The Tyrant's Onslaught (The Valerious Chronicles: Book Two)

By Julian Saheed

Imprisoned. Christill now faces the wrath of his King and Council. They will demand his blood, but his destiny is yet to be fulfilled. He must uncover the terrible source of the Tyrant King’s power if the world is to be saved. The guardian gods have given him strength, however, he will be forced to travel to the most dangerous part of Kovi, hunted by those he is fighting to save.

Thibalt always believed in his Scorpions, but it is a dark path the Maloreichar have set them on. He will question his actions at every turn. The war will paint his hands red. As their enemies close in around them, he will be forced to make the hardest choice of his life.

Throughout their journey they will face familiar enemies, treachery and above all the malevolence of Zephra. The truth will be revealed and sacrifices made, for the Tyrant King’s onslaught is unwavering. Hope is all that remains. Hope and two brothers.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Julian Saheed
• Release date: Aug 30, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311239464

Julian Saheed

Stalking the medieval corridors and halls of the castles in Germany and the Czech republic, visions of brave knights and lord and ladies feasting in their halls cemented themselves in my mind. There was only one choice left to me, to write my own Fantasy stories. A passion fueled by the books that I read growing up from authors such as David Eddings, Raymond E Feist, Margaret Weis and Tracy Hickman.

Book preview

The Tyrant’s Onslaught

The Valerious Chronicles: Book Two

By Julian Saheed

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2014 Julian Saheed

Cover Art by Julian Saheed

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 recipient. 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 this author.

Discover other titles by Julian Saheed:

Dawn of the Valiant: The Valerious Chronicles Book One

Silent Harbinger

DEDICATION

This one is dedicated to Tom and Steph. There are never enough ways to say thank you.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

To Melina, for working your magic.

To Davide and Ben, for continuing the journey.

Table of Contents

Prologue: Answers

Chapter One: Captive

Chapter Two: The Library of Lan Fier

Chapter Three: Blame and Virtue

Chapter Four: Disavowal

Chapter Five: The Shrine

Chapter Six: In the Dark of Night

Chapter Seven: Lords of Galdovan

Chapter Eight: Sundering

Chapter Nine: Gatherings

Chapter Ten: Travelled Paths

Chapter Eleven: With Burning Eyes

Chapter Twelve: Kings of Feldom

Chapter Thirteen: Journey

Chapter Fourteen: Vladistov

Chapter Fifteen: A Knife to the Heart

Chapter Sixteen: Mortality

Chapter Seventeen: Encroaching Shadows

Chapter Eighteen: The Twisted Depths

Chapter Nineteen: Traitors

Chapter Twenty: Confrontation

Chapter Twenty One: The Far Side and the Other Side

Epilogue: No Surrender

Dramatis Personae

About the Author

PROLOGUE

ANSWERS

It’s more impressive than the tales, decided Borrin.

Skiddle kept turning, checking for shadows in the light peeping under the door from outside. Alright, you’ve seen it, now let’s get outta here.

You know, for a former thief you have little sense of adventure.

Captain Steelfist will castrate me if we’re caught! Skiddle hissed.

"Castrate us," Borrin corrected.

Hardly, he’s married your sister. Not gonna harm his own family.

Borrin doubted that. If anything, Thibalt was more likely to chastise him. Being Miera’s brother only seemed to make Thibalt feel personally responsible for any misbehaviour on his part.

Bring the light over, I want a better look. The small thief reluctantly shifted the lantern.

It’s just a bloody sword, said Skiddle, squinting down at the blade in Borrin’s hands.

Just a sword! exclaimed Borrin. "Oril Firestorm’s own sword. Dargon’s Bane."

Still just a sword.

Borrin shook his head. The blade was longer than he’d imagined, with a wide guard and round pommel. It felt light in his hands. There were no jewels, no fine leather around the hilt. Only an inscription running along the blade. A true soldier’s weapon. A weapon befitting the first of the Maloreichar, the first Honour Guard. Moon wax, moon wane, darkness remain, guided by flame, I am Dargon’s bane, Borrin read.

What a load of-

Skiddle was silenced by a noise from the next room.

You said the Duke was away! Borrin whispered.

He is! Skiddle ground through his teeth.

Borrin quickly placed the sword on its stand and they crept back to the door, moving past tapestries and other exquisite items in Duke Poleus’s private collection.

Skiddle carefully opened the door and checked the corridor. He signalled for Borrin to follow him outside. The Duke’s chambers were sealed. They both looked at each other. If the Duke was inside, a guard would be stationed at the door.

We’d better take a look, suggested Borrin.

Skiddle stared back at his fellow Scorpion, astounded. We just broke into the Duke’s collection. Now you want us ta check his rooms?

There shouldn’t be anyone in there.

"We shouldn’ be here!"

Borrin rolled his eyes and pushed past Skiddle. Carefully, he placed his ear to the door. It abruptly opened, leaving him standing there dumbfounded, face to face with a masked man. Rough hands darted out and slammed Borrin against the opposite wall. The figure sprinted down the corridor.

Regaining his composure, Borrin turned to Skiddle. They hesitated for a brief, confused moment, then gave chase.

* * *

A knife slammed into the wall and whirled past Torrlan’s face. The agile mute swept around the corner in pursuit of the masked man. Borrin and Skiddle struggled to keep up with Torrlan’s swift strides, cursing once they lost sight of their companion.

They’re too quick, Skiddle puffed. I can’t keep up.

Borrin peered down the road. Andron’s streets were empty of their usual bustle. The dull moonlight cast a hundred shadows amongst the buildings.

Where’s Irrol gotten to? asked Skiddle.

Don’t know. He turned a different corner, Borrin replied. After chasing the masked man through the barracks, their run had carried them straight into the path of their fellow Scorpions. The man had charged past Torrlan and Irrol, bursting outside into the street. The mute joined their pursuit without question, with his giant companion only taking a moment to begrudgingly follow.

Borrin and Skiddle ran down the main street. A fierce easterly wind carried the dust from the ground up and around them. Borrin cut right and leapt up onto an empty wagon. Skiddle followed and they climbed onto the roof of a nearby building. Scampering across the rooftops, they caught sight of Torrlan; he was already a block ahead of them and gaining on the masked man. Borrin found a suitable place to drop and jumped back down to street level.

They found him a few streets away, slumped on the floor, head in his hands. There was a small trickle of blood running down his scalp. Borrin helped him up, but Torrlan pushed the help away and resumed the chase. No one could deny the mute’s stamina.

The pursuit took them west. They rushed down the streets, passing the last of the city’s inner buildings and coming to the warehouses bordering the harbour. The noise of waves breaking against the Feldonian coast grew louder and Borrin urged his companions to increase their pace.

Coming onto one of the main paths to the shipyards, the three Scorpions skidded to a stop. A group of men blocked their way. They were as unsavoury a bunch as Borrin had seen, dressed in mismatched colours and covered in dirt and drink. Halting their drunken banter, the group spread out to block off the path with toothless smiles. Borrin cursed. This could only have one outcome.

Skiddle pulled Borrin and Torrlan back around the corner. We try another way.

Running into the next passage, they regretted their choice. The homeless had taken refuge here. They dodged street urchins huddled under wooden crates, or playing beside piles of rubbish, little more than old sacks to protect them from the cold. Borrin looked away. His sympathy wasn’t going to help them.

Reaching the other side of the passage, Skiddle ducked low at the last second to avoid a plank of wood aimed at his head. The nimble Scorpion fell into a roll and turned his body to come up standing. The group of thugs had cut them off. Skiddle charged at the man with the plank of wood and slammed him into the stone wall. The thug’s head crunched against stone and he crumpled, allowing Borrin and Torrlan to leave the passage. To their left, the rest of the thugs pulled clubs and knives from their hiding spots, furious at the sight of one of their own being harmed.

Run! screamed Borrin. The companions bolted down the street. With each strenuous step, the sounds from the waterfront grew louder. They dived into another narrow alley and, with relief, saw the harbour through the opening at the end. The thugs followed them in, screaming taunts and curses. Only in Andron, thought Borrin.

Torrlan came to a stop and motioned for the others to turn. His fingers flashed out some simple instructions, enough for them to understand the mute’s intent. The alley was thin enough to remove the thugs’ advantage of superior numbers. Torrlan’s hands dived in and out of his pockets, sending his knives into the two closest men. They fell to the ground with surprised grunts. Borrin looked for the closest thing to a weapon, finding a rock and broken piece of pottery. Better than nothing.

They charged at the group.

The thugs lost some of their resolve watching Torrlan’s knives take down their comrades. They fell over one another to avoid the Scorpions’ furious charge. A few of the keener gang members worked their way to the front to engage Skiddle and Borrin, but learned that drunken bravado was no match for hard training.

In the midst of the fight, Borrin reeled as a steel pipe collected with his forehead. He reached up to find blood pouring from a split in his skin and screamed. He had just wanted to see the sword of Oril Firestorm. Would it have really hurt to walk away without checking the Duke’s chambers?

Borrin, come on! called Skiddle, who had moved back to join Torrlan down the alleyway.

Borrin realised the thugs had fled, having come to the conclusion that these three were no easy target. He pulled his sleeve to his forehead to stem the bleeding.

You alright? asked Skiddle.

Of course, answered Borrin firmly. They were Steelfist’s Scorpions. A small cut was not going to stop them. He joined the others and they left the alley, coming out into the fresh sea breeze. The shipyard spread out before them, littered with crates, fishing nets, cranes and a plethora of building materials piled up in fenced off sections.

The harbour was alive despite the hour. Captains barked orders to their crew, who loaded cargo for the early morning runs. Under the flickering light of lanterns, shipwrights inspected broken hulls. The local guard were lazing about the harbour, hoping for an uneventful night.

Over there, called Skiddle.

Torrlan and Borrin saw the masked man moving to the northern half of the harbour. They once again picked up pursuit, pushing past angry sailors and merchants as they charged through the shipyard. Piers spread out like fingers from the wooden forefront of the shipyard. A forest of masts filled the horizon from ships that earned their coin from the Sea of Turmoil.

The masked man caught sight of them and began to sprint. The Scorpions followed him onto one of the smaller piers, but he’d gained too much time. They watched as he leapt onto a small sailing skiff and pushed it away from the pier. Skiddle cursed as the skiff’s sail unfurled and caught the wind, gradually pulling the boat away from the harbour. They walked to the edge of the pier and were forced to watch as their target slowly floated away.

Find a ship! said Borrin, head darting around.

Torrlan shook his head. It was too late.

All tha’ running for nothing, added Skiddle angrily.

The skiff continued to drift out of the harbour.

A second fast moving shape then caught their attention. Ahead of the small boat came a larger vessel, speeding over the water, heading for the masked man’s skiff. The fleeing man tried to shift his course. He pulled hard on the till, trying desperately to steer clear. His efforts were in vain. The second ship made short work of the distance and the two boats collided with a splintering crunch.

The three Scorpions watched as a large figure leapt from the bigger vessel and attacked the masked man. The fight didn’t last long. They waited whilst the two ships were separated and watched as the unidentified boat drifted towards them. As the lantern light fell over the sailing ship, Skiddle and Borrin let out a chuckle.

Standing proudly on the prow of the damaged vessel was Irrol, a wide grin on his face, arms folded proudly across his thick chest. The giant unceremoniously dropped the masked man onto the pier and leapt onto the timber.

Seems I’m always doin’ your dirty work for you, the large man called out with a laugh.

Torrlan walked over to his lifelong companion and patted him on the shoulder with a coy smirk.

What… How? Borrin asked, moving up to their prisoner and lifting him up.

Irrol winked down at Borrin. Took a horse. Figured the way he was running, he’d look for a boat outta here. If I was wrong, well, at least I got a chance to ride in a boat.

You found a horse tha’ could carry you? asked Skiddle.

Borrin laughed. Let’s take him to the captain. Irrol can beat some answers out of him.

* * *

He needed to yawn, but now was hardly the time for it. One thing they never mentioned about being a captain was that you were always tired. It didn’t seem to matter whether he managed a full night’s sleep either. There was a perpetual weight, pulling at his eyelids, dragging him into a state of numb delirium.

Thibalt held the coat up to the light and studied the symbol on its breast. A howling golden jackal on a field of deep red. He flung the black coat over to Estallion and walked over to the prisoner.

Seen it before? Thibalt asked his closest friend, as he scowled down at the unconscious man bound to the chair.

Estallion, similarly put out at being roused from his bed, ran his thumb over the symbol. Not that I can recall. However that doesn’t mean much. I don’t count myself as an expert on heraldry. Ask me to name the colours of the runners in the Ardistian races and I’ll be more than happy to help.

Thibalt ignored the irrelevant comment, it definitely wasn’t the first. He loomed menacingly over the prisoner. The man’s face was purple from the beating Irrol had given him. His skin was pale, obviously Dargonian. Skiddle was standing behind the chair with a bucket of icy water at the ready. With a slight nod from Thibalt, he upended it over their captive.

The man awoke with a loud gasp, head darting around. He quickly regained his composure and groaned. Argh… what do you want?

I ask the questions! snapped Thibalt. Who are you?

The prisoner bared his teeth. Ullden, he answered.

A Dargonian name, commented Estallion.

Ullden’s eyes rose to the ceiling. Gushkall save me, I have been captured by idiots.

Thibalt’s hand lashed out, sending Ullden’s head backwards with an awful snap. He moaned and spat out blood.

What were you doing in the Duke’s rooms? Thibalt probed.

Spying! replied Ullden loudly. He laughed as his tongue ran around his mouth, counting his teeth.

If I were in that seat I wouldn’t be laughing, Thibalt said, stepping up and placing a hand on both arms of Ullden’s chair.

Are you stupid enough to think I’m afraid? Ullden replied. My life was forfeit the day I was sent here. Torture me all you want. Question me, make me beg. I don’t fear death. Whatever you do could never compare to my master’s wrath if I returned empty handed.

Thibalt took a deep breath. Damn. That was unexpected. A physical approach might not work.

He stepped over to Estallion and retrieved the coat. What is this symbol? he asked, showing Ullden the golden jackal.

Ullden let out a dark chuckle. Something you’ll become more familiar with.

I haven’t seen this amongst Zephra’s banners.

And you won’t, said Ullden. That’s the Fleet of Sinsai.

Sinsai, mumbled Estallion, scratching his chin. That’s far to the east of Dargon. Over the sea. There aren’t any people living there.

You know so little about our side of the world, said Ullden condescendingly. Then again, you barely know what’s happening within your own borders.

Thibalt’s tired mind attempted to sift through Ullden’s words. He was confused, playing with issues larger than his command of the Scorpions. And it hurt his head. Tell us what you mean and we will be lenient. We can protect you from your master.

Skiddle looked up from behind the chair and the other Scorpions in the room showed similar bafflement. After Irrol had beaten the man into unconsciousness, their captain’s soft approach was unexpected.

Ullden was watching Thibalt, a slight curve to his bloodied lips. I know your kind. Honour bound, driven by a delusion of upholding justice. You believe your actions are serving a greater good, that scum like me are an evil which must be stamped out. He spat on the floor. You’re all so lost in a fantasy world that you can’t see the shit you’re wading through. It’s up to your knees and you can’t even smell it. The world ain’t nice and it never will be. There’s no such thing as an honourable man. Only those that think they can fool everybody else and benefit from it.

What would a Dargonian know of honour? replied Thibalt.

It takes a lot of dishonourable acts to know true virtue, replied Ullden. Might be I know a lot more than you.

This coming from a spy, said Estallion.

We didn’t tie you to a chair to be lectured on morals, interrupted Thibalt. Tell us what you were looking for.

Ullden took his time to reply. I feel sorry for you all. I know what I’ve got coming. You’re all lost in the dark.

Well then, enlighten us, said Thibalt.

I’m not sure that’s possible.

That was enough. Thibalt was too exhausted for this. He moved up and sent his fist hard into Ullden’s chest. His hand came away throbbing, but he had heard the definite crunch of breaking bone. I tried nice, now it’s time for answers. Despite what the prisoner might have said, everybody felt pain, no matter how ready for it they were.

Skiddle and the others smiled. This was what they’d expected.

Ullden’s face was scrunched up but he didn’t cry out.

Thibalt punched him again, holding his own tongue at the pain running through his fist. That was something else no one ever mentioned; punching someone hurt.

This time Ullden let out a groan. You’ll suffer soon enough. Treachery runs deep in your Alliance. Are you ready to learn the truth?

Speak, replied Thibalt, fists clenched and at the ready.

When you realise how far Zephra’s influence has spread, you will sink to your knees and look for a hole to crawl into. You will truly understand how lost the Feldonian race is.

Thibalt glanced over at Estallion. His friend had the same combination of confusion and concern in his eyes.

You know who these traitors are?

I know some.

Tell us and I will let you keep your teeth, threatened Thibalt.

You may act tough, but you don’t have the dark streak inside of you.

Thibalt couldn’t argue with him. It was true. I might not, but he does.

Irrol stepped up from his corner of the room, his bulky frame casting a shadow over the chair.

Ullden remembered Irrol. He remembered him well.

Names, Thibalt demanded.

You will be betrayed by those who rule you, replied Ullden. You will be betrayed by those who you pass in the streets. Everywhere you look you will begin to doubt and question. Then, when you believe it could get no worse, you will be betrayed by those you would call friends.

The Scorpions all shared an uneasy glance.

Now hurry up and torture me, you rotten piles of scum, snarled Ullden. I’m done helping you.

Irrol moved up to the Dargonian and punched him hard in the face, sending him and the chair crashing to the floor.

Ullden’s nose was bent at a sharp angle, but he began to laugh.

Your lies don’t scare us, said Thibalt, though part of him knew this to be untrue.

Oh, you wish to be scared? said Ullden. Then prepare yourselves. For though you may be fighting my brothers on the battlefield, there are other things you will face. Things born of nightmares. The sudden seriousness in Ullden’s tone frightened Thibalt. I thank Gushkall that I will never live to see such horrors again.

Thibalt’s mouth felt terribly dry. Why couldn’t someone else have found this spy? Lock him up, he ordered. As his Scorpions dragged Ullden away, Thibalt turned to Estallion. The Alliance was having a hard enough time dealing with Dargon. What else could go wrong? What do we do? he asked his friend.

Estallion’s hands shot up. You’re the captain.

I’m the captain, thought Thibalt. The captain with no answers.

CHAPTER ONE

CAPTIVE

Christill wondered, how has it come to this? He stared vacantly at the filthy, grime covered floor. The strange pattern of events that had unfolded on his arrival in Feldom could only be described as extraordinary. Had it been chance that had placed him in Nyrune’s domain at the very moment she was attacked? Or was there a purpose to all of this? He dwelt on this as he waited silently on his rotten wooden bench. His life had become so awash with the problems of this world, all happy thoughts had been drowned out. Thibalt was fighting a war he had been dragged into unconsciously by Christill. Had Novokai not captured Christill and taken him into Dargon, Thibalt would be spending his days with his wife Miera. Instead he was risking his life in the Feldonian army. Christill felt a great sense of regret for Miera, who would find this situation harder than Thibalt.

Dark stone and coarse iron bars separated him from freedom and the outside world. Though he could not see it, Christill could feel the magical barrier surrounding the cell, a pointless attempt to contain him. His new powers were unlike anything he had ever dreamed of. With minimal effort he could break down the barrier and escape from this prison. What good would that do? Escape would only mark him as guilty. Nyrune had begged him to warn Skiye and to do so, he needed access to her Shrine. Access to her shrine required the help of one of her disciples. Elephtheria had already suffered as a result of trying to help him. Though to what extent he did not know. He hoped above all else that his actions had not caused another person he cared for to suffer.

The little light that entered his prison from the corridor outside was barely enough for Christill to make out the meagre contents of his cell. Despite this, he had memorised every single stone that made up the walls closing in about him. Three weeks had passed since Mandigal had brought him into the City of Skiye. Three weeks he had spent in solitude. With no more than a turnkey, who brought him his water and porridge, for brief company. What was happening in the outside world was a mystery to him. Kovi’s reaction to the death of Nyrune would have been tremendous, but stuck here in his filthy cell, Christill could only imagine the chaos that had followed the destruction of Nyrune’s Academy. The Council of Elders placed the blame on him, that much he knew. And of all people, Christill needed their help the most. Their knowledge could aid him in making some sense of the last month. Somehow, he would need to convince them all that he had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

He sighed and shook his head. How in the planes was he going to do that? King Castaneda and his advisors would not listen to his pleas. And once the Council of Elders arrived there would be little chance for him to make his case. Their anger would cloud their capacity to see reason. His allies were running thin and he was wary to ask anyone else for help, lest he drag them into his dire situation.

Christill’s thoughts turned to his old master, Dievu. Whilst escaping from the wreckage of the Academy of Nyrune, the Karmanian emissary had not stopped Christill. Since then, no news of his master had reached him. Christill slammed his fist into the bench. No news had come to him at all. Were his friends still alive? Why had nobody come to question him?

Calm down, he said out aloud, trying to focus on his breathing. There was no point allowing his anger to control his actions. He smiled, remembering the many times Dievu had chastened him for letting his emotions take hold. Christill could almost hear his former master’s words echoing through the cell. As he cleared his mind and tried to relax, he felt the magic within him. There was something new to the powers he had been given. A hidden presence which stayed just out of his reach yet made itself known to him at times. Try as he might, he could not seem to identify it. Every time he peered at his own reflection in the small bucket of water given to him, he saw his new green eyes glaring back at him.

The amount of energy within him was far greater than that which normal disciples receive. His second trip to the Third Plane was not meant to provide him with extra power. Everything he had learnt from the Council of Elders suggested that the trial involved only acceptance or rejection by Nyrune. However, his trip had not been normal by any measure. He had been forced to watch, helplessly, as the Goddess was consumed by the black void. At that last second she had given him something. But what was it? There was only one way that he could find the answers. He had to speak with Skiye.

Without a window in his cell Christill could only track the time by keeping count of the awful food brought to him once a day. To keep from losing his strength and fight boredom, he forced himself to pace around the room and stretch his cramping muscles. It was during his latest attempt to fill the time that he heard voices from the corridor. He quickly moved to the bars in his cell, but could not see far down the passage. The voices drew nearer and Christill made out the light from several torches casting flickering shadows on the dark blue walls. He then saw the five figures come into view and instantly recognised Friedrich and Vrill. They were being pushed by three surly guards, hands shackled behind their backs, and from their drawn looks were weak and in pain.

What have you done to them? Christill called out.

Shut your hole! came the angry reply from one of the guards.

They unlocked the cell next to Christill’s and unshackled the two Dargonian prisoners. Friedrich and Vrill stumbled into the holding cell and collapsed onto the stone. The guards locked the door with a laugh and moved back the way they had come, talking amongst themselves.

Friedrich, are you hurt? asked Christill through the bars. He could no longer see his two friends but could hear their erratic breathing.

After a concerning silence Friedrich replied in a raspy voice, Don’t you worry, Christill. Vrill and I can take a fair bit of punishment. The words caused the Dargonian prince pain and he moaned.

Christill clenched the cold iron bars, feeling responsible for the condition of his companions. I should never have brought you here. Forgive me my friends for what I have put you through, he said despairingly.

Don’t give yourself too much credit, Christill, replied Vrill, trying to retain his impish presence, despite his state. Do you think that the Karmanians would have treated us much better had we stayed there? They would have surely suspected us of helping you bring down the Academy.

I didn’t do it! responded Christill desperately.

Calm down, returned Vrill. We know you didn’t. I was just pointing out that the Council of Elders will clearly believe that you did. As a result, they would have accused us in the same fashion. The hatred of our people runs deeply in both races.

Christill knew Vrill’s reasoning was correct, but it did little to remove his overwhelming guilt. What did they do to you?

Let’s just say they tried everything in their power to convince us that we were Dargonian spies, replied Friedrich. They did not want to believe that we had no part to play in the destruction of the Academy. Perephine and his lackeys employed every twisted device at their disposal to try to make us talk. But those pigs didn’t get a word out of us.

Vrill let out a low groan. You know, for a while I almost felt like agreeing with the ridiculous claims that they were making. Just to stop the torture. How long have we been here?

Around three weeks, answered Christill.

Three weeks! exclaimed Friedrich. I cannot believe it has been so long.

How serious are your wounds? asked Christill.

At the moment my body is too numb from the cold, replied Friedrich. They placed us in icy water for hours at a time. I can barely feel my hands and feet.

Christill could hear the agony in their tone as they forced themselves to speak and could take it no longer. He had to do something to help them. Moving away from the door he walked up to the wall that separated their cells. He placed his hands on the blue stones and instantly felt the magical barrier flowing around them. He remained there for several moments, studying the magic. Christill could sense the raw power of the goddess Skiye moving through the stones. Hundreds of strands that coiled around each other to form a solid boundary. He needed to find a way to interrupt the magical link within the barrier, without destroying it entirely. The last thing that he wanted to do was alert the guards.

Coming to a decision, he stepped back and attuned his mind to the power within him. His body responded immediately, sending forth a stream of green magic towards the wall. It swirled through the air, giving off the faintest sound of rushing air, and pooled at one of the large stone blocks of the cell wall. Christill’s mind was now one with the energy and he willed it into the stone. The magical boundary flared up as Christill sent his own energy in between the strands of magic. The bright blue and green energies fought, filling his cell with celestial light. Christill pushed his own powers further into the wall. He then shifted his thoughts, causing his energy to form a square around the stone in the wall. With a final effort, he used the magic to pull the stone from the wall, where it fell to the floor with an immense bang. In place of the stone, Christill left his square of energy, around which the magical barrier now moved. He let out a sigh of relief and walked up to the hole between the two cells.

Lying on the floor were Friedrich and Vrill, their breathing shallow. Both had purple lips and shivered on the bare stone. Don’t worry, my friends, I will help you, Christill said softly. He then summoned forth more of his power and sent it into their cell. The green magic filled their bodies and Christill moved it through their wounds, doing what he could to heal them. Once more his mind was one with his powers and he found his thoughts moving through their frames, finding their injuries and repairing them with the energy.

Christill watched as the colour slowly returned to their faces and their lungs moved more freely. He then moved his magic over them, trying his best to provide them with warmth. Having done all that he could, Christill dispelled the magic and let out a breath full of exhaustion. Friedrich and Vrill sat up slowly, still wincing, and nodded their thanks to Christill. He had managed to repair the serious trauma, but they still needed rest to return to their former selves.

I will let you sleep. You have suffered a great deal and deserve to be left alone, said Christill.

That sounds like a good idea, replied Vrill, lying back down and closing his eyes.

Will we try to escape? asked Friedrich.

Christill shook his head and replied, No. We cannot hope to achieve anything by running. We tried that in Duathnin, but it has put us in a worse situation than before. This time we will have to think of something else.

What if they threaten to kill us? Friedrich queried.

Christill returned the question with a stern gaze. It will not come to that. I will cooperate with their requests if they see reason. If they do not come to see the truth in my claims, I will have to use force.

Friedrich studied his friend’s eyes for a while, thinking about how his life had led him here. Very well, he eventually replied. He then followed Vrill’s example and laid down to find some rest.

Christill moved back to the centre of his cell and used his magic to return the stone to its place. Once he had released his own magic from the wall, the magical barrier coiled back together, leaving no mark of what he had done. He nodded and returned to his stretches.

The King’s council hall held an unnatural chill this morning. Perephine cleared his throat, announcing a start to the day’s proceedings. Standing in a line, which stretched far out of the arched entryway, were the hundreds of clerks, merchants and dignitaries who had waited weeks for an audience with King Castaneda. The troubled monarch sat solemnly on his throne, his blue and white robes wrapped over his shoulders, rubbing his temples with his calloused fingers. In the smaller throne nearby sat Queen Triel, her eyes shut in peaceful meditation.

Ever present, behind them, stood Perephine Aldehelm. His tight fitting blue robes seeming to press the air from his chest. All those who brought their requests to the council hall knew it was he they needed to convince. Next to Perephine sat the remaining advisors, the rest of the First Order of Skiye. Amongst them, with a dour expression that had not changed for weeks, was Elephtheria. Her once-beaming smile, now lost in the days of the past.

The first of those seeking an audience stepped up and began his request. The King paid little heed to what was being said, knowing that his advisors would save him from making a decision. The morning progressed and it soon became evident that the requests all held common ground. Since the disappearance of Nyrune, the world had been thrown into disorder. The weather she had held such close control over had dramatically altered. The climate which the people of Kovi had grown accustomed to over vast centuries had in one instance been removed, now replaced by a capricious pattern of weather that was throwing the nation into chaos. Fields that had never seen more than a few days of rain a year had been flooded by giant storm clouds, unleashing the full force of nature upon them. Massive valleys filled with crops found themselves starved for moisture as the rain clouds that had nourished them moved on to distant lands.

Patterns had shifted so entirely that the reports coming into the City of Skiye hinted at a catastrophe far greater than the current conflict with Zephra and Baldoroff. But the trouble did not stop in Feldom. Reports from their spies told them of the snow melting in Dargon, filling the Tuun River to four times its normal size and swallowing up the small villages on its shores with little warning. Emissaries returning from the grief-stricken Karmanian nation revealed the slow decay of the Misty Forest. Without Nyrune’s aid, much of the plant life residing within Karmena was withering away. Plants and trees which had survived for hundreds of years were growing sick in the absence of the Goddess’s magic.

Perephine, taking note of the constant questions regarding this unprecedented disaster, raised his hands to stop the next clerk from beginning, calling for everyone’s attention. I want it to be known that there will be no more queries regarding the changes to the weather in Feldom. The strongest minds of the Academy are working day and night to find an answer and a solution to this problem. Until they have one, we will not be wasting our time with your petty issues.

The crowd began to protest and slowly the noise rose until the council hall was filled with angry cries. King Castaneda frowned at Perephine and the advisor quickly shouted out for silence once more.

If you do not conduct yourselves in a peaceful manner I will have you arrested and thrown in prison! he called out, his forehead creasing with ire. Now if you have business that does not involve the elements, pray, remain in line. But those who do not, leave this hall immediately. His last words boomed over the crowd in such absolution that the people gathered turned to leave the Citadel.

Only a handful of patricians remained, causing the King to mutter, Thank Skiye.

Perephine swiftly saw to their needs, taking control of the council hall as was his wont. Elephtheria watched it all through glazed eyes. Her thoughts dwelt on a young man that she had grown fond of over the last months. A man that she had risked much for and yet failed to help. There was something about Christill that she had instantly liked. During his brief time in the City of Skiye, Christill had paid her a visit almost every night and she had found herself looking forward to them so much that his leaving had saddened her deeply. When she was with him she felt young again, as though she was still in the Academy, studying with her friends and oblivious to the troubles of an entire nation.

She was drawn out of her trance by a call from the Citadel entrance. There, standing with the sun at the backs, was a group dressed in foreign garb. They marched slowly to the throne, making strangely little noise in the large chamber. Though their clothing was simple in make it did not fail to convey the power these individuals held. Elephtheria counted four of them in total and was surprised to see that so many had come. Behind them marched a large contingent of armed soldiers, hands on their weapons and stern looks on their faces.

Welcome lords and ladies, greeted Perephine dryly.

The members of the Council of Elders who had made the long journey showed their dissatisfaction at Perephine’s casual tone. Kiril Poth, oldest of the Elders, stepped forward, leaving Dietrue, Vischia and Velski standing behind him. Elephtheria then spotted Dievu lurking at the back of the large assembly and smiled as her old friend greeted her with a small nod.

Greetings King Dieter Castaneda. Long has it been since the Council of Elders has walked through your halls, Kiril began loudly. It saddens me that it must be under such dire circumstances. Would that it could have been on more peaceful terms that we come to visit.

Thankfully we are still at peace with each other. Are we not Kiril? replied the King, raising his head to look down at his counterpart.

Assuming that everything goes according to our wishes, then we will of course still remain ever loyal members of the Alliance, returned Kiril.

And what are those wishes? asked Perephine before the King could respond.

From our understanding you are holding four prisoners for us, answered the proud Elder. We thank you kindly for doing so, but must insist that they be handed over, so that they may be taken back to Duathnin. They are to be questioned and tried for their crimes against the Karmanian race.

We are holding several prisoners in our dungeons that are currently being questioned regarding important matters, pointed out Perephine. I assume of course that you refer to Christill Greyspell. But pray tell me who these other three are.

Kiril returned Perephine’s request with a hostile frown. You know very well of whom I speak. Friedrich and Vrill Hermagoras were under our protection in Duathnin, and as such are our prisoners. The fourth that we will take with us helped Christill to escape from Karmena and will be judged accordingly. Where is Mandigal?

The nobles waiting on the King gasped after Kiril’s last accusation.

Perephine raised his brow and answered, "I do not know where the Maloreichar is. The man is very elusive. You do realise that as an Honour Guard of Feldom, there is no way that he had a part to play in the crimes committed in Duathnin."

He is a man like any other and will suffer for his actions, called Vischia with a snarl.

Kiril turned to his peer and motioned for her to be silent. Mandigal has long been a friend of our Council. Therefore I still hold some hope that there was good reason for his actions. However, our law is absolute and he will be taken to Karmena to face interrogation.

That will not be necessary, came a reply from the eastern side of the hall. They turned to see Mandigal walking towards the throne. A purple vest was buttoned over his black clothes and an unfazed look graced his pale face.

Do you give yourself up willingly, to be taken back to Duathnin? asked Dietrue, a large tome, as always, present in the Elder’s hands.

I do not, replied Mandigal plainly. I committed no crime and neither did Friedrich or Vrill.

You aided Christill in escaping the Academy ruins, accused Vischia, her eyes narrowing. For all we know you aided him in his actions within the Shrine.

Mandigal refused to be antagonized by the hot-tempered Elder. The situation in that city had grown dangerous. I came to you seeking sanctuary for Friedrich and his cousin. I reserved the right to remove them from your care at any moment that I deemed necessary. Given the state of Duathnin when we left, I think I did so at exactly the right time. I cannot be blamed for the fact that Christill chose to follow me out of there.

This is ludicrous, Mandigal! responded Kiril. Do you really believe we are that naive? Long have you and I been friends. Do not do this, I beg you. You will be taken to Karmena whether you come willingly or not. Please do not force my hand.

Mandigal’s stern countenance did not change. He matched Kiril’s stare and folded his arms across his chest.

How dare you threaten my Honour Guard, Kiril, King Castaneda hissed through his teeth. This is my nation to rule and if there is a matter that involves my own people then it will be settled here, on my terms. We will not succumb to the orders of the Council of Elders.

Those prisoner are ours, Dieter, said Kiril, taking a step forward. You will hand them over to me and they will be judged under Karmanian law.

The King’s neck turned red with wrath and he moved to the edge of his chair. Elephtheria, seeing the situation blowing out of control, knew that something needed to be done. She could not let them take Christill out of Feldom, yet what could she do?

The answer came from a gentle voice that had remained silent up until now. Queen Triel, who had been sitting quietly in her throne, deep in thought, rose and addressed the gathering. "My Lords. It is clear that the answers as to what happened need to be found and that urgency is of paramount importance. The world we have flourished in for so very long has been turned upside down as Nyrune’s control over the weather has receded. Our people will suffer as a result of this, that much we know. Now, at the time when we should work together to help our people, we stand