Upon the Forge of Battle (Age of Wrath #4)
What Has Gone Before…
To her most Royal Majesty, the Dowager Princess, Leannor Algathinet, from her most humble servant Edvard Baelforth, Senior Scholar, Royal Couravel Library.
Having been charged under your generous auspices to compile an account of the strange, and oft-times calamitous, recent events in the realm of Ascarlia, you will doubtless recall my preceding missive on this subject.
Having obtained, not without cost, the assistance of a witness possessing considerable knowledge of the matters in question, I detailed how the rule of the Sister Queens had been brought to a bloody end thanks to the perfidious treachery of one of their number.
Sister Lore, it transpired, had long been an agent of the Volkrath, an ancient and bloody cult reborn as spies and assassins in service to the Vortigurn, the ruler of the distant land of Nihlvar, which lies west of the supposedly impassible Fire Islands.
It is at this juncture, Majesty, that I must offer an apology for the interval betwixt my first missive and the one you now hold in your hands.
For, after relating his tale over the course of several days in the port of Vorun Hardta, my witness abruptly took ship and disappeared across the sea.
Nor did he offer the courtesy of a simple farewell.
I made strenuous efforts to seek another source from the local populace, but their suspicion of foreigners made it a near impossible task.
I did succeed in securing an interview with the Veilwald, the ostensible governor of the province, but he proved to be a taciturn character, perhaps due to an unwillingness to revisit painful memories.
However, he did provide me with a list of ports where I might locate my prior source.
After several months uncomfortable voyaging from one windswept corner of this land to another, I found him.
The manner of our reunion was far from pleasant, for I happened upon him disgorging an overfull bladder in an alley in Skar Magnol, the capital of the Ascarlian realm.
“Ulthnir’s balls, foreigner,” he greeted me with a weary growl.
“There are wolves in the Northern Gelds easier to throw off the scent than you.” I had expected another round of costly bargaining before he consented to continue his tale.
But he merely sniffed and started towards a nearby tavern, saying, “Come on, then. I suppose I owe you the rest of it. But you’re buying the drinks. ”
And so, Majesty, it is my pleasure to present to you the following account.
In accordance with your instructions, I have included the more fantastical episodes.
Whether they be the result of honest recollection or the product of a mind addled by excessive liquor, I leave to your most excellent judgement:
When last we met, foreigner, I told of how, with guile, fire, and sword, the Nihlvarians swept across Ascarlia.
Vile murder they did, and wanton despoilment too, spreading ruin in their wake until their rampage was interrupted by Thera Speldrenda, the Blackspear, Vellihr of Justice to the Sister Queens.
Having been dispatched to the Outer Isles to investigate rumours of rebellion, Thera marshalled resistance to the invasion.
With the aid of her apprentice Lynnea Trahleyl, a mute maiden said to have the ability to commune with beasts, Thera brought the Nihlvarians to battle at a place called Danith’s Bay on the coast of Ayl-Ah-Vahrim.
There Thera did smite them, seizing many ships and freeing many slaves.
Yet, at the hour of her triumph, Thera was betrayed by Eshilde, another of her apprentices.
Revealing herself a Volkrath agent, Eshilde stabbed Thera, only to suffer a terrible death between the jaws of Lynnea’s war hound, Snaryk.
Mortally stricken, Thera fell into the waters of Danith’s Bay but was rescued by Snaryk and the freed slave Achier.
Achier was of the Morvek, that benighted folk who dwelt in the land of Nihlvar before the ancient exiled Ascarlians came to take it from them, rendering them slaves or beggared outcasts upon the soil of their ancestors.
Using some arcane power known to his people, Achier sealed Thera’s wounds and, despite great suffering, she survived to see the next dawn.
Once healed, Thera resolved to sail for Skar Magnol, there to bring news of the realm’s plight to the Sister Queens.
Yet, as she set sail in her warship the Great Wolf, Thera met upon the waves with Skahlvyr Estrynlud, a famed seafarer hailing from the Aiken Geld.
Advised that Skahlvyr’s kinsman, Veilwald Hakkyn Rohnlank, would soon face the Nihlvarians in battle, Thera had no choice but to turn from her mission and muster a fleet to join with Hakkyn.
Sailing south with all the ships and warriors she could scrape from Ayl-Ah-Vahrim, Thera discovered battle already raging in the Lyx Helv, the confined stretch of sea that separates the northern Outer Isles from the southern.
Thanks to Thera’s intervention, great slaughter was done upon the Nihlvarians that day, though the fight was fierce and the waters of the Lyx were red even before the setting of the sun heralded victory.
Again Thera resolved to sail for Skar Magnol and again she was thwarted.
For that night her great-grandfather Margnus Gruinskard, Tielwald to the Sister Queens, visited her in a dream, for such was his power, and told her of Sister Lore’s treachery and the fate of her fellow queens.
The Tielwald himself was now consigned to a dungeon in the bowels of the Verungyr, the fortress home of the queens, and treacherous Lore held sway in Skar Magnol.
Yet, not all souls were cowed by Lore’s bloody treachery.
For Elvine Jurest, that learned scholar who had returned from the very Vaults of the Altvar with a spear forged by the gods’ own hand, still held the traitor queen’s trust and affection.
Recall, foreigner, the tale of Elvine’s quest for the Vaults in company with the famed warrior Felnir Skyrnrak, and how she escaped the fate of Felnir’s crew when they were set upon by Nihlvarians during the homeward journey.
After many hardships, Elvine made her way to Skar Magnol in company with her half-brother, an Albermaine-ish outlaw of whom I can say little other than his name, Colvyn.
During the journey, Elvine discovered that the spear she recovered from the Vaults was host to an enigmatic spirit, the nature of which she couldn’t divine, except that its voice was given to offering sage advice only Elvine could hear.
Once returned to the Verungyr, Elvine could only stand and watch in horror as Lore, with the aid of the Vellihr Ilvar and his fanatical menda, did murder Sisters Silver and Iron, slaying their servants for good measure.
In the aftermath, in order to preserve her life and that of her mother, the renowned archivist Berrine Jurest, Elvine was forced to humour the traitor queen’s whims. She it was who penned Lore’s first address to the people of Skar Magnol, a catalogue of lies that shamed Elvine’s soul.
In her anguish, Elvine sought the counsel of the spirit contained within the Spear of the Altvar and from it received a gift: the power to discern the nature of another soul.
Henceforth, when talking with certain individuals, Elvine could perceive an aura around them, the colours of which indicated their inner thoughts.
Thus was she able to know when Lore lied to her.
Commanded by Lore to craft a complete history of Ascarls, Elvine persuaded the queen to grant her access to the imprisoned Margnus Gruinskard on the pretext that his aged memory surely contained much of value to her research.
The Tielwald, still resolute despite the torments he had suffered at Ilvar’s hands, told Elvine to visit his house in Skar Magnol, ostensibly to reveal hidden documents, but in truth to draw the notice of his servant Coelnyr.
The Tielwald also bade Elvine contact a pastry cook in the stronghold’s kitchen’s named Aldunna, another of his servants, though her role was unknown to all.
Thus prepared, Elvine and Berrine began to plot their escape from the Verungyr.
Thoughts of escape also bedevilled the mind of Ruhlin ehs Kestryg in far-away Nihlvar.
You remember his tale, foreigner, for he it was who stood at the very dawn of change when he witnessed the destruction of his village and suffered the transformation into a monstrous, ravening creature.
Subdued and borne away to the raiders’ homeland he was forced to fight in the Meidvang, a ritualised annual spectacle of bloody combat.
In time, Ruhlin formed an alliance with his fellow captives and, crucially, won the affection of Aleida, the daughter of the Aerling that chained him.
Wreaking havoc upon their captors, they fought their way clear of the city of Turihmvek in northern Nihlvar.
Their company included several Morvek and a bear that seemed to be possessed by the spirit of Aleida’s aunt, a Morvek practitioner of Arcane arts who died in the Turihmvek arena.