The Spirit of the Realm Read online

  A strange feeling washed over her; invisible strings of magic trailed up her skin. Bile rose in her throat at the sensation.

  “What do you want?” she asked when the feeling faded. “Is this regarding Thomas? Have you found his body?”

  “I don’t know who that is. Might I speak to you in private?” the Vestral inclined his head toward the forest. “There is something I wish to discuss with you.”

  “I have nothing to hide; you may speak in front of everyone,” Emira said and nodded toward her fellow fishing folk. Some of them nodded back while others tilted their tridents towards him.

  “Fine then,” the Vestral said and pulled out an ink black rune stone. The rune was a circle with squiggly lines on the inside. The carving began to glow a fiery red and the surrounding air shimmered. Emira didn’t know much about magic or how to read, but she knew a fire rune when she saw one.

  Fire spewed out of the rune, Emira stumbled backwards. Trying to avoid the houses around her. The stream of fire stopped about a foot away from her. One of her neighbors smacked the back of the Vestral’s head with the butt of his trident. The Vestral’s rune fell to the ground.

  “How dare you! I’m going to burn the entire place to the ground!” the Vestral screamed. Another rune floated out of his pouch. The magic flared and the fishermen around him were flung to the side.

  Emira used the distraction to flee toward the docks. She took only a couple steps before her feet were encased with dirt and anchoring her to the ground. The more she struggled, the deeper she sunk.

  “You will not escape me!”

  The Vestral’s fire rune floated in front of him, Emira closed her eyes and waited for the fire to overtake her. A burst of wind slammed into her and the earth around her feet loosened its grip. Emira opened her eyes in time to see the Vestral get knocked to the ground.

  Emira felt someone grab her arm and pull her out of the way of a horse. A woman in a robe with glowing red runes on it dismounted. Her eyes never left the struggling Vestral in front of her.

  “Vestral Erick, you have committed high treason by daring to break the sacred oaths to protect the Crown.”

  “The Gods make a mockery of us all Vestral Freida!” Erick screamed as the fog continued to swirl around him.

  Freida pulled out two runes that danced on her palm. In a flash, the whirlwind of fog became a tornado of fire, and soon Erick’s screams were silenced. The wind blew away his ashes.

  Emira’s legs trembled, like they had turned into rotten wood. She had survived many a storm at sea and seen many strange creatures. Magic she had only seen in the town’s temple and even then only on feast days. She swayed a bit as she fought to keep herself from fainting.

  “Are you alright?” Freida asked when she walked over to Emira. The runes on her cloak had faded to a dull silver. They were two x’s inside a circle, the symbol of the God of War.

  “What in the hell is going on?” Emira stumbled back.

  “Why are you attacking her?” Old Harpsby shuffled over to Frieda and poked her with his cane.

  “I didn’t attack her!” Frieda gathered her cloak around her. She shot Emira a withering look, “am I not to receive thanks for saving your life?”

  “Thank you. Now can you please tell me what is going on?’

  “That is not for me to say.”

  Emira shared a look with Old Harpsby.

  “You can’t just come in here and throw magic around. We’re honest folk and none of us deserve this treatment!” he said.

  The Vestral didn’t get a chance to reply. A group of horses thundered into the courtyard, soldiers in glinting plate armor encircled them. They swiftly dismounted and unsheathed their swords. They formed a circle around Emira, pointing their weapons at the fisherfolk. Those with tridents responded in kind.

  “Stop it, the threat has already been neutralized,” Frieda snapped.

  “Are you sure?” a man asked. A large black feather adorned the top of his helm. He motioned for a couple men to grab Old Harpsby. The men grabbed him and threw him out of the circle. Emira tried to follow, but the soldiers formed an impenetrable wall whenever she got close.

  “Leave him alone!” she cried. The fisherfolk who held tridents began to advance forward, stopping when the Vestral sent out a wave of calming magic.

  “Captain Anders, what in the names of the Gods are you doing?” Frieda asked the soldier, the runes on her cloak flaring to life.

  “I’m under orders that no one comes near her!”

  Gods, is this because of the potion I bought? Aside from her special fish, the alchemist had used a rare plant from the Vestlig Isles. Perhaps the plant was now illegal?

  “I’m sorry I shouldn’t have done it! But I didn’t have any other choice, my parents needed it!” she blurted out.

  Before either of them could respond to her, a trumpet sounded. Two gray horses trotted into the courtyard. A man and a woman dismounted and yelled at some soldiers to grab the bridles.

  The man was tall, dressed in a black and white tunic that looked to be made of silk. With his broad shoulders, bright blue eyes and flowing brown hair, he looked as if he were a knight straight out of the bard tales. Though his gray pallor and limp quickly destroyed the image of a dashing hero from Emira’s mind.

  The woman wore a black and white dress, the long sleeves dangling to the ground. Her hair had been pulled back into a braided bun. Her smooth olive skin seemed to glow. Unlike the man, she moved with an air of grace.

  “Presenting Lord and Lady Ethelbright,” Freida shouted and Emira dropped to her knees. They were the Liege Lords of Emira’s town and lived in the massive castle overlooking the sea. If they were here, then it meant Emira was in big trouble.

  A dead Vestral and now nobility. She would’ve rather faced a sea griffin with a spoon.

  “Please rise,” Lord Ethelbright said.

  She rose, expecting to see anger in their faces, but there was only pure... excitement?

  “Are you Emira, daughter of Aeron and Helena?” Lady Ethelbright asked.

  “I am.”

  Lady Ethelbright smiled and Lord Ethelbright wiped his forehead with a handkerchief.

  A glowing purple rune floated in front of Emira. She took a step back and waited for it to turn her into ashes. The rune floated over to Frieda, who nodded at Lady Ethelbright.

  “The Spirit of the Realm has chosen you to be the next Queen of Sodervia,” Lady Ethelbright said. The crowd around them began to kneel and Lady Ethelbright dropped into a deep curtsy.

  Emira felt her heart drop to her feet. She pinched herself to make sure she wasn’t dreaming; the sharp pain confirmed she was not.

  “Your Majesty, I am afraid we must make haste to the capitol. There you will find protection from those who wish to kill you,” Lord Ethelbright said when they rose. Frieda brought a horse over to Emira and motioned for her to mount.

  This cannot be happening to me! The Spirit has never chosen a peasant! Emira was certain this was a trick. Why would the Spirit think a fisherwoman was the best choice? For hundreds of years it had chosen from the Royal Family or a noble house. Not once had a commoner been chosen.

  Aside from whispers in the taverns, she knew little of the affairs of the ruling class. She couldn’t leave without warning, there were fish to catch and her parents wouldn’t survive the winter without her.

  “I cannot leave my parents; they are sick with the Shivering Fever!”

  That made both nobles take a few steps back from her. Frieda stepped forward; a nauseating wave of magic swept around Emira while she stared at a glowing pink rune. The magic was too bright for her to make out any specific shapes.

  “I am pleased to report Her Majesty is not sick with the fever,” Frieda said.

  “Come now, Your Majesty. We must make haste before more come to take your head,” Lady Ethelbright said.

  Emira gulped and whirled around. A few soldiers blocked her from heading back to her house.

  “Your Ma
jesty, we don’t have time for this,” Lord Ethelbright said while she tried in vain to slip past them. “I swear to you I will do everything in my power to get your parents the best physicians in the kingdom, but you cannot tarry any longer.”

  Someone grabbed her and flung her onto one of the gray horses. The horse let out a shrill neigh and Emira struggled to get upright in the saddle.

  “Emira!”

  She heard a shout and saw Rupert waving at her.

  “I will tell them what has happened when they wake! Go!”

  She hesitated, but then a shout of alarm sounded from the soldiers when the cry of a sea griffin filled the air. She took one last glance at her house before she turned to Lady Ethelbright, who had mounted the other gray horse.

  “The moment my parents are better, they are to join me.”

  “Of course, Your Majesty,” Lady Ethelbright said, giving a signal to the soldiers who had mounted their horses.

  They rode away as the warning bells in the town rang. Emira tried to turn her head to watch her home slip farther away, but she nearly fell off the horse. She turned her attention to the soldier in front of her as they raced down the cobbled road.

  Why in the names of the Gods had the Spirit chosen her?

  2

  A Birthright Lost

  FELIX HATED THE MARSHLANDS.

  He scraped the mud off his boot and glowered at the horizon. The sun had just risen, revealing the endless bog in front of him. He didn’t understand why anyone would want to make a kingdom out of such a place. But some poor bastard had claimed it ages ago.

  “Your Highness, the scouts have reported enemy bandits heading for Endsdale,” his squire Elrich said.

  “How many?”

  “Fifteen souls.”

  “Good, then we can cut them off at the border,” Felix said before heading back into camp. He thanked the Gods that it was on dry land.

  The camp was in a flurry of activity. Knights rushed out of their tents as their squires scurried after them. Felix strode to his tent and was greeted by Lord Rover, who was already in full plate armor. The runes on the armor glowed a soft white.

  “Full armor is not needed, my friend, these are mere bandits,” Felix kicked off his muddy boots and tugged on a fresh pair. He ran a hand through his hair. The dark curls were damp, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a bath. If his mother could see him now, she would faint.

  “Even mere bandits could have a War Vestral among them,” Lord Rover said and took off his helm. His gray hair was soaking with sweat. “Hells, I wouldn’t put it past those bastards to have the entire bandit party made up of War Vestrals.”

  Felix laughed and shook his head.

  “You have been listening to far too many bard tales. My scouts have reported these bandits move quickly and do not stay in one area for long. If they head out into the marshes, our men will become sitting targets in plate mail. I have ordered to have chain mail enchanted by the Vestrals,” Felix held up a shirt made of chain mail. As he moved it into the candlelight, it glowed a soft blue.

  “Enchanted chain mail is no better than having a thick piece of leather on your chest,” Lord Rover scowled when Felix gave him the chain mail and a page swiftly removed his plate armor.

  “Hurry Lord Rover, I don’t want to miss our chance to surprise them,” Felix said. Grabbing his sword, he headed out of the tent.

  “Here you are sir,” Elrich held out his helm. The sunlight highlighted the dings on the battered metal.

  “Not today, Elrich.”

  “By the Gods! Are you trying to tempt the God of Death?” Lord Rover scowled when he emerged from the tent.

  “Perhaps,” Felix grinned while a page brought his horse over. The war stallion was a magnificent beast, black as coal and more stubborn than he was. His smile widened when Lord Rover cursed under his breath.

  “How many times must I remind you? You’re not a common soldier, you’re the Prince of Sodervia!” Lord Rover mounted his own horse, and they rode over to where a band of thirty men was forming. Felix did not want to bring his entire army to dispel a few bandits.

  “I stopped counting about a year and a half ago.”

  “Prince Felix, perhaps it is time to call off this... campaign.”

  Felix tugged on the reins of his horse and spun in his saddle to face Lord Rover.

  “Has my mother been writing to you again?”

  “No, it was your father.”

  Felix laughed; the sound was hollow coming from his throat. His father? That drunken sorry excuse for a king that he had the misfortune of calling father was the entire reason he was out here.

  “And what did His Majesty want me to do?”

  “Come home and marry your betrothed.”

  Felix winced. His betrothed. The one and only Lady Janel, a woman who had once held his heart and now held nothing. They had met at one of his mother’s outlandish balls and traded letters for many months. She had visited him a few times during the first year of his exile to the border. But as time went on, she drifted away from him. His life had become consumed by ensuring the people along the border were safe from those who would wish them harm and those who viewed them as livestock...

  Lady Janel claimed at first that she understood, but soon the letters stopped, and Felix’s heart closed over. She was not the one for him.

  “I see and does my father know that Lady Janel’s father has broken our betrothal?”

  Lord Rover shook his head. “He didn’t mention it.”

  “What else did he say?”

  “He wants you to come home. He fears he is being poisoned.”

  Felix wished a hole would open and swallow him. His father was still as paranoid as ever.

  “Does he forget he was the one who exiled me? Does he forget he accused me, his own son, of plotting to take the throne?” Felix shouted, the men around them froze. Felix kicked his horse and rode in front of the band of horsemen.

  “Gentleman, I have some exciting news. My dear father, our useless King, has asked for me to come home!” Felix yelled, ignoring Lord Rover’s pleading stare.

  “As you all know, we were banished from the Royal Court until the borders are secure!” Felix looked at the men, some of whom were staring at him with confusion etched across their faces.

  “I say it’s a trap sir,” a man on a sleepy bay horse said.

  Felix smiled. “Exactly! Why in the Heavens would my father undo his own decree? Only the Spirit of the Realm has the power to overrule and our dear War Vestral has not come to me with any news.”

  “Your Highness, perhaps-” Lord Rover began as he maneuvered his horse to the front of the line.

  “Lord Rover, I do not need another lecture today. For today, we are going to save the people of Endsdale and show the God of Justice that justice still lives in our kingdom!” Felix shouted and spurred his horse onto the road. His men whooped and shouted war cries as they fell into line behind him.

  MUCH TO FELIX’S RELIEF, routing the bandits had been easier than expected. Only one of his men ended up with an injury. He scowled at the five bandits in front of him. All of them were bound in ropes and chains. Something about them seemed off; there was an air of defiance he hadn’t seen in men from the Western Marshes before.

  “Is this all of them?” he asked Lord Rover who nodded, and he walked over to the only bandit who dared look them in the eye. Felix drew a dagger from his belt and pressed it against the man’s throat.

  “Who sent you?”

  “Why would anyone send us? We’re bandits,” the man said. To his credit, his voice remained steady as Felix loomed over him.

  A knight walked over and bowed as he held out a letter sealed with a hawk carrying an acorn. Felix waved the letter in front of the man’s face.

  “Why was this on one of your men?”

  “A letter? Do I look like someone who can read?” the man spat, but Felix saw the faintest glimpse of fear wash over his face before it flickered back to
anger.

  Felix stood up. Using his dagger, he carefully broke the seal.

  Dear Volbruck,

  Per our agreement, I will split any plunder you gain

  during the raids in half. If you succeed, your debts to

  the Crown will be repaid and anything left over is

  yours for the keeping.

  Lord Marshmire

  Felix tucked the letter into his belt and pulled his sword out of its scabbard. The bandit sneered up at him.

  “Do your worst. I welcome death with open arms. We won’t be the last to cross the borders, I can assure you. All the time you’ve spent protecting your pitiful country will be for nothing. A kingdom ruled by a drunkard and protected by a fool will fall to the might of the Western Marshes.”

  Felix swung his sword, cutting the bandit’s right ear off. The bandit screamed and the captives around him jumped back as if he had caught a plague. A few of his men exchanged glances, but none moved to stop the squirming bandits.

  He kneeled next to the bleeding bandit and gripped him by his shoulder. He leaned forward and whispered in his left ear.

  “You must be referring to my father, because I am not a fool. I am a man of vengeance and I promise you this: You will not die. You will toil under a scorching sun until your skin burns and you will wish I had run a blade through your belly.”

  Felix wiped the blood from his sword on the man’s tunic and stood. He nodded to his men, and they dragged them away.

  “You are exactly like your grandfather,” Lord Rover grumbled as Felix took a goblet from a servant. The cool water soothed his parched throat. He started to reply, but a commotion caused him to pause. A man jumped off a heaving horse, sweat dripping from its mane like raindrops. The man stumbled shouting for Felix at the top of his lungs.

  “He’s right here!” Lord Rover shouted.

  The crowd parted, giving the man space to run over to Felix. His tunic was soaked with sweat and he smelled like he hadn’t bathed in weeks.

  “What is it now?” Felix asked and waved over a servant who offered the man a goblet of wine. The man shook his head and reached into his pouch. It was then Felix noticed the man was wearing a black tunic with a white crown. A mourning tunic only worn when...