gain an appreciation, if nothing else, for my homeland. 

Duty Above All, 

— Raja-Kai 

Admrilia took the enclosed parchment and stashed it away. She  brought the letter to her nostrils, inhaling its scent of cyprus and salt. She watched as the candle flames ate the words. When she left the Conqueror’s tent hours later the clouds had swelled and burst with warm rain. The droplets hit her tongue as she went below decks to retire. 

Her dreams were occupied with honeyed memories of the tidepool’s water trailing up her calf. Then the water rose further up her thigh, sliding around her torso and along her back. She effortlessly coaxed the Semperimar to the edges of her fingertips. And then, a watery hand seized her throat, dragging her down to an abyss darker than the Conqueror’s eyes. 

[wyrdstonethenovel]

CH 21: Within the Whispering Trees

AN: Wyrdstone is a serial fantasy novel updating every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday here on Tumblr. Wyrdstone is a good ol' fashioned rivals fighting for the throne TM. With magic. And gods. And world building. And the gayz. Did I mention the gayz? Enjoy:

XXI. WITHIN THE WHISPERING TREES 

The Triumph left the first neptor at Kinos and marched their large party into the countryside. The prince’s skin reddened and blistered, and then tanned. At dawn, he rose and quickly secured his bedroll to Hellion’s flank. Then he rode for several hours past abundant fields of wheat and barley. At dusk, he trained alongside the legionnaires with the gladius. As he maneuvered around olive groves through the forms of blocking, thrusting, and parrying, the Conqueror watched on with sealed lips. 

Days later, the Conqueror whispered to him the names of the legion’s formation as they sat on the crest of a grassy hill. Turtle: the legionnaires lined up in a defensive shield around the valuable assets. Snake: the men marched four abreast at a fast pace across hard terrain. Shark: the legionnaires marched forward with their swords. Falcon: The army swiftly rained down arrows upon the enemy before advancing. And finally— the maw— where the opposing army was lured forward and then swallowed. 

As they progressed further inland his time with the Conqueror shortened. The emperor left him in charge of his council to attend to matters of the empire. The Conqueror isolated himself in his large tent as the days blended together; scrolls streaming in and out in a steady pulse of purple scrolls. 

The prince shoved his focus into the legions drills. He preferred the burning sensation of his muscles to the sting of the Conqueror’s disappointment. Asho took lessons in history, geography, and politics with the council on their long afternoon rides. 

As the warm summer nights grew weaker, Asho rolled his bedroll out in the grass. He gazed into the milky abyss of the heavens and fell asleep to the warm comfort of the universe. In his dreams the stars whispered to him, wyrdling, wyrdling. The prince responded that he was coming, but he did not know where. 

The weeks passed into early autumn. The prince waned from their travels. They visited with magistrates and Sugian nobles. He danced late into the night with their sons. He was showered in gold; in silver; in spices. Some threw women or men eager to hunt his way. The prince waved off the cups and companions. 

In Kopperstone, the prince listened to war stories of the lost legion. Everyone had a story of his father, but the prince could never contribute to when he was expected to speak. He had forgotten the sound of Ashen Ayuan Ashiphiex’s voice. 

The prince allowed his beard to grow. He stood up straighter, washed more frequently, and imitated his cousin’s sureness when he spoke. His hands grew steadfast on the spear and gladius. And while he could not cast the line and hook the wyrd, Asho reckoned that it beaconed to him when he rolled out his bedroll and gazed upon the stars. 

The Triumph passed the olive and apple groves into the dark foothills of Iornore Territory. The Conqueror’s mood darkened. They were far removed from the protection of the Stormlord this far north. The forests whispered. Even the hardened centori held their spears close as if expecting a cruel prank from the horned god. The prince gazed out into the rich ironwood trees, fighting the urge to get lost in them. The trees parted to reveal clusters of circular villages with unpaved and erratic streets. Asho dug his gaze into the peasants and cast the line — searching for their fears, but was only ever met with embarrassment and failure. 

[wyrdstonethenovel]

Conqueror Entry # 3

AN: Wyrdstone is a fantasy web series updating every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday here on Tumblr. This entry occurs between CH 20 and CH 21. Enjoy:

Wed your allies

shower them in gilded promises.

Bed you enemies

the blade stills closeby and secrets make

for the most companionable of bedfellows. 

— An excerpt from a letter from Empress Ayuan Akota Ashiphiex

To Prince Atesh Ayuan Ashiphiex. 

Year 3 of the Conquering

[wyrdstonethenovel]

20: Sky and Sea

AN: Wyrdstone is a fantasy web series updated every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday here on Tumblr. Wyrdstone is a good ol' fashioned rivals fighting for the throne TM. With magic. And gods. And oaths. And mounting rebellions. And shitsss about to go down. Enjoy:

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XX. SKY AND SEA 

Asho staggered back towards the dias and flopped onto the indigo cushion next to his cousin. “You look grumpy.” 

Admrilia side eyed him. The Governor set his glass down and turned cautiously towards the Conqueror. He appeared nervous. “Tell me, how is General Hortus faring in Aegtrys?” 

“I’ve been pleased.” At the expectant look from the dias he continued. “The general writes that the Senate is contained and the people are content. It has allowed me to mentally focus on the training of my heirs. Argenti shows great promise.” His lips twisted into an expression Asho faintly recognized as praise. “You surely heard of her victory over the silver islands this summer.” 

Mynos stroked a hand through his beard. “Quite the accomplishment.” 

Admrilia offered the Governor a shark-toothed smile. Asho felt his ears grow hot as the Conqueror gave an agreeable grunt. “Yes. Her efforts will allow us to move into the region and get rid of the infestation once and for all. The silver alone…” The Conqueror trailed off. “And she has shown comprehension of the wyrd.”

“Incredible.” Ditas said expressionless. He turned to Asho as he was attempting to eat his envy. “And you prince, how is your wyrd training progressing?”

The olives turned to oil down his throat. The Conqueror’s mouth sealed. This was an expression was very, very, familiar with: disdain. “It’s going.” 

When Asho did not elaborate, the governor beckoned a kerai servant over to refill the glasses. He waved away the attendant. “I’m sure you will be a prodigy prince, just like your father. Skytops he saved the empire at the Battle of the Pines.” The Governor raised his glass to the table. “To Ashen! A great man!”

“I never knew him.” The admission was out before he could chase it back. Asho quickly popped another handful of olives in his mouth to silence himself. 

“The loss of a son is a small price to pay for the security of the empire.” The Conqueror brooded. 

The symposia ground to a halt. Asho’s chewing suddenly too loud. His ears burned. Mynos’ ancient eyes carried profound sadness. “Skytops, you know that better than anyone, old friend. The sacrifices you have made.” The governor turned back to Asho. “Well, I can see the resemblance. You have his eyes.”

“Thank you.” Asho whispered. Only his mother ever said that. 

“The eyes are windows to one’s wyrd. And to gaze upon ocean eyes such as yours, well, how could the Stormlord not destined you for greatness?”

Warmth washed over him. Asho leaned back on the couch, snacking on cheese and olives as the symposia grew tired. Asho lazily fed the hounds scraps under the table while he watched the dancers. A centori approached the dias nervously, and Asho was immediately on edge. The guard whispered in the Conqueror’s ear, handing him a missive. The Conqueror unfurled the papyrus and read quickly, the frown lines around his mouth deepening. The Conqueror turned to Mynos. “End this.” 

Mynos stood. He raised his hands in the air and waited for the court to hush down. “Friends!” He boomed. “Our illustrious Conqueror thanks you for dining with him this evening. The time has come that his majesty wishes to retire. Please leave at once.” The room mingled for a moment more before sensing that there was no way for them to remain. The court filed out of the great hall. The Conqueror’s council waited patiently on their couch, seemingly conditioned for the Conqueror’s long contemplation. When they were at last alone, the Conqueror placed the golden letter slowly next to his untouched plate of food. 

“I am drawn in two different directions.” The Conqueror said slowly. “I have matters to attend to in the north, and a grave urgency in the west.” Those gathered dared not to interrupt. The Conqueror had once had a senator’s tongue ripped out for cutting him off. “We have just received a grave warning from the Governor of Ker regarding suspicions of an uprising in the region.” 

“An uprising? We must root out such a rebellion and extinguish it at once.” Advisor Clavo leaned forward. 

“Agreed advisor, but there is more. Legate Xur has been assassinated. His warnings must be heeded.” The Conqueror’s abyss-like eyes dug into his heirs. “Yet I must continue to Iornore.” He frowned, displeased as he contemplated his decision. “Very well. We shall split our forces. The prince shall attend me to the Iornoak and the Argenti shall take command of the first neptor. She shall sail to Ash-Kai and represent the crown’s interests in my absence.” The Conqueror pointed at Admrilia. “You shall find this rebellion and destroy it. We shall converge later and continue the Triumph.” 

Asho sat in a mystified stupor as the council discussed the logistical matter of splitting their forces. Advisors Khispen and Clavo where to travel with Admrilia, along with some of the Conqueror’s centori. Asho sat as they talked over him, well aware his input was not wanted. The fading brazzers hiding his burning cheeks. 

The great droplets were a welcome distraction as Asho ran down the rain slicked steps of the hill to the beach. He collapsed onto the soaked boards of the dock, staring up at the cloudy sky for the stars. His mind simmered with self-resentment. He had been carted around Kinos and treated as a guest needing watching at all times. He was nothing but a second rate legionnaire next to his cousin’s tactical brilliance. He was so untrustworthy that he was being kept under the watchful eye of the Conqueror instead of being entrusted with the empire's interests. 

And worse, the Conqueror had made the correct call. He was immature and childish and too interested in the finer pleasures of life to be considered worthy for the task. And yet—

How could you not be destined for greatness? 

Asho rolled over and covered his face in frustration. THe rain continued to pelt at the back of his skull. Footsteps approached and then paused as they noticed him. “We have got to stop meeting like this.” Asho said, propping himself up on his elbows. 

Silence greeted him. So they had been drawn to the same spot. Fitting. Of course they wanted the same view to contemplate the destiny that only one of them could hold. 

“Is that why you ran out here?” Admrilia’s voice was tauntingly low. “Are you jealous?” 

“Jealous? Of what? That stick up your ass?” He hiccuped and rolled onto his haunches. Of course he was jealous of his cousin. Admrilia had everything he never did. She had two parents who loved her, siblings who adored her, a crew who respected her. Asho had nothing but a dead father and a mother drowning in too much grief and wine to be present in his life. The thought filled him with envy. Asho frowned as he stood. He gazed up into the rainclouds. “I will be the next emperor.” The words tumbled out quickly then. “I will rule this empire, and I will not let anyone get in my way.” 

Shadows obscured his cousin’s face, but he knew Admrilia caught his words’ bite. The ugly resentment, the growing hatred. Asho tightened his fist as he admitted the truth to himself. He wasn’t just jealous of Admrilia. He hated her. 

“If you are so tied up in destiny Asho.” Admrilia’s voice was colder than the air of the shoreline. “Then look up at your precious constellations and tell me if we are to be rivals.” 

His stars were obscured by the torrential downpour. “Only one of us can be his heir.” He intoned. “That, by its virtue, has made us rivals since birth.” 

Admrilia took a step forward and Asho finally saw her thunderous face. “Do you know why Pi-Yenja is in such chaos? Their nation is constantly broken into a thousand shards because of their traditions. Do you really want to be reduced to an ascension?”

An ascension was a Pi-Yenjan tradition where all of the Emperor’s sons fought to the death for control of their country. The disputes could last for decades. 

“And what would you rather me do?” Asho snapped back. “Let you become a general so you could throw a coup? I know you Admrilia and you are power hungry.” 

“You act as if you would ever be Emperor.” Admrilia scoffed with disbelief. 

“I will be.” Asho said fiercely. He stepped forward until he was a step away from Admrilia. “I am the son of the hero who saved the Empire. You are nothing but the half-blooded daughter of a coward!” Admrilia’s stony mask slid as Asho pushed onward. His words as sharp as any sword. “It is a good thing we are splitting up. The Conqueror may trust you to represent him in Ker. But I know you will betray him. It’s in your treacherous blood.” 

“You’re delusional.” She whispered. 

“No. I am destined.” 

“Destined to drink yourself blind in Iornore.” admrilia crossed her arms. “Is this it then? You are declaring me dead to you?” 

“Yes, cousin.” Asho straightened his shoulders. He hardened his gaze: like the Conquerors; like the Stormlords. Asho lowered his voice to just above an icy whisper. “It’s over. I disown you Admrilia. When I see you again, make no mistake, you will be my rival.” 

[wyrdstonethenovel]

19. The Symposia

AN: Wyrdstone is a fantasy novel updating every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday here on Tumblr. Wyrdstone is a good ol' fashioned rivals fighting for the throne TM. With magic. And oaths. And gods. And rebellions? Whaaaa? Oh, and the gays, as always. Enjoy:

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XIX. THE SYMPOSIA 

On their final night in Kinos, the symposia was in full swing. Admrilia’s eyes ate the room. For a philosophical gathering, there was not a lot of deep thought occurring. A dias had been constructed in the middle of the low couches where barely clad women danced on a raised platform. Admrilia watched their hips sway for a moment bristling as the room shifted its attention at her arrival. She was dressed for the evening in a rich indigo stolla. Her handmaidens had applied thick kohl around the rims of her obsidian eyes. The bronzer on her cheeks made them look rich and harsh at the same time. 

Admrilia waited a breath in the hallway, as if it had been her intention all along to allow the brazers to cast vengeful shadows over her face. With militaristic steps she moved cut through the couches and to the back of the banquet hall. Three couches were rotated to face a short u-shaped table overlaid with pork, chicken, and fruit. The Conqueror lounced on the central couch, looking at ease. His eyes locked on her momentarily as she kissed his knuckles. 

She settled on a couch to his right, across from the council members. A ker servant quickly poured her a glass and was quickly forgotten. Governor Mynos raised his hand in greeting. “How do you like our symposia, Princess Admrilia?” 

“I heard a symposium was for men to discuss matters of philosophy and politics.” Admrilia gestured her glass over to the dias. “I see this is the philosophy in question?”

Ditas Agricola let out a hearty laugh. “The deep discussions happen after more wine.” He smiled good naturedly as he moved his hand under the table to pet the Conqueror’s ancient hunting hounds. Admrilia disliked his smile immediately. It was too cocky, like Asho’s when he was about to talk himself out of punishment. “Drink to your first symposia princess!” 

“Indeed.” Admrilia’s lips narrowed. “I thank you for including me.”

“You are an heir to the empire.” Governor Mynos begrudged. The old man waved a hand towards the dancers. “You are not like, well.” He shrugged to himself. 

Admrilia leaned forward. “Like what exactly, Governor?”

“A common woman.” The Governor said slowly. 

Admrilia drove her dark eyes into his. “I assure you I am anything but common.” She felt a familiar flash of indignation. 

Mynos nodded his head. “Very well. Now say the Conqueror chooses you as his heir and you are to become Empress—”

“When, when he chooses me as heir.” 

Mynos’ slips slid. “As Empress, will you live as a vira?”

Vira. A woman who lives as a man. It was an old, archaic tradition, and Admrilia had never heard the word thrown like a slur before. Her jaw tightened. “Now what would make you ask me that?”

Mynos set down his wine glass and held up a fist. “Mother Skytops bore creation in her image. A woman’s place is to nurture. Father Wyrd—” He placed his palm over the curled fist. “Protect the mother. Thus, it is a man’s role to protect and lead the household. Or in this case, a nation.” 

Admrilia opened her mouth to respond but a low, methodical voice cut her off. “Old friend, surely you do not believe this.” The Conqueror’s pitless eyes slid to the governor. 

“I am just departing from the benefits of a rigid society with your heir. Your esteemed excellency has pushed such a philosophy where everybody has their place. Is that not why we have kerai servants feeding us every meal in these halls and quarrying our rock and toiling our fields? Not all Ashenians believe a woman’s place is to lead a great nation such as ours.”

“May I remind you that my own mother was a great empress who never married?” The Conqueror said. 

Mynos, to Admrilia’s horror, met his dark gaze. “And your mother faced much hardship in her reign. Many doubted the legitimacy of her rule.” And you, hung in the air between them. “After all, is this not why we pushed into Ker when famine and mismanagement plagued the empire?”

“From Sugia’s greedy noblemen hoarding for themselves. Empress Ayuan took care of the matters of the empire. Make no mistake, I went to Ker for my own glory.” 

“That may be so.” Governor Mynos conceded. “But you must attest that Empress Ayuan faced much opposition on account of her being a woman. And your heir?” Mynos looked Admrilia up and down. “She is only half Ashenian. Her existence was a condition to the surrender of Ker. Her loyalties will come into question and  I foresee her facing such hardships in the future.”

“You diminish me.” Admrilia said cooly. “As if I were a small girl and not the future of our nation. To answer your concerns, governor, I am well aware that I have been born into a unique role with tremendous responsibility. Of course I anticipate opposition and hardship. It would be foolish not to. But my duty, above all else, is to the empire’s people. The Ashenian people” 

Mynos' old lips twisted into a wide smile, and Admrilia realized that perhaps, the old man was not nearly as invested in the argument as Admrilia was. Over the next two hours, Admrilia sampled candied dates, pickled olives, and thick slices of braised pork dripping in fat. The music grew fast paced and flighty as young noblemen began dancing near the raised dias. She watched with distant amusement as a brawl was separated by legionnaires. 

It did not miss her attention that Ditas Agricola was constantly looking at her. Gods below, why wouldn’t someone sink this level of attention into Asho? 

He was lucky to be promised off. 

She painted her face with a placid smirk as the current of emotions threatened to overtake her. Admrilia had not seen Asho’s betrothed since they were all eighteen. The thoughts of Iriku’s midnight black hair, smooth as silk beneath her hands, jasmine scent, and thoughtful brown eyes took her back to the Serpent. To what Admrilia had done. 

She watched as Asho drank with a group of nobles. A bitter knife twisted into her ribs. She would swallow her shame and regret when they arrived at Pi-Yenja at the end of the year. She would stand straight backed and emotionless as the princess was married off to her ungrateful, hedonistic cousin. Her hands clamped down sharply at the thought it was her instead. 

No. That was impossible, immoral, illegal. Why was she allowing herself to have these thoughts again? 

Admrilia sipped her wine, letting the mulberry taste cloud the memory of Iriku’s soft skin collapsing against hers. 

[wyrdstonethenovel]

Towards East

AN: Wyrdstone is a serial fantasy novel updating every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday right here on Tumblr. Wyrdstone is a classic rival's fighting for the throne TM. With magic. And oaths. And gods. And tomb raiding. And of course, they gayz. The stakes are about to be raised. Enjoy:

XVIII. TOWARDS EAST 

Clavo overlooked the workmen’s crates, his dirty fingers running along the seams of his eyepatch. Nia took another small pace back; when Clavo was in a mood this dark it normally preceded violence. Foreman Vir watched nervously as the legate paced around the crates. He held up a golden bangle, delicate and masterfully crafted with fine gems, and hurled it against the far wall. Vir flinched. Clavo grabbed the crate off the table and threw it to the ground. “It’s all useless! Get it out of here.”

The foreman whistled and two legionnaires carried out the crates. Clavo wiped the sweat off of his scalp. “And there isn’t any other tunnel we can shove her into?”

Nia frowned. Vir looked down at his boots. “We’ve already searched everywhere.”

“Well it has to be here.” 

Vir fidgeted with his cap. “We get the orders where to dig from the legion. Our sources have run dry. We have dug everywhere you have ordered us to.” 

“I’m well aware, thank you.” 

“My men tell me that the legendary general is deceased. Stormlord bless him.” Vir continued. Clavo’s jaw tightened. “Sir. He was our last tie to—”

“Don’t you think I know that? I’ve already written to my father.” Clavo snapped. 

Lero crossed his arms. “Legate, are we in danger?” 

Clavo glowered at him. “This conversation does not concern you.”

“I think it does. Is my sister, your wife, your son in danger?” Lero pushed. “Legate,  what is the Conqueror making us look for?” 

Clavo straightened his spine and faced them and for the first time Nia could see near panic in his eye. “A star.” He said shortly. “The Conqueror has ordered me to procure him a star.” 

“A star?” Lero couldn’t contain his surprise. “The Emperor’s having you dig up the desert for a star? Like one in the sky?” He pointed to the ceiling of the burial chamber. “What does that even mean?” 

Vir held his hands up defeated. “Only his esteemed imminence knows.”

“Foreman.” Clavo growled. 

“Well, do you know what this mythical weapon looks like? For all we know you just shattered it into a million pieces!” Vir pointed to the broken bangle. 

“That girlish bracelet is not what the Conqueror covers.” Clavo scoffed. 

“How do you know?” Vir’s voice squeaked. 

“I’m supposed to know when I see it!”  

“That’s not enough to go off of!” Vir said. “We’ve been at this for years.”

“No.” Clavo admitted. “I suppose not.” 

“Did Legate Xur not keep careful accounts of the siege of Anu-Uro-Set?” Vir asked. 

“Of course he did.” 

“And do you not have these records?”

“No. I?” Clavo began to pace. His hands ran along his bald scalp. Nia and Lero exchanged nervous looks. “The legate was the last one alive to see the star. His records are kept with the other histories in the great libraries. We could ask him ourselves had he not just died.” Clavo grit his teeth. “If we could get our hands on the journals then it could lead us where we need to look. The journals are property of the scholars.” 

“I have men to spare.” Vir offered. “To grab them.”

“I cannot send some legionnaire with a matter this important.” The Legate quickly dismissed. “And I can hardly go myself. There is so much that needs to be done here. I’d need to send a representative from the house directly, to show the Governor the severity of the situation.” Clavo’s pale eye landed on Nia and Lero. 

“Me?” Nia squeaked. 

“Yes. You’ve already been instrumental in the search, whether or not you realized it. You’ll both go. I’ll write you a letter to deliver to the Governor personally. You will go to Ash-Kai and request copies of Legate Xur’s siege of Anu-Uro-Set. With luck it will give us enough time to locate the Conqueror’s tribute by the time he arrives.” 

He wanted to send her to Ash-Kai. Nia swallowed her objections. She was bound by her mercy to Clavo. If she did not go, her family would be punished. If she failed to succeed her family would be punished. If Clavo did not find the star, whatever that was, then her family would be punished by the Conqueror. The ugly severity of the situation weighed down on her shoulders. She looked at the panic in Clavo’s pale eye. Maybe they were in even worse danger than she had realized. The thought of it slid chills down her spine. 

By the time they left the necropolis it was already late afternoon. Lero said nothing as he saddled his horse, his anger mirroring her own. At the top of the crater Nia cleared her throat. “I’m going to ride for a while, clearing my head.” 

Lero turned his head sharply. “You pick now to run?” He whispered furiously. 

Nia schooled her chin. “I’m not running.” But the aker wants to murder Clavo, and I need to go before I let her. 

“Let her go Lero. It is by my mercy you breathe. She knows the stakes.” Clavo nodded, as if it was his will being carried out. 

Nia hated him. The aker’s rage was so sharp, so close to the surface that she kicked into Ajaxi’s sides. She had to get away from the man who had cost her everything. 

As she rode she allowed her fury to fester. She could not believe that Clavo would send her to the Kai’s. Nia held no love for the House. They had surrendered to the Conqueror during the war. It was their fault that she had no control over her life. That Cythe was a wife and her brother a soldier and her a thief. 

It was nearly an hour later when Nia spotted the vertical structure. She spurred Ajaxi forward. The two story guard tower sunk into the earth at an uneven angle. Its spire, which one would have born a flag and firepit, laid further off in the dunes. Nia dismounted at her respite. The watchtower had been one of the first structures she had added to her maps when she had first started searching for a way through the Dunelands. It was far enough into the dunes that Clavo’s men wouldn’t strive from their familiar trails to find it. She had claimed the old building as her own. 

The first floor was covered in a thick layer of sand. Ajaxi harrumphed and laid in the shade. Nia wiped down his coat and fed him. Once he was content Nia climbed the ladder up to the next floor. The square room bore a similar scene to many she had discovered over the past four years. Remnants from a violent struggle.  On the far wall a soot covered mural displayed a ram. The watchtower had once bellowed to the Great House of Xur. When Nia had first discovered the space, she had twisted her ankle tripping over a legionnaire’s shield. 

Nia undressed slowly, placing her clothes neatly inside one of the cedar chests. Although she was prepared for it, the aiya still hurt like hell as the aker manifested. Her bones cracked as they were stretched and reformed; her mouth bled as teeth broke through her tender gums. She sank into the dark red sand of the Tuat as her consciousness was clawed away from her. 

Some time later Nia awoke naked. Her memory of the aker had already faded, but there were new scratch marks on the floor tiles. Nia got dressed and muscled herself up to where the roof had once been. She sat on the petrified wood support beam and dangled her feet in the open air. 

Night fell over the Dunelands. She fell deep in thought. The Conqueror’s legionnaires had torched every settlement north of De-Asha during the Conquering. Xur was nothing but rubble and sun dried corpses. Where was there to go but Aker-San? 

Nia let out a frustrated sigh. It was only a matter of time before she displeased the Legate, or the aker got its vengeance. Nia wasn’t strong enough to possibly stop the monster. And where in the Empire could she possibly go? She was kerai. Her existence was a death sentence. 

She was hit by the Peddler’s clear disappointment. And then Lero’s. Honestly, the two of them would have gotten along swimmingly. 

Promise me you won’t abandon us Nia. 

Was it abandonment if it was just survival? 

Nia unsheathed the Peddler’s dagger and spun it on the beam. Instinctively she knew the blade faced east. Nia tilted her head back out to the Dunelands. She could search them for a thousand lifetimes and still not find the pathia. She stared overhead at the Ashenian sky, out into the Ker dunes and back at the blade. Nia spun it again. East. A third time. East. 

Nia sheathed the dagger and frowned. Something niggled at the back of her mind. Something Clavo had said about the records from the Conquering being kept in Ash-Kai? The Conqueror had killed the navigators; burnt their schools; confiscated their maps. What if the way to Aker-San was not in the Dunelands, but on Ashenian soil? 

When Nia arrived back to De-Asha the following morning, her first stop was to confirm her working theory. “You’re still alive.” Merka said from behind his stall. 

“Is that anyway to greet an old friend?”

Merka waved her in from the street. He lifted up the countertop and walked Nia through the alleyway to his residence. He waved her inside. Nia coughed into her hand. The sweet smell of opium that clung to Merka and around his home always gave her a headache. 

The front room of Merka’s hair was sparse, intentionally bare. A small alcove by the door held a shrine to the Ashenian lars. Thick rugs covered the mud brick floor. Upstairs Nia heard his girls chatting as they prepared for another workday. Nia eased herself down onto a colorful indigo and turquoise cushion. She knew beneath the rug was a trapdoor that led to an underground storeroom packed to the brim with treasure and opium. Nia watched the stout merchant return from the back of the house with two cups. She scrunched her nose at the bitter tea. 

“I was beginning to think the Legate finally tired of you seeing how infrequently I see you.”

“He keeps me busy.” 

Merka eased down on his own cushion. “And here I thought you were neglecting our friendship.”

“Our friendship has not been neglected.” Nia cupped her mug. 

“If you’ve come to ask a favor I have half the mind to report you to the Legate myself.” The merchant said. 

“So we can both lose our fingers?” Nia’s eyes darted to his missing pinky. 

Merka frowned. “One was plenty.” He eased back onto his elbow. “Tell me. What service can I provide you? Perhaps you can finally take up my offer and journey upstairs?” 

His look was downright lecherous. Nia’s cheeks pinked. “I think I’ll pass.” 

“I have boys. Girls, too.” He said after a moment. “Both, if you’d prefer.” 

“I prefer neither, old friend.” 

“Perhaps if you preferred one or the other you’d stop being so tense.” Merka laughed at her expression. 

“If only it were that easy.” Nia said tightly. She cradled the tea cup closer to her chest. “I’ve come to ask you a question concerning our arrangement.”

“Oh?”

“I-” She paused. “After the war, the navigators were wiped out. But the maps, they had to have gone somewhere, yes?” 

Merka startled. “Of course they did. The Conqueror ordered all the maps to be centralized in Ash-Kai.” Merka tilted his head to the side. “Certainly you already know this? How else do you think your precious legate gets his routes? As to others, well, with influence? The rest of the Houses trade in goods, but the House of Kai trades in knowledge.”

“Of course.” Nia said hurriedly. “The Empire works to keep those maps under lock and key.”

“They do. Hya, it wouldn’t do for the conquered to relearn how to navigate the Dunelands. Might spur some dangerous ideas.” Merka’s brows rose. “Why do you have such thoughts in your womanish skull? You cannot possibly be thinking of stealing from the Kai’s!”

“What?” Nia squeaked. “Come now Merka. I'm not that stupid.” 

Merka looked doubtful. “So I will not be seeing you for some time.” 

Nia leaned forward. “No. The legate is sending me on business.” 

“I see.” Merka’s eyebrows narrowed. “Why are you telling me this?” 

“That’s not all.”

“More treason? How delightful.” 

“I want to see the rest of my supply.” She flipped over her satchel on the table. It was the collection of grave goods she had been keeping at the watchtower. Fine jewelry; necklaces, rings, bangles, earrings; golden shras, thin knives. Nia had thought she would need the items later. Later was now. 

Merka picked at a small lion amulet, turning it over in his palms. “You are planning on leaving soon, aren’t you?” His voice was gruff, but there was some unspoken emotional undertone to it. Merka sorted through the goods, his hands flying in and out of his robes. Onyx, gold, ivory. “My clients will not be interested in all of this.” He said coolly, four fingers holding up a coin. 

“I understand.” 

Merka met her eyes. “But I will buy it all. On one condition.” 

Nia bit her lip. The aker stirred. “Name it.” 

“While you are in As-Kai, you must keep an ear to the ground for information. Anything you find you must share. It’s for business you see.” 

Business. Nia gulped, her eyes traveling to the stairwell behind him. Upstairs the girls were no longer laughing. She found her resolve. This was the trade she would have to make for her freedom. “I accept.” 

[wyrdstonethenovel]

CH 17: The Hunt

AN: Wyrdstone is a serial fantasy novel updating every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday here on Tumblr. Wyrdstone is a classic rivals fighting for the throne TM. There's magic, and gods, and fighting, and the gays. Did I mention the gays? Enjoy:

XVII. THE HUNT

“Son of a whore!” Ditas Agricola spat as the arrow whizzed through the air and impaired itself on a nearby tree. The stag’s head was immediately alert. Ditas lowered his bow as the animal scampered off. 

“We’d be lucky to snare a rabbit at this point.” Asho quipped. 

“Relax my prince. I will surely get the next one.” Ditas said through his teeth. The rest of their small hunting party exchanged doubtful looks. 

“You should have let the prince shoot. Now way could he have missed.” Helpian pressed. 

“Oh stop kissing his boots!”

After a less than humbling pause Asho replied. “True.” 

Marcus, the son of Kinos’ legate sighed and gave the rest of them a wrap-it-up gesture. “One day, Ditas, you may realize that fishing is more your speed.” 

Ditas gave Marcus a thin look. 

“Man first the Argenti and then this.” Marcus whistled, “It has not been your day.” 

Asho looked over. “What happened with Admrilia?” 

Heliphan snickered. “He asked the princess for her hand in marriage.” 

Asho threw back his hand and laughed. “You did what?”

“Sugia is a tactical alliance for Aegtrys!” Ditas Agricola sat on a nearby log and reached for his water skin. “But she would not hear of it. Even when I told her that I could keep up with her.” 

“Let me assure you, nobody can keep up with Admrilia.” Asho said. 

“That’s what she responded with.” Ditas raised his voice. “Perhaps my reputation has failed to proceed with me, Ditas Agricola. I am Argenti. I single handedly made the silver islands crumble with one ship. I have sent men to the bottom of the Semperimar before dawn.” 

“I wonder what she does before noon.” Asho muttered sarcastically. 

“It was unbelievable. Tell me, does she have somebody?” Ditas continued. “Perhaps that we don’t know about? Like maybe one of her guards. I heard the handmaidens telling a rumor that one of her centori visited her late at night.” 

Asho tilted his head considering it. He couldn’t fathom Admrilia having a relationship with either Alexandros of Flavius. If anything Alexandros and Flavius would be together. Which was, well, whatever. Asho shook his head. “I doubt it. Admrilia goes by the beat of her own power hungry drum. She’d rather die than marry.” 

Heliphan snorted. “See Ditas, if one of us were to slit your throat, you’d have a chance!” 

Asho revealed in the afternoon sunlight as they hiked back up the trail. After yesterday's hours-long meeting with the Conqueror’s council, the fresh air had been a welcome release. Asho ran a hand through his curls and peaked through the forest’s branches towards the cloudless afternoon sky. 

“I have already directed one ship to send tribute down into Pi-Yenja to the prince’s betrothed in anticipation of our arrival.” The Conqueror had said. 

As if Asho could forget his impending wedding. The end of the year weighed on him. The Conqueror’s decision would determine the direction for the rest of his life. Whether he would be the next Emperor of their nation, or fade into obscurity. A worthless, nothing, loser. 

“Where did you even learn archery anywhere?”

Asho startled at Ditas’ question. “I spent four years in the north. The Ironsides are excellent hunters.”

Marcus gave a hearty laugh. “You are full of surprises, prince.”

“Why’s that?”

“Ditas thought you wouldn’t be able to so much as draw a bowstring.” Helpian called from up ahead. 

“Oh, because he can’t?”

Ditas’ laughter sharped. “Of course not!” 

“I am an excellent hunter.” Asho asserted. It’s just that I’ve lost my way, that’s all. He eyed the stag out of his peripheral vision. Ditas seemed to notice as their party returned to their horses. 

[wyrdstonethenovel]

CH 16: Kinos

AN: Wyrdstone is a serial fantasy novel updating every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday here on Tumblr. Wyrdstone is a good ol' fashioned rivals fighting for the throne TM. With magic. And gods. And world building. And the gayz. Did I mention the gayz? Speaking gayz, enjoy:

XVI. KINOS 

Sugia Territory lay immediately west of Aegtrys. The fertile hills were home to the goddess Inusgi, and her farmland overflowed with barley, rye, wheat, and cereal. A part of the Ashenian Empire for nearly a thousand years, Sugia’s bosom would have sustained the Empire for hundreds more. These days, the Sugians enjoyed Ashenian citizenship, a luxury not shared by all, and the privileges that went with it. Their men could govern in Aegtrys, trade with foreign ships, and march under the Ashenian falcon to all corners of the continent. At this point, the Sugians viewed themselves as Ashenian as the islanders did themselves. 

So it was no surprise that Admrilia could hear the cheers from miles out before they had even reached Kinos’ harbor. Across the first neptor, the men hastened to prepare for their arrival. Admrilia knew the neptori would be eager to get ashore and be released into the streets. 

“It’s good to be home.” Flavius said beside her. 

“Will you visit your parents?” Admrilia asked her friend. 

The neptori’s smile reached his grass green eyes. “Oh yes.” 

“And you?” 

Alexandros patted Flavius’ back. “I’d sooner die than miss his mother’s cooking.” The stocky sailor laughed. “You should join us Argenti, unless of course you are too good for us.” 

Amdrilia knew she shouldn’t tolerate such talk from her subordinates, but it had always been different with Flavius and Alexandros. They had been trained together since seven. She trusted the pair with her life. Both had stood loyally by her side after what had transpired in Argyro. She trusted Alexandros and Flavius more than her own father, and she was thankful they had been promoted as her personal guard for the triumph. 

She smiled slightly. “It’s only food.”

“No Argenti!” Alexandros sounded aghast. “Mama Dulcia is touched by Inusgi herself.” 

Flavius and Adrmilia shared an eye roll. Her lips threatened to quirk upward. “Save me something if he doesn’t eat it all. Now quiet, we're almost there.” 

The Sugian Governor awaited them at the docks. Mynos Illum Agricola was a large, well-fed man. His body bowled and stretched against the seams of his bright blue robes. About the same age as the Conqueror, Mynos’ warm eyes had sunk into the folds and wrinkles of his weathered face. Hif graying beard was delicately oiled and ornamented with beads. While the Emperor was refined and hard edged—forever a military man, Mynos had released himself to the pleasures of old age. 

The Governor extended his hands and bollywood heartily. “Welcome to Sugia, Emperor Atesh Ayuan Ashiphiex, great Conqueror of Ker!” He broadened good naturedly as he bent to kiss the Conqueror’s knuckles. 

The Conqueror’s lips loosened. “It is good to be back in Kinos, old friend.” 

“I’d thought I would be long dead before you decided to get some fresh air.” Admrilia bit her cheek to keep her jaw from dropping. The Governor was speaking to the Conqueror as if they were old friends. Nearly equals. She quickly schooled her face as the Governor gave her a cursory nod. “I see you have brought your grandchildren.”

“Yes.” The Conqueror waved them forward. “Governor, may I introduce to you prince Asho Ashen Ashiphiex and princess Admrilia Hortus Ashiphiex. My heirs.”

Admrilia’s jaw dropped as Mynos bent down and scratched the Conqueror’s hunting hounds behind their ears. He looked up. “I can see the resemblance.” 

Asho snorted. Mynos nodded as if pleased and bade them to follow.

Kinos had cracked the bosom of the earth open for their arrival. The procession to the Governor’s seaside estate made Admrilia openly gawk. Garlands of wildflowers draped window sills and entryways. Farmers bombarded the streets with crops and cattle shouting for the Conqueror’s blessing. They openly wept as the Emperor blessed their children and possessions as they passed. Musicians played uplifting melodies on flutes and lyres. Poets sang from the street corners. 

The joyous crowd blended together the further into the city they traveled. An army of attendants led the triumph’s inner party inside Mynos’ red-roofed villa. They were guided through hallways packed with finely dressed noblemen. A woman in a colorful stola fainted as Asho threw her a passing smile. 

They were led to a large courtyard at the center of the estate. Admrilia’s eyes adjusted to the sunlight. The Governor flung his arms wide and presented the spectacular tribute. “Ships worth of grain.” Mynos said proudly. “To feed our people and warm your legionnaires' bellies.” 

The Kinos court swelled with guests upon the news of their arrival. Admrilia had planned on spending her week cataloging her tribute, but had been turned away by Advisor Khispen. A future Empress must pay her respects to the court of her closest ally. Go away Princess. Enjoy yourself. So instead of being useful, or even taking Flavius up on his offer to visit his family in the countryside, she was being weighed down by a small army of handmaidens. 

Occasionally she caught sight of Asho being whisked away on hunting trips. She ached to join them. Well, not them exactly. The young nobles who kept Asho company were the very same, throwing themselves against her cold, dead, unwed heart. 

She spent her first week in Kinos fighting off the suitors. Some puffed their chests and recounted long-winded stories of heroism. Others tried song, dance, or bouquets of wildflowers. A magistrate's son was so brazen to pucker his lips around her knuckles. Her handmaidens had gasped when she sockped his ear. 

Admrilia loathed the attention. She knew she stood out in the Sugia court. Even as an heir to the empire, her existence was contrary to what the Kinos elite expected. Women in Sugia were prevented from joining the military and discouraged from engaging in public life beyond the domestic sphere. It had been much the same in Aegtrys. But there the senate had years to tamper their outrage when her father enlisted her at seven along with the other boys. Besides, at that point, the Conqueror was already running out of heirs. 

After an evening of particularly drivel discussion with the court’s noblewoman, her handmaidens prepared her a bath. Admrilia resisted the urge to massage her temples as a handmaiden worked one of the clasps of her stola. 

“I will get it.” 

The handmaiden, a girl of about fourteen with mousy brown hair flinched. “Oh I apologize Princess. It’s just, you are so tall you see.” 

Admrilia waved her off. It was unsettling, being dressed and undressed like a doll. Three handmaidens stood close together as she undid the clasp and threw the stola overhead. Admrilia fought a smirk as she caught glances darting up and down her muscular form. 

She threw off the offered hand and lowered herself into the warm bath. She sighed. Gods below. 

Soft hands began rubbing her feet and shoulders. Admrilia closed her eyes and leaned into the touch. Maybe she could finally find some peace after her long day. 

“Maybe she has someone waiting for her in Aegtrys. A strong prince?” Wheat hair whispered. 

“Or a strong neptori.”

And the moment was ruined. Admrilia frowned and opened an eye. “I can hear you.” 

Black hair actually squealed. 

“Well Princess, do you have someone?” The brunette asked. 

Admrilia leaned forward on her elbows until the girl flushed deep crimson. “Well, aren't you a bold one?” 

Her eyes widened in horror. “I-”

“Argenti?” A male voice carried through her quarters. 

“In here.” She called. 

“Princess Admrilia!” Wheat hair objected. “You cannot let him in here.” 

“Why not? He may be my big strong neptori you inane hens keep clucking about.” 

“Argenti? I brought you some food.” Flavius chose that moment to stick his head through the doorway. His green eyes widened. “Uh, hello, I can come back later.” 

“And let Mama Dulcia’s legendary cooking grow colder still?” Admrilia lifted an arm out of the tub. “Bring it here.”

The handmaiden’s face drenched with color as Flavius approached and raised the cloth. Admrilia reached for a slice of braised pork. Even a day old, the meat melted on her tongue. “Mhm. That’s from the gods.”

Flavius beamed. “Be grateful I got it. I had to pry the rest from Alexandros’ fists.” 

Admrilia grabbed another bite. “Oh really?”

“Inusgi spare my mother, he nearly ate my parents out of house and home.”

“Well he is a growing boy.” Admrilia said. 

“How much more growing could he possibly do?” Flavius wondered aloud. “He’s the size of a horse.”

“Princess. I must say this is most inappropriate.” Ah, so wheat hair had found her voice. 

Admrilia sighed. “Flavius is my trusted guard. He’s sworn to guard me with my life, not deflower me in the tub.” Admrilia grabbed another bite, pairing it with the cheese. “Gods that’s good. Don’t look so bitter. You, take a bite of that.” 

The black haired girl reluctantly set down her comb. Her brown eyes widened as she swallowed. “Oh,” she said softly. “That is wonderful.” 

“Isn’t it? Dulcia is the most renowned cook in all of Sugia. Or so I’ve heard.” Admrilia waved at her handmaidens. “You three, take that into the next room and finish it.”

The black haired girl went to grab the cloth eagerly. The blonde smacked her hand away. “We cannot in good conscience leave the princess with a man.”

“Woman you won’t be so quick with your tongue when I rip it from your mouth. You can guard my dignity from behind the door. Now move.” 

The woman looked like she had choked on a lemon. The other handmaidens dragged her from the room. Flavius watched them go, clearly amused. “The gossip will run rampant by the morning.” 

“Let them. It’s hardly the first time a noblewoman has been romanced by her guard.” 

Flavius’ nose pinched. “I see future empress duties are going swimmingly.” 

Admrilia groaned and reached behind her for the comb. “I should have gone with you.” 

“Yes, you should have. Us lowborn make mighty good company.” Flavius smirked and eased down onto the tile. He grabbed the comb from her and eased it through her hair. “How many times have you been proposed to this week?”

“Eight?” Admrilia squinted, trying to count. “Or nine.”

“Persistent.” Flavius chuckled. 

She sighed. “I wish they would leave me alone.”

“You are a woman now, Argenti.” Flavius softened. “You’ll have every eligible bachelor from here to Ker vying for your hand over the next year.” 

“I’m well aware.” Admrilia said as he ran the comb through her hair. 

“It’s just the reality.” Flavius said not unkindly. “You knew this day would come.” 

“At least you can avoid it.” Admrilia tilted her head back and looked Flavius in the eye. “I have this—”

“Duty to the Empire?” Admrilia sunk further into the tub. “Well, I heard empresses get to make their own rules. Besides, you have your sisters.” 

She let out a choked laugh. “Yes, thank the Skytops for that.” 

“I should go before one of them has a heart attack.” Flavius pushed off the floor. 

Admrilia extended her arm. “Or you could join me? Three birds with one stone.” 

Flavius laughed. “And they say you don’t have a sense of humor. Goodnight, Argenti.” 

[wyrdstonethenovel]

XV. Casting the Line

AN: Wyrdstone is an original fantasy novel updated every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday right here on Tumblr. Wyrdstone is a good ol fashioned rivals fight for the throne TM. With Magic TM. And Rivalry TM. And Gods TM. And Worldbuilding TM. And Romance TM. And the Gayz TM. Did I mention the gayz? Enjoy:

XV. CASTING THE LINE 

The days slid one into the other as their fleet sailed past the coastline dotted with farms and vineyards. They were soon to arrive to the Sugian capital of Kinos. Around midday, Asho strode right past Admrilia and stuck his head inside the Conqueror's tent. The Conqueror wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and looked up annoyed. His eyebrows furrowed together as he laid his massive hands on his cedar desk. “Close that and sit.” 

The prince lowered himself onto a wooden stool. The Conqueror’s desk bore a map charting their course for the Triumph. They were currently a day away from Kinosl before they would march North into Iornore Territory. From there they would brave the desert to travel into the heart of Ker, and then sail back across the Semperimar to Pi-Yenja. If everything went according to plan, the triumph was posed to return home next summer with ships of gold, silver, weapons, grain, and tribute. 

Asho glanced up from the map and said with more bravado than he felt. “I’ve come to ask you a question.” The Conqueror waved him onward. “What does it feel like when you tap into the wyrd?” Ever since they had left Thrysne Island some days ago, the prince had thought of nothing else as he stargazed. 

The Conqueror laced his fingers together. “You know how the sky rumbles before it storms?” Asho nodded eagerly. “You will feel that deep beneath your chest.” 

Asho nodded again and then lingered. He sat up straighter. “And how do I accomplish that?” 

The Conqueror shuffled for a piece of blank papyrus and smacked it flat with his palm. He drew a line before Asho and himself in splotchy red ink. ‘This prince is what I call a line.” He said in a moment of wry humor. “It binds my wyrd to yours. It is stronger than my connection to any of the men outside this tent because we are blood. It extends past our flesh and to our lineage. Wyrdlings can sense these lines, these connections to the wyrd. This can be to man, to beasts, or even the dead.

“It is impossible for a mortal to grasp the wyrd in its entirety.” The Conqueror drew several small lines between them before crossing them out. His calloused knuckle decisively pushed the ink towards Asho. “I can cast deep beneath the wyrd. I sense the wyrd of men. I sense the fears and the parts of our enemies they despise. And once you have this, you can cleave.” 

Asho sat, soaked in sweat as the Conqueror’s pen idled above the page. “I know your wyrd, prince. I know that you have hidden your impropriety from me. I know you despise yourself for your youth and experience, for your stubborn pride, for your mouth you can never keep sealed. I know everything about you down to how badly you hate yourself for your smell. I know, and have always known, that what you fear most in this world is not living up to the legacy of your birthright.”

Asho’s spine froze. He was trapped in the endless pits of the Conqueror’s eyes. His throat swelled as if he was drowning. His jaw unhinged, and he took deep, gasping breaths. When words formulated, they were slurred. “I will not fail you.” 

The Conqueror frowned and called in his centori. When he thought the god’s eyes were off him, Asho pinched the cloth that was bunching around his sweaty armpits. 

Centori Tygris entered the tent and stood at attention. Asho suddenly felt self-conscious at Tygris’ hardened expression and confident stance. The Conqueror pressed his palms flat. “Prince, tell me what centori Tygris fears.”

Asho hungrily thrust his gaze at the guard. Tygris’ forehead was soaked in sweat from the demanding heat. Asho turned his attention to the armored chest plate that covered his sternum, then back to his disinterested brown eyes, then again to his sternum. Where was he even supposed to look? Asho hardened his gaze: like the Conqueror’s; like the Stormlords. He stared at Tygris’ dull expression until a headache was forming at the back of his skull. 

Then he shook his head, failure coating his face red with embarrassment. “He wants to go home.” 

The Conqueror’s expression eas dark and dangerous. “You are dismissed.” Tygris marched out of the tent with enviable dignity. Asho braced himself for the hit. “You are worthless.”

“Conqueror—”

“Silence. Even your cousin with her Ker bloodline could grasp this concept. Get out!”

Asho tore from the tent, pushing past Tygris as he flooded with humiliation. His feet demanded that he bolt, but there was nowhere on the trireme to run. He stilled, suddenly aware of his cousin’s growing curiosity. Asho reached up to his burning cheeks and grit his teeth. He escaped below the decks of the ship until he found an empty storeroom. At least here his fists could bounce off the walls. 

The Conqueror’s condemnation cut through him like a hot knife. You are worthless. The prince released a tiny, vicious laugh and kicked a nearby grain sack. He had been so eager for this moment to finally prove himself to the Conqueror. To step into the destiny that was his by birthright! He had a vow he had sworn to the Stormlord. He had to fulfill it. He had to school his eyes and dig into the chest of every filthy commoner he passed until an inkling of power rumbled in his chest. Because if not—

Doors slammed on the thought. Asho leaned against the cool hull of the ship and closed his eyes. He remembered the venerating screams as thousand of knuckles were thrust towards him. He remembered the warmth in his chest as Aegtrys screamed his name. He remembered the whispering promises of the stars as he had first held the wyrdstone. 

The Stormlord had spoken to him then. 

For as long as he lived, Asho knew that to be true. He exhaled slowly, letting the frustration release from his nostrils. Inhaling, he steadied himself and pushed off the wall. 

[wyrdstonethenovel]

14: The Maw

AN: Wyrdstone is an original fantasy serial updated every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday here on Tumblr. Wyrdstone is your classic rivals fighting for the throne TM. With magic, and gods, and oaths, and shifting allegiances, and of course, the gayz. Did I mention the gayz? Enjoy:

XIV. THE MAW

Nia dismounted at the edge of the crater. The Legate grabbed a bundle of papyrus from his pack and snapped his finger at a nearby laborer to take their horses down the dusty hill. Signs of excavation were everywhere as the laborers pushed carts filled with fresh earth from the necropolis. The hill flattened off as they entered the work camp. Discarded tools laid outside rows of wind beaten tents. The kerai laborers frowned at their arrival. Others quickly changed course, not wanting to be around when the beating began. Clavo led the siblings to a collection of purple tents that housed the legionnaires on their monthly rotations from De-Asha. 

The foreman glanced up from his stool, stale bread in hand. Vir had always reminded Nia of a hairless cat. Vir’s leathery skin barely covered his angular hips and jutting ribs. Vir covered his brown eyes and hissed through his overbite. “Legate.”

“Foreman.” Clavo already sounded agitated. “Let’s take this inside.”Vir pushed himself up and bade them inside his tent. Nia sighed at the welcome temperature difference. Clavo puckered his lips as the foreman offered him wine. “How is progress?”

“Slow. It’s nearly summer and then men tire quickly.” Vir hissed onto the campstool behind his desk. He took a long sip of his wine. 

“It needs to be ready. All of it.” Clavo clipped. His large hands unrolled the scroll from his side. Nia peered around Clavo’s arms to see a schematic of the necropolis. 

Vir leaned forward in his seat. “The Dunelands counteracts our process, trying to swallow the necropolis itself right into its maw.” Vir huffed wryly. “You know it is an uphill battle.”

The Legate’s thick lips twisted. “It will be ready should the Emperor choose to make the journey to see it. It must be presentable.” Clavo laid his ringed hand flat on the map. “Now, about our other assignment.”

“The  one you wrote about, yes, yes.” Vir’s beady eyes pinched with displeasure. He took a long swig before answering. “The men have cleared another shaft in the southwest wing as instructed. I’m assuming that is where they come in?” 

“Why couldn’t one of your men do this?” Lero asked the foreman directly from where he leaned against the tent’s post. 

Vir almost appeared apologetic. “Because we don’t want to incur the goddess’ wrath.” Vir shrugged. 

“And you say we are superstitious.” Lero grumbled. 

Clavo turned his bloodshot eye on her brother. “Like it or not boy, your sister has use to the empire.” He barked. “And I would think long and hard before testing my mercy.” 

Lero’s face catapulted into rage. Tension hung thick in the dry air as Lero starred daggers at Clavo. Nia took a small step towards Lero, afraid her brother would snap at Clavo or worse. But her brother had always been better keeping a leash on his anger, and he kicked off the post, heading outside into the sunlight. 

“Go.” Clavo barked. “I don’t have all day.” 

Once Anu-Uro-Set had been a temple necropolis for the goddess Sachmis; located halfway between House Xur and Hourse Uro. It had served as a refuge for those brave enough to journey across the Dunelands, or a final resting place for those who perished. Situated in the basin of a crater of limestone cliffs, Anu-Uro-Set had been carved painstakingly into the bedrock. The complex had been the last holdout against the Conqueror in his decade long war against the Kingdom of Ker. It was here Wyn-Kai the Betrayer had surrendered to the Conqueror. 

Over the decades the halls and porticos of the outer temple had sunk into the shifting sand. The front temple had never been rebuilt after the conflict, the porch a minefield of soot scorched lotus leaf columns. Only the complex’s inner halls and necropolis remained. Nia trailed Clavo as they marched through the camp towards the cliffs. Four identical statues of the seated goddess stood sentry over the entryway. Nia’s eyes trailed to the tall crowns atop the goddess’ mane. The gold had long been pillaged. 

Purple banners swung in the breeze as they entered the cool caves. Ker laborers shuffled out of their way, all from the lower neighborhoods of De-Asha or the surrounding villages. Familiar shame flared through her at the sight. Oh how the mighty have fallen. 

They entered the first of many chambers. The foreman walked past the half-submerged statue of Sachmis. The anthropomorphic goddess sat on her royal seat facing westward. The goddess’ hands were flat against her knees, as if attending court. Her vestments were gone, leaving ancient ruddy paint. Nia clenched and unclenched her left hand, pain radiating up her forearm. 

Vir led them down a wing of the temple Nia was unfamiliar with. They hiked through a confided hallway and waded through spiders and scorpions until they entered a small chamber. Nia’s eyes adjusted to the dim light of the torches. The room was rectangular, the ceiling so low her brother could reach up and touch it. The room appeared to be an annex of some kind. The fresco’s on the opposite wall covered by soot. A few legionnaires stood at attention as they entered. 

Clavo walked towards where they were waiting. He grabbed a torch from a legionnaire and kicked his boot towards the small shaft. “This it?”

“Yes. This is where we believe the priests were buried.” The foreman answered. 

Clavo eyed the narrow tunnel. “And no one has been down yet?”

“No sir.” A legionnaire responded. 

Clavo snapped at her brother. “You, be her arms.” 

So that’s why Lero had come. Of course Clavo would have noticed she could barely hold the reins of her horse, much less dig. And while Lero was significantly taller, he still was all thin muscle and sinew. Lero scowled and accepted a basket of tools from the legionnaire. He dropped a torch and it rattled down the shaft with a few thunks. Short then. Lero accepted the rope without a word and went first. Nia followed, her brother having to help ease her to the bottom of the shaft. Nia looked upward as five heads peered down at them. Clavo lifted the corner of his eyepatch. “Start digging.”

The siblings spent the next hours chipping through the hardened mud layer to their left. Nia’s injured hand cramped up immediately, rendering her useless. With anger radiating off him so fiercely Nia could nearly smell it, Lero regulated her to handing up baskets of discarded material as he dug. Clavo’s boot kicked dust onto their heads as he grew bored. Flint was handed back down as they burnt through the first torch. 

CLING

“I heard something.” 

“Brick.” Lero called back up to Clavo. Nia handed back up a basket of obsidian and sand shards that Clavo picked through before discarding. 

“Well?” Vir begged. 

“One second!” Lero shifted out of the crevice he dug carefully and handed Nia the chisel. “She’ll fit better than I can.” Nia got on her stomach and squeezed into the narrow opening. She eased the chisel carefully against the brick wall. Her chest thundered nervously as she released a brick from its ancient mortar. If this wall was supporting the earth above them, they could very easily be crushed to death. Nia continued the delicate process, carefully using the wood Lero handed her to brace the wall until there were three bricks free. Barely enough room for her to shove a torch through. Lero frowned as he passed her the torch. 

An air of anticipation traveled down the shaft. 

Nia stuck the torch through the opening and waved her arm back and forth. Her eyes quickly adjusted to the rows of painted death masks. This must have been the back wall to some of the crypts. The foreman was right, they had found the priests. Nia turned to her side as Lero squeezed in behind her. He peered through the hole, his face crumpling. Her brother opened his mouth. 

My how the mighty have fallen. 

Her fist slammed against the brick, startling Lero. “Damn it! It’s a dead end.” She yelled. 

“WHAT?” She heard Clavo roar. Followed by shuffling and terse words. 

“Are you sure?” Vir called down nervously. 

Nia motioned for Lero to scoot away. She rotated flat on her back and dug her feet to her chest as if she was scooting. She moved the torch back and forth to cast long shadows. She let the pregnant pause build. “No foreman. Whatever this tunnel was, its a dead end.”

“Lero!” Clavo barked. “Check yourself.” 

Nia made a production of trading places. Lero maneuvered further into the space. “No sir. In fact, it appears the whole room could  cave in on us if we go any further.”

“Stormlord below.” Clavo cursed. Lero helped Nia muscle her way up to the surface. The Legate’s face was bright red. He stared murderously at the foreman. “This was a waste of time.”

“I followed your instructions.” Vir said quickly. He held up his hands. “I thought this room was it. I swear it.”

Clavo pivoted his attention to the legionnaires. “Seal this up.” He shoved a finger against Vir’s chest. “Next time, don’t call me out here until you actually have something.”

“I know what you are up to.” 

Nia’s eyes darted forward to the legate and then back to Lero as their horses approached De-Asha’s gate. “Keep your voice down.”

“We are far enough back he won’t hear us. I saw you talking to that merchant Nia. What were you thinking? He’s a trafficker!”

“He’s a treasurer seeker just like the rest of them.” Nia dismissed. “What of it? I can talk to merchants.” 

Her brother’s eyes narrowed. “Admit it. You are going to flee.” Nia pressed a hand against her sternum. She still couldn’t flatten her palm out. Cythe had removed her stitches and her hand now bore an ugly scar that ran index finger to wrist. She exhaled as her brother continued. “I need to know why you did what you did back there?” 

“Why do you care?” 

Lero sighed. His legionnaire armor was covered in a thick layer of dust and sweat. “I need to know if there is good in you.” 

“Good in me. Seriously?” She responded incredulously. Clavo whipped his head around at her raised voice. Nia waited for him to turn back ahead before responding. “It just felt wrong, okay?” 

“Yet you still raid.”

“What would you have me do? Join the legion?” 

His snarl was instant. “I only have to do that because your mistake left me no choice.” My mistake. Nia’s memory threatened to drag her back to that awful night. Lero’s voice was low and dangerous. “I became a legionnaire to protect you. Cythe bore the legate a son, to protect you. Our own mother kisses his feet, to protect you. “ And oh, how Nia hated the tenderness in his voice. “And you would leave us?” 

“I know full well the danger I’ve put our family in.” Her voice grew watery. “How could I ever stay knowing that?” She turned to Lero, her eyes threatening to brim with tears. “I’m a danger to you.” 

“Baba left us.” Lero’s voice was quiet. 

“Baset exiled him and you know it.” 

Lero shook his head animated. “No. He fled.”

“I just don’t know how I could stay.” Nia hung her head in shame. If she ever released the aker inside the walls of De-Asha again she would die. Her family would be killed. She was the threat to them. Couldn’t they see that? There was nothing for her in De-Asha. Nothing. 

Lero drew his horse closer. “I need you to understand I will not abandon you or our House.” 

“Well you are a better person than me, brother.” Nia said, thinking of the Peddler. She quickly wiped her eyes as Clavo pulled his massive warhorse up at the gate. A commotion of people were waiting for them. Clavo scowled down at his legionnaires. 

A scout quickly kissed his knuckles. “Legate Clavo. I bare urgent news. Legate Xur, he has been, he has been,--”

“Spit it out man.” Clavo demanded. 

“Legate Xur is dead. Sir.”

Nia watched in puzzlement as shock slid over Clavo’s broad face. His bloodshot eye narrowed in on the messenger. “Legate Xur is ancient. Why are you coming to me with this?”

“The reports are that he was assassinated. Sir.” 

Clavo frowned. “Not a word of this to anyone, understood?”

“Yes sir!” The scout shouted. 

“I need to alert father.” Clavo whispered under his breath. “Lero, with me.”

“Lero?” Nia asked. 

“Not now.” Her brother tightened his shoulders and rode after the legate. 

[wyrdstonethenovel]

13. The Ripple

AN: Wyrdstone is a fantasy series updating every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday here on Tumblr. Wyrdstone is a good ol' fashioned rivals fighting for the throne TM. With magic. And gods. And oaths. And stakes. And gayz. Did I mention the gayz? Enjoy:

XIII. THE RIPPLE 

The Argenti soaked her bare feet in a tide pool as dawn reflected off the Semperimar. The sea was steady as the tide moved calmly ashore. It was beautiful. It was peace. Her fingers brushed over the slimy texture of a sea star. Admrilia ran the back of her hand along its calcified skin. 

“This island stirs thoughts long dormant.” 

Admrilia abruptly stood. “Emperor.” She kissed his knuckles quickly. 

The Conqueror eased himself down to the sand. He had changed from the evening previously and was wearing a light burgundy tunic. “You did not return to the Pontus last night.” No, she hadn’t. The stench of smoke still clung to her hair and nails. The Conqueror looked over, and she did her best not to flinch. “What hangs over you?”

Admrilia selected her words carefully. “Your demonstration caused reflection, sir.”

He patted the shore and Admrilia sat back down. “You question me killing him?”

“No!” He cheeks heated. Admrilia bowed her head. “He was a traitor to our nation. I do not question your choice, nor the matter in which you ended it.” She paused, unable to get the image of Prodomni clawing at his throat as his windpipe was crushed out of her mind. “I’m unsure as to why you burned his body. Without connection to the wyrd, he would have no chance for the Skytops. Was it to insult him?”

“Ah.” Atesh’s thin lips twisted into an unfamiliar expression. “That filth does not deserve to rest in this holy place. A body is a vessel, Argenti.”

Admrilia ran her tongue along her teeth, unsure what to say. 

The Conqueror continued. “The wyrd is a spider’s web, connecting the entire continent. When you are a wyrdling, as a child of the gods you can access some of these threads.” He grew quiet for a moment as Admrilia’s fingers trailed along the volcanic surface of the tide pool. “Your wyrd is tied to the Semperimar. I was skeptical of your connection to the Stormlord’s dominance given your mother.” 

Given you’re half Ker. 

Admrilia may have shared the Conqueror’s dark eyes, but that was the resemblance abruptly ended. Admrilia had the course, curly hair of her mother, the stocky build of her father, and skin several shades darker than most Ashenians. Asho looked more like the Conqueror, more Ashenian, than she could ever dream. 

“I hope to put that skepticism to rest, Emperor.” Admrilia inclined her head in deference. “By the end of the Triumph I pray to have proven my aptitude as your successor.” 

Her ambition was met with an unimpressed huff. The Conqueror was best as cutting people down by saying nothing at all. “Argenti, I have been blessed with many offspring, but few have taken root.” 

The comment took her by complete surprise. THe Conqueror never discussed his other children, her aunts and uncles and older cousins. All had perished in one way or another in service of the Empire. Her father Hortus, the youngest of the Conqueror’s seven children, was the only one left alive. 

The Conqueror reached beneath his tunic and withdrew the wyrdstone. He turned the star over slowly in his palms. “What I am about to tell you Argenti is only because I have seen firsthand your connection to the Semperimar. There is more our family can do than cast and cleave the wyrd of men.” 

“We can call upon the Semperimar.” Admrilia guessed. 

The Conqueror nodded. “Yes. But I advise you not to test the mercy of our god. This feat cannot be achieved without the presence of the wyrdstone— lest your drain your own lifeblood and perish.” 

Admrilia was struck with the sudden memory of her father bursting through the doors of their villa. Admrilia had been sitting on the floor with her tutor as her father ran to her mother panicked. “Marcus is dead.” Six-year old Admrilia had cried unconsolably. Her uncle had swung her over his shoulders on the beach the day before while Asho had eagerly awaited his turn. Sitting beside the tide pool, Admrilia realized she never learned how her uncle had died. Her eyes slid to the ethereal star, her gut clenching with dark certainty. 

“There is no greater power than summoning storms.”

“Or stopping them.” She whispered. 

“Yes.” The Conqueror said. “I saved the Pontus by casting my wyrd to the Semperimar. Instead of me cleaving another mortal, like I did with Prodomni last night, the Stormlord latched onto my own wyrd and fed. This is why it is so deadly, Argenti. To call forth the power of the Stormlord you must be prepared to drown.” 

The Conqueror’s dark eyes assessed her. “Soak your feet in the water.” Admrilia did so. He slid over he wyrdstone. Admrilia accepted it gently, her fingers closing around the cold star. Numbness quickly enveloped her fingers and spidered up her arm towards her chest. She clenched her teeth. 

Admrilia strained to hear the Conqueror’s instructions as her body shook. “Feel for your wyrd beneath your sternum, between your heart and lungs. There is the beat of our godhood Argenti. Feel for that beat. Have you found it? Focus on it, hold it steady. Now, reach for the Semperimar.” Admrilia furrowed her brow, not sure exactly how she was supposed to accomplish that. “It is within you. The Semperimar is the salt and sea of your veins. Let it call you home.”

Admrilia let out a choked breath. She felt her focus shift from her chest to her toes in the tide pool and the water around her ankles. It was as if her consciousness was folding inward on itself until she was the current and undercurrent all at once. 

“Release yourself to the Stormlord.” 

She inhaled—

Wyrdling. 

Admrilia exhaled. Water, lazy and calm slid up along her calf trailing to her kneecap. Adrmilia’s eyes flashed open, at once she was back within herself. She was sitting on a beach, the sharp rock digging into her hamstrings, her toes burrowed int the volcanic sand. Admrilia abruptly dropped the wyrdstone. Her stomach lurched and she bowled over.  She vomited the remaining contents of her stomach. The Conqueror reached into the tide pool and retrieved the wyrdstone. Admrilia wiped the black bile from her mouth and dared to look at the Conqueror’s godlike eyes. They glinted. 

[wyrdstonethenovel]

Conqueror Entry # 2

AN: Wyrdstone is a serial fantasy novel updating every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday here on Tumblr. Wyrdstone is a good ol' fashioned rivals fight for the throne. In fact we have two cousins, Asho and Admrilia, who are fighting to take over for this guy ^^^ the Conqueror. Enjoy:

[this entry takes place between CH 12 and CH 13}

As the Semperimar is the 

salt and sea of my veins 

I have braved the Stormlord 

and carry within me godhood. 

I am to lead our people to their 

divine birthright to all corners of the earth 

— An entry from crown prince Atesh Ayuan Ashiphiex

Year 1 of the Conquering