Comes a Dark Heir

Here we have a nice teaser for the upcoming Aeonith  novel, Comes a Dark Heir. There will be more to follow, but please enjoy this first one, and don't forget to visit Aeonith.webs.com for more Aeonith lore!

From the original prologue of Dark Heir

Quick feet make for a quick getaway. Many a daring escape had been managed by adhering to those words of wisdom. Whether he was stealing dried beef for an evening's meal or running from the city watch, the young man's quick feet had served him well indeed.

Quick feet was only one of the many lessons he'd learned from Makor, the older boy who'd taught him everything he knew about living on the streets. Makor was also the only friend young Joslin had ever known. Most of the other orphaned children on the streets tended to look out only for themselves, unless they worked for one of those awful dark lords, and then they were much, much worse. Those kids were always especially mean, and cruel.

Makor had warned Jos to stay away from those kids no matter what, and never, ever get involved with any of their business. For some reason that Joslin had never fathomed, only older children worked for the dark lords of the city, and mostly boys at that. Within the dark hovels and sewers that orphaned and unwanted children made their homes, tales were told of younger kids who had taken a simple job from one of these teenage agents, and were never seen again. Jos had seen enough of that for himself to know that it was true.

Makor had provided his young protégé with many other nuggets of street-wisdom. He'd shown Jos which vendors could be robbed easily, and which ones had the ear of the city watch and the Coin Lords. Those merchants were off-limits. Stealing from them could, and often would, lead to a young boy with one less hand, or leg. A one-legged boy can only run half as fast, the men would laugh.

Makor had shown Jos where the best places to beg within the vast city, and which places to avoid. Any place where the people were tall, thin and had long, pointed ears was to be carefully avoided. The Drae’gar were stingy with their coin, and didn't seem to like humans very much anyway, and young beggar children even less. A steel boot was a more likely gift than a silver kiit from the haughty elves.

Joslin began to feel sad as he quickly and gracefully made his way through the crowded marketplace. Makor had been gone for nearly a year now, and he sorely missed the only friend he'd ever had.

But there was no time for sentiment now. Today was a great day, Jos finally had a task that was easy, paid well, and didn't require a single bit of law-breaking. Not that it would have made much difference. If the city watch caught sight of him, they'd probably arrest him anyway, for that whole roast pig he'd stolen two days ago. Jos decided not to go near that merchant for several weeks.

It was mid-morn, and the Unwashed Plaza, as the Drae’gar's called it, was fairly teeming with people. The Drae’gar called most everyone not themselves unwashed or unclean, or just uncivilized. Jos had wondered why they let humans into their city if they detested them so much. Makor had explained it to him one cold winter evening, over a roast duck they'd just pilfered. The Drae’gar loved money more than anything, and every merchant who sold his goods in the city paid the elves to stay there. And because Slyth-Mnir was a great sprawling city on the coast, all manner of goods came flowing in here and that meant trade. Men, it seemed, had a great appetite for Drae’gar goods, as well as whatever exotic items came in from across the sea. And so, the human presence was tolerated, or so Makor had told him.

Joslin's quickness served him well as he made his way through the mass of people. So many pockets lined with gold, he had to resist the temptation to reach into one or two of those pockets and help himself. That would chance him getting caught, leaving him in the city dungeons and without his promised coins. So far Joslin had managed to stay out of the dungeons, a winning streak he was none too eager to break.

The crowd was thick that morning, an occurrence that only happened when a ship had docked the night before. Ships had been arriving with less frequency lately, a circumstance no one had bothered to explain to the young street urchin who now made his way among the gathered throng.

Joslin's destination was the Blade and Red Bed, an inn in the outskirts of the Plaza. The Blade had a notorious reputation, and it was well known that the current name of this establishment was not the original one. Jos slowed his steps as he neared the old inn-house.

Two large and quite intimidating men stood near the small, swinging doors that gave entrance to the smoky interior. Wicked smiles slowly spread across their features. Hooligans, Jos thought. Self-appointed guardians of the shadier places in the city, at least when the city watch weren't around. No one dared ire the Slyth-Swords, as the watch was known. Drae’gar were not only exceedingly greedy, but they were also quite deadly in hand-to-hand combat. And elves made up the entirety of the grand city's law-keepers. But Jos was no elf, merely a small boy. He slowed his steps as he approached the tavern. The men grinned wickedly at him, saying nothing for a long moment.

“Well, well, what we got here?” The large man on the left said, at last. Although both men were dirty, dingy and grimy, this one seemed to be the worse of the two, and he stank of urine and wine.

“Why we got us a little rat-boy here. You’re in the wrong part of town, rat-boy. Better move on before someone ruins a good steel blade on your sorry hide.” 

The other man stunk of urine too, and something much worse than ale. What it might be Joslin didn't know, and didn't want to find out?

Ordinarily, Jos would have taken the man's advice without question, and scurried away. But today he had some honest coin to make. Fortunately for him, Joslin's employer had given the young man a kind of password for just such an occasion. Jos took a deep breath, and puffed himself up as best a nine year old boy could.

“I'm on Coin business, so you'd best step out of the way.”

The two Hooligans glanced at each other warily at the young boy's statement.

“You ain't got no Coin business boy,” the bigger one replied, “Now get on outta here 'fore I cut out your lyin' tongue.”

Jos considered the man's threat for a moment. It was not idle, he knew, but Jos was desperate for his payment.

“I've business with a party of five in the inn. If they don't get their message, then you can tell the Coin Lords why.”

The smelly men looked at each other again. Jos was young, but he was quite intelligent for his age. He knew hesitation on a man's face when he saw it.

“You give us the message, rat-boy,” the smaller smelly man said, “and we'll be sure they get it.”

Jos stood his ground, saying nothing. He locked his eyes on the smaller man, trying to look fierce. Inside, Joslin had never been more frightened. The Hooligans were known for short tempers, and they had killed many a man in their day, and who knew how many street children. But if Jos gave in now, he knew he'd never get paid. These two probably didn't own a coin between them anyway. His body was never tenser than in the next few seconds, as he awaited the men's response.

It came soon, in the form of a fist. The smaller man swung wide and stuck Jos solidly with the back of his hand. Jos flew back, his legs struggling to keep his balance, which he nearly lost. But somehow the young boy managed to stay upright. When he'd caught himself, Jos returned to his place in front of the two Hooligans, looking them squarely in the eyes. After a moment, that seemed like an eternity, the men parted just enough to let a nine year old boy pass between them. Joslin's body was still tense as he put one foot in front of the other. He dared not look up, but simply concentrated on moving forward. Suddenly, he was in the tavern.

Although this was not Joslin's first visit to one of the cities many fine drinking establishments, it was the first time he'd been in one for longer than a few seconds. Sometimes, on a dare from some of the other street kids, he'd sneak in to steal something from one of the drunker patrons. Sneaking in through a window or a backdoor was a lot different than walking in the front, he thought. The inn was large, loud, and smoky. Strange smells assaulted his senses the second he stepped past the swinging doors. The Blade was large; it had to be to accommodate the large number of outsiders to the Drae’gar city. Even so nearly every table was full, and the stools along the bar held no vacancies at all.

It was the tables that Jos concentrated on as he made his way inside. Five people sitting together was his target, one of them would be a woman. He found them at a table near the far wall. Using his quick reflexes, Jos managed to wind his way quickly between the standing patrons and the bar-wenches carrying drinks of all kinds across the inn. Soon he was standing near the table, almost at the side of the man who seemed the tallest. This was his target, and the man to whom the message was to be delivered. Jos reached slowly into his shirt, just as the man noticed him. As he watched, Jos pulled a small rolled-up parchment from within his shirt. He raised his hand slowly, offering it to the big man.

“From the Coin Lords, sir.”

The big man took the parchment from Joslin's hand. Jos and the others at the table watched as the big man unrolled the paper. Suddenly, the big man seemed to notice that Jos was still standing there. He turned his head to give Jos a stone cold stare that could have frozen his blood. This man's gaze was ten times worse than anything the Hooligans' could have ever given him. All he wanted to do was run, but he couldn't. He had to get paid, he just had too. A feminine voice came resounding over the din of the inn patron's voices to break the stalemate.

“Pay him, Mikks. Don't be a jerk.”

The big man turned his gaze toward the source of the feminine voice that had so courteously put him in his place. A long silence fell between the two adults as Jos stood by, waiting. Please give me my payment. A sudden movement off to his right caught Joslin's eye. A bald man, who was sitting next to the big man, was holding out his hand. Jos held out his own. The bald man's hand opened, and out fell six gold coins. Jos' hands closed around them the very instant they touched his skin. He nodded a quick thank you to the bald man, and then turned and shot out of the room, using the same grace and quickness that Makor had taught him years ago.

As he fled the great Blade and Red Bed Inn, Jos heard the sound of a chair scraping against a wooden floor, and a deep voice seemed to rise for a moment above the others in the room.

“We ride.”

She Walks in Darkness (The Ballad of Naeid Firestorm)

She Walks in Darkness

(The Ballad of Naeid Firestorm)

Under the light

Of a forgotten moon

Here dwells a tale

Of woe and doom

Of warriors brave

And maidens fair

Of darkest death

And the crown he wears

Sharp of eyes, fierce of sight

She walks in darkness like the night

She was alone

Among those men of old

Her sword named for

The dwarven hero cold

Astride her mare

On wings of black

She kissed her bear

And ne'er looked back

Blade of steel, heart of ice

She walks in darkness like the night

That night of doom

The sky was black and bare

The moon was rising

Pale light to share

She needs no sign

To see her foe

His flames leapt high

From his fire below

Black of hair, enemy of fright

She rides in darkness like the night

Above the clouds

The enemy flies

She’ll meet his flames

Even if she dies

A lance of silver

Shining bright

Flashing death

Against the night

She fears not death, its humbling light

She bathes in darkness like the night

A breath of fire

That lights the sky

A waltz of doom

The song is nigh

Her aim unspoiled

Her strike is true

The dragon’s reckoning

Has now come due

Her battle is true, her sword is right

She revels in darkness like the night

The demon’s vengeance

Comes swift as well

His claws held tight

And down they fell

She will not cry

She will not bend

Her life she gives

For terror’s end

O Naeid Firestorm, warrior of light

You lie in darkness like the night

The Hunter in Black - The Fairy

     The dark green canopy above seemed to press down as the Hunter pressed further on into the deep forest. The aroma of dank earth churned by his companion’s speeding hooves rose to meet him. Stout limbs on thick trees thousands of years old reached out to slow their progress. But he pressed on, his sure-footed companion never faltering for a moment despite the rocks and roots that littered the forest floor.

     His quarry had continued its path to the east. It must know it was being hunted now, if ever any doubt had existed. But did it know who was pursuing it? Unlikely, the Hunter thought. And that was his advantage.

     The forest grew even thicker as the Hunter pressed on, until even his agile companion had to slow to a walk. The trees seemed to close in around them. Light from the setting sun barely penetrated the thick layer of limbs and leaves above them.

     Then suddenly, without warning or explanation, the Hunter’s quarry disappeared from his sight.

     The Destroyer of worlds had been miles away, but the Hunter had been watching him clearly, his farsight giving him a clear image of his quarry. And then suddenly it was gone, as though someone had thrown a black sheet over the Hunter’s deep-seeing eyes.

     The Hunter peered around nearby trees to no avail. He tried backtracking, and still his quarry failed to appear on the distant horizon. His companion stopped entirely as the two contemplated the situation.

     “Indeed.” The Hunter exclaimed to the forest. “The Destroyer’s power is imminent, yet it cannot disappear from our sight. There must be something else involved here. Perhaps we should just press on; we know where he was when we lost sight of him.”

     The Hunter was listening to his companion’s wisdom in his mind when something caught his attention. Off to his left the Hunter saw a dull green glow, dancing among the trees. The Hunter and his companion watched as the light flickered up and down, hid behind one tree then danced before another. In some deep part of his mind, the Hunter knew the light was some kind of living creature, and that its dance of light was calling to him.

     “No,” the Hunter replied to a silent question, “I do not think it is coincidence either. But I sense no danger here.”

     His riding companion, Stalia, gently reminded him mentally that he hadn’t sensed any danger in the small village just a few days earlier either.

     “Perhaps,” he replied flatly, trying to keep any emotion from his voice even though he knew full well she could read his mind anyway, “but my instincts tell me we should pursue this avenue. If it turns out to be an ill turn, we’ll continue on our way.”

     Stalia’s silent reply did little to turn the Hunter from his intended course. At last, she began slowly trotting through the dense trees toward the dancing wisp of light.

     Their trail led them through what seemed to be the darkest part of the forest. Though the sun should have still been in the sky, not a single ray of its light penetrated the thick leaves of great oaks and stout maples that grew just a few feet apart. The wisp of light seemed to mock them as it danced just a few feet away, leading them deeper and deeper into the unknown.

     Ahead, a sickly green glow suddenly appeared, illuminating the foliage in a haunting light. The dancing wisp suddenly shot toward the light, bending around the trees and out of sight. The Hunter and his companion continued cautiously forward.

     Around a huge oak nearly as wide as the Hunter was tall, an old shack emerged bathed in the ill green light. The glow seemed not to come from the house itself, but from near and over it, as though the light source itself was looking into the dwelling. A small yard spread out in front of the house, bright green grass growing in contrast to the dull, haunting color of everything else surrounding the old home. Moss hung from the rooftop, tendrils reaching down at the sides and all four corners in a desperate yet futile attempt to reach the ground. A babbling brook ran through the yard near where the forest stopped and the grass began.

     The Hunter’s companion stepped carefully over the tiny river, as if its water was somehow detrimental. Both of them knew that was rather unnecessary, no poison of this world could harm either of them, at least none that they knew of.

     The Hunter sat in his riding position atop his mount. Seconds passed on into minutes. The Hunter responded to an unasked question.

     “It would be rude to just walk in uninvited.”

     Another silence passed, but the Hunter heard his beloved’s response clearly. As if in answer to his statement, a voice emerged from within the decrepit old hut.

     “Well, are you going to make an old woman wait forever?”

     Though cracked and worn, the strange voice held a strong conviction. The Hunter smiled briefly as he dismounted. After gazing longingly into his beloved’s eyes, the Hunter approached the decaying door of the old moss house.

      The door swung in easily enough. The inside of the mossy dwelling appeared much as the outside. Dirt and grime covered everything within the small house. A one room shack, it seemed, with little in the way of furnishings. The Hunter had to stoop to avoid touching the ceiling. Not so for the sole occupant.

      An old woman sat in an ancient chair, eyeing him with great suspicion. Her look demanded to know what he was doing in her house, though he was sure she was the one who’d proclaimed his tardiness. Her clothes were as old as her wrinkled face, and as green as the forest that surrounded her home. But not as green as the color of her skin.

     The old woman had the color of jade, with none of the sheen one might find on a precious jewel. The green in her eyes matched the lighter color of the rags draping her body. The Hunter thought for a mere flash of a second he caught the look in those eyes changing, but it was gone before he could determine what, if anything, it meant.

     “And what does one of your kind think he’s doing trespassing in my part of the forest?”

     The Hunter raised a curious eyebrow at the old woman. Her voice was old, faded, crackling, yet it held a kind of understated power or authority. He sensed a growing power within her as well.

     “By my kind, do you mean…”

     “You know exactly what I mean, trespasser.” The old woman interrupted. “You who do not belong here and never did. You who brought ruin upon us all. But it didn’t turn out quite like you expected, did it my pretty? Our power was quite a bit more formidable than you imagined, ey?”

     The old woman kept the Hunter locked in his place with her stare. He had answers for her, explanations that should have soothed over any of the misunderstandings this woman obviously held about him and his mission. But she was not ready to hear them.

     “I am a power in my own right,” the old woman exclaimed, “do not doubt that for a minute, shishar! Outside these trees I may have little value, but within these walls I have the right, make no mistake. And if I don’t like your answers, you’ll not be leaving these trees, I should think.”

     Not since his arrival in this world had the Hunter been challenged thus. And certainly not by anyone who seemed as close to death as this poor old human. But his instincts, which he’d come to trust over the many long years, told him she spoke the truth. After weighing his words carefully, the Hunter answered.

     “I would never insult you by pretending to be anything else than what I am.”

     “Ha,” the old woman interrupted in a spat, “your presence is insulting, to me and everyone else. You do not belong here. So what is your business, ey? Are you a poor lost soul now, cut off from your friends?” The old woman seemed delighted at the prospect.

     “No, my allies are as close as they need to be. I do not mean to trespass. I am here to collect someone who also does not belong here. As soon as I have done that, I shall be on my way.”

     The Hunter paused to let the old woman measure the truth of his words. She studied him for a long moment. At last, the moss-woman softened her look, slightly.

     “Then you’d best be quick, my boy. You aren’t the only one chasing this quarry of yours. And your competition is ahead of you, I think.”

     This took the Hunter completely by surprise. What was she talking about? No one else had been dispatched to retrieve the Destroyer, of this he was sure.

     “To whom do you refer? I assure you no one else pursues my quarry.”

     The old woman burst out in a laugh, a chilling cackle that shook the Hunter deep inside where nothing should have been able to reach him. The Hunter took a step back, marveling at the power of this feeble-seeming old woman.

     “Ever the downfall of your kind, Hunter, and all those who call themselves powerful. Because you have ability, because you have skill, or authority, or knowledge that nothing can be as you deign otherwise. Foolish my boy, very foolish.”

     The old woman’s sudden geniality vanished as suddenly as it appeared.

     “I wish you godspeed on your quest, my boy. Truly I do. For if you fail I foresee a grave future ahead, one in which the past rises from the ashes of history to finish the job it started. So hurry now, and let nothing else delay you. Or it may be the ruin of us all.”

     The old moss-woman waved her hand in a flourish, and suddenly the Hunter was standing just outside the mossy hut. The ill-green light seemed to fade around him, until even his sharp eyes could barely see the old house in front of him.

     On a whim, the Hunter tried to open the door again, but found it shut tight. He turned to his companion, climbing on to her back in a pensive mood she did not miss. He mentally explained all the old woman had told him. Stalia turned, made her way carefully over the brook, and together the pair again made their way east in the direction they had last seen the Destroyer.

     “Who could she have meant?” The Hunter asked aloud. “If anyone else had been sent we’d have known, we would have felt their presence here. Who would…?”

      The Hunter trailed off as Stalia mentally offered a plausible explanation. The Hunter’s expression suddenly bore a heavy trepidation.

     “Oh no.”