Veilspeaker (Pharim War Book 2)

Veilspeaker

Pharim War Book 2

GAMA RAY MARTINEZ

Veilspeaker
is a work of fiction.
All incidents and dialog, and all characters are products of the author’s
imagination and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living
or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Cover illustration and
design by Holly Heisey,
http://hollyheisey.com

Copyright © 2015 Gamaliel
Martinez

All rights reserved.

• CHAPTER 1
  
• CHAPTER 2
  
• CHAPTER 3
  
• CHAPTER 4
  
• CHAPTER 5
  
• CHAPTER 6
  
• CHAPTER 7
  
• CHAPTER 8
  
• CHAPTER 9
  
• CHAPTER 10
  
• CHAPTER 11
  
• CHAPTER 12
  
• CHAPTER 13
  
• CHAPTER 14
  
• CHAPTER 15
  
• CHAPTER 16
  
• CHAPTER 17
  
• CHAPTER 18
  
• CHAPTER 19
  
• CHAPTER 20
  
• CHAPTER 21
  
• CHAPTER 22
  
• CHAPTER 23
  
• CHAPTER 24
  
• CHAPTER 25
  
• CHAPTER 26
  
• CHAPTER 27
  
• CHAPTER 28
  
• CHAPTER 29
  
• CHAPTER 30
  
• CHAPTER 31
  
• CHAPTER 32
  
• CHAPTER 33
  
• CHAPTER 34
  
• CHAPTER 35
  
• CHAPTER 36
  
• CHAPTER 37
  
• CHAPTER 38
  
• CHAPTER 39
  
• CHAPTER 40
  
• CHAPTER 41
  
• CHAPTER 42
  
• CHAPTER 43
  
• CHAPTER 44
  
• CHAPTER 45
  
• CHAPTER 46
  
• CHAPTER 47
  
• CHAPTER 48
  
• CHAPTER 49
  
• CHAPTER 50
  
• CHAPTER 51
  
• CHAPTER 52
  
• CHAPTER 53
  
• CHAPTER 54
  
• CHAPTER 55
  
• CHAPTER 56
  
• CHAPTER 57
  
• ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  

The waiting room in Rumar Keep was
ornate to the point of being gaudy. Jez paced back and forth as he and his
companions awaited his audience with King Haziel. Three tapestries covered one
wall, each depicting great battles. A gold statue of King Haziel himself stood
in the center of the room holding a spear in one hand and a scepter in the other.
He seemed to be sneering at Jez. He squirmed in his chair and tugged at the
lace at his collar to scratch his neck. Sileon, the squat little man who served
as Jez’s advisor, cleared his throat, but Jez ignored him. The only reason the
man was here was because the masters at the Carceri Academy said the king’s
court was no place for a boy of thirteen to be unaided. Osmund, the only other
person in the room, laughed and Jez glared at the seven foot boy. Osmund
grinned, his too large nose wrinkling.

“You really shouldn’t do that, Baron,” Sileon said.

Jez resisted the urge to look around for Dusan, the
man from whom he’d inherited that title. Unknown to most, Dusan had been an
evil man who’d meddled with dark forces that had ultimately destroyed him. He had
even taken a guardian spirit, a Shadowguard named Luntayary, and bound him to a
stillborn child, giving it life and a soul. The secret known only to Osmund and
one of the masters of the Carceri Academy, was that that child had been Jez
himself, and though he no longer had memories from the time before his birth,
much of his power remained.

“It itches,” Jez said. “Couldn’t I have just worn my
Academy robes?”

Sileon snorted. “You’re the Baron of Korand, my lord.
You can’t go before the king dressed as anything other than who you are.”

“But I
am
a student at the Academy,” Jez said.

“You’re not only that, though. This is your first
appearance at court, and you need to make a good impression.”

“Assuming the king wasn’t working with Dusan,” Jez
said under his breath.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

The diplomat glanced down at the ring on Jez’s finger
which bore the symbol of a blue starfish, the sigil Jez had chosen for himself.
Sileon reached into his pocket. “Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer the closed
fist? As Dusan’s adopted son—”

“No.” Jez lifted his hand. “Dusan may have adopted me,
but this is the sign my real father always painted on his fishing boat. It’s
what I want to be known by.”

“Oh very well. Could you at least wear the sword?”

Jez shrugged. “I left it in my quarters.”

Sileon cleared his throat and Jez looked up at him.
The man tugged at his collar and reached into his robes. He pulled out a blade
in a scabbard of black wood. The image of a man with bat-like wings had been
carved into it. A ruby engraved with the closed fist had been set in the
pommel. The sight of the weapon made Jez shiver. Dusan had given it to him
before he’d departed for the Academy. Not for the first time, Jez wished he’d
just thrown the sword away. He started to shake his head, but Sileon
interrupted.

“Dusan was a powerful and influential man when he was
at court. He could manipulate the tides of politics with a skill Ashtar has
rarely seen. You would do well to have people think of you as his protégé.”

“But I wasn’t his protégé,” Jez said. “I only knew him
a few months.”

Sileon grinned. “It’s what people think that matters.”

Jez let out a breath and took the sword. “Fine.”

He belted the sword and tried not to grind his teeth
as Sileon smiled at him. Once it was done, Jez stood up for Sileon to examine
him. The advisor bowed his head.

“Much better. Now, if you would only pick a more...”
he looked Osmund up and down, and hesitated. “Appropriate bodyguard. I’m sure I
could arrange something.”

Osmund stood by the door and was dressed in a loose
fitting shirt and trousers. They were wrinkled but seemed mostly clean. He wore
a tabard with a blue starfish on it and a sword that Jez probably wouldn’t be
able to lift in two hands. The other boy grinned at the advisor, and for a
second, his steel gray eyes became fiery orange. Sileon yelped, and fell out of
his chair. Jez did his best to hold in a chuckle. Osmund didn’t bother and
erupted in laughter.

“You really shouldn’t do that, Sileon,” Jez said. “You
know how battlemages are.”

“Ah, well yes. Of course.” He made a point of not
looking at Osmund. “Perhaps we should go over proper court procedure.”

Jez sighed. “Sileon we hardly talked about anything
else in the month it took us to get here. I think I know all I need.”

“Well, it
never hurts to review.”

Jez groaned,
but Sileon pretended not to notice. He drilled Jez on how deeply to bow to the
king and to other barons. He should only incline his head to minor lords unless
he happened to encounter Lord Nalion who was the king’s second cousin. It was
inappropriate for him to speak to the king unless Haziel spoke first, or at
least it was inappropriate in a formal audience. In a formal dinner, however,
he could speak as long as he inclined his head to the king, but sometimes it
was better to speak to the person seated next to the king and simply speak loud
enough for the king to hear.

On and on it went as it had gone in the weeks since
they’d left the Academy and headed for Rumar, the capital of the kingdom of
Ashtar. Osmund didn’t escape Sileon’s lectures either. He was to have his sword
tied to his sheath with a silk ribbon anytime they were in the keep. He should
keep his hand on his hilt whenever Jez was in a meeting with anyone ranked
lower than him. He could also do that with someone of equal rank, but only if
Jez wanted to deliver an insult. Under no circumstances, save to protect Jez,
was he to actually draw his weapon. Osmund’s eyes glazed over. Jez couldn’t
blame him. All the talk of swords was pointless. If it came down to it, Osmund
was more likely to fight with fire and wind than with a blade.

Jez didn’t know how long they waited. Sileon said it
wasn’t unexpected. With Jez being both a baron and, potentially, a powerful
mage, Haziel was probably making them wait as a way to establish dominance over
Jez. Dusan had done things like that when he’d received visitors, and Jez
hadn’t cared for it then either.

“Have you been able to find out why King Haziel
appointed Dusan as the Baron of Korand?”

Sileon shook his head. “I’m afraid not, my lord. I
would refrain from asking him, though. He might take that as an accusation.”

Jez grunted but didn’t reply. A few minutes later, an
old man with brown eyes and a hawk-like nose came into the room. Though shorter
than Osmund by nearly two feet, he managed to give the appearance of looking
down on the boy. He inclined his head to Jez. Jez remembered just enough of
Sileon’s lessons to know that was a calculated insult, but he didn’t let it
bother him.

“The king will
see you now.” He sniffed at Osmund. “You may bring your retainers, if you
wish.”

Sileon’s face
reddened. Any noble of Jez’s rank was permitted to bring his party before the
king unless specifically forbidden. By explicitly granting permission, the king
had implied Jez was equal to a minor lordling. Jez nodded to the chamberlain
and followed him into the hall. If being insulted was the worst thing that
happened to him, he’d be happy. He just hoped it didn’t turn out that Haziel,
King of all Ashtar and Defender of the Land, was his enemy.

King Haziel’s throne room was even
more opulent than the waiting room. Marble statues of the past kings of Ashtar
lined the walls. The vaulted ceiling had to be at least three stories up. Seven
windows, each twenty feet tall, held the stained glass images of the seven
pharim high lords. Jez’s eyes immediately locked on the image of Sariel, lord
of the Shadowguard. It was only by the blue robe that Jez recognized him. He
had deep blue eyes and wore a gentle smile. He looked more like a kindly old grandfather
than one of the most powerful beings in existence. Whoever had created it had
obviously never seen the real Sariel. Jez chuckled under his breath. It was
entirely possible that, aside from Osmund and himself, no living being had ever
seen the pharim lord.

They approached a pair of thrones made of gold and
ivory, though only one throne was occupied. Four guards in mail shirts and
steel helmets stood around them, men by the king’s throne and women by the one
that should’ve been occupied by the queen. A woman with dark brown skin and
black hair that went to her shoulders stood next to the throne. Like the king,
she wore deep purple robes, and a word from Sileon identified her as Villia,
the king’s chief mage. A boy a few years older than Jez himself with short red
hair and pale green eyes stood behind her, presumably her apprentice.