Authors: Amanda Young
Tags: #fantasy, #magic, #gods, #wizards, #elves, #morality, #dwarves, #amanda young, #royalty, #clerics, #ad mclain, #raymond young jr, #lawful
Suriax
Suriax
By Amanda Young and
Raymond Young Jr.
Copyright 2012 Amanda McLain-Young
Smashwords Edition
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment
only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people.
If you would like to share this book with another person, please
purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading
this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your
use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your
own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this
author.
To RA McLain, a loving father and a generous,
honest man. You will be missed.
Table of Contents
Connect with A.D. McLain/Amanda
Young
Kern watched the blood run down his hand and
arm. The cool blade glistened red in his hand. Those spots unmarred
by blood were a clean, bright silver, making apparent to any who
cared to look how well he cared for his weapons. With a sigh he
pulled out a cloth and began wiping the blade clean. The body of
the man he was just speaking with lay lifeless at his feet.
“We need a recorder,” he heard the bartender
call. All around, patrons of the café glanced over briefly in
curiosity and then went back about their business. A few didn’t
even bother looking. The door to the back opened to reveal a young
woman. A full elf, one of the first to be born here after the
founding of Suriax two hundred years ago, she was the equivalent of
a thirty year old human. Honey golden hair, a length only
attainable due to her long lifespan, was pulled back in several
twists and braids. Her lips were lightly painted, it was the only
coloring she wore, and she was dressed in an apron with her hair
slightly askew. Her cheeks were flush from her work in the heat of
the kitchen, but that was not her only job. She worked there part
time to help her brother Bryce, the bartender and owner of the
Arrow’s Quill Tavern. Though Marcy normally made her pay through
her work as a recorder, they were moving into the busy season, and
the tavern could use all the help they could get. Seeing him right
away, she smiled and walked over.
“Kern,” she chastised with a grin as she
pulled out a notepad and pen. “That’s the third one this week. You
know if you really want to see me that bad you could just ask me
out and save the clean up fee.”
He grinned back. “What can I say, Marce?
You’re the best recorder in town.”
“Umm, hmmm. You just say that because I
already know what to put for all your information.” He shrugged.
Shaking her head, Marcy began filling out the form, mumbling to
herself as she went along. “Let’s see, name is Kern Tygierrenon.
Rank: Lieutenant First Class of Flame Guard. Race: half elf. City
of birth: Suriax. Age: one hundred twenty five. There, now, name of
the deceased?”
“Cornerbluff.”
“And was the reason for killing by order of
the crown, for money or personal?”
“Personal.” She looked up sharply. He
understood her surprise. In all the times she served as his
recorder, he never killed anyone for personal reasons. About ninety
percent were ordered by the queen or other high officials. Ten
percent were merc jobs he would occasionally take on for some quick
coin. Either way, it was always a job.
Looking back down, Marcy found her place and
continued. “Do you need to retrieve any items from the body?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, you may do so, now.”
Careful to avoid the slowly growing puddle of
blood, Kern searched through the many coat pockets until he found
what he was looking for. Pulling out a locket on a chain he checked
to make sure the painting inside was still intact. Satisfied, he
resumed his seat, tucking the necklace into his own pocket. Marcy
noted what was recovered and handed Kern the form to sign. Signing
under his name, she dated and stamped the document before putting
it away. “So, are you done for the night, or should I get the next
form ready?”
“You never know. Maybe you should come out
with me tonight just in case I find myself in need of your services
again.”
Marcy laughed and shook her head. “Don’t
forget to pay Bryce on the way out.” Kern watched her return to the
kitchen then gathered his things and paid Bryce the clean up fee,
throwing in a little tip out of professional courtesy.
“You don’t have to do that,” Bryce argued.
“You’re easy to clean up after, not like those mages. They always
want to be dramatic and kill people with fireballs. I have to
replace the curtains every other month, and then the whole place
smells like smoke for at least a week. You’re no problem at
all.”
“I appreciate that.” Bryce was taller than a
typical elf, almost as tall as a human. Since most of his customers
were half elves and full elves, he towered over a high percentage
of the clientele, especially when he stood behind the bar, since
the floor was raised there. A little extra height could be
effective in commanding a sense of authority. It helped him deal
with some of his rowdier patrons. “You guys take it easy.”
“Hey, wait a sec,” Bryce called before Kern
could leave. “Could you bring this over to your uncle?” He pulled
out a small box and handed it to Kern. “It’s drander pot stew. I
heard him reminiscing about it the other day and tracked down some
drander meat.”
“Thanks, I know it’ll mean a lot to him.” He
turned the box around in his hands. The craftsmanship was not the
usual wooden box. There was a series of magical runes carved into
the lid, and he could not feel any warmth from the food inside.
“What kind of box is this?”
Bryce grinned broadly. “Lynnalin made that
for us. It’s got some enchantments on it. It keeps the food just
the right temperature until you’re ready to eat. Then it returns
here when it’s empty. We’re going to start a whole new delivery
service with these. With the Summer Solstice Celebrations this week
we should be able to do some really good business.”
“Well, good luck with that. If you get any
more drander meat let me know.” It was a rare find, as the ruler of
the land it came from wasn’t fond of Suriax and refused to trade
with them.
“Will do.”
All around decorations were being put out.
There was excitement in the air. Everyone looked forward to the
yearly, week long, Summer Solstice celebrations to commemorate the
founding of Suriax. Normally driven by the desire to excel at
everything they do, in part due to the encouragement and direction
of Queen Maerishka, this was one time a year when everyone took off
to enjoy the festivities. There would be feasts, music, dancing,
drinking and indulgences of every kind. People would marry, others
would be conceived and vendors would make a lot of money. Some
doubled their entire yearly revenue in the weeks surrounding the
festival. It was one of the few times when tourists actually dared
to venture into the city. With theft and murder legal in Suriax
(given a few restrictions and monitoring to avoid rampant serial
killers on the loose) it was not exactly a prime vacation
destination. Those outside the city had this misconception that
there were murders on every street corner, people routinely stabbed
for their coin purse, and there was a certain amount of that, just
as there was in any city, but criminals quickly learned that if
murder was legal, so too was revenge killing. In more civilized
cities, a victim’s family must prove guilt, go to court and sit
through trials that may or may not find the defendant guilty. But
in Suriax, if you knew someone killed your husband or brother you
could go out and kill them yourself without fear of being arrested
or executed for doing so. It led to more careful criminals who
actually avoided killing whenever possible. Most killings these
days were on order of the Queen and she rarely troubled herself
with killing tourists (unless they were particularly annoying and
took the last pastry at the bake shop before she could get it – but
that only happened once . . . that he knew of). In a lot of ways,
Suriax was actually a safer place to live because of its
controversial laws. The people policed themselves, and they were
happier for it.
Kern made his way back through the city, past
the racetrack and academies, to his small apartment just outside
the walls surrounding the palace grounds. As a high ranking officer
with the Flame Guard, he could easily get a larger, more elaborate
home, but his uncle Frex had lived here for over two hundred years,
ever since before the founding of Suriax. He would be six hundred
and eighty this year. Old, even for an elf, he didn’t have many
years left. Frex spent most of his days now reminiscing about the
past and searching for company wherever he could find it.
“Uncle, I’m home.”
“In the back,” he called, his voice muffled.
Kern made his way through the apartment. He heard several grunts
and thuds coming from the den. His uncle stood on a small ladder in
the closet, his body half hidden by coats and boxes. He grunted
again, another box falling to join the growing pile at his
feet.
“Uncle, what are you doing? You’re going to
hurt yourself.” Kern rushed to the closet and helped his uncle
down, careful to avoid the obstacles on the floor.
“I was looking for a scarf your mother made
for me before she died. It was the green one with the blue on
it.”
“That’s over here.” Kern pulled the scarf
from behind the chair. Frex grabbed it and held it close, tears
gathering in his eyes.
Kern pushed back a swell of sadness at seeing
his uncle so emotional. “Bryce asked me to bring you this.”
Frex opened the box and looked up in
surprise. “Drander pot stew? I haven’t had this in a hundred years.
Where did he find it?”
“Don’t know, but he tracked it down for
you.”
The gratitude on his face warmed Kern’s
heart. Just the smell of the food brought more joy to the old man’s
face than he remembered seeing in years. He grabbed a spoon and
drink and let Frex enjoy his meal, content to watch and wait. He
still had one more surprise, but he wanted to let him thoroughly
savor the food first. Frex finished eating and sat back with a
satisfied sigh. Kern cleaned up. When he returned, the box was
already gone, returned to Bryce. His uncle rested heavily in his
chair, his eyed closed and his breathing slowed. Although he was
old, he was not a frail man, at least not by elven standards. To
the many half elves who inhabited Suriax and Aleria, even the
stoutest elf could appear a little frail. But he did carry a weary
air about him. He witnessed many difficult times first hand in his
almost seven hundred years. With nearly double the lifespan of a
half elf and seven times that of a human, he was mostly alone now.
Gently, Kern took his hand. Frex stirred and opened his eyes.
“Uncle, I have something else I wanted to give you.” Pulling out
the locket, he put it in his hands. “I got it back for you. The man
who attached you and stole it is dead. He won’t be hurting you
again.” He didn’t go into detail of how the man died. Frex never
liked the idea of Kern joining the Guard, particularly because he
didn’t approve of killing, a throwback to his Alerian days, Kern
supposed.