Exiled: The Battle for Enderseer Hold: Chronicles of Caleath

By Rosalie Skinner

Azriel’s plans of endless domination are coming to fruition. Nasith’s care is her first priority as she persuades the Deathbringer to concede to her wishes. Each day he delays capitulation gives the forces allied against her another chance for victory. They face more than another season of winter warfare. An adversary from history swells the ranks of Azriel’s army. The people of Allorn must defeat a foe whose very touch is deadly as they face a witch who stands supreme.

• Language: English
• Publisher: MuseItUp Publishing
• Release date: Mar 16, 2012
• ISBN: 9781771270113

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A Sci-Fi Fantasy Novel by Rosalie Skinner

Azriel’s plans of endless domination are coming to fruition. Nasith’s care is her first priority as she persuades the Deathbringer to concede to her wishes. Each day he delays capitulation gives the forces allied against her another chance for victory. They face more than another season of winter warfare. An adversary from history swells the ranks of Azriel’s army. The people of Allorn must defeat a foe whose very touch is deadly as they face a witch who stands supreme.

Exiled: The Battle for Enderseer Hold © 2012 by Rosalie Skinner

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 publisher.

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, or events, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

MuseItUp Publishing

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http://www.museituppublishing.com

Cover Art © 2012 by Delilah K. Stephans

Edited by Lea Schizas

Copyedited by Christine I. Speakman

Layout and Book Production by Lea Schizas

eBook ISBN: 978-1-77127-011-3

First eBook Edition *March 2012

Production by MuseItUp Publishing

To Mum,

For believing in my dream.

Hold my hand...and I will take you into my dreams.

—Cailyn, July 2011.

Acknowledgements

Thanks go again to Steve and Lisa Skinner, Edith Parzefall, Ruth Williams. As always I am indebted to Matt Bryant and Rachel Lewis Photography for photos to use in the cover designs. Mick Pollock, Tim St Clair, and Trisha, for creating my website. To Lea Schizas and Chris Speakman for your editing skills. Finally, to the team at Museitup Publishing for making this dream come true.

The Battle for Enderseer Hold

The Chronicles of Caleath

Exiled: Autumn’s Peril

Exiled: Winter’s Curse

Exiled: The Legacy of Lathraine’s Pledge

Exiled: The Battle for Enderseer Hold

Invaded: The Darkest Day

Underground: The Day of the Sun

Adrift: In Search of Memory

Adrift: The Fragile Sun

Rosalie Skinner

MuseItUp Publishing

www.museituppublishing.com

Introduction

The minstrel lifts her head and scans the evening crowd. Familiar faces carry the badge of grief. Tension permeates the atmosphere although the room offers ample company. With a sigh the minstrel hums a riff and her fingers follow the tune across taut strings. The crowd settles, turning to listen as she begins to speak.

Again the threat of dark sorcery will test our courage and determination. Although with the Deathbringer’s aid we have overcome one menace, few of us survive unscathed. The crowd muttered. Young children clutched grieving mothers. The minstrel continued, Your courage is needed again. In the west a threat emerges that will again force us to journey through winter. While the Council of Mages prepare for conflict, so must our strongest don their battle garb again. We will watch and prepare and pray the Deathbringer and the dead archimage Tallowbrand do not join forces with the sorceress Azriel.

Many in the crowd gesture against the evil that speaking the sorceress’ name inspires. The minstrel resists the temptation to shrug. She has witnessed the witch’s power. A mere gesture will not suffice to stall her rise.

You may wonder where the heroes are, whose journey you have followed. The youth Spider rides into danger. Gwilt and Braidon accompany him in an attempt to keep him safe. Meanwhile, at Merrick’s Ford the allied forces prepare to move again. It is here our story begins, with Corinne Trasson…

Chapter One

Corinne woke from a nightmare. She threw open the shutters and took a deep breath. Chill autumn air filled her lungs and brought her fully awake.

Roiling gray clouds rolled over the mountains in the east adding an aura of dark drama to dawn’s feeble light. The vision suited the dream she abandoned on waking.

Her head ached, but didn’t explain the dread making her heart race. With the Deathbringer in the Council’s care and the survivors from Valkerie’s Peak back among friends, Corinne’s frisson of fear seemed out of place.

Anxiety remained and forced her into action. Once dressed, she entered the corridor. Pale light ventured across aging floorboards and caressed the walls. Years of wear left a patina of smoke and grease on aging woodwork. Despite her wariness the building carried an air of familiarity and seemed to offer a feeling of safety.

Catching sight of her reflection in a glass Corinne tried to banish the frown that marred her visage. Her Kentorian marshal’s uniform contrasted with her unruly hair. With deliberate care to nurture optimism, she skipped downstairs and swung into the kitchen, where the cook removed baked loaves from a smoke stained oven.

Good morrow, marshal. The baker rubbed floured hands on his apron and greeted Corinne as she located a teapot steaming on the hob. She grabbed the kettle to pour boiling water into the pot, while the cook’s assistant broke a fresh bun from the cooling rack. The assistant supplied a pat of butter and cheese to accompany the simple fare.

Thank you. Corinne took the offering without enthusiasm. The cook turned reddened features away from the oven, as if he shared his guest’s disquiet.

You’ve lost your appetite, my lady? He took over the task of creating a perfect cup of tea from of the marshal’s forgetful hands. Did you not sleep well? He gave his assistant a nod of encouragement when the girl returned to preparing a basket of vegetables for a pot of soup.

I slept badly. Terrible dreams. Is it obvious? Corinne ran a brisk hand across her braid doing nothing to repair the damage lack of sleep wrought. She groaned, feeling the disarray of her singularly stubborn curls.

Accepting her tea and platter of food she forced a smile and made her way outside. Extra tables allowed outdoor dining, to accommodate additional mouths of refugees and Alliance troops.

A reluctant sun showed its face. Birds in full chorus spread their raucous message as the autumn morning developed. With skilled fingers, Corinne re-braided her hair. She settled back to sip her tea and enjoy the crusty bread. With deliberate care she planned her day. For now she would take the chance to learn more about Caleath. The presence of the Deathbringer intrigued her. Nasith’s change of attitude to the mercenary only added to the mystery behind Caleath’s character.

Despite appreciating the moment of quiet, Corinne’s mind wandered. Dark visions from her nightmare lurked in her mind. She tried to relegate her anxiety to memory, but before she succeeded, Travis and Eluart approached. Their countenance boded ill and they walked the empty street with a purposeful step.

The inkling of fear she sought to expel blossomed into dread. She sprang to her feet, crossing the road to intercept their progress.

Both man and Vergöttern saluted her with a deferential gesture. The object of their thoughts obviously remained elsewhere.

Tell me what troubles you this morning? Her discomfort linked with their concerns.

Isadawn has further news from the Nomads, my lady. Travis didn’t slow his pace. Eluart and I are about to give your brother the latest information. We have informed the archimage. He is gathering the Council as we speak.

Matching their strides, Corinne joined them. The lines of worry creasing the beautiful Vergöttern brow confirmed the dread growing in her gut.

* * * *

Corinne entered Mykael’s room with a quick knock. He surprised her by being fully dressed, as if sleep evaded him too. His manner seemed tense but he smiled and greeted her with a warm embrace.

Corinne guided him to the study where the ranger and the Vergöttern lord waited. With a sigh, Mykael bade them take seats. She read anxiety in his mood when he organized his already tidy desk. After Corinne settled in an armchair, Mykael took a chair for himself.

Sunlight broke through the window to herald the start of the day’s activities outside the king’s room. The atmosphere generated within made normal activity sound like a cacophony of chaos.

Please, speak freely. Mykael straightened.

The Nomad Awain reports from the east bank of the River Arrion. They have found the witch’s stronghold, sire. Lord Eluart spoke without emotion, but his words made Corinne’s hair lift and goosebumps rise on her skin.

Mykael flipped through a neat pile of charts and maps, lifting free a sheet of ancient parchment, creased and torn with use.

He smoothed the document, placing weights on each corner. The map traced the course of the River Arrion, from before it joined the Castilian River through to where it formed a delta on the west coast of southern Allorn.

Her stronghold? Mykael chewed his bottom lip and invited Eluart to indicate on the map the area they discussed. Corinne and Travis looked on.

Here, sire. Eluart pointed with an unscarred finger to an area marked on the map with a name written in Vergöttern. "We called this place Havendburn. The humans who resided within the stronghold named it Enderseer Hold."

Should I know of it? An exasperated sigh escaped Mykael’s lips. Even as Penwryt’s ranger, I rarely ventured into the southwest regions of Allorn.

Corinne recalled from childhood tales of the mountain range that stretched across the wild country. The River Arrion began its journey in the western reaches among impassable mountains and awesome cliffs. Ruak hordes living in the far south posed little threat of invasion. The sparsely populated region between the river and the coast seldom needed rangers to intervene in the affairs of the people there.

Mykael prompted Eluart to continue. Corinne leant forward eager to hear more.

It dates back to before the Dragon wars. Before Vergöttern first walked this land. History has forgotten who built its massive fortress, perhaps a race of dwarves. No one noteworthy has sought refuge behind its walls since Humboldt the Eager tried to run his kingdom from the security it offered, Eluart recited the history lesson with patience. Two generations of Allorn Kings rebuilt its splendor but found the location and forces converging there hampered growth, and by the third generation the reigning monarch chose a site better suited for trade, accessibility, and the welfare of the local inhabitants. They moved their center of trade to Aberssley Cross.

Then it is empty. A ruin perhaps? Mykael sounded hopeful.

Eluart’s expression did not change. It is a fortress hewn out of solid basalt. Lying on a dragon focus, across the converging lines of power mages invoke at will. It has absorbed the excess energies of countless conjurations and become a site where wild magic abounds. The ability to work safely within its boundaries is lost to our mages. Even the dragon lords avoid its shadow. Yet it is no ruin.

But a witch manages to set up her headquarters there? Corinne rapped her fingers on the table. How does she?

We don’t know yet. She shows no aversion to using dark magic, blood rites, and sacrifices. Dread lords may have used the Hold when they walked this continent, as a refuge, as a place to conjure daemons. Now, we assume as much.

Now? Mykael plucked the word like a lifeline out of the air.

Now… Eluart continued. "The Nomad Awain is certain she is drawing creatures from beyond this dimension. She has most likely opened a portal within the Hold."

You trust Awain’s assessment? Mykael’s face paled.

The land from the river westward and south has been sucked dry of life. The grass, the trees, the very air has lost its integrity. As if a pall of evil covers the sun within the Hold’s realm. That this malfeasance is confined by clear running water gives us an indication it is fell sorcery dragging the essence of life from all living things within its domain.

Spare us. Corinne clenched her hands into fists, lest the others saw how she trembled. What could do such a thing?

"An icterrori or terror entity, a daemon which exists by draining the essence of life from organic life forms."

Can it be destroyed? Mykael moved away from the table and began to pace. You mentioned it couldn’t cross running water.

The realm Azriel drew the creature from is parched. Therefore water is an unnatural resource with which the daemon cannot cope. The situation suggests the being is able to cross running water, but chooses not to.

Then the witch is using this entity for defense rather than assault. Travis strode to the window where the sound of activity flowed into the room.

How do you know this? Corinne asked. Have the Vergöttern used portals before?

Not recently. Eluart spread his fine hands with a gesture of openness. Neither have the Council, Corinne. Eluart’s gaze didn’t falter. We know because one of Awain’s men crossed the river. He survived because of Awain’s quick thinking. Isadawn took the opportunity to ‘read’ what happened to the man. The touch of the daemon became evident and even the entity’s origin was apparent from its blatant disregard for life and the fact it is barely sentient. It made no effort to guard itself from exposure. Isadawn is not prepared to attempt to read the entity itself. Sorry.

"But her forces are immune to its power?" Corinne gathered knowledge about their adversary.

"The witch controls it. We do not know how…as yet. Eluart paused and then offered a further observation. Isadawn believes the creature is here against its will."

Can that help us? Travis glanced through the window.

Following the ranger’s abstract gaze Corinne witnessed the carefree antics of two children in the street. They chased a young pup scattering chickens with complete disregard to the startled horse moving out of a dark stable. Travis turned to face Eluart. Meanwhile, a groom settled the horse. When the children caught the errant hound, peace settled like a layer of dust over the street again. Within Mykael’s study the tension remained.

We can only hope. That is not all, Eluart added with distaste. We have confirmation she has called on the Karzran to join her forces again.

You have dealt with Karzran before? Corinne dreaded his answer.

They are mercenary creatures from another realm, Eluart said. The witch has made use of them several times. Most recently three hundred years ago in the time of Armand the Adventurous, one Deathbringer who entered the dragon’s lair but never returned.

Corinne’s heart rate increased when the Vergöttern named the Deathbringer. She wondered if Eluart noticed her interest in the title. She glanced away, thankful when he continued without hesitation.

A Multitude of Vergöttern and a host of humans led by King Ramón of Kentor and the then Council of Mages under Archimage Whenton defeated her forces at the Watchtower of D’Ammon in the Northern provinces.

Beast men. Mykael used the obscure reference from Kentorian history. Karzran? So they can be defeated. That at least is good news. His words suggested more optimism than his tone elicited. We know where she is. We know what she has massed against us. We should move now and prevent her influence spreading. How prepared are we?

Two days and then whatever it takes to reach the River Arrion. We will be moving into winter. Travis scowled and moved his finger across the map. Corinne could see how he contemplated the necessary arrangements needed to move the forces grouped at the ford, again. Supplies are on their way from Kentor and the north of Allorn. We should split our force, sire. If you lead one contingent across the Castilian, I will take another through the southern realm. If Isadawn is willing we can ensure our assault coincides and we stretch Azriel’s resources to the maximum.

"What about the icterrori?" Corinne asked.

The Council will have to take care of it. Do not fear, my lady. They are capable of at least limiting the creature’s destructive forces, now they know it passed through a portal.

Thank the One. Corinne unclenched her fists. She wiped sweat from her palms on her vest. Is that the end of the bad news? I can see today being busy if we are leaving here prepared for battle in two days. If you will excuse me, at least we know the Deathbringer is safe and out of her hands. We should be thankful for small mercies.

It troubles me the Council have sensed nothing untoward where he is concerned. Surely if the witch wanted him here it was for a reason other than rubbing our faces in his wealth. Mykael pressed his index fingers against his temples. I know I am being ungenerous, Corinne, but to hide away with the woman he impregnated is unseemly. Ravine will be seeking his head again!

What are you saying, sire? Travis glanced up. Has no one seen Caleath?

Not since he left the hall in the company of Lachlan. Mykael failed to keep the disdain from his voice. Apparently he found the lure of spending time with Nasith more important than his meeting with the empath Isadawn.

Eluart’s fist slammed the table. Mykael flinched. Corinne found herself shaking.

What? Mykael threw his shoulders back and raised his chin. His dark eyes flashed in a way Corinne knew well. What did I say? Come on, my lord. You can’t find his behavior seemly?

Don’t you see? Eluart’s shoulders slumped. His green eyes appeared to change to the color of slate. Corinne shivered. The ranger was Azriel’s minion. We have failed Caleath.

I heard he and Paskin planned on leaving after he attended you, Mykael, Corinne said. He will make contact with Isadawn in his own time. I have heard he is like that. They have probably left town already. Corinne’s heart raced. A rising sense of dread drove her into action. I will ask at the stables. We shouldn’t panic, Lord Eluart. The Council would have warned us. We are all overreacting. Agreed. Mykael?

Let us hope so. Mykael kissed her hand as she excused herself and left without another word.

* * * *

Zachary Merryman checked the horses in his charge. To find three beasts traded the previous day resting in their stalls surprised him. The Kentorian buyer gave the impression his mission was urgent.

Sunlight filtered through dust and mites and, on closer perusal, the ostler found they had not left the stables. No sign of sweat or saddle showed on any of them. The packhorse nickered a greeting, hoping for a treat. Merryman rubbed its ears and glanced past the beast’s hindquarters to check on conditions of the stall.

In deep bedding straw, the Kentorian lay. His dark eyes open, his arms outstretched. A rumor of blood spread beneath his chest.

By the One! Merryman sprang past the horse to check for any sign of life in the soldier. The faintest flutter of a pulse flickered beneath his fingers. When Merryman tried to move the man, a whispered moan escaped the Kentorian’s parched lips. The ostler searched for the wound to staunch the flow of blood.

Merryman left the injured man and raced out of the stable seeking urgent help. He ran into Marshal Corinne Trasson and the mage Thorn.

Quick! He grabbed the mage without thought for protocol. In here, he’s been hurt.

Thorn rushed to where Paskin lay unconscious. Merryman glanced toward Corinne where she waited for the mage’s comment after calling for two guards to accompany her.

He’ll live. Thorn gave the soldier a quick examination and applied a spell to the wound preventing further blood loss. Take him out of here. A healer will be able to take care of his injury. I am needed with the Council. He left Corinne to organize the removal of the Kentorian.

What happened? Corinne asked Merryman as he led the packhorse into a clean stall.

I only just found him. Merryman stepped aside, giving the Kentorian guards a chance to lift Paskin clear of the straw. I thought it strange he was in such a rush yesterday and the horses he purchased are still here and haven’t been out.

He came with the Deathbringer. Corinne frowned. I should let Caleath know. Where is he? Have you seen him?

No, I haven’t, my lady. Merryman sensed her urgency. I have only dealt with this man. Corinne’s guards carried Paskin across the alleyway and into the inn. I’d try in there, they might know.

* * * *

Paskin woke. The pain from his head battled with the burning sensation in his shoulder. Sunlight pierced his eyelids and he raised his good arm to cover his face.

Good, you are awake. The marshal watching him greeted his movement with relief in his voice. How are you feeling? I am Marshal Drummond.

I’ll live, Paskin said. Drummond? Do I know you?

You might. We met once. You took a wicked blow to the back of your head, not to mention a knife in your shoulder. Have you any idea who attacked you?

Paskin rolled onto his side, the injured shoulder screamed at the abuse. When the shade covered his face, he opened his eyes. Paskin bit down on the urge to moan, sensing the damage was not life threatening. The thumping inside his skull concerned him more.

No idea who or what hit me. I walked into a trap. Had no idea I was in danger, fool that I am. His lip curled into a snarl. Do you know who was responsible?

When did you last see Caleath? Drummond asked without answering.

Caleath? Why? Paskin’s mouth filled with sand, his heart threatened to explode.

He’s missing, Drummond said.

Adder’s spit! Sitting up Paskin struggled against the cudgel hammering inside his head. How? When? By the One, tell me!

He was seen in the hall at an audience with King Trasson. He left in the company of Lachlan Traveler to meet with the Il’thane Nasith, the marshal said. From that time on, no one noticed his presence. No one saw him leave. We thought he was with you. You planned to leave late yesterday.

Isadawn. What does the empath see? Paskin staggered to his feet. He accepted the marshal’s support with gratitude.

The empath has been unable to trace his movement from the time he left the hall. She is upset and has retired to rest in her rooms, Drummond said.

Then the witch succeeded despite all our care? Paskin wanted to rant and curse. He bit his tongue. God help the boy, betrayed by Nasith, the woman he would die to protect.

You don’t know that. Drummond’s voice gained an edge. "Beware what you say,