The Lost Hero - Chapter 1

The sun washed the barren landscape into a shimmering, golden haze. Dull yellow earth hid behind the false luster, the air wavering as a blacksmith’s forge. Squinting against the brilliance, he could just make out the cavalcade across the plain. The merciless sun glinted on the metal of their armor, betraying their position even as dust obscured their forms.

He made his count and climbed to the ground, dropping from branch to branch. The dry, tingling scent of sap followed him. He stayed crouched in the dry grass at the base of the tree and looked over the camp.

This tree was the tallest for miles, maybe thirty feet in all. Nothing to the towering ancients further into the mountains. The rest of this sparse copse grew low and tough, bent under the relentless power of the wind.

That endless wind hissed between the drab tents set up in a small cluster. His soldiers were at the ready, sentries posted further out. He had hand-picked this team. He wished it was three times the number, but the decision had been out of his hands.

“Captain?”

One tent spread a little wider than the others, the canvas slightly newer and finer. By it, Lord Athus waved for him. He picked himself up and went to see what his lord required of him.

Athus smiled from where he sat on a camp stool, shielded from the sun by an awning.

“Touch any clouds, my son?”

The old joke roused a brief answering smile. “None to be seen, my lord. The Vabians have crossed the gully.”

Athus’ grin faded. He sighed and rubbed his face. A solitary bird chirped hesitantly in the morning hush. Then, “Is this a good idea, Ero?”

Ero grimaced. “Do we have a choice?”

Lord Athus glanced to the northwest, where the forest-crowned mountains rose up to meet a shadow. Ero refused to look, defying the menace there.

Athus sighed again, wearily. The years had been unkind to him and travel aggravated old wounds. The Watch was not conducive to peaceful sleep.

“You should rest, sir,” Ero said. “They can wait.”

“You kept me up, prowling around my tent like a wolf.”

Ero hadn’t been able to help himself. Not long ago, setting foot in this place brought a swift, merciless death. Demon teeth crunched with the stones under his boots.

“Speaking of, you need to change, oston ma.”

Ero hunched his shoulders. “I hate wearing it.”

“It is the traditional ceremonial garb of the Champion of Athus’li and you will present yourself appropriately.” Athus’ stern words didn’t hide his amusement, his mouth curved in a smile behind his beard.

“It’s blue.”

“As the Lady’s glorious spring sky, Her infinite blessing.”

“It provides no camouflage nor defense.”

“How is Baeark recovering from his ignominious defeat? Does he still vow to crush your skull between his thighs?”

Ero bit back his retort. After a brief, silent struggle, annoyed by Athus’ knowing look, he bowed. “As you will, my lord.”

The corners of Athus’ eyes crinkled. “Good lad.”

Ero bowed again, stiffly, and stalked to his tent.

Inside was stuffy and growing hot under the sun. Ero stripped out of his usual tunic, buff-colored to match the drab landscape around them. Under this serviceable garment, he wore a leather jerkin which hid the glinting metal of his A’amlan steel hauberk, formally the possession of Baeark, Indomitable King of the A’amla people. Ero still dreamt of the beast’s paw tight around his throat, hot breath smothering his mouth and nose.

The Champion’s Tunic was lovingly wrapped in white linen. He was certain he’d ‘forgotten’ it in his rooms. But Firn had her ways. He shook out the folds and glared at it. Sewn of the same serviceable fabric as his other garments, only its brilliant azure hue set it apart. It stood out in the Watch like a gem among dross.

“Captain? They’ve rounded the steppe.”

Indulging in the profanity he had restrained before his lord and master, Ero ordered, “Assemble the Watchmen.”

But it was with true reverence that he picked up his weapon. The Champion’s Tunic was symbolic, the rich dye difficult to produce but nothing more. Men wore Athusan Blue sashes on feast days, women wove ribbons of it into their hair to honor their Champion.

Ero drew the Sword a hands-breadth and examined his reflection in the steel.

This made the Champion.

He buckled his baldric and belt securely, comforted by the weight of the weapon at his hip. He touched the hilt, telling himself he was testing the flexibility of his kit, but in truth testing himself, his worthiness. The power within the blade stirred, roused from its slumber to brush his thoughts.

Ero.

Almost a sigh, the faintest whisper. Proof his Goddess still claimed him. Proof he was still worthy. He would never forget the first time it had murmured to him, acknowledging him. He dreaded the day when it did not.

“All is ready, Captain.”

Ero drew on his gloves. “Lord Athus?”

“Awaits your pleasure, sir.”

The Watchmen waited on their horses. Athus grinned as Ero went to his mount.

“You wear Her Blue well, lad. Athus’li guide you.”

His soldiers completed the ancient honorific, lifting their hands in salute. “Athus’li shield you!”

Ero settled onto his saddle, stony-faced. “Indeed, it will be a miracle if I am not shot, wearing this.”

Athus laughed. “Let’s go, oston.”

Muffled chuckles escaped his men. Ero smiled briefly, but turned his attention to the landscape around him.

The noise of the horses masked them, but he listened to the sparse shadows beneath the windswept bushes. The sun burned, but the threat was never completely gone. The rise and fall of the land was deceptive, no matter its barrenness. Hollows lay in every direction, an ideal place for an ambush. For some desperate crytch to await its victims.

The foreign envoy’s camp perched on a rise, a huddle of tents as plain as their own. The Athusans drew up on the flat pan below as the other party approached warily. Ero assessed them narrowly, watching for any hint of aggression.

Six archers, twenty arrows apiece. Eight swords. Heavy horse, slow to turn. Thirty more in the camp, waiting for the sign to rush. High ground gives the advantage.

Those eight swordsmen surrounded a slighter figure. No matter the heat, she rode with her cloak hood up and her form draped in heavy cloth. Horses shuffled, blowing and snorting as the two groups met, neither wanting to show any weakness.

The tension carried a hint of awkwardness. Not unexpected, when hereditary enemies met to parlay.

The woman spoke. “Athus.”

“Vabia. Well met.” Ero’s lord spoke the common Vabian tongue with ease.

“And thee, my lord.”

“May we…?” Athus gestured as if to dismount.

“Please.”

There was a great creaking of leather and the jangle of metal armor. Ero winced as the Vabians clanked to their positions. The amused twist to his lieutenant’s mouth showed he wasn’t alone in his condemnation.

Heavy plate, hard to pierce without spears.

Ero shadowed his lord as his men arranged themselves. One of them carried forward a camp chair. Athus waited standing by it until Vabia had been settled in her own place. Her personal guard hovered at her elbow, making no effort to hide his appraisal of Ero.

Truly skilled. Longer reach… keep your distance, then strike when he is off balance from the lunge. Favors his left; old injury.

Not a Vabian soldier, this man. His hard face did not appear impressed by Ero’s shorter build. Then his eyes found the distinctive hilt and cross-guards of the Sword at Ero’s hip and paused. When he met Ero’s eyes again, he gave a slight nod of respect. Ero returned the gesture and breathed a little easier.

Their sovereigns in place, the soldiers fell to silence. The two rulers sat looking over the desert, faces carefully neutral.

“How is your father?” Athus asked.

“Weakening, but well. We hope for a few more seasons.”

“You have my condolences, ma’am.”

They spoke of harvests and rainfall for a few minutes. Then the queen spoke in a suddenly brisk voice. “Now, enough of this nonsense, Athus.”

Athus grinned. “Indeed. What concessions are you prepared to offer?”

“Concessions?” Her brow lifted with hauteur. “As though you have not unlawfully occupied the Eblea Valley these past twenty years and more!”

Ero stopped paying attention to them. He and his lord had gone over their arguments a thousand times in the past weeks. He suspected he could guess Vabia’s rebuttals just as well. He kept his gaze on the plain, on the shimmers of heat that obscured the horizon.

“Captain?” Athus beckoned him forward.

“Ta, reger?”

“Report to the queen.”

He could feel the Shadow on his neck as he spoke.

“The pass to Druynia has been blocked. Some refugees escaped before winter, speaking of a man, a sorcerer taking control of the countryside. The Watch is restless, the covens more active and aggressive than previous years. They do not fade back to Shadow when slain.”

“You have proof of this?” Vabia asked. The slightest curl to her lip doubted his veracity.

“My own eyes.” He tried to keep the ends of his words from snapping off, but her condescension irritated him.

He still felt the cold snag of terror, the shock as the crytch at his feet thrashed. Its teeth had gnashed and clicked, desperate to reach him, even as its body lay cooling some ten feet away. He had seen the carrion birds circling long after they had left it to rot.

Vabia sat silent for a long time. Her guard leaned and whispered something in her ear. She nodded and turned to face them fully.

“I will be honest, Athus. We cannot fight this menace. I have neither the military might nor the support of my people to engage directly with Druynia. The last war still weighs heavy on their hearts.”

Ero squashed the pity her bleak words tried to evoke. Her father had brought that conflict on himself. Ero remembered well the whispers, the tension as Athus prepared for war, the contention as the Council debated which side they would support, whose cause they would die for. Luckily, the Vabian king had negotiated a ceasefire with the Mogons before Athus had been pulled into the conflict.

Lord Athus spoke now as a father to a young daughter. For she was young, Ero realized, younger than he had thought.

“My people also do not seek war. Peace for us has been fleeting over the generations. But we sit on Druynia’s borders. When they attack, we will be the first to fight and the first to fall. Would you have me sacrifice my people for nothing?”

Vabia was hard to read, her face impassive and her thoughts quiet. She turned to Ero.

“You, soldier.”

The Sword hummed with his anger. Athus’ eyes warned him silently, as if he didn’t know better than to rise to her deliberate taunt.

“Ai, regerin?”

“If your king, at this moment, commanded you to kill me, would you do it?”

Her guard spluttered indignantly. Ero matched her challenging stare.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Athus would never break his pledge.”

She smiled mirthlessly. “And if you deemed me a threat?”

The smooth skin of her throat would be as nothing to his blade, the delicate flutter of her heartbeat stilled in a single motion. “Without hesitation.”

Her guard was already moving. Ero forced his body still, even as his mind raced through the battle, the choices, the outcomes.

The man would jump forward, draw, left first to catch him unawares with a second blade as Ero parried. Step to protect Athus, his soldiers moving to meet the Vabians. Crossbows hidden under cloaks, horn call to the waiting cavalry get to high ground she has a knife drop shield better mobilitythrustsecondonleftturnunderstrike—

Ero blinked as Vabia held up a hand, checking her guard’s motion to move between them. “No, Ninan.”

The man growled in a strange language. His eyes flicked between Ero and the other Athusan soldiers. Vabia’s never wavered, bright and keen on Ero’s face. He didn’t know what she was looking for, but her mouth relaxed, from a twist of bitterness to something genuine.

“I commend you, Athus, on your choice of Champion.”

Athus thanked her with a calm Ero knew was feigned. “I can take no credit, however, as I have no say in the matter. But yes, Ero serves Athus’li well. As he will any who battle against darkness.”

She looked to the Shadow, then turned her back on it. The pressure on his neck was an itch now, like the pricks of a nettle sting. The Sword whispered warning, restive as it recognized the evil.

“There will be those who say we should not fight,” Vabia said. “I have spoken with representatives from Theica and A’amla. They are reluctant to commit. There is word this sorcerer is a legitimate ruler.”

“This does not excuse his aggression. The refugees speak of atrocities. Plans to invade.”

“We have no proof of his intentions.”

“Can they not see the darkness gathering?”

Ero lost their conversation. Something moved in the distance. A flicker. It grated on his ears. A shadow? At midday? Moving too swiftly for a cloud.

Above!

Vabia yelped as he kicked her chair, sending her crashing into her guard’s arms. Ero shoved Athus to the ground and lifted his shield to catch the projectiles unleashed on them.

The steel rang like bells, the force of the impacts numbing his arm. The assailant swooped over, the beat of its wings kicking up dust, and was gone.

Soldiers shouted, loosing arrows after the rapidly diminishing shape. Ero dropped his shield and snatched a bow from the man next to him.

The sun glared into his eyes as he tried to track it. Intentional, something intelligent driving it on. The fletching brushed his cheek. He aimed high and loosed.

“Did you hit it?” Athus demanded, dusting himself off. Ero squinted against the brilliant sky, washed nearly white.

“Maybe a glancing blow. Phytos, Hent, see what you can find.”

He yanked out the foot-long spike embedded in his shield. He could feel the razor edge to it even through his gloves. “Yrni.”

“In these parts?”

“Could be a solitary hunter.” Ero knew that for the lie it was. He’d destroyed the last of their nests in the Pellisans just this spring. Someone had sent it here from deep in the Kvirs where the remnants of the covens had fled for refuge.

Vabia stood and shook out her riding skirt. “It appears our secret meeting was not as clandestine as we supposed.”

The alarm in the two camps had to be calmed, scouts sent to reconnoiter. Vabian cavalry thundered around, kicking up dust and noise that would only aid a second attacker. Ero waited on edge for his men to return.

“Yrni, sir,” they confirmed, handing him his arrow, the tip glistening black. “Dead, but unfaded. Like the others.”

Vabia turned to him, eyebrows raised. “An excellent shot, Champion. I forgive you your treatment of my person.”

No amount of training could stop Ero’s sneer. She saw and laughed at him. Athus pressed a firm hand into his shoulder. He took a slow breath in and calm with it.

Impertinent woman.

“We are compromised,” he said shortly. “We’re leaving.”

Athus only hesitated a moment. He bowed to Vabia. “I apologize, your majesty. I regret we must end this profitable discussion prematurely. May I contact you for further negotiations?”

Vabia’s mirth faded. She stared after the path of the attacker. Despite her youth, there were lines by her eyes. Her guard touched her arm, a clear plea to leave.

She turned to Athus. “May I accompany you?”

Athus was flummoxed. “Into Athus?”

“That is where you are going, correct? Unless you were using this as an opportunity to penetrate Vabia while I am away from the palace?”

Ero kept his face carefully neutral, as he had suggested that very thing when they first received Vabia’s missive. Athus was a better man than him and refused such subterfuge.

“Will your people not grow concerned when you do not return?” Athus asked slowly.

“I am said to be at my summer house recuperating from a nasty croup. We still have much to discuss. Or will you let an assassin end our peace talks?”

Athus saw Ero’s small but emphatic head shake and chose to ignore it anyway. “We would be honored by your company.”

“Tama! Nahn—!”

“Your majesty, I must protest—”

Ero and the Vabian guard spoke over each other, unable to keep their objections silent.

“I have decided, Ninan.”

The man pressed his lips together. Ero had a moment of sympathy with the older soldier. Athus adopted the fatherly tone Ero resented with a fierce guilt.

“Ero, oston, go fetch the horses.”

But if this Ninan could mind his tongue in front of his monarch, so could he.

“Ta, reger.”

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