Read Fenturi Fate (Spacestalker Saga Book 1) for Free Online Page A

Stalkers would be a force to be reckoned with, but those starships…”
    Zedrax agreed but couldn’t do more than cough, and his shuddering body caused the gathering to pause. The royal healer drew close and soothed him with a rank-smelling ointment. Then he gently wiped the blood from Zedrax’s lips and fled to the corner of the room once more.
    “Leave us,” Zedrax rasped to the men around the bed. Garen turned to leave with the rest of them, eager to depart from his king’s distasteful company, no doubt. “Not you, Zebram, or you, Garen… my son ,” he added in stronger voice.
    The crowd stilled for a moment before the councilmen hurried from the room to announce to one and all that Zedrax had finally acknowledged his eldest son. But as Zedrax had known, his words had come far too late to influence Garen, who stared down at him with loathing.
    “Why did you do that?” Garen asked in a deep voice filled with distrust.
    “It was nigh past time I made that right,” Zedrax said tiredly. He wished he could stop time, that he might take what he had learned through age and experience and apply it to the foolish man who had sired this proud warrior.
    Zebram nodded. “Yes, way past time.” He reached up to pat his older brother on the shoulder, but Garen stalked to the other side of the room.
    “What do you do now, old man? You think to make right a lifetime of lessons burned well into me?” Garen asked in a cold voice. “I will do my part to fend off the Ragil Horde. That acknowledgement was completely unnecessary.”
    “But Garen, I owed it not only to you but to the kingdom as well. If not for your mother…” Zedrax ended in another coughing fit.
    At mention of his mother, Garen went completely still, his hand perilously close to the hilt of his sword.
    The king noted the gesture as well as Zebram’s uneasy glance. “Hold, son.”
    “I am not your son,” Garen said through gritted teeth. “And I never will be.”
    “Just listen, I have not the time to argue,” Zedrax said before racking coughs shook his frail body.
    “So it is that weakness and death lay upon you and you seek some peace? Find it beyond, Your Grace,” Garen mocked. “I’ve got nothing but disgust for your pitiful frailty.” He stormed from the room, his temper apparently goaded past reason.
    Zedrax watched him go with tears in his eyes. “I tried. I did try.” He closed his eyes. “Zebram, you must tell him how sorry I am that I treated him so poorly. Make him see that the fault lay not within him, but in me, in my fear of the unknown. Let him know that I see him now—” Zedrax gasped as pain sucked his breath from him. He barely managed to whisper, “Know that I will always love and be proud of you,” before he took a final, shuddering breath, and faded into the beyond.

    Zebram sat next to his father, tears coursing down his face. The king had fallen and would never again offer him sound advice, would never cross swords with him on a training field or play Bylaran cross-cards over a round of bitter ale.
    And the Ragil Horde would come again. Yes, he’d heard the rumors and had even gone so far as to try to study the old battle. But few texts remained on the subject. He needed advice only the ancients could give.
    Zebram sighed and placed his father’s slack hands upon his chest. Now he not only had to deal with grief over his beloved father’s death, but he had to shoulder the responsibilities of the kingdom as well. W ith news that the Ragil Horde was again upon them, he would need everyone’s help, including Ren’s.
    With a tired sigh, Zebram moved to the window and pushed aside the heavy drapery concealing the darkness of the room. He stared down at the kingdom, thinking of his new responsibilities. His father had made many mistakes in his arrogant life, but he had given Vinopol a time of prosperity and even peace.
    But at what cost? Zebram remembered tales from some of his old arms’ masters of the bloody battles