The Rift War: Zygradon Chronicles Book 5

By Michelle L. Levigne

Awakened from magical sleep, Emrillian Warhawk grew up in the modern, technological world of Moerta, 2000 years away from Quenlaque and Lygroes. There, the legends of Athrar Warhawk and Quenlaque, Braenlicach and the Zygradon were nothing but fanciful tales warped beyond all recognition. Raised by Mrillis the enchanter, she knew the truth, and sought out friends among the Archaics, who believed in the promise and prophecy of Quenlaque and the return of Athrar. Only they had access to star-metal, the Threads, and the magic of the Rey'kil.

Then the authorities threatened their sanctuary to confiscate star-metal to use in weapons of war. Emrillian and Mrillis fled back to Lygroes through the tunnel under the sea, accompanied by Grego, a friend with inborn magic who had sworn loyalty to Athrar and Quenlaque. In Lygroes, where only 200 years had passed, they joined forces with Baedrix, descendant of Lycen, and prepared for the awakening of Athrar, the dismantling of the dome of Threads that kept Lygroes hidden from the modern world, and the final battle with Edrout, son of the Nameless One.

With the help of Archaics who crossed to Lygroes and awakened their own inborn magic, Emrillian, Baedrix, and Grego set out to retrieve Braenlicach from hiding and find the lost Zygradon to heal and awaken Athrar. Time was their enemy as Edrout gathered his forces and armies from the modern world surrounded them -- and failure could mean the destruction of the entire world. This title is published by Uncial Press and is distributed worldwide by Untreed Reads.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Untreed Reads
• Release date: Apr 15, 2011
• ISBN: 9781601740540

Michelle L. Levigne

On the road to publication, Michelle fell into fandom in college, and has 40+ stories in various SF and fantasy universes. She has a BA in theater/English from Northwestern College and a MA focused on film and writing from Regent University. She has published 100+ books and novellas with multiple small presses, in science fiction and fantasy, YA, and sub-genres of romance. Her official launch into publishing came with winning first place in the Writers of the Future contest in 1990. She has been a finalist in the EPIC Awards competition multiple times, winning with Lorien in 2006 and The Meruk Episodes, I-V, in 2010. Her most recent claim to fame is being named a finalist in the SF category of the 2018 Realm Award competition, in conjunction with the Realm Makers convention. Her training includes the Institute for Children’s Literature; proofreading at an advertising agency; and working at a community newspaper. She is a tea snob and freelance edits for a living ([e-mail] for info/rates), but only enough to give her time to write. Her newest crime against the literary world is to be co-managing editor at Mt. Zion Ridge Press. Be afraid … be very afraid. www.Mlevigne.com www.michellelevigne.blogspot.com @MichelleLevigne

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The Rift War

The Zygradon Chronicles #5

By

Michelle L. Levigne

Uncial Press       Aloha, Oregon

2010

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and events described herein are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

ISBN 13: 978-1-60174-054-0

ISBN 10: 1-60174-054-9

The Rift War

Copyright © 2011 by Michelle L. Levigne

Cover design

Copyright © 2011 by Judith B. Glad

Background: NASA photograph by Robert Gendler

All rights reserved. Except for use in review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the author or publisher.

Published by Uncial Press,

an imprint of GCT, Inc.

Visit us at http://www.uncialpress.com

Prophecy

Before the ending of all things worthwhile and strong, there will be three drops of blood born to the bloody sword.

The daughters shall walk in light and be strong, but the son shall overstep them.

One shall serve and one abominate and one will triumph.

One will sleep and one shall wait and one shall suffer.

They shall do so forever, and yet even to forever there is an ending.

The blood drawn from the third shall open the doors and smooth the road and waken the sleeper.

Protect the strong and vigilant, so that the three drops of blood may come.

Though you look for the abomination, you will not find her until she has destroyed innocence. Keep her from the blood drawn from the blood, or all is lost.

Chapter One

Science Directorate Headquarters

Goarlotte-Welcairn

Moerta

2,000 years after the defeat of the Nameless One

It works. Grego Cavvon sat back in his chair and watched the data stream across his desktop screen in his lab in the Directorate's main building. In the back of his mind, he heard the cheers of the crowd as he defeated the obstacle course in the last Archaics tournament he had participated in.

Finally. Sevron Kayn, the Science Directorate's liaison to the military, and Grego's co-leader in the star-metal reclamation project, braced himself in the doorway of the office. With his lips pursed and his forehead wrinkled, only the brightness of his eyes indicated that he was pleased. Grego had remarked to some of their teammates in the project that Kayn had two expressions--his furious scowl and his pleased scowl.

What do you mean, 'finally'? We're half a moon ahead of schedule. Grego turned back to the screen. He would rather watch the data spilling in from the sensor satellites than Kayn's swarthy face, anyway.

"Your schedule. He stayed in the doorway, and that suited Grego just fine. What?" he snapped, when Grego flinched at a flare of blue light that appeared on the portion of his screen that displayed a map of the coastline.

We've found a sizable deposit of star-metal already. He stroked his fingertips across the edge of his desk, bringing up the touchpad so he could tap commands into the system and get verification, or resolve what had to be a major blip in the program.

The sensors specifically designed to find deposits of star-metal had taken moons of work to design, refine, and then program. Grego wouldn't have reached his position of power so soon in his career at the Science Directorate if his graduate thesis hadn't focused on tapping into the radiation-heavy metal and finding ways to purify the ancient scourge and tame it, to use as a power source. He had taken far too much mockery and scorn from his fellow students for insisting that the ancient legends of Athrar Warhawk and Quenlaque had some element of truth in them, and star-metal could be tamed and used. He had been able to prove one foundation theory after another, and the mocking turned to silence, then interest, then support. Success so early in this stage of the project was beyond his wildest dreams, but a niggling sense of unease grew stronger as he watched the verification data spill across the screen.

Isn't that what we wanted? Kayn crossed from the door to stand next to Grego's chair and looked across the desktop screen, one meter deep by two meters wide, and every square centimeter covered with data streams; graphs, charts, satellite imagery, all updated constantly.

It's agreed that all the star-metal on the planet, other than the refined bits lying in museums, is either in the center of the Death Zone, or else so deep underwater it will take robot submersibles to bring it up. But according to this, there is enough star-metal within twenty kilometers of us to... He shivered and a surge of nausea took his voice.

To what? He leaned his too-lean frame past Grego, breaking his well-known rule of protecting his personal space, to tap the square of screen where the troubling data appeared. He dragged the square across the desk to bring it closer to the edge, to read it easier. The map was attached to it, and came with the data, while the other graphs and charts rearranged themselves on the desktop.

To make two LAVs, at the very least, Grego blurted, when he wanted to say, Enough swords, knives, and spearheads to arm every Archaic within five kilometers.

His membership in the ranks of historical re-enactors devoted to the days of Athrar Warhawk and the battle against the Encindi had been a subject of mockery by Kayn and his supporters in the Science Directorate. If they hadn't needed Grego's genius to develop the sensors and the process for refining star-metal, they would have lobbied to have him ejected from the Science Directorate altogether, not just from the reclamation team.

The hard and bitter truth, for both sides of the equation, was that Grego Cavvon was necessary if the government of Goarlotte-Welcairn wanted to gain the upper hand in the centuries of stalemate against the fourteen other countries that made up the continent of Moerta. Rumors said several of their unfriendly neighbors had developed dangerous new weapons. Goarlotte-Welcairn needed to be able to not only defend itself, but intimidate its neighbors into being peaceful and respectful.

Can you imagine? Kayn continued studying the map, tapping commands to refine the details and increase the satellite images as the data continued to feed in. An entire fleet of Land-Assault-Vehicles armored and powered with star-metal? He snorted and glanced at Grego, and that greedy, delighted gleam in his eyes turned to mockery while his scowl never changed. I'd wager that would trump a couple dozen magical swords you and your play-actor friends keep nattering about.

Most definitely. He shrugged and fought to keep his expression calm. He hoped the other man was just mocking him, and he wasn't hinting that he had spy-bugs to listen in on Grego when he got together with his friends.

Here we go. His scowl deepened. I swear... Cavvon, is that your home?

My home? A huff of attempted laughter escaped him. Grego choked as he leaned a little closer to Kayn and realized that satellite imagery did indeed show the sprawling wooded estate on the rocky coast that he had inherited from his grandparents. Now I know those sensors aren't working. If I had star-metal anywhere on my property -

It's your neighbors' estate. Kayn tapped the image, then traced his fingertip along the faint silver line superimposed by the computer to show the boundary between the Cavvon estate and the grounds of the estate owned by Illis and Emmi Rakkell, Grego's closest friends and fellow Archaics. Old Master Illis and his granddaughter had been part of his life since the day he came to live with his grandparents, orphaned at the age of nine.

If the Rakkells had star-metal, I should think they would tell me. I spend enough time there, and I've bored both of them often enough with my theories. He flinched when Kayn's head snapped around and that light in his pale blue eyes burned with the paranoid viciousness that made stronger men resign from the Directorate. Star-metal is a favorite topic of Archaics, and Master Illis and his granddaughter are passionate Archaics.

That's right. The fire cooled and Kayn's lip curled upwards for a moment in scorn. Ironic.

What is? Grego stared at the data that had settled down and no longer flickered and adjusted. He couldn't make sense of the numbers, even though he was the one who had designed the sensors and wrote the program for the computer that controlled it all.

Your Archaics friends are sitting on top of enough star-metal to poison the entire country. According to the lore, of course. He leaned over Grego again, commandeering the touchpad, and tapped in the commands to copy the information to his desk in the laboratory next door.

Then the sensors must be wrong.

We can't risk that. He paced several steps away, arms crossed over his chest, almost as if he embraced himself with the delight that gleamed through his scowl again. It will take at least three days of paperwork and convincing the right authorities, to get us clearance to go in and tie up the property through eminent domain and national security.

You could just knock at the front door and ask Master Rakkell if he will let you survey his property.

And risk a security leak? Kayn snorted derisively. If it wouldn't cause so much fuss to go in and just haul everyone away, we would do that. There are too many soft-hearted fools in the upper ranks who would protest a completely necessary step for the security of our country. We have to seize the property and evict the old man and his granddaughter legally, without leaking any dangerous information.

If there were even a tenth of the amount of star-metal indicated by the sensors, there should be no one alive. That much radiation...

Why don't you figure out why, then, while I take care of clearing the way for our next step in the program? Kayn stalked out of the room without a backward glance.

Grego didn't waste his time glaring at the man. He copied the data to his home computer system and then shot off a report to his and Kayn's superior, along with a strong recommendation that the project team stick to its plan and schedule. Once the sensors had been proven reliable, the fleet would take off across the sea to the Death Zone, where Archaics believed the continent of Lygroes had once lain, to brave the radiation and poisonous gases, obtain star-metal, and begin the next step--refining the radioactive metal and taming it for defensive and power-generating use.

Faint images born of memories and imagination, yet totally indecipherable, came to him as he worked. They generated an ache in his temples and a churning sensation low in his gut. He thought of his childhood friend, Emmi, showing him her skill in working fine steel to make beautiful yet strong weapons and pieces of armor for their Archaics friends. Legend said the Rey'kil enchanters had tamed star-metal and forged it into jewelry, weapons and armor, to enhance their imbrose. Grego wondered what Emmi would do with a tamed chunk of star-metal.

If I had enough, I would make myself a suit of armor and go after Edrout's head, Emmi said in his memory. She had been maybe twelve years old, he had been sixteen, and they had laughed together at the image of a silvery-blue suit of armor gleaming with an eerie light that could burn the enemy without harming its wearer.

Grego's headache met the churning in his gut. The workday was nearly over, so no one remarked on his leaving early for the first time in recorded memory.

Except Brysta. Her personal radar and impeccable timing had prompted him to remark more than once that if anyone in the modern world had imbrose, she proved it. With her long, white-gold hair and green-blue eyes and slim, elegant carriage, she could have played Queen of Snows at any Archaics gathering. However, she refused to participate in the tournaments to earn the points to gain that elevated rank. It was a testament to her affection for Grego that she actually attended two or three tournaments every year with him.

What's wrong? Brysta met Grego just as he reached the slide-walk leading to the underground transport station. She hooked her arm through his and clasped his wrist between forefinger and thumb, checking his pulse. You look ready to collapse.

Probably a short-term bug. My stomach feels like it slid into an alternate dimension. Grego tried to smile. Through his throbbing headache and nausea, he tried to remember if they had plans for tonight. Images of Emmi Rakkell pushed through the spinning that tried to knock him off his feet. Maybe he was supposed to visit her, to plan their Archaics group's battle strategy for the next tournament? He couldn't think straight.

Well don't give it to me. She grimaced, putting a lie to her disgusted expression when she brushed a kiss on his cheek and kept a grip on his arm until he reached his cradle in the transport area. Go home and knock it out. Word just came through that my team is supposed to start preliminary preparations. Her eyes sparkled as she gently guided him into the front bench seat of his transport. We need you if we want any kind of success. A teasing smirk lit her face. And I have to admit, I'm just arrogant enough to enjoy the prestige of being the team leader's sweetheart.

Co-leader, Grego mumbled, and wiped the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve. And I'll skewer anybody who says you're ambitious or arrogant.

I didn't say I was ambitious. Brysta brushed her fingertips across his cheek, then stepped back and slapped the controls for the hatch of his transport. Feel better. She kissed her fingertips and flipped them at him as the transport powered up.

Grego nodded and closed his eyes, shivering with the force of the headache trying to split his head open. The overpowering need to go talk to the Rakkells surprised him.

He was glad to let the robot system carry him home, while he curled up on the seat, sweating and shivering in privacy. His discomfort decreased as he drew nearer to home, so he was able to think clearly and rationally, and plan.

And make a hard, possibly career-damaging decision as to where his loyalties lay.

He owed the Rakkells the chance to do the patriotic thing and voluntarily leave their home, turning it over to the Science Directorate for the good of their country. He was sure he could persuade them, if he could only have the time to explain the situation. Grego suspected if he emphasized the wonder of finding real star-metal here on the coast of Moerta, they would be easier to persuade. There was no need to dislocate them, confiscate their home, and threaten them with incarceration and prosecution if they resisted or talked to the wrong people.

When he reached his home, he climbed out of the transportation cart in the main courtyard and hurried up the steps to the estate entrance. The front door opened automatically when he was two steps away from it, and closed behind him, while the cart parked itself. Grego nearly crossed through the house to the back door and headed through the forest to the Rakkell estate. He stopped himself, backed up, and headed up the stairs to his office. He had to log into his system and open the data and at least present an illusion of being hard at work, as usual. Just in case Kayn decided to check on him.

An hour later, as the sunset painted the tall trees with gold and crimson, Grego finally escaped out the back door, with a detour to the kitchen. His stomach had settled enough to remind him he hadn't eaten since breakfast, caught up in his work to the point of ignoring the rumbles and pinching. Probably part of his headache and nausea could be blamed on low blood sugar. He snatched up a couple meatrolls to eat cold, with a large dollop of fire paste, as he followed the path through the forest. He had changed his clothes to dark, worn-comfortable, casual tunic, trousers, and heavy boots, suitable for long walks through the woods at night or riding bareback, if Emmi was in the mood for a moonlight ride. He never knew what sort of adventure would occur while he visited Master Illis and his granddaughter. Whatever had been tormenting him, it was almost gone by the time he reached the boundary between his estate and the Rakkells'.

The fiery taste in his mouth turned to real heat, shooting through his entire body, freezing him as he put one foot over the imaginary line. Grego choked, spat out the last of his meatroll, and dropped the half-roll still in his hand. He went to his knees, crossing completely into Rakkell property. Dangerous memories shot up from the dark, locked regions in the back of his mind, colliding with a sense of urgency that explained the faded headache and nausea.

The half of his life that he left behind when he went to the Science Directorate to work had awakened, rising to reclaim his mind and heart.

I hate this, he growled. Then he grinned at the incredible feeling of freedom and exhilaration that shot through him, the same every time the locked doors in his mind slammed open and the secrets he carried returned to his consciousness.

All the wonders of being a person of power and influence at the Science Directorate and the knowledge he was a certified genius were nothing, compared to the knowledge that magic was real, and the Estall had granted a small portion to him to use.

Grego staggered to his feet and took a deep breath. He stretched out his right arm, snapped his fingers, and held his hand out, palm up. Blue sparks danced across his fingertips, and answering sparks opened a panel in the stone pillar of the arched opening in the raw stone wall that surrounded the Rakkell estate. A thumb ring of woven threads of star-metal, glowing softly blue and silver, flew through the air to land on his palm. He inhaled deeply, feeling another missing piece of himself had come home, as he slipped the ring onto his thumb. His inborn imbrose flared to life.

By the grace and mercy of the Estall, he whispered, renewing his vows as he turned to continue down the path. "By the imbrose in my blood. I do swear my life, my strength, my honor to the Warhawk, and to his daughter, my queen."

Grego's euphoria vanished with the force of a house collapsing. He usually didn't mind the physical reaction when Mrillis' mind-shield spell went dormant, every time he crossed onto the property. The wonder and awe of sharing such a world-shattering secret made up for the price he had to pay. After all, he had requested the mind-shield when he earned his position at the Science Directorate.

Illis Rakkell and Emmi were in actuality Mrillis the enchanter and Emrillian Warhawk, daughter of Athrar. Sixteen years ago, the spell that protected Emrillian and let her sleep through the ages had been attacked and destroyed by Edrout, son of Megassa and the Nameless One. Mrillis had brought Emrillian to Moerta, to raise her in the modern world and prepare her for the day she would return to Lygroes, to lead the Valors of Quenlaque in defending their land against Edrout and his Encindi barbarians, and prepare for the return of Athrar.

Grego had met them only a few days after coming to live with his grandparents, just an old man and a little girl, five years old, having a picnic in the forest. He might have continued exploring the forest, lost in the haze of pain from the death of his parents, but Mrillis had been drawing pictures with light, making Emrillian laugh and the Threads dance. Grego had seen the light and the Threads and felt the humming of power in the air that enclosed the clearing, and he stayed, fascinated, pulled out of his misery.

By seeing the lights that day, he had proven he had imbrose, and that had been enough for Mrillis to listen to his heart, to his sense of destiny, and take the lonely, hurting boy under his wing. Grego had been included in Emrillian's lessons about the history of Quenlaque, the Rey'kil, magic, and warfare. He had investigated the Archaics, devoted to scholarship, delving through the many false legends Mrillis and Meghianna, Queen of Snows had sown through the centuries, to protect the truth. It had been the natural thing to join the Archaics and search for others who had imbrose, and when he was sure they were trustworthy, to introduce Mrillis and Emrillian to them. The plan was to recruit from those trusted friends among the Archaics who had proven themselves honorable, skilled, and devoted to Quenlaque, and take them down the tunnel beneath the sea someday, to help in the defense of Lygroes.

It's happening too soon, Grego muttered, as the upper towers of the Rakkell estate became visible through the thick forest. He had no idea how he would slow the progress on the star-metal reclamation project, now that the sensors he had developed were operational.

Dangerously operational. He hadn't expected them to work so well, or so soon.

The irony was that Emrillian and Mrillis had encouraged him to stay involved in the project. They felt it would be better for him to be at the center of this threat to the integrity of the dome of Threads that protected Lygroes and kept it safe in far distant history. If he had resigned his position, he could have come under suspicion of treachery by the Science Directorate and Kayn's paranoid compatriots, and he wouldn't be in a position now to warn Emrillian and Mrillis when their worst fears came true.

Which he was about to do.

He was so busy with his thoughts, trying to frame the right words to share the news, that he didn't notice the streamers of gold, silver, and blue light swirling around Emrillian's workshop until he ran into them. They were as tangible as streamers of spun sugar, brushing against his skin and startling him out of his thoughts.

Grego 's bare skin prickled a little where the light had touched it. Amazed as he always was, even after all these years, he reached out one hand, brushing his fingers against a particularly vivid streak of royal blue. Sparks fizzed and spun around his fingers where they penetrated the light. Still moving forward, he pressed his hand deeper into the light, enjoying the somewhat pleasant, faintly ticklish sensation. Such a strong reaction among the Threads protecting the Rakkell estate meant only one thing: Emrillian was at work at the forge in her workshop, taking another step in the project she and Grego and Mrillis had shared for three years now.

The construction of a suit of armor entirely made of star-metal, for Emrillian to wear in hand-to-hand combat with Edrout. She had sworn at the age of twelve to destroy the enemy enchanter so her father would not have to face the man again.

Grego stepped out of the forest and into the intricate gardens surrounding the main house of the Rakkell estate. The lights swirled and spun in a dome around the large workshop that sat a good hundred meters away from the manor house. Mrillis' voice came from the workshop, answered a moment later by Emrillian's rich alto. Relieved to be able to share this perilous news as soon as possible, Grego pushed through the barrier of light and came out the other side, feeling as if he had taken several whiffs of pure oxygen. His skin tingled all over as if scrubbed clean. He pushed the door open, and knowing how Emrillian worked, he moved quietly and slowly. It was not wise to distract or startle her while she worked star-metal.

Emrillian stood in the center of a globe of silvery-blue light, eyes closed, hands spread midway between shoulder and waist. A glowing, molten mass of silver-blue metal, almost the same color as her eyes, churned in mid-air, suspended by green and white streaks of light coming from her fingers. She moved her left hand out, and the metal streamed out and flattened into a sheet. She raised her right hand, just a little, and pointed with her index finger, twirling it, and the sheet of glowing metal folded in on itself, again and again, as if it were a paper being compacted into a packet. Then she flattened it into another sheet, and again folded it. Flattened and folded.

Grego remembered to breathe. He had watched her do the exact same thing not two moons ago to a piece of fine steel, working it and tempering it and folding it, then shaping the hot metal with a stone hammer until she formed it into a thick cuff to protect an archer against the snap of the bow string. Emrillian had quite a reputation as a metalworker among their Archaics friends, and the bow guard, engraved with the image of a drakag, had been a gift for a friend of theirs when she graduated to