The Chronicles of Terlan: Daedala

By Dañiel L. Garcia

The Chronicles of Terlan describe the lives of the inhabitants of the forgotten continent Terlan, which is guarded by dragons. These tales tell of the time before, and during the events leading to Terlan's destruction. Caught up in these events are the Immortal, Asmada, a former member of the Triumvirate that had ruled Terlan in the past, and Daedala, a deaf woman brought back to life as an Immortal. She joins Asmada's quest to seek power and justice against Prometh. Together they seek allies and the Guardian Dragons to restore Terlan's peaceful balance.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dañiel L. Garcia
• Release date: Apr 10, 2018
• ISBN: 9783947547005

Dañiel L. Garcia

Dañiel L. Garcia was born in Bitburg, Germany into a German/Puerto Rican household. Growing up with Star Trek, fantasy books, and American comics from his father he began reading from an early age. There is photographic evidence of his father holding a child in one arm while holding a book in the other, so it is indeed hereditary. After a short run in with computer science Dañiel matriculated at the University of Trier, initially studying Japanology and Computational Linguistics. He slowly leant towards a major in Japanology with two minors in English Literatue and Media Science, specialising in Film. The year of study in Japan reopened his eyes to writing and he began work on his "Daedala" story. In 2015 he graduated Magister Artium (~Master of Arts). Having already written most of the manuscript before starting his Magister thesis he continued to write after finding his day job. Inbetween he managed to self-publish his first work, the short story "Just For A While". Next to writing his book, he also worked as a freelance translator, and occasional animator. He is inspired by classic science fiction and fantasy themes, and likes creating characters with their own unique abilities and flaws.

Book preview

The Chronicles of Terlan:

Daedala

by Dañiel L. Garcia

Distributed by Smashwords

Copyright © 2018 by Dañiel L. Garcia

Cover: Xin Liu

Map & Illustrations: Dañiel L. Garcia

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your enjoyment only, then please return to Smashwords.com or your favourite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

ISBN: 978-3-947547-00-5

Thank you to those that provided support while writing the novel and for patiently listening. And thanks to my beta readers for taking the time to read.

Table of Contents

Map

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Epilogue

Author's Note

About Dañiel L. Garcia

Other books by Dañiel L. Garcia

Connect with Dañiel L. Garcia

Preview

Prologue

In an ageless past, Terlan was destroyed.

Its origins a mystery, but its stories:

very old.

The tales before its ruin, written long ago.

Passed around, mouth to mouth, hand to hand:

forever told.

You hold here now, a tale of old. Long lost, now found.

Keep it safe. Don't let it go. When dragons come:

you'll know.

Chapter One

TERLAN WAS A world of conflict. Only the Guardian Dragons kept it from destruction. It was told countless generations ago that the great South-Wind, in dragon's guise, sowed the seeds for all the races. The South-Wind shaped the seeds of life to walk on land, swim in the water or even fly in the air.

These firstborn were the forefathers of Terlan's people. They thrived and fought. First they fought with sticks and stones, then sword and shield, and, finally, with magic. The flows of magic were a natural part of Terlan. Magic reflected the will and intent of its user. It varied as the seeds carried by the South-Wind: white magic, black magic, red magic, good and evil magic. Like light through a prism.

Yet, as much as magic was used for war, it was also used in daily life as water was used for drinking. The people used spells to communicate over vast distances by projecting images in mid-air or onto a focus object. There were spells for everyday tasks, such as cleaning or lifting objects. Besides magic, the industrious inhabitants had also developed the use of machinery. But these devices rarely reached the refinement or spread of their magical counterparts due to their complexity and expensive production.

Aided by the Guardian Dragons the phases of war and peace ebbed back and forth for centuries, until the recent millennium. Four hundred years ago the last of the great wars was fought against Asra, the Dark Lord. Just as the threat of the end of all life loomed across the borders the Dark Lord Asra was defeated by the Magelords. The Magelords were the masters of magic during that age, but later succumbed to greed. Then the great Triumvirate arose to take control.

The Triumvirate was ruled by three Immortals. Each the greatest practitioner of magic of their time. People believed they were the Dark Lords' servants. They ruled harshly, but fair. The Fairfolk living to the west of the Timon Mountains thought their judgement to be unjust and favour the Green Tides. The Triumvirate brought with them the diversity of magic, and a lasting peace through quiet menace of the Green Tides, the fierce warriors that rode as a singular force that broke all resistance.

During the Triumvirates rule, what had remained of the Magelords and their teachings had been secretly passed on, changed and refined into what would later be referred to as the teachings of the Light. Furthermore a prophecy began to spread amongst the Fairfolk along the western shores. A prophecy that foretold the rebirth of the Dark Lord. It is said that it was inscribed long ago from a whisper carried by the South-Wind:

A child born into suffering

Persevering through tragedy

As the Dark One reborn shall be

Bringing forth the ends of the world

More than one hundred years ago a boy was born in a small village in the north-west of Kaled in northern Terlan. Both his parents had died on the day of his birth. It was a singularly ominous sign for these sorts of villages. The villagers took it upon themselves to treat him kindly and not as an outcast, because the death of the boy's parents had been taken as an omen that the child, Lucian Prometh, would become the reincarnation of the Dark Lord. Though he was raised their equal and brought up in knighthood, the villagers always watched him warily.

As Lucian Prometh came of age he challenged his fate in the Chamber of Ages. He took the Toad of Truth from the Altar of Tomorrow and vowed to avert his fate as the reborn Dark Lord. He vowed to serve the Light for eternity.

Wishing to join the Warriors of the Light, Lucian trained to become one of their own. Being an ambitious young man wanting to prove his worth, he quickly rose in the ranks of the Light. At first he became a warrior, then a few short years later, their leader. Leading the Warriors of the Light, he began to fight the forces of the Triumvirate.

Lucian's bravery led him to lead the final thrust against their malignant Dark Forces. On that fateful day he rode across the fields of darkness, shining like a beacon of light in his brilliant silver armour. Through wave after wave of the relentless Green Tide he valiantly rode, reaching the Dark Fortress' tower with great effort, and much sacrifice.

Lucian Prometh single-handedly fought his way up the Dark Tower, into its spiralling halls to the sanctum of the Triumvirate. The eternal servants of the Dark Lord attempted to seduce Lucian to join their Dark Cause, but he refused, and the final battle began.

It is said that the battle raged for many hours, the night was constantly broken with bright flashes atop the Dark Tower, illuminating the fortress' surroundings in stark blinding light. The battle came to an end as a blinding bolt of lightning struck from the heavens, and destroyed the top of the tower. As the darkness settled again, a white light had shone forth from its ruins.

It was Lucian Prometh, from then on hailed as the 'Light King'. Having vanquished the Triumvirate, the Light of Destiny shone forth from his body, bathing all the land in warmth and harmony. For Lucian had averted his tragic fate, and had become the saviour of the world.

Chapter Two

…HOW I HATE that prophecy, and the 'Light King', thought Asmada as he bent his head to review the story, now told as legend. It was the first he had heard of this particular version of the tale. Of course, he knew the truth, had been there, had lived it —had been part of it— himself. Unknown to Asmada, he would soon bid a welcomed farewell to the time he considered as his 'Eternal Imprisonment'. Of course, it had not been 'eternal'. The time Asmada had spent chained in the darkness of the deepest and most isolated dungeon that could have been found had merely been a century, as he later learned. The few vermin that had managed to reach him had been a poor source of information, though they had contributed to his continued existence, a poor source of information. Still, that information had kept him abreast of all the changes that had occurred in Terlan.

As the first shaft of light, after more than a century of inky darkness, broke the shadowy monotony of Asmada's prison, his gaze slowly followed it to the source. The source was a doorway on the left side at the end of a long, steep flight of stairs. Though his eyes were pale from disuse, Asmada could still make out the outline of a man in the stark light.

So, began the man, it seems that you 'Immortals' are immortal after all.´

Even though it had been many long years, Asmada recognised that outline. It was the outline of the man that had chained him to this moist wall of this damp dungeon so long ago. The man that had robbed him of his abilities, and cast him and his comrades from the height and grace of their power: Lucian Prometh, the Light King.

You seem to have experience in that field as well… Prometh, said the chained Asmada.

It could only be Prometh, thought Asmada.

The Light bestows me the favour of a long life, as a symbol of its eternal power, said Lucian Prometh.

Asmada spat on the ground in contempt.

Prometh tensed. As the Light shines eternal, so shall I…

Smite me? interrupted Asmada. So, it's not your sunny disposition that makes you glow after all. Asmada chuckled tauntingly.

Though Asmada would have liked to gather what little spittle he had, and send it hurling towards Prometh's face, he merely smiled. Prometh continued to stare at him, the defeated Immortal. Though the true tragedy lies in being branded a servant of the Dark Lord, thought Asmada.

As you can see, said Asmada, I am not much of a conversationalist. Most of my audience has died of boredom. Asmada pointed with his foot at the pile of tiny rodent bones piled beneath him.

Asmada grinned at Prometh again. Or maybe they died laughing.

Prometh continued to silently stare at Asmada, showing no sign of being disgruntled, which did not surprise Asmada much. Asmada had known long ago that Lucian Prometh did not have much of a sense of humour. But the continued silence grated on Asmada's nerves. If I wanted silence, I could have had it without Prometh staring at me, thought Asmada.

Well, Prometh, said the chained Asmada. What can I do for you?

Prometh needs me, thought Asmada. There was no doubt in his mind. What other reason could there be to come to him, after leaving him chained here for decades.

The figure in the doorway did not answer.

Slowly Prometh descended the stairs towards Asmada. The illumination emanating from the descending figure banished the thick darkness, and proved that it was indeed Lucian Prometh, the Light King. The light from the doorway hit Prometh at an angle, highlighting his face. The chained Asmada had not been surprised before to see Prometh as he had stood in the doorway. But now, as the light clearly showed Prometh's face, Asmada was surprised to see him entirely unchanged since their last encounter.

Lucian Prometh had retained his irritatingly youthful features. The features of a farmhand, a lowly peasant, thought Asmada. Asmada felt the hatred that had ebbed away at the beginning of his imprisonment rise again. A modicum of strength returned to him and he straightened his back. Chained or not, he would not bow to a farmhand.

Prometh remained silent as he stood before Asmada, the same as during his descent. The light emanating from Prometh that marked him as a bearer of the power of the Light, was faint, but strong enough to brighten the dungeon for anyone to clearly see him. Asmada was quite sure that Prometh had no need of it to know where he was chained. Asmada looked at Prometh more intensely as he continued to wryly smile at him. Asmada's features must have been so far decayed to have frightened any other man, thought Asmada, but Prometh showed no such sign of acknowledgement. He has become more hardened, thought Asmada.

You, Asmada, said Prometh, will do something for me.

Prometh's voice displayed an air of confidence almost bordering on arrogance. It let Asmada know that Prometh would not accept an answer that would go against his expectations.

And what, pray tell, do you want me to do? asked Asmada without bothering to hide his contempt. Surely it could only be some form of knowledge he needed, thought Asmada. Prometh had already broken Asmada's powers on the 'Day of Defeat'. Asmada had been the only member of the Triumvirate to have been captured on that day. Worldly treasures he could not give Prometh, for he had none, though he would not tell Prometh that. Not at first, thought Asmada.

A potion, said Prometh.

The answer caught Asmada off guard. Of course, Prometh knew of his talents and specialities, but this was a subject he never would have thought that a man of Prometh's ilk would ever broach. Prometh looked at Asmada as he tried to comprehend his intentions. He did not seem to be waiting for an answer, nor needed one, Asmada guessed.

After a sufficient moment had passed, Prometh raised an iron ring with a single key towards the locks, which held Asmada's chains. Prometh unchained the haggard Immortal. This took several minutes, for the locks and chains that held Asmada were quite numerous and had not survived as unscathed as he. There were of course added magical precautions that ensured Asmada's stay. Those had proven unnecessary after the first few years, after Asmada had weakened. But of course no one had noticed, thought Asmada bitterly.

After the last chain fell to the ground with a loud clank, Asmada was finally able to move his limbs again. Asmada's arms had remained in the same position for such a long time, that they did not settle down beside him at first. With some effort Asmada managed to force them down to his sides, which resulted in a few nasty sounding pops and crackles as the decayed muscles and tendons were moved. I didn't need them anyway, thought Asmada.

Prometh turned on his heel, and without looking back he tread up the stairs towards the doorway. Without being assured beforehand in the knowledge that Asmada was powerless, this had seemed very arrogant. Asmada seethed at his apparent helplessness. Yet, through it all, a question kept percolating through his mind as he followed Prometh up the stairs: What does Prometh want with a black magic potion?

~ ~

Several minutes prior in the Bastion of the Light, located in central Kaled, in the kingdom's capitol of Gadolin, in the state of Alum. Lucian Prometh was on his way to the lower dungeons as he was stopped by a grey-haired, armoured figure in one of the outer hallways. It was Ivanova, also called 'the Lady in Armour' for wearing her battle raiments at all times, but not strictly a lady in the sense of temperament or education. The only luxury she allowed herself was to wear a baldric with her clan's sigil, the only trace of her origins.

She was also officially referred to as General Ivanova or more commonly as 'Iron-Horse' Ivanova by her troops. She approached Prometh with a familiarity that showed that she was not just his most trusted general, but also his closest confidant. Ivanova had known Prometh all of her adult life.

Lucian, are you sure about this? asked Ivanova in her usual direct manner. Do you really need that… Asmada? Who knows what he's capable of!

The open hallway let in the kind of sunlight that could only be seen from the northern regions of Terlan. The light reflected off of Ivanova's silver armour, casting shards of light around the walls. For any onlooker it looked as if she were bathed in the same glow as Prometh.

Prometh paused in his steps as he said: I'm sure. His kind is one of the few that knows more about how magic effects the body than anyone else in the Kingdoms.

From what you've told me about him all those years ago, I wouldn't trust him as far as I could throw him, said Ivanova harshly.

Neither do I, said Prometh. But I see no other choice, if the plan is to succeed.

A shadow of worry played over Ivanova's face as she recalled the plan, which they were about to set in motion.

I think you should reconsider Asmada's involvement, said Ivanova less harshly.

Except for daily household spells most use of higher magic is already banned in the Kingdoms, and the Toljorriens control most flows of magic in the western regions of Terlan. We don't need one such as Asmada. He's a memory that should be left forgotten, if he's even still alive.

Ivanova, my mind is set. There is no turning back now, said Prometh.

Steeling herself, as she had done for every battle she had fought since her youth, Ivanova gave a final nod of agreement and turned round commenting that she had some troops to whip into shape before setting out.

Prometh looked after Ivanova until she disappeared from view. The way she steeled herself against the things she disliked, but set out to do, always reminded him of the first time they had met in the far eastern Timon Mountains. Having known Ivanova as long as he had, Prometh expected no less from the former 'Soldier of the Mountains'.

With a broad smile seldom seen in recent years, Lucian Prometh recounted in his mind how he and Ivanova had fought in the mountains for what had seemed like days. Neither one trusting the other, both at their limits as they had tried to out think the other, while they had both been starving and thirsty. After that they had grown to respect each other. And the rest is history, thought Prometh finally as he remembered where he had been heading. Prometh reached the door that would lead him into the dark depths to face Asmada.

~ ~

In a dark and stormy night a lone figure slowly trod up a muddy footpath towards a stone outcropping. Heavy rain swept over the grey mountains that formed the enclosure, surely soaking everything and everyone down to the bone who happened to be present. At the edge of the platform that overlooked a valley lay fruitful plains. Hundreds of tents were strewn about the plains in a rough pattern of circles.

The figure stopped, behind it lay deep footprints from armoured boots, filled to the brim with water. Dark shadows edged closer but stayed well behind. Occasional bolts of lightning revealed darker shapes with grim features within the shadows. The figure lifted an armoured hand, then pointed down towards the fields beyond the valley. A rumbling that was not thunder grew and rolled forward like an avalanche. Its increasing speed bore the news of unrelenting force.

~ ~

Lucian Prometh woke with a start from his uneasy sleep. The remnants of the dream still swirled in his mind. Unlike his regular dreams, these remnants did not fade back into the nothingness from which dreams usually came from. They were the traces of something more persistent, and more insidious.

Memories.

It had been several weeks since he had brought Asmada out from the dungeon, and only several days since the plan he had devised had been set into motion.

Images flashed in his mind.

The valley.

The tents.

It is much quicker than the others, thought Prometh as he slowly rose from his bed. The faint glow that constantly surrounded him made it unnecessary to turn on the gas lights. Prometh strode confidently through his dark chambers to a small mirror. Prometh concentrated his vision on the eyes of his reflection and carefully began a slow rhythmic incantation. The glow around him increased. As it reached the intensity of daylight Prometh placed his index fingers against his temples.

Illuminate the night, banish the dark, whispered Prometh as he stared into the depths of his own eyes.

At once the remnants of his 'dream' that had plagued him faded away. In Prometh's memory remained only the fact that the first phase of his plan had been carried out. Returning to bed Prometh rested until the time of his departure for the next phase.

~ ~

In the morning Prometh met the Toljorrien envoy, Cairistiona Orchion, in the outside courtyard. A small caravan was prepared to head for the Nimven Mountains. As a representative the Lady Orchion fulfils her duties remarkably well, thought Prometh. Keeping with her peoples tradition Cairistiona Orchion appeared tall, with skin like the hue of the sky, and her long silver hair featured gold highlights that contrasted with the few emerald inlaid barrettes she wore. With a playful smile she greeted Prometh courteously. Prometh of course sensed her true nature beneath the illusional, voluptuous facade. But the Toljorrien's magic was strong enough to keep him from seeing through it. The Toljorriens greatly value their privacy, and go to great lengths to protect it, thought Prometh. Even though their behaviour suggested the opposite.

I just arrived back from Halia several days ago, said the Toljorrien, but I had no chance to speak with you before now.

We can speak while travelling, Lady Orchion, said Prometh and motioned for her to enter the steam carriage first.

As soon as the doors closed, the Toljorrien's face fell into a neutral expression.

The Toljorrien Conclave wishes to know what the status of your endeavour is, said Lady Orchion flatly, additionally signing with curt motions. You promised a change of the flows of magic in the central region. They have grown dangerously strong in the recent weeks.

I have, said Prometh in the same tone of voice. Nothing has changed in that regard. As a matter of fact, we will eliminate the source shortly. Then the region will be safe again, and another source of dangerous magic will be under our control.

Lady Orchion waited for further clarification on what this exactly entailed, but Prometh gave no further explanation on that point.

You will see the results soon enough, said Prometh. As an honorary member of the Light, Lady Orchion, you should know that sometimes the darkness needs to be known before the Light can be seen.

The Toljorrien nodded silently, her face merely showed a raised eyebrow as Prometh explained his next step.

~ ~

A jolt woke Asmada from his own daydream. It had been a bump in the road as the steam carriage drove on. The only good improvement of the last century, thought Asmada. He recounted the images of his past he had seen. Perhaps it wasn't a dream, thought Asmada. Although not chained, Asmada was still a prisoner of sorts. A barely tolerated nuisance at best. The armoured