Legends of Osaire Box Set

Chapter 1

Chapter 1The blood saturating the field had splashed all the way up his boots, practically to his knees. Solna, shoulders bowed under exhaustion and the weight of his large oval shield, looked out over the battlefield from his place in the middle of it. So much death spread from horizon to horizon, blood painting the whole of the field into a crimson sea. All of it over a pointless, ancient feud, the cause of which was barely a memory to his people.

With a sigh, Solna continued his search for wounded. This was his third battle against Osairan forces since his kingship began, his fifth since he learned the martial arts, and he knew his duty to his warriors. He stopped at the next body he came across, a common foot soldier with her head bashed in and missing her weapon. Another corpse was a couple of feet away, in the hard green and black leather of the Osairan army.

Solna continued his trek in silence; the few soldiers within calling distance sweeping the ground for their comrades gave him a wide berth, but found no one alive. The next tangle of bodies yielded nothing either, and his hope of finding any wounded in this section diminished further. It was both a testament to his warriors’ skills and something that he roundly cursed that his army was so good at killing, a weapon more keen and lethal than his broadsword.

He spared a quick glance for a small group of bodies. Six soldiers total and just as he was turning away, the barest creak of leather reached his ears. Solna hesitated a moment and when the sound came again, he was striding toward the fallen group before he even registered he moved. The sound ceased just as he came to the closest body on the outer edge of the pile.

“Hello?” Hopefully someone was alive in the mess. Maybe hearing a voice would give them the strength to hold on. Nothing moved again, and Solna’s eyes burned with the futility of it all. Now that he was close however, there was no harm in a careful check of these six.

The first couple of bodies were very obviously dead, jagged holes blasted through their chests. The third’s armor looked like it had been peeled away and then decapitated with Serena’s great glaive. Buried under that one was another half sprawled on his back. An Osairan.

He wore no armor at all, three stab wounds evident through tears in a thick green tunic, but the heavy leather bracers laced damn near up to the elbow were a surprise. Solna crouched down at his side and brushed back the man’s obscenely long black hair, as fine as spider’s silk that clung coyly to his own callused fingertips, exposing a milky smooth throat and elegantly pointed ears. It took a moment to remember that he needed to look for a pulse a hairsbreadth farther back than he would on a human or dwarf, but he sighed thickly when he found the heavy, too slow beat. Thank the Powers.

A whisper of breath escaped past the wounded elf’s lips, stray locks of hair still covering his face fluttered with it, and Solna jumped into action. The last two bodies were checked at a glance, just as irrefutably dead as the first three. He brought his attention back to the elf and considered his options.

It was about an hour’s march to his palace in Helano, but much less on his horse. Without that infernal beast close by, and no healers either, Solna was left with only one reasonable course of action. But damn it all, he was not up for this. Judging by the gray pallor of the wounded elf, neither was he.

Solna grimaced, and then carefully brushed the rest of the black hair away from the elf’s aquiline, bloody face. A smudge of vibrant green under the blood drew his eyes to the elf’s brow. Gently, Solna thumbed away some of the mess from the skin and found green stars tattooed like a circlet that disappeared into the hairline at either side of the temples. Thirteen of them, no less. Archmage.

He scrambled for the straps of his shield and yanked, relieving himself of the extra weight, then slid his arms beneath the elf’s shoulders and knees. Enemy or not, he was going to save at least one being from this bloodbath. Groaning, Solna stood with his charge, his muscles starting a fierce protest at the added burden after such a long battle. It was a treacherous moment to maneuver around the dead, but he made it out of the group without losing his hold on the elf.

Once free, he looked again at the surrounding c*****e and his silent soldiers minding their own searches. There was nothing for it. Solna started to walk, a jagged path past the dead, cradling one of the few flickering flames that made it through.

* * * *

The healers’ tents just inside the dusty red walls of his city were filled to capacity. The cries of the wounded broke his heart, but he couldn’t stop to see them yet. Soon though, once he had taken care of his charge. Instead, he turned away from the tents and sought out the first able-bodied person he could find. The elf in his arms gave a shallow wheeze.

“Hold on.” Solna clutched the elf tighter and took off running. “Just, please, hold on.”

After a minute, he stumbled across a woman on guard duty close to the gate they had come through. Her eyes widened, but she stayed at her post. “My Lord?”

“I need a horse,” he gasped. The guard didn’t question him, just pivoted in place and loosed a sharp whistle to another guard farther down the wall. The elf in his arms flinched weakly.

The guard in front of him gestured at the other one and in no time at all Solna was given the reins of a placid bay by the second guard. They helped him situate himself with the elf practically in his lap, and then stepped away. Solna could only nod his thanks.

Solna pulled on the reins hard and wheeled the horse around. The beast responded with ease and he dug his heels into the sides of the horse. Damned thing took off like lightning.

The streets of his capital flashed by in a blur and Solna concentrated to keep them in the saddle as the horse thundered along. A scant handful of minutes passed before they came to a jittering halt inside the massive courtyard of his home. The manor was never a more beautiful sight than in that moment, plain though it was.

A young stable hand was already rushing towards them to pull the reins out of his slack grip. “Do you need help, Sire?”

Solna looked at the boy for a moment, mind blank with adrenaline. Suddenly he came back to himself. “Yes. And healers.”

The boy yelled over his shoulder, calling for Allag, the stable master and a gentle giant of a man. Solna was grateful that he was on hand that day, for it meant Allag’s wife Ke was there as well and she was a better healer than any Solna had ever come across. He slumped around the elf in his arms as Allag trotted out and tapped the boy’s shoulder with a quiet murmur. The boy took off for the manor with the reckless speed of youth.

Allag grabbed the bridle in a firm hand and planted his other against the elf’s sternum. It took some quick work, but Solna dropped off the horse in a graceless lurch and pulled the elf back into his arms just as Ke burst from the front doors.

She took one look at the bloody, dying mess in his arms and ushered them into the house. Solna paused a foot inside though, indecisive. Inexplicably, he wanted to take the elf to his quarters instead of the little infirmary Ke maintained off the main hall. He buried the impulse deep when Ke flashed a confused look at him.

He forced himself to follow her down the first hallway that turned right, past the open doors of waiting rooms and offices and archives, until they came to a room bigger than the others. Sterile but warm cream-colored walls belied the tragedies the room had seen over the years, tragedies that made Solna cringe every time he passed the threshold. Futilely, he prayed that Daphion wouldn’t take this soul to add to Her collection just yet.

“Over here, my Lord.” Ke drew his attention to one of the farthest beds from the door and started to strip the bedding away even as Solna laid the elf down. “His clothes need to be removed,” she added, tone flat, direct.

Solna unsheathed his belt knife and started cutting away the blood soaked tunic, rumbling quiet, meaningless nonsense for comfort as he went. The damn thing was tacky, stuck to the skin underneath, but Solna carefully peeled apart the cloth. The first of the sluggish, oozing wounds was low on the flat belly, the start of a disembowelment if Solna had to guess. Second revealed was a deep knife thrust between the ribs on the right. The last, most dangerous one was the stab wound just under the left collarbone. An attempt at a heart thrust, no doubt.

It felt wrong to slice the laces on the bracers, once he was down to them. A deft stroke of his knife severed the laces without damage and he set them aside to clean and repair later. One last bit of cutting at the long cuffs of the tunic and finally the elf’s upper body was completely revealed. Solna immediately wished he wasn’t there to see it.

Taken individually, the damage was bad enough. Something awful tugged at this heart though, a heavy and hollow feeling, to see smooth skin painted in blood. Solna helplessly looked to Ke for more direction. This was her province.

She didn’t fail him. “Get rid of the rest of it too. It’s ruined anyway and we don’t want to chance infection. Leave his small clothes on.”

The fabric parted under his blade easier than the tunic. Mud caked boots were placed on the floor next to the bed. The elf in all his bareness would be stunning beyond measure if his injuries weren’t so grievous. And if he weren’t an enemy. Maybe he wouldn’t have to stay that way.

Solna put the burgeoning idea out of his mind for the moment and looked back to Ke once more, but she had already started to draw into herself, still as a statue and eyes closed. Ke was a healer of some considerable merit and her magic only enhanced her skills. She had served in his house for a dozen years, since Allag bonded with her, and Solna was forever grateful for her presence. Ke had saved many lives over the years, Solna’s own among them.

As he watched, a subtle glow crept over Ke’s skin and dress. She wasn’t aware of anything anymore, Solna knew from experience, only the elf on her table. Ke would be in that trance for however long it took to finish the healing, or when she collapsed from power drain, whichever happened first.

Nothing to do but wait. Solna hated this part. Instead of sitting and driving himself insane from inactivity, he went to the back wall behind Ke and her patient and picked up one of the heavy, massive bowls stacked precisely on the counter built into the wall. There was a huge water basin in the farthest corner of the room and Solna filled the bowl from it. A fist full of rags he found in one of the cupboards and then he brought his haul back to the bed.

There was a soothing quality to taking care of a person. Even an unconscious one. To wipe away the evidence of illness, of injury. As he soaked the first rag, cool water sloshing over his hands and onto the wood floor, Solna started to silently recite the prayers to Serena. Prayers of rest after a hard won fight and asking Her for health and succor so that the elf may stand in readiness for the next battle.

As the hours passed in soundless work, both Ke’s and his own, that idea crept back into the forefront of his mind.

The elf on the table was an Archmage. It was the highest rank that the King of Osaire would allow on the battlefield, the Osairan equivalent of a general. An Archmage had never been found alive, if found at all, in all the battles between their two kingdoms for years uncounted. If it weren’t for travelers coming to Solna’s court, he would have assumed the Archmages were the rulers, not a King. Still, an Archmage could be bargained with. Solna was sick of the bloodshed and ready to do anything necessary to secure peace.

* * * *

Two days followed in a blur of aftermath. After caring for the Archmage and a couple of hours fitful sleep, Solna went down to the healers’ tents next to the city walls and pitched in where he could. Kind words for the critical and promises to look after families for those near death. He carried water and bandages and salves, even leant his muscle to hold down those in too much pain to still themselves when the healers needed to work on them. The massive funeral pyres were constructed on the battlefield, Osairan and Sumanten warriors laid together, in honor of their sacrifice, their fierce spirits. Solna would preside over the burning on the fifth dawn.

Solna snatched sleep where he could. The healers chased him away the first time they found him resting in a corner of a tent and the guards did the same when they found him asleep in the sun, propped against the outside wall. He made several trips back to his manor so that he could check on the wounded elf. Ke would serve him tea or beer if she deemed he looked particularly awful, push him into a chair at her patient’s bedside and tell him what she could, beyond Solna counting shallow breaths that moved the coverlet. More often than not, he would wake in that chair, and Solna was positive Ke had dosed his drink at least twice. But Allag kept his home in good order and could wake him for anything Allag couldn’t handle personally, so Solna decided not to take offense to their interfering ways. Those two were as close as blood and he trusted them more than most.

* * * *

Glittering dark brown eyes were the first thing he saw at dawn on the third day. Solna was wedged deep into his infirmary chair that he’d kept close to the elf’s bedside and he lurched back when he noticed the stare, instinctually trying to move into a defensive stance. The chair almost buckled under the sudden movement.

Solna jumped to his feet when he finally remembered where he was, and took in his guest. The long black hair tucked behind slender, pointed ears was still matted, though they had washed it, and the elf’s now clean skin was pale but not deathly so, where it showed above the coverlet. Life shone radiant in the elf’s eyes and Solna’s shoulders finally relaxed. It was one thing for Ke to tell him that the Archmage would live, but a whole other matter to confirm it for himself.

His thoughts started to cascade and tumble together, and he didn’t know where to begin. There was so much that he wanted to talk to the Archmage about, so much to do. And the elf only stared up at him, drawing back without moving a muscle.

All of a sudden, Solna felt like an ass. A bedridden enemy would doubtless feel trapped in his presence and looming like he was did not help. He slowed down his every move as he pulled the chair close to the bed once more and sat; straight and easy, trying to project a calm he didn’t precisely feel. The potential from this meeting could change the fates of so many lives.

But he still had no idea where to start. The Archmage took that decision from him.

“Why did you not kill me when you found me?” the elf asked. The sharp angles of his face revealed nothing, nor did the crisp, high tenor of his rather lovely voice. Solna had heard that all mages had exceptional voices; Ke certainly did, but never one quite like this. Maybe it was the elven blood that heightened the trait? That was a thought for another time.

“I don’t kill anyone who poses no threat,” Solna answered, gentle and firm. “Certainly not an injured warrior without a weapon.”

“Who are you?” His voice still gave nothing away and, while a bit disconcerted with the flatness of it, Solna was encouraged. This was far better than hostility.

He couldn’t help but straighten up completely. “I am Solna Nalion, King of Sumentan. You are in my home.”

“I see.” Those warm eyes, dark as the good loam of a deep forest, darted over Solna’s features like the elf was cataloging, memorizing, searching for a c***k in his armor. Finally, the elf went back to openly stare at him, expression like a placid lake. “And why have you brought me here, instead of a prison sickbed?”

“As an Archmage, you are of sufficient rank to negotiate an armistice with,” Solna decided on. “Since Osairan Kings never set foot on the battlefield, of course.” The slight popped out of his mouth without thought, but it was true nonetheless.

The elf’s plush lips twitched into a smug little grin. “No?”

“I haven’t seen an Osairan King enter the field with his forces. Only an Archmage.” Solna was sure of it. An elven King would be impossible to miss, as ostentatious as elves were.

The damnable grin on the elf’s face widened. “You have no spies in Tanchar, do you?”

Solna grimaced. “You know we don’t. King Tylele always has a spy waylaid before they can even reach the Court and any travelers that have had the chance to see the Court say that it is run by an Archmage named Vius.”

Dark eyes sparkled, and that grin turned into a smile. “Would you be surprised to learn that an Archmage and a King are one and the same?”

“Pardon?”

The elf started to chuckle, an enchanting sound that Solna would have been happy to hear if he wasn’t so damned sure he was being laughed at. “I am King Vius Tylele, at your service.”