A Kingdom Of Shadows

By Shaun Kilgore

The great contest is days away. Alan Serandos, an ex-soldier with no future prospects and no hope, plans to win. The prize: The hand of Princess Mariel and a place in the royal family. Meanwhile dark forces have plotted to disrupt the contest and by doing so threaten to topple the kingdom of Calos. An ancient pact will be broken and Mariel will find herself a pawn in a greater game of noble houses and malevolent magic.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Founders House Publishing LLC
• Release date: Sep 11, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301344994

Shaun Kilgore

Shaun Kilgore is the author of various works of fantasy, science fiction, and a number of nonfiction works. His books appear in both print and ebook editions. He has also published numerous short stories and collections. Shaun is the editor of MYTHIC: A Quarterly Science Fiction & Fantasy Magazine. He lives in eastern Illinois.

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A KINGDOM OF SHADOWS

The Dawnbringer War: Book One

Shaun Kilgore

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About the Author

Chapter One

The Big Gamble

The line of would-be suitors stretched up the long and winding street. Its course crisscrossed the hillside city to the palace perched on the summit. Princes and commoners alike, and even the most unsavory sorts of scum, were slowly winding up the path, taking a chance at one of the greatest opportunities in the kingdom of Calos: The chance to win the hand of the princess of the realm and receive both wealth and a bounty of titles. Most importantly it was a chance to seize power and influence in a world in which both such were hardly doled out in equal measures. It was a fool’s gambit, and the odds were decidedly against most of the men who stood in the long line.

Alan Serandos wasn’t anyone special. He was just another man desperate enough to put his name in the rolls. As the procession lurched into motion again, the young man adjusted the straps on his knapsack and trudged up the weathered stones. He had joined the ranks of suitors at dawn and by a glance at the sky it was nearly noon. During that part of the morning, Alan was sharing the shade with several others. The heat and blinding light of the sun were mostly hidden behind the slopes. At this stage of the journey, the vendors had set up at different levels of the city busily spreading their heady aromas to the mostly captive crowd of men. Alan’s stomach rumbled but he tried to ignore it. He had little money left for the vendors’ fare. He would wait to sample from the king’s legendary largesse.

It was said that King Marlos treated the suitors to a sumptuous banquet, with many courses of rich, succulent foods, drenched in the exotic herbs and spices that made Calos the richest of the Five Kingdoms. Alan pondered the scope of such a meal. It was enough food to feed hundreds. Only those who had signed on for the contest were allowed into the palace. This year’s contest appeared to be the most popular one to date. Alan listened to the whispers from those who marched up behind him. A glance back down boggled the mind. Many more were working up the hill, the word carrying on that sea of hopefuls. One hundred and ten. That was how many had committed their very lives to the contest. Alan learned something else too. This year it would be King Marlos’ youngest daughter, the Princess Mariel, who would be the prize.

The tradition was an ancient one in Calos. Though Alan didn’t know the sort of details that would satisfy a scholar, he had the basic story—the one told to every young man in the city and in the province beyond the walls of Tuvale. For centuries, every king of Calos was commanded to offer any daughters that he should bear as a tribute to people during her sixteenth year. The contest was only held when there was a girl child of the right age born to the royal family. Every man between the age of sixteen and twenty-five years of age in the kingdom would be given the opportunity to marry into the royal family. If the tale ended there, then it would sound like a nothing more than a harmless risk like a lottery or gambling on the horses at the races in the Circles.

In truth, those who became suitors would undergo a series of deadly trials to win the hand of the maiden. There was only one chance to do it. Those who failed were summarily executed. It was a terrible risk that kept many away. If the time of the contest went by without a winner, the king would be forced to send his daughter away. Only rumors surrounded that part of the story. Alan had heard his share of rumors.

Things better not considered, he thought.

Instead, Alan kept his eyes fixed on the jagged shapes of the fortress walls above. The battlements were adorned with grotesque creatures, some of which reminded him of tales told at night. Children’s stories. Nothing more. They seemed much closer now. Alan looked up at the retreating figures and those coming up behind, the hunched forms appearing in all shapes and sizes, wearing all manner and quality of clothing. Not one had more with him than he could carry on his back. Not even weapons were allowed inside. Alan brushed a hand across the empty knife scabbard at his waist. There was a certain grim determination in the way the men walked, the set of their jaws and unsmiling expressions reflected the gravity of their new circumstances. One and all knew the truth of the suitor’s life—short though it was. It was one last chance to start anew.

The pace of the suitors had quickened. Alan kept up so he wouldn’t be knocked off the path. Some suitors had been known to dispose of their competition despite clear edicts against some behavior. The road to the palace was a treacherous incline, and men had fallen—or perhaps been thrown—from the heights in the past. Alan kept towards the inner track of the cobblestone surface and dared not pause one moment longer than necessary. Perhaps another hour went by before he could catch glimpses of the broad gates of the palace. The road crossed several wide boulevards as it bisected the prosperous quarters of Tuvale. The traffic on the streets was allowed to cross at set intervals during which the suitors were forced to wait. King Marlos’ soldiers kept order at the crossing points. Just beyond the wall of pikemen, Alan could see the spectators jostling for glimpses of friends, family, and maybe rivals.

There was no one waiting to see Alan. No one cared what his fate would be other than himself. There would be no mourners and no sorrow felt by anybody. Alan Serandos was alone in Calos—alone in all the world.

Once the traffic had flowed for a few minutes, the soldiers withdrew the barrier and the suitors continued their march to the palace. Not so far now, thought Alan.

He could see the walls of the palace clearly now. The shiny black stones at the base gave way to more of the jagged adornments. The gargoyles and other beasts of legend watched them approach the seat of Marlos’ rule. Their remorseless gazes seemed to mock them and seek to rend to pieces their feeble courage. Alan was taller than some of the others in the procession so he could see the others well ahead of them disappearing through the gates. Scores of soldiers were positioned along the path now, keeping watch over the newcomers, their gazes seeming just as unfeeling behind their helmets as the stone monsters above. The other suitors had been looking about just as he had. Maybe thinking the same things as he. They were part of an unlikely brotherhood. Whether sons of Calosan nobility or the lowest butcher’s son, these were men who had no options worth mentioning. Comrades in a suffering soon to be put to an end. A noble end it would be, thought Alan. Nothing more or less than a grand quest with the hand of a fair maiden at its end. The stuff of fairy tales and legends.

The walls loomed large and seemed poised to fall down upon them all. The gates raised more than half the height of the walls, some twenty feet up. Open as they were, Alan could see how thick the iron-enforced timbers were. Each door was opened by a patrol of soldiers and horses. They were all there standing at attention, dressed in burnished armor that shone in the sunlight. Their mounts were equally presented in decorative dress that added further elements of ceremony to the occasion. There was no more indication of the event.

Alan walked on, finally stepping into the shadows of the great doors. He entered the portcullis with the other suitors. They were pressed more closely through the doorway. Alan had to keep his breathing steady and deep not to cry out in panic. Seconds stretched as they moved through the patch of darkness that showed how thick the fortress walls really were. Then the darkness ended and Alan was relieved when the pressure was gone. Beyond the walls, they had entered a broad court made of the same stones as the road. On every side towers soared to the skies. The sun blazed in the court, illuminating every detail. The other suitors filled the expanse, which stretched for dozens of paces out in the open. At the far end, he could see a covered dais with several seats tucked beneath the awning. Even from such distance he could make out the richly dressed figures seated there.

Alan could see her sitting there; the Princess Mariel’s hair was as black as the ravens that circled in the skies above the city. Her skin was pale and had a gloss to it that picked up and gleamed in the sunlight. She was garbed in a white dress that sparkled with diamonds and sapphires. Upon her forehead a jeweled diadem rested and so marked her station. Beside her, Marlos, Lord of Tuvale, the king of Calos, sat still, his wearied expression clear even from so far away. The king’s oldest son and heir, Gregos, sat on the opposite side of his father along with the queen, Asaria. The younger son, Norwan stood just beside Mariel, barely a man at all at thirteen. The royal family looked on, managing that air of regal neutrality and coolness that set them apart from men gathering before them.

A hundred and ten men were corralled in the courtyard. Alan was in the middle of a field of men, equally made of fidgeting souls who had never dreamed of stepping foot inside the keep, and those more familiar with the rarified airs of the nobility who chose instead to preen and do what they could to bring themselves to the attention of Marlos and his brood. Yet Alan stood his ground, neither overly concerned about the fortress court nor straining for attention. He was no one of consequence, just a poor man with no place to call home. The only thing he focused on, the only person worthy of his attention, was the princess. If he defied the odds and won, Alan knew there was only one duty he would undertake. He would be worthy of Mariel’s respect and affection. His code of honor would be to uphold the dictates of the king and serve him well.

Alan smirked despite himself. So willing to give up your life for such high ideals. Are you also ready to embrace death? The thoughts were bitter, laced with bad memories.

The squeal of trumpets echoed across the courtyard and the suitors went still. Then came a deep, tremulous sound. Alan glanced back with the others and saw that the doors of the main gates had been closed. It was followed by the descent of the secondary grate in the portcullis. They were truly sealed inside the palace grounds. The king’s soldiers surrounded them in a wide ring three deep with pikemen and men wearing full armor plating and brandishing bare steel. Above them, archers were ready to loose a shower of arrows down amidst the suitors.

More murmurs rippled through the mass of eligible men. Alan kept his eyes on the dais, watched as those perched on the platform talked among themselves, and finally focused on Mariel. The young princess was aloof from her family. She merely waited for the ceremonies to begin. She had accepted her place in this little drama. Alan thought she looked sad.

The trumpets sounded again and Alan turned his attention to the king who had just stood up.

"Welcome, my friends. I know that many of you have come from places far and wide as well as from the familiar streets of Tuvale. You have made a grave decision this day. It is one that I am sure that most of you understand. As in times past, when ancient oaths have demanded it, the crown has put up one of its daughters to fulfill this sacred charge, this privileged duty.

I have learned from my advisors that over one hundred of you have chosen this path and are taking on this challenge. As you all must know, each suitor has the chance to win the boon of my kingdom: wealth, titles, responsibility, and a place in my household through a marriage to my daughter, the Princess Mariel. Marlos extended his hand. Mariel stood up gracefully.

Yes, my friends, the rewards are well known, but so are the consequences of failure. In the two centuries we have ruled the kingdom of Calos this compact has existed. Many suitors have sought to win the hand of a princess of Tuvale. Many have failed and their lives were forfeit.

The words were delivered in soft and solemn tones. Alan found himself leaning forward, swayed by the kindness of King Marlos’ words. He did not relish the duty. He seemed as powerless as the princess to do anything to change what was going to happen. It was a sobering realization. Alan trembled to think of the power that even kept kings bowed low. The king’s words went on.

Tonight, we dine together. My table is yours gentlemen. You will drink from the fruit of my vines and receive the full attentions of my servants. For this night and for others to come, my house is yours.

A chorus of cheers rose up from among the suitors—mostly those dressed in little but rags or covered in a layer of grime and dust. The thieves and day laborers seemed to have equal enthusiasm. Their noble counterparts added their agreement, but in less raucous tones.

Alan looked to the sky again; the ravens wheeled in wide circles, the sunlight glinting off their ebony feathers.

Let the games begin.

Chapter Two

The Jewel Of Calos

While the men were being gathered up and led to the grand banquet halls, Mariel left the courtyard by another route, her personal guard surrounding her like an unmoving wall; the only ones allowed inside the protective ring were maidservants. The cheers from the crowd of suitors left her heart beating faster and she felt queasy. How else am I supposed to feel? I am to be given to one of those strangers—should one win the contest.

It’s a superstitious and barbaric practice. I don’t know why father abides by it?

One of the guards walking directly beside her spoke up. It is the law of Tuvale, written in the stones themselves. It is the will of the gods, my lady. Not even a king may sidestep the gods’ plans.

It was Gartha, the leader of her personal guards. He was also well informed on matters of court law. Her maidservants had said Gartha had been originally settled in the practice of law, but was disinherited by his clan. Even with twenty years of service to the crown behind him as a soldier Gartha still had a love for the profession.

Aren’t laws meant to be rewritten or considered it the light of new evidence, or new understandings? How do we draw the lines between unflinching enforcement of myths and valid matters of civil law?

The questions made Gartha frown. He remained sequestered in his own thoughts while the procession entered the palace proper. Mariel was ushered down the corridors, through wide chambers, and finally up flights of stairs until she emerged with the others in the halls directly adjacent to her apartments. More guards were in their places at every intersection, standing paces from the open torches that burned in the heavy cast-iron sconces.

Mariel halted before the doors while Gartha bade those on duty to step inside and secure the royal residence. It was all dull procedures and protocols. As if any assassin had ever penetrated the walls of the palace. The chronicles had not mentioned a single instance. She was absolutely safe. Still, Gartha and his men would do their jobs or face the judgment of King Marlos.

I know you must do this, but can’t we hurry it up some? I wish to rest for a short time before I am summoned to the banquet.

Gartha bowed low. As you wish, my lady. It shall not be much longer. He paused, the frown returning to his face. If I might respond to your early inquiries?

Mariel smiled suddenly, then shook her head. I should have known you would be in deep contemplation over those questions. Oh, do please, share your insights on points of the law. Though her tone was playful, she really didn’t feel up to much more banter with the legalistic man.

My lady, it is true that from time to time the laws of Calos must be reexamined and perhaps overturned to make way for a better, more just understanding. At every seasonal gathering of the council courts, such matters are brought forward in deliberations. The councils are hosted by your father the king and his ministers. Together the laws are amended or abolished according to a consensus.

But, then why does is this ancient law any different?

She and the guard were standing there just inside the doorway. Her ladies were waiting with heads staring down at the floor; the other soldiers were fidgeting. Mariel took all of these details in before she went on. There is more to this story and much that my father has never deemed worthy of sharing with me. Gartha, you must understand how I might be feeling right now.

The guard nodded and Mariel could see something on his face. Perhaps the hint of sympathy? The idea nettled her. Why should a servant pity his master?

Gartha bowed his head again. Your majesty. Some laws may not be sundered no matter how much we may wish them to be.

Mariel waiting for more, but the guard backed away. Those soldiers who had ventured in the apartments first returned from their inspection. One of them, a gray-haired veteran named Klim, knuckled his forehead.

All clear, Captain Gartha. Her majesty’s quarters are safe and sound.

Gartha returned the other man’s salute. Is there anything else that you require, my lady?

Mariel shook her head. No, that is all. Make sure that I’m not disturbed until it is time for me to appear at my father’s side.

The guards and her servants all bowed again. Gartha left but the others took up posts along the hall. The maidservants awaited her command.

Both of you come inside.

Yes, your majesty. The pair of girls replied in unison.

The doors were closed behind them. Mariel strode through the middle of her apartments. As she walked, she removed the satin slippers, tore the jeweled diadem from her head, and slammed the doors to her bedchambers behind her. Her maids would settle into their regular routines in the common areas of the apartments. Mariel was slightly ashamed to admit that Ola and Venette knew what to expect when their mistress flew into her frequent rages.

She just couldn’t help feeling outrage. Mariel remembered when her sister Bethalia turned sixteen. How old was I then? Ten?

Where did you go, dear sister? Do you fare well?

The question seemed foolish in the empty room. Bethalia was gone and she would never been seen again. The thought made Mariel tremble. Is such my fate as well?

The princess walked over to her bed and dropped down on the mattress. The dress was a bit too confining and Mariel considered removing it herself though she knew that she really needed the girls to help her. Unless she decided to cut it off with knife. Such needless destruction seemed childish. Am I being a child about this? Wasn’t this my duty as a daughter of Marlos?

Mariel fell back on the mattress and lay there contemplating such things until her eyes closed. In that darkness, she considered the one hundred and ten men gathering below. What circumstances of life had brought them to such a momentous decision, an irreversible course that would send so many of them to their deaths? Perhaps desperate men with no hope left in them. Greedy men anxious to leave their marks on Calos and on the royal line as well. The thought of bearing a child by such men made Mariel feel queasy again. Her stomach twisted up in knots and she drew her knees up and lay on her side. The sounds of merrymaking had begun. Even in the solitude of her bed, Mariel could faintly hear the coarse laughter of the men below. They would battle each other, kill each other, and only one would live to claim the prize. Even those who managed to live through it would be put to death.

Barbarism and superstition not worthy of the name ‘law.’

What can I do? The competitions begin in a week.

During that time, her suitors would be treated like royalty themselves, the honored guests of her father. It would be some of the best days these men would see in what remained of their pathetically short lives. Mariel struggled with those truths. Why must I be the cause of such bloodshed?

A soft knock on the door brought her up in bed.

My lady, it is time. Shall we come in to prepare you for the feast?

Mariel stared at the room. Blue-toned light shone through the narrow casement windows. A fire burned low on the hearth. The furnishings were finely wrought and very old. Her aunt, the last daughter of the crown to be given to one of the suitors, had occupied these chambers. Uncle Langus had been a fishmonger’s son and a belligerent drunk. He had died while riding his horse on a country estate. Aunt Miranda had remained in exile since then. Such a waste of a life. I won’t waste away like she has! Mariel was angry but kept her anger inside.

Ola and Venette entered the princess’ chambers and set to work dressing her in a fresh gown—a looser one, thank the gods—and making her presentable at her father’s table. Mariel remained passive under their ministering hands. The women were adept at their duties. In no time at all, she looked every inch the regal prize. Mariel knew she was considered an attractive woman. She once caught some of guards commenting on her pleasant rump and midnight hair. The men thought they were destined for the dungeons beneath the fortress; the princess had let them believe it could happen.

The maidservants led her to the tall looking glass, built into one of the wall of her chambers. She stood there looking at herself, admiring the way the gown clung to her shape, accenting it appropriately without revealing too much. She wore the diadem once more and several jeweled necklaces as well. Emerald earrings draped from her ears drawing