History Forgotten: Rise of Faiden, #3

By Kimber Grey

The High Kingdom of Faiden awakens after eight hundred years of dormancy, and Princess Vera hears its desperate plea for help. Driven by her mystical birthright, she leaves the safety of her seclusion to answer its call, unaware that the dark lord who now rules her kingdom was once her beloved brother, Sayron... or of the terrible price that must be paid to restore the tools she will need to defeat her enemy

Kenneth finds himself at the mercy of the ruthless dark lord. High Lord Sayron insists the general is a prophet, and seems to know who Kenneth truly is and where his blood-kin are. Tortured nearly to death in order to unlock his potential, Kenneth quickly learns his ability to see into the present and the future can be used by the dark lord without his cooperation. His only hope is to find a way to turn his prophetic gift against his captor. Luckily, in the throes of his devastating powers, he glimpses the fall of the dark lord and the rise of the Heir of Faiden.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kimber Grey
• Release date: Aug 14, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386879572

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

The Oracle

Thousands of years before the rise of the mighty High Kingdom of Faiden, there existed a clan of pure-blooded farrans, who were said to be gifted with superior prophetic abilities. They were called the Divinars, and they were the guardians of the Emerald Orb of Knowledge. Every generation, a child of unsurpassed power inherited the responsibility of protecting the Orb. This child was expected to surrender its body as a vessel to become an avatar for the Orb’s phenomenal energies. This guardian came to be known as the Oracle, a being of unimaginable accuracy, whose cryptic prophecies were said to never fail.

—From A History of Prophecy

in the libraries of KGA

One

Land's End, Winter, 814 FF

Wyrrcrii were not meant to walk on legs, Marrelyn lamented to herself. At least, not forever. She watched the ocean from her perch high on the brink of Land’s End. The sheer cliff fell away to a beachless white surf sixty feet below where the crashing spray filled the air with the rich smell of salt and seafoam. Marrelyn breathed in the deep, familiar smell of home, finding both comfort and sadness in her rare solitude. Her privacy, however, was short lived.

I wish you would choose safer locations to linger, Princess, Wolyn admonished. He was a wyrn, the highest honor bestowed to a personal body guard of royalty, and he could never be eluded for long. Of all of the wyrlii honor guard charged with protecting Marrelyn, only Wolyn dared reprimand the strong willed young woman. We have spoken before of your reckless tendency to avoid our protection. If you must continue escaping our custody, could you in the least choose a safer destination than this precipice? Wolyn lowered himself beside her, slipping his feet over the edge.

I miss Salyrria, Wyrn. I miss the coral, the ocean currents, and the weight of the sea, Marrelyn lamented, her eyes never leaving the blue horizon. I greatly dislike this exile, so far from home. This land is beautiful in ways the ocean could never be, but I long to swim the dark depths of the capital once more. I miss my fins and gills. Why was I chosen of all of my cousins to guard the Emerald Shard of Faiden? I am distressed by this miserable banishment.

Wolyn leaned forward, drawing the princess's gaze. He was young for so prestigious a rank as wyrn, but the weight of his responsibilities had aged him, making him seem older and wiser than his twenty nine years. His pale, iridescent skin and soft celadon hair shone brightly in the sun. His tea green eyes, which so rarely sparkled with laughter, were soft with encouragement and empathy. You are not exiled, my princess. You have been charged with a grand and honorable duty. The king chose you for your strength and honor as well as your landworthiness.

And for my willfulness, Marrelyn countered sharply. Do not deny that my uncle is likely glad to be spared of my free tongue and disobedience. Wolyn smiled softly, and Marrelyn looked away. She lifted her pale chin, and flicked the cascades of her alabaster hair back over her shoulders.

Wolyn watched her with open admiration. I do agree that the king chose you for your willfulness, but for an entirely different reason than to be rid of you, Your Highness.

Marrelyn glanced at him askance, her porcelain profile still directed at the clear horizon. Speak your mind, wyrn, she replied cautiously. It had been her experience in years past that he often withheld his opinion when he felt it to be inappropriate or hurtful, awaiting her prompting before revealing his personal thoughts. Though, just as often, he was right.

Wolyn followed her gaze to the sea, his own expression one of longing and homesickness. It was easy for Marrelyn to forget that her wyrlii were also banished to the land and forced to live without their fins.

You are open, challenging everything around you, Wolyn responded candidly. You make your own decisions and stand by your ideas. Of all of your cousins, you are most able to think for yourself, make independent and intelligent choices. You are strong in mind and in heart. Anyone as wise as the King could easily recognize this about you, even at the young age in which you were charged with this task. He knew the shard would be safe with you as its guardian.

Wolyn sighed, leaning back to recline on his elbows. You are not afraid to defend your beliefs and honor, and I have also seen you temper your pride as well when the occasion required. You are a good, strong, and noble guardian, Princess.

Marrelyn found the sterling chain that dangled from her neck, supporting an oblong, three-inch emerald shard. She lifted the stone from beneath the soft cotton of her simple dress to close her fingers around the rough stone. Her lips turned down.

Wolyn noticed her movement, and he leaned forward again, his gaze intent. "Princes, you should not doubt your purpose or your worth. Your uncle has not revealed to me either directly or through his demeanor that he bears you any ill will. He would not have entrusted you with such a sacred and important duty if he did not trust in you."

Marrelyn sighed quietly. I have a lifetime to reflect upon why my family sent me so far away to guard a fragment of a long-fallen kingdom.

Wolyn nodded, acknowledging Marrelyn's sorrow and loneliness. His eyes had shown the same loss on many occasions, in spite of his attempts to remain true to his duty. He looked to the sea again, the surf below filling the silence. After a time, he spoke again, his voice encouraging. I have no words for you, Your Highness. I cannot ease your loss. All I can offer is that, as your wyrn, though I miss my home and my own family as well, I would not ever wish myself anywhere but by your side.

Marrelyn smiled sympathetically. Your loss is known to me, wyrn. You, like me, have also been exiled from our home beneath the waves. I mourn your fate as well as my own. She released the emerald to clasp his hand in hers. Still, I am selfishly grateful that you are here with me, my somber friend. Her eyes sparkled at his slightly quirked brow. We will weather these dry years together. She let go of his fingers and drew her knees up to hug the soft cotton of her long skirt. We may never see our home again, she remarked hollowly. But, we at least are not alone.

Two

Wymarre, Winter, 814 FF

Vera watched the storm clouds far to the north from her perch high in the. Lighting flashed, and curtains of rain blurred the distant horizon. It is raining in the Desolate Plain, she mumbled to herself. Dark waves of rich, auburn hair had escaped their braid during her taxing ascent, and whipped freely around her brow. Though she'd seen quite a bit of sun that summer, she seemed immune to tanning, her skin opting instead to burn and turn ivory again. She had become grateful for the long dark curtain of hair she could shield herself with, but it was too cumbersome to leave down when she was climbing trees.

Is it muddy there? Or is the rock bare and slippery? She sighed, reminded by the warm sun on her back of the strange heat wave that had suddenly washed over them. Wymarre was one of the north-most kingdoms of Faiden. Though the snow was not always deep this early in the season, it should have been much cooler than it was.

Not long ago, there had been crisp ice on the stream by their home. Was her kingdom holding back the winter to ease their journey, to aid their travels to where it knew she needed to go? The cold didn't bother Vera, but her steadfast guardian was as susceptible as any to frostbite and arthritis.

Vera twisted in her perch to frown at the five-foot-long blue wings rooted between her shoulder blades. They encircled and rested on the surrounding branches like curtains of heavy velvet, ever cool to the touch in spite of the sun. They were foreign to her, often moving reflexively and requiring stern concentration to command. The smaller white wings, rooted in the hollow of her back, were easier to handle. They were several feet shorter, and often hung freely until willed to move. Soon you will listen to me, she said to her quickly-growing, new limbs. I have work to do, and I will need you to heed my wishes.

Talking to your wings again, my high queen? Master Wizard Wizkand Safreous had taken to calling Vera by her mother's title, thought the princess had not earned it or been officially crowned. It was both distressing and flattering to the young fae, and she simply allowed him the informality.

Vera peered through the branches to the aging calbrin below, but all she could see were the towering waves of his graying pale-blue hair. He was nearly two feet shorter than her, but the tip of his tall hair often drifted just above her head. In spite of the age that was starting to etch itself on his plump, rounded features, his hair was still thick and straight enough to make any calbrin proud. Tomorrow, master wizard, we strike east toward Land's End, then north to the Bone Cliffs.

Wizkand sputtered for several moments, his voice turning shrill. "W-what? Tomorrow? Just like that? No warning? No planning? No preparing? he shrieked, his broad face undoubtedly turning crimson. Your Majesty, I—"

Tomorrow, Wizzy, she interjected sharply. You have been preparing supplies for the winter. Pack them and load the goats. Vera glared at her wings, forcing them to unclamp from the tree, and she began her slow climb downward. Her limbs had also grown, become long and awkward, making her feel angular and clumsy. She took extra time to be certain of her hand and foot holds, afraid she might miscalculate a grip and crash through the branches below. Luckily, her fingers had lost the roundness of youth, growing long, slender, and strong.

But— he sputtered.

No, Wizkand, she quickly insisted. I may only be fifteen, but I am to be High Queen of Faiden by blood and by the will of the kingdom. As long as it suffers, I will not sit idly by and let my people wither under the subjugation of the dark lord. This particular argument had been one they'd suffered every day for the past few weeks. Vera's will had endured while Wizkand's had been whittling down.

Vera paused to look down at him again, her expression firm and unyielding. My wings will not obey, so I must become one with them. I can do that at Land's End.

I understand, my high queen, he replied, considerably more calm than a moment before. But a more shallow precipice would be best for learning. Northern Saevalde Chasm would be much safer.

Perhaps, Vera dropped the last few yards to the ground, letting her wings instinctually open and catch the air to soften her landing. But the Bone Cliffs are on our path to the Oracle.

Wizkand's large steel-blue eyes became shadowed, his gaze darkening as it always did at the mention of Faiden's reclusive counselor. Why seek her out? After she allowed your kingdom to fall, let your parents . . . His voice cracked, and he looked away.

Vera bent to put her eyes in line with his, a posture that had become more necessary since her recent growth spurt. Though she'd been taller than him at nine, at five feet, she towered over him by more than a head. We have to Wizzy, she said, drawing his pained gaze. "Because I don't know how to resurrect a shattered kingdom. I don't know how to usurp a ruler eight-hundred-years strong . . . and she does."

Wizkand lifted his chin, stubbornly. Yes, he replied sharply. But will she tell you?

Vera shrugged and stood to head back toward their cottage. She was glad to have the wizard at her back when she realized tears were starting to gather in her eyes at the thought of leaving their peaceful home of the past six years. "All I know is that my kingdom is screaming for help, and I do not know how to save it." She cleared her throat, blinking away the moisture, and looked down at the wizard who had fallen into step beside her. Wizzy's arms were too short to reach her shoulders as they once had, and the comforting hand he lifted fell across the middle of her back.

Her voice faltered with fear and a growing edge of desperation. The wind carries their cries, Wizzy, she lamented, losing the battle to stay composed as tears streaked down her face. "In my sleep, I dream of the Cerulean Palace as it was when I was a child, before we slept for eight centuries. Its song was so beautiful, a tone that hummed in my heart. Now, when the wind brings its song to me, I want to weep. Its sorrow is too sharp . . . it cuts through me every time." Her voice trailed off into a whisper.

Wizkand sighed and nodded, his chin dipping dejectedly to the broad, round expanse of his trunk. Very well, Your Majesty, he conceded, an abject tone of defeat in his voice. Vera's gut churned at the pain she was causing him, but she could no longer bear being idle. Tomorrow, we leave for the Bone Cliffs. I will bring what we can eat, use, or sell. The rest we will burn.

What? Vera stopped short, her fingers already wrapped around the familiar, worn latch of the cabin door. Why? She frowned down at him.

"There is too much of you here. If he learns from where you come, he may come here and find hair, energy . . . tears. He met her shocked gaze, his full of resolution in spite of the weeks or resistance he'd given her. We cannot let it stand. When he learns you yet live, you will have a terrible enemy, Your Majesty."

The dark lord, Vera whispered to the aged wood of the cabin door. She took a deep breath and entered her home for the last time. Then . . . She looked around the small, cozy room, full of memories and the scant few items she owned and had grown to treasure. Tears sprang anew, imagining her safe haven engulfed in flames, but the wizard was right. Then we will burn it.

Three

Vespas, Winter, 814 FF

Lacey stared across the rubble-strewn, stone courtyard of the ruined castle, her silent world lit by the glow of the pre-dawn. A terrible sorrow tore at her as she gazed up into the burnt and overgrown remains of a once-mighty structure. Her black hair drifted around her lean shoulders, teased by a soft wind with every painful step she took. Tears streaked down her cheeks, her heart aching with a profound loss that, try as she might, she could not remember.

She made her way through the waist-high grasses that had once been lush gardens bordering the walkway, and up the cracked steps of a broken, gaping entryway. Her delicate, bare feet picked a path through the obstacles while her mind screamed the questions she feared she would never know the answers to. What had happened here? What was it about this place that always made her feel lost and alone? Why did her soul weep for the destruction she witnessed around her?

The grand hall's marble floors were scorched and littered with large remnants of the ceiling and floors above. Light spilled in through the east-facing windows as the sun rose above the forest beyond to shower the devastated castle, revealing the dark green hue of Lacey's hair. She turned her rich emerald eyes to watch the morning light catch in the few shards of brightly-colored glass stubbornly clinging to the metal frame of what had once been a twenty-foot, round, rose window. Many years ago, that hall would