Soldiers of Ruin

  SOLDIERS OF RUIN

  _______________________________

  AIELUND SAGA : Book 3

  STEPHEN L. NOWLAND

  Smashwords edition

  Copyright 2013-2019 Stephen Louis Nowland

  2019 Final Edition

  Map Illustration by Cornelia Yoder

  http://www.corneliayoder.com

  The Author asserts the moral right to be

  identified as the author of this work.

  Prelude

  The hour was late at the Fair Maiden Inn near the center of Fairloch, capital of Aielund, and most of its patrons had already sought their beds for the night. A few people remained, talking quietly amongst themselves as they nursed drinks near one of several fireplaces that made the cavernous space of the inn's common room a comfortable place to spend a cold winter's evening.

  The dull murmur of conversation and the occasional clink of cutlery on plates was as nothing to one of the inn's patrons, who sat by herself at a table, eyes closed and a look of serenity on her face. Chaos, horror and death were prominent in her recent past, a far cry from the simple life as a member of the clergy. For Nellise Sannemann, here, in the moment, there was peace.

  Her white-blond hair was tied back in a tail at the nape of her neck, and her slender form was robed in white, as was typical for one of the clergy. Ordinarily, the halls of a cathedral would be a more appropriate place to meditate, but for Nellise, that was no longer an option. Not that it was a problem of course. Inner peace could be attained in the loudest of environments if one was disciplined enough, but her rise in prominence of late had brought both praise and criticism for the priestess. There was no longer a place for her in the ranks of the Church of Aielund, and so she had chosen to walk a different path.

  Besides, there was something reassuring about meditating to the sounds of common people going about their lives. She felt a stronger connection to those she sought to protect, and for whom she had willingly sacrificed so much. This, more than anything else, was the source of her motivation and serving the common good reaffirmed her faith in ways she had never felt before.

  Noticing her mind wander, Nellise brought her attention back to the subtle noises in the environment, allowing them to pass through her mind without reaction. She performed this ritual every day to clear her mind and spirit, though it was becoming more challenging of late. Nellise winced as the image of bodies piled high in the caves of Akora flashed through her mind, a young woman she had befriended earlier visible amongst the dead. It was a traumatic moment who's sting was gradually easing with the passage of time, though today the memories haunted Nellise more than usual.

  “Is this a bad time?” a man's voice inquired softly, as if undecided between wanting her attention and feeling guilty at disturbing her.

  “Good evening, Prelate Carver,” Nellise answered without opening her eyes, easily recognising the church-appointed royal priest. “I was about to retire for the evening but if you and your companions have something to say, go ahead.”

  “You are quite perceptive,” chuckled a second man, his voice older and less formal. Nellise opened her golden eyes to regard the three priests who, much like herself, were dressed in white robes beneath their heavy winter longcoats. “I'm sure you're familiar with Prelates Langford and Blain.”

  “Only by name,” Nellise answered. “I can't help but notice all three of you gentlemen are important voices in the Resolute Heralds chapter. I feel a lecture coming on.”

  “We only wish to talk,” Carver assured her as the three men removed their coats and pulled up wooden chairs to sit in. “If you would prefer more secluded surroundings, we could move this to the cathedral.”

  “You know I'm not going to agree to that,” Nellise answered succinctly. “Right here will be fine. Perhaps I can offer you gentlemen a bowl of hot soup? The nights are long and cold.”

  “Thank you but no,” Carver said, speaking for his companions with whom he exchanged a quick glance. “I have no doubt you're in need of further rest to recover from your ordeal so we won't keep you any longer than necessary.”

  “If you've come here to ask for clarification on my motives, I don't have anything further to add to what has already been discussed with the Hierarchy,” Nellise sighed, reluctant to go through this whole thing again. “I cannot and will not stand idly by when innocent people are in danger, and I will arm myself to protect myself and others. This philosophy is at odds with the Heralds, and thus, we are no longer affiliated.”

  “We are familiar with your reasoning,” Prelate Blain, a tall, thin man with a receding hairline and sharp features informed her. “In the light of recent events, we are most reassured from your involvement, knowing you fought enemies of both the Crown and the Church of Aielund, and in this regard, we thank you.”

  “That's refreshing,” Nellise remarked. “I sense there is a 'but' coming.”

  “I'm sure you recall the death of Senator Johnson,” Prelate Langford pointed out, his old and gravelly voice matching his rough appearance. His words finally brought into focus the purpose of this impromptu chat.

  “Ah,” Nellise murmured, feeling the peace of her brief time meditating diminishing rapidly. “You're here to speak with me about Pacian Savidge.”

  “Specifically, his conduct,” Carver clarified, “and the frankly bewildering fact that you appear to be supporting this... criminal.”

  “Regardless of what you may think,” Blain added, “the senator should have been taken into custody and interrogated. Simply killing the man after his defeat was an act of sheer barbarism.”

  “I don't disagree with you,” Nellise answered. “We went over this with the duke afterwards and I assure you, the topic was covered extensively.”

  “Indeed it was,” Carver agreed, “and that issue is for His Grace to deal with. We are more concerned with you, Nellise. First you break your vows against arming yourself, and now seem to be forgiving the actions of Mister Savidge, which in some way could be construed as condoning them, to say nothing of the savage woman whose company you now keep. Valennia, is it? The two of them hearken back to the old ways of tackling our problems, with the sword rather than the law. We are not some frontier kingdom dispensing justice at the tip of the spear. We are the foremost civilisation in the known world and we and our representatives must comport ourselves accordingly.”

  “What has happened that would cause you to fall so far?” Langford pressed in hushed tones. “Do you really think going around killing people, in particular our leaders – no matter how corrupt – is the way to solve our problems?”

  “Certainly not,” Nellise responded, remaining calm in what had indeed turned out to be an interrogation of sorts. “I admit, I was as surprised and horrified as anyone when Senator Johnson was murdered.”

  “Then shouldn't Pacian be in jail right now?” Blain argued.

  “I'm surprised he's not, but it was the duke's decision and I stand by it.”

  “Why?” Carver asked, suddenly realising he was speaking too loudly as one of the inn's customers strolled past. The conversation paused in awkward silence until the man was out of earshot, before continuing. “This is the heart of the issue for the Heralds,” he went on in a lower voice. “Why do you stand by this man who so flagrantly ignores our laws?”

  “He has been of service to the kingdom,” she replied to the eye-rolls of the priests, “even if we don't agree with the manner in which he does it.”

  “In this regard, how is he different to the criminals and monsters you yourself wish to fight?” Langford argued.

  “Because he's on our side,” Nellise hissed. “He may be broken in some ways, but in my personal experience he has only sought to fight those who obviously need to be s
topped, and if he lacks faith in the ability of our system of justice to put people like Johnson behind bars, then that's hardly his fault. People of wealth have the uncanny knack of avoiding jail and, in some cases prosecution altogether. Whenever Pacian has killed one of these criminals, in his view it is the only way to truly stop them and after everything I've seen, I can hardly blame him.

  But know this,” Nellise went on, holding up a hand to stop all three men interrupting her at the same time. “I believe I can help him see the error of his ways. Yes, it will take time and patience. Pacian may be a force for destruction at present, but if nothing else, I can point him at the kingdom's enemies and use his particular talents for the common good.”

  “You believe you can control this man?” Langford remarked with quiet incredulity.

  “I believe I can redeem him,” Nellise corrected.

  “After he has murdered everyone you feel unworthy,” Carver stated coldly. “We aren't warriors, Nellise, nor do we determine who lives and who dies. The Resolute Heralds show the world that we stand for the innocent, and that we can deal with problems without resorting to violence. We are a beacon of light to humanity, and you jeopardise that with your actions and choices.”

  “You are taking a grave risk consorting with this man,” Prelate Blain added gravely, “one we cannot approve of.”

  “Then it's a good thing you have no sway over me anymore,” Nellise retorted, finally sick of the conversation. “Continue with your good works gentlemen, and know that I both respect and support you and the Church of Aielund. I have chosen to walk a different path, and only blessed Kylaris will guide me upon it.”

  “Dear Nellise, if you were less prominent in the Church, we wouldn't be making an issue out of this,” Carver explained to her with a cool expression. “You are an example to others, and word is spreading of your deeds. We wish to manage the situation for the benefit of everyone, including you.”

  “How patronising,” Nellise murmured.

  “Do you harbour feelings for Pacian?” Blain bluntly asked, catching Nellise off guard. A stir of feelings within confused her for a moment, for she hadn't really had time to process them herself.

  “Even if I did, that is hardly your business,” she answered after hesitating.

  “It would answer many of our questions concerning your attitude towards him,” Langford added, folding his hands together on the table before him. “A simple yes or no will suffice.”

  “No,” Nellise answered curtly. “Now if you'll excuse me, I must get some rest. Good evening, gentlemen.” The three priests looked to each other and reluctantly took her hint, standing up and pushing their seats back into place.

  “This isn't over,” Carver said after the other two bowed slightly and walked away. Nellise didn't dignify him with a reaction, but after he left, she sighed at the continuing friction she was getting from the political structure of the Church. It was nothing she couldn't handle, but it wasn't like she didn't have enough to deal with at the moment.

  The hour was late and she was the last one sitting in the common room as the fires burned low. She hadn't quite completed her earlier meditation and so closed her eyes, hoping for a few more minutes of calm. This time, peace eluded her as visions of Pacian killing Senator Johnson played over in her mind. She bowed her head as the words of the priests echoed within and not for the first time, Nellise wondered if she was doing the right thing.

  Prologue

  Aiden Wainwright struggled for each breath as he dodged the whirring blade that narrowly missed him time and again. Spotting a break in his opponent’s defences, he swung his own weapon and was finally able to force his opponent back. His opponent was quick, skilled with the blade, and not afraid to humiliate him when he failed to score a hit.

  Swearing under his breath, Aiden thought he saw an opportunity to stab at his foe only to discover it was a feint, leaving him unbalanced and out of position. He could only watch as his wooden sword was knocked out of his hands once again, landing on the cold floor a few feet away.

  He leaned against the wall in Fairloch Castle’s barracks and ran one of his hands through his cropped black hair, despising this rigorous training, yet seeing the need for it at the same time. The stone walls of the barracks were lined with racks for weaponry and armour, mostly empty after the king had taken just about everything of use to fight his war in the west.

  In spite of the cold, sweat beaded on his brow and ran down his face from the prolonged fight. He cast a wary eye at his two companions, the king’s spymaster known only as Mister Kinsey, and the king’s daughter, Criosa Roebec, his opponent for the day.

  “I’ve told you before, Aiden,” Kinsey warned, “watch your opponent’s eyes, not her blade.” He was of average height, dressed in a dark longcoat and leaned upon an ornate cane. His short dark hair was turning gray at the temples and his olive skin contrasted sharply with the gray stubble on his chin and jawline.

  “She’s a distracting adversary,” Aiden replied between breaths, holding up his hand to signal his desire for a break. “And frankly, she’s better than me.”

  “Thanks, but I could use a brief reprieve as well,” Criosa added, standing more easily only a few feet from Aiden. Her blond hair was shoulder length, tied into a tail at the back of her neck. Her large blue eyes and fine features revealed her royal heritage, yet the slight smile on her thin lips showed she was enjoying an activity most noblewomen wouldn’t dream of doing, let alone the practical boots, pants and blouse she wore.

  The princess had invited Aiden to the castle early in the morning, only days after his victory at the senate over the assassins who had attempted to murder over a dozen of the city’s most powerful men. Still weary from the battle, he had expected a nice, relaxing breakfast with Criosa before he and his companions set out for the south, but instead found himself learning the art of sword fighting, with Mister Kinsey providing advice from the sidelines.

  This, as it happened, was after she had insisted on trying to teach Aiden a few tricks from one of her spell books. She had been under the impression he was a novice wizard, due to his apparent mastery of arcane relics and scrolls. Yet after an hour of study, she learned that he was, for the most part, relying on luck and a smattering of knowledge he’d gleaned from years of studying whatever arcane books he could get his hands on.

  In light of this revelation, she instead gifted him with something else of value — a lightweight breastplate trimmed with gold, similar to that worn by the nobility. Its weight was a matter of perspective, of course, since Aiden had never worn one in his life and found it slightly more comfortable than having an anvil strapped to his body.

  “You know, I could probably give you a good match if you let me take this damned thing off,” Aiden suggested to Criosa, wrapping his knuckle against the breastplate.

  “That would defeat the purpose of this exercise,” Kinsey explained evenly. “As I’ve told you before, Mister Wainwright, you’re in dire need of training. For your own sake, it is essential you become accustomed to moving around in combat while wearing armour, and you can’t do that if you’re not wearing it.”

  “I’m not doing too badly,” Aiden protested, picking up his wooden sword and preparing for another bout. “I managed to survive weeks of fighting without being killed.”

  “Aiden, you were almost cut to shreds on more than one occasion,” Criosa protested, showing genuine concern. “You and your friends only survived because of Nellise’s healing, and that of the little raelani woman. One of these days you’re going to be run through with a sword and they won’t be able to save you. Leathers are no substitute for proper steel armour, sir, so you’re going to wear it, or I shall become very cross with you.”

  “Point taken,” Aiden condeded.

  “If you’ve managed to catch your breath, you should try again,” Kinsey advised. Apparently in full agreement, Criosa dashed in and tapped Aiden on his breastplate with the point of her weapon before he could react.


  She smiled playfully as he raised his sword and slowly circled her, taking measure of her defences as he plotted a way to actually win for a change. As quick as a flash, Criosa’s sword came towards him, this time to be intercepted by his own. Their weapons clacked again and again as Aiden managed to parry each swing. Sensing a rhythm to her attacks, he anticipated her next one and stepped in close, finally landing a blow on her side.

  “Very good,” Kinsey congratulated him, as Criosa raised her sword in salute. “You might turn out to be a halfway decent swordsman, if you put your mind to it.”

  “Where did you learn to fight so well, Highness?” Aiden asked of Criosa as he lowered his weapon. “I didn’t realise ladies of the court were taught the intricacies of fencing.”

  “You are correct, for the most part,” Criosa explained, sheathing her sword on her hip. “It is considered unseemly for noble women to learn fighting skills, but I used to sneak in here to watch the Master of Arms teaching the royal guard, and found I had a taste for it.”

  “Ignoring protocol, I sought tuition from masters of the sword around the castle,” she continued. “As it turned out, Castellan Hodges is quite an accomplished fencer, and since he is rarely away from the castle, he couldn’t escape my constant demands for lessons.”

  “Did the king learn of this?” Aiden inquired as he wiped sweat from his brow.

  “Yes, the castellan informed him soon after we started. Malcolm is immensely loyal to the Crown,” Criosa explained, smoothing her blouse. “While I do not doubt father was upset at this news at first, Malcolm must have changed his mind, for I have spent the last eighteen months under his guidance, minus the time I spent penned in at Fort Highmarch of course.”

  “The man knows his work,” Aiden admitted ruefully, drawing a playful wink from Criosa.