The Sunblade Chronicles

*This work is the sole property of the author. If you see this work posted under any other name than Antidarius, then it is posted without permission of the author.*

THE SUNBLADE CHRONICLES: Book 1

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CHAPTER TWO: The Stranger

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The Emerin forest was deathly quiet as Aran trod carefully through the undergrowth. Each step onto the dead leaves and twigs carpeting the forest floor sounded as loud to his ears as spring fireworks popping and snapping in the sky. The wood felt different, at night. In the day, it was a place of excitement and mystery, promising discovery of hidden secrets lost to time.

At night, it felt... oppressive. The huge trees loomed menacingly in the dark, and branches with spindly twigs like fingers seemed to reach for him, catching in his hair, snagging his cloak. The hookvine was even worse. This part of the forest was rife with the thorny tendrils.

Owls hooted occasionally, and mice and rabbits skittered from his path when they heard him coming. A fox yipped insistently in the distance before going silent.

'Stop being a fool,' he chided himself mentally. 'Get your head right. The trees are not trying to grab you.' A wolf might, or a bear woken early from its winter slumber, but he put that out of his mind before he found himself running back toward home.

It was hard to tell in the dark, but he thought he might be getting close to where he had found the note earlier that day. The moon was yet to reach its zenith, so he might even get there early. It would be a chance to find a hiding spot and get a look at whoever wrote the note.

He hoped his mother was well, and the rest of Korrin, for that matter. That shouting from the square had bothered him. Heralds were only heavy-handed with folk if they'd done something to bring it on themselves. What could have stirred them up so?

Suddenly he stumbled into a small clearing where a shaft of pale moonlight illuminated a pool fed by a stream that ran in from the west. Aran and Jered had been swimming here not half a day ago. The silvery light rippled as a light breeze touched the surface of the water. It was rather beautiful.

He smiled as he imagined going back home and sorting things out with Jered so he could bring Jillia here. They would take off their clothes and swim together under the stars. Aran had always wondered what Jillia looked like without clothes on. What her skin would feel like as her soft body pressed against him...

There was a very uncomfortable tightness in the front of his breeches when he brought himself out of his little fantasy. The clearing was vacant aside from Aran, but still he blushed.

With no sign of this person he was supposed to meet, he decided to shimmy up a sprawling oak nearby. The branches, as thick as a man, held his weight without shifting as he climbed. He found a good vantage point on a branch that hung over the clearing a little, and he lay down on his belly, hugging the thick limb with his arms and legs.

Now, he would be able to get a good look at this mysterious note-writer when he or she arrived.

Aran didn't have to wait long. Not ten minutes after he had settled himself in the tree, a black-cloaked figure stepped into the moonlight, stopping just inside the clearing. The stranger's cowl swung slowly back and forth, searching.

Aran held his breath. Something inside him seemed to pull him toward the figure, and he gripped the branch tighter. Wild fancies of the Emerin Witch sprung into his mind. He didn't really believe the stories, but if this really was a witch, he would not be seduced so easily.

The stranger raised hands and pulled the cowl back, and Aran's heart skipped a beat. It was a woman! And she was stunning! Straight, flaxen hair fell to just above her shoulders. Her eyes were big, catching the moonlight, though Aran couldn't tell their colour. Her nose was petite, and her lips were full and lush.

Aran had never seen such a perfect face in his life. Even Jillia paled in comparison to whomever this goddess was. He clung to the oak branch like a barnacle as her hands went to the clasp of her cloak. Unclipped, it fell to the ground. Aran's throat tightened as he drank in what he was seeing.

She wore a tight white blouse of thin material that molded itself to her skin, and leather breeches that must have been painted on, they were so tight! Her body was voluptuous, lusciously curved yet fit. Her thighs were plentiful, but if Aran had to bet, he would say they were strong. Her hips flared enticingly, her belly was flat, and her waist was like the inner curve on an hourglass.

The most spectacular breasts Aran had ever seen graced her chest, large enough that he would never be able to fit them in his hands. The white fabric hugged them closely, leaving nothing to his imagination. The laces of her blouse were only done halfway up, leaving acres of delicious, pale cleavage exposed.

Aran's cock was stiff against the unforgiving wood of the oak branch, but he didn't dare move to adjust himself. The warm glow inside him was suddenly pulsing strongly. It seemed to want to reach out to the woman, as if it had a life of its own.

Who in Heaven was she? Did she live in the forest somewhere? Was she the Emerin Witch? Surely this woman would never harm anyone! She was perfect!

Or was this all just a part of some illusion? Some black magic?

"You may as well come out, Aran," she said suddenly, lifting her head to look directly at him.

Aran nearly fell out of the tree in shock, but managed to save himself just in time. How did she know he was there?

"We have much to do. Very much." Her voice was husky, a little smoky. Pleasing to the ears. Aran had heard a similar tone on a travelling performer, once, a woman who had spent many years singing.

"And it's best we start sooner rather than later," she added, crossing her arms beneath those tremendous breasts and cocking her head. Her booted foot started tapping.

The warmth in his belly and loins grew hotter, and his body seemed to want to move of its own accord and go to her, but Aran fought the impulse down. "Who are you? And how do I know I can trust you?" He demanded. "How do you know my name?"

"I am Elaina Fairborn," she answered, striding forward until she was almost directly under him, her face tilted up.

Such a beautiful face.

Green. He couldn't be sure, but he thought her eyes might be green. He forced his gaze away from her cleavage despite the excellent the view from his vantage point.

"I am a Paladin of the Order of Aros," she continued. "You can trust me because your safety is the most important thing to me in the entire world. I know your name because I know your mother, Mari."

Aran's mind reeled. A Paladin? But they were all wiped out by the Heralds a thousand years ago! And they were evil! Weren't they? Looking at Elaina, he found it difficult to believe, but the Heralds always said the arohim were crafty, experts at seduction and manipulation.

Aran certainly felt drawn to this woman like a moth to a roaring flame. But how did she know his mother? Mari Sunblade was not evil, so why would she know a Paladin? Was this woman telling him lies?

The pulsing inside him grew stronger, hotter, humming at higher pitches by the second. He felt as if his body were going to start breaking apart piece by piece any minute.

"That is why you must come with me, Aran!" Elaina told him sternly. "You must learn control of your vala, or it will get you killed!"

Aran's mind seemed to be melting. There was a resonance coming from this woman, an answering glow that called to him, to the power inside him. "Control of my what?" He asked dumbly, struggling to put coherent thoughts together.

Elaina clicked her tongue in exasperation. "Did you have to make him so stubborn, Mari?" she muttered under her breath.

A flash of irritation cut through Aran's dimness. "I am not stubborn!" he growled.

"That power inside you, that you struggle with as we speak," Elaina began patiently. "I have that power, too. It is called the vala, and ours are drawn to one another, as is the way of arohim. I have come to teach you, Aran." There seemed to be a hint of pleading in her eyes. "Please. I'll do whatever you need for you to trust me."

"Love before what?" Aran found himself saying. Those eyes. Somehow, deep down, he already knew she was telling the truth.

"Love before hate," she answered with a smile. Straight white teeth flashed up at him. Aran thought he might be falling in love with this complete stranger. More fool him.

"I'm coming down," he announced, intending to climb down the way he'd come up, but with this energy surging through him, he simply pushed himself off the branch before he could think about it. He let himself fall, bringing his feet beneath him at the last second to land smoothly before Elaina.

Up close, she was far more impressive. An inch or two shorter than Aran, she radiated beauty and power and self-possession.

"Fool stunts like that will get you a broken leg," she remarked, unimpressed by his acrobatics. "At least until you know what you're doing."

Aran opened his mouth to say it hadn't been that difficult, but she interjected. "Come. We have a long walk ahead of us." She walked back to her cloak and scooped it up before flinging it around her shoulders.

Aran couldn't keep his eyes from her leather-clad bottom, full and round in her tight breeches. He realised suddenly that he was still hard, the front of his pants sporting a telling bulge. He pulled his cloak closed quickly, clearing his throat surreptitiously.

"Never mind that," Elaina said without looking back. She appeared busy fastening her cloak. "You will experience many of those in the near future. Many more than even a healthy young man would expect."

What did she mean? Was she talking about his erection? Aran didn't have time to ask, for Elaina headed off west, back the way she had come, and Aran had the choice to follow or remain here alone.

*

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CHAPTER 2.1: Tests

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"Speak, woman!" The Herald demanded. Mari was on her knees in the village square, along with everyone else in Korrin. Those few not attending the Sunday feast had been dragged from their homes forcefully and shoved into the village centre like frightened sheep. A few men had protested the extreme treatment only to be promptly knocked down and tied hand and foot.

Mari had counted no fewer than one hundred mounted Heralds in the village, garbed in gleaming open-faced helmets and breastplates, and yellow cloaks with red trim bearing the spiked sunburst symbol, also in red. Half of the Heralds were surrounding the villagers in the square while the rest were patrolling the streets, turning out homes and searching outlying farms. There were far more Heralds than she'd ever seen come to Korrin.

Korrin was so far away from the rest of the world that the Heralds only ever came on Sunday to read the Tenets. They always appeared bored, and weary from the long journey from Ironshire. And they always left as fast as they could, eager to be away from a mundane place like Korrin. It was exactly the reason Mari had chosen to raise Aran here.

Now, they had come in force, looking for Aran. 'Aros speed you, boy,' she prayed. No matter what happened now, he would be safe. He had to be.

The Herald staring down at her had a mean look with that hooked nose and a thin, cruel mouth. The light from the bonfire cast flickering shadows across a hard face. "I will not ask again."

"Answer him!" Brina Doonan hissed from Mari's left.

'Brina, your foolish boy does not know what he's done!' Mari hissed internally. Mari had gone unnoticed, as had Aran's absence, until Brago Doonan had piped up a short time ago. "Sunblade is not here!" The oaf had suddenly cried. The head of every Herald in earshot had whipped toward the big lug, and he'd quickly been dragged off to be questioned.

When the Heralds returned with Brago, they did not make him kneel down again with everybody else. Rather he stood there looking smug, as if he'd done something notable. Fool. His nose looked as if it had been broken recently, though he'd cleaned up the blood. Mari hoped it was Aran had done it. It was less than the lummox deserved; she knew Brago liked harassing her boy.

Now, the Heralds knew her name, knew Aran's name. It was a dangerous name, and she regretted not taking another, but she hadn't been able to bring herself to dishonour Aran's father by hiding under a false name, even knowing the risks. But even a quiet, backwater village on the outskirts of the Emerin forest could not hide it forever.

Which raised a question: who got word of Aran to the Heralds? How many Korriners were Herald informants? She wanted to look around in suspicion, but she forced herself not to.

Mari met the Herald's cold eyes and feigned a trembling voice. "He... was acting strangely, m'Lord. Last I saw him, he was running from the village as fast as a spooked horse."

The Herald dismounted his tall grey and squatted, putting his eyes level with hers as he removed his helmet to reveal short, dark hair. "And which direction was he heading?" He asked quietly.

"To- towards the Emerin forest, m'Lord," Mari answered meekly, casting her eyes down. Gods, she hated acting like this. She wanted to slap this man who stared at her like she was a clod of dirt on a freshly cleaned carpet.

"You do realise your name alone would be enough cause to hang you, in Maralon," the Herald said softly. His voice was soft, but those eyes were not. "However, I do not execute people based on just their names. Names can be an unfortunate inheritance."

Mari wanted to exhale in relief, but her breath caught when he continued.

"On the other hand, it would be remiss of me to ignore my duty, here. Your name carries a certain... stain, if you will." His eyes watched Mari carefully as he spoke, looking for a lie. "I find it rather strange that a name like Sunblade would present itself in a remote, rural village such as Korrin. Especially when it coincides with the abnormal behaviour of a young man. One might almost think that you were hiding the fellow, Mistress Sunblade."

Mari made her eyes go wide in shock. "Not at all, m'Lord! The name was passed down from my mother's side! It was once 'Sonderblad,' many years gone. I suppose it's changed over time." This was not the first time Mari had lied to a snooping Herald, and she was careful not to meet his eyes too evenly. The best lies always carried a small measure of uncertainty. "My boy is a good boy. He's never hurt a soul."

"Except for that young man over there," the Herald countered, pointing to where Brago was standing near the front steps of the inn. "A young man six inches taller and sixty or seventy pounds heavier than your boy, if the descriptions of him are accurate. Have you ever been in a fistfight, Mari? It is difficult to knock even a slightly larger man down, unless you are trained for such things. Much harder to beat a hulking fellow like young Brago over there."

So Aran did knock down Brago! But when? It must have been earlier tonight. She hoped he'd made it count. Brago Doonan had a mean streak that ran deep.

"Forgive me, m'Lord," Mari said quietly, but earnestly. "I did not know about the fight. When Aran returns, I will speak with him about it. He is not a violent boy. I'm sure there was a reason."

From the corner of her eye, Mari saw Brina shoot her a frown, though the woman was wise enough to keep her mouth shut. Brina knew little of her son's true nature -- the lad hid it well around his ma and pa -- but she had seen enough to know there was a chance he may have deserved it.

There was a long silence. Mari could feel everyone in the village looking at her, and if they couldn't see her, they were straining their ears to hear. She chanced a look into the mean face of the Herald, and her stomach tightened when she saw his eyes change. Was that a flicker of regret in those cold orbs?

The cruel-mouthed man stood, wiping his gloved hands on his cloak in distaste, as if he'd touched something befouling. "Take her and test her," he ordered the Heralds closest. "She is the boy's mother, therefore she may also bear the taint."

"My Lord Rohim?" A voice came from behind Mari. It belonged to a younger man, she thought. Someone close to Aran's age, maybe. "Forgive me, but she does not bear the traits of-"

"Silence!" Rohim snapped. "Do it, or I will write you up for insubordination, Jefford!" He turned to another nearby Herald, a stout, round-faced fellow. "Gerling! Arrange a patrol of twenty men and follow the Sunblade boy. He can't have gone far, not on foot. Take Worthing; he's an able tracker."

"And if Sunblade has somehow already reached the forest, my Lord?" Gerling asked hesitantly.

Rohim marched up to the wider man and put his face inches away from him. "Then you will enter the bloody forest and find him!" He hissed.

Gerling paled beneath his helmet. "Y-Yes, Lord Rohim!" He stammered before striding off to issue orders.

Mari barely heard any of it. Her heart was racing. Eighteen years she had avoided being taken, eighteen years of raising and protecting Aran. She knew this day might come, and was prepared for anything, but that did not make it any less frightening.

She offered no resistance as rough hands seized her arms and dragged her to her feet. She did not scream as she was escorted to the inn, every eye following her, some holding pity, some blame.

She made no noise when the Heralds pushed her onto a table in the common room and began to cut away her clothing. She knew about these 'tests,' as they called it. A thinly-veiled excuse for torture, was what it was!

Rohim entered once they had her secured, naked and bound to a long, rectangular table. She kept her eyes on the ceiling above her, focusing on the tiny grains and cracks in the thick wooden beams, but she could see him in her periphery.

Funny, she almost thought he was going to change his mind when he saw her lying there, but then he spoke, his voice hard.

"Mari Sunblade," he began. "You are charged with harbouring an arohim. You are also under suspicion of possessing the taint of the arohim yourself. You will be submitted to tests approved and regulated by the Council of Dawn, to determine your... condition."

Mari wanted to sneer, to spit at the man, but she forced herself to breathe. Just breathe. The ceiling, the beams, the knots in the wood. Her heart was beating wildly, but she refused to show these bastards she was afraid.

She withheld any screaming for long minutes after they began, but eventually, howls of agony spilled forth. If she survived this night, she would go and find her son, and spend her remaining days with him and Elaina.

'I love you, Aran.' She poured her heart and soul into that last thought.

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CHAPTER 2.2: The Emerin Chapel

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The rest of the journey was made in silence, for the most part. Every time Aran went to speak, Elaina flung up a finger before he'd even made a sound. He wanted to know how she did it, but he stayed quiet after the third failed attempt at finding out.

Twice, she pulled him against a tree and held him there with an iron grip while she seemed to listen for something, but all Aran could hear were owls and foxes and bats. After a moment, she nodded to herself and they resumed walking. He was almost sorry at that point; having her pressed up against him felt very pleasant.

The strange power -- the vala, Elaina had called it -- went quiet after a bit. Sometimes it would rear its head, humming and pulsing inside him, but never for long.