The traitor Prince Raesene became the mightiest of the awnsheghlien, a fearsome and grotesque creature who was called the Gorgon. Among others of his kind were the Ghost, the Kraken, the Serpent, the Sinister, the Hydra, and the Hag. Still others were in the process of their transformation, and once the metamorphosis became complete, more power gained through bloodtheft enabled them to create others like themselves and, in this manner, a new race came into being in Cerilia—a race of monsters who bore only a faint resemblance to the humans they once were.
However, this took many years. While the soon-to-be awnsheghlien went into hiding in Mount Deismaar’s aftermath, those few who had fought Azrai’s evil and survived returned to their own kingdoms to recuperate and rebuild what had been lost. Haelyn became the new god of the Anuireans, and his brother, Roele, became their king, founding the dynasty that bore his name. In time, through conquest or alliance, he unified the disparate human kingdoms under his rule, and the Anuirean Empire was born.
Over the years, the sons of Roele became known as the Emperors Roele, ruling their domains from the Iron Throne in the Imperial Cairn in the capital city of Anuire, built on the shores of a large bay in the Straits of Aerele, tens of leagues from the shattered islands where Mount Deismaar was destroyed and sank beneath the waves.
As Aedan came to and shook his aching head, he looked up to see the bodies of the “dead” lying all around him, craning their necks or sitting up to watch the next occupant of the Iron Throne battle the goblin general. Oh no, thought Aedan as he sat up, rubbing his sore head. Michael and Corwin were hard at it, bashing away at each other with grim determination. The survivors of the battle stood around them in a loose semicircle, watching for the outcome. Most of them cheered on the future emperor, but a few brave souls were shouting out encouragement to Corwin as the two opponents flailed away at one another.
Aedan’s practiced eye saw that the older boy was holding back a bit, taking care to avoid injuring the younger warrior, but Michael was laying on for all that he was worth and, despite his smaller stature, was giving Corwin lots of trouble. Aedan tried to get up, but dizziness overcame him, and he sat back down again with a groan. Suddenly, Corwin knocked Michael’s shield from his grasp and, sensing victory, raised his wooden blade and moved in for the kill.
As his stroke came down, Michael parried it, holding his wooden sword in both hands. He launched a devastating kick at Corwin’s groin. Had Corwin not been wearing a codpiece, he might well have sung soprano for the remainder of his life. As it was, he grunted and doubled over from the blow, dropping his shield and clutching at the source of his acute discomfort, while Michael, instead of moving in to deliver the coup de grace, stood back and broke out laughing at the older boy. It was a bad mistake.
Corwin came up out of his doubled-over crouch, eyes blazing, and with a cry of rage, unleashed a hail of blows at Michael as if he were purely determined to kill him. Aedan jumped to his feet and started running toward the boys, but before he’d covered half the distance, Michael’s sword went flying and Corwin brained him on the helm with all his might. Michael jerked and stiffened, then went down like a felled tree.
As Michael lay motionless upon the ground, a shocked silence descended on the battlefield. Aedan came running up and crouched beside him. “Michael! Michael!” he repeated with concern, forgetting in his anxiety to address him by his title rather than his name.
Michael did not answer. Carefully, Aedan removed his helm. He sighed with relief when he saw there was no blood, but that was still no guarantee he wasn’t seriously injured. He patted Michael lightly on the cheeks, but there was no response.
“Michael!”
Corwin stood over them, eyes wide, shocked as the realization of what he had done sank in. The pain of Michael’s kick to his essentials, evidenced by his awkward stance, was completely overwhelmed by the thought of what he’d done.
“I—I didn’t mean it!” he stammered in a small voice. His lips continued to move, but no sound came out.
Aedan could spare no thought for Corwin. He gazed down at Michael, slapping his cheeks lightly. “Michael? Come on, Michael….”
There was no response.
“My god,” said Aedan, glancing skyward. “Haelyn, help me!”
Michael made a small moan. His eyelids twitched, then fluttered open. His gaze appeared unfocused. He groaned.
“Michael! Michael!” Aedan said. “How many fingers am I holding up?”
He held up two. Michael tried to focus. “Four?”
“Lie still,” said Aedan. “You may have a concussion.” He glanced at Corwin. “Pray that it is nothing worse.”
Corwin’s lips were trembling. He had gone completely white.
Aedan gently picked up Michael in his arms and started carrying him back toward the castle. Behind him, the young warriors of Mount Deismaar trooped silently with their wooden swords and shields. The war was over.
2
Seaharrow stood upon a cliff overlooking Miere Rhuann, the Sea of Storms, roughly two hundred miles from the capital city of Anuire. The castle’s crenelated towers dominated the broken landscape for miles around, its machicolated battlements gave a commanding view of the surrounding countryside, and its thick, massive walls defied assault. Situated on a high and craggy rock formation, with the sea and a sheer wall of granite at its back, Seaharrow was a virtually impregnable fortress that a small body of men could easily hold against an army.
Archduke Arwyn of Boeruine had rather more than a small body of men, however, which was one of the reasons he was an archduke and one of the most powerful nobles in the empire. Seaharrow was his holding, and his ancestors had held it before him for hundreds of years.
Below the castle, the town of Seasedge lay spread out upon the rocky coastal plain. It was the capital and seaport of the nine provinces governed by the archduke. It was not a very large town, but it boasted a hardy population. Only the Northern Marches were less settled than the windswept western coastal region, which reached from the waters of the Tael Firth to the Straits of Aerele and east to the Seamist Mountains. During the winter, fierce storms battered the coast and strong easterly winds howled through the castle battlements. A visitor to Seasedge at this time of the year would wonder why anyone could possibly wish to settle on this desolate, storm-lashed stretch of coast.
In the summer, however, the climate was more temperate, and each year, at the end of spring, the Imperial Court of the Empire of Anuire traveled en masse in a heavily armed convoy to the Archduchy of Boeruine, to take up residence at Seaharrow. The brisk northern breezes coming in off the Sea of Storms at this time of year provided welcome relief from the hot and humid winds that buffeted Anuire during the summer season, bringing with them the monsoons that boiled up from the Adurian coast. But the monsoon season at the beginning of the summer was not the only reason the emperor came to Seaharrow each year.
The Archduchy of Boeruine had strategic significance by virtue of its geographical location. On its northeastern borders lay the Aelvinnwode, the thick pine forest that covered most of the territory known as the Northern Marches, and the hostile goblin kingdom of Thurazor, as well as the lawless, mountainous region known as the Five Peaks, which was home to goblins, bandits, gnolls, and renegades of all description. To the north of the Five Peaks and east of Thurazor lay the elven kingdom of Tuarhievel, ruled by Prince Fhileraene, whose great-grandfather was the only elven chieftain who had remained loyal to Azrai at the Battle of Mount Deismaar.