wyrdstonethenovel

[wyrdstonethenovel]

CH 33: The Acolyte

AN: Wyrdstone is a web novel that updates Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.

Asho’s thoughts were consumed by the nameless acolyte that hovered at the White Jarl’s side. At meals, the White Jarl accompanied the Conqueror, his food growing cold before him. Not once did the Thrysian leader of the boy eat or drink. Asho wondered what kind of Goddess would forbid her subjects to nourish themselves. But perhaps, to be close to the Rose Maiden, her acolytes needed to be as close to the veil as possible. Like a shade still breathing. Why else would the sickly boy be constantly barefoot and only wear the most threadworn tunic? 

Mostly though, Asho wanted to know how the acolyte was able to tap into the wyrd of the Skytops? Why was it that a peasant was able to do what should have been his by birthright? By legacy? He was the direct descendant of the Gods— and yet as every day passed with Thrysne’s gift illuding him, Asho felt his confidence crack a little more. 

Kohl and Morgaine helped eagerly, offering themselves for Asho to pierce their skin and find their fears. But Asho found no terror as he stared into his best friend’s gaze. He grew warm and distracted whenever he met Morgaine’s pine green eyes. As always, Asho would eventually grow self-loathing as the siblings grew bored while the Conqueror looked on. 

Asho worried that the Conqueror had tired of him. Since he reported the incident with the hunting hounds, the Conqueror had chosen not to call upon him. As letters began arriving from Ker, Asho feared the worst. Admrilia was succeeding, and he was not. 

Asho folded within himself. Tonight, even the stars eluded him, hidden behind thick autumn clouds. At the first raindrops, the prince was forced to retreat to the warmth of the Ironoak. The centori was waiting for him at the bottom of the ladder to the rooftop. “The Conqueror requires you.” The soldier greeted. 

Asho followed the grizzled older man through the Governor’s halls, his heart hammering. The Centori deposited Asho outside of the Conqueror’s temporary quarters. Asho sobered at the crowd waiting for him inside the Conqueror’s office. The Conqueror, the White Jarl, his second in command, and the red haired acolyte. “Good Evening, Conqueror.” Asho closed the door, ignoring their guests. 

“Prince.” The Conqueror clipped. “I’ve summoned you to provide aid to our neighbors. It seems that the White Jarl’s guard had broken their arm falling from their horse this afternoon.” Asho finally noticed the person sitting down, cradling a broken wrist. Asho narrowed his eyes. IT was the same guard who had shoved him to the forest floor and held a knife to his throat when he had stumbled upon the guards. 

“I’m afraid I don’t know how to sprint a wrist.” Asho said, his apprehension already building. 

“That won’t be necessary, Prince Asho.” The White Jarl rasped. “My acolyte is the most excellent healer. Let’s begin, shall we?” 

Begin? Begin what? 

The guard yelped out in pain as the acolyte grabbed their broken arm. Asho’s own eyebrows rose when the acolyte wordlessly beckoned him forward. The boy’s hand was cold; his small, thin fingers barely able to encircle Asho’s wrist. Asho bit into his lip as the boy’s dirty nails dug into his veins. His blood sprung from the punctured skin. 

The acolyte bowed his head. He hummed low in his throat, beginning a chantlike incantation. “O Rose Maiden, guide my hand as I form the vein between life and death.” 

Asho grew weak in the knees. He was powerless to stop what was happening as the acolyte tapped into the wyrd. His consciousness thrashed as an unfamiliar presence invaded the salt and sea of his veins and fed.

Images flashed beneath his eyelids. 

Boys, teeth-clattering in stiff rows deep beneath the earth. A blizzard stills upon the surface of the mountain and a wolf’s howl pierces the clearing. A towering figure looming overhead with roves as white as snow. Atop the ice a five sided die spins like a top. It spins, and spins, and spins…

He was elsewhere, but nearby. He climbs deep into the earth, but he is not alone. The catacombs are filled with the flesh and bone of the dead. All is dark as he spends the night under the inescapable eyes of the Rose Maiden…

Asho stumbled into the arms of the Conqueror. The Emperor steadied him as his knees threatened to buckle. He met his eyes, begging for answers. The Conqueror’s attention was on the guard. They sat on the floor, their sweat slicked head thrown back against the Conqueror’s desk. The White Jarl’s second in command was examining their arm, gingerly bending the healed limb. Silver eyes met Asho’s gaze and scowled. 

Mark. Asho thought immediately. Their name is Mark. He knew it in his bones. His next thought was far more unsettling. What horrible memories had the guard been privy to? Mark wrenched their gaze away. Certainly, the wyrd that had been flowing between them now bound them together, for better or worse. 

“As you can see,” The White Jarl said in his bone chilling rasp. “My acolyte has successfully siphoned the wyrd between living subjects, demonstrating his great promise and ability. He is the pride of the priesthood.” 

“He certainly is.” The Conqueror said thinly. “As you can see, the Prince has shown his impressive vigor. He has hardly broken a sweat. The future of the Ashiphiex line is ten times blessed by the Stormlord.” 

The White Jarl dipped his head in acknowledgement. “Indeed. We thank you for the demonstration.” 

“As we do you.” 

The White Jarl excused his party. When they were finally alone in the study, Asho sank to the ground. The whole experience had made him feel dirty, as if he was as expendable as a pawn. He pressed his head between his knees as indignation made his body shake. 

Drink prince.” The COnqueror demanded, placing a pitcher at his feet. “You must regain your strength.” 

“Why did you force me to do that?” Asho croaked. He weakly brought the pitcher to his lips. The cool liquid was a relief to his dry throat. 

“The Thrysians wished to learn about us. Their diplomatic party has been spying on us the entire time, attempting to learn of our empire's weaknesses. It was only fair we returned the favor.” The Conqueror walked behind his desk and sat. “Drink.” He ordered gently. “And tell me what you learned.” 

“I didn’t see much. Just snippets of memories. The boy mostly.” 

The Asho sat in contemplative silence as Asho recounted the memories he had gleamed. “I see. And what is it that they fear?” 

“I don’t know what they fear.” He said frustratedly. “That’s not what I saw. The acolyte wants to please the White Jarl. He wants it more than anything, more than life itself. The guard is a hunter, they crave freedom.” 

The Conqueror leaned forward in his desk, excitement lighting his features. “Prince.” He said quickly. “What else?” 

“I just can’t shake this odd premonition. In the myths, the hunter kills the stag and presents it to the maiden.” The Conqueror’s eyebrows knit together, but he didn’t interrupt as Asho continued. “The hunter presents the stag to the maiden.” Asho whispered under his breath. “The one with the silver eyes. The guard. They’re the hunter. And the boy, the boy is connected to the Rose Maiden.” 

“Then who's the stag prince?” The Conqueror asked quietly. 

Asho looked up and met the god-like eyes of the Conqueror. “Isn’t it obvious? You are.” 

[wyrdstonethenovel]

Ch 31: The Tomb Raider, Nia-Uro

AN: Wyrdstone is a web novel I post here on Tumblr to get it off my hard drive. It features two rival cousins fighting for the throne, with gods, and magic, and brewing rebellion throughout the empire. Enjoy:

When the scholar Ola-Kai arrived bearing Admrilia Hortus Ashiphiex’s summons, Nia-Uro was certain she was about to perish. Surely, the Ashenian princess had learned of her deception, had suspected that the blade she now kept hidden in the bottom of her bags was the very star that the Conqueror coveted. The aker demanded her to flee with each labored stride through the Great Library. Ola-Kai nodded towards the Ashenian neptori stationed outside the doors of the Kai’s private collection and they pulled the cedar doors apart. The scholar deposited Nia and her brother at a cluster of tables littered with papyrus. 

The princess scooted back her chair and stood to her full, commanding height. She was uncharacteristically dressed in plain clothes, just trousers and a royal purple tunic.The princess’s braid was coming undone around her ears and framed her severe, tired eyes. Nia’s aker froze in her chest, caught between fleeing and lunging forward as Admrilia regarded her. “My spear points me to De-Asha, towards the glory of recovering the star for the Emperor. The two of you, along with the rest of your House, will assist the throne in this aim. Our party shall depart for De-Asha in two days' time.” 

It was Lero who was able to speak first. “How best shall we assist you, your highness?” 

Princess Admrilia swiveled her obsidian eyes onto Nia. “The empire requires your sister, the tomb raider Nia-Uro.” 

The tomb raider Nia-Uro. All too familiar shame hit her. Nia exhaled slowly. Too slowly. Her mouth felt as if it was filled with ash. Nia finally managed to speak. “It would be an honor.” 

Princess Admrilia swatted the platitude away. “Detail your search efforts so far.” She barked. 

I’m not some soldier. Nia thought. She forced her amber eyes to the tile to appear subservient. “Well, your highness, considering I did not know what I was searching for until the legate sent us to recover the journals, I’m unsure—” Nia abruptly stopped. If she continued with ‘I’m unsure as to the benefit to you’ then Admrilia Ashiphiex wouldn’t need her. Maybe I could save us all the trouble and go retrieve the dagger right now. Nia nearly laughed at the absurdity of the thought. She shook her head. “I’m unsure because my knowledge may be too broad.” 

“Broad how?” Advisor Clavo barked. 

Nia straightened her spine. She looked up from the tile and made herself face the advisor. If her only option was to prove useful to the empire, then she couldn’t keep groveling at their feet. She needed to be valuable. “Legate Clavo had my search efforts begin about four years ago. At first, the legate sent me through the necropolis and the surrounding ridges. I was ordered to recover anything of value so De-Asha can pay the Conqueror’s triumph demands. I kept an eye out for jewelry, headdresses, necklaces, rings, gold…” 

“What about weapons?” The princess asked impatiently. 

“Yes. Those too. Every item I recovered is carefully categorized in the storerooms at the estate.” 

“We were already planning on searching for those when we arrived at De-Asha.” Advisor Clavo said in a dismissive tone. 

“I see. Your highness, I must apologize, but I am ill informed on what, if any item in the storerooms would have a connection to the stars you week.” 

“I shou-I will be able to tell an item's connection to the wyrd.” The princess bit her lip, and Nia sensed a kernel of doubt from the princess. 

Good. Nia thought. Maybe she doesn’t realize anything after all. 

“Nia, would it be helpful to show them where you have searched so far?” 

“Wha? Oh of course, that is an excellent idea. Do you have a map I could use?” 

Wyn-Kai groaned as he stood. “Allow me to show you the cartography section, Nia-Uro.” Admrilia Ashiphiex moved around the table, making it clear she was to follow. The princess was tailed by her brooding guards. The four of them followed Wyn-Kai’s shuffling gait into the stacks. Despite the surreal circumstances, Nia’s blood hummed with eager anticipation as they rounded the corner and entered an alcove made up of circular shelving units. The documents inside the alcove shelves were clearly centuries old, made up of thick hides and fraying papyrus. 

“The Ibis’ personal collection.” Wyn-Kai said with no shortage of pride. “Please navigator, help yourself.” Wyn-Kai turned towards the princess. “You know, in the old days, it was the navigators of the House of the Doorway who led people across the Dunelands.” 

“I see.” Admrilia said shortly. “And what changed?” 

“The Conquering.” Nia walked forward, drawn by the shelves. She was unable to decipher the sheni etched above the cubicles, and not for the first time, Nia cursed her illiteracy. She pulled out a scroll above her head, and then another, noting how the maps detailed locations to the north of Ash-Kai. Reaching one from a cubicle by her stomach, Nia noticed the coastline of Ker. Nia took a step back. “This is a compass, isn’t it?” 

“Very good, Uro.” Wyn-Kai said. “Ash-Kai will be the centermost point where you are standing, which means that De-Asha—”

“Will be to my left.” Nia said, already sidestepping. She reached into a cubicle, finding exactly what she was looking for. Nia began opening papyrus maps and setting them on the floor by her feet. 

“What are you doing?” Princess Admrilia demanded. 

“Grabbing fragments.” Nia explained as she reached above her head into a cobweb covered cubby. “If you want a master, then you’ll need a complete picture of the search effort…” Nia paused, suddenly every nerve afire as her fingertips grasped onto an ancient hide. Nia was thankful that she was facing the shelf to hide the prickling tears welling up in her sockets as she unrolled the ancient papyrus. There, in the top northernmost corner in kiyr script. Aker-San. 

She was holding a copy of the pathia. 

I could finally escape. We can be free. Nia discreetly wiped her eyes. She rolled the pathia and grabbed the pile at her feet. She turned around, hoping her naked longing had been wiped from her face. 

Admrilia Ashiphiex’s eyes narrowed in suspicion but she was blessedly quiet as they returned to the tables. Nia was provided a desk, and to her satisfaction a blank papyrus, stylus, and cartography set was provided. Nia admired the tools for a moment, noting how pristine and fine tipped they were over her basic charcoal. The princess and her advisors sat cross legged across from her as Nia made the first couple strokes on the blank sheet. 

In truth, Nia didn't need the reference maps at her side, but she unrolled them anyway. Starting southward, Nia began drawing De-Asha and the rectangular walls of its gates. She measured the distance to the necropolis, and the ridges of the skytops of which it was situated. She carefully detailed the watchtowers and tombs dotting the hills. Nia unrolled the next map and added Xur and its surrounding area. Then, her heart galloping in her chest, Nia unfueled the oldest map on the bench. The fragment went further north than Nia would have known the world could have expanded. Further where the Dunelands and Skytops met towards the edge of the known world. Towards the First House. Aker-San. Nia took her time carefully copying the long-vacated villages, and sunken wells. The mountain passes and the potential hazards. Before the prodigal heir of the Ashenian Empire, Nia openly plotted her escape. 

“Now this is an interesting fragment.” Wyn-Kai said, breaking her concentration. He looked up from the funerary account he had been reading. “The lady wove the stars into her hair, a mane of heavenly fire.” 

“A mane?” The wriry advisor, who Nia had learned was Khispen, asked. “What could a mane possibly be?” 

“The goddess Sachmis is portrayed as a half-lioness.” Wyn-Kai said. 

Nia stretched her aching back. The princess’ hawk-like gaze did not leave her hand as she dipped a new stylus in red ink and cleared her throat. “As I said, the Legate Clavo had me searching the Dunelands for years. We began with the necropolis, and the ridges around there. In addition, the necropolis has been subject to over fifty years of treasure seekers, not to mention the countless legionnaires and workers who could have pocketed treasure to pawn themselves.” Nia quickly made a slash through the necropolis and the other locations Clavo had sent her too. “The furthest North I’ve been is Xur, and while it is impossible for one person to search through it all, the tomb raiders and skin traders surely would have cleared it out by now.” Nia slashed through Xur. “I’ve never been further north. But if what the Legate Xur said was correct in his journals, then the priests would have fled for the First House.” 

“Aker-San.” Wyn-Kai had left his chair and was now peering over her shoulder. “It’s unknown if they survived the war after all, as no one has heard from the House for decades. The COnqueror’s efforts to cut them off from the rest of the kingdom during his campaign were extensive.” 

“Agreed. But, where else could the priests have fled?” 

“You don’t think the priests ever made it back.” Admrilia said, her eyes boring into the map. 

“No.” Nia said flatly. “It would have been impossible for them to survive the journey. If Xur had already been extinguished, then the trip was futile. I believe the working theory is that they never did make it to Aker-San. Which gives you a couple options, princess. Search for resting points between the necropolis and Xur, risk pushing past Xur to further your search, which you do not have time for before the Conqueror’s arrival or—” Nia met Admrilia’s godlike eyes. “Admit defeat now. If the star did exist, it is long gone.” 

[wyrdstonethenovel]

CH 30. Sais-Eit the Heartreader

AN: Wyrdstone is a serial fantasy novel updating here on Tumblr so it gets off my hard drive. Wyrdstone is a good ol' fashioned "fight for the throne." With magic. And gods. And world building. And rebellion. Enjoy:

After the welcome physical exertion of loading another trireme full of tribute bound for Aegtrys; Admrilia Hortus Ashiphiex had to finally admit to herself that she was no closer to uncovering the Ten. Her window to find answers was narrowing with each passing day. The Pontus had already set sail days ago for Di-Fi’s port down the coastline and up north, the Triumph would be preparing their march south through the Dunelands. 

If Alexandros and Flavius sensed her dangerously foul mood, they had enough wits to not remark on it as Admrilia led them up the harbor. Her clothes were covered in a thick layer of sweat, and she was already aching for a swim to wash off the oppressive heat of the desert. As they walked, trade ships from Pi-Yenja and Sugia were already unloading the day’s load of pottery, grain, and cattle. The constant berthing and sailaways of Ash-Kai’s port only sullied Admrilia’s mood further. She was no closer to solving Legate Xur’s murder, and at this rate, likely never would. The prospect of returning to the Conqueror with only failure to offer… 

Admrilia banished the thought. She was the Argenti, the prodigal daughter of the Ashenian Empire, no rebel would be free from her vengeance once she knew where to point her spear. Currently, her spear bade her west towards De-Asha and Anu-Uro-Set. If Admrilia could find the star the Conqueror desperately sought, the throne would be hers. But the risk was equally as perilous as the reward. If she failed… 

Admrilia bit the inside of her cheek. The Argenti didn’t fail. 

Yet, Asho had months she didn’t to earn the favor of the Conqueror. Months she had lost due to the failing mission to find Xur’s murderers. If Asho was chosen by the Conqueror, could she, would she dispute the choice? Besides, Asho had declared her his rival in Kinos, there was no going back for them, regardless of the Conqueror’s choice. 

Admrilia had been too much of a prized pupil to know the history of civil war was likely. If civil war broke out, Ironore and Kinos would back Asho, as would Aegtrys — the senators and elite backing the son of the man who had saved the empire. 

Which left her with Ker. Her mother’s homeland, ravaged by war and genocide. Much as Admrilia was loath to admit it to a living soul, she was developing a begrudging fondness for her mother’s family. Her uncles were informed on all matters of history, culture, and politics. Her younger cousins polite and appropriately fearful. Ibi-Kai attended to her every whim; and Wyn-Kai had a powerful, far reaching, intellect. Admrilia knew in her heart that Wyn-Kai the betrayer would back her bid for the Ashenian throne, but would the rest of the Houses follow? 

They’d be just as likely to stab you in the back, Admrilia. Just get the gods’ damned star and you won’t have to worry about it. 

Decision made, Admrilia resolved to inform her council and Wyn-Kai that they would push onward to De-Asha. Certainly Advisor Clavo would agree with his son’s life hanging in the balance, and Khispen was too subservient to really object. 

Mood improved, Admrilia guided her neptori towards the street stalls that crowded the shoreline. She made a middle-aged vendor’s life by ordering some beef skewers. Alexandros’ brown eyes were filled with a silent plea and Admrilia quickly doubled her order. The merchant refused her payment, and they quickly carried their food over to the shade. 

Admrilia’s teeth tore into the tender beef, her taste buds appreciating the thick tangy sauce and hot pepper. She polished off the skewer and grunted her appreciation. “Go get another three, no wait, make it five more.” 

“You eat like a man.” Flavius grumbled as he rose. 

Alexandros belched and wiped his mouth. “No, she doesn’t.”

“You wager yourself a competition?” Admrilia asked haughtily. 

“Only competitions I can win, Argenti.” Alexandros said with a glint in his eye. 

Admrilia was about to respond when she noticed the storefront across the street. The glyph was faint on the shop’s door frame, but from her angle it almost appealed to be the half profile of the Lady of the Dunes. “I’ll be right back.” Alexandros, the loyal guard he was, got up and followed her paces behind. Admrilia pulled back the beaded curtain into the dim shop. The shop was musky, reeking of wet earth and opium. A muscular older woman with her hair braided tall atop her skull narrowed golden eyes. “Welcome in.” 

“What are you selling here auntie?” Admrilia asked, switching to kiyr. 

The shopkeeper ran her hands together from behind the tall bench. “Maps, close and near to the heart.” 

A mapmaker? How… odd. Admrilia tilted her head to the side, doing her best to appear non threatening. “How interesting, may I?”

“Come, come.” The shopkeeper waved her forward. Admrilia walked over to the bench and stiffened as the woman grabbed her wrist. She was unused to people touching her, as most would never dare. “I am Sais-Eit.” The woman said as she unfurled her clenched palm. “The Goddess has blessed me with the gift as my mother and her mother before her.” Sais-Eit ran a dirty index finger along the crease of Admrilia’s palm to her thumb. “This line here ends abruptly. It tells me that you had a passionate, short lived first love, doomed from the start.” Admrilia’s mask slammed into place as the woman’s nail traced along the seam to her index finger. “And this line here, ah, I see it now. You shall have another, fiery love. It will cleave you in two and meld you back together anew.” 

“That’s enough.” Admrilia wrenched her hand away. Her cheeks felt hot as she began backing out of the shop. 

“What? Do you not want to learn of your future lover?”

“Stormlord below, no.” 

Admrilia bolted from the shop as Sais-Eit called out. “Thank you for your visit, Princess Admrilia.”

Her cheeks flamed. Alexandros kicked off the wall where he had been waiting. “Why do you look as if you just saw the Maiden herself?” He asked. 

“I thought she was a mapmaker.”

“Truly?” Flavius asked. He offered her a beef skewer and Admrilia waved it away. “Was she?” 

“Of heart maps, Flavius.” 

His eyebrows bounced. “Wait, what? Did she?”

Could her face possibly burn hotter? “I will not discuss this with either of you.” 

Alexandros elbowed Flavius, and the pair exchanged a knowing look, communicating in that silent way of theirs. Admrilia tampered down the flare of loneliness that hit her when they did so, walking up the hill towards the Kai’s estate. The further away she could be from Sias-Eit, the better. 

Two days later, Admrilia Hortus Ashiphiex had completely nested in the Governor’s private library. The collection of tables and chairs that her council had taken up residence had been converted into a war room of maps, missives, and papyrus strewn across all surfaces. With her decision made, they needed all the knowledge they could possibly cultivate in the hunt for the star. As Admrilia had suspected, Advisor Clavo had been quick to bend to her new demands to push for De-Asha. 

“G.V.F.” Admrilia held up the papyrus that Hubei-Kai, Wyn-Kai’s brother, had passed her. “Who is this?” 

“Legate Fillium.” Hubei-Kai explained. “He recently purchased a map, and the guidance of our House’s scholars, to guide his party from De-Anu to De-Asha.” 

Admrilia had learned that House Kai made a significant portion of their wealth selling access to Ker. They sold to merchants, to the military, and even the Triumph for the ability to navigate the hazardous Dunelands. Admrilia set down the receipt. Legate Fillium had paid 1000 gold pieces for the map. “I fail to see what is so suspicious about the transaction.” 

Hubei-Kai nodded. “As did I, until I asked a clerk of mine to pull the receipts. Legate Fillum recently purchased maps to De-Jax, and De -Urs.” 

“He has no business going north.” Advisor Khispen piped up from a nearby table. 

“Exactly.” 

Admrilia glanced down at the gigantic map she had been studying. A copy of the master that had been sent North for the anticipation of the Conqueror’s arrival. The map sprawled the entire Territory of Ker. She noted how the Kerxa branched southwest towards their destination. The river would not be deep enough for the first neptor’s triremes, forcing their party to take barges instead. Admrilia did not envy Khispen who had the unfortunate logistical nightmare of transporting their neptori and supplies. Despite his best efforts, the trip was going to be long and miserable for her men. 

Admrilia pointed at the loser corner of the map. “De-Uro?” 

“This is a pre-Conquering map, princess.” Hubei-Kai explained. “By the Conqueror’s edict, the city's name was changed after the war. Just as De-Kai became Ash-Kai?”

“And De-Anu?” 

“The dead maintain their name.” Hubei-Kai said. “It will be a natural place for your party to stop on the way to De-Asha.” 

“Yes. We will pay the Legate a visit.” Admrilia said grimly. “Where are the Uro’s?” She asked. She glanced up from her seat as the door opened, and stood. 

[wyrdstonethenovel]

CH 29: The Pines

AN: Wyrdstone is a web novel that updates right here on Tumblr. It is a good ol' fashioned 'rivals fight for the throne.' with magic, and rebellion, and alliances, and of course,e the gayz. Did I mention the gayz? Enjoy:

Saltwater invaded Asho Ashen Ashiphiex’s nostrils as Hellion's hooves crested the final ridge. Anticipation and wariness had warred within him since they had left the Ironoak at dawn. At the bottom was the clearing of charred pine trees overlooking a rocky beach, and then, the channel. 

Kohl broke the silence. “Are you alright?” 

The prince tightened his grip on Hellion’s reins. “I need to see Kohl.” He hadn’t been strong enough before. Now, Asho wished he had. If head made this journey three years earlier, how would his life be different? Would he be more self-disciplined? More respectable? More of the heir that the COnqueror and the empire expected him to be? 

Their horses carefully navigate the treacherous steep slope. The hill bore an ugly burn scar— corpses of blackened trees uprooted and splintered over moss covered boulders. Hellion startled and whined. Asho glanced down to see what his hoof had caught on. 

A rusty piece of metal - the dome of a legionnaire’s helm half submerged in the thick mud. Sorrow welled in his gut. His eyes scanned the rest of the hill. There were no bones, no shrouds left to burn. All that remained of the vanished legion was metal and charred pine ash. 

Asho dismounted at the clearing. Kohl followed. It felt too profane to be in the quiet battlefield. His feet slid through thick mud as he stepped across a decade of separation to the shore line. His heart too burdensome in his chest. Saltwater overpowered his senses as he stepped onto the black sand beach. 

His boots carried him over to the lost legion’s banner. The prince knelt, removing his helmet. His hands ran along the padded leather of its cavern. The Ashenian falcon’s bronze wings had turned green in the years by the sea as it stood virgil over the channel. Asho lifted his ocean blue eyes across the fog. If he squinted he could make out the black cliffs of Bruttanium. 

So this was where his father had stood down the invasion of barbarians. Awe and fear pierced Asho’s heart. 

Kohl placed a hand on Asho’s shoulder as he knelt. His friend's hazel eyes were sorrowful. Kohl unfolded a cloth with two slices of bread and cured ham. Asho ate his tasteless portion in three bites. He leaned back on his haunches, watching the tide ebb and flood over the jagged rocks. 

“I never knew him Kohl.” Asho whispered. It was true. Even before the Bruttanium invasion, the Conqueror had always sent his second youngest son on some campaign or another. Ashen had been gone for months, sometimes years at a time. Asho lowered his head in shame. Some days, he could barely picture his father’s blurry face. 

“Surely the Conqueror has told you stories.”

Asho shook his head. “He doesn’t discuss him.” 

“Maybe it’s too painful.” Kohl offered. 

The prince was about to speak, to mention the Conqueror was hardly human in the way he and Kohl were, and thought better of it. Instead he numbly replied. “Maybe.” 

“Well, I can tell you this. I owe my homeland and my family’s life to Ashen’s courage.” Kohl said, returning to his good natured optimism. “Our father’s were great friends. Did you know that early in the war Ashen swam to the other end of the channel in the middle of the night, returning with a barbarian's shoes to ust prove he could. And when you were born, his first and only son, my father says Ashen talked of you endlessly.” 

Asho choked up. “That’s kind of you to say.” At the moment he didn’t feel as if there was much to speak of. The Conqueror thought he was a dynastic disappointment. And he’s right. Asho thought bitterly. He quickly wiped his stinging eyes. “They never recovered his body, Kohl.” 

“I, I know. My father believes it was swept up by the channel.” 

“But if they never found it, he never received his rites. How?”

“I’m sure the Stormlord made an exception. All of them.” Kohl ran a hand along the rusting legionnaire banner. “They were heroes. They died a heroic death. The skytops would have smiled down upon them.” 

Asho stared across the foggy channel, trying to picture the tall tan legs and broad shoulders of Ashen as he led the charge into the surf. Did he know he was about to sacrifice himself on the edge of the Empire? Had he thought of him? His mother? 

A new surge of resentment towards his uncle swelled. It should have been Hortus who died. Not Ashen. It should have been Admrilia, not him, who grew up without a father to guide them. He stood abruptly. “I’m ready.” 

Kohl looked startled. “You don’t want to stay longer?” 

“No.” Staying among the rusting metal and salty air would only make Asho dig up the past. The prince ran a finger along the falcon’s crest, committing the view to memory. “I’ve gotten what I’ve needed.” 

Asho paused when he caught sight of the cloaked figure huddled over near the crickbed. Putting a finger to his lips, he waved Kohl behind a nearby tree. Kohl cocked an eyebrow. Asho shook his head, pointing to the figure as he lowered his hood, revealing a caul of matted auburn hair. It was the boy that had hovered at the White Jarl’s side. Asho ducked low against Hellion’s flank as the acolyte’s head whipped around; scanning the forest with his green eyes. The acolyte slowly turned back around. 

His heart caught in his throat Asho dismounted Hellion, handing the reins over to Kohl. His friend's eyes were full of warning. Asho waved him off, tiptoeing around the trees so he could catch a profile view of the boy. His hands were resting on the thick black fur on one of the Conqueror’s hunting hounds. Asho’s eyebrows rose into his curly hair. Maybe the boy had been tasked with exercising the animal? 

Except, that didn’t explain why the acolyte had tied a rope around the hound’s muzzle. Or why his knee was in its stomach, pinning it in place. His thin bony hands fumbled around the crick bed, weighing rocks in his palm. He rained down the stone with all of his might onto the dog’s back leg. 

The hound wailed in pain. Unbothered, the acolyte grabbed the limb and twisted as if prying off a chicken leg. The acolyte began whispering fiercely under his breath. Asho darted forward from his hiding place. “Unhand that hound—” 

A blade was at his neck in an instance. His body being thrust into the dirt. Asho raised his hands in the air. A hooded figure had their knee pressed against his chest. Their hood had fallen back, revealing short brown hair, a pallid complexion, and silver eyes. 

“Unhand the prince at once!” Kohl demanded, dissolving from the trees. His bow was nocked, aimed directly at his attacker's head. “That is the heir to the Ashenian Empire!” 

The man lowered the blade and stepped back. “Your prince tramps around these woods like a common thief.” The northerner said through a thick accent. 

Asho stood and dusted off his tunic. He raised head imperiously. “That boy over there is the thief. That hound is the private property of the Conqueror.” 

“The hound was gifted to the White Jarl.” The man explained, and Asho quickly recalled that the stranger before him was one of the White Jarl’s personal guards. A member of the wyrguild. The man whistled and other guards materialized out of the clearing. They were dressed in thick furs and dark brown cloaks. Their faces were as interchangeable as their outfits. Unnervingly unassuming.  A tall and slender one walked towards the clearing, where the acolyte was still ducked down in the clearing. Another figure, tall and lumbering with the dark skin of a Southerner moved towards them. 

“That acolyte is training to be a healer.” The imposing bald figure said through a thick accent. 

“By breaking an animal’s leg?” Asho demanded. 

“Better that, then the leg of a man.” 

Asho raised an eyebrow in surprise. He turned to where the child was hiding within the cloak of his guards. The Conqueror’s hound bounded over. Asho knelt, examining the hound as he nuzzled into his side. He ran a gloved hand along the restored muscle and tissue. He rotated the back leg fragilly in his hands as the hound panted. The limb was limber in his palms. Asho knew that such an impossible feat could only be accomplished by the use of the wyrd. 

He looked up at the burly southerner. “Who are you?” 

“I am Gabriyl Duskbringer. The head of the White Jarl’s wyrguild.” 

Asho nodded. “And who is the boy?”

Gabriyl Dustbringer’s lips curled. “He is nameless. A nullius. As are all acolytes in the Rose Maiden’s service.” 

Asho stood at attention in front of the Conqueror’s desk. He had yet to change, his whole body yearning to wash the grief from the day off of his skin. The Emperor continued talking to Advisor Quercus. Neither looked over, and Asho fought the heat coating his cheeks. The Conqueror can sense your weakness. He chided himself. You have to stop being weak. 

Asho eased himself down into the stool beside Quercus. The elderly advisor glanced over, before continuing. “As you can see, your majesty, the lumber we will obtain…” 

“I just returned to find the White Jarls acolyte torturing your hound.” Asho interrupted. 

Quercus flashed him an irritated look. The Conqueror frowned. “Is this matter emergent, prince?” 

“I would say so. More than this inventory count. No disrespect, advisor.” Asho nodded his head to Quercus, who seemed to have taken plenty of affront to his interruption. “Kohl Ironside and I returned to find the White Jarl’s wyrguild protecting an acolyte as he tortured your hound. The child shattered its leg.” 

“I fail to see why you thought it necessary to interrupt us on the matter of animal cruelty.” Advisor Quercus said thinly. “The dogs are now property of the White Jarl. He can do with them as he wishes.” 

Asho made himself meet the Conqueror’s gaze. “The hound walks. The acolyte healed him.” 

The Conqueror leaned back in his seat. “So the boy was successful.” He said, nodding to himself. 

“You knew of this?” Asho was floored. 

“It was a matter discussed with the White Jarl, yes. Unfortunately you had predisposed yourself for the evening.” The Conqueror laced his fingers together. “I take it that you’ve seen the Pines?” 

“Yes sir.” 

“Good.” The Conqueror grunted, and it was perhaps the softest Asho had ever heard him speak. 

[wyrdstonethenovel]

CH 28. The Journals of the Legendary Legate Xur

AN: This blog is where I post my novel so it finally gets off my hard drive. I post new updates every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Follow for magic, a mounting rebellion, and the gayz, did I mention them? Enjoy.

What the hell is wrong with you? 

“It’s complicated.” Nia told Ajaxi as she entered the stall with him and Khayli. Her nerves were on edge after a few days of being ignored by the Governor. She resigned herself to the monotonous task of currying the loose dirt from his flank. Nia grabbed the brush, running it against Ajaxi’s coat with long, sweeping strokes. Ajaxi’s brown eyes closed and he nickered softly. She had just begun brushing his dark name when Lero barged into the stables. 

“There you are!” Khayli whined and Lero stopped briefly. “And hello to you too sweet girl.” Her brother crossed his arms. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. The princess has called for us.” 

Nia’s hands tightened around the brush’s handle. She looked down at her riding linens, wondering if she had time to change. What exactly did one wear to a summonings from the crown princess of the Ashenian Empire? 

The princess’s envoy was riding back from the city, and Nia had time to change. She waited beside Lero under the shaded portico of the grounds. She shifted her weight uncomfortably. Nia had opted to wear one of the two dresses she had packed, a hand-me-down from Cythe. It was one of her sister’s stately gowns, as turquoise blue as the waters of the kerx and meant to attenuate her bust and hips. Nia felt as if she was swimming in the gown, aware of her angularity and corners that fell in all the wrong places. 

Lero’s forehead was slick with perspiration as he stood at full attention in his armor. Nia’s hand kept flailing at her waist, wanting the comforting weight of the Peddler’s blade. But she had left the knife behind in their rooms. No need to provoke the Ashenian princess who could have them drawn and quartered alive. 

“That must be them. Ready?” 

Nia nodded, bunching the fabric of the dress up around her hips so she wouldn’t trip. Lero marched over to the gate as the palaquins were ushered through. Advisor Clavo sneered as he spotted them, and Nia’s chest constricted tightly in warning. 

The danger of Clavo’s father paled in comparison to the shenian princess. She stepped out of the palanquin with the aid of her tall guard. Her face was drawn tight. Today, just as yesterday, she was fully donned in armor; her raven hair braided down her spine in a tight braid. Lero went first to kiss her knuckles, then Wyn-Kai’s. 

Nia bowed her head. The princess’ calloused knuckles were cool to the touch. Her emptiness pits of eyes fell on her briefly, curiously. Nia inhaled sharply as she stood. She was trapped in the eyes of a vengeful god. 

That’s because she is you idiot! Look away! Look away! 

Nia’s attention shot to the safety of the princess’ leather sandals. The Governor regarded their small party. “I have informed her highness of your urgent mission.” Lero nodded stiffly beside her. “Her highness has requested to see the Legate’s journals, and that you both accompany us. Princess Admrilia, would you like to proceed to the library now?”

The Princess swiveled her god-like eyes on the governor. “Yes. lead the way.” 

The foyer of the Great Library of Ash-Kai was just as ostentatious as its exterior. Lotus leaf columns with intricate panels of kiyr text rose to support the terra-cotta roof. Massive wind sails swung back and forth from the rafters, circulating the mid-afternoon breeze. Tall cyprus shelves twice Nia’s height extended past the foyer in orderly rows— formulating the walls of an impressive labyrinth. 

Lero’s hand fell on her back, urging her forward. Nia trailed behind the rest of the princess’s party, openly gawking. The Governor led them deeper into the shelves. The princess marched beside him, flanked by her aggressive guards. The men were young, perhaps the princess’ age. One was tall and lithe, the other shorter and stockier. He had the square head and shoulders of an ox. The princess’ guards circled around her in practiced harmony, as if connected by an invisible string. Nia pressed her knuckles to her sternum when she became aware of what the aker was doing. 

Hunt. 

Nia tampered her jaw shut at the demand. She thanked the Lady of the Dunes that they had the foresight to ayia on the eve of their arrival to Ash-Kai. But with the princess’ presence, would they even be able to? Or would Admrilia Hortus Ashiphiex be able to sense the monster beneath her skin? The thought sent a fresh wave of anxiety through Nia. Along with the implicit knowledge that the aker wouldn’t wait forever. Nia would have days, a week at most, before the aker would force her release. 

Wyn-Kai led them up an ornate staircase to the second story landing. Nia paused to peer over the railing that overlooked the first floor. She gasped. A large three dimensional map of the entire continent was prominently laid out. Nia had never seen a complete map of the Empire and her eyes drunk in the ridges of the Skytops, the coastline of the Semperimar. Down to the bottom right  hand corner for the nation of Pi-Yenja across the sea. Then to the top left for the separate tributaries of Thrys and Bruttanium. 

Around the map, a half-dozen scholars sat cross legged at a series of long tables. Their hands expertly duplicating the original maps at their side onto fresh papyrus. “Our cartography section rivals any on the continent.” Wyn-Kai boasted to the princess up ahead. “The Great Library of Ash-Kai serves as the only repository for the territory.” He cleared his throat. “Naturally, not all of it is publicly available. Our scholars undertake a rigorous apprenticeship and the Great Library is guarded day and night. And where we are headed, the House's private library includes much more than what’s made public, including the histories of Ker and the war.” 

Nia narrowed her eyes. There was more? How many of the betrayers' maps had been looted from De-Asha’s navigators? How many still had the soot stained on their edges? 

Wyn-Kai produced a key from his roves at the end of the landing. The six legionnaires guarding the double doors stepped aside as their party entered the room beyond. A labyrinth of shelves contained the Kai’s private collection. The large room was dimly illuminated by the high windows and the Governor motioned to the lanterns resting near the door. The princesses' guards quickly lit them, following the governor into the maze of shelving. Nia’s eyes hungrily scanned the honeycommed shelves, wondering where the House’s private maps were held. 

After a few minutes, the Governor stopped at a thickly packed shelf. His hands danced through the accounts before pausing. “Here they are.” The Governor grabbed four thin leather bound journals. “I recommend we find some seating.” Wordlessly, the group followed Wyn-Kai to the sitting area near a window not blocked by shelving. Nia sank down next to Lero on a short bench. Advisor Clavo leaned against a bookcase opposite of them, his scowl already affixed. 

The Governor laid the Journals down on a short desk. Princess Admrilia eased into the seat next to him. “My suggestion is that we start with this one, your highness.” He held up a journal. “This is the Legate’s account from the final months of the war.” 

“Very well.”

“I will read the entries aloud so that we can all hear them. If anyone has anything to add, or a thought that could contribute to the mission of fulfilling the Conqueror’s demands. Speak up.” Not hearing any objections, Wyn-Kai the Betrayer cracked the cover and began reading. 

The crown prince has cleaved the sky and begot the wrath of the Stormlord. The House of the Doorway has fallen — glory be to the Stormlord and his son. The Houses have fled west. We shall follow the Ten to all corners of the earth. 

— Legate Scipio Sulla Vipsanius 

The 2nd month of the 10th year of the Ker Conquest 

We breached the legendary gates of the House. In the great hall I slew the Baron and as the last Ram lay dying by my sword the crown prince decreed that from this day forth until my last I shall be called Scipio Sulla Xur, the destroyer of the House of Ram. 

— Legate Scipio Sulla Xur 

The 4th month of the 10th year of the Ker Conquest 

We have taken Xur. The city stands as our legion’s stronghold against the harsh Dunelands. Their army cannot survive without the First House’s aid. Their sacred city is trapped on the edge of the world. We have intercepted their supplies; slaughtered their navigators; decimated their priests; severed their necks from their savage Goddess. The Ten’s lifeblood runs dry. Victory is imminent. 

— Legate Scipio Sulla Xur

The 5th month of the 10th year of the Ker Conquest 

The scouts have reported that the Ten have retreated to Anu-Uro-Set for their final stand. Their Goddess cannot save them from the wrath of the Stormlord and his wyrdling. 

— Legate Scipio Sulla Xur 

The 5th month in the 10th year of the Ker Conquest 

The wings of certain victory are circling Anu-Uro-Set like a vulture. Summer has scorched into autumn. The heat from the Dunelands burns my mens heads and soles. The Ten lay in wait inside the necropolis, eager to trick our men into their maw. Their women, their children will not make it through years end. Their men know they cannot win a war of attrition against the Ashenian Empire. Surely, as the Semperimar is the salt and sea of my veins, those dogs are gnawing on their own bones. 

— Legate Scipio Sulla Xur

The 8th month of the 10th year of  the Ker Conquest 

“Were you?” The princess’s chilling question pierced the silence. 

Wyn-Kai tensed beside her, his eyes suddenly distant. “The situation was dire.” He said shortly. The Governor turned the page, his voice temporarily quivering as he read the next entry: 

The Stormlord has blessed us today. Their priest squealed like a pig before the crown prince. We have uncovered the secret of the Ten’s survival. Tunnels, deep in the eastern rock that the rebels have been using to smuggle in supplies. We shall soon remove this blemish from the earth. 

— Legate Scipio Sulla Xur 

The 8th month of the 10th year of the Ker Conquest

Their priest led my men into the hills surrounding Anu-Uro-Set. We ride for the tunnels the Ten have dug through the bedrock. Their priest walks with the shuffling gait of a man already dead. The spear a preferable relief to what’s to come. The moon is full as we lie in weight. The die has been cast. By dusk tomorrow this decade’s long war shall be finished. 

— Legate Scipio Sulla Xur

The 9th month of the 10th year of the Ker Conquest. 

Nia’s eyes stung, envisioning the screams of the woman and children as they realized they were trapped. She exhaled, trying  to drown the flood of desperation that hit her. The Governor looked up from the journal solemnly. “There’s a few more entries.” Nia squinted her eyes shut. She didn’t want to hear any more of the first person account. Lero squeezed her hand, his handsome face impassible as the Governor continued: 

The priests have broken the line. They flee for the First House. My men and I shall follow. 

Wyn-Kai paused. “That’s it for this entry.” 

“Why would he possibly be following the priests?” The  Ashenian advisor asked. 

“It has to be connected to this star.” Clavo grunted, pushing off from the bookshelf. “The priests could have escaped with it.” 

“That may be your working theory advisor.” Admrilia Ashiphiex folded her hands together. A muscle in her jaw twitched. “But we still do not have any idea what this star is. Or do we, Wyn-Kai?”

Wyn-Kai sighed and laid his hands flat. “Admittedly, I only knew of the star's existence. When the knowledge of Atesh’s abilities became widespread, the First House kept the star’s existence a prized secret. Only their priests could use it, or see it.” 

“Well isn’t that convenient.” Clavo snapped. 

“I’m telling you the truth. It was tied to the Lady of the Dunes, but the priest's spiritual practices were not widely known by the rest of the Houses, even at the time.” 

“Could they control the environment?” princess Admrilia asked. 

“Unsure.” Wyn-Kai bowed his head. “The Goddess’s wyrd has not been present in our bloodline for centuries. Our House always concerned itself with more secular matters.” 

Advisor Clavo paced. “Surely the Conqueror has verified its existence. Or else he would not have sent my son this directive. Think Governor.” He held up his first. “Did the priests carry a gemstone, about the size of theri first? A comet on earth?”

Wyn-Kai’s eyes narrowed. “No. Nothing like your Conqueror’s wyrdstone.” His lips soured. “The priests never carried much of anything really. Just their personal effects.” 

“Like what?” 

Wyn-Kai’s mouth thinned. “Their maps, their laps, along with their khosheps, spears and everything else.” Wyn-Kai pointed down at the page. “There’s one more entry.” 

“Read it.” The princess demanded. 

I returned empty handed. 

Wyn-Kai chuckled. 

“What’s so humorous, Governor?” Clavo grunted. 

Wyn-Kai looked up. “Well, I must admit, I’ve known the Legate for decades but I never knew the man to have a sense of humor.” He glanced at the room’s blank expressions. “Empty handed? It’s a double entendre. The Legate had lost his hand during the war.” 

The wriry advisor groaned but Nia felt as if her windpipe had a boot against it. “He lost his hand?” She whispered. 

“Yes. what of it?” Lero asked beside her. 

Nia was going to be sick. 

“When did the Legate lose his hand, Governor?” Princess Ashiphiex asked. 

The Governor’s eyebrows pitched upwards. “I’m not sure, it was so many years ago. It must have been after the siege and surrender, because he certainly would have mentioned it earlier.” 

Nia exhaled through her nostrils, quashing the waves of flight instincts that screamed at her to run out of the Great Library and straight for the Dunes. The princess’s head turned to her slowly, like an eagle honing in on its prey. Her obsidian eyes were trained on her. Calculating. Prying. As if she could serrate each and every one of Nia’s thoughts until she could find what she was looking for. But thanks to the Skytops, Admrilia Hortus Ashiphiex could not read her mind. Could not see the crushed hand beneath her boot; because if the princess could, Nia would have already been dead. 

[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

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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.