The Lost Hero - Chapter 4

Ero fought to keep awake, eyes heavy and aching. Up late for the feast and early for training, he forced himself through the day, relying on the Goddess’ strength to keep him alert.

Now, he sat at Athus’ feet and listened absently to still more negotiations. Endless talking, posturing, debating. The Sword murmured restively at his side.

Another day had been wasted trotting Vabia around their small nation. Up to the hills touched with green and gold, the flowers just blooming. Watching his people as they tended their flocks, the goats and sheep prepared for the first sheering.

An inspection of the grain stores, the seed ready to be planted after the next new moon. Parades of his soldiers, his archers showing off their skills, the agility of their sturdy, mountain horses.

As if she would be impressed by the display, the might of this tiny nation. The wealth of Athus could not be measured only in goods and gold. And while the Athusans had prospered in recent years, even at their largest population in a century they were nothing to the hordes of Vabia.

Night closed around them and servants lit the lamps. It was comfortably warm and Lady Ai’kish droned on and on about water taxes. Or was it fishing rights? Her speech had become so convoluted Ero wasn’t sure she knew what she was going on about.

He leaned back and let his eyes close. Her voice faded to a murmur. He didn’t know how much later it was when he stirred, surprised by the quiet. The room had gone still.

Not just the room. The birds, the river. A thick silence muffled them. Ai’kish’s mouth gaped open, stopped mid-word. The flames of the lamps were still. A moth hung motionless next to the glass.

The Sword hummed warning.