Book of the Dead

By Gayle Miller

Banished from her realm and condemned to death, Princess Phyllipa flees to the mysterious island of Abintia. With the help of seers, elementals, healers and a Cyclops, she returns to reclaim her land.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gayle Miller
• Release date: Oct 9, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301659623

Gayle Miller

Scottish author of fantasy series DARK WATERS and (Abintia series) Book of the Dead.Avid fantasy and science fiction fan. Fundamental Rights advocate.

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BOOK OF THE DEAD

GAYLE MILLER

BOOK OF THE DEAD

By Gayle Miller

Smashwords Edition

Other Books by Gayle Miller

Dark Waters Series

Dark Waters

Rise of the Ornia

Vallan Warrior

Copyright 2013 Gayle Miller

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.

This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters and events are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Smashwords Licence Agreement

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each reader. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author.

Cover Art 2014 Gayle Miller

This book is dedicated to my daughter, Ashleigh.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER 1 TRIBUTE

CHAPTER 2 THE BANQUET

CHAPTER 3 FLIGHT

CHAPTER 4 SOLOMON’S VOW

CHAPTER 5 ABINTIA

CHAPTER 6 THE NURSERY

CHAPTER 7 THE TEST

CHAPTER 8 THE ONCOMING STORM

CHAPTER 9 THE COVE

CHAPTER 10 FOREST OF DASKERA

CHAPTER 11 THE ROOT OF ALL EVIL

CHAPTER 12 BROTHERS IN ARMS

CHAPTER 1

TRIBUTE

For ten long years, Lord Solomon had permitted the kings to rule over his realm without fear of attack from his armies. But now, as he slowly glanced at the guards he had placed strategically around the room, the responsibility of deciding who lived and who died pressed heavily upon his heart. It had been the way of the land for many centuries with the burden lying firmly upon his shoulders for it was essential that the balance be maintained, and though he could not eradicate all the evil that the realm was bathed in it gave him a little comfort to know that, at least for his part, he did a little good.

He gave a nod to the guards by the large arched doors, and then glided across to the table and sat down. His fingers thrummed lightly on the gilded book as the doors opened and the kings entered the chamber. Their seats, plain in contrast to his hand carved throne, ensured that they would be under no allusion who was in charge. Welcome, my brothers. For, on this day, your lands shall be judged by the deeds of your people, he said, throwing his arms wide. Pray tell, have you taught them well of your values? Do they heed your warnings or does your plight fall upon deaf ears?

His eyes lingered upon those he knew would not fair well, for their kingdoms were overrun with the most deprived of humanity. This he knew, for he had sent his subjects dressed in the wares of the local peasants into the towns and villages many times over the years where they went largely unnoticed except by the most holy amongst them. Pulling his eyes away from the nearest king, he glanced down at the men who were plotting against him as they took their appointed seats. He could see it in their eyes. When they thought he was not watching they would throw the same old tell-tale glances at one another while shuffling minutely in their seats. But it was always the beads of sweat that formed upon their brow that gave them away, for long before they stepped into the castle they highly suspected what the verdict was going to be. However, with each heavily armoured guard who stood holding a spear beneath the windows that were draped with his royal crest, it was inevitable that wherever the kings looked their eyes would fall upon a soldier who would skewer them within a heartbeat should they try to make a most unwise move within his castle walls.

He peered meaningfully at his guards enjoying the aesthetics they gave the room while keeping the men seated. The armour was thicker and more robust than that of the kings soldiers, for Lord Solomon had ensured that their civilisations only advanced in small increments. And while they were free to war among themselves, since it saved him the trouble of weeding out the trouble makers, if they advanced quicker than he had anticipated or discovered more about science than he deemed was necessary he would send a couple of his messengers to check things out. So far, he had them exactly where he wanted them - at his mercy.

King Tormet stood up. My Lord, I present to you a tribute from the land of Ferdein. He bowed his head and waved his hand at his courtiers to bring forward the chests of gold to sway the scales in his favour, but as the sun crept through the windowpanes and danced across the room he saw that King Ramentha had brought chests filled with jewels. With the sun glistening off the rubies that resembled giant drops of blood, he dropped his head slightly and resigned himself to the fact that his kingdom still stood a good chance of being annihilated for they were far more valuable than gold. Sullenly he glanced towards King Ramentha, who visibly relaxed in his chair knowing that for now his people were safe.

Lord Solomon groaned as he leaned back in his chair as one by one the chests were brought before him. Every time, he thought wearily. It was always the same. Money, gold, jewels, he had enough of each to fill an entire mountain. By the time the twelfth king was due to bring his offering forth, Lord Solomon had begun to weigh up the scales. Even with a chest of gold, King Midena stood no hope. His people were among the worst in all the realm. They purported following their kingdom’s faith, but they were morally corrupt and often they would violate anyone who came close enough to their territory. Rapists, bandits, slavers, the list went on. He had already decided upon their fate and had resolved to wipe out the king’s entire city and surrounding villages. The others, he mused, had a slight chance to prove themselves worthy of being saved. There would, of course, be casualties in each of them but only a select few would be purged.

King Midena stood up. My Lord, he said, bowing respectfully. I present Princess Phyllipa.

The twelve kings turned towards the entrance as Lord Solomon leaned forward in his seat. With a coy smile Princess Phyllipa, who had been waiting out in the grand hall, walked forward to stand in the archway framed by the guards on either side of the large ornate wooden doors. Their spears were held out in front of her barring her passage. Lord Solomon sat up. His eyes were wide with delight for rarely had he seen anyone as breathtakingly beautiful. Her cocoa coloured hair had been carefully braided to highlight the gentleness of her features while the gown that had been woven from the finest silks money could buy, which adorned her womanly body, fell from shoulder to floor and skimmed delicately across her hips. He waved to the guards and waited for them to draw their spears back, allowing her to pass, before rising with an air of authority from his throne. Slowly, elegantly, she entered the room. He watched her, captivated by her beauty, as she made her way across the hall to stand at the foot at the table. For a moment, he simply stood staring at her, and then with a welcoming smile he rounded the table and went to her side. My Lady, he murmured, taking her hand and tracing his lips across it.

Do I meet with your approval, My Lord? Princess Phyllipa asked, lowering her eyes.

Indeed, My Lady, he said, and with a hearty chuckle he turned back to the table and clapped his hands. Tonight we feast, for tomorrow we shall have us a wedding! He took her hand once more, glanced into her eyes and lowered his head. Until tonight, My Lady, he said, brushing his lips tenderly across her hand.

Princess Phyllipa curtsied. My Lord, she said, and then turned and walked out of the room leaving the men staring after her.

With a spring in his step, Lord Solomon crossed to the table and placed his hands on the book. Business, he said, can wait until after the nuptials. Come, let us rejoice.

Thankful that they had managed to secure another day’s respite, the kings stood up and bowed to Lord Solomon. My Lord, they said, and with the tension rife between them, they departed the great hall.

It had come as quite a surprise when Princess Phyllipa had been called forward, for they knew how prized she was amongst the people of Triatra since they had often enquired of her eligibility to be wed and the answer was always the same, Never! It had been rumoured that the Princess was being groomed for the gods and that no man was permitted to touch her, for she was to remain completely and utterly chaste and to defile anyone who had been promised to the gods was punishable by death. However, that had been all that there was just rumours. Now as the kings thought about their meagre tributes, they wished that they had the forethought to raise one of their own as an offering for surely now the scales weighed more in the Triatrans favour.

The kings, worried about how to send word to their messengers, considered their best course of action as they made their way along the bustling corridors and entered their appointed chambers. They could send one of their own but Lord Solomon would be expecting that. A servant, perhaps? One who would be able to sneak past the guards unnoticed. Granted they would require a handsome payment for their services, but the kings knew that if Lord Solomon caught the servant then the kings would be flogged to within an inch of their lives or worse. They had seen it happen before, and the corpses that hung from the spears that ran the length of the bridge that separated the castle from the mainland made it perfectly clear what to expect for treachery as the crowns of several kings hung loosely around a few of their necks. When the signal came that all was clear and that the kings were alone, they promptly emerged from their chambers and huddled together. A note had been quickly scribbled upon a dry parchment and folded up into a small square that could be easily passed without notice. Then, from out of the shadows, a male servant appeared and silently crept forward.

Sire, for a small fee, I will send word to your messengers, he said.

The kings glared at him. Although they had every intention of using the servant they did not wish to make it too obvious for surely he would then have the upper hand, and killing a servant in the Lord’s house would bring an ill-desired fury upon their people. Cautiously, the kings glanced around as the servant stepped closer. Deliver this to my messenger at the foot of the mountain, a gruff looking king said while the other kings bore down on the servant. If you are arrested you must destroy the note immediately. Do you understand? he asked.

Yes, Sire. However, there is the small matter of my fee. I am but a lowly servant, and if I am caught I will surely be put to death and my family will starve.

We shall pay you for your service should you fulfil your commitment to us, and if you should die in the attempt then we shall honour our end of the deal and provide for your family, the gruff looking king said.

The servant bowed low, took the note, and then tucking it inside his shirt, he darted off with the slapping of his feet against the solid ground echoing around them. Silently the kings glanced at one another with their eyes meeting in understanding and anticipation, hoping that the servant would be successful. Then, one by one, they turned and headed back to their chambers to prepare for the feast.

Lord Solomon was exhilarated. He already had several wives, but not one was as beautiful as Princess Phyllipa. She would adorn his bedchamber like a caterpillar fighting to escape its cocoon, and he would be the one to break it open. He would be her first sight as a sexual woman. His butterfly. It did not matter whether she loved him or not, for she would either come to love him or take her place in the harem with the others. Letting his mind wander to the immanent honeymoon, he threw off his robe and stepped into the marble bath.

*****

Kaylon peered stealthily around the side of the castle. He knew when and where the guards patrolled since he had sneaked out many times before, and had only once been almost caught. Luckily, he had the good sense to dive over the side of the bridge and hang on to its underbelly on that occasion, although it had been a most perilous experience it had been one that he had learned from.

He took a steadying breath, and waited for the guards to move from their positions and begin their patrol along the bridge knowing that he would have to time it precisely to ensure that he would get to the small cavern that was half-hidden on the side of the mountain. Pressing himself up against the castle wall, he silently watched as the guards approached the centre of the bridge, and then he slowly began to count their steps. One... two... three. It was now or never.

By the time Kaylon had reached ten, he had bolted past the castle’s entrance and leapt down the small incline that led to the darkened recess. He had spotted it the first time he had dangled under the bridge. Unsure whether the hole he had seen was anything larger than an eroded section of the mountain, he had decided to check it out the first chance he got, and that moment presented itself sooner than he would have ever dreamt.

He had been brought to the castle as a youngster as punishment for stealing from the market stall on the day of the cleansing. Since then two more culls had taken place. The second was that of a small village near where he had been raised before his incarceration at the castle. Frightened that his parents would be caught in the onslaught he had sneaked out of the castle and down to the hole in the mountainside. He hoped that it would lead out of the mountain, but it was pitch black and all he could do was feel around praying that he would find a way out. Swiping his foot back and forth along the ground, he managed to find a short dust covered step that led downwards. Carefully he stepped to his left, climbed down with his hands placed firmly on either side of the wall, and felt his way down the stairwell. Unfortunately, he discovered that there were several steps missing when his foot gave way and he tumbled head first down the stairs. Battered and bruised he had picked himself up and cautiously continued on. He recalled the strange acrid smell that filled the stairwell as he drew near what he assumed to be the centre of the mountain. Then, as he moved further down, he realised what the stench was coming from. As his foot crunched down on the hard surface he gagged, for it was firmly lodged in the skull of another. Whether it was a soldier or a servant he did not know, neither did he particularly want to find out. He shook the remains of the skull off of his foot, and swiftly bolted downwards with his heart pummelling the inside of his chest. After several more minutes had passed, he finally spotted a little light creeping into the stairwell. The entrance, he noted, was almost completely hidden by trees and only those who knew its location were likely to find it. As he thought about the poor soul who had died on the stairs, he grimaced. It must have been a servant. Who else would have known about the secret escape route?

Filled with trepidation