The Quest (Part One of The Kingdom Trilogy)

By Sean McGuire

All Arman wanted to do was find his place in life. When he does, he is hurled into a madness he could never have imagined, and burdened with a quest that he does not have the strength to complete.

A mysterious old man comes to him in the wake of tragedy. He is Menemaeus, the immortal warrior who has defended Upper Nola and the rest of Arman's world for millenia. His job was supposed to be done. The Nameless One was supposed to be locked away forever, after his last defeat at Menemaeus' hands.

He's back. Somehow he's back. And Menemaeus has discovered that Arman is the heir of a dynasty that brought peace and glory to Upper Nola after that last defeat. Menemaeus wants Arman to ride out and warn the world, while he seeks the only weapon that can stop the Nameless One's power.

Arman had no idea what would befall him if he made that choice. With trembling lips, he said yes.

Are you ready to watch a world fall apart?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sean McGuire
• Release date: Oct 24, 2011
• ISBN: 9781466144941

Sean McGuire

Sean McGuire is a man without a hometown, and a man who has a story to tell, just like you. In 1992, he was born to a Roman Catholic Marine officer and an ex-Methodist lady. In his childhood, he moved with them between California and Virginia multiple times. They wound up in Milwaukee when his father retired from the Corps to get a theology degree, and in Montana when a college hired him as a professor. Sean graduated from high school there, and went to Kansas to study English at Benedictine College. He's been influenced by J.R.R. Tolkien, Fyodor Dostoevsky, Andrew Lang, Mel Gibson, Flannery O' Connor, Peter Jackson, Edmund Spenser, John Milton and many other fine storytellers. Nothing touches his day like a good story.

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The Quest (Part One of The Kingdom Trilogy)

Sean McGuire

Copyright 2011 by Sean McGuire

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

Thank you for purchasing this ebook. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Acknowledgements

Martha Bartell for the cover art; I couldn't have done it without you.

David Gaughran and Christopher Paolini, two authors whohave demonstrated that indie writers have a fighting chance to succeed.

Michael Miller, Aaron Henderson, Margaret McGuire, Patrick McGuire, Peter McGuire, and everyone else who gave advice and assistance in these four years past.

Beverly Mantyh for showing me the joy of writing.

For my mother and father, whose talent and wisdom I will never be able to match.

Table of Contents

CHAPTER ONE: THE PRIDE OF THE VILLAGE

CHAPTER TWO: THE EAGLE

CHAPTER THREE: THE SPARROW UNDER THE EAGLE

CHAPTER FOUR: RUIN

CHAPTER FIVE: REBUILDING

CHAPTER SIX: REVELATION

CHAPTER SEVEN: THE KING OF GYRDEN

CHAPTER EIGHT: THE CAPTAIN OF THE ORDER OF BROAMAS

CHAPTER NINE: IT BEGINS

CHAPTER TEN: THE MANY WAYS TO LOOK AT A STORM-CLOUD

CHAPTER ELEVEN: OF MEN AND DOGS

CHAPTER TWELVE: TWO KNIGHTS OF BOLFUIR

CHAPTER THIRTEEN: LARSOR AND OARATH

CHAPTER FOURTEEN: WELCOME TO HOROAN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN: IN THE GUEST ROOM

CHAPTER SIXTEEN: HERALDS AND COFFINS

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: DEATH DOES NOT WAIT FOR YOU TO BE READY

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: THE TEETH OF THE TREES

CHAPTER NINETEEN: THE END OF THE MISSION

CHAPTER TWENTY: ON THE RUN

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: PADDLING

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO: IN GOOD HANDS

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE: A TRANSFORMATION

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR: REFUGE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE: WHAT THE WEREWOLF SAID

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX: ANOTHER REVELATION

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN: BATTLE OF THE KORHEGAN PASS, PART ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT: BATTLE OF THE KORHEGAN PASS, PART TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE: GRAVES

CHAPTER ONE

THE PRIDE OF THE VILLAGE

The sunlight turned the village to gold, and Arman hoped it would be an omen. As people began to dot the streets, Arman looked for a woman in a plain grey dress.

All through the night, sleep had failed him, so instead of trying to sleep he had planned. An hour before dawn he went to bathe in the creek, and collect firewood so he wouldn’t have to do it later. Now he waited at the top of the old hill, waiting for the meeting, wearing the shirt that he had worn when he had first met her. He looked down on the shirt and smiled.

Then he frowned. Sawdust coated his chest! He could see little specks of wood, trapped in the threads. Furtively, he looked around to make sure no one was watching, and brushed it with his palms. The splinters fell with some effort, but the dust remained.

All the mornings to fetch firewood, and I pick this one, muttered Arman.

He looked round once more, like a rabbit might watch for a hawk, and then commenced rubbing his chest, more vigorously than before. She would be here any minute!

Arman, what on earth are you doing?

Arman turned, and fires flew from his feet to his face.

I- I was just checking up on myself…

Lelana smiled.

Arman, son of Garath, after four years you should have learned that I don't care about how much you brush yourself up.

"I know! I just wanted to look good for a meeting like this. It’s important; I can tell. I caught something in the tone you used with me. What do you want to talk about?

Lelana looked at him, eyebrows lifted with surprise.

Was I that transparent?

It wasn’t hard to miss.

Oh, I can’t hide anything from you! You’re not the only one who hasn’t learned. A silence. Could we get off the top of this hill?

Certainly.

She extended her hand, palm bared. Arman took it and walked with her, deeper into the woods. As always, she wore a plain grey dress. It was common-looking clothing, and many would say she was a common-looking girl. Arman could never disagree more. The wind whisked him towards her, and blew her clothes against her smooth hips. Blushing a little, Arman whipped his eyes instantly to her flowing auburn hair.

This is far enough, said Arman after a while.

He sat on a log. They were in their favorite clearing. Lelana sat next to him, and in an instant Arman forgot the trees that surrounded him. Lelana's shoulder was no more than an inch from his.

How have you been? asked Arman.

Peaceful enough, said Lelana. Farnan's fever is down. He still hasn't let out a single whimper.

I still can't believe it, said Arman. He humbled me yesterday when I visited. He had a face like a soldier as he drank that bitter soup your mother made. If I had a brother, I'd like to think I'd be able to keep a straight face like that, even when the worst is happening. You're lucky to have a brother, Lelana.

I know, said Lelana.

She was too quiet. Arman started to get anxious.

Is- is there something wrong? asked Arman.

Lelana looked at him with a funny look in her eye. Arman couldn’t help but stare a little. Her eyes were grey like mist. Something always shone from their depths that enchanted Arman, from his head to his toes. Now the mist was more thick and impenetrable than ever before.

Only if you think so, said Lelana.

She turned her eyes to the leaves and the dirt sprawled at her feet. Arman watched patiently. Was he the one meant to say it? His mouth was locked. So was hers, seemingly. Before Arman could weave together the words he needed to speak to her, she turned back to him with a sigh of exasperation.

Do you love me, Arman? she asked. Truly?

Arman squirmed with the question. It was here at last. It was forthright and bare-knuckled; it left no escape. Did he truly love her? Her eyes still reached into his, and they stoked a warm tingle that he couldn’t stop.

I… started Arman. I do not know. I can tell you nothing sincere except for that. There is definitely something here between us. Something that feels good. But I can’t say whether it’s anything that will last. I’ve told you over and over again; it won’t be easy with me in the army. When I finish my studies at the Academy, I have less than a month before I must report to Maceneth. That absence will be hard on both of us. I’m not trying to push you away, Lelana. Please understand. I’m trying to be sure you don’t spend yourself on something that doesn’t exist.

Lelana’s face was still sunny. And she was still looking at him.

You would court me, then? she asked. Formally?

I would get the approval of my father and of my mother, said Arman. And I would take time to look at myself and be sure I am ready to do such a thing.

Lelana sighed again.

Arman, this is one of the things that drew me to you. You care deeply. There are people in this village who would give so much to have that care. But Arman, this is also a weakness. You think too much. Do you seriously think you’ll ever be sure enough to take me?

Lelana, do you remember Gelthi and I?

Well enough.

And Hanta before that? I was an embarrassment. We couldn’t speak to each other alone, once we got bored of flirting. They were statues. I threw myself into them too soon; I won’t make that mistake with you.

You left Gelthi months ago, Arman. Since then you have been serious about me. What more reassurance do you need?

I… I can't put it into words.

You must learn how, and quickly. My mother and my father are watching you anxiously. I’m watching you anxiously. You’re not the only friend I have in this village, and their professions will be far less dangerous than yours. I’m leaving with my family in an hour for Namnas. Can you answer me when I return? I must know what you want with me.

I will.

The words jumped out like a panicked horse. Lelana stood, and smiled at him once more. The dawn nuzzled her cheeks and made her glow.

If it helps, she said. I didn’t mind waiting a year for you.

All Arman could do was smile as she wove through the trees. It was a minute or two before he turned around and left the wood and the smile behind.

As Arman darted down the old hill, he saw that Meledil had fully awakened. A few travelers were on horses, gaining speed as they hit the path going to the High Road. Dogs and chickens crisscrossed the streets with several townsfolk. One man staggered enough to show Arman that there had been a real party last night. Arman hurried between the first of many dark wooden houses, came to his own, and opened the door.

I was beginning to worry about you, son, said Father’s voice.

I’m beginning to worry about me, too, said Arman. Father, I-

Good morning, my son, she said, turning to Arman. She glowed with a beauty age can never touch.

Good morning to you, Mother, said Arman, walking to her and kissing her on the cheek, as every son in Gyrden was doing around that time.

You seem a little more pensive than usual, said Mother. That’s high marks for you. Is your lady love angry at you?

Not exactly, said Arman.

Have I been letting you get educated for three years to learn how to make vague statements? What happened, Arman?

Nothing yet, Mother. Lelana left for Namnas; we will talk again when she returns. Can we eat?

Of course, my son.

Her face was now hard and cold, like iron.

Father, I what? murmured Father, leaning across the table. He was the village judge, and he was the parent Arman always turned to.

Later, murmured Arman. I don’t want any interruptions.

***

The Third Royal Academy of Minianen was a wide, round stone building, with a courtyard in the middle. Arman walked to it slowly, wondering where his happiness had gone. He was a third-year! Another month and he would be finished. All the village would flock out to sing his praises. He would become a captain in the army, and wear shining armor, and defend mighty Gyrden against a foe that never came.

Arman! You’re late! cried a short young man, throwing open the door.

I see no teachers, Carron, said Arman, brushing past him. I can only conclude classes have not begun.

Oh, very true, but that’s not the late I’m talking about. I’m talking about the late where my very best friend in all the world forgets to come for drinks.

There are parties every other day of the week. What was so special about last night?

It’s not the ale you go for, said Jargan, the biggest third-year. It’s the talk.

Aye, it’s a great way to get to know people, said Trotar, bringing the rest of the boys with him. He had the smile on today.

I think I have all the friends I need, thank you very much, said Arman.

Oh-ho! said Carron. I see that naughty gleam in your eye. Is it on?

Well… not exactly, said Arman. We spoke recently, and I don’t feel like divulging much more than that. She left for Namnas this morning. When she comes back we’re making our decision.

That’s the same story you told about the last one! cried Jargan. You need help hanging on to women, Arman. Talk to Trotar. He’ll turn you into a stallion that Lelana can’t resist.

He won’t need my help, Jargan, said Trotar, inspecting Arman. What I’ve done in a month, he could do in a day. Look at yourself, Arman! She’ll be all over you.

All over you, repeated Carron, drawing a laugh from the boys.

Keep your mouth shut, Carron! said Arman. Now, Trotar, I’m no sweetheart. This is going to be harder than you think.

It certainly will be if you aren’t in your seats by the time I’ve stepped past this doorway!

By the time the first of the teachers had stepped through the doorway, every student in the place was in their seat. Arman waited for his language teacher, and listened to Trotar and Carron tell dirty jokes in the back seats. They didn’t understand. After three years Arman was convinced they never would. Lelana was different than all of the other girls. Arman wasn't willing to admit it, but he was different too.

Your promptness is to be commended, crowed the literature teacher as he walked over. I think those first-years are learning from you at last. Now, we all know what we’re doing today. Arman, you will make your recital first. Gentlemen, watch him carefully, and evaluate him as he delivers The Fall of Grosber, the man who conquered a tyrant but failed to become a good king…

Arman performed a miracle. As he recited his poem, heard the applause, and sat back down, he did not use a single conscious thought. His lips moved, and his mind fled out the door and went straight to the top of the old hill. All day it frolicked there. Arman’s body, in the meantime, shuffled from group to group as if bewitched. Words poured from his teacher’s mouths. They bounced off Arman's skull, like rocks off a shield.

Somehow, Arman kept up the illusion that he was paying attention. Military theories, historic battles, wise men, famous poems… they all leaked from his mind. Yet his back was straight as a spear, and his face was intent with concentration. Only Darral and a few other third-years weren’t fooled.

She’s on your mind, said Darral, as they walked out to spar under the midafternoon sun.

Very much so, said Arman.

Nothing I’ve got to say that wasn’t said this morning, said Carron, whirling a wooden sword. I’ll pair up with you first, you lovely turtledove.

You’d better hope your arms can back up your tongue, said Arman, as their teachers bawled out orders to split in pairs. You should know by now that just because I don’t look focused doesn’t mean I can’t outdo you in anything.

If your tongue can do no more than your arms, said Carron. I’m going to put you on the ground.

To Arman’s surprise, Carron held to his jest. Arman did indeed get put on the ground; he kneeled from the pain of a blow, though he got up quickly before the instructor could see. His mind burned as he whirled his wooden blade. He was trying to focus. He fought with Carron, Darral, Trotar, and all the other third-years. Half of them defeated him easily.

Stop embarrassing me in front of these first-years! roared the sparring instructor, a squat, meat-headed man. Is this a captain in the army of Gyrden?

It will be by the time I’m done, sir, panted Arman.

Show me! snarled the instructor, and raised his own wooden sword.

***

By the time Arman returned to Meledil, he was exhausted and embarrassed. He walked through the woods alone. Giggles flitted through the trees. Trotar and his gang were chatting up their girls. Arman ignored them, and the putrid whine of old women gossiping in the town square. Arman could see them, with their black cloaks. He hated the way they fawned on him.

He hurried through the trees. It was sunset; orange fingers poked through the branches. Arman had always loved the forest that stood like a ring around Meledil. He could hide from people in here. Here he was king; here his thoughts could run on, uninterrupted and unafraid.

Do you doubt my judgment, son? asked Father when Arman had circled the village and come to the door of his house.

I don’t. And yet...

And yet?

You care for me. You have loved me since I was a child. It's because you love me that I find your praise unsure... if that makes any sense.

Father rubbed his forehead with his palm, breathing slowly. Arman had never seen him like this except when he was tired.

You will be a man in a few days, said Father. You will stand before me and accept the blow across the cheek, and be counted no longer among the boys of Meledil. I meant to open this door and speak with you for a long time about Lelana. I truly believe that you love her. I truly believe you must speak now before you lose her to someone else. But I don’t think my words will help you now. Make your own choice, my son. I will not interfere.

Thank you, murmured Arman as Father walked inside. It was not until he entered the house himself, and watched Father disappear into his study, that he realized how much effort it had taken his father to say that.

Arman went to his own room, and slumped on the bed. Father was right. They all were. Arman was no fool! He knew he worried too much. But too many worries were better than none at all. This world was full of danger, and Arman refused to go stumbling in the dark.

He would be decisive. But first he had to rest, and think. At least a few minutes more, here on the quilt that had never failed before to soothe his skin, and unload his mind. The central question was still unanswered, after all these years. He loved Lelana, but could that love withstand time and tempests? He knew tempests would come.

In fact, it was not until that moment that Arman realized what was truly holding him back. He had told Lelana that the military life would be dangerous. He had lied. Gyrden had not fought a serious war in decades. Arman knew it, and so did Lelana. Her piercing grey eyes stung Arman. He should have told her the truth, but the truth was so mad that he didn't dare to tell a soul.

He was sure that something terrible was going to happen. His life had been too happy, and too comfortable. There was a cold and unyielding voice in his soul, and it had passed judgment. Arman could not say how, but he was sure that his life was going to go abruptly and terribly wrong.

***

Why don’t you listen to everybody for once? said Darral, walking into Arman's room an hour later. Even the men at the tavern are talking about you.

What else have they got to talk about? murmured Arman, who hadn't budged from his bed.

You say that like you’re better than they are.

I try not to.

Just court the girl, already! Listen to me! If you miss with Lelana, you might not get another chance. Who’s going to marry a man who’s gone through three other girls already?

Nobody! I know you’re right… but if I jump in without thinking… anything could happen. Don’t be offended, Darral; please don’t.

I’m not offended, Arman.

Understand me. I do feel something for Lelana. But I don't want to be hasty with her heart. I'll be serving in the army, as an officer- I don't know if our courtship could survive that absence.

People do it every year. I don't see what you're worried about.

But what... what if...

"What if what?"

I... I can't put it into words.

"We’ll discuss it later. It’s not what I came here for. There’s someone at The Stallion who wants to speak with you."

"At The Stallion? Why wouldn’t he simply come here?"

I don’t know.

Alright. Who is he?

I don’t know! You see… well, he’s an old man. A very peculiar old man. I can’t answer any of your questions. I can’t answer them myself. He has an… overwhelming presence. He didn’t tell me his name, but I think you can trust him. He paid me well to find you.

He took from his pocket ten golden coins. Arman didn’t like the glint of money, especially when it was associated with shadowy things.

Arman! screamed Mother’s voice. Did you ask Lelana before she left with her family?!

Let’s go, said Arman, and he and Darral snuck out the window.

CHAPTER TWO

THE EAGLE

The Stallion was the only building in town with a spire for a roof. Arman and Darral reached the inn quickly and closed the doors behind them. A bar ran down the left wall, and tables stood around it. They were pristine; the inn looked like it had opened yesterday. It was a working hour in the village. Two or three people sat at the bar, so hunched over that they seemed to be cuddling with the wood. Two others sat alone at an empty table, swallowed by hoods.

What can I get you? asked Sordrin the barman, leaning across the bar.

I don’t need a drink, said Darral. But I do have some business. The old man- the old man- gave me these to bring him Arman.

There’s plenty more where that came from, said Sordrin, pocketing the money. When that old man came, he bought the topmost room, right under the roof. And he paid extra to keep me quiet. Do you know how much that room costs in the first place? He carried himself like a king, and no mistake. He even looked at me like I was his servant! And I half believed it.

Did he give a name? asked Arman.

When I asked, he looked at me oddly- you had to have seen it to understand- and he said with his big voice about how there’s no need for a name. Voice like his, somehow I didn’t feel like arguing with him. I try not to mumble about my guests, so keep this quiet… but the sooner this fellow leaves, the better.

Was that a warning?

What do you think? said Darral. I have my bargain to finish.

I don’t know… replied Arman. Do you think he's dangerous, Sordrin?

I try not to make judgments like that, either, said Sordrin. But I’ll tell you one thing I’m certain about. If you make that fellow angry… may your soul rest in peace.

We’ll be talking all day if you keep up like that, Sordrin, said Darral irritably. Will you see him, Arman?

Of course I’ll see him, said Arman hastily. It’s what I came for. If I’m gone too long, can you let my family know where I am?

I’ll do that for you, Arman, said Darral, and left the inn, coins jingling in his pocket.

Good luck, son of Garath, said the bartender, as Arman went to the spiral stairs in the middle of the room.

The steps were mottled with bootprints. Arman walked up them, past the second floor and to the trapdoor. He paused before knocking. Something held him back, and he didn’t have a name for it. The man above him had paid a handsome price to speak with him alone. Now he wondered. Why alone? He examined the trapdoor for a moment. It was well-polished, like everything else in the building. Why did it look so eerie?

Arman felt a sudden desire to go back down. He wished Darral hadn’t been paid for this; if Arman did not appear, the old man would think Darral had cheated, and Arman couldn’t let that happen to a friend. He blinked. Had the old man thought of that? Had he planned this meeting to that degree? Who was he? What did he want to speak about? Was he safe?

Eventually, Arman realized he was standing awkwardly before a guest’s door, and that he needed to do something before someone saw him. He knocked hastily.

Arman, son of Garath?

You guess correctly… sir. A friend told me you paid him to lead me here. He said you wanted a word with me.

He spoke the truth. Come in!

Cautiously, Arman opened the trapdoor, and walked up the remaining stairs.

The old man stood at the far end of the room, grand as a king, and from the moment Arman saw him he could not look at anything else. He was old, but with a forbidding and regal face. His hair was white as the foam of a wave. It showered down his shoulders, and in a beard. And his eyes! Those nearly made Arman bow to the ground. They glinted with a light that was alien, terrifying and utterly indescribable.

Well met, Arman. Fear me not, but sit, said the old man, in a voice deep and firm. Arman sat in a wicker chair that he noticed for the first time.

G- good afternoon to you, sir. May I seek a name?

I have one, but I do not find it convenient to share it now. If you trust me, I would have a conversation with you.

He was not jesting. Arman had known that even before the old man had spoken. Now Arman was truly unsettled. His eyes darted around the room. He looked at the unused, quilt-laden bed, and the broad, ebony desk, and the fat rug, but not the old man and especially not his eyes.

I trust you, said Arman slowly. For now. What sort of conversation have you summoned me to have?

One about yourself.

W-what would you like to know about me?

Whatever you are willing to tell.

Arman watched the old man with wide eyes. He decided that he could tell whatever the old man would find out anyway. That would be enough to satisfy him. Arman let the old man ask away.

My father is the local judge, Arman found himself saying. My mother tends house at home, and raises me. Or, she used to raise me. I will come to the age of manhood in a few days.

You have no brothers or sisters? asked the old man.

My mother was unable to bear children after my birth.

I see. How long have you lived here?

A decade now. We settled after my father left the army and became a judge.

Does he have family here?

Not when we arrived. He was born here, and his parents died here.

Do you mean to die here?

If you mean to live here the rest of my life… I doubt it. The Third Academy of Minianen is just a mile down the road. I have studied there for the last three years. In a few months, my studies end and I will be sent to Maceneth to take a position as a captain in the army.

You attend the Academy. What have you learned there?

The old man was interested in select things about Arman’s education. Arman found himself answering question after question about history, especially the history of his own country, Gyrden. Of all literature and philosophy, the old man asked only what Arman had gotten out of them. Arman eagerly answered the questions. He had always loved showing off what he knew.

Gyrden began like all of the other kingdoms of men, said Arman. "It was an ocean of petty kingdoms always fighting and competing with each other. The fields and rivers here have always been bountiful. At last, the dispute over