Heir to Agon

By Steve Mossman

When the Captain of the Guard has to deal with treachery that leaves him branded as a criminal, he finds himself stuck in the middle of a plot to overthrow his entire nation. Two foreign nations work to turn the kingdom of Agon into their puppet. Can this one disgraced man stop these plots? Can he find allies to aid his cause? Or will he become just another pawn in choosing the successor to the throne?

Follow the adventure of Arum Nevelum, former Captain of the Guard along with the entertainer Dockey Zelton, the thief Kaislan Taris, and deadly Jacea Siocco as they face off against the vast forces arrayed against them.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Steve Mossman
• Release date: Mar 20, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301873692

Steve Mossman

From the small town of Newark, Ohio - Steve Mossman has been writing all his life. Currently he is writing tales in the fantasy world of Doulairen.

Book preview

Heir to Agon

The Sixth Age of Doulairen – Book One

By Steve Mossman

Published by Steve Mossman at Smashwords

Copyright 2013 Steve Mossman

Smashwords Edition License Notes

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 your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Edited by Shawna Hottinger

Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Elven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen

Chapter One

Guards! It’s a thief! the voice called out over the din of the street market.

Guardsman Groman Bennet spun excitedly, eagerly looking towards the one who had yelled. He tried to follow the vendor's accusing finger, but his eyes saw only the confusion of the crowded market.

Captain Arum Nevelum spoke, pointing his own finger to properly direct Groman's gaze, There! The thief has fled there. Follow me.

Groman barely saw it through his mop of hair. The target was a mere shadow by the time he spotted it. It flitted down an alley between two of the city's many sun-bleached stone buildings. Arum was already dashing there, mindful of the throngs of people. Groman moved after his captain, having more trouble dodging the people of the town. He kept having to excuse himself to the many he bumped into until he finally reached the alley. Arum was ahead of him, turning a corner.

Groman rushed to try and catch up. However, as he turned the corner, Arum was nowhere in sight. Groman paused to think, as well as to calm himself as his excited breaths came short and quick. The smell of garbage hung in the air. Some trash was piled at a sewer entrance. It obviously had blocked up that entrance and smelled like it had been there a while. While it was not an entirely uncommon sight, more often the cobbled streets were relatively clean and in good repair. As he stood there, he saw a movement in the shadows. It was from behind the trash that had been left in the alley, dumped and forgotten. Groman saw someone crawl out of the trash, clasping something in their arms. The figure turned and saw Groman and then made a panicked run in the opposite direction.

Groman could not move for a moment. He had seen the figure well, even in the shadows of the alley. It had been a small girl, no more than nine or ten years old. He saw her breath in the chilly air and the rags she wore that could not possibly be warm enough. Arum's words over the past several weeks on the nature of crime hit Groman hard then. He remembered well his first day on patrol with the captain. Though it had been boring in action, he had shared many words with Arum on crime and punishment.

Like all men of Agon, Groman had trained in the militia. When he had turned fifteen, the age when most men were apprenticed to the career they would hold for the rest of their lives, Groman had stayed in the militia. Many young men had been doing that since the start of the war, ready to serve their country. However, it seemed that no more soldiers were being sent to the front. Rumor said that the war was finally nearing an end after three long years.

Groman had hoped to go to war to help his father, Porgmir Bennett. Porgmir had been a soldier all his life. He had taught his son a very strict military way of seeing the world. There were enemies and allies. Groman Bennett saw issues as black and white, with no shades of gray. Arum found that it was not uncommon to see such views in youths, and the captain of the guard expected some experience would help the young boy see there was more to the world than such a limited view.

Groman had come to the city guard when he turned eighteen, seeing nowhere else his skills would be fruitful in honest labor if he could not go to war. In his two months under Arum, the captain had seen his eagerness to rid the city of crime. However, things had been quiet. It was just how Arum preferred, but it had put the young Groman on edge.

Many thoughts flitted through Groman's head as he looked upon the small girl who had stolen from a vendor in the Merchant District. Could the young girl be working for something larger? Or was she merely a desperate child, perhaps an orphan? He shook off the questions that blurred his mind and remembered what else Arum had told him, a criminal like this was one who needed help.

He chased after the girl. Groman's long legs let him begin to gain ground on the girl, though she quickly dashed around a corner to try to lose him. He came around the corner and felt something jab at his belly. The young girl had waited for him and tried to stab him with a small blade. The hardened leather Groman wore had kept the blade from wounding him, though the girl had left a nasty gouge in it. Groman suddenly wondered what to do.

Did he dare to draw a blade against a child? He did not know if he could. Suddenly, Arum was there. He grabbed the girl from behind, his strong hands grasping her wrist. A small squeeze and the knife fell from her hand. In her other arm Groman saw a mere loaf of bread. The girl struggled against Arum, but it was no use. He was far larger and stronger than she. Groman merely stood in shock. The little girl bawled and struggled fruitlessly. Groman saw real fear in her eyes. Arum merely spoke to her calmly.

We aren't going to hurt you or do anything to harm you. Let us help you, Arum said softly.

His voice seemed to calm the girl slightly, but fear still held her more tightly than Arum. The captain kept trying to calm her for several minutes. He knelt to the ground to be closer to her level as she slowly seemed to give up her struggle to escape. Arum noticed several things about the young girl. He could hear her stomach growling, though she did not seem to be starving from her appearance. He also noticed an odd birthmark on her cheek. It looked like the heart symbol people used to denote love. Finally the tiny girl calmed enough that she spoke her first words.

I'm sorry, she said, tears still in her eyes, I'm just hungry.

I assume that your mother and father cannot provide? Arum queried.

The little girl shook her head, and Arum asked, Perhaps you want to go to the orphanage? They can provide food and a warm place to sleep.

The girl shook her head, No! They would...

She jerked trying to escape Arum's grasp. He held her firmly, but gently. Groman watched, wondering what she feared so much.

What is the problem? Arum asked as his concern grew, We can help.

My... My dad, she sobbed, My mom said he was going to sell me to some priests. She said that was real bad and that I should run away.

Priests? Arum asked, From Feergrus?

The little girl nodded. The tale told itself from there to Arum. The Feergrus were quite active in the slave trade. It was not illegal in Agon, though Agonish citizens could not own another person. That did not stop the Feergrus from recruiting slaves, nor having their own personal retinue of slaves. They often recruited from among those who saw slavery within a luxurious setting as an improvement to their current situation. Being poor and hungry made the prospect of being fed and warm quite tempting, despite the price in freedom.

Their temple in Agonor, dedicated to a deity that they called Rakar, was filled with slaves. Most were women, and their duties usually involved prostitution. Groman knew of this part of the religion of Feergrus as well. As he looked at the female child, a shudder of revulsion filled him. He too knew what would have happened to her as a slave of the Feergrus. The captain lifted the girl up and smiled.

Then no worries, Arum said comfortingly, Your mother likely told you to avoid the orphanages because they would return you. But do not worry. I know a place that will do what I ask. Tell me, what is your name?

Tanika, she replied, her voice quavering with a touch of worry.

Then I will help you to this orphanage where you will be safe, warm, and well fed. Then I can let your mother know you are safe, Arum told the child.

You promise it won't be bad?

Absolutely.

Groman felt pride in his captain as Arum took the girl to an orphanage to live a more normal life before taking a message to her mother. Groman knew that taking the girl back to her parents would have meant her slavery. Yet now the girl might grow up and become what was considered a respectable member of society. The mother had confirmed what the father's plans were. There was nothing illegal in selling one's own children so there was little more that Arum could do. However, the child was safe, the mother knew of her child's safety, and all seemed as right as it could be.

Well, that had to be quite a tumultuous first arrest for you, Arum said as the two guards walked away from Tanika's former home.

Yes, Groman replied mournfully, hanging his head, I couldn't even act. It was unreal.

The first time is often like that. But I think you might know what to do next time.

Groman nodded enthusiastically, Absolutely. I think I may finally understand some of what you have been talking about for the past several weeks. I already understood some of the reason behind your training...

The captain interrupted him, Yes, I see you have been working hard on that.

I think I see other reasons for the training now as well, Groman replied.

Well, that was all pretty tiring, Arum said with a stretch.

Groman nodded, It wasn't much, but I feel almost exhausted.

Arum chuckled, Emotional exhaustion. You ran the gauntlet today and learned a lot. That is what they call experience. It gets easier, but I tell you that nothing beats a bit of relaxation at the end of the day. Come on. We will clean up, then let's go to the Throne and Tabard. I think you need a drink.

Do you think Dockey will be there? Groman asked with a wry tone.

I hope so. Some good music will add some cheer to my day.

Good music? Groman asked with some sarcasm is his voice, He can't even make a rhyme!

When did a good song need to rhyme? Arum asked in the growing verbal spar, A pig might snort twice and each sound the same, but that sure doesn't make it music.

Might be better than Dockey's singing!

Don't let him hear you say that, Arum said mirthfully, He'll put you in one of his songs, and you'll be sung about all over the city.

Groman smiled. Hoping to glean some more wisdom from it now that he had gained some real-life experience to compare it to, he thought again of the advice he had received his first day on the job and mentally reviewed his training. Arum, meanwhile, was wiping some sweat from his brow. Even though his hair was cropped short and neat to help keep him cool, Arum still felt the hot sun.

***

While Arum and Groman were discussing the possibility of Dockey Zelton's appearance, the bard was making his way towards the Throne and Tabard. Dockey was quickly approaching sixty, an age extraordinarily few reached. His clothing spoke of faded grandeur, the colorful dyes had long since aged into a dim reminder of their once glorious vibrance. His medium length hair was much the same, having faded from the dark colors of an Agonish native to gray. His skin was also as the natives of the kingdom of Agon, a reddish brown tanned well by the sun.

He had been busy all the morning giving inspiring tales to the boys of the militia. He had been telling them of the war that was being fought far to the northeast. He remembered the wide eyes of the young lads, just entering their teen years. His description of war had been brutal and true. He saw no reason to color the war otherwise. The young boys had only taken in his descriptions with more excitement at that. Dockey wondered if he had ever been that young as his memories drifted to that morning.

***

It should have been a beautiful day. In the sky the sun shone, the mighty star known as Feras. The sky was a picturesque blue, with strands of clouds floating along with the soft breeze. The breeze, however, brought only the coppery scent of blood. Droplets of that crimson fluid flew through the air, the light of the sun gleaming on them in a macabre display. Yet the air was also filled with sounds. Metal on metal, and the screams of the wounded and dying, Dockey said poetically to the young men training in the militia.

These men that fight are like you. Some come from the cities, most come from the farms. This country is built on our vast farms, you know. We supply such foodstuffs to all the civilized lands of the continent, the whole world as we know it. I'm sure many of you give praise to Xatcli the Harvester, the deity of the fields.

Dockey saw several of the youths touch their holy symbols that hung about their necks. It resembled an ear of corn, half out of its husk. It was not the only religion in Agon, but it was the only surviving native religion. The religion devoted to Rakar had begun to creep into Agon from her neighbor to the south, Feergrus.

We fight against a great evil, the old bard said with a darker tone, The Tarvoni, betrayers of Agon and powerful sorcerers, now work with the goblinoid creatures in the northeast. They summon monstrosities out of thin air, but our brave soldiers fight to push them back. The great Magehunters track down and kill these magi, ensuring our safety here.

Dockey noticed the eyes of the youths grow wide at the mention of the famed Magehunters. They were almost like living legends to them, as well as most of the populace. They stood up to those who used vile magic and were considered among the greatest warriors in the land. Dockey capitalized on that, drawing on the most famous of them to continue his tale.

None do so much as the mighty Beren Gendar. Rumor says he has slain as many magi as all the rest of the Magehunters put together! They say he helped quell the northern front of the war and now works on the western front. I expect this war is nearly over from all the rumors of success I have heard. But I tell you, be glad of this, not disappointed! War is an ugly thing.

The words meant little as the boys were too young to truly understand how frail life was. Like so many youths, they thought themselves invincible. They thought it would be everyone else who fell in battle. Curiosity shone in their eyes as well, and one of the boys spoke up.

What of those Ravaleians? Don't they use magic too?

Yes! another boy piped up, And the Feergrus!

Dockey chuckled, By law, all arcane magics are illegal in Agon. The Ravaleians respect this law and are our allies. Many distrust them, but it is hard to turn down the aid of their golems. Those golems are truly mighty in battle after all. The Tarvoni continue to cause problems with their magic. Of course, you should know that while all Tarvoni seem to have arcane powers, the spark seems far more rare in Ravaleians. Plus, as they share no border with us, we have little direct contact with their magics.

The Feergrus, however, are entirely another matter. Ask any Magehunter what magic they sense, and they will tell you of how they can sense the power of the Tarvoni and the Ravaleian. However, the Feergrus seem not to have an arcane spark to them. They claim their powers come from worshiping their three feline deities. To tell the truth, I have seen them using their power to heal wounds and restore the sick with their magic. Their claims of aiding others is true, though their prices are quite high.

Tell us more about the fighting!

Yes! the rest of the young men cried.

Dockey chuckled, What tale do you want, young ones? The quieting of the northern front? It is a harrowing tale of Nuvroci rangers hiding in the forests and ambushing the goblinoids and their masters, with backup from the Ravaleian golems and some Magehunters! Or perhaps the push on the western front, as the Agonish Cavalry and our infantry try to crush the enemy, with some aid from the Kurrot? Of course, there is always the bloody fighting on the southern front, as the mighty Steel Warriors from Nuvroc aid the Bladestorms from Kurrot to hold the line.

The cavalry! all the young boys shouted, as many likely wanted to join those elite Agonish soldiers.

Dockey chuckled, Then prepare yourselves. For this tale is gruesome as well as true. Each morning, the fight begins again. The goblinoids like to fight at night, but our first charge put them on the defensive. Now they rest when they can, which is at night. The advantage is ours! They have fear, as the Tarvoni fall one by one. But their true fear is of the mighty cavalry charges. Our infantry fights them all day long, but they know their true fear is coming when they hear something as simple as music.

The heralds are a long tradition, bards like me who sing or play instruments. This rising crescendo of music warns the goblinoids of what is to come. The music of the bards heralds the coming of the cavalry charge. Some call it foolish to warn an enemy of such a thing, but it achieved results. The goblinoids soon thought of our music as a source of fear and fled before it. The cavalry rode triumphantly through those who are braver, their numbers reduced.

Then they ride down the cowards! one boy said with a hint of cruelty.

Yes! Stab them in the back! More than they deserve! another said with even more