The Alterra Histories: The Fire King Read online

  THE FIRE KING

  BY

  C.S. MARKS

  The Fire King

  The characters and events this book are entirely fictional. No similarity between any of the names, characters, persons, and/or institutions in this book with those of any living or dead person or institutions is intended, and any such similarity which may exist is purely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2012 by C. S. Marks, Iron Elf, LLC

  Cover Art and Illustrations by Hope Hoover

  Edited by Leslie Wainger

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by any electronic or mechanical means including photocopying, recording, or information storage and retrieval without permission in writing from the author.

  Published by Parthian Press, all rights reserved

  ParthianPress.com

  ISBN: 978-0-9859182-1-7

  The Author’s Website

  CSMarks.com

  Contents

  FOREWORD

  Prologue: The History of the Fire-heart

  Part One

  Part Two

  Part Three

  Part Four

  Part Five

  Epilogue—the Aftermath

  Glossary

  About C.S. Marks

  FOREWORD

  In the course of writing an involved, epic fantasy in a complex fictional world, there are other stories suggested and many characters about whom little is known. These characters stimulate reader curiosity, and their tales should be told. So, why not tell them? I decided to try my hand at writing a series of novellas, The Alterra Histories, each concerning a different historical event or character, beginning with The Fire King.

  This accomplishes three objectives: first, it gives the current readership a new story to enjoy while they are waiting for the re-release of the Elfhunter trilogy and the new Alterran series, the Undiscovered Realms. Second, it gives potential new readers an introduction to the world of Alterra. Third, it allows me to explore the life of one of my favorite Elves, Aincor Fire-heart, while playing with some of my favorite themes—love, tolerance, humility, and what motivates people to behave as they do.

  I also have the chance to showcase the outstanding work of cover artist/illustrator Hope Hoover and editor Leslie Wainger, both of whom will hopefully be lending their skills to future books.

  For your convenience I have included a glossary at the back of the novella (as always). This should be especially helpful to those not familiar with fantasy literature.

  I now invite you all to enter the gates of Tal-elathas—whether you are coming to Alterra for the first time or you are returning to familiar lands and old friends—to discover the history of Aincor, the first High King. Welcome, or welcome back!

  —C.S. Marks

  Elfhunter, Fire-heart, Ravenshade

  Tales of Alterra: Undiscovered Realms

  The Alterra Histories

  Prologue: The History of the Fire-heart

  Aincor Fire-heart was arguably the most perfect creation ever to draw breath in the world of Alterra. At least, that was his opinion.

  One could not blame him for being arrogant given his mysterious origins, his near-invincibility, and the many grandiose tales springing from his various deeds. There is such a thing as having too many gifts.

  Aincor had been born to independence; no one is certain even of his parentage, other than as an Elf of the Èolar—the great warrior-scholars. He had been found as an infant and fostered in the chilly northern lands near the western sea by the ancestors of the Tuathar, the legendary Northmen. At the dawning of the First Reckoning the Tuathar knew little of Elves, for they did not venture far from their homelands. They were only then beginning to make records of history and lore.

  The Northmen were instructed by Duinar, their Asarla, who had been slowly bringing them forth from the savagery in which he had found them. The wise and mysterious Asari, semi-divine beings whose power was meant to bring enlightenment and knowledge, were also known as “Magic-users”. They had taken up residence primarily in the Elven- realms, for Men, in the early days, were more animal than human. Yet they showed great promise, which Duinar had recognized. Now they were stepping forward into the enlightenment he offered them.

  While the Asari were charged with the task of bringing enlightenment, they had a formidable foe in the person of Lord Wrothgar, a being so filled with hatred and lust for power that his dark influences had threatened to overwhelm all the western lands. Wrothgar’s nature and origins are uncertain. Some scholars have speculated that he is akin to the Asari; others maintain that he is the embodiment of evil itself. There was no method too foul, no plan too perverse or corrupt for Wrothgar, whose apparent goal was to overcome the influence of enlightenment, knowledge, and above all, love.

  Duinar’s kindly, weathered face peered down at Aincor, who, as with all Elves, was very much aware of his surroundings even from birth. “Well, well! What have we here? An Elfling! Wherever did you come from, little prince?” Duinar frowned, pushing aside a lock of Aincor’s soft, copper-brown hair, taking notice of the pale rune-mark on the right side of his forehead—the one that resembled eádra, meaning “light”. The mark shone forth as a beacon of destiny. This was an Elf of importance, one who had been marked by the Lord of Light. Duinar knew then that he could not long remain with the Northmen.

  “You’re a big one,” he muttered, smiling down at the Elfling’s solemn little face. “Obviously Èolarin. In the spring I shall send you to my brothers in Tal-elathas, where you may come to know the company of your own people. For now, I shall care for you myself.”

  Duinar named the Elfling “Caladon”, meaning “one who is deep”. He instructed Caladon all through the long winter, giving him the best care he could provide. When the most learned men came for their lessons, Caladon lay propped in a corner, wrapped in warm blankets, often sucking on his fingers and toes, but attentive. Always attentive. By the time he left Tuathas, he already knew the rudiments of Aridani, the base-tongue of Men. Duinar took care to address him in the language of the Èolar, and, as a result, he could speak it in brief sentences. Even Duinar was impressed.

  Tal-elathas, the ancient Realm of Knowledge, had been founded by the Èolar as their fortress against the benighted influence of Lord Wrothgar. Therefore, when Duinar sent forth the message that an Elfling had been found—one who bore the mark of eádri—they were anxious to receive him. Tal-elathas also harbored three of Duinar’s kin: Léiras the Far-sighted, Kotos the Persuader, and Baelta the Bright. Duinar knew that an extraordinary being like Caladon would benefit greatly from association with them.

  Tal-elathas was fast becoming the repository for all written lore, although there was not yet a large amount. It was only at the beginning of the First Reckoning that lore was recorded in permanent fashion; during the Time of Mystery, all histories were passed directly by word-of- mouth. As the Elves of Tal-elathas came to know Caladon, they realized that he would not be satisfied merely with studying what had been written. He would seek to fill volumes of his own with brave deeds and accomplishments.

  From the first, he commanded respect. Even as a child he was bent on learning and accomplishing as much as he could; in fact, he never behaved as a child at all. Where most children are aware of their shortcomings, and are therefore prepared to submit to the direction of their elders, Caladon would neither acknowledge nor display any shortcomings of his own. He studied the arts of battle in private, sparring only with other children who were less adept than he. His strength grew to match his confidence. He had no friends, and he allowed no one close enough to view the inner workings of his mind and heart.

  When at las
t the Asari insisted that he practice battle-arts with fully grown, experienced warriors, Caladon’s confidence remained unshaken. What he lacked in experience and maturity he made up for in stubborn, somewhat reckless perseverance. Time and again he would be knocked back or swept off his feet, only to rise again, battering his opponent, who, seeing the futility of it, would ultimately submit. No one matched Caladon’s strength of will.

  His reckless courage earned him many accolades. Anxious to prove himself, he set his sights upon exterminating a troublesome dragon that had taken up residence in the vast tunnels and caverns hidden beneath the lands immediately to the north of Tal-elathas. The dragon had discovered that, not only could he pilfer from the Elves’ winter provisions, he could attack and devour an occasional scout or keeper of the watch. The dragon loved Elf-flesh, as every dragon does. Attacks were increasing both in frequency and ferocity, but none would dare attack the dragon underground, for to do so in such close quarters would be most unwise.

  Léiras, Baelta, and Kotos convened a council, inviting the wisest and most experienced Elves of Tal-elathas to attend. But Caladon, who was not invited due to his youth, did not understand why everyone else believed it necessary to spend time debating. He took his sword, spear, and bow, stealing away from the city during daylight, when the dragon was certain to be holed up in its dark lair.

  No one is certain of what transpired in that horrible, foul-smelling place, but when the Council finally agreed to take action, their war-party found Caladon already waiting outside the beast’s lair. Burned, beaten, and bleeding, he stood tall before them. “It is unnecessary for you to proceed any further,” he gasped, struggling to remain on his feet. “The dragon will trouble you no more.” With those words, he collapsed as one dead. The astonished war-party bore him back to Tal-elathas with all speed and laid him at the feet of the Council.

  Baelta ran to his side, lifting him in his arms. “He is dying,” he said to the horrified assembly. But Léiras, who watched Caladon closely, disagreed. Though he was unconscious, his eyes were closed, and he could not speak, a very slight smile tugged at Caladon’s lips.

  “He won’t die,” said Léiras in wonder. “See that smile? He won’t allow himself to die. And from what I know of him, I don’t doubt his ability.”

  It took months for Caladon to heal from his injuries, but by then his reputation was unimpeachable. He was given the name “Aincor”, meaning “Fire-heart”, which suited him well. He continued to study and learn until he could hold his own among any of the elder scholars. He wore the scars of the dragon-fire with pride, knowing that no Elf had ever defeated a dragon single-handed. He gathered a group of followers, all of whom were accomplished warriors, for they respected his utter fearlessness. When danger threatened the Realm, they often acted independently of Council, venturing forth to defeat all enemies.

  Aincor, who had no family crest, took the dragon as his insignia, crafting his own beautiful armor of scarlet and gold with a helmet resembling a dragon’s head. His cadre of warriors grew as his fame spread. Young men of Tuathas, Elves of Tal-sithian and Eádros, all journeyed to Tal-elathas hoping to be deemed worthy, but it was rare that Aincor accepted anyone who was not of the Èolar. In order to be admitted, a supplicant had to remain upright in combat with Aincor for the length of time required for a raven to fly from the northern to the southern wall of Tal-elathas. The raven, who knew it would be rewarded on the south wall, usually flew directly there, but it was still far too long a time for most.

  Aincor fought with utter ferocity and disregard for the conventions of battle. He would strike from behind, distract his opponent, or feign injury. He would approach with a smile, bowing his head slightly in respect, and then demolish his hapless challenger as he bowed in return. It was unwise to take one’s eyes from Aincor. He had learned these things from an intense study of battle tactics, reading all of the histories set down in the ever-growing library. To these he added his own observations of natural events, such as the struggle between a spider and a wasp ensnared in its web. Fascinated, Aincor sat motionless for over an hour as the deadly confrontation unfolded, ending in the death of the wasp. The spider had simply worn down its larger, stronger, well-armed opponent with little nips and jabs.

  When it was said that he fought without honor, he merely laughed. “Victory is the only honor,” he said. “Honorable combat is only effective if both parties agree to it. I have yet to encounter any servant of Lord Wrothgar who will participate in my people’s delusion of honor.” Wrothgar’s minions, no matter how fearsome, could not withstand an attack by the Fire-heart’s warriors.

  ~~

  Wrothgar’s most terrible and formidable servants, the Bödvari, wrapped their dark forms in cloaks of terror, breaking through the most stalwart line of Elven warriors simply by extending their fiery hands. During one fateful battle Aincor faced them, fought them, and defeated them without hesitating, slaying one and driving the others back into darkness. Upon the loss of their most dreaded commanders, the rest of the Black Legion fell into disorganized and ignominious retreat. For this astonishing accomplishment, Aincor ascended to the rank of Commander of the Èolarin army.

  Aincor’s victory confirmed a long-held suspicion: he was, apparently, incapable of fear. Léiras had thought so for many years—it was the only possible explanation for some of the Fire-heart’s behavior. To be without fear might seem a noble and impressive gift, but in reality it is a curse. Those who cannot experience fear cannot make sound decisions, for in their minds they have nothing to risk. Léiras was, therefore, especially dismayed when Aincor’s followers proclaimed him their King.

  The Èolar had not appointed a single ruler before; they had left the governing of their affairs to the Asari and to their Council of Scholars. But Aincor had shown himself to be exceptional beyond any who had come before him. He had demonstrated his invulnerability by facing down the Bödvari.

  “Who else among us is worthy to be King?” cried Aincor’s captains. “He has defeated the black demons—those who carry before them an aura of terror and hopelessness that few can penetrate, let alone vanquish! Aincor has faced the fire—he has acted while others would sit in debate. We need a King who will act quickly in defense of his people.” This was a difficult argument to overcome, and, after much debate and discussion, the people proclaimed Aincor to be the first King of Tal-elathas.

  It is easy to understand the devotion of Aincor’s followers. An Elf who could approach a Bödvar near enough to engage it in combat was either driven by insurmountable grief, in the throes of a white-hot rage, or was named “Aincor”. Not only did he face them, he actually slew one before it could recover its wits and escape. Aincor’s cowardly opponents could neither fathom nor withstand his utter lack of terror. The survivors fled into the darkness as the vanquished disappeared in a cloud of flames and black vapor.

  When Lord Wrothgar heard of this unnaturally fearless Elf—one who could defeat his most fearsome commanders—he was sorely dismayed. If the Fire-heart refused to fear his Bödvari, perhaps the Elves would take strength from it and be able to defeat them as well. If the Bödvari fell, would the rest of Wrothgar’s army be far behind? The Elves had declared this “Fire-heart” to be their king. What if he decided to try to eliminate Wrothgar and his dark forces from the world?

  Wrothgar had pondered this in silence for quite some time, brooding in his ice-covered lair, when a plan came to him. Arrogance, like fire, is an unreliable weapon—it can just as easily turn upon its bearer. Wrothgar would secretly build up his forces, engaging only in minor skirmishes to keep up appearances. Eventually, he would even appear to extend the hand of peace to Aincor, who would, of course, view such overtures as a sign of weakness. Then he would lure Aincor into a situation from which he could not escape. From there, it would be easy to defeat the Fire-heart’s army and overwhelm Tal-elathas. Once Tal- elathas had fallen, the rest of the Elven-realms would follow.

  Wrothgar, the Black Sorcerer, chuckled in
the dark. The very thing that had allowed this upstart to prevail over his Bödvari would finally lay him low. Wrothgar had seen this quite clearly, and he would not be denied. For now, he could afford to wait until the time was right.

  Part One

  The business of the day was just beginning, and Aincor was looking forward to dealing with his affairs of state, when a familiar figure was ushered in to stand before him. Aincor knew him at once—it was Vathan, one of his elite guards and courtiers. On this occasion he wore neither mail nor armor, which was unusual.

  “My lord, I would beg an audience,” said Vathan, a dark-haired Èolarin Elf who would have been comely were it not for his battle- scarred face. He turned to regard the others waiting in the King’s chambers. “I’m afraid this is a delicate matter. Is there a way that we may speak privately?”

  This request fostered a rippling of restive movement and muttered protest from within the assembly—a request for private audience was unusual, and seldom granted.

  Aincor looked deep into the eyes of his battle-captain, searching them for any sign of deceit. Vathan had been a staunch defender of Tal- elathas since long before Aincor had ruled it. Aincor knew that Vathan did not particularly like him, but he had always served faithfully and well. “What matters are so delicate that they may not be heard by the King’s court?” he asked in a voice too low to be overheard.

  Vathan bowed his head again. “If the King will only trust me, the need for privacy will be made clear…privately,” he said.

  Aincor smiled, though his dark blue eyes held little humor in them. “Very well.” He rose to his feet, extending his hands toward the others in the chamber. “You are dismissed for now. Please await my summons in the outer hall, for I will soon recall you.” After they had gone, Aincor turned back to Vathan. “Now, what is this matter of great importance which can only be raised in private?”