The Creator's Vassal Heirs of Meridius

By Tyler Clarke

The first blow has fallen in the war against the Notandi. As the fragile peace in the Kingdom of Meridius begins to fracture, the demons’ counterattack could shatter it.
Yecats Ratiug, also known as the Creator’s Vassal, has committed his life to ridding his homeland of the demon scourge. One man alone is not enough in such a crusade, and he finds assistance from an unlikely ally – a group that has been considered a myth for generations.
To the north, Relyt and his companion Prince Mason have fled the slavers of Chelawin, seeking a way home. But it seems that not even royalty can escape the cruel whims of fate, as they are forced to survive in a blood-soaked land unfamiliar to either.
Within the walls of Harmagin, Nagol spreads his ideas and gathers allies to his side, preparing for the inevitable arrival of his father to claim bloody vengeance for their exile. His faith in the cause is tested as he is confronted by the idea that his enemies may not be who he thought.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Feb 2, 2024
• ISBN: 9781035806515

Tyler Clarke

Tyler Clarke was born in 1998 and raised on a farm in Waikato, New Zealand. He has three brothers and recently graduated from The University of Waikato with a bachelor of science degree (Tech), majoring in biology. Since he was young, he had a passion for creating worlds and the stories that they held.

Book preview

Prologue

5th day of First Frost in 620 AD

Lord Harmag, are you sure?

Duvall looked up at his captain of the guards, Nagol. He took a deep breath, taking the boy’s hand in his own.

Please, Sir Nagol, I beg you. With Esther gone, I need to know that someone will be here to protect Lorimer. He bowed his head, tears welling in his eyes. It wasn’t fair, but he knew that if he asked Lorimer she would not refuse. With his health growing worse each day, she would need someone to look out for her. The Bone Rot had spread through much of his legs now, and he could not walk or even stand.

Sir Nagol nodded slowly, a spark of pride in his eyes. I will care for her as well as I can. The Harmag line will carry on, you need not worry.

Duvall smiled, his rotting teeth flaring in pain. He leaned back in his bed, wincing as his compromised spine screamed in protest. Thank you, my boy, he said, slurring his words to avoid disturbing the remains of his teeth, which were now little more than exposed nerves. Fetch her for me, please. I would tell her of our proposition.

Nagol nodded once, leaving the room. Duvall shut his eyes, trying to ignore the constant ache from the pressure the blanket put on his legs. But it was better than having his legs out in the open. They were a horror to look at, green and purple mottles covering his shins, and black veins glaring out through the milky white flesh.

He balled his hand into a fist, the only part of his bones not affected yet. At night, he sometimes thought he could hear the parasites eating away at his skull. It was only a matter of time before he could no longer move at all, trapped inside a useless body.

I cannot let that happen, he thought, I will not let that happen.

He wouldn’t let his children see him like that. Not Lorimer, not the prince, and not Yecats. He had to suppress a smile as he remembered the young, bright lads they had been, as close as brothers. They were so happy. Until the day the prince came running to the keep, crying, and screaming that Yecats had drowned in the river. The riders he had sent north along the White River had found no trace of the heir to Fernsworth, but a week later he had received word that the boy was in Craglan. He had been taken by the Creator and delivered to the Peak of Creation, with the weight of being chosen as the Creator’s weapon against the Notandi on his shoulders.

The Creator chose well, at least. The boy had committed himself completely to his task and had even reconnected with his real father. He smiled wide then, despite the pain. He did not doubt that Yecats and Caj would live good lives. Hard, but good.

Now he worried that he had not done enough for Lorimer, or even Sir Nagol. With her mother dead, and her father dying, Lorimer had been very quiet and closed off. She no longer spent time designing architectural updates to Harmagin, excitedly measuring everything from the individual stones in the walls to the drop from the murder holes in the gatehouse.

His own grief after Esther’s passing was great. She had been so eager to bear him another child, and her enthusiasm was only matched by his own. When the pain started, he was overjoyed that the child was coming. When his wife began screaming, he told himself it was the same as with Lorimer. When the Healer’s demanded he leave the room, the lies became weaker.

She died in the birthing bed, their son never taking a breath. Lorimer had only recently returned from her fostering in Port Frond, and her mother and brother were taken from her on the same day.

He wished that he had more time that he could walk to her room, hold her tight and tell her it would all be okay.

And Nagol, oh Nagol. His captain had come to him a mere exile seeking refuge. The boy thought that Duvall didn’t know, but he had not forgotten Lord Ratiug’s declaration of a theft most foul.

But he had seen no reason not to allow the Worra heir a chance to win back some honour. When Yecats had returned with a letter from his father, warning of his suspicions of the boy, Duvall had destroyed it. He had been proven right so far; he was a solid, dependable man, but he was always restless and seemed to be constantly on the verge of anger. Except when around Lorimer.

They will care for each other, he told himself. They had to.

The door swung open with a creak. He opened his eyes and saw Lorimer entering, with Sir Nagol stepping in behind her, one hand on her shoulder. She looked more and more like his Esther everyday day.

Thank you for coming daughter. She didn’t reply, only nodding while her eyes remained glued to the floor.

You know how much I love you, don’t you Lorimer?

She nodded again, her eyes finally rising to meet his. They were red, and tears wet her cheeks. He extended his hand towards her, and she slowly moved forward to take it, gently sitting beside him on the bed.

I love you too, Father, she said, her voice quiet and trembling.

Good, good. He clasped her hand tight in his own. I want you to marry Sir Nagol.

She flinched, her eyes widening. He grimaced and launched into his prepared argument.

I know that you may not love him now, but I-

Father, she cut in, a small smile growing on her face. I will gladly marry Sir Nagol.

Duvall let out a relieved sigh. Really? You will?

I thought that you would want me to marry someone of higher status, but I’ve always thought that he and I would be a good match. She glanced over to where Nagol stood awkwardly. He smiled, shuffling slowly from one foot to the other. She looked back at Duvall, concern in her eyes. But this isn’t because you’re going anywhere, is it, Father?

He winked at her, the corners of his mouth twitching up. He patted her hands one last time to reassure her. Of course not, dear. I have much to do before you take my place as Meridite. But when the time does come, I know you will do such a good job. I love you. He closed his eyes so they would not see the tears forming in his eyes. Leave me now if you would. I must rest.

He felt Lorimer stroke a hand over his cheek. I love you too, Father. Sleep well. He opened his eyes. She smiled widely, her teeth shining white against her dark skin. She looks so much like her mother. She stood and walked away, grasping Sir Nagol’s hand once before she left. He moved to follow, but Duvall stopped him with a gesture.

One last thing, Captain.

What is it, my lord?

Duvall took a long breath through his nose, relishing the cool breeze on his skin. Could you find the steward and send him up? I need to speak with him regarding your marriage.

Sir Nagol nodded, smiling the first truly happy smile Duvall had ever seen on the boy’s face. He bowed and moved through the door, closing it gently behind him. Duvall swallowed hard, closing his eyes and offering a small prayer to the Creator. Thank you, my lady. May they have a long and blessed marriage.

He must have fallen asleep, for the next time he opened his eyes it was dark, and the windows had been shuttered. He looked to his left and saw John Har sitting next to him in a chair, his arms crossed and his chin resting on his chest. My faithful steward. My loyal friend.

The Har family had served the Harmags in the old empire for centuries, even before the Armadian Annihilation. John’s ancestors had been lieutenants and generals in the armies of Duvall’s ancestors, then seneschals and stewards. They had grown up together, both dreaming of one day returning to their lost homeland. But now they would never get that chance.

Jo- He tried to speak, but his throat was dry, and he just ended up coughing violently, pain wracking through his entire body. John lifted his head, blinking blearily.

Why didn’t you wake me?

I wanted to let you rest. And I didn’t want this to end yet. The steward looked away from him, staring down at the pitcher and the single goblet on the nightstand beside him.

John, it’s time. He reached out and clutched weakly at his friend’s arm. Will it hurt?

John would not meet his eyes. No. It’s a mix of hemlock, Iuclian Firewater, and poppy extract. You’ll drift off to sleep, and never wake. The steward stood and walked over to the window, looking north to where Armadius lay out of sight. The homeland that neither of them had ever called home. Sir Lowther is making noise again. I thought you should know.

Thank you, John. For everything, Duvall said, his voice catching. He cleared his throat and continued. Keep an eye on my daughter, you hear? And make sure my boys are doing well, if you can.

John nodded once; his hands clasped behind his back as he stared out through the doors. Why did you do it? His voice was tinged with anger, and Duvall squinted at him.

What?

John turned around, his eyes burning with rage and his mouth twisted in a thin line. "Why did you share their cups? The Seaguard would have been just fine if you had refused to share their meat and mead, but you just had to join them for a meal."

"Those brave men and women needed to see that at least one of the Meridites cares about them, replied Duvall, sighing, and shaking his head. John, this is nobody’s fault. Sometimes these things just happen."

"You drank from their cups; you ate from their stores. You knew that Bone Rot was spreading through some of the camps. Duke Yeldeh was adamant it was growing worse! The Creator damn you, have you forgotten the Plague of 524? If you hadn’t drunk their spoiled milk, you wouldn’t be stuck there in that bed, about to- John stopped, breathing heavily. He rubbed his face roughly, sitting down next to him. When he spoke again, the anger was gone. He only sounded sad, and a little afraid. You’re the finest lord I’ve ever known. The best friend I’ve ever had. I don’t want you to go."

I know, John. I know. Duvall patted his old friend on the back, a lance of pain making him wince. Now, do you have the letter?

John sighed and reached into his robes, pulling out a piece of parchment and a quill. Duvall took it, dipping the quill into an inkpot, quickly scrawling a signature across the bottom. It was a simple writ of inheritance, confirming Lorimer as his heir and giving his blessing to her marriage. John heated the sealing wax and Duvall pushed his ring into it, leaving the Harmag sigil; two towers connected by a bridge.

Duvall offered his hand, and John took it, gripping tightly. He winced in pain but did not let go.

Farewell, my lord.

Goodbye, my friend.

John stood, slowly making his way across the room. He paused for a moment at the door, casting a final look back at Duvall before leaving, closing the door slowly behind him. That door is red, he thought, amused. Somehow, he had never noticed.

He reached down and retrieved the pitcher, pouring its contents carefully into the goblet. Every movement was agony, but soon he would feel nothing. He swirled the drink a few times, watching the deep, purple liquid ripple back and forth. He looked out through the balcony doors, where the moonlight now shone down upon the White River.

He had had a good life. He was ready to see Esther again. He was ready to meet his son.

He drank long and deep, the spices masking any other flavours that might have tainted it. His ruined teeth stung for a moment, before slowly numbing. His fingers, no longer trembling, set the goblet down on the nightstand, and he lay back in his wide, empty bed.

His head swam, and the ache in his legs receded. He thought of Esther, her long black hair swaying in the breeze, her dark skin drinking in the sunlight.

He smiled and felt no pain.

Relyt

12th day of Drought Break in 620 AD

The storm raged around the ship, screaming winds whipping the canvas of the sails to and fro like a child with a ribbon. The boat was listing to starboard when one of the crew fell, smashing into the railing before tipping overboard. The waves consumed him. The things below the waves thrashed and squirmed in a mass of pale flesh, churning the already rough waters into a bloody boil.

Relyt held tight to the line he had been pulling, trying desperately to remain steady as the ocean itself fought to drag them under.

Lightning flashed. One, two – Thunder boomed, shaking the sky and chilling his bones as rain poured from the blackened sky, heavy black drops that stung his skin.

Captain Fudan’s voice had long since been drowned out, and it would not have mattered anyway. There was no one left to heed his instructions. Most of the crew had abandoned ship in the lifeboat and had already disappeared towards the shore. Mason had gone with them after Relyt pushed him into the boat. Their vessel obeyed the elements now; the wind was its captain, the waves its crew.

Relyt never saw land, but he was thrown bodily around as the ship crashed into something solid. His lifeline was wrenched from his grasp, leaving painful rope burns on his palms. He crashed back down onto the deck, rolling down towards the water as the ship leaned at a precarious angle. There was a sudden crack of pain and he saw only darkness.

After what seemed like an eternity his eyes shot open, before quickly shutting again as the harsh sunlight burned its way into his skull. His head throbbed, his mouth tasted of blood and sand, and all around him were the harsh calls of sea birds.

He cracked his eyes open, slowly taking in his surroundings. He was laying on soft sand, a stone digging painfully into his side. To the east he saw the sun rising over the sea, waves gently lapping against a white strand. At the water’s edge sat the broken and ruined hulk of their ship, thrown haphazardly upon the shore and broken against the rocks. The hull was shredded and strewn across the sand, and other bits and pieces of the wreckage surrounded him; here a railing, there a length of rope. And a body.

He slowly got to his knees and gingerly crawled into the shade thrown down by the wreck. Once he was out of the harsh sunlight, he recognised the orange doublet of Captain Fudan. And he was breathing.

Fud- He rasped before coughing. He hadn’t realised how dry his throat was. He hawked up and spat out the bloody sand in his mouth and tried again. Wake up!

The captain grunted something in the Tiregali tongue before sitting up. His black eyes were dull with pain, and he hissed in pain as he moved, clutching at his lower leg. Relyt glanced down and saw the shard of wood sticking out of it.

By Craig, that doesn’t look good.

No shit Meri. The captain’s voice, once deep and strong as a drum, was now strained and shivery. Relyt offered his hand, but Fudan ignored it and sighed heavily, looking over the wreckage of his ship. The captain had been the only man among the isles of Bladam Ait willing to take two strangers aboard his ship.

When he and Mason and their retinue of freed slaves arrived in New Burmstone, the last bastion of the Holy Dominion of Tiregal, they had said their thanks, bid them well, and parted ways. The slaves had no intention of travelling back south anytime soon.

Relyt had gone to every seaworthy boat he could find in that bitter, windswept place, but none were willing to risk a voyage around Armadius once the slave catchers sent word. None save Captain Fudan.

He was a superstitious fool and a prideful fool to boot, but a passable hand at the tiller who had manage to outpace the ships sent after them. While in Iomlaid, Relyt had seen what became of escaped slaves. He had no desire to join the flayed men hanging from their extremities.

A foul wind had whipped up as they sailed south. It forced them north and north and north again, pushing them inexorably closer to their pursuers. There was only one escape.

We told you, Meri, Fudan continued mournfully. We told you we should not have passed through the Dead Sea. It is cursed.

Those slave catchers were catching up, and we had to go somewhere they wouldn’t follow. We survived, didn’t we? Relyt asked, irritated that the Armadian was blaming him. It was a freak storm, there was no way of predicting that. He retrieved a length of rope and set about tying off the man’s leg. He turned inland, scanning the horizon of the land upon which they had been stranded.

Dense tropical jungle grew straight to the edge of the beach, obscuring whatever lay beyond. Far to the west he could make out a mountain range cresting the horizon. Sea gulls, or sky rats as the crew had affectionately called them, circled above, their harsh cries breaking through the sound of waves. Dozens of them were landing along the water’s edge, where he was horrified to see bodies – not all of them human – pale and bloated, being feasted upon by huge crabs. The smallest measured at least three feet across, the largest well over six, and they left deep gouges in the sand as they ripped the corpses apart, gorging themselves. Their claws clicked together audibly as they pulled flesh and bone loose.

He backed away from the water. A light breeze rustled the trees, and other strange animal calls emanated from within the jungle behind him.

Something is wrong, he thought. The bird calls, the waves, the claws, Fudan muttering, it was all wearing away at his patience, accentuated by the pounding in his head and his leg. He looked north and was relieved to see smoke rising above a forested bluff.

There’s your crew. And Mason.

Fudan squinted into the distance, nodding tightly and kneading his leg. Relyt limped over to the wreck and hauled himself up inside. The cargo had been thoroughly smashed and strewn across the hold. The barrels of freshwater and rum had split and leaked their sustenance everywhere. He grimaced, climbing gingerly through to the upper level, eventually cracking open the door to the captain’s quarters.

Within, the only thing still in place were the hammocks. Shattered and splintered wood covered every surface, and the windows were now simply holes in the wall. He gathered up his things into a pack, even finding his notebook. He rifled through the sketches of wildlife he had seen and smiled lightly. At least he would have something to add to his mother’s library when he returned home. After sifting through the rubble, he grabbed a pair of swords and scabbards, and was relieved to see that his staff was still whole. He shouldered the pack and limped back to the beach where Fudan had managed to find his feet, having fashioned a crutch from the wreckage. Relyt threw one of the sheathed swords to him. In return, the captain passed him a hunting knife in an old worn sheath. He strapped it to his thigh.

Let’s go, he said, limping along the beachhead. Thankfully with his staff, the pain in his leg was significantly lessened. But not gone. Fuck you Nagol.

Do you not know where we are? The captain hissed.

I would assume somewhere in South Tiregal, he replied, wiping sweat from his brow. By Craig, it’s hot. Probably the least-worst place we could have landed, though I had hoped to reach Havenport.

Captain Fudan looked at him incredulously. "We have landed upon Armadius. There is no least-worst place."

Relyt tried – and failed – not to roll his eyes. The Godless Continent was the subject of hundreds of children’s tales and ghost stories, but to him it was a welcome change.

Would you rather be back in New Burmstone, waiting for Aellyn raiders to fall upon you? Or perhaps you would prefer we be returned to the Dead Sea, becalmed and fast running out of supplies? Relyt looked out over the eastern shoreline, though the storm had moved further north, leaving hardly any clouds behind. That storm might have raged for near on a week, but it also saved us.

Captain Fudan said nothing. In fact, even the birds and animals had gone quiet. The sky rats took off and flew out to sea, while the crabs burrowed into the sand as if to hide. A rustling came from the tree line, followed by silence. Despite the heat, he felt a shiver run down his spine.

Relyt turned slowly and saw the Armadian standing stock still, staring deep into the jungle. He tried to follow his gaze, but whatever the Armadian saw was out of his view. Then, he stepped forward. And again, and again, walking until he was mere inches away from the undergrowth, his hand outstretched towards… something.

Hey! Relyt hissed, gripping his staff tighter. His heart started to beat faster. Something is very wrong here. Captain Fudan ignored him. He said something, a name perhaps, but too quick and quiet for him to make out.

Then, it appeared. A hand silently moved out from the brush, though in the bright light, he struggled to make it out. Only when it had embraced Fudan’s hand in its own did he see. It was inhumanly large, four long spindly fingers wrapping delicately around the captain’s hand. A pungent, rotting odour wafted through the air.

Fudan— he began to shout, but the hand suddenly jerked back, yanking Fudan off his feet and dragging him toward the dark undergrowth. In the moment before he disappeared, Fudan’s eyes locked with Relyt’s. They were wide with terror.

Help me, he said, his voice small. Then he was gone. The bushes rustled gently. Relyt backed away, stumbling as he tried to get away.

HELP ME!

Hundreds of birds exploded from the treetops, filling the sky as he broke into a run, ignoring the pain in his leg, closing his ears to the screams behind him.

HELLLP MEEEAAAGGHHHHH—

Relyt heard only the ocean, gently lapping against the shore.

He collapsed into the sand retching, but nothing would come up. He gulped down breaths of the hot, humid air and squeezed his knee in a vain attempt to dull the pain. As he caught his breath he glanced around.

He must have travelled at least a mile south, but the surroundings had changed drastically. The thick jungle had given way to a shallow valley covered in grassland, dotted with the odd palm and strange rock formation. Still panting hard, he glanced back the way he had come but saw nothing following him. The tree line looked peculiarly uniform, and the grassland was narrow, winding off through the forest almost like… A river bed?

He leant over the edge of the decline, studying the scouring in the dirt. He was surprised to see that, yes, the erosion patterns in the soil were consistent with those of a riverbed. And a large one at that.

He whipped his head back up and stared intently at the mountains in the distance. This doesn’t make any sense. He rifled through his pack, pulling out his map of South Tiregal.

The mountains are in the wrong place. He stood up and looked south, apprehension building. On the south side of the dry river was another tangle of vegetation, but beyond it he glimpsed rock. Not jagged, natural rock, but structured. Precise. Designed.

They were ruins. A ruined city they had sailed south of not a week past. They had only briefly glimpsed it through the rain, but he was sure of it.

"Okronio? The storm pushed us back to Okronio?" No, no, no, he thought, looking wildly around. This river was the lifeblood of the Tiregali Dominion. It couldn’t just dry up. He spun around to the west and glared at the mountains that couldn’t be mountains.

"And who moved the fucking mountains?"

They moved themselves.

Relyt jumped back, drawing his sword. He located the source of the voice, a young girl hiding behind one of the smooth riverbed rocks. She looked curiously at him, leaning further out. She had the dark skin of the Tiregali people, and her black hair was bound in tight bunches. She couldn’t have seen more than ten or eleven years.

Who are you, girl?

She stepped back warily, keeping him at a distance. My name is Adnama. What is yours?

Adnama? The name was common enough in the Northlands. I am Relyt Nairarbil of Meridius, heir to Clawguard, he said, lowering his staff so he could take the weight off his leg. He glanced back at the craggy peaks. What do you mean they moved themselves?

Just that. She cocked her head to the side, scrunching her face up in confusion. The new gods woke up after a long sleep and the mountains moved. She spoke as though reciting scripture.

The new gods? He raised an eyebrow. He had heard talk of these new gods when he and Mason had stopped in Havenport on their original journey to Chelawin. Their boat had made port at Havenport to take on supplies. It was the only city remaining on the southern coast of Armadius, walled off from the rest of the dead continent to keep out the dread creatures that stalked it. You speak very good Meridian, are you from Havenport?

She looked down at her shoes and shook her head. My family trades there sometimes though.

He perked up at that. Could they get me there?

Yes! she said, smiling tremulously. We are going there in a few days. She pointed towards the ruins of Okronio. In the daylight, he could now see that half the city had collapsed into the ocean, rubble sticking out of the surf haphazardly. We live there. Come!

You live… how?

That seemed to puzzle her. How what?

How are you alive? Okronio fell with the Tiregali Dominion over 500 years ago, when the Annihilation came. For centuries tales had been told of what caused the Annihilation of the Armadian people. Some said the gates of hell opened and released the vengeful dead, others claimed that beasts beneath the mountains arose in hordes, while still others insisted the ocean itself swept away the land beneath their feet. He wasn’t one to believe in ghost stories but when empires fell in a single night, it was hard to see any rational explanation. Teren the First, one of the old kings of Meridius, sailed here with 150 ships and over ten thousand men. None ever returned.

She nodded seriously. Ships are bad. It doesn’t like them.

It? He thought he felt a cold breath on the back of his neck, but when he looked behind him all he saw was the sea, waves gently lapping against the shore. He shook his head. They were wasting time.

I am a very powerful man, Adnama. If you and your family can help me, I’ll bring all of you with us to somewhere safe, okay?

That’s silly, she giggled, the new gods keep us safe. Can’t you see? She pointed at the mountain range which seemed to encircle the city and the old river.

The mountains…

The gods, she insisted. Everything from the riverbed to the peaks is safe for us. Come on, I’ll show you!

I can’t come yet, he said, I must find my friend first. Can your family help me with that too?

Where is he?

He pointed north, back the way he had come. When