Legacy of Light Read online

  Legacy of Light

  ____________________

  C. D. Tavenor

  Legacy of Light by C. D. Tavenor

  Twitter: @tavenorcd

  Book Cover by Kim Tavenor

  Twitter: @kimmytavs

  Published by Two Doctors Media Collaborative

  www.twodoctorsmedia.com

  © 2019 C. D. Tavenor

  All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

  ISBN: 978-1-7338361-8-0 (e-book)

  ISBN: 978-1-7338361-9-7 (paperback)

  Maps created using Wonderdraft (wonderdraft.net)

  Hammer of Maripes

  My love, you cannot leave. You will fail.

  It is for that reason I must leave. Even if I fail, I will have failed knowing I did more than nothing.

  We are at peace. They do not threaten us.

  If we are to move beyond “peace,” we must do more than simply wait. We must unite. I must follow the commands of our Lord of Light.

  I

  “All rise for her Majesty, Empress Emelia II, Her Excellency of the Ten Kingdoms, Matron of the Holy Empire, Anchor of the . . .”

  The Voice drones on, listing the many titles of the woman seated in the ornate throne. As I look up the dozens of marbled stairs toward the Empress, her piercing eyes meet mine. I refuse to look away until the Voice says, “Maripes, Envoy of Lethotar, kneel before the Empress.”

  I obey without question—my task is not one of political or religious opposition. My shins hit the stone, and I stare at the steps at eye level. Just a few seconds pass before a woman’s voice speaks with rough edges and harsh tones. The Empress. And her Voice says, “Envoy of Lethotar, you may speak.”

  I raise my gaze to look upon her once again. “Your Majesty, Matron of the Holy Empire, Empress Emelia II”—three titles, as instructed—“I am Maripes, Son of Peras and Amar.” Two signifiers, both informal. After my first sentence, the Voice begins translating. “I come on behalf of the people of Lethotar and the Clans of the Three Valleys. I come offering you my talents—in exchange for free trade between our peoples.”

  As my lips emit the word trade, the Empress’s eyes widen. So she understands . . . does her court know? “I supplicate myself before your throne, your Excellency, and humbly request you consider my proposal.”

  She shifts toward her Voice, standing a few steps down from the throne. She speaks again, and he delivers her response. “Maripes, we shall consider your words. What talents do you offer?”

  I hold back the grin aching to stretch from ear to ear. A few of my counterparts back home didn’t expect I would even make it this far. “Your Majesty, while as the great Empress of your people, everything within your domain is yours by right, I have knowledge, and in the words of your Holy Scriptures, ‘knowledge is the foundation of all power.’ ” My hand trembles, and I form a fist to stop the shaking. “Therefore, I offer you the gift of sunsteel and the power of moonstone.” There it is again. The flicker in her eyes. “I will teach your people the secret of our people, in exchange for passage along the High Roads.”

  Murmurs rumble throughout the hall. The Court of the Holy Empire certainly hadn’t expected those words to leave my lips. Sunsteel. Moonstone. Every relic of their people, formed from metals they couldn’t smelt . . . and I offered the knowledge to reforge their history—if they pay a small price.

  “Why would you offer such a gift?” says the Empress through her Voice. Her eyes narrow, their green tinge peaking beneath her long, dark eyelashes. Her powder-white skin contrasts with the dark, woven up-do forming her headdress. “Why give us such knowledge?”

  “Because, your Excellency, we are the People of Light. We give to you that which we can give, so that you may see our way of peace.”

  The translator stumbles over the phrase “People of Light,” and I can’t recognize the term he uses in its stead. It didn’t sound derogatory, but I’m certain he failed to translate properly. In any case, Empress Emelia nods, raises her left hand as if to shush the already frozen crowd, and stands.

  “By decree of my station,” she says, “Maripes, Envoy of Lethotar, shall find safety within our walls.” I predict the meaning of her words before the translation arrives, given the gasps rising behind me. “You shall treat him as you would a member of the royal family until my Office declares otherwise. Maripes, my Guard shall escort you to your quarters for the duration of your stay in Esmeraldi.”

  I bow my head, and with the flick of her hand, she ushers me away from her throne as if I was the least important meeting of her day—entirely possible, given the line of other diplomats and bureaucrats behind me. Standing, I turn in stride, my grey wool cloak sticking to my sweaty skin.

  My steel boots click against the tiled floor, and the eyes of a hundred paleskins watch my march. No—not paleskins. I can’t think in such terms here, especially if I expect to break down their walls too. The people of the Holy Empire watch me. Still, their lingering stares tell me all I need to know. Their hate runs deep, and they wish me dead just for speaking in their presence.

  Reaching the end of the cavernous throne room, I sigh, two armed guards wielding pikes approaching. I hold out my hands, expecting the return of the shackles used in the morning, but they shake their heads. They mutter something in their strange language, and I nod as if I understand. They push open the great oak doors, sunlight streaming in, and I follow the soldiers into the city.

  ◆ ◆ ◆

  Esmeraldi is beautiful. Nothing like Lethotar, of course, but since the day I was “escorted” inside, I’ve marveled at its architecture and splendor. While my people—the People of Light—build in harmony with the land, the Holy Empire has constructed a metropolis honoring the ingenuity of its citizens. Spiraling cathedrals scale the clouds, and towering mansions declare the opulence of their owners. It simultaneously sickens and awes.

  For the second time today, I follow the two stoic guardsmen down what I’ve come to call as the Main, except instead of left, toward the military prison I’ve called home, we turn right, toward . . . the Palace. So the Empress wasn’t kidding—she’s honoring me as one of her own. I may have a greater chance than I thought.

  As in the throne room, Esmeraldian eyes dart toward me with every step. I presume the Empress permits me to wear my formal attire because she wants her people to recognize the foreigner walking amongst them. In some ways, it’s a perverse statement of power: “I am your Empress; you are safe, even when one of your greatest enemies walks our streets.” As if my skin and height didn’t already reveal my origin, a wool cloak, black tunic, and armored, steel boots signaled my presence from a block away. Only a fool wears such attire in summer heat this far south . . . unless you’re one of them from beyond the mountains.

  In any case, as the guards lead me through the iron gates of the Imperial Palace and into the gardens beyond, the crowds conspicuously trailing behind exhale confusion. Let them wonder. If all goes as planned, they’ll see more of my people by the end of the year, including inside the Palace. I’m here to forge an alliance, not threaten war.

  The Palace Gardens are a world of their own; exotic flowers, drooping trees, and vibrant bushes of all shapes and sizes spread in waves outward. Incased by a ten-meter sandstone wall, it’s shameful the royal family keeps these treasures from its people. Yet another cultural disconnect to overcome, I suppose.

  We reach the immense pillars adorning the outer walls of the Palace, and without pause, we step beneath, through a giant iron door, and into a red, carpeted hallway with pristine, white walls. We wind in and out of bizarrely decorated rooms until we reach a staircase winding upward in a corkscrew. After
passing three doors, we enter a long hallway with windows on the right side and wooden doors on the left. Reaching the fifth door, one guard steps to the side while the other opens it, ushers me through, and closes it with haste.

  Inside is a bed, a desk, an oil lamp, and . . . my bags. Curious. More curious than I’d expected. For my belongings to already be here, the Empress would have needed to order their delivery from the prison hours ago. She’d already made her decision before I said my piece. She’s playing a game high above my head, and I need to catch up quickly.

  Unsure whether I’m a prisoner inside this room—though I heard no feet retreating away from the door, the guards standing outside may as easily be for my protection as to keep an eye on me—I sit at the desk and organize the contents of my bags. No need to leave without being called for. I place my clothes in the drawers, and upon the wooden surface, I place pens, inks, and papers. It’s the first time I’ve had access to these tools in over four weeks. Dipping a pen in an inkwell, I write, just in case they permit a letter sent to the border and onto my family.

  ◆ ◆ ◆

  To my love, Vona, and my son, Mono,

  I have arrived in Esmeraldi. I wish you were here with me, and at the same time, it is absolutely necessary that you remained home. I believe I have an opportunity; a window has opened, and I must seize it. The Empress granted me audience today, and she wishes to speak with me further.

  I love you both, and know that in giving away the gifts of the People of Light, I will bring honor to you both, to the Three Valleys, and to Lethotar.

  All my soul is yours,

  Maripes, your servant in life and death.

  II

  Moonlight streams through the small, grated window inset into the door, and moments before my mind drifts to sleep, a soft knock raps on the wood. Approaching the door, I look through the gap in attempt to see my visitor.

  No one.

  Lifting the latch, I pull the door toward me, revealing a short, scraggly-haired boy wearing red silks. Looking up at me with wide-eyes, he motions for me to follow. The two guards are nowhere to be found. Brave boy, considering I’m at least three times his size.

  It could be a trap . . . or, it could be an opportunity. Through the open windows, a cool evening breeze chills my calves. I nod, grab my cloak, and follow the child. He leads me away from the stairwell and further down the hall. At the end, we turn left, away from the windows, heading into the center of the Palace. Around another turn, we head up a set of emerald-carpeted stairs, reaching a long hallway. Standing at attention at the far end, I see two royal guardsmen, though most likely not my previous entourage. They flank a purple archway, hands on the hilts of their swords.

  Their eyes through helmet slits narrowed with every step I take, and I eventually reach the end of the intimidating hall. The boy says a few words I can’t decipher at all, and they nod, reaching in sync to open the oak double-doors.

  It isn’t worth hesitating, so I proceed underneath the arch and through the open threshold. Inside, a young woman sits in a red wingback chair, her legs crossed beneath a shimmery silk dress. I barely recognize her without the makeup. She motions for me to sit in the chair across from her, next to a table holding a bottle of red wine and crystal goblets.

  I lean slowly into the cushioned chair, and its warmth envelops—it’s beyond soft, an evasive comfort these past few months. The woman reaches forward, picks up a glass, and sips the wine. I follow suit, its wooden flavor drying my tongue.

  “How are your accommodations?” she says. Her accent is choppy, but the grammar and pronunciation flawless. So the Empress can understand and speak our tongue, too.

  “Pleasant, your Majesty,” I say, bowing my head. “You are too kind.”

  “Oh, Maripes, cut the act. When we speak privately, there is no need for political platitudes. I am Emelia, and you are my guest.” She takes another sip of the wine. “Now tell me. Don’t hold back. Why are you in my city?”

  A trick? Her words, designed to lower my guard. Clever. “I have been nothing but honest with your people, and with you. We wish nothing but peace between our peoples.”

  “But you must have a catch. You know what our religion teaches of your people. You call yourselves the People of Light, yet our Holy Church says otherwise. The Inquisition wanted me to kill you on the spot.”

  “And why didn’t you?” Unconsciously, my fingers tense against the velvet armrest.

  “Because I know you are not accursed, as my people believe.” She watches my eyes, but I don’t flicker. “History is much more complicated than any wish to accept. Our people, your people, we are of the same blood when it boils down to the core.”

  “How . . . enlightened of you.” Her words could be truth, but they could also be weapons honed to ensure I give my knowledge. “If the Empress of the Holy Empire denies the teachings of her Church, what happens?”

  “I think you already know the answer to that,” she says. “So the question for us to resolve—how do we come to an arrangement without the Inquisition destroying us both and igniting a holy war?”

  I swallow. Her words ring of truth, and if this is the opportunity, the window into the future to stave off the inevitable, I must take it. “We show them I am true to my word. We show them I am not evil, and that my people are not evil. We can’t tell them. But proof; visual proof; it can go a long way in the minds of people.”

  “You don’t know my people.” She lets out a loose sigh, almost a laugh. “But I agree. We must keep up appearances for now, but know this: I am on your side.”

  “Why?” I can’t help myself.

  “That is a story for another day, Maripes. Tomorrow, you will show me the power of your hammer. You are dismissed.”

  ◆ ◆ ◆

  Exiting her quarters, I walk back down the long hallway alone. As I near the steps leading toward the floor with my quarters, a man rounds the corner below and leans against the wall, eyes on me. He watches until I reach the bottom step.

  “Welcome to the capital,” he says. “I see you’re already making waves.”

  Another who knows my language? Curious. “Can I help you?”

  “I just wanted to see the Empress’s pet creature.”

  Intentional antagonism. Don’t engage. “Here I am in the flesh.”

  “She’s using you, you know. They’re all going to use you in some way.”

  I turn right, striding away from the man.

  “I can help you,” he adds. “I can be an ally for you in this place. You need friends. More than you know.”

  I twist in stride, pointing a finger in the man’s face. He’s closer behind me than I expected, and I tower over him by at least half a meter. “You don’t know what I need, man. The Empress has welcomed me into her home, and that is enough for me.”

  “Do you know what her father did?”

  “Am I speaking with her father?”

  “If you ever get the chance, ask her about her father. And the Border Wars.”

  He takes a step away, out from under my reach. Backpedaling slowly, he turns and walks in the direction from whence he’d come. The cloak he wears is dark, with a red tinge to its embroidery. I wonder if the Empress knows the Inquisition walks her halls this late at night. Regardless . . .

  Snakes in the grass with every step I take.

  ◆ ◆ ◆

  The next morning, the small boy meets me at the door. I’m dressed not in my regal cloak, but in my smithing garb—brown pants, a black smock, dark goggles looped over my head. He looks me up and down, almost as if some of his fear has faded, then motions for me to follow.

  Sun streams in from the east, reflecting off the child’s blonde hair. In the daylight, he looks more official than I’d previously thought. His silk vest is green today, and he wears black, leather pants. His features remind me vaguely of . . . the Empress. Her son? Must be.

  Lost in my thoughts, it doesn’t take long for us to arrive at the entrance to the palace. Three carria
ges await, and the boy leads me to the third before he skips over to the first, presumably the Empress’s car. Squeezing inside the carriage, my head bumps the top. I’m completely out of my element, save for the hammer resting in my lap. And they know it.

  After a few minutes, the carriages roll forward without a word. Exiting the palace grounds, I embrace the opportunity to sit in silence. I don’t even look out the window to observe the city.

  The letter to my wife and son sits unsent in my room. I’ll need to breach the topic to either the Empress or one of her advisors today. My thoughts continuously drift to them. It took far too long to make it here. Our original timeline hoped I’d be on the way back to the Three Valleys by now. Mono’s on the border somewhere, acting as a scout for our people. It’s his life at stake. If I fail, he’s one of the first to die.

  And Vona . . . she was insistent my mission was a fool’s errand, but understood why I’m the only one who could try. She should have traveled with me. A human statement, perhaps; to see two partners in the world, and not just the beast I am to them.

  The carriages roll to a stop, the door opening within moments. I look up, sliding haphazardly to the ground. No Maripes-sized carriages in Esmeraldi—a shame. The sun blazing through the clouds, we stand on a bluff cleverly situated within the metropolis, overlooking a river below. Placed atop the cliff: a forge, complete with an anvil, smelter, and other tools necessary to smelt sunsteel and moonstone. However, the forge looks untouched for generations.

  It’s a relic of bygone era. They know this place was once used to make artifacts of great power, but they’ve forgotten the methods. It looks similar to the forge in Lethotar—my forge. We found it, just like they found this one. On the other hand, perhaps “found” is the wrong word; for the forges have always been where they’ve been, waiting for hands to work them. At least, according to our legends. I don’t know what stories the people of the Empire tell about them.