Shroud of Darkness

By C.S. Woolley

No. 4 Best Seller in the Kobo Epic Fantasy Chart

Evil stirs, and she will answer.

Four years after the Dragonian Wars raged across the realm of Celadmore, leaving it ravaged and ruined; Venetia, Queen of one of the five Anaguran tribes has seen evil lurking once more. She led the Allied Spirit of Celadmore to victory against the tyrant, Dragonious, but the world has changed. Politics, deception and mistrust have separated the old alliances so now each nation stands alone. It is up to Venetia to unite not only the five tribes of Anagura, but all the peoples of Celadmore to fight against an unseen enemy that threatens to destroy the peace that she has fought so hard to achieve.

The Chronicles of Celadmore (in chronological order)

The Rising Empire Trilogy
1. Rising Empire: Part 1
2. Rising Empire: Part 2
3. Rising Empire: Part 3

Shroud of Darkness Trilogy
4. Shroud of Darkness
5. Lady of Fire
6. End of Days

• Language: English
• Publisher: C.S. Woolley
• Release date: Dec 24, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301367474

C.S. Woolley

C.S. Woolley (Caroline Sarah Woolley) was born in Macclesfield, Cheshire and raised in the nearby town of Wilmslow. From an early age she discovered she had a flair and passion for writing. This was fuelled by winning local poetry and short story competitions during her years at Mottram St. Andrews Primary School. During high school, she continued to write and found her time split between acting, writing and her studies. At 14 she began writing novels. University did nothing to change her love of writing. C.S. spent a year reading Law at Manchester Metropolitan University before changing her mind and moving to read English at Hull University. After graduating she moved to Nottingham where she stayed for the cricket at Trent Bridge. She currently lives with her partner, Matt, and their two cats in Christchurch, New Zealand. In 2010, C.S published her first novel, Nicolette Mace – The Raven Siren: The Kevin Metis Saga. Since 2010 she has published books in five series – The Chronicles of Celadmore, The Mysteries of Stickleback Hollow, The Children of Ribe, The Children of Snotingas and Nicolette Mace: The Raven Siren - as well as a series of adapted classics for Foxton Books and a series of modernised Shakespeare and workbooks to help with GCSEs. Her upcoming series include Alpha Sigma, The Children of Danelaw, Dark Hearts,The Children of Ribe Story Books, The Children of Ribe: Tales from Ribe, The Children of Ribe: Ancestors, Yngvar and Reinholdt, Finestra, and The Children of Ribe: Legends. More recently C.S has taken part in charity projects that include producing content for charity books such as Standing by the Watchtower: Volume 1. C.S has also acted in several plays and films including Weekend (2011). Hobbies: horse riding, including show jumping and cross country, Formula 1, tennis, free climbing, singing, boxing, dancing, playing guitar, cricket and is also an avid PC and console gamer. Favourite movies: The Muppet Christmas Carol, Star Wars Episode V: The Empire Strikes Back, Chisum. Favourite books: Sharpe’s Prey, Silverthorn and the Three Musketeers. Favourite bands: Thin Lizzy, the Darkness and McBusted. For more information please visit: http://www.mightierthanthesworduk.com

Book preview

Shroud of

Darkness

The Chronicles of Celadmore

Book 4

By c. s. woolley

A Mightier Than the Sword UK Publication

Shroud of Darkness

The Chronicles of Celadmore

By c. s. woolley

A Mightier Than the Sword Publication

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © c. s. woolley 2012

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior permission of the publishers.

To prevent unauthorised copies of this book being made a number of intentional errors have been included.

For

Nick Jones

and

Pete Landry

for their invaluable help with this book

Also by the same author

The Chronicles of Celadmore

Lady of Fire

Nicolette Mace: The Raven Siren

The Kevin Metis Saga

The Derek Long Saga

Shroud of Darkness Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

And in my vision, I saw the horses and the riders sitting on them. The riders wore armour that was fiery red dark blue and yellow. The horses had heads like lions, and fire and smoke and burning sulphur billowed from their mouths

Revelation 9:17

Author's note

The Anagura and Queterian tribes have their own language, when they speak in this the speech is highlighted in bold in the kindle version of the book and in a different font in the paperback copies. This book is the first novel that I started writing though it is not the first to be completed. I began writing this book when I was 12 years old and the original manuscript bears no resemblance to what the book is now save for the names of the characters. This book was inspired not by another book but by the trailer for the Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring and the moment when Arwen draws her sword in the river, facing the Ringwraiths and declares If you want him come and claim him.

Ancient legend tells of a time when all worlds were once one and darkness balanced with light. Myths told of wars between the worlds’ creatures dividing the lands causing the equilibrium between the worlds to shift. To restore balance they split apart and order came once more to all but Lintea, the first land of darkness, the land was lost and so its evil migrated to the World of Light, Celadmore, and the World of Harmony. The World of Light’s barriers kept all but the strongest of evil from it, but the World of Harmony’s borders had not so strongly formed; the evil infested it. Man appeared and evil took root in their hearts in every world. All but those descended from the Guardian of the World of Light, Lavinia. Each was blessed for their purity and resilience against the evil that threatened the existence of all worlds; the Anaguras and the Queterians.

He was cast into darkness for a crime he did not commit.

Banished from this realm for all eternity by its rulers.

War came. Battle raged and in the end the veil of shadow was lifted from our lands; it has remained so for four years, but now fire plagues the land once more.

Chapter 1

2667GL 23rd Sagma/Sumar

The battlefield; a place where heroes are made, legends thrive, myths enthral and lives are broken.

A sword plunged into the gurgling land. Blood mingled with the watery mud and swept, whirl pooling against the crimson stained blade. White knuckled fingers clutched the hilt and flaming scarlet eyes stared out at the carnage before them. She stood atop a ridge; the dawn had long since broken. Death was stagnant in the air. A fresh wind ravaged the land and removed a breaking fog from around her.

All things belonged to Venetia, favourite daughter of Queen Annalia, one of the RAVEN Queens, Lady of the Sword and Flame and scourge of the plains. She had not seen such destruction since the war had first struck its blows. The defenceless village of Roenca was no more. The ruins of innocence blazed and honour had been choked by death’s torpid stench. Blood ran as rivers; fingers stretching through the village and clutched at the edges of her vision.

The summer had brought sickly sweet nights and days of long torment with little relief from the heat and irritation. She shivered. The darkness closed quickly this evening.

Such needless destruction. She muttered to herself.

In truth the destruction of Roenca hurt her. The world saw her as a tyrant and a warmonger, her people as thieves and demons. Feared and dreaded by all but Roenca. Roenca was one of the only villages outside of the Order of Anagura and Queteria that didn’t see Venetia and her people as enemies. She sighed and clutched the hilt of her sword tighter.

Movement amongst the ruins below her drew her attention. Her reactions were instinctive. In one smooth action she drew her blade from the ground. The Clambria Yesma, forged on the day of her birth, her broadsword was an extension of her arm; the heart of the blade singing in time with her own heart in the heat of battle.

Light on her feet, Venetia moved silently to traverse the small slope she had stood atop to the village below. As she moved small stones clattered down, echoing off the ruined rowdanes.

Sloppy, she thought, but she was too quick to be seen.

The stench of rotting and charred flesh was rank about the village; a scent that any soul would have recoiled from, Venetia shuddered slightly but kept moving. The quiet of the village was overwhelming. Roenca had once been so noisy and filled with life. The unsettling eerie silence pricked at her ears. No animal of any conscience would venture into this place, she thought. Venetia neither saw nor heard anything as she crept between the smouldering ashes stalking her prey.

*****

Such needless destruction.

A well-built man spat bitterly as he beheld the broken body of a child that had been mutilated beyond recognition. He had never seen such bloodshed; not even during the war that had been so hard on many peoples that had been attacked by both foe and friend alike. Dragonious’ evil had forced an alliance with those that had been feared. Those that valued destruction over life’s innocence had sacrificed such for victory.

He was Gruagadon, Prince of the fallen capital of Grashindorph. The last son of the Great Empire that had once stood and spanned the breadth of their world, Celadmore. He had been hidden as his home burnt, the only survivor of the attack.

He was the warrior that had refused to fight, his ancestral sword left to gather rust in its scabbard. Instead he had rebuilt destroyed lives and comforted the peoples that both armies had marched over, even those blind to their allies greed and battle lust. Roenca had been one such village.

He stood amidst the slaughtered; the fur of his cloak and boots sluiced in their blood. The fire of the burning rowdanes cast aside the enveloping darkness. Not even the streets of Grashindorph had been bathed in so much blood. The sweltering nights and tiresome days had awarded him little sleep, but he had cast exhaustion aside. Neither shelter nor water could buy relief from the insufferable heat, yet he would not cast aside his cloak.

He moved across the square to find some form of lodgings for the night, some remnants where he could sit for a few hours without having to look over his shoulder. The land was wild between villages and even within their boundaries no one dared to venture out into the streets during the night. War had brought both predators and scavengers to the outskirts of civilisation from the deep wilds they had once roamed.

The stench of the decaying corpses went unnoticed as he slipped between the piles of dead. He would dig graves for them at first light. The sound of a tumbling trickle of scree broke through his consciousness, like a hammer through glass.

Gruagadon slunk back into the shadows instantly, his eyes on the slope where the pebbles had fallen, there was no sign of any manner of being, but pebbles did not move by themselves. His right arm reached behind his head to grasp the hilt of his sword, the Tigris Drakon, forged for the ruler of Grashindorph by a barbarian smith centuries before his birth.

The sound of metal scraping metal carved through the silence around him as he slowly drew his blade. To his left burning rubble spluttered, his head snapped sharply to look at it as he stepped sideways to avoid the impact of a foreign sword.

*****

Venetia wasted no time; her ears were keenly listening for any sound that broke the silence. The rowdanes that still partially stood creaked and moaned but masked her presence well, but also hid her quarry. Dancing shadows taunted her as she moved through the rubble until her ears were rewarded for their attentiveness and a sword slowly being drawn from its scabbard reached them.

Grasping her blade’s hilt more firmly she rushed toward the source of the sound, arcing her Clambria Yesma over her head she brought it crashing down. Her enemy side stepped and her blade touched nothing. Halfway through the strike Venetia saw the danger of her exposed side and swung her sword upwards.

A loud parry crashed through the night.

Coward. The two spoke in unison. Gruagadon stood tall his right arm out straight, his blow blocked from its target of Venetia’s side. Venetia had brought her broadsword swinging round to her side; she was stood in a half lunge that had come from her original attack. She sprang back to stand five paces from him.

What right have you to call me that? She spat as she lunged again.

You attacked me from behind. He replied as he parried her attack. It is you who has no right. He tried to force her back but found she was too strong. So instead stepped back intending to over balance her when the resistance against her attack was no longer there. But as he moved she stood firm, bringing her blade round once more to parry Gruagadon’s counter. She smiled darkly at him.

A murderer can say nothing to me of cowardice.

Strange I was about to say the same of you.

Venetia snarled at Gruagadon’s words and began a vigorous assault of blows against him. Gruagadon barred each stroke and fought back with his own attack, Venetia spun aside to slash at his back. Gruagadon flinched as the blade carved deeply into his flesh, splattering more blood across the now slashed fur that he wore. In retaliation he sliced across Venetia’s bare midriff, enraging her. She hacked at his right shoulder.

I will make you pay for what you did here. She spoke through gritted teeth, her eyes a flame and body shaking with fury.

I did nothing here but seek retribution against you for the lives that you took. Gruagadon retorted, anger brewing up inside him.

I have not taken a life in four years, but I would be glad to start with yours. She cried as she forced herself back from him.

Then what of the lives of the Roencians? Or do you not consider them lives because they are so far beneath your own? Gruagadon questioned as he rushed at Venetia.

I would never raise my sword against these people! You were the one who wrought this destruction upon them! Venetia replied coldly, readying herself to meet his onslaught but Gruagadon had stopped. He looked searchingly at Venetia.

Before his eyes was a proud and strong woman, a Queen amongst her people. She was dressed in silk that covered her breast, shoulders and neck but left her arms and midriff bare. Her skirt was of two layers, an under skirt of dark opaque material that came midway down her calf and an over skirt of transparent material that fell loosely below her knee.

She wore a cloak of three moorin pelts, though in these hot days it was hardly needed. Upon her back he could see a bow and staff protruding from behind opposite shoulders, a hunting dagger sat in a small sheath next to her sword's scabbard.

Her face was intelligent but her cheeks were scarred from battle, one scar running beneath her left eye and one running down her left cheek. Her eyes were a glowing scarlet as was her hair that hung about her shoulders, both blazing with renewed colour from the skirmish and the fire that danced around them.

Venetia stared back at Gruagadon with an unrivalled intensity. He was tall and well built, dressed in a white linen shirt, which was torn slightly in the middle where his shoulder blades met. He had blue eyes that were as hard as ice and clear cut as diamonds.

His hair was blonde, almost white, but not through age. He wore dark Hessian trousers with black leather boots. Around his shoulders was a fur pelt; an array of greys and white swirled within it. Across his chest was a brass buckled, leather scabbard. His sword’s scarlet hilt protruded from behind his left shoulder as he sheathed his Tigris Drakon

If you did not butcher them, then who did? He asked.

If it was not you then I do not know. But I shall not rest until they have paid for every drop of blood they have spilt here with their own. Venetia turned from Gruagadon and began to walk away when a howl broke the night. Gruagadon froze with a fear from his youth and glanced to his left. Venetia scowled and turned to meet searing yellow eyes staring at her.

Arm yourself. She said to Gruagadon For this is a time when you must fight. As Venetia’s words faded, hundreds of moorin bounded through the darkness.

I think we have found our killers. Gruagadon spoke as he caught beast after beast with his blade.

They are scavengers. They only attack when the kill is worth the meat. To them our deaths mean the whole village as a prize. If we retreated they would not follow. Moorin that dared to try and pass Venetia met their end by her hand.

But Roenca and her people have already suffered enough?

And I would sooner be a slave to Dragonious than see what remains of these people ripped apart by scavenging dogs. Venetia had fought her way across the sea of Moorin to Gruagadon’s side. A guttural growl came from Venetia’s left. She moved as liquid silver, her blade meeting with the skull of a beast that yelped as it was struck to the ground.

Gruagadon cried out as he charged forward at the source of the eyes, but before he could reach it, three beasts leapt forward and dragged him back. Venetia swung at the beasts slicing through them one after the other. One snapped at her waist but found its teeth clamp down on steel that ripped back through its mouth, slicing the top of its skull clean away.

Gruagadon roared as he threw off the three moorin and made short work of decapitating them. He raced back to where Venetia was becoming surrounded by the creatures. He could hear her scream with every attack that beat her defences and tore at her skin.

He began to carve a path through the sea of beings that had surrounded Venetia, not bothering to make sure that each strike he delivered was deadly, just powerful enough to move them out of his way. One beast leapt up at Venetia from behind, but before it could attack, Gruagadon sliced it out of the air.

Moorin dogs, you shall learn not to cross me or my people again. Venetia slammed her blade through another moorin skull and releasing its hilt reach back to grip hold of her staff. She drew it with a flourish, grasping it with both hands she swung it round in an arc, chanting

I command you fire, to me, upon my honour, and burn my enemy for their sin.

Gruagadon watched in rapture as the fires that had burnt upon the rubble of Roenca were drawn to the staff and blazed. Venetia held the staff vertical to her body for a moment before slamming one end hard against the ground, causing wave upon wave of fire to erupt from the point of impact and roll outwards incarcerating the bodies of the moorin.

Gruagadon remained untouched by the flames.

If it had been me that had attacked, there would have been nothing left but ash. The Queen gasped staring accusingly at Gruagadon. He glanced around and saw all that remained of the moorin hoard was pile upon pile of ash.

Venetia was breathing heavily, leaning on her staff carved with ancient Anaguran runes. Beads of sweat glistened upon her face as the flame around them died, plunging them into intense darkness.

Just because you didn’t decimate one village, that doesn’t redeem you for your misdeeds against others.

Venetia was weak and defenceless, Gruagadon knew if he attached now he would surely win and the scourge of the plains would fall. But he held back.

Venetia began laughing to herself.

They call you a warrior.

Gruagadon glared at her.

But no warrior would hold back against an enemy who was as weak as I am now.

Do you want me to attack? Gruagadon snarled.

It makes little difference to me. You would still die upon my blade. I may be weaker than I was before, but that does not make me defenceless. But your hesitation does prove one thing to me. You are the one who refused to fight. You cowered in the face of the epidon’s might and hid from battle. You do not deserve the title of warrior. Venetia spoke with disgust.

And if I refused to fight, why is that any of your concern? You led your people to victory by marching over those you had been fighting beside against that enemy. I never cowered; I kept those villages alive, I rebuilt what you so readily destroyed. If the title of warrior means you must wantonly destroy the lives of the innocent, I do not want it Gruagadon spoke with equal venom.

My warriors never went to any village unless it was under attack, we marched alone! Venetia defended her people ferociously.

I know what I saw in Hocula! I was there when a small force of Anaguras pillaged that village!

Yet you didn’t fight back? Venetia’s scorn caused Gruagadon to fall silent and glower maliciously at her outline in the pitch night. As I thought. A small force means they were neither under my command nor that of any other of the Queens of Anamoore and the RAVEN crest. They were rebels.

A comfortable silence settled between them for a few moments before Gruagadon spoke once more.

How is it that you knew who I was? He asked quietly You said before, this time I had to fight. How did you know?

Venetia smiled.

Your sword. We know all warriors by the blade that they carry. Most warriors, who have battled me, may not have known my face but they knew my blade. The Clambria Yesma and it is wrought much destruction against many a foe. Yours is the Tigris Drakon, the blade of your grandfather, forged by Yoan’s hand; the unbreakable blade that has passed through fire and ice to survive to this day.

Gruagadon looked quizzically at Venetia, and whether she sensed his intrigue or not she continued.

You should know your enemy by their sword, the history of the sword tells you more about its bearer than you could even begin to try and comprehend. Venetia sighed and silently strode back through the village to her peoples’ encampment. Gruagadon stood in silence, listening to Venetia leave before seeking shelter for the night.

*****

She has been away too long. One of us should have been with her.

It was not dangerous to leave her alone, she is stronger than most of us combined. She can protect herself.

I wish it were that simple.

Four women sat in a circle upon the ground staring at a fire that danced in the centre. Around their little council the Anaguran fortress was busy in the failing light.

Fires were being lit across the compound. Horses pranced and fought in their pen at the settlement’s centre. The blacksmith could be heard manning her forge and the weapon smith sat at her wheel sharpening the dull blades of the warriors who were not on duty. Other warriors sat with their own swords, sharpening the edges with whet stones.

The fortress was stood atop a small rise of land and had stood there for aeons. A towering outer wall of stone surrounded the perimeter with four gates guarding the entrance. The outer wall was eight feet wide, with a five-foot parapet that was constantly patrolled by the Anaguras who lived there. Behind this wall was a ditch that had only four narrow bridges across it to the second and lower wall of the encampment. The ditch spanned ten feet in width and in depth dropped an extra six feet below the twenty-eight foot outer wall.

The inner wall was formed of stone again but stood at only eighteen feet in height and eight feet in width as the outer wall with a similar parapet that was only manned during battle and the night. The four bridges that connected these two walls were wooden and could easily be cast down into the ditch to prevent invaders who had taken the outer wall from making it to the inner wall.

Within these walls was the main camp in which the Anaguras lived in square stone buildings of two rooms, a bedroom and training space that could be used for anything from relaxation, meditation, practising a craft or battle training. Every two houses shared a fire and slept fifteen Anaguras apiece. The encampment held five hundred and seventy two of these buildings. Three hundred and fifty of them lay against the inner wall and the other two hundred and twenty two against the palisade wall that surrounded the inner camp’s centre.

The entrance to the centre was at the furthest point from the four gates that allowed access to the compound. The centre not only held the horse corral, blacksmith and weapon smith but two buildings for any wounded or sick Anaguras, a place for the hunting and war dogs to sleep, a pen of livestock, a war room, seven larger homes that high ranking Anaguras and lower royalty slept in and the Queen’s sleeping quarters, each building with its own fire. It was here amongst the hounds that the four Anaguras sat.

Why worry, she’s disappeared like this before. The youngest of the four shrugged and earned three stern stares from her companions. The youngest girl was Lea, a girl who had joined the Anaguras rather than having been born as one of them. She had earned promotion quickly due to her agility and ability to think on her feet; she now held a place of honour in Venetia’s Royal Guard as a reward for her actions during the war.

She had just turned nineteen. With long blonde hair that was plaited tightly and hung over her left shoulder, almond shaped brown eyes and high cheeks many considered her beautiful, but beauty wasn’t a factor that helped when amongst the Anaguras.

The tallest of the four sneered at Lea as she spoke.

Just because you poke a beehive with a stick once and don’t get stung doesn’t mean that the next time will be the same. Her name was Dominia, cousin of the Queens and Lady of the cities of Varent and Varenta, a warrior of the royal line and adjutant in Venetia’s absence. She was thin and her face extraordinarily gaunt with searing eyes of emerald. She had short dark hair that shone blue in the firelight.

Dominia is right. Venetia should know better. Gevana spoke. She was the eldest of the four with wispy mousy coloured hair that refused to stay tamed in the loose bun at the back of her skull. Her eyes were pale blue with an almost watery look about them. Her pale skin was covered with freckles.

Though she did not appear to be, Gevana could be a ferocious adversary, if she could conquer her fear of those she was facing. She was the Saint of Benadrocca, their Guardian from the war having repelled attack after attack, keeping the city standing and alive with hope even through the four sieges Dragonious had brought against the city. She was also the cousin of the Queens and Dominia.

The likelihood of my sister ever knowing better is slim to none and you should know that far better than anyone else Gevana. Tatinia, the fourth of the women and sixth daughter of Annalia spoke. She had been the only daughter to not be offered a crown and leadership of the Order by her mother. She had pretended to be bitter about this, but truly she had never wanted to be a Queen and would have refused if her mother had presented or offered her the opportunity.

Her hair was as untamed as her sister’s but brunette in colour. Her eyes were grey and almost tired of the life she led. In battle she revelled in the chaos that ensued and found herself most at home amongst its havoc; but four years of peace had presented little chance of battle and even those small confrontations between peoples that had erupted were no more than skirmishes and no place for one of royal Anaguran blood to be.

Perhaps the greatest irony of Tatinia though came from her revel in battle. As much as she yearned for combat death and the wasting of life, it was something that tormented her when battles were done, it disgusted her.

Rider approaching! A faint call went up from the outer wall.

See there was nothing to be concerned about. Lea smiled smarmily as she jumped to her feet and scuttled over to the palisade and stonewalls parapet.

You know, just for once I wish Venetia could have the decency to not stroll lazily back completely unharmed. Dominia sighed as she stood.

She really is so inconsiderate sometimes. Tatinia responded with a shrug. The three women laughed to themselves as they followed Lea.

*****

Who goes there? A voice called from high above Gruagadon. His steed, Calamari, shied in the shadow of the huge walls of the Anaguran encampment, skittering sideways as Gruagadon replied.

A friend. I am here to see Venetia! He glanced along the parapet as he spoke and noticed at least six bows were aiming at him.

Name yourself! A second voice called.

I am no enemy, where is Venetia? Gruagadon tried his best not to sound impatient. A warning arrow fired and fell just short of where Gruagadon was mounted upon Calamari.

*****

Thoughts clouded by memories had caused Venetia to take a detour on her return to the Anaguran encampment. She had planned to visit the creek that had given the land its name but after nearly falling out of the saddle from exhaustion decided to pass through the woods that would provide some form of distraction for her. She thought back to the final battle with Dragonious once more.

What he had said had had a bigger impact than she expected the words ever could have. They had driven her to become obsessed with technique and perfection in all forms of combat. She had filled the past four years with constant training that even her eldest sister, Ralenda, had found excessive.

The loss of her mother had also meant that she had needed something to occupy her mind. Though she had been able to shut out the grief of her mother’s death she had not been able to deaden the words of Dragonious.

Your people have always been feared and loathed by the rest of this world. Why even bother to save it? They will not thank you for my destruction but shun you once more. Nothing you can ever do could redeem your race to them. Stand aside and I will spare your Order from my wrath, you will be able to live apart from the rest of Celadmore on your island, and you will never again have to face being a menace to these people. Landra will be remembered, as a heroine, a martyr, but no one will mourn your passing.

He had been right. The Anaguras were still reviled and loathed by the other peoples of Celadmore, but then she had never truly expected their attitudes to change. Any hope she had held would have proved to be in vain. There had been no parade and even now Venetia wondered why it was that she and her people had sacrificed so much for those who viewed them all so deploringly.

As she pondered this, Balthazar had turned and made his way homeward, the forest not being the most pleasant or reassuring for a horse during the night.

Shouting pulled Venetia out of her thoughts.

Let me pass. I intend no harm against you. The voice was male and belonged to Gruagadon.

We shall not! We have already warned you once; now leave before we are forced to take much harsher action! An Anaguran voice returned.

I would have expected at least a minor form of courtesy to a visitor Rhys, even if he does refuse to give his name. Not even he is foolish enough to try and infiltrate an Anaguran compound that is so heavily fortified on his own and as I can see no sign of a large army within any distance, I would assume that it is safe to allow him to enter. Venetia spoke calmly as Balthazar broke through the tree line. Gruagadon smiled broadly but briefly.

OPEN THE GATES! Rhys called and disappeared from the parapet. Gruagadon looked up in awe as the four giant gates opened slowly. The sound of huge chains clanking resonated from within the walls as the gates creaked and opened slowly.

Venetia nudged Balthazar forward through the four gates with Gruagadon not far behind. Gruagadon stared up in awe of the massive structure of the Anaguran perimeter. The ditches did not run beneath the encampment’s gates but were fenced off by walls that were thick at the bottom and became thinner as they grew skyward until they were nothing but a single line too thin to be walked.

Nothing had stopped within the Anaguran compound. Women still sat before their fires sharpening swords, swapping old war stories, reminiscing of the times they rode together in battle. Some of the camp were dragging the dead carcasses of livestock about to be cut and skinned for cooking, clothes, the dogs’ feed and general everyday items.

Venetia brought Balthazar to a halt just beyond the fourth gate and dismounted swiftly. No one seemed to be in wonder of their Queen’s return as Gruagadon had expected. Rhys had descended from the walls and now came forward to greet Venetia. Gruagadon saw a young girl of barely twenty-four before him.

Her hair was hazel and braided that reached down to her waist, held high in ponytail, each braid finished with three beads of iron, brass and copper and hung by either side of her face. She was dressed in armour that covered most of her body, some chain mail and the rest solid plates, armour that many an enemy would find difficult to pierce. The plates of armour were white with red gilding that was crowned by a Red Phoenix painted on the breastplate.

Before she reached Venetia, however she was met with a tirade of language native to that of the Anaguras. Gruagadon dismounted as he listened.

Anyone seeking me out on their own is entitled to pass within the four gates if not further. There are enough of our people here to neutralise him and any threat he could have possibly caused and I am more than capable of dealing with an attacker than the majority of the Order. I do not need patronising and neither does he.

Rhys nodded solemnly.

Take him to the War Room. I will be there shortly.

Follow me. Rhys said curtly to Gruagadon and led the former prince round the Anaguran encampment to the inner courtyard, where she pointed Gruagadon in the direction of a large square building.

Wait inside until Venetia comes. If you chose to explore the encampment without our permission then you will be treated as a spy and not even Venetia will save you from the punishment that spies receive. Rhys seized Calamari’s reins and led the mare and Balthazar to the horse corral where the grooms took charge of the two mounts.

Gruagadon opened the door of building that Rhys had indicated was the War room. He ducked inside, where three swords met his throat.

*****

Venetia climbed one of the staircases to the inner outer wall and crossed over the narrow wooden plank to the outer wall. Anaguras that she met saluted her.

We have nothing to report other than the man’s appearance, your majesty. Tallana saluted Venetia as she spoke. She was a small Anagura with large grey eyes and auburn hair that fell about her shoulders.

Thank you. Has there been any word? Venetia asked staring out at into the darkness that had fallen on the landscape.

Sroala delivered a message whilst you were gone, your highness. Tallana replied.

Does she order me back? The Queen sounded unsurprised to have received a message.

Yes. She is waiting.

Venetia sighed at Tallana’s words.

What of the others? The Red Demon asked, hoping that the message had contained more than she expected.

She said nothing of them. You are not the only one to have left Anamoore though. Tallana observed.

Did she say what she wanted? Venetia already knew what the summons was about, but she had no intention of being cooperative.

No. Do you have no inkling as to what she wants with you, my lady?

I do; but for now there are more pressing matters. Send Sroala back to her with the message that I will not return now. Something has occurred that is more important than... Venetia breathed heavily If anything moves out there let me know. I’ll be in the War Room. Venetia turned briskly and descended from the battlements. She will not control my destiny.

Chapter 2

You will regret trespassing upon Anaguran ground. A voice threatened Gruagadon in the darkness of the room. Not a single candle was lit, only the glow of the fire that reflecting off the blades and armour provided illumination.

I am not trespassing. Gruagadon said stoutly.

Somehow I feel our definitions of trespassing differ slightly. Sardonic tones came from Gruagadon’s right. His hand had instinctively reached for his sword when he had entered the room and it was still gripped about the dragon’s tail that formed the hilt.

Put your weapons away.

Gruagadon’s grip on his sword relaxed as Venetia entered the War Room. Her face was hidden by shadow but her tone was low and sharp.

There was a moment’s pause. The swords disappeared; Gruagadon could hear the blades being replaced in their scabbards.

Goss. Venetia spoke and the candles in the War Room began to burn brightly illuminating every crevice of the room. The three women that had threatened him turned from where he stood in the doorway and sat at a small, thin table with only six chairs around it.

The disappointment I feel right now will surely pass, but that does not change that you threatened one of my guests. Venetia pushed past Gruagadon into the War Room.

He had no escort. The woman with short black hair spoke.

Rhys was his escort, but it seems she would find his death infinitely more amusing than following my orders. However I shall deal with this later.

What is it Ralenda wanted? The same woman asked.

What she always wants...

Am I not owed an apology? Gruagadon interrupted Venetia. The four seated women turned sharply to stare at Gruagadon. He felt insulted that a threat on his life could warrant such little berating from Venetia.

I never ask for apologies of my warriors, only that they learn from any mistakes and take more care the next time.

Gruagadon still stood in the doorway looking unimpressed.

"An apology is a promise that something will never happen again and indeed you shall never again be threatened by an Anagura when you enter this War Room so there is little need for that now, but an apology also admits to being wrong in your actions and though they may have been extreme actions, they were far from being