Fallen Heroes: Rise of Faiden, #2

By Kimber Grey

Kingdom of Faiden. In all that time, none challenged him who had any hope of defeating his army of corrupted sorcerers or the darkness that possessed them. Now, the Oracle has set in motion events to bring war to Faiden and to rouse the dormant high kingdom. Princess Vera has awakened from her mystical slumber, having narrowly survived Sayron's wrath. Is she the heir Faiden has been waiting to claim, and can this newest generation of leaders rise above the devastating losses in their past to become the heroes their world desperately needs?

Rise of Faiden is a six-novel epic fantasy series by Kimber Grey that introduces Midia, a vast and magical world that is besieged by darkness.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kimber Grey
• Release date: Aug 13, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386902904

Kimber Grey

Kimber was born in the arid and alien land known as southern California. She began consuming fiction from an early age, and has ever been eager to emulate the works that dramatically shaped her heart and mind as a child. She began creating short fiction and poetry in grade school, and wrote her first (laughably bad) novel in jr. high. Luckily, devouring the written word at an alarming rate tends to improve one's ability to produce it. With a grandmother who is a writer and an editor, English teachers who supported her budding potential, and a husband with a clever wit and an even greater appreciation of the written word, Kimber has never lacked support in the pursuit of her bliss. She published her first fantasy novel Quietus in 2009, and her second Seeking Destiny in 2012. The first three books of Faiden Reborn, Kingdoms Lost, Fallen Heroes, and History Forgotten were published in 2017. Her work has appeared in anthologies such as: "Ponderous Paradox", Missing Pieces IV; "Pushing the Envelope" and "A Dash of Salt & A Can of Whoop-Ass", Missing Pieces V; "Deathbringer's Apprentice", Missing Pieces VI; and "Solace Moon", The Hapless Cenloryan-The Troubadour's Inn Book I (2017 Ed.).

Book preview

The Seven Realms

Prologue

Brasik, Summer, 812 FF

Ferremor could feel the power of dawn pressing down on him, pushing through the fog of numbness in his mind. He didn't remember falling asleep, but he must have. His back was pressed against a tree, and all five surviving children were huddled around him. He reached out and touched tiny Yester's forehead, relief washing over him when the boy coughed and opened his eyes. The others stirred at the noise and began to cry. He took a deep breath. The sun was rising, Yester needed a healer, and their home was gone. They needed somewhere to go. Headmaster Doland, he whispered to himself.

Ferremor pushed himself up, blinking back tears at the searing pain that lanced through his wings. He reached down and helped the children to their feet before lifting Yester into his arms. He nestled the boy against his shoulder, hoping his cool skin would soothe the feverish child. Everyone hold onto me and onto each other, he said, his voice low and rasping. He was relieved when the others obeyed and reached down for little Mary's hand. He drew the children into the shadows, and carried them the many leagues to the kingdom of Cibsel.

It took him several tries to find the other orphanage his friend David had often described, but he did finally step out of the shadows in front of the gates. A young man holding a spear was leaning against the rough stone wall, and he jumped up to bar their way. He stared at Ferremor and the children with wide eyes for only a moment before bolting down the long drive toward a large building in the center of the grounds.

It was the largest orphanage in Cibsel. Some noble had abandoned the estate years ago, and Headmaster Doland had repaired most of the damage with the help of the older children and nearby townsfolk. Ferremor didn't know how much food or money they had, but he was sure that there would be space for five more homeless children. He didn't think they would be turned away.

Though the children seemed wary of the strange place and still a little disorientated from their first journey through the shadows, they let him lead them toward the building. He was exhausted, hurting, devastated, and the ever increasing pressure of the rising sun threatened to overwhelm him. He almost collapsed with relief when a wiry older man opened the door and stood to meet them. He recognized Headmaster Doland instantly from David's description. The man had closely cropped graying hair, and was dressed in plain slacks, a tunic, and a vest; his clothes were simple, but free of patches. That was a good sign.

By the gods, Ferremor! What happened? the headmaster cried, pushing the door open wider to let them in. He reached down and lifted Mary into his arms and gestured for the rest of them to follow. Several older children were standing in the entryway, and Doland began calling out to them, ordering them to start preparing rooms and to wake the herb worker and prepare the infirmary.

Doland handed Mary to an older girl who wrapped her in a blanket, then he reached out to take Yester. For a moment, Ferremor hesitated, inexplicably terrified of giving up the sick child. At Doland's kind insistence, Ferremor allowed the boy to be taken from him.

You're going to be okay, Ferremor promised Yester, feeling as if the last few shards of his world were being torn away. Trent, stay with your brother, he instructed gently. Trent nodded somberly, though he had already moved to follow his kid brother.

Take them to the infirmary, Doland instructed, handing Yester to the boy who'd been guarding the gates. The boy nodded and turned down a long hallway, motioning with his head for Trent to follow. Another older girl reached for Freddy and Belise, gently taking their hands. She followed the guard, leading the two children, and the girl holding Mary trailed after them.

Ferremor's vision began to blur as he watched the only other survivors of the fire that had destroyed their home disappear down the hall. Stay together! he called after them, swallowing back the lump in his throat.

You did the right thing, bringing them here, Doland said quietly as he reached out to take Ferremor's arm. He drew the shadow master down another hall, to a staircase that led downward. I'll show you to the cellar. Come, quickly, before the sun is fully up, he urged. We need to see to your burns, and you can tell me what happened.

His need to protect the children had given Ferremor the strength to hold back from the horrors of the night's events. With no pleading eyes looking to him for safety and answers, the numbness melted away and Ferremor awakened to grief and pain unlike any he'd known before. Tears sprang from his eyes and down his cheeks as he stumbled down the staircase after Doland, and he raised his hand to muffle his sobs.

Don't worry, Doland soothed. You're all safe now. We'll see to the young ones, don't you worry about that.

One

Northern Mountains, Summer, 813 FF

Jessica openly perused the many powerful and private treasures in the dark lord's quarters. The black draped canopy bed, dark wood cabinets, and brutal weapons were all expected. Adorning the walls and softening the floors were tapestries depicting morbid and vicious acts, art stolen from every dark corner of Faiden and stowed in the private chambers like absent reminders of his personal hell. The most surprising artifact in the room was the large cracked amethyst crystal on center display near the balcony doors. What an odd, sentimental treasure to keep all of these centuries. Her perfectly manicured and painted fingers rested on the protective glass shielding the gemstone.

Why have you invaded my rooms, Jessica? The dark lord's voice was cold and dangerous.

Jessica turned to meet him, her expression and demeanor unafraid. I haven't spoken to you in person since you were a boy-general in your father's army, she replied. Looking over at him, she was almost moved to pity. The flesh of his face was ghastly pale and sunken from spiritual and physical malnourishment. His hair was stained pitch black along with his eyes and the great wings on his back that had once shown blood red. Even the once-white wings he kept mostly hidden were stained a dark gray. He was deeply touched by a sinister force that had eaten away at him, weakened him almost to the point of death, yet suspended him forever at nineteen.

Do not speak of those days, he warned, his eyes vacant in spite of the command she heard in his tone.

Jessica raised a dainty brow at the odd, violet-gray magic enveloping him, almost overpowering the black sorcery that coursed deep from within his core. She had only ever seen such a sinister magical stain on Jellen. Now she realized why the old amalgamer wanted the dark lord dead. Why should I not? Does that past not exist?

Not anymore. Not to me. I have no name and no past, he answered simply.

Hm. She looked back to the stone under glass. Then why do you keep Amythyst's lifestone? She lifted her hand again to touch the display, her nails grazing over the smooth surface.  It is useless to a nameless dark lord.

Why have you come? Was it to bait me into attacking you? he retorted, his eyes showing the first hint of real anger.

Jessica was almost tempted to smile. So he was protective of the gem, but not enough to tell her to let it be. No. Why I came has already been resolved, so now I am merely entertaining myself. When Faiden fell, she had been tempted for the first time in the history of Midia to involve herself in the affairs of mortal governments. When she realized the coup had been orchestrated by High Prince Sayron, all notion of playing a part disappeared. He was, after all, the heir under the high king. Instead, she had offered a treaty to the new ruler of Faiden, and considered the issue closed. Seeing him as the devastated echo of the sorcerer he'd once been gave her pause. Had she lived long enough on Midia to care what tragedies befell her neighbors?

The dark lord strode up to Jessica and stared her in the eye. Then you should leave.

Jessica smiled coyly, an expression so false that she felt odd wearing it. Do you not wish to know why I am here? The sorceress so rarely felt moved by anything that she was curious to discover the nature of her subtle despondence.

He shook his head, his eyes cold once more. If it concerns me, I am certain I will know soon enough.

Jessica left him to his lifeless crystal and drifted out onto the balcony, letting the sharp drafts whip her skirt around her ankles. I wanted to know what of Jellen's you possessed. Now I realize you have stolen his power. She glanced over her shoulder at him, once again amazed by the transformation of what had once been a handsome and engaging fae. This information also answered many questions I never bothered to ask.

The dark lord sighed and joined her on the balcony to look out over the bleak landscape. Very well. I will play your game, Jessica. What questions?

The boy prince I knew was proud, but kind, she mused, taking in his brutal and savage lands. His was a black world without life or the light of the sun. Now I can see the darkness that devoured his soul. Had I the ability to feel pity, I would. She cast an apathetic look to him. As you are now, I agree for the most part. Sayron did, indeed, die thirty leagues south of my bay.

Hm. He turned to meet her gaze, but she could see his thoughts were far from the conversation with which he was indulging her.

You should know that he is not beyond rescuing. Jessica was not sure why she felt the desire to share her observations with him. Perhaps it was a near-extinct loyalty to the high queen who had been so fair in her dealings with Sorcery Bay. Perhaps it was because she had actually respected the young fae prince, even if he was unfortunately born male. Or perhaps . . . it was the tears and the screams of a charge she had sheltered in secret some time ago. I have seen souls tainted by deeper darkness than yours revived. Though her tone was one of indifference, her comments revealed the slight concern for the fate of a high prince with whom she had once had many dealings.

The dark lord's eyes narrowed slightly. I do not need rescuing, she-demon. I am quite content with my existence.

Jessica turned back toward the horizon, noticing the change in his voice and the shift in his stance. That is not you speaking. She willed herself home, not bothering to wait for his reply. The dark, violet-gray magic she'd witnessed on the dark lord was unlike anything she'd seen before. He was a helpless puppet against its awesome strength, and she understood why the Oracle had devoted so much time and risked so much to protect Kayron. Another war was coming, and more than Faiden hung in the balance. Where did you find such a powerful evil, Jellen? She reclined in her favorite chair and summoned a glass of bloodwine. And how ever did you lose it to a mere, foolish boy?

Two

Brasik, Summer, 813 FF

Jellen had once commanded the attention of kings, subverted mighty governments, and crumbled immortal towers. He had seeded rebellions and wars that scarred the world for centuries, even millennia. He was the snake in the grass, the dragon in the lair. He was the insanity in the mind of emperors, the whispers that led the most loyal astray, and the sickness that poisoned fertile lands. Once, he had been great, and his word could destroy the mightiest kingdoms in the most subtle of ways.

Now, he was little more than a petty errand boy with a high title, answering to a whelp he'd once delivered to death and madness. He was a shadow of his great past, and every day he awoke sickened and raving with fury. He was desperate to master the demonic art of possession so that he could inhabit his shell and curb these disgusting emotional outbursts. His lack of success only made him even more furious.

He growled at the ceiling, as if it were responsible for reducing him to this pathetic state. He was the one who had poisoned the hearts of sorcerers and brought the defense of the High Kingdom of Faiden to its knees. The most powerful kingdom in the world had crumbled beneath his touch. Yet, in the final hour, the boy prince, Sayron, had stolen the victory from him.

Sayron, the name slithered from his tongue like a curse, as it had thousands of times in the past eight centuries. The prince should have died, as so many other sorcerers did, died or succumbed to the thrall of Jellen. Instead, the great Orb of Power had abandoned its master and filled the pathetic prince with its strength and ambition, leaving Jellen a hollow, embittered wretch.

Jellen had been so weakened by the loss of the orb and its power, he thought he would die. Sayron had no idea from where the dark magic came, not at first. In the centuries since, the dark lord that had once been a fae prince learned it was Jellen who had brought the accursed object to the kingdom. It was Jellen who had shattered the Sorcerer's Crystal and Wizard's Crystal, and it was Jellen who had caused the internal war that tore Faiden asunder. If he had learned it sooner, before his mind was so twisted by the orb, Sayron might have raged at Jellen.

Now, all the dark lord cared about was keeping Jellen from his rightful possession of the orb. That and having as little interaction with his subordinates as possible. Jellen could not fathom why the orb would choose the prince over him. After eight hundred years of Sayron doing nothing with the orb or the gift of unimaginable magical strength it offered, Jellen struggled to imagine why it had not returned to its first vessel.

Jellen would not have squandered the past eight centuries languishing in a tower in the bleak and savage Northern Mountains like the dark lord. Faiden was meant to have been the head of the serpent, struck from the body to cripple the world. Faiden had been the center of trade, the highest and most respected authority of all the great kingdoms. Jellen had intended to follow the momentum of the world's shock to crumble castle after castle until the whole of Midia was in ruins. It was what the orb had wanted, what Jellen had been working for centuries to accomplish. All of his great plans had been for naught.