Chapter 2

Chapter

Two

TAMAS

There were still spaces within the feasting hall of Ironhelm—vacancies that the clan heads should have filled. The central fire roared, its flames licking the open cavity in the roof and disappearing into the clear night sky. However, nothing could dim the raucous noise driven by more than a hundred men, drowning in a belly full of ale. My feasting hall was the largest north of the Saiguaina River, and tonight, the rousing company filled it to overflowing.

My gaze followed a young woman across the room as she carried full tankards with both hands, sloshing ale with every nimble sashay she made in trying to evade greedy hands. Mesmerized by the delicate sway of her hips, I failed to notice Garrat, my second-in-command, move in beside me. He slunk down into the seat next to me and followed my gaze to the young woman before us, now laughing with Hedwreic, one of my best—powerful with an axe, strong with his fists, and loyal in his heart. If he won the lass tonight, he deserved her.

"Meechep's daughter. Hedwreic will lose a hand if Meechep weren't stuck in his bed tonight."

I huffed a laugh. "Then Hedwreic had better make the most of his night."

"She's a willing young thing. Rumor has it she'll do more than one man at a time."

I nodded, finding more interest in her with each revelation. "And you've come here to give me details of my next bed partner?"

"Nay, I'm here to tell you five of the largest clans have come tonight."

I eased back into my seat. I called it a seat, even when Garrat insisted I should think of it as a throne—something I wasn't prepared to do, not yet, not at Ironhelm. Perhaps the day would come when I called my seat my throne, but that day was not now.

"I see the lower mountain clans, but I don't see Kaldor."

"It appears he's not made the journey."

I wanted the allegiance of all the clans. Failing that, I wanted the best. Wildelm was the strongest clan on the southern side of the Draghunn Mountains, one I wanted on my side, but Kaldor was unyielding, volatile, and more often than not, untrustworthy. His ruthlessness made him a prime pick, though he would want more than promises of glory if I were to gain his alliance. And definitely more than a generous feast, shared tales, more ale, and more willing women than any man could handle in one night to lure him to my table. But I knew Kaldor's weaknesses. Perhaps I would have Garrat pay a visit to Ledbric Hall in person with more pleasing bribes.

For the moment, I couldn't offer promises of glory. My only offer was hope and possible death on a blood-scarred battlefield, if we even managed to cross the dividing river and traverse the wasteland known as the Ashenlands.

More worrying was the absence of the Huungardred; that I had not expected. Thaindrus was a good and loyal friend, a blood relative. A little distant, granted, but with the Huungardred, blood bonds were life bonds of servitude and loyalty. Beyond all others, I had expected him to be the first to arrive at Ironhelm.

"Send someone to Droshrar. I'm worried about my dear friend."

"I'll dispatch someone first thing tomorrow."

"Tonight. Tomorrow he won't know his ass from his horse's."

Garrat snorted a laugh, then leaned away to wave young Idrus over. The young lad had not long left his mother's skirts but was eager to prove his worth. He was fast and agile, despite lacking skill with a sword, and not so battle-weary to dismiss leaving his seat, abandoning the plump young woman to run a night errand for his liege.

Distracted once again by Meechep's daughter, agile in her steps to dodge a grope at her left breast, I had missed Aric's approach.

"Tamas Savant of the Razohan." He performed a mock bow with a great deal of effort, given he had downed nearly twice his weight in ale. I knew because I'd kept a keen eye on the clan leaders attending tonight, noting who partook of my generosity and who withheld.

"Aric Khildron, you are welcome at my feast." Aric, the clan head of Ebonthorn, had once shown great courage on the battlefield. His now rounded belly had blunted his skill with a sword, but, like all clan heads, his mood could change quicker than the wind. With advancing years, he had taken to mastering other talents, namely political artifice and the occasional poisoning. 'Tame' was not a word that sat comfortably on the shoulders of anyone sitting at my feasting tables tonight. That's why I needed them.

The Ebonthorn controlled the lands abutting the Draghunn Mountains to the east, stretching down to the river Lanrial—a vast expanse of fertile plains ensuring the clan's iron grip on grain trade.

"I hear you're expecting another littlun."

If rumors were to be believed, Aric had fathered more children than he had men in his service. His wife had reportedly stopped taking them in when the number reached twenty.

"A babe in their belly will keep them by your side."

I wouldn't ask what Arietta should do to keep him by her side.

"She insisted on coming, but the journey's too arduous for one so far along." He took another swig from his tankard. "So tell me, Tamas Savant, what brings us such a plentiful feast and fine ale?"

"You have just arrived, Aric, my friend. Let tonight be for feasting and fun. Tomorrow, we shall talk of more serious matters."

"Aye, I have a hankering for trivial pursuits tonight. No war talk when there is a belly to fill." He patted his generous girth and took more ale.

Of course, he would think my call to the clan heads would be for one goal, and he was right to assume so.

After wiping his mouth on his sleeve, Aric refocused on me. His brown eyes appraised me as best they could, considering I was perhaps nothing more than a blur of heads dancing before his vision. He stamped a foot atop the lip of the platform upon which my chair sat and leaned his arm across his thigh.

"Young Tamas of the Razohan…" He nodded his head as if he had already finished what he meant to say.

Elbow leaning on my armrest, I smiled behind my fingers as I rested my head in my palm, waiting to see if he could gather his wits to continue.

"The Ebonthorn will ride with you against King Henricus. That I swear on my father's bones."

It was fortunate the House of Tannard had already dared to make incursions into the northern realm, protected from the vile creatures roaming the Ashenlands by their foul wizards, the Creed of Salmun. I doubted the clans would welcome news of war against the south otherwise. Those here tonight were among those most affected by Henricus's incursions. I already knew I would have their allegiance.

"Your offer means a great deal to me."

"Your generosity to my clan…" He swayed on his feet as he half-spun, waving his arm as if to include the rest of the room in his speech. "To all the clans present here tonight and those yet to come. The courage and loyalty you've shown to all the northern peoples against the south will win you men and women willing to fight by your side."

While they all willingly swore allegiance, the northern clans' loyalty stayed within their pockets and rarely reached their hearts. As long as King Henricus claimed an enemy of the northern region, the clans were mine, but his coin shone brighter than gold in the ground. Northern clans knew how to survive in a land that refused to be tamed. They did so through cunning, tenacity, and true fealty to themselves alone; I was not so naive to believe I wouldn't find an enemy within my own home.

I rose from my seat and stepped down, bringing us to eye level, though I was a good head taller than the Ebonthorn clan leader, and embraced the older man. "A strong life to you and your people."

Aric clapped me on the back. "And a great victory to yours. For all our sakes."

Upon releasing Aric's embrace, I found Osmud waiting to the side of us. It was his solemn expression that caught me in place for seconds before I released Aric's arm. "There's more ale at your table."

"Now that's a feast." Aric laughed and staggered away.

Free of Aric, I gave Osmud my full attention. As youngsters, Osmud and Garrat had stepped out of the forest one day, ragged, thin, and close to death. Neither spoke and were thought to be mute for the first year of their new lives in Razohan. Back then, and as adults, they had no memory of their time before they found us, so it seemed their complete lineage would never be known. However, the Razohan know their own; the ancestral links to the Huungardred could never be hidden.

Osmud was sober, as I expected of my men during these times.

"The Nazeen is here," Osmud said.

"And you welcomed her inside?"

Romelda was not one for friendships or gaiety.

He did not respond to my snide remark. "She awaits you outside."

As I expected she would. "I don't suppose she shared her reason for ruining my night."

"Tamas," Osmud admonished me, something he could do as one of my closest. "Her presence here must be important."

"To inflict upon me more ill omens."

Osmud grabbed my wrist as I turned back to my seat. "To tell you the truth you refuse to hear."

"Truth according to the Nazeen. I'm growing tired of listening to the witches." I was growing tired of the nagging guilt she made me feel.

"As I'm sure Romelda grows tired of you're bullheaded stupidity."

"Careful, brother, I may decide Loireen is more to my taste than I did the last time we met."

Loireen was Osmud's new flame. She had chased me with a vengeance, but after I declined her again and again, she focused on Osmud. He'd been smitten with her since he spilled his drink on her during a game of Gambits Quest.

"I'd like to see you try. You're long behind her."

I huffed a laugh, knowing he would be right. It had been a long time since any woman caught my attention for more than one night, and I wasn't complaining. Neither were any of my men who benefited from the fallout.

"I'll see her. But only for a moment. I need to speak with the clan leaders."

"Your time for that is tomorrow."

"Tomorrow is for politics. Tonight is for reminding them all who still holds the greatest feasts." I leaned closer to Osmud, hinting at a secret. "Subtle persuasion at the bottom of a tankard."

And still his solemn expression remained. Osmud took the augury more seriously than I.

It's not that I claimed Romelda's inciting a fake; I believed every word. But I was not yet whom she foresaw me to be. Maybe I never would be. At twenty-seven I still felt unready. How many generations had come and gone? Yet Romelda proclaimed I was the one. She knew my history, what I had done, yet that did not dissuade her. "You think they'll listen to you now? Look around you, Tamas, they can't even stand on their own two feet."

I grunted, disliking that he was right, also disliking what the Nazeen was here to say; the same thing she said the last time she came to me. She spoke an uncomfortable truth that I feared was upon me already, even if in my heart I tried to refuse it.

Osmud patted my shoulder as I pushed past him and headed for the side entrance. A long, narrow corridor led into the castle proper, separating the grand hall from Ironhelm. It was the only entrance from the feasting hall into the castle, and tonight I'd stationed my men at every exit, and hidden throughout. It paid to be cautious without appearing to be cautious.

I pushed out into the night air, feeling the ice chill common when the winds turned toward us after sweeping off the Draghunn Mountains many leagues to the west. The skin on my face tightened to the bite after the warmth from the fire, and I wished the Nazeen would, for once, accept my hospitality and come inside. She always refused, saying Nazeen feared entrapment from the four walls of men.

Their magic was untamed magic, gathered from the very earth and air surrounding us, and should never be considered human-bound. The Nazeen lived wild, lonely lives, like some shy forest creatures. Even so, they were deeply respected and sometimes feared by the clans of the north, except the Razohan, who the Nazeen seemed to favor second to the Huungardred.

Romelda had her back to me as I left the warmth and rowdy merriment of the feasting hall and approached, pulling my fur-lined coat closer. She continued to dismiss my arrival, staring up at the moon, and I wondered what she read in the discoloration on its surface.

"I hear you've refused my hospitality," I said.

She didn't turn to face me but waited for me to join her. "How many have come?"

"Most of the clan heads from the lower regions. Some from the deep north," I replied. Surprising for this time of year as the roads were nearly impassable this late in the season.

"Thaindrus?" she inquired.

"Not to be seen," I said. "I've already sent a rider to Droshrar."

"I fear his time grows near."

I could only nod, knowing she was right, not wanting to accept that inevitability. "This is why you have come to see me?"

There was silence when I expected her reply. As a man, my eyes weren't as strong in the moonlight as my blood relative, the Huungardred, but all I had for now was her profile as she continued to stare at the moon. Nazeen weren't augurs. They did not divine the future but had an eerie sense of knowing all the same. I was often uncomfortable during our silences, left wondering what unseen omens or spirits Romelda sought in the quiet.

Slowly, she turned to face me, and I thanked the night sky for shielding her expression. Romelda's eyes were the color of blood, unique to some of the Nazeen. Legend had it the blood-soaked eyes of a Nazeen signified true loyalty to the Bone Throne, marking her as a descendant of the witches who once fought against the sea invaders, the Levenians.

For their loyalty to the last king of the Bone Throne, King Ricaud, the Nazeen paid a price—the blood-soaked eyes, their curse. But not all the Nazeen took the oath. Romelda had taken the oath, she was a blooded, accepting her place in an unbroken bond to the true heir who would rise again one day.

I knew the tale. During the Levenian war, King Ricaud sent his only child, Princess Ammelle, into the far eastern demesne of Strathembrook. On King Ricaud's death, the Nazeen fled to the far north with Ammelle and buried her deep within Huungardred lands. Ammelle's granddaughter, Sophila, began the Razohan line when she fell in love with the then Huungardred principle, Makyelus. As Razohan we were descendant of that line, and the blood-eyed Nazeen marked me as the heir to the Bone Throne. Romelda had sought confirmation of my destiny with the augurs and divined it in other magical ways only the Nazeen understood.

She came to me this night for the same reason she hunted me down when I was a boy, for the same reason she haunted my days in manhood and would continue to be my ghost long after I passed from this world if I failed. Over the years, with each successive visit, the conviction in her heart slowly broke me down.

She wanted me to reclaim my rightful place as heir to King Ricard's line. Which meant war with our powerful neighbors the House of Tannard, the current claimants to the Bone Throne.

"I ask you to travel with me."

I inwardly groaned. "Not the augur?"

Augurs' sight was beyond many, but this made them mad. Most of the time, their prophetic babble was nothing more than the wanderings of insanity.

She stepped toward me. "The time is fast approaching, Tamas. I want you to hear what he has to say."

"I don't need to hear it." Lately, I felt a quickening in my veins at any mention of the Bone Throne. Stirring thoughts kept me awake most nights. A relentless prowling took root in my legs. My hands itched to grip my sword. The Etherweave was now calling to me and no one else in my clan, proof I was the true heir.

"Many of the clan heads did not come. I need time to travel the northern lands. Speak with them."

"There is no time for?—"

"You want me to destroy the House of Tannard. I can't do that without men when Henricus's legions are many. I can't hope to win against such a force without the united might of the north. And beside him march the Creed of Salmun. As I stand now, I offer my men, and any who fight with me, for the slaughter."

"No amount of men will help you win if Henricus or any of his sons claim the Etherweave and sit upon the Bone Throne."

I spun from her insistent tone and paced away, allowing movement to burn through my frustration. With my back to her, I continued to speak. "How can I take the fight to Henricus, if we can't penetrate beyond the Ashenlands to reach the south? We need more time to make sure the passage we make through the cursed lands will work. My people are strong, but unless we find a way to succeed against the wizards' beasts we'll fail before we even face Henricus's army."

"Appeal to Thaindrus."

I spun back to face her. "You said it yourself. Thaindrus is old. He can't pass out of the north and hope to live."

"He will send the Huungardred with you."

"This is not their war."

"This is everyone's war. If the House of Tannard sits upon the Bone Throne, no place within these lands will be beyond their reach."

I speared a hand through my hair. "I need more time."

"You have none. I have come to you these years to teach you, to warn you, and you have done nothing to prepare."

Damn . She would bring this up.

"And if you refuse to try, then you had better have one of your own chop off your head right now and hand it over."

Pacing now, I continued, "I invited all the clan heads here tonight for th?—"

"You already have their allegiance. You're wasting your time."

"Kaldor has not come. Nor Macrillion from the Stormforge clan. Two significant men."

"I say you are wasting the precious little time you have left."

I strode towards her. "What do you know of war?"

"More than you." She closed the remaining distance between us, craning her neck to look up at me.

"I took my place at the head of the Razohan by sword. Please tell me you remember that."

"And I bear the mark of the faithful, young Razohan. Or has that escaped your notice? I carry the memories of a millennium in my soul. Do not question my wisdom."

In my anger, I wanted to spit venomous words, but Romelda drained my strength.

A thousand years of exile, or so the legend said, was enough time to call this place our home, if not for the darker future Romelda wove. I would have turned my back on the south, content with what I had here in the north, but I was no longer a child. I could no longer ignore the truth in the Nazeen's words, could no longer ignore the calling…

Still, concerns dogged my decisions, filled me with questions and doubts. It was not my fate alone to take the Bone Throne. According to the Nazeen I was the sole heir of the north, but not the sole heir, capable of taking the Etherweave and claiming the Bone Throne. The heirs of the House of Tannard could also make a claim. The Bone Throne was as much their ancestral right as it was mine.

I could not make a mistake; I could not afford to lose. For if the House of Tannard succeeded in taking the Etherweave and claiming the Bone Throne, it would begin a war to annihilate us and claim power over the seven realms. I would give my life to avoid the former for the sake of the northerners, my people, but also for all within the seven realms.

I began pacing, trying to ease the anger surging through my body. If I didn't, the anger would erupt in words—words once spoken I would forever regret.

But Romelda punctured the silence. "Hear what the augur has to say."

I barely kept from rolling my eyes. "And have him lead me on a wild path?"

"The time is nearing, Tamas. The augur has foreseen it. The night shall be lit as day, and the Etherweave will rise. There mustn't be a single Tannard left in the south to claim it. It is time to destroy King Henricus's line and claim your rightful place on the Tarragonan throne, and then once you take the Etherweave in you will claim the Bone Throne. The power will be yours."

"And what if I prove to be as evil as the Levenians. Is it not true there is no greater power than the Etherweave and there is no greater corruptor than power? Who would stop me from inciting a war to claim control over all the seven realms?"

"It saddens me you have such little faith in yourself." Romelda moved toward me, bringing with her the faint odor of oily sap, the smoke of sage, and a millennium of blood-drenched promises and dark-spelled oaths. "Don't blame yourself for what you had to do to claim Ironhelm."

"Kill my father, you mean?"

"I saved your life young Razohan. Your father was not the rightful heir to the Bone Throne, no matter how much he wanted to be. He was ready to forfeit your life in hope he would take your place."

"Because one of your cursed augurs told him it could be done."

"He misinterpreted what he heard."

"That's not hard when they make no sense."

Romelda took a moment before replying. "I know you feel the Etherweave."

I heaved a sigh, expelling the air from my lungs, sinking forward with the release and into the fierce march of fate, feeling the swell of resistance seize my heart.

The Creed of Salmun had sworn an oath to protect the bloodline of the Levenians—King Henricus's bloodline—until the Etherweave rose again. I shared my bloodline with Henricus, but I was not of the Levenian line, which made me their greatest enemy.

If I could destroy the Levenian-Tannard bloodline for good, placing myself as the only descendant of King Ricaud capable of ascending to the Bone Throne, then the Creed of Salmun might choose to side with me. Then again, they might destroy me. But once the power of the Etherweave was within me, and I took my place on the Bone Throne, none could defeat me.

"I'm not interested in the Tarragonan throne."

"It's your heritage, but your choice if you chose not to sit on the Tarragonan throne. The only throne that matters is the one you will take when you're united with the Etherweave. But you must act swiftly, for rumors have reached me that Henricus is negotiating a bride for his eldest."

"I have greater concerns than the crown prince's love life."

"She will bear the next heir. Another heir, Tamas. More blood that must be spilled. And an innocent, too. It would be far better if you ensure the bride's womb is never filled. Far better if you ensure she never reaches Tarragona's shores."

"She's from across the sea? Henricus can't find a broodmare from his own stable?"

"What does it matter?" Romelda snapped. "He has set his sights on Merania, from the House of Whelin."

I ran my palms down my face. A plague to all the Nazeen had shared. Yes, Prince Juel must never plant his seed, but there was little I could do about that when greater challenges lay before me. Ensuring some damsel never reached Juel's bed was the least of my concerns, not when I had tasked myself with gathering a force mightier than Henricus's army.

"I will travel with you to the augur."

"Tomorrow."

"Tomorrow I take counsel with the clan heads."

"Tomorrow Henricus signs the treaty with Merania and takes his bride. Tomorrow he lines up his armies to face the Ashenlands. Tomorrow he marches for the divide. Tomorrow is a day closer to the Etherweave rising."

Her voice grew louder with each pronouncement. "The Creed of Salmun has their own ways of knowing. They know the night of day draws near. Henricus cannot risk a surviving heir to the Bone Throne outside the House of Tannard. If you do not start the war on your terms, he will. He will come for your head, and all of the Razohan."

She seized my arm. "You must ensure it is you, and not the Tannard heirs, present when the Etherweave rises. Your first priority is destroying the House of Tannard. Once you have achieved that set your sight on hunting down the Etherweave. Find the Senjel Oracles, have them guide you to where the Etherweave lies. It's our only hope."

The Nazeen who fought the Levenians over a millennium ago had entombed the Etherweave, but then it was said the entombing rock was lost. In their desperation to flee north with Ammelle to prevent the entire bloodline of King Ricaud's from falling under the control of the Levenians, the Nazeen lost trace of the rock and the Etherweave. If we hoped to reach the Etherweave before it rose on the day of nights we needed the Senjel Oracles, a tome of prophecies divined by an augur after the great war when the Nazeen fled north, announcing the location of the Etherweave, amongst other things. The whereabouts of the Senjel Oracles wasn't known, but I would say the Creed of Salmun had an idea, which presented me with another headache: convincing the wizards to reveal its location.