Age of Valor: Heritage Read online

  "The king has been murdered," said one of the advisers slowly, visibly shaken. He looked at one of the guards by the doors. "Sound the alarm. Find the one who did this!"

  The rush of armored footfalls down the castle hallways seemed to compete with the thunder outside. Men with swords strapped to their belts were hurriedly tying cloaks around their necks and pushing helmets down over their heads in the armory below the castle. Squires dashed from one man to the other to assist where needed. A man being dressed in older and darker armor the only one calm among them. Ashen hair and fair skin served a perfect contrast against the black of his horse. He tied a black and red cape around his neck before mounting. Once adjusted in the saddle, he looked at the other men with heavy-lidded dark brown eyes.

  No words needed to be exchanged. As soon as the others were ready on their horses, the man on the black horse gave a commanding, “Ha!” and kicked his heels into the ribs of his steed. The horse raced out into the terrible afternoon weather with three men close behind. Several other guards peeled away from the group to search down muddy streets and darkened alleyways. Once away from the shelter of the stables, the rain stung their faces in icy needles, clouds covering any chance of sun to warm them.

  The woods were quiet and deceivingly peaceful. Even the birds had stopped singing, huddled into nests to keep warm and dry. As the men rode between the trees, fanning out in a wide line to search the bushes and shadows, the leader of the knights searched the thick branches overhead. They provided a small amount of cover from the elements but also could have been used as a place for their prey to hide. With a hawk-like gaze, he peered a little ways ahead and spotted something hanging from an old tree branch. “What do we have here?” he murmured, nudging his horse forward.

  The other three men, observant of their captain’s moving, drew up near him. As the sopping cap was pulled free, the lead rider narrowed his eyes in speculation. There was only one place the one they chased would go from there. “The church.”

  “He could have run farther,” suggested one of the other men. “There was a caravan leaving Montania for the port of Amme not long ago. Perhaps he was with them.”

  “No,” said the first rider, certainty in his dark glance in the direction of the church and the sound of the bell. “We have no leave to seize the church. If he was smart enough to be able to poison the king, he will be smart enough to hide in the church.” Taking the cap and tucking it into his belt, the rider whipped his horse with the reins and was off again.

  Finding the cap was only helpful in confirming suspicions. When the alarm sounded, several people reported seeing a boy run from the gate. His description had been taken from these witnesses by castle guards and given to the riders before they left. A cap just like this had been included in that description.

  A flash of flames, blue, gold, and hot made the horses rear up and cry out in fright. The lead rider tugged hard on the reins and pulled his own mount around to investigate. Sizzling in the cold rain, the flames on the old tree died in the space of a breath. The rider in battle proven armor dismounted to take a closer look. The ground around the tree was blackened as was the hollow inside. His brow furrowed. He touched his gloves to the soot and rubbed the black ash together between his fingers. After a moment he said, “Keep riding. He cannot have gotten far.” With one more analyzing glance at the tree he made for his horse and followed his men.

  They reached the old stone building only minutes after the great wooden doors had closed. The rider with the cap in his belt dismounted with an order for the others to stay where they were in the open courtyard. If there were outlaws waiting for an easy opportunity to attack they would be woefully disappointed; his men were the best knights in Caedia and they knew how to fight any attacker.

  Raising a fist, he pounded on the doors and stood back, glancing around as he waited for an answer.

  A tall, round monk in long brown robes and a silver talon on a chain around his neck answered the door, his weathered face confused. “Blessings, good sir. How may we be of service this dreary day?”

  “You are giving sanctuary to a boy who has committed a crime,” sneered the leader of the riders. “I demand the church give him to us freely.”

  The monk shook his head. “I'm afraid I know not of what you speak. The only male in this church is standing before you now.”

  “I thought the holy men were not supposed to lie.”

  “I tell you nothing but the truth. But what of this boy? What crime has he taken part in that would be serious enough to have four of the castle guard out in the rain to chase him?”

  “He has slain the high king.” The reply came as a low growl and the monk gasped. The rider scowled. “Do not pretend with me, old man. If you hold no boy within your sacred walls allow me and my men in to see for ourselves.”

  “And muddy the floors with your boots? I should think not. I will pray for the soul of the king, but now I must bid you good day.” It would not be so easy as that. The knight extended a hand that stopped the door from closing shut. Behind him the other three dismounted and walked forward, hands resting threateningly on the hilts of their swords. “I see you will not be content until you search,” said the monk, “so I will allow you to do so. Please, all I ask is that you respect the house of the Giver.”

  Needing little else to give him permission to enter, the knight pushed the door aside. He walked past the monk and peered into the great stone cathedral. Tall windows of colored glass lined the walls and torches lit the hall with warm flickering light. At the front of the sanctuary stood two girls, one taller than the other but both blonde and wearing kirtles that were simple and worn. They stood together and watched as the church was invaded. “Who are you?” the knight asked lowly.

  The taller of the two girls stuck out her chin, green eyes lit with anger. “We have no business with you, sir.”

  The knight raised his eyebrow at the girl, taking in her dirty patched dress. “Do you have any idea who I am? I am Merrik, Captain of High King Tadhg's knights.” He took a step closer to the girls. “What is that in your accent...you're of the Celtique Clans.” Jaw set, he pressed, “I will ask no more. Tell me your names.”

  “I am Ashlynn Stuart,” she told the knight begrudgingly. “This is my younger sister, Kenayde. We were born in Siness but have lived here in Caedia for most of our lives.”

  Merrik narrowed his eyes, his gaze trailing over her with scrutiny before returning to her face. "Stuart?" He stared hard at her for a long moment as though trying to see her thoughts through her eyes. At length, he finally blinked. “The Gaels never leave their kind. Why are you here?"

  “Being Celtique does not make me a Gael by default.”

  “They were my sister's children,” the monk offered quickly, coming down the aisle with the rest of the riders accompanying him. “Both she and her husband were slaughtered by raiders. I collected their girls to live here with me.”

  Merrik's eyes did not leave Ashlynn for but a second and that was to glance over the quivering frame of Kenayde. “Why does she shiver, and why is your hair wet?”

  “She shivers because it was men like you who raided our home. She shivers in fear.”

  He looked at the younger girl in assessment. Lifting a brow he returned his attention to the elder sister once more. “I asked you two questions yet only received one answer.”

  “We needed wood to dry for the fire,” Ashlynn growled, “and it is raining...my lord.”

  Having no tolerance for wasting time, the riders split up at a meaningful nod from their captain and disappeared down the different annexes of the church. Merrik remained with the other three in the sanctuary. “Tell me,” he said, turning to the monk now, “how it is you escape scandal, being here alone with two young girls?”

  “Sir, they are my sister's daughters! How could you think of such things?”

  Merrik smirked and turned around to face the girls again for a moment. He was more amused by the wilting figure of Kenayde than
anything else but said nothing more. Instead he walked past them to the altar, glancing up the rough stone walls and putting a hand to its coolness. It had been a long time since he'd been to any sort of church and he'd forgotten how intricate the work of the masons could be. On the altar behind him were elaborate carvings of knots and loops that seemed to have no beginning or end. Touching the top of the altar with his thigh, he pushed forward and the top of the stone table slid slightly. A light of interest went on in his dark gaze and he turned around. “What is under here?”

  The monk appeared confused at this question. “It is where we keep the sacramental wine and bread. It keeps the mice away.”

  “Show me.”

  Ashlynn left her sister long enough to step in front of the monk. “You do not have to do this, Uncle Briac.”

  “Yes he does,” rumbled Merrik, looking down on them from the altar platform. “Come, Brother. Move this tablet and show me you have nothing to hide.”

  Briac gave Ashlynn an apologetic grimace and moved beyond her, but before he could even join Merrik one of the guardsmen came back. “My lord.” He held out his sword. Hanging from the tip was a soaked wad of clothing. “This was found in one of the back rooms.”

  “Well, well, well,” Merrik said in soft delight. He left his recent target of interest and reached for the clothing. “What do we have here?”

  "The cloak I wore to gather the wood." Ashlynn's words were biting as she reached out for the clothing. Merrik was quicker and grabbed them first.

  “Is it then?” The one they sought was described to be wearing a tunic and trousers of the same cream and faded brown as this. Now he had proof. Unclumping the clothing in his hands he stiffened when it was revealed that what he held was indeed a sodden cloak. Ashlynn didn't bother to hide the smugness of her expression. “What is this?” he asked.

  “My cloak,” Ashlynn repeated, loud and slow as if she were talking to someone hard of hearing. She reached out and snatched it from his hands. “My uncle has been kind enough to let you look around and soil the floors of this holy place for too long. Quite obviously we do not have what you are looking for and I think it is time you left."

  Merrik was displeased about the cloak and looked at it as though he couldn't believe it was actually what the girl had claimed. After a moment's silence the others came back. Merrik gave a small wave of his hand and all four of them stomped back through the church and out the doors without so much as another word.

  ~*~*~*~

  There was an immediate sense of urgency when Merrik and his men departed from the old monastery. Briac rushed to lower the heavy wood and iron latch, then sank to the floor in relief.

  “Lynnie, how did you know?” Kenayde questioned in awe, taking the wet dress Merrik’s men had found.

  “I didn't,” Ashlynn admitted, walking over to help Briac back to his feet. “I was just cautious. Your nieces?”

  Briac shrugged. “They believed I was a monk. Why not that as well?”

  Kenayde rushed toward the altar to move the stone back. She reached for the wet clothes they'd managed to shove inside before the knights entered. “We should burn these. Just to be safe.”

  Ashlynn's lips set into a tight line. “Fine. They shall be our offering to the Giver since it's all we have. We must leave before morning or they will be back, and with more men.”

  “Leave?” Briac's eyes were wide with confusion. “For where?”

  “I don't know,” Ashlynn confessed. “I'm making this up as I go. We just can't stay here.”

  Kenayde nodded. “She is right.” Without waiting for further argument, she set the sopping clothes atop the altar, adding sticks of incense before stepping back and kneeling. Briac took up the same position beside her and Ashlynn stood on the other side of him. Without a torch or a word to mutter a magic spell, the clothes that should have been too wet to burn were set ablaze in a fyre of brilliant sapphire blue and gold. Ashlynn knelt and bowed her head.

  “Great Giver, hear Your children. We beg Thee for divine protection against those that would mean us harm and halt us on our course. Be with us this night while we prepare for the journey tomorrow. Guide our hands and our hearts so that we may know what is right and what is true to Your word but most of all, what it is You would have us do. Be near us while we are in the restful moments so that fear may not creep into our hearts. Make our feet swift when the time calls. We ask for these things in Your blessed and most holy name. Amen.” Ashlynn opened her eyes to stare at the fyre, breathing in the thick incense that was filling the room. Briac rose to his feet and shuffled away down one of the annexes, but Kenayde stayed with her head bowed and her eyes closed.

  “Don't be afraid, Nadie.”

  “I am not afraid,” the younger girl answered, still unmoving. “I am simply adding in what it was you forgot.”

  Ashlynn blinked and looked at her sister the same time Kenayde opened one eye to look at Ashlynn. “What did I forget?”

  Kenayde closed her eye again, her head bowing just a bit more. “To ask for your own protection. You are the one who killed the king, Lynnie. If they find that out...”

  “They won't.” True to Ashlynn's character, her tone was sure and confident. “But I thank you for your added prayers. When you're finished you should rest. We'll be leaving before sunup.”

  Kenayde's eyes opened and she looked at her sister. “No, I wanted to help you and Briac ready the packs and the horses.”

  “No horses,” Briac announced as he came back into the main hall. “They'll attract too much attention.”

  “So what do we do?” Kenayde asked. Both Ashlynn and Briac looked at her and she shook her head, curls bouncing about her face. “Oh, no. No, Lynnie. That is not an option! You are not experienced enough!”

  “Yes I am,” Ashlynn replied harshly. “Kenayde, it is either that or we are caught and hanged. Or worse.”

  “But what about Briac? He could not come with us. He would be burned to death!” Ashlynn turned to Briac and Kenayde looked at them both in triumph. “We have to figure out another way.”

  “You'll have to leave me here.”

  “No,” Ashlynn argued. “If we leave you here they'll know something is amiss. Our only hope is to head for Amme on foot and barter for passage aboard the next ship out.”

  “Out to where?” Kenayde asked.

  “Home if we can manage it. If not...” Ashlynn frowned. “As long as it is out of Tadhg's kingdom, we'll be safe.”

  “For now.” Briac's expression was grim. “Get some rest. We leave in a few hours.”

  ~*~*~*~

  When war came to the high kingdom of Altaine on the island of Siness of the Celtique Isles, they knew there was no way of winning. But to simply give in would mean being crushed, and even with a sure defeat they would not lie down to simply die. With Tadhg it was fight or be obliterated. They fought for as long as they could, until their own king, Nir, died while trying to save his two daughters. His wife had passed while giving birth the their youngest and he knew if he fell, his children would be taken to Tadhg as trophies and unspeakable things would happen to them. It was only to secure their safety should something happen to him that Nir made sure they would be sent away if he perished.

  Ashlynn and Kenayde, three and one, were dressed as simple peasant children the day black horses, thick with muscle and weighted down by armor and knights, stormed into the village surrounding their castle. Altaine had been warned of the oncoming war and the town was in a panic. As the capital was taken over by the black knights of Tadhg, the girls were smuggled out with the smaller, weaker children, aided by an elfin counselor in Nir’s court. They were sent east to an even smaller kingdom before being separated from the other children and sent south and away from Siness.

  The small shipping village of Nivar in Caedia earned most of its income through trade of boating supplies, ships, and sea fare. The port’s backdrop was the majestic Oceana Palace, sitting high above on a cliff that reached out to the ocean like
an old friend. Nir's younger brother by seven years, King Wessely Stuart and his young bride, Emiline, could not have children. There were mutterings of conspiracies and plots to get someone else on the throne, but Oceana’s kingdom was so small that the talk died down after awhile and the most fantastic ideas were reserved for drunken babbling. Ashlynn and Kenayde’s arrival at the palace helped calm the minds of those left worrying. With no one to look after them but the king and queen, they had become next in the line of kin to inherit Oceana as well as Altaine when it was safe.

  The truth of who they were and how they'd come to the palace was never kept from the girls. Wessely and Emiline raised them as though they were their own, never letting them want for anything. Eventually Ashlynn lost the ability to be satisfied with her simple life as a pampered princess. She would overhear daily reports on where Tadhg's men were attacking. Some had given up on trying to rebuild and simply fallen to his hands, content to let him leave men there so as not to risk any further war in years to come. Altaine was close to becoming one of them and Ashlynn rallied. She was young, but there was a strong sense of duty in her. If she could prevent her homeland from being taken over by the Red King she would do whatever was in her power to stop it, even if that meant killing him to be free of him.

  She trained with the knights, much to the disgust of her sister, and took a keener interest in politics and social economics. A maid at the castle by the name of Cailin, a young girl from the island of Ibays and Ashlynn's closest friend, had said more than once that her people were the grunts of the Celtique peoples, looked down upon by everyone else. That was something Ashlynn committed to changing.

  Her goals were lofty, but both Wessely and Emiline knew if anyone could do it, it would be Ashlynn.

  Passing through the rooms of the monastery, she remembered how her decision to leave Oceana had confused and hurt Kenayde, thinking she was abandoning their parents and abandoning her. It took many late night conversations to convince Kenayde that she was abandoning no one but setting out to try to change the world. Kenayde said she was foolish but ultimately agreed it was Ashlynn's decision and that she would support her no matter what. Little did she know that her support would be taken so far as assisting in murdering Tadhg.