Fall of Crysin

By J.L. Davis

Book I of the Irrillania Chronicles begins the journey of Prince Jayden Rionthorne, sole heir to the throne of Crysin. Dark portents of treachery from within the kingdom cause Jayden, along with his two closest companions, Methius and Belvin, to seek to uncover a traitor among the king's advisors. Distractions abound in the form of a wayward princess, an overwhelmingly long list of potential suspects, and preparation for an upcoming duel against his own father that will determine Jayden's eligibility to wage battle on the upcoming Day of Darkness; when the kingdom must be whole to repel otherworldly invaders that will seek to destroy all of mankind. With no idea when catastrophe may strike, they can only hope to discover the traitor in time to save the kingdom from disaster.

• Language: English
• Publisher: J.L. Davis
• Release date: Oct 30, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301349999

J.L. Davis

J.L. Davis currently resides in Maui Hawaii with his wife, Michelle. His hobbies include performing on stage, disc golf, and surfing.

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FALL OF CRYSIN

Book I of the Irrillania Chronicles

by

J.L. Davis

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2012 © J.L. Davis. All rights reserved.

Published by J.L. Davis on Smashwords.

Cover design by J.L. Davis

This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away. If you would like to share this book, please purchase an additional copy. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy.

Thank you for respecting the work of this author.

PROLOGUE

The Split

A sudden hot wind ripped through the hidden depression, having somehow navigated the complicated maze of hillocks to find the last vestiges of a once proud civilization huddled in a disorganized knot of unwashed bodies. The air was already scorching as the sun’s merciless glare continued to rise overhead, the wind only serving to focus that heat on those who felt it. With the wind came the first glimpse of the hooded figures for which the displaced mass of people had been waiting, praying, dreading. The mounted procession snaked into the midst of the nervous onlookers, finally coming to a halt, and then even the wind stilled in anticipation of the meeting that had long been preordained.

Everyone bowed as the ancient wizard was helped from his saddle by a brown-robed servant of the Brotherhood, his unsettling pure white eyes searching the assembled faces even as he descended; everyone but Djin. The commander and King of the Natiran forces stood unyielding, his heavily muscled arms crossed, a scowl on his face.

Finally, you decide to come down from your tower and join the living. His harsh tone brought gasps from the crowd, including his own troops who were accustomed to his gruff manner. He was past caring for such things as courtesy.

You must be the young man they hold in such high regard, the warrior king from Natiro, replied the stooped, white-haired figure. His manner was that of someone who had been roused early from slumber. This was Allamon, leader of the mages who once ruled mankind? Djin could scarcely believe it.

I am, he replied.

You have done well to bring your people so far. May the Great Thoughts fill you with Their wisdom. When Allamon spoke, Djin could not help but feel the weight of more than one presence behind his words. It was a sensation both disturbing and oddly comforting.

The Thoughts have abandoned us, he pushed on with the recklessness of a man who had recently seen everything he loved ground to dust. That is why we must turn to you, strangers, in our time of need. We seek vengeance on the beasts that destroyed our homeland. Can you grant us that, or have you come to watch us die?

No one dared disturb the silence as Allamon, who the other wizards called Father, contemplated his words.

Walk with me, King, came the Father’s reply.

Allamon held out an unsteady arm for Djin, who took it grudgingly and helped the wizard forward. Soldiers parted for them as they ascended to the crest of a small rise surrounded by makeshift fortifications that had been thrown up to guard against the bloodthirsty horde that would soon come to eradicate them.

From their elevated vantage point, they looked out over a narrow, grass-covered field that had only recently faded from green to golden brown. The quiet of the morning belied the carnage that was soon to come. Less than a few thousand spans in either direction, the wild grass gave sudden way in jagged lines to sheer cliffs that plummeted down to meet the churning, frothy waters of the vast blue oceans. At this height, the gusty salt air whipped hair into their faces and stung their cheeks. Somewhere a gull cried as Djin waited stubbornly for the old man to speak. At last, after a tired sigh, he did.

Many generations of your people have been born and lost to history since last I saw this narrow strip of land that has been known by so many names. Extraordinary how little it has changed. I believe you call it the Greenbridge?

A week ago, I called it home, replied Djin, having to raise his voice slightly to be heard above the wind–strangely, Allamon did not seem to have the same problem. It is the northern border of what was once the proud land of Natiro, separating civilization from untamed wilderness and lawless savages. Now we have no land, no home.

The emotion that boiled inside, that had been bottled up for so long, could no longer be contained. He channeled it into anger at the situation, at the war, at the irresponsible actions that caused the war, and now at this wizard from the untamed North who was the last hope for humanity. He knew he should show respect to this ancient being who was more legend than man, humility even, but anger was all he had left.

My people have been forced into the wilds of Alnorda. The powerful nations of Sideon are no more than a memory. Our once great cities are burned to the ground, the soil poisoned to ensure they are never rebuilt, as if we will ever have the strength to do so. Our prophet is dead. Mankind is lost. We turn to you now as our last and only hope of survival. The king paused to take a few deep, calming breaths. His pride was famous, and now it was bent to a point near breaking. It was through clenched teeth that he made the request he had no choice but to make.

"Will you help us, please?"

Allamon continued to gaze across the land as if he had not heard, while Djin waited on his reply with the patience of a volcano. If the Father refused, his people were doomed. If he agreed, what would be the price? The mages had once ruled the South until the people had revolted against them, so said historians, and Allamon was their leader. No one truly knew how old the wizard was, or how old any of them were for that matter, nor had they ever revealed their feelings about the fall of the old kingdoms. Did the old man hold a grudge, or had he let go of the past?

Long ago, began Allamon as if reading the king's mind, it was thought that humankind needed to be controlled. You had almost obliterated yourselves through war, after all. We did not take the thrones of Sideon out of ambition, but out of necessity. When the people came together and asked us to leave, we did so willingly for the most part. It was I who saw to that. We did not start the Dominion War that followed, nor did we partake, though many of us wept for the dead who were once our subjects. I now know that you cannot be harnessed. I tell you this, young king, to ease your fears that we would wish to rule you. We do not.

They were comforting words that helped put one fear to rest, if no more than that. It was becoming hard not to trust this grandfatherly old man. There was a likeable, honest quality to him that the stories had never mentioned. Had unknown lifetimes of mortals bred wisdom and empathy, or an unsurpassed ability to lie with a straight face? At this point, did it even matter?

Assuming the Father could be trusted, it was entirely possible that the combined abilities of all the wizards together might not be enough to stop the demon-lords anyway. A few of the conjurers had come on their own to help toward the beginning of the war and he had seen what they could do to the lesser demons on the battlefield, but he had also watched helplessly as one of the more powerful demon-lords had single-handedly destroyed his capital city. If the wizards alone could not overcome the demon-lords and their hosts, would the remnants of his army be enough to turn the tide? His soldiers were excellent fighters, but they were exhausted and demoralized from over a year of trying to hold ground against the endless swarm that had emerged from somewhere far to the South. If mages and demon-lords met in battle with his people in the middle, would the last of humankind not just be caught in between and wiped from the face of the world? Would there be a world left at all?

You ask for our help, and we will give it, but there is something we require of you, said Allamon.

Djin had prepared himself for this. Name it, he replied without hesitation. We have no choice but to accept.

My children will do what they can here to save your race from annihilation, and in return you will accompany me and a chosen few to Mount Tairn, where King Zedith first made the breach, in an attempt to close the gate to the creature’s world. Humankind has caused this trouble, and now you have been chosen to be their champion in this darkest hour. Pick one of your soldiers, a father with a strong son he must be, who is willing to give his life for you.

For what purpose?

He shall be the guardian of a sacred trust. Allamon continued. You shall help him complete a crucial task, and then dedicate your life to the preservation of his line. They will be kings and queens in the north. Three more from Alnorda will accompany us. They are not of your kind, but they and their people too are endangered by this threat. You shall protect us all, that we may fulfill our roles at the conclusion of the journey.

Protect a small party as they traveled back through the heart of Sideon, which was overrun with demons, to perform some unknown task? He alone protect them, while his people fought and died here without him? He had been prepared to offer every scrap of valuables they had left, years of servitude, his life, even his very soul if need be to save his people, but this? Djin stood in stunned silence for a moment before the magma-pool swelled beyond its boundaries and the volcano erupted.

You would send me on a suicide mission with one of my men, three savages, and a bent old wizard who can barely sit his horse to save us? You have been holed up in your tower in the lake for too long, old man. If this is our last hope then we are lost. I would have to be more than human to do this thing!

Djin noticed that the remaining mages, eleven in all, had silently joined them, closing in to form a circle around Allamon and himself. The Father looked at him squarely, unperturbed by his outburst.

That is why I have come for you, king, he told him, to make you more than human.

One of the wizards produced a long wooden staff with metallic blades the shape of crescent moons on both ends, smaller blades that mimicked them curving in toward the center of the larger crescents, and handed it to Allamon. The wood was banded with silvery metal, looping out in two places to form protective hand guards. It was the most beautiful weapon Djin had ever seen, and by far the most frightening. The Father held the gleaming weapon parallel to the ground, offering it to him.

From this day forward, you shall no longer be Djin D’artinellion, King of Natiro. By will of the Great Thoughts I name you the Protector, champion to the races of our world, guardian of a line of kings, and splinter in the collective mind of the jealous thoughts. This is the salvation that I, Allamon, offer you.

Djin hesitated, disbelief warring with desperation. Having already committed himself to doing whatever it took to save those of his people who were left–mere thousands where there had once been hundreds of thousands–he had no choice but to go along with what had to be a farce. The old man sounded so sure of himself, as if this had somehow been Djin's destiny all along. What could it hurt to take the weapon? The blades reflected the rays of the midday sun, causing them to glow seductively. The weapon called to him, drawing him in. Slowly, he reached forth and gripped the shaft firmly in both hands.

Pain shot into his arms, causing him to convulse. He tried to let go but could not. Something foreign invaded his body, embedding itself in his very tissue until every fiber felt as though it were on fire. Screaming, he fought the intrusion with all his might. It was not nearly enough. Physical strength and his internal will were equally as inconsequential against the power that gripped him. Muscles turning to water, he collapsed in a heap. Then the presence went for his mind; and it exploded. All his memories were cast into a void, where he could still feel them but had no command over them. They waited, drifting apart from his consciousness.

What he had first perceived as one presence, he now realized were multiple incorporeal entities. They swarmed around his memories, inhuman beings ingesting the pages of his life, dissecting and examining. When they had apparently seen all they needed to, they began to meld with those memories, bringing with them knowledge of events and processes he had never known existed. The pain stopped abruptly, and he relaxed into a state of total numbness. His nerve endings felt as if they had been burned away; his mind felt like two gigantic, invisible hands had grabbed hold and stretched.

Planets spun on their axes, rotating slowly around a giant ball of blinding light, which in turn revolved around a great void in a battle of cosmic forces it would one day lose. The weight of everything bore down on him. So much power. The energy that kept it all going was a tangible thing, and it was linked to him somehow. He fought to pull his consciousness back to what he had once viewed as reality. It was a slow, methodical process, but eventually he started to regain his identity. He had had a name once. What had it been? Whatever it was, he was more than that now.

Opening his eyes, slowly and through great resistance, he realized that he was lying on his back. He tried to move, but his limbs were heavy. It felt as though every molecule of everything he had seen was now on top of him, pinning him to the ground. Was his body larger? He could not even tilt his head to look. All he could see was the cloudless sky, the sun shining down on the little mound he had once thought of as a hill. It was more than just the sun; he knew that now.

It was alive.

In the peripheral of his vision, he could see figures standing nearby holding hands in the dry grass. There was something about them that he thought he should remember. He wondered briefly if he had died and decided that he had not. The light from the sun hurt his eyes, but his eyelids were too heavy to blink now that he had forced them open. He could still feel the weight of planets and stars as a palpable substance; touch them almost. If he could tap into that force… he could do anything.

Air exploded into his chest, and he realized that he had not been breathing. His lungs burned from lack of oxygen, his sight blurring momentarily as he coughed. It was a struggle to retain consciousness.

When the coughing fit receded, he could sense things he had never sensed before but had somehow always known had been there. The grass beneath him was not as dry as he remembered, and alive as it had never been. He could sense the millions upon millions of tiny life-forms that lived there. They covered the ground like a living, seething blanket. They were on him too, he knew, slowly eating at him, but his skin was growing fast enough to keep them at bay. All of his senses were clearer. He smelled the withered blossoms from the scattered trees on the other side of the hill, and the dung from the horses tethered in the nearby camp. He could hear the flapping of wings that sounded like a dragon above him, but all that came into view was a lone seagull. The feathers were so clear he could count them. He heard the roar of the ocean as it crashed against the rocky beach just a short distance away, and he smelled–

They are coming.

There was great power everywhere, he could feel it, and yet his body was weak. His legs were like two loose strings dangling from his waist. Something was clutched in his palm; a shining staff with blades on the ends, he knew. It seemed right that he held it. It was a part of him, an extension of his body and mind, alive and filled with eagerness to be used.

So much energy was out there. Pure, raw, energy. Energy that made things grow, that built up pressure in geological processes, that kept heavenly bodies moving. The bladed staff dared him to grasp it, to use it. Could the weapon harness that energy for him? He knew that he could not hold more than the smallest drop himself, no mortal could without being burned out in an instant, but could some of it be harnessed by this thing, this weapon? The beings inside of him would know, he was certain of it. Perhaps they had given him the idea in the first place. Since they were part of him now, did that mean that somewhere inside he also knew?

He succeeded in moving his hand.

Ever so slowly, feeling began to return to his limbs. After a few failed attempts, he managed to prop himself up on one elbow. Looking out over the grassland, he scanned the horizon. The invading army was still blocked by the distant little mounds–hills–but he knew they were there. They infested his homeland like a plague.

My homeland?

It was coming back to him. He had been a king. He had had a strong, beautiful queen, and she was dead now; dead at the hands of the demon lord, Foutz. That was the name of the beast. He pushed himself up onto his knees and found himself staring at the twelve figures still holding hands in the grass.

Something was horribly wrong.

His newly enhanced senses allowed him to feel the energy that was being ripped from the planet in great waves. The figures were pulling the power of the very elements into themselves. They began to glow like vials of iridescent liquid, every color of the spectrum–and some shades he had never seen with his old eyes. The power they held in them now should have been unimaginable. It would have been before. Pressure was building to the point that something had to give. Rising unsteadily to his feet, he attempted to cry out in protest, his insignificant voice lost in the growing maelstrom of worldly and otherworldly forces. Then one of the figures, a stooped old man with shaggy white hair, pointed toward the ground and the pressure was released.

The ground began to rumble, causing him to lose his tenuous hold on gravity and go down. A stone structure next to him collapsed, showering him in dust and debris. There was an ear-shattering crack, and a fissure opened across the Greenbridge as far as he could see in either direction, extending out even into the oceans. He felt the pain of the planet being torn apart as if it was his own, and the death of everything that stood in the way.

Sulfur burned his eyes and nose as a great shockwave of wind and gas blasted up from the ever-expanding crevice. Undisturbed by the savage gust, the figures–wizards, he remembered–continued their onslaught against nature itself. The earth groaned as the fissure grew, widening into a bottomless canyon. The howl of the wind was like a mighty voice that screamed out in terror.

The other side of the field, the world as he had known it, was moving farther away. The span of the chasm was nearly half a league itself now; further. Was the world ending, destroyed by these wizards? He had asked one of them for something. Not this, surely. Was this his fault? He had one last thought before his once-grand kingdom was sealed away from humankind:

What have I done?

*****

Time had been bought at great cost.

Allamon turned away from the destruction he had wrought. Some of the demons–the ones who could fly or teleport and were lucky enough to avoid the temperamental gouts of poisoned gasses–would cross, but now at least there was a fighting chance that some of the refugees would survive the assault. It would all be for naught, however, if the small party failed. The Great Thoughts worked in ways that were often beyond mortal comprehension, and he knew from experience that hundreds, even thousands of years could easily pass before the extent of Their plan was revealed.

And so it was.

CHAPTER ONE

Summers End

The man the Protector chose was Mandin Shearn, my ancestor, and the quest they undertook would seal the gate to the demon world for all eternity, except for one day of the year which we know as the Day of Darkness. On that day, the gate is opened, and the lesser demons pour through in countless waves. Always they come north. Most are destroyed attempting to cross over the Split into Alnorda. The others we meet in battle. It is a battle we have never lost. Thanks to Thera, which Father Allamon removed from deep within the Split, we did not lose this time either.

King Eurion Rionthorne of Crysin had shoulder-length brown hair, with just a hint of auburn, that spilled down from a golden crown bedecked with rubies. He was a fairly handsome man, medium height and broad in the chest. The weariness in his shrewd, hazel eyes was the only indication of the mental toll the recent battle had taken on him. He stood with his advisors–General Ekinroy Carthagian and Brother Grizzland, the wizard–gazing upon the most treasured possession of every Rionthorne king for the past two thousand years: Thera, the Stone of Fire. The long hallway in which they congregated was lined with small, square chambers which had once been cells but were now filled to overflowing with the treasures of the realm. Gold, silver, and vibrant jewels glittered behind iron bars, yet nothing outshone the fiery red gemstone in the king’s hand.

It is breathtaking, Your Majesty, Grizzland admitted as he eyed the stone thoughtfully. With his bushy white beard, receding hairline, robust frame, and rosy cheeks, he resembled a merry tavern-keep more than an immortal being who had survived for hundreds of generations of humanity. He was unusually tall though, and none but one of the brotherhood would dare to don that robe, its fine cut unmistakable. His particular robes were always white, not the usual brown worn by most of his brothers, befitting his position as an advisor–or so he claimed. The hem seemed to always float about an inch above any surface he stood upon, no matter how he moved. A thin layer of baby fat belied a thick, strong body beneath.

You have seen it before, my friend, have you not? Eurion inquired. You were there when the Split was created. You were one of those who ripped the stones from the core of our world.

Allamon chose to bring the stones to the surface, Majesty. I merely added what strength I could lend.

Nevertheless, for your part I thank you. Thera was my birthright and will someday belong to my son. I will present the stone to Jayden on his eighteenth nameday, and inform him of the trust, and the blessing, bestowed upon our family so long ago. I wanted both of you to see her, as a reward for the great service you have given Crysin in times of war as well as peace.

It is an honor, said the wizard with a slight nod.

General Ekinroy frowned. I thought it would be bigger, he admitted.

Eurion laughed deeply. Not all great things come in large packages, my large friend. If you could only hear the way she calls to me, like–like a lover.

I won’t tell Jocelyn, Ekinroy remarked wryly.

The general was widely regarded as a stern man, relentless in battle and unyielding in his enforcement of the kingdom’s laws. His physical appearance did nothing to dispel the rumors. With close-cropped dark hair and big features, he looked like a man who could break rocks in his fists. The years however had instilled in him a subtle sense of humor around those to whom he was closest. Since his arrival at Eurion's court in Crysin's capital city of Eriden over a decade ago, he and the king had become like brothers.

Eurion sighed.

I am afraid you must excuse me while I return her to her resting place. Only I may safely enter the chamber in which she is kept. We shall reconvene in the throne room in an hour, before making our way to the East Gate. King Cragmyre will be arriving soon, and he will scorch my hide if I am not there to greet him. No amount of success in battle can keep older men from berating younger men for a perceived lack of manners.

I am told Princess Karolelle travels with him, said Grizzland. She is recently of an age to marry, and word has is it that she has set her sights on Jayden. I can put his studies on hold for a few days if you wish?

Yes, I do wish that. Eurion agreed. I admit that Cragmyre and I have been secretly plotting a union behind their backs for some time. She is a rare beauty, if a touch on the temperamental side. He has not courted many girls, though there have been a few to catch his eye–he is a Rionthorne, after all. The last one might have become serious, but she was thrown from a horse while travelling and sadly did not survive. He has not said it, but I know the news of her death affected him deeply. Karolelle may be just the thing to bring him around. Her visit was supposed to be a surprise, however. How did you know?

I have my ways, Grizzland smiled mysteriously.

Wizards, Eurion muttered. If the brotherhood was not beyond reproach, I might accuse you of spying. Ekinroy, could you tell Madame Lowry on your way out to see to it that Jayden is bathed, in his finest clothes, and ready to greet the princess when she arrives?

The general cleared his throat.

Yes?

I have already dispatched guards to retrieve him in anticipation of her highness’s arrival. So far, their attempts to track him have been unsuccessful.

Track him? Where in the twisted nether of the demon-world has he run off to, and why now?

I hate to shatter your illusions of stealth, said Ekinroy, but the prince has caught wind of your scheming. You may still think of him as a boy, but he has grown into a very observant young man. He confided to me in the practice yard his feelings toward Cragmyre’s daughter in no uncertain terms. I believe his exact words were-

*****

She is a bossy, unscrupulous, troll of a girl, and if father thinks I will entertain that brat at the castle he has another thing coming.

Jayden and his companion, Methius had been hiking through the one hundred plus acres of the King’s Royal Park north of Eriden for over four hours. In that time, they had spotted fifteen deer, a brown bear, two flocks of wild turkeys, and narrowly avoided discovery by the Royal Guard three times. Ekinroy had sent his best trackers to find them, but Jayden had trained with the men and knew their methods as well as they did. That meant he knew how to lead them in an endless series of confusing circles, which he had been doing since escaping the city early that morning. As usual, Methius had been dragged along for moral support and a sympathetic ear.

The forest was in the overripe bloom of late summer, a warm breeze carrying the sweet scents of flowers and berries. On such a day, one could believe the rumors that unicorns once roamed the woods while dragons hunted and soared above the ever white-tipped peaks to the north. It was a day to be outside with no responsibilities, not shut up in the castle preparing words he did not mean for a spoiled girl he did not particularly like. He thanked the Great Thoughts that the weight of his royal upbringing had not pulled his head back so that his nose stuck up in air as high as Karolelle’s did. While there was a respectful air bordering on officious in Eurion’s court, pompousness was not tolerated, much less celebrated, as it was in North Kalas.

It was not his father trying to play matchmaker that had set him off, exactly. What had caused him to rebel was that no one had bothered to ask him if he even liked the girl. As usual, he had been ignored like a child instead of being spoken to directly like an adult. The fact was that Crysin and North Kalas had always been allies, and a union between him and her royal head-held-overly-highness was not likely to change anything for the better. In fact, it might very well make relations worse if they grew to hate each other. Oftentimes he wished his father could see that his grasp of politics was not as shortsighted as it was rumored to be.

She can't be that bad, Methius scoffed. "Maybe she has gotten better with