Page 1 of The Laws of Nature (Heirs of the Empire #3)

HAROK

S ometimes he struggles even to remember his name. But today he knows he is Harok. He is the son of Irgo Lal. He is his father’s named heir.

He is in his bedchamber in Urynwud. The great fortress hidden deep in the forest.

The room is dark. Shutters closed and no candles or fires lit.

He lies in his bed. He cannot move. He is chained.

Chains bind him to his bed at wrist and ankle.

His chest hurts. The skin there is hot and painful.

He remembers something. The cause of that pain.

Something was carved onto his breast. A symbol.

What has been done to him? And why is he here? Why is he chained?

He is the son of Irgo Lal. Where is Irgo Lal now? Why has his father not freed him? How has he allowed this to be done?

He is sixteen summers. He is not a boy. He is a man. He is a man and his father is…

Then he remembers it with a wave of grief, distant, like a storm on the horizon. Lal is long dead. Lal was weak and Lal died. So who sits the throne of Urynwud if not him?

His uncle. He remembers. His uncle Vahul reigns as regent.

No, no. His uncle reigns no more. Vahul is dead. Harok killed him.

Killed him after…

What did he do? What has he done?

He has made a terrible mistake. He has done something that cannot be undone.

Why can’t he remember? Is his mind broken?

He fights to free a memory. Any memory. He sees a dark shape, larger than a man. He fought the demon. He fought Diazuul.

But something is wrong. Something is wrong. Did he fail? If he did not win, how is he living? He tries to remember what happened in that pit. That demon’s lair. But he cannot. It is a memory he cannot face. He can recall only the smell: sour, damp earth, burning meat.

He feels something inside him. A squirming anger. A great rage he has to fight to contain.

He roars with frustration.

He struggles with the chains. He twists and twists. But he cannot free himself and he cannot free the memory of what happened to him to bring him here.

How long does he remain in his bed? Unable to escape. Unable to think. He cannot tell.

But there comes a scraping noise as the door to his chamber is opened.

At first all he is aware of is the light, dazzling, so bright it's painful.

It takes him a moment to realise a woman stands in the doorway.

Tall and slender with a distinctly elegant bearing.

She is dressed in long green robes. She wears a crown carved from wood and decorated with small black gemstones, glittering in the light that comes with her through the doorway.

That crown is his crown. She wears the crown of the Irgo of the Forests of Amber.

Her long hair is white. She steps closer. His eyes adjust and he realises the blinding light is a single candle held by the woman. Its flickering flame dances on her face. He knows her. Her face is lined and weathered with age. Her dark eyes full of concern.

His voice sounds scratchy when he speaks. He hasn’t used his voice for some time.

He says, “Mo-mother?”

The woman looks at him. She sets the candle down and bends over the bed. The chains that hold him clank.

“Harok.” Her voice breaks with emotion.

As his mother embraces him, Harok can see two more women in green standing watching in the open doorway of the chamber.

“Harok,” she says again, speaking into his bare shoulder, breath damp on his skin. “You know me. Finally, you know me. My dear, Harok. My boy. It is truly you. My Irgo.” She pulls back from the embrace to look into Harok’s eyes.

“Mother,” Harok says again. “Mother, why… imprisoned? Why… chained?” The words come out slow. Each one an effort as if he has to remember how to shape them.

Harok’s mother shakes her head. “It has been half a dozen moons since we locked you in here,” she says.

“We had to perform many rituals to bring you back.” As she speaks she touches the rawness on his chest. “But this has taken. It has held and made you whole again. We cannot protect Urynwud without you much longer. Please, you are strong enough now. You must come with me.”

This statement does not answer many of Harok’s questions.

But he feels too dazed and shaky to speak further.

The women from the doorway come forward at his mother’s beckoning and unlock his chains.

Harok gets up from the bed, swaying a little as he stands.

He is naked. His limbs feel like they have not been used in a long time. Each step is awkward and painful.

His mother and the other women dress him in boots and breeches.

They strap a leather harness around his chest and he winces when it touches whatever is sore there.

He looks down. A symbol is carved on his left breast. A large glyph almost completely covering the muscle with swirls and arcs.

The mark is still reddened, the scabbing black and purple.

Around it, his chest is bare, shaved of the hair that covers the other side of his broad upper body.

His mother takes the crown from her head and steps back to look at him. She nods, but he sees her swallow too. Does she fear him?

But she reaches up to place the crown upon his head and turns away, urging him to follow.

He does so, and as he steps out into the corridor the sudden rush of daylight seems to pierce his eyes like knives. The shock so great he sways and almost falls.

But then, he feels the warmth of the sunlight on his skin. He knows he is in Urynwud. He feels the familiar flagstones under his feet. He knows this place. This is home.

He doesn’t remember why he was locked away in his chambers. But he does know he belongs here. He looks down at his boots on the stone floor, worn smooth by centuries of Solwen walking this way, and follows his mother to the Sacred Hall.

He walks into the crowded room to gasps.

His people, the Solwen of the Amber Forest, back away from him, giving him a clear path to the dais.

He shuffles through it, skin prickling. He walks past the sacred tree Susal-ur-Bellan, feeling the blessing of passing through its shadow on the floor, and on, through the hall until he reaches the dais, a wide raised platform.

There is a throne upon the dais. His throne. His throne won by spilt blood. On this dais he slew his usurper uncle Irgo Vahul .

Behind Harok. His mother whispers, “Go up there. Take the throne. Tell them who you are. Tell them you have slain that demon.”

With every step, Harok feels himself growing stronger.

He stamps up onto the dais and turns around.

“I am… I… I am Harok of the Amber Forest,” he says in a voice he feels he hasn’t used for a long time.

“Irgo of the Solwen. Son of Irgo Lal.” The boards of the dais feel more solid beneath his feet as he speaks.

The world is sharper, realler, clearer. The sigil carved on his breast burns like fire.

His voice is louder when he speaks next.

He speaks with the voice of a king, “I have slain the demon Diazuul. I have returned the Solwen to the rightful worship of the Triple God. The Beasts, the Trees, the Earth.” He makes the gesture of the Triple God as he speaks.

“I have freed my people from the worship of a demon.”

He finishes with a roar. The crowd cheers and Harok can feel the blood pounding in his head. The sound is so loud Harok’s ears are ringing.

Below him, Harok’s mother puts her hand on her heart and kneels. She touches her forehead to the floor. The whole room follows.

Harok basks in it for a moment, seeing his people paying him tribute, supplicant before him to accept him as Irgo, before crying out, “Rise. Rise Solwen of the Amber Forest.” The Solwen begin to get to their feet as he continues, “Rise for we are free once more. None will worship that demon again. I declare it against the will of your Irgo.”

Someone calls out, “Hail Harok, Unkillable Irgo, Demon Slayer!”

The entire hall takes up the cry, cheering and proclaiming Harok their Irgo, their great heroic leader.

Harok’s mother steps up on to the dais and moves to embrace him. “What have you done?,” she says into his hair.

What has he done? But as he thinks that he remembers. With a sick sense of dread. He remembers. He understands the truth of it.

As his mother steps back and Harok looks out into the cheering crowd, he feels something dark inside him.

Liar.

A guard steps forward. “Your Majesty,” he says with a bow. “I have been charged to ask you, what you would have done with the remaining Blood Priests in the dungeons of Urynwud, awaiting your decision about their fate.”

Harok turns to his mother. “Have these Blood Priests renounced their worship of the Demon King Diazuul?”

She shakes her head.

“Then execute them all,” Harok says.

The crowd cheers again.

A voice inside Harok whispers.

You’ll never execute them all.