Olorun: Chronicles of Nahtan: Book 5 (The Herridon Chronicles) Read online

  Olorun

  by: DL Kramer

  Copyright © 2015 by D. L. Kramer All Rights Reserved

  Cover Art © 2015 by Roman Hodek

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Published in the United States of America

  The complete list of Herridon titles available from D.L. Kramer:

  Mo'ani's Way - Book 1 Chronicles of Nahtan

  Halona's Way - Book 2 Chronicles of Nahtan

  Nahtan's Way - Book 3 Chronicles of Nahtan

  Edgewind - Book 4 Chronicles of Nahtan

  Olorun - Book 5 Chronicles of Nahtan

  Basiyr - Book 6 Chronicles of Nahtan

  Herridon - Book 7 Chronicles of Nahtan

  The Second Sentinel - Book 1 Chronicles of Mehlis - (Mature themes and content) -coming soon

  The Kamiri Born - Book 2 Chronicles of Mehlis - (Mature themes and content) - coming soon

  Nahtan: A Character Study (short)

  Other titles available from D.L. Kramer:

  Bloodlust

  Son of the Despot (short story)

  Contents

  Prologue - "Your daughter named him Nahtan"

  One - "The church guards are breaking ranks"

  Two - "You chose to betray me"

  Three - "Tell me about her eyes"

  Four - "Think of it as another weapon"

  Five - "That's an understatement"

  Six - "I was called the Wellmage"

  Seven - "You get rid of your own body"

  Eight - "What is all that noise?"

  Nine - "Ain't ne'er seen one do it"

  Ten - "We can't have that"

  Eleven - "I hope he didn't kill them"

  Twelve - "It serves its purpose"

  Thirteen - "How many men does it take?"

  Fourteen - "It was gone as soon as Valry left"

  Fifteen - "The War Bringers"

  Sixteen - "What happens to sacrificed souls?"

  Seventeen - "I'm just starting a war"

  Epilogue - "Jensina's temple had new symbols"

  Prologue - "Your daughter named him Nahtan"

  Zakris opened his mind to the life force that had permeated the Firstwood. This ancient forest was thick and deep, and the place from which all other life on this world had been born. Jensina and Halona had both been born here, pulled from the same oblivion Zakris and his brother had pulled this world. Unknowingly, this world had also brought along the few lost souls of its previous life. It was one such soul Zakris sought to reach now.

  His mortals had given the soul the name of Wardsman, even naming the Firstwood after him. The Wardsman had filled the Firstwood with his power and energy. Nothing died here that the Wardsman did not want to die, not even the trees or undergrowth. As a result, the trees in this wood were now beyond measure, their tops seeming to brush against the sky itself. The bushes and undergrowth were so thick in places, a man could chop at it all day and gain no more than a few inches of space, only to lose it again by dawn of the next day.

  The Wardsman had also taken a liking to the Dwellers, often appearing to their lord in the form of a bird of prey to warn him of dangers to his people. The path to the Dwellers' Valley lay on the north side of the Firstwood, and any who the Wardsman considered unworthy would find the woods a formidable enemy. Eventually, those who would plunder the Dwellers' Valley sought other routes to their ranches, trying to avoid the Wardsman's Woods altogether.

  It was the Wardsman's seeming loyalty to this forest and the people living to her north that made Zakris wonder if he was chasing a fool's dream.

  He reached out again, the expanse of his mind searching for where this elusive spirit dwelled. After several moments, a large golden winged hawk swooped down into the small clearing, landing on the heavy lower limbs of an ancient oak tree. The bird tilted his head, seeming to study the god before him. Zakris met the bird's gaze, recognizing immediately that this bird was not of his creation.

  "I would speak to you by name if I knew it," he said, his voice gentle. "I seek your counsel on one who was brought as a son to my youngest daughter when she dwelled here."

  The bird continued to study him, tilting his head first one way, then another. After a moment, the bird closed his eyes, and Zakris felt a strange wind seem to blow from inside himself. As the wind subsided, he had no doubt that this Wardsman had touched his being as no other would be able to save his daughters or brother. The hawk hopped from the branch, but it was a young man who landed his feet in the thick, damp moss.

  The youth was no more than eighteen summers as Zakris' mortals counted age, if even that. His hair was very light, and his complexion equally so. His ears tapered to a fine, graceful point, seeming both alien and natural on his form. A deep intelligence burned in his slanted blue eyes, though, telling Zakris he had seen far more than even he, himself had.

  "The one you seek counsel on is Daghr'il," he said, his mouth not quite matching his words, as if speech was strange for him. "I am Aiqho'il, the one who taught him to exist in your world. Your daughter named him Nahtan when she claimed him as her son."

  Zakris could not help but stare at the boy for a moment. How could one so young have so much power? The boy's presence was nearly as overpowering as any of the gods'. After a moment, he nodded.

  "We did not know his true name," he said. "Only the name Jensina gifted him with and Halona wrote into the fates."

  Aiqho'il chuckled. "I think your eldest daughter will not find her fates quite so reliable," he said. "Daghr'il has the ability to do many things."

  Zakris nodded his head in agreement. "So he has shown. There is already one who should have died, but he saved."

  To his astonishment, Aiqho'il seemed surprised, then nodded almost as if in approval. "Then he is learning the lessons to seek the repentance he wanted," he said. "That was why he yearned so greatly to come to your world; to atone for his past deeds."

  Zakris considered the boy for a moment. "Nahtan--Daghr'il--is on a path to lead him into a very dangerous position. I have come to ask that you aid him."

  Aiqho'il tilted his head, not unlike the golden winged hawk had. "But my presence would endanger additional fates written by the Goddess of Good Fortune's hand," he said. "Surely Halona has not prepared a place for me amongst your children."

  Zakris smiled. This ancient soul knew. He knew what the mortals were to him. Zakris loved them as if they were his own sons or daughters. As any loving parent, he would guide them as they grew and hopefully teach them to protect themselves from any evil they encountered.

  "There is no place for you," Zakris admitted. "But this leaves you free to go in any form you choose." He paused. "You seem--adept at shifting form."

  Aiqho'il nodded. "One of my gifts," he stated, then paused to study Zakris for a long moment. "But what if I were to damage more than Daghr'il has?" He pointedly looked around him at the lush forest, then back to Zakris. "I do not care to feel death's hand near me again, and as you have seen, I have more than enough power to hold it well at bay for a very, very long time."

  "That is a risk I will take," Zakris nodded his head solemnly. He had carefully weighed the consequences of bringing the Wardsman into Nahtan's circle, knowing full well the entirety of the world he and his brother had created lay in the balance. "Your friend will face tests on this path he has started down, and the minds of his friends may be known to his enemies. Nahtan's mind, however, cannot be."

&nb
sp; "And so you would seek to tip the balance in his favor by presenting two minds that would be unknown?" Aiqho'il asked, his expression amused, then suddenly turned serious. "Our world died because of our actions and hatreds," he continued. "I cannot guarantee that Daghr'il's hand in that power is no more.” He paused for a moment to let his words sink in. "If you agree to this, then I will go to do what I can to aid him--though my absence from here will bring vast death to this wood." The last was said with a tone of regret and dismay. Zakris had no doubt that death was not a welcome companion in any form to this young mage.

  Zakris nodded his head gravely. He did not know exactly what Aiqho'il referred to, but he had seen the devastating effects of this power when he and Zared pulled this world from oblivion. The world's death had been so complete that even all traces of those who had lived here before were erased completely--except for the few, spare souls whose gods had abandoned them there. That Aiqho'il was willing to accept these chances told him of the deep loyalty that lay between the two souls. He nodded his head again, accepting the risks the Wardsman had lain before him.

  One - "The church guards are breaking ranks"

  Sewati pulled his longbow back, his black eyes tracking the church guard as he fought in the battle going on in the narrow meadow. After only a second's hesitation, he let the arrow fly, striking the church guard squarely in the back and dropping him immediately--much to the surprise of the Mo'ani he had been fighting. Even before he had hit the ground, Sewati had another arrow notched and was methodically looking for his next target.

  Most of the archers only looked for those trying to escape the battle--dropping them when they were clear of the Mo'ani. Sewati's skill, however, allowed him to mark and hit the church guards within the battle without endangering those around them. As his eyes scanned the field, they paused for a moment on Brijade. She fought once more with both cloak and sword, and it took a moment for Sewati to recognize the man by her side.

  Somewhat surprised, he had to pause to watch how Calan handled himself on the field. The merchant seemed nearly as brutal as Brijade, taking down anyone who stood before him quickly and with precise skill. He was obviously very familiar with the finely-made sword he carried, wielding it as surely as any Mo'ani would have. Calan's concentration on each enemy was absolute, and while he disposed of some quickly, others he simply wore down until he found the opening he wanted.

  Sewati picked out other familiar faces or forms: Aralt managing to parry attacks from two church guards; Tosia moving easily around the far side, her Dweller's horse practically a part of her as she engaged those who came within her range; Adie also moved along the edges of the battle, her daggers putting a quick end to any who neared her.

  Finishing scanning the field, he was somewhat relieved to see neither Garren nor Gaurel had disobeyed him and left the camp. Mo'ani wasn't there either, and Sewati guessed he was also still at the camp--probably helping Yenene watch over Nahtan until he woke up. After another quick look over the field to mark his friends' positions, he turned his attention back to marking targets and dropping them the moment he knew he had a clear shot.

  **********

  Brijade drove her sword into her opponent's, using the curve of her blade to twist around his sword and pull it from his hand with a hard jerk. As he lost his grip, she turned to one side at his split moment of realization for what she had done. Planting one boot into his lower chest, she knocked the air from him as she turned one more time and neatly ran him through, then pushed him off her sword with a hard shove.

  Beside her, Calan focused on the fight going on around him. His every sense was alert, warning him of dangers to his side or rear as he faced the church guard before him. Despite its seeming finery, his sword was as solid and well-made as any owned by a Mo'ani. The sword had been in his family for generations, and he wielded it now with a skill drilled into him from an early age.

  While not inclined to run headlong into battle, he knew the Mo'ani would need every able-bodied person they could get who knew how to hold a sword or other weapon. Several of their number had stayed behind at the camp to protect Nahtan should any rogue church guards find the camp before the Mo'ani returned. Although to his perception, there were more there that couldn't fight than could. Garren was progressing well in his practice with the Mo'ani, but the other youth--Gaurel--refused to even touch a weapon. Then there was Mo'ani himself--though Calan didn't doubt Mo'ani's reputation alone would scare off any church guard who might find themselves facing him, he had yet to actually see the old man hold a weapon.

  There was also the boy, Tion, who had seemed even more withdrawn than his muteness would normally exclude him since their return with the news Valry had been kidnapped and Nahtan was near death. Tion had separated himself from the group, and now practically had to be forced to eat. Indeed, the strange boy had even quit giving him written requests for special things he knew someone would like.

  It was then, in the middle of a parry that he realized what about Tion had been bothering him for so long now. Despite the battle raging around him, he couldn't help but chuckle.

  "The little bastard can read and write," he said, not aware he had even spoken.

  "Keep your mind on the fight," Brijade said, cutting her blade in to stop a swing intended for his chest.

  "Is that an order, Lady Takis?" he asked, blocking the next swing that came towards him.

  "Just shut up and keep your sword moving," she returned.

  **********

  Tion watched from the distant hill as the battle raged on. It was taking longer than he'd thought it would. He neither turned away, nor flinched from the bloodshed below. He had seen too many battles for it to affect him anymore. Valry was alive, that much he knew, but the unholy presence of Zared's priests around her bothered him. He didn't even want to think about what influence they could have on Valry.

  Almost unconsciously, he touched his throat. Sacrificing his voice for the power to stand against Zared's priests had been a small thing. There was little any of the fallen priests could do to stop him.

  "Why do I feel no need to save these men?"

  Tion turned to see Mallin standing behind him, also watching the battle below. He gave a half shrug and turned back to the meadow again.

  Mallin stepped up beside him. "There is something different in these men than my own," he continued. "These men were not as beguiled by the Archbishop as others. I am afraid the only thing they know and serve is greed and fear."

  The Mo'ani had been attacked by this detachment of church guards, and they guessed it was a unit sent by Thorvald. Whether they were sent to test the strength and numbers of Nahtan's armies or find out if he were dead or alive and how much in disarray his armies were if the former, they had no idea. But the Mo'ani had responded quickly, and once the scouts had spotted the approaching church guards, raised the alarm. Now the battle raged well away from their camp, keeping Nahtan and the others out of harm's way.

  Tion looked up at him once more, then slowly nodded his head. He wanted to assure the former church officer that he was following Halona's fate for him without a deviance, but he knew to reclaim his voice would only endanger Valry more. Even for her hatred for her fallen uncle, Halona had known that not all of the Archbishop's followers were truly evil. It had been Mallin's place to save the lives of as many as he could.

  The two stood, watching the battle for a long moment before Mallin spoke again.

  "The Mo'ani have the upper hand now," he stated. "Look, there, the church guards are breaking ranks and will try to escape." Mallin pointed down at the field, where several individuals or groups of two and three had broken away from the battle and now tried to run to freedom.

  Tion nodded as the Mo'ani archers made short work of the retreating church guards, his expression remaining unreadable.

  **********

  Yenene sat beside Nahtan's cot, wiping his forehead with a cool cloth. Every so often he stirred, muttering something she couldn't make out. Even
less frequently, he would have moments of lucidity, when he would open his eyes and speak a few clear words to her. Most concerned Valry, while a few were open threats to Lord Valin.

  She rinsed the cloth in the bowl of cold water, wringing it out before laying it on his forehead again. His wounds had been so deep... She didn't see how he could even survive regardless of what he had said in the temple. Even now, barely four days after returning, fever and a fierce infection were setting in.

  She had cleaned and checked the wound again after he had fallen into unconsciousness the night before, and had seen the angry swollen red around the stitches. Closing her eyes, she reached out to touch Kutci's mind, hoping to find something else that would help stave off the infection. The other healer only acknowledged her touch, and offered nothing. Kutci had helped her so much in the temple, her words and thoughts practically tumbling over themselves in Yenene's mind, urging the healer to move quickly: where to cut, where to sew, where the blood was coming from--but there had been something else, too, that she couldn't quite put her finger on. There was something the other healer had known that she was trying to hide, something she didn't want to share with Yenene. Something about the wound that the other healer had seen or felt.

  "Please, Jensina," Yenene whispered, opening her eyes again. Her black hair fell forward as she leaned over to look more closely at the sewn cut. Brushing it back behind one ear, she lightly touched the reddening wound. "Don't let me lose him now--not again."

  "How is he doing?" Mo'ani asked, appearing in the opening to the tent.

  "Not very well, I don't think," Yenene shook her head slowly and looked up at him. "It looks like the infection is getting worse. I've treated it with everything I can, all I can do now is wait and see if it helps."

  Mo'ani came in to sit beside her on the other stool. Nahtan stirred on the cot, mumbling again and turning his head away from them.