The Land of All Things Fallen: Part III (The Wyvern King's Redemption Volume 1)

By D W Gladstone

This is the third part of The Land of All Things Fallen.

For two hundred years, the Dark Moon of Perrefiere has blackened the northern sky. For two hundred years, the fortress of the Immortal has eclipsed the northern sun and cast the lands of Ammandorn and Eryndor in dark light. A promise of war and cataclysm to the five bloods of men and the kingdoms they have built across the inland sea. Now, that war is beginning - the weapon of the Immortal has been found.

From a council of the Archivists and the Magus Tribunal, Elle'dred, Champion of the White Wolf, has been dispatched with a fellow knight and two magus. Under the command of the Tribunal's Champion, Taedoran of Ygoth, they are to escort the weapon to the old lands of Eryndor where - with the aid of a magus steeped in ancient knowledge - it may be undone.

But the weapon, a creature - an Incarnate - the channel for all hell-fire, seems to be nothing more than a frightened animal, innocent and unaware of its true purpose. The truth of its nature, and of the war to come, will shake the very foundations of Elle'dred's oath to the Order of the White Wolf, the Archivists, and the land of Ammandorn itself.

For unknown to the Champion of the White Wolf, the arrival of the weapon and the renewed threat of the Dark Moon has awakened the drive of ruthless ambition, personal grievances and the bitterness of wounds unhealed - and a dark secret that violates the very precepts of the society they strive to protect. A secret now forced into the light.

The war of the Immortal has begun and the land of Ammandorn will fall - but whether beneath the yoke of its own sins, or beneath the crimson flames of hell-fire and the darkness of a Moon, is yet uncertain.

• Language: English
• Publisher: D W Gladstone
• Release date: Nov 30, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370819423

D W Gladstone

D W Gladstone is an Australian born author currently residing in South Australia. A competition winner in short stories and poetry, he published his first novel, The Land of All Things Fallen, in 2015. His second novel, A Forest of a Thousand Suns, has been published in April, 2017 and continues the The Wyvern King's Redemption series.

Book preview

Chapter 31

Syrkyn, healed of his wound, watched the Mountains of the Pit. Where the others could not bear to look, he stared always with intent. Something beneath called to him. From the Immortal’s doing, he had been exiled from his home, and wounded by his own blade. And still the foul enemy was allowed to be. Perhaps exiled to the three pits of his own making, but the darkness yet remained. Syrkyn wanted to destroy the Immortal, as the Immortal had nearly destroyed him.

But when Syrkyn looked up, he saw his brothers were happy. And he did not want to make them sad again. So he hid his despair from them, and it grew worse within him. Soon he found it hard to see anything less than anger and hate. He began to speak with the lesser wyverns upon the Fourth Heaven. Many wanted to destroy the Immortal as he did. And he promised them, they would leave the Fourth Heaven once again and fly to the darkness beneath where they would destroy their enemy. Syrkyn thought that with so many behind him his five brothers would be convinced to allow him to leave.

But when he spoke to Aunvari, his brother tried to tell him it was foolish. And Syrkyn grew angry and could not see the truth Aunvari spoke. His brother begged him not to go, but Syrkyn was sure of his cause. So Aunvari was forced to forbid him and all the others from leaving. Syrkyn now saw an enemy where there was none, such anger he had not known. He struck at his brother, and fled for his army. They too became angry and rallied with him, not aware of the shadows that gathered behind them.

* * *

Lyrien walked towards the Halls of Seeing, amongst the metropolis of the City of Eyes. The hurt and anger at Phio’s actions had cut deeply inside her – she could not stomach thinking about the man. He loved her – and that worsened the pain to the point she could not bear.

She had left the Library-levels; the guards and restrictions the Elder Archivists had set to prevent Ormus contacting the bloodhounds, did not prevent her from leaving. The soldiers had questioned her, and she had satisfied their answers. She was informed her return would not be permitted without express consent of an Elder Archivist – and she had not considered that a problem.

The walk had taken two hours. And she had to suffer an escort the entire way – but the soldier’s unwelcome presence had reminded her of her resolve.

Despite the tumult of emotion that twisted her insides, her reason and suspicion had not been dulled. She owed her loyalty to the resistance – and they were under threat; from Ormus, and from Rethan. Whatever it was that the Elder Archivist was hiding from them, Lyrien knew Rethan doubted his own motives. But there was also a deep hurt – she had seen that in his eyes.

She had decided – what Rethan concealed had to be discovered. Lyrien knew the most expedient method to accomplish her endeavour – the power of her blood. Visions came to an oracle – but one could never predict when or why a prophecy would be seen. Birth-readers were taught to hone their gift into reading the blood that an infant was born to – through training and skill an oracle could narrow her sight to see the inherent destiny of a new-born; what blood ran in their veins.

She had wondered if an oracle could force a vision as they did with birth-reading; she needed a prophecy now, and as none were forthcoming she would answer her own question.

Lyrien knew the risk – to peer into destiny when it did not want one to would blind the oracle – or so the ancient teachings said. Like many laws and edicts that had governed their society, Lyrien had begun to doubt the truth of them; the necromancer’s were said to be evil – and as the resistance challenged the falsehoods of the Magus, she would challenge the laws of her blood.

She had meditated for hours, thinking only on her suspicion and Rethan. Exhaustion, from lack of sleep, but more so from the pain weighed her heavily. Her body threatened her with unconsciousness – but she strove to remain awake.

Another agonising hour passed, dawn would soon approach, but her conviction was set; she would maintain her vigil until either she passed out or a vision came to her. Three more hours dropped upon her shoulders. Weariness dragged her body into limpness, and her energies were spent utterly – soon exhaustion would enforce sleep.

Outside Delphanas the first rays of dawn coloured the sky; the lambent glow of the approaching southern sun warmed the horizon.

Lyrien opened her eyes; she could not remember if she had thought to do so, but in an instant the exhaustion was cleared – replaced by fear.

A blinding light shone before her, white as the southern sun at mid-day in summer, it surrounded her in burning, terrible brilliance. She squinted her eyes, but the pain inside her pupils was unbearable; her lids were forced closed again, but they could not shut out the light. It tore through her eyelids and blazed before her vision – and cleared.

The images were sharper than in any prophecy she had ever seen – and no words formed in her mind; she felt no desire to speak, to recite her prophecy or even describe what she saw. She felt only the desire to watch and listen.

By the marbled white-grey walls, she knew the vision was set in Delphanas, and as Rethan stepped into view she knew who the vision was centred on. Another man stepped into her sight – the traitor; Ormus.

Surprise flared, and apprehension constricted her. Rethan was a traitor.

I assume you have uncovered information that we can use to convict Phio? Ormus asked, flatly.

He has shown me something, Rethan answered, Another piece of prophecy he has kept from us, and used to direct his insane actions.

The Elder Archivist handed a slip of paper to Ormus; after perusing the note, the older man lifted his gaze.

We have what we need to convict him, Ormus pronounced, And it would seem the Prophecies of Thyesmered have been misused.

Doubt coloured Rethan’s face, What if Phio is right? What if there is to be a War of Men?

Ormus glared at him coldly, The War of Men was his fabrication. He intended to unseat the Tribunal, he engineered the circumstances so they would appear to be the instigators, and when he goes to the Assembly and uses our armies to defeat the magus there will have been a war. It will look only as though prophecy was fulfilled. This, Ormus motioned with the paper, This changes what the outcome would have been. Phio must have thought without the Assembly or the magus knowing this that he could overcome the prophecy. But instead Phio is the one who would bring the prophecy about. Ormus sighed, There was a reason these words were banned; it is dangerous to the land, the Archivists and everyone. We should never have used it to dictate the war.

Rethan wavered for a moment, and then unenthusiastically nodded in agreement.

We must move against Phio. Ormus declared.

What about Ragmurath? Rethan asked.

This prophecy matters more, Ormus stated, We cannot allow the cause of the conflict to remain free for another moment. We can bring this to the Assembly’s attention once we have prevented Phio’s coup – but this war of men must be averted. Ormus paused, and added, Do not worry, I have formulated a plan to deal Ragmurath, but it will require time – and while Phio remains free we have not the time we need.

You can deal with these matters after Phio is arrested. I cannot stomach this anymore.

Ormus eyed Rethan coldly, Do your duty Elder Archivist.

Rethan glared with indignant fury at the man standing before him – he made to retort but paused. After a moment he let out a ragged sigh, and muttered in agreement.

The blinding light blazed across the images; Lyrien had to close her eyes again – the light burned through her eyelids, for an instant. She gasped and tumbled to the floor; the cold, hard stone of her quarters.

Exhaustion weighed so heavily upon her she could scarcely breathe; her vision was clouded by a blurring haze, and she could not blink it away. Blood trickled from her nose, across her cheek.

Lyrien tried desperately to move, to get to her feet. But despite the will she mustered to stand and run, the weakness that beset her body utterly surpassed her. She wanted to shiver from the cold inside her core, she wanted to scream – but exhaustion strangled her breath and darkness covered her vision.

Her last thought was of Phio; she loved him.

* * *

Elle’dred had been woken an hour before dawn. The apprehensiveness yet lingered that they were suspected by the town’s commander, and was joined by an unreserved anticipation to be moving once again, as he had donned his armour and clothes. A final meal with their host was unavoidable, and the knight, alongside the magus, had eaten as politely and unhurriedly as could be managed.

His wariness had peaked when Rhordred had informed them there would be no escort – other than himself, accompanying them to the docks. The Garrison Commander of Vyrys led them through the lantern lit streets of his town, towards the northern side and the harbours.

Whether their course had been designated ahead of time, Elle’dred could not tell – but as they moved through street after street utterly devoid of people, he began to suspect such. No request had been made for special measures, and the Commander’s apparent foreknowledge only heightened his consternation.

There was, however, no avenue for objection that would not likely lead to imprisonment.

Aside from a concerned glance shared with the magus, no other comment was made.

They arrived at the harbour as the first glow of dawn broke above the rooves of the buildings.

Rhordred turned towards the fourth harbour, and the eighteenth pier.

The causeway of the wharf was littered with a plethora of equipment and crates that provided large shadows against the faint light. The air was still, but the piers stank of salt – and for Elle’dred, whose visits to a shore numbered very few, the smell was more than slightly overpowering.

Even the wharf was devoid of life. Most of the boats were empty.

As they neared their destination, a figure moved out of the thin shadows of the ship moored at the pier.

With peaking apprehension, Elle’dred continued until he could see the woman’s face clearly. She had the weather-beaten, brown skin of many of the townsfolk, which obscured her age, but the long, draping locks of dark grey hair signified her years. Her face was amply marked, both by weather and scars – a large line of pale white ran down the right side of her face. And yet, despite the roughness of her complexion, there was a pleasing shape to the slope of her cheeks and the lines of her brows that merged delicately with her sockets. The only thing that challenged the coarse beauty of her features were her eyes – pale blue, almost white, including the pupils at their centres.

The woman’s gaze glinted with a sharp light of its own, as she watched them approach.

She wore a drab, fraying overcoat, with absurdly proportioned shoulders adorned with golden lace, matching her similarly threadbare and worn trousers that billowed about her high boots. Her somewhat understatedly ostentatious outfit seemed intended to highlight the unnecessarily wide, broad-brimmed hat – bright purple, drooping at the sides, which she bore upon her head.

Her dark features lit up in the flash of a sudden grin, as the party and their escort reached her. With an elegance, utterly unexpected by the knight, she clicked her heels and swept the broad hat away in a half-curtsey, half-flourish, that led into a deep bow.

As she returned slowly to uprightness, she met the knight’s gaze.

You must be Elle’dred, Champion of the White Wolf, her tone wavered between a friendly mirth and mocking joviality, We’ve never had such a distinguished guest aboard the Spirit before, milord. she replaced the hat without breaking her grin, And you must be Magus Syla, so very charmed to meet you.

Syla nodded, somewhat unsure.

Now, where are the other two?

Elle’dred could not help an expression of shock – his suspicions flared into sudden trepidation that a horde of guards would emerge from every unseen area of the wharf.

Seemingly cued by the woman’s question, however, two figures emerged onto the pier; one, overly tall and wrapped entirely in the darkness of his robes, and the other, obscured by the thick, uneven ruffles of a blanket. The odd sounds of heavy, armoured boots and soft padding resounded against the wooden flooring of the wharf.

The Commander immediately moved for the hilt of his sword – but was stifled by the strange woman’s gesture. She chuckled.

It’s perfectly alright Rhory, she chirped, cheerfully, Those two are as welcome aboard the Spirit as these two.

Elle’dred’s fears evaporated into bewilderment.

With a wide – and disturbingly welcoming smile, the woman turned to them, I assume you are all packed and ready to depart? Well, as I’m sure Rhory’s guards can’t keep those frisky fishermen from getting to their boats all that much longer, I’d suggest we be off. she glanced at the two cloaked figures, I’m quite certain introductions can wait until we’re all aboard and out of this retched harbour – eh, no offence Rhory.

The Commander snorted, in response; he continued to eye the concealed figures.

Elle’dred, stifled a moment by confusion and incredulity, addressed the woman he assumed was the Captain of the ship she had named the Spirit, Captain, you must understand one thing, these two passengers are my mission. By the order of the Archivists, they must remain hidden. You and your crew cannot be permitted to see them.

Elle’dred felt the suspicious glare levelled at his back by the Commander, but the Captain only raised a quizzical brow and smiled, If it hadn’t occurred to you, my dear knight¸ I’ve already seen them, her grin widened splendidly, And besides, you’ll find it is very hard to surprise me. However, to expedite matters, I shall quite heartily agree to your terms, and say once again we should be off with all due haste. Now, now, all aboard.

For a moment, Elle’dred felt entirely unnerved by the incomprehensible joviality of the woman before him, but as she threw an inexplicably warm glance at him with her paradoxically cold eyes – and largely because he could see no other avenue of objection that did not involve bloodshed, he nodded and gestured for Llrsyring and Ayadra to move alongside.

The Captain beamed, gave a sly wink to the Commander, which Elle’dred was certain was intended to be seen by all upon the pier, turned and strode up the gangway that led to the deck of her ship.

As the four of the party proceeded after her, she uttered, cheerily, The Spirit is the fastest ship on these waters, and provided you don’t count your lunch or mind a commodity, welcome aboard.

As Elle’dred and the others stepped onto the deck, they were met by the guarded expressions from a number of the crew. At a wave from their Captain, however, they abandoned their inspections of the knight, magus and two unidentified cloaked figures and began to prepare the ship for departure.

The Captain squeezed inofficiously past the party, and opened the door that led below decks – a flourishing gesture ushered them inside. After wandering down a long corridor that seemed the spine of the ship, the Captain deposited them in a large cabin, equipped with four bunks.

With a last smile, she departed without a word, leaving the four uncertain party members to their own devices. Llrsyring stood to the rear of the room, as Ayadra crawled onto the left-hand bunk beside him.

Elle’dred gestured for Syla to take the right-hand bunk farthest from the doorway, as he sat reservedly on the closest.

In silence, he waited. Their new and strange abode did not help to unseat his apprehension, and the suspicions and misgivings he had about their odd, new host swirled about his head, as did a mild nausea. He had never been aboard a boat, and the overpowering smell of salt had already upset his stomach.

The shouted orders, given in the Captain’s voice, above them were followed by the gradual buck and heaving of the wooden floorboards beneath them.

They were underway – trapped aboard a ship with a woman who seemed to know far too much already about them.

Still, Elle’dred let out a sigh of relief.

* * *

Phio woke to the unwelcome voice of a servant; who shook him gingerly from his despairing stupor. He waved the man away; but the serf’s voice was insistent.

The Elder Archivist sat up groggily; the light of the sun shone in from above the mountains around the city, blindingly. It was sometime after dawn – he looked away from the glaring radiance to the serf’s unrelenting, vocal face.

Elder Archivist Phio, the serf stuttered, with an apprehension and respect, Elder Archivist Rethan sent me to give this to you.

Phio rubbed his eyes lethargically; the ten hours of sleep had not helped at all – and the emptiness struck him immediately.

Elder Archivist. the serf insisted, tentatively.

What is it, Phio snapped. The man trembled slightly, but handed him a note.

Elder Archivist Rethan sent me to deliver this.

Phio took it and motioned for the serf to leave his study. The man bowed quickly and did as the Elder Archivist had ordered.

Phio opened the note and read it – alarm struck him. A surge of adrenalin flooded his veins, and his heart raced. Despite age, and weariness and the crushing weight of remorse, shame and frustration, Phio sprang to his feet.

Rethan had summoned him again – it could only be news about Ormus. The bastard must have been found. Phio rushed to the exit of his study, ran through the atrium outside and continued into the large expanse of the library beyond.

He wove through corridors until he found where Rethan had summoned him – the thought flitted into his mind that ordinarily Rethan would have come to his study to discuss such secretive matters, but no doubt his friend had a purpose in calling him to the council chamber.

He opened the doors; Rethan sat at the centre of the room, on one of the two austere couches around the low, equally simple, table between them. The antechamber, like many in the highest levels, was sparsely ornamented – there were five doors that led to adjacent rooms off of the single curving wall.

Rethan stood as Phio entered, and shut the entrance behind him; he glanced at the doors concernedly, but his friend alleviated his trepidation.

The rooms are empty. It is safe to talk. Rethan said.

What news? Phio asked, earnestly, as he strode over to the couch. Rethan looked as tired as he felt, without the burst of vigour Phio had mustered.

His friend eyed him, sat back down on the couch, and lowered his head to stare at the ground.

I have found where Ormus is hiding. Rethan muttered.

Where? Phio asked eagerly.

Rethan looked up at him; there was a blankness in his features that unnerved Phio.

What do you plan to do about him? he asked, flatly.

Phio’s eyes narrowed in confusion, I have already told you – he must die. – Rethan sighed; Phio did not try to repress a surge of desperation, Rethan, he must die. He is a threat to us, to the Assembly, to the land itself. We cannot allow him to spark –

I know. Rethan interjected, Will you handle the arrangements, he paused, …for his death?

Phio watched his friend; his suspicion flared amongst the concern, Rethan, is there a matter you have not discussed with me?

Rethan looked up at him – Phio recognised the doubt in his eyes.

I’m sorry, he said, I’m very tired. And I cannot do this – I cannot have a man killed. Can you handle it?

The doubt seemed sincere to Phio, and he allowed a moment of ease – the decision was not as hard for him as for his friend, I will handle Ormus’ death.

The screeching of hinges behind Phio, forced him to stand and turn with alarm to face the open doorway to an adjacent room.

Elder Archivist Phio, High Inquisitor Ansara said, as he stepped out into the antechamber, You are under arrest for the crimes of sedition, treason, and intent to commit murder – under the laws of the Tribunal.

Phio was struck – shock strangled every emotion from his mind. He turned to Rethan.

The Elder Archivist had stood and glared at him. There were tears in his eyes.

Rethan? he pleaded.

Amongst his heavy beard Rethan’s lip quivered; from his hard eyes a tear fell and ran into the coarse facial hair. Rethan turned away from Phio as more doors screeched all around, and the squad of magus bloodhounds poured out into the room.

Phio was restrained – he did not fight.

Rethan? he managed through the shock once more, Why?

Rethan twisted on his foot; he glared, the tears were gone, I trusted you! he yelled, You betrayed me! You are the traitor!

The anger and betrayal in his friend’s eyes struck Phio to his core; the emptiness dragged and bored through his gut. He breathed shortly, and stared at Rethan as the bloodhounds hauled him away out into the corridor. Rethan stood beside the High Inquisitor, beside a magus, and watched.

* * *

Elle’dred sat against the wall of the cabin, on the soft padding of the bunk. He did not know how much time had passed since they had departed the harbour, and within the confines of the room there was no method through which he could gauge the time of day.

He regretted the breakfast he had shared with the commander shortly after the bunk beneath him began to move. It had not taken long for the constant rising and falling of his surroundings, and the equally incessant stench of salt, to tighten his gut with nausea. For longer than he appreciated, he had focused a large part of his