The End of All Things (The Kinsman Chronicles): Part 3

By Jill Williamson

Part 3 of Jill Williamson's Epic Fantasy Series The Kinsman Chronicles

With the Five Realms on the brink of total destruction, everyone faces a final mad scramble to find a safe haven. The realm is divided on what should be done. Wilek and Trevn join those who are preparing the realm for a seaward evacuation, but the king stands in their way. Wilek must battle against his own father to try and save the people of Armania.

The End of All Things is collected together with parts 1 and 2 in King's Folly.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Baker Publishing Group
• Release date: Apr 5, 2016
• ISBN: 9781441229106

Jill Williamson

Jill Williamson is a novelist, dreamer, and believer. Growing up in Alaska led to love books, and in 2010 her first novel, By Darkness Hid, won the Christy Award. She loves working with teenagers and gives writing workshops at libraries, schools, camps, and churches. Jill lives in Oregon with her husband and two children. Visit Jill online at www.jillwilliamson.com

Book preview

animals

Charlon

Explain yourself!"

Charlon cowered before Mreegan in the red tent. Face covered in dirt. Gaze on the floor. They came for the prince. Had a mantic with them. She broke the compulsion. Refused to meddle with the soul-binding. The prince took our token and wears it now. Sobs came forth, deep and heavy. Such longing. Wilek gone. Gone before she could test her new plan.

You failed and must be punished. Mreegan lifted her hand.

A spell was coming. Charlon braced herself for pain.

Nothing happened.

Mreegan frowned, thrust her hand forward again. Stood and circled Charlon.

Show yourself, Favored One, Magon said within. It’s time to stand as Mreegan’s equal.

Charlon rose slowly, mustering courage. She lifted her own hand. Whispered a spell.

Mreegan stopped moving, frozen just by Charlon’s words. Only the Chieftess was supposed to have the power to perform magic without runes.

Mreegan’s gaze met Charlon’s. The slight Eemahlah is no match for my shadir. Who powers your spell? Tell me the truth!

Magon gives me strength, Charlon said.

A gasp. "You dared petition my shadir?"

I was desperate. I prayed to the goddess and she answered.

But she hasn’t cast me down from my position as Chieftess. Why would she serve us both?

The two women looked at one another warily.

What does it mean? Charlon asked.

She must want us to work together.

Why? The goddess had promised. Promised Charlon would be Chieftess someday. Perhaps this was a necessary step. She released her hold on Mreegan, determined to try things Magon’s way. Magon told me I am Mother. But I despise men. Cannot touch one. Hate being touched by anyone.

Ridiculous, Mreegan said.

You saw within. When you healed me. You know why I fail. But I have a plan. I must place a compulsion on myself. I have been practicing.

Mreegan scoffed. That’s impossible.

You doubt Magon’s power?

No, but—

You said only the Chieftess could petition Magon. I proved you wrong. Anything is possible with Magon. I can do this. But I need your help.

Chieftess Mreegan stared within, saw that Charlon spoke the truth. Very well. But I will not risk our camp by abducting the prince again. This time you must cast a mold of his betrothed and go to him masked in her form. Ask Magon to help you find the woman’s location.

Yes, Chieftess, Charlon said.

We leave for Everton tomorrow.

As the Magonians journeyed toward Everton, Mreegan taught Charlon all she knew of compulsion spells. Charlon practiced. Forced Kateen to crawl on all fours like a dune cat. Made Five believe he was One and pick a fight with Rone for wearing the lure. Once compulsions on others were mastered, Charlon practiced on herself. Cast a spell that she hated furs and could not sleep that night from the chill. Made herself loathe water until she could barely speak for her dry throat.

Charlon became proficient at placing spells on herself. Finally capable, she retreated to her tent and cast the spell she needed. To banish her fear of men. Her fear of human touch.

But had it worked? Could she even know?

She must test it. But not on any man. Torol had always been kind. Torol she trusted.

She petitioned Magon for cleansing, then walked out of her tent. Three passed by with a tray of food. Fetch Torol, she ordered, and he scurried away.

She went back inside to wait. Soon Torol entered her tent.

Are you well, Mother? he asked.

I must test my spell. She reached for him. Take my hand.

He walked to stand before her. His fingers slid over hers, up her palm, and bent around the side of her hand.

She shivered. Not from fear. She found his touch pleasant. Only in the back of her mind did the soul-binding cause her to hesitate.

Will you kiss me? she asked. Not a compulsion this time. Torol’s choice.

He looked hesitant. Stepped closer. Ran his fingers up the back of her arm.

Her mind did not scream. She did not flinch. Had she done it? Please, Magon! Say that she had.

Torol’s eyes searched hers, afraid. Likely wondering if this was a test. If she would punish him later. Roya played too hard with the men.

You’re safe, she whispered. Her stomach fluttered within.

Torol pressed his lips to hers. Soft lips. Prickly beard. Solid arms. An intense sorrow seized her. This was not the prince—not her soul-bound.

She pulled Torol closer, fighting the soul-binding magic. Shocked and delighted. No fear of being touched. Only the nagging horror that she was betraying her prince.

She shoved aside that guilt. Drew Torol to her bed. They knelt, fell together. Arms clutching each other. While she felt no fear, she wept for Prince Wilek. She was betraying him in the worst way and sensed that he knew it. These emotions would be too strong for him to ignore.

So she let herself cry while at the same time celebrating. With Magon’s help, she had mastered men. She had mastered fear. Now nothing could stop her from mastering Prince Wilek.

She only had to beat him back to Everton and his betrothed.

Wilek

Wilek had been a boy the last time he had ridden through this part of Sarikar. He found it vastly altered and suspected the changes were recent. A half dozen fall-ins had claimed large sections of the road, forcing their party to take alternate routes that added at least two days to their week-long journey. They came upon Cheyvah’s Maw ten leagues too soon. Somehow the crack had lengthened, likely from the recent earthquakes. This would delay their return even more.

As they followed the crack north, Wilek thought about Charlon constantly. Not since adolescence had he felt such random longings for a woman.

The soul-binding was to blame, no doubt.

Panic seized him suddenly, and he found he couldn’t breathe. Waves of conflicting emotions surged through the soul-binding link. Confusion, affection, remorse, pleasure, desperation, but strongest of all, joy.

Charlon was free! She had overcome her fear.

With someone else.

Wilek found his own unworthiness suffocating. He had failed to save her and she’d chosen another. Torol! She’d chosen Torol. Wilek would kill him.

Madness! He forced himself away from such deep thoughts, studied his surroundings, and started counting shrubs in a desperate attempt to distract his mind. He’d reached seventy-six shrubs before his emotions tapered off.

Illogical or not, Charlon’s rejection remained heavy on his heart. Wilek would ask Teaka again to reconsider breaking the soul-binding. The old woman feared Charlon had been truthful about Magon being her shadir.

Magon is too powerful, Teaka had said. To tamper with the spell of a great shadir is foolishness, indeed.

And so Wilek was left to suffer.

The sun was high in the sky when the city of Pixford came into view on the horizon. Wilek’s heart quickened, knowing he would soon cross the border and into his own realm. The road descended into a canyon that would wind and twist before letting out a mere league before the Pixford gates. Halfway through the canyon they came upon a contingent of Armanian soldiers blocking the road.

You Armanians forget that Sarikar isn’t your realm? Rand called out.

You have our sâr, one of the Armanians said. We want him back.

Dressed for battle with helmets hiding their faces, Wilek couldn’t be certain these were Armanians at all. He nudged his horse to the front. Your sâr is here. Who leads you?

It is I, Your Highness. A man in the center of the line removed his helmet. Agmado Harton.

Hart! What have you been doing these past weeks? Wilek asked, wondering where his men had gone after he had been taken.

Looking for you, Your Highness. You’re my responsibility.

He’s my backman, Wilek told Rand.

Seems your backman failed you, Rand said, a little louder than necessary.

The Omatta laughed.

Harton’s face clouded. Hand over our sâr or die.

I’ll turn him over to the man who hired me, Rand shot back. That wasn’t you.

Harton drew his sword and nudged his horse forward. I will fight for my sâr.

Wait! Wilek rode his horse in front of Rand’s. I am safe, Harton. Take word to the king and my mother that I am coming home.

You’re not yourself, Your Highness, Harton said. They’ve bewitched you.

What madness compelled Harton to openly defy a direct order? Have I not suffered enough? Do as I command, Hart, or you shall face the pole!

Harton seemed to consider Wilek’s threat a real one, which it was. He signaled to his men, who turned in retreat. I’ll send a man to Everton with word of your coming, Your Highness, Harton said. But as your shield I’ll remain nearby.

Sands! Wilek had forgotten he had assigned Harton as acting shield when he sent Kal into Magonia. The king had likely threatened Wilek’s men with sacrifice if they returned without him. You set my mind at ease, Hart. I thank you.

The Omatta group followed the Armanians through the remainder of the canyon and along the outskirts of Pixford. Wilek was shocked to see the city decorated for the Feast of Rain, which celebrated the arrival of the stormmer season. Every house had some kind of blue bow or ribbon mounted on the door with a bucket underneath.

If stormmer had already arrived, that meant Wilek was twenty-five now. His ageday had come and gone. Had his trip to Farway gone as planned, he would have married Lady Zeroah sometime last week.

He felt sick at the idea of marrying anyone but Charlon—obnoxious, unfaithful, soul-binding witch—and sicker still when he realized he had been gone ten weeks longer than planned. Ten weeks. Had his mother given him up for dead? Harton hadn’t, so that was some comfort. He hoped Father had not yet named Janek as Heir.

The Omatta made camp that night before the first link in the Cobweb Bridge. Wilek didn’t trust Harton not to get antsy and attack, so he asked one of the Omatta to invite his temporary shield to join them.

Harton rode into camp, three men on either side, all with swords drawn.

Wilek stormed out to greet them. What is the matter with you? I am safe with these men. Why do you continually ignore my commands?

They might have you under a compulsion, Harton said. They cut your hair, and you have a rune on the back of your neck.

Wilek shivered at the word compulsion. Well, I’m no longer with the mantics, am I?

No, but—

A compulsion would have forced me to go back. Put away your swords, all of you. Wilek waved at the guards. The Omatta mean us no harm. They will escort me home.

We can do that without their help, Harton said.

I’m aware of your skills, Harton. But the Omatta freed me from the Magonian camp, and that is the report I will give my father. These men deserve our respect. I’ll have no more of this rudeness from you, is that clear?

Harton glowered. Very, Your Highness.

They remained locked in a stare until Wilek said, Well? Dismount, Harton. Come, enjoy the food.

Harton obeyed, though it seemed to pain him greatly. Did the man have some bad history with the Omatta?

They all ate around the bonfire, and Wilek lost track of Harton for a while. He next saw him dancing around the fire with a pretty woman. Back to his old ways, apparently. At least he had put down his sword. Wilek hoped the man didn’t do anything foolish to upset Rand.

A rush of cold desire flooded Wilek suddenly. Too embarrassed to move, he sat uncomfortably and stared into the fire, unwilling to risk eye contact with anyone for fear the smile of a pretty woman would undo him. Curse that witch. What was she doing now? He rubbed his forehead with his icy hand, and the coolness brought a tingle of relief.

Your man Harton has the temperament of a nomad.

Wilek looked up into Rand’s weathered face. Which is . . . ?

Eager, hungry, and savage, with greater mood swings than a woman in her courses. Meelo would like him. The man spat. Wish the fool boy would quit hiding and let his grandmother heal his face. How do you fare this night?

Wilek sighed. As well as a man can be when his every thought and feeling is twined with another.

Can I do something to help? Get you anything? Food, drink, a woman?

Sleep was all he needed. Thank you, no. I shall retire soon, I think.

Rand sat down beside him. You should know, a few hours after I accepted the assignment to bring you home, another man from Armania petitioned me to capture and kill you.

That was always happy news. Strange that two sought to hire you on the same day.

Not when you consider that it was the same day the messenger from your contingent informed the king of your abduction.

Who was this second patron?

Rand shook his head. Only a messenger. And the request wasn’t signed.

What did he look like?

A priest, I think. He wore blue robes under his cloak. And an anklet of the five gods.

A Rôb priest, then. Someone in the Rôb faith wants me dead. Teaka’s words came back to him. He needed to find out what she meant about the priests of Havôt who secretly ruled Armania. It brought to mind the priest scourge during the war and Janek’s mother, who had championed it. Rosârah Laviel has given more to Temple Rôb in petition for my death than the entire realm gives in guilt offerings. But would she risk treason?

I cannot say. Rand tossed a twig in the fire. Rosârah Laviel hates me as well. Because of her, I’m not permitted inside the Everton city gates.

Janek’s mother was as hideous a monster as Barthos. How did you offend her?

Not me. Sâr Janek became enamored with my daughter. But rather than give in to him, Zahara put a knife to his throat. Said the only way he could have her was if he married her first.

Wilek chuckled. I like that.

Yes, well, Sâr Janek didn’t. He kept after her, but my girl was always armed with an array of daggers that left the sâr with several scars. He touched the tip of his nose.

Wilek snorted. That liar! He told me he cut his nose replanting a thornberry bush.

Yes, well, Rosârah Laviel was outraged that the daughter of a nomad had refused her son. She summoned me, ordered me to give my daughter to Sâr Janek as a mistress. I refused. The rosâr banished us that very day.

Typical. Was your daughter upset?

She had no interest in the sâr. She’d been spying for me and had already learned what I needed to know. So we left and haven’t returned.

Is your daughter here? Wilek asked. I’d like to congratulate the woman who got the best of Janek.

Zahara captains a ship out of Tal. Bit of a pirate, I’m proud to say.

"Well, I insist you accompany

Reviews for The End of All Things (The Kinsman Chronicles)

[cecilywolfe · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Very absorbing story and series - I am jumping into the next installment now!

[thegenreminx · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

**This is a prequel series to Jill Williamson’s previous series, Blood of Kings. It is also a series starter for the Kinsman Chronicles that is comprised of three sections: Darkness Reigns, The Heir War, and The End of All Things. These three parts of this volume were originally released as e-books.**Do you enjoy reading epic fantasies? Are you looking for a dark story where kingdoms are on the verge of a disastrous war with all the drama? If so, then this is what you are looking for, prepare to be entertained.This is a very complex world that the author built and the way to understanding it is through the many characters that the author introduces. The world is formed with layer upon layer of the story told through different point of views. In order to gain a true understanding, make sure you do not skim the chapters because every page is full of information that builds upon itself.Five kingdoms are each represented through different persons and their point of view. As I stated, there are many characters within the story and it jumps between characters and realms continually, this could be a downside for some readers as it is a lot to follow and keep straight. The key players in this epic fantasy come from the House of Hadar and the main story plot surrounds the prophesied Five Woes that are going to come upon the Five Realms. Do you notice a numerical theme? There is also a lot of superstition throughout the story surrounding the number five.Of course there is a monarchy and with it comes court backbiting, political subterfuge and drama. There are tribes that practice consorting with demons, black magic and drug use. There are also many prophecies, multiple religions, racially and culturally diverse regions and lets not forget human sacrifices hoping to appease a god who brings doom-predicting earthquakes.This is a very rich and detailed fantasy. I cannot fault the writing, characters, plots or subplots but for me the first few chapters were slow and boring. It was not until I really developed an interest in a few characters that I became engaged in the story. I really dislike monarchy drama, concubines, prostitutes, and polygamy but as much as I hate it, that was a reality and she creates an utterly realistic setting.I get the Christian symbolism with the whole dark will be conquered by light and there is hope…but Christian genre?….well that’s a stretch for me. I have truly enjoyed Ms. Williamson’s other works but this one just did not reach me like they did. Although like I said earlier, if you like epic fantasies then this story is truly for you. ?*Thank you to Bethany House Publishers & NetGalley for this copy of King’s Folly*