The Kingdom of Shadows: Book 1 Shadows' Fall

By Jared Griffis

I'm going to kill the king.

A formidable nation is being destroyed by corruption at its very foundation. While clans, guilds, and cults tear at each other for control of the senate, the king rules through manipulation and fear, driven only to expand his power by any means possible.

When the reckless bounty hunter Kellson is convicted of crimes he didn't commit, he escapes but hes determined to bring down the king and his decaying government.

Running from the authorities, Kellson stumbles into a world thought only to be legend a world of Shadows, an infamous clan of warriors who oppose corruption in any form. Known for their elite skills as fighters and infiltrators, they take in Kellson and begin to teach him their secret skills as insurgents. But Kellson has a bigger plan; he intends to lead a rebellion...if he can master the Shadows' skills and convince them to join him.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Mar 12, 2010
• ISBN: 9781440198953

Jared Griffis

Jared Griffis fell in love with fantasy and the science fiction genre at an early age. He began writing this novel at the age of eleven and finished a rough draft shortly after his fifteenth birthday. He lived in Houston with his mother, father, and two brothers before his death in January 2008.

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The Kingdom Of

Shadows

Book 1

Shadows’ Fall

Jared Griffis

iUniverse, Inc.

New York Bloomington

Copyright © 2010 by Jared Griffis

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any Web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

ISBN: 978-1-4401-9894-6 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4401-9896-0 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4401-9895-3 (ebook)

iUniverse rev. date: 03/05/2010

Contents

Foreward

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Acknowledgements

A flutter in the wind, I think it’s you

Too much to transcend, the things that are new

I hate what has happened, but I live with it too

The person that changed me, a liking to you

I fall down flat, hit the ground hard

Running away now, I’ve played my last card

I stare at you now, sitting on my desk

Look up at the sky, my heart throbs in my chest

Life is uncertain, that much is true

With bonds being broken, and hearts in two

A crimson tear runs down my cheek,

A smile emanating from the weak,

Our lives lived further than in the past,

Yet our bond still stronger than any mast,

I let myself go, my hands float to my side

I rest in the hope, run from anger and pride

The water sweeps over me, restoring my soul

I breath life within me, death taking its toll

I lie there, thinking only of truth

But one thing is certain, Jared, I love you

~ James Connor Cain

Foreward

This book is the story of two journeys. I met Jared Griffis at the beginning of our 8th grade year in 2005 when he transferred into my school. Jared’s cavalier and occasionally cynical attitude drew me to him, but it was our mutual love of fantasy and science fiction that made us friends. One day I overheard him talking to our English teacher about part of a novel he was writing and asked him if I could read it. Jared sent me the first fifty pages, and I was astounded. Here was a boy one year younger than me (Jared had skipped a year in school) who wrote on a level well beyond his years. I was impressed. 

His fantasy story enthralled me immediately. Since he was only about halfway through with the book at that time, I offered some critique and suggestions of what I felt needed to be developed. From that point on, I became his editor and partner in telling his tale. He would write for a bit, and then we would meet to discuss the rewrites and where the story was going. We shared a passion for his created world and inhabited it together as fellow adventurers. The words of this novel are Jared’s, but he allowed me to join him in creating the world his characters live in. 

Jared took me on a journey during the two and a half years I knew him. He captured my imagination with this book – with his audacity in undertaking such a bold dream and sticking with it. Together we analyzed the etymology of character names to capture just the right quality (Kellson is one of the few exceptions, Jared just liked the ‘son of Kell’ sound). We hashed out missing details. I asked him questions; he clarified his story. Finally, during the second semester of our freshman year, Jared decided to remove a major character that was ‘too cliché’ and rewrote the first fifty pages. Back to work he went, and on December 28, 2007, Jared finished a rough draft of the first in what he hoped would be a trilogy. 

Jared wrote more than a story.  He pulled people into the adventure of creating a world and telling its tale. This book forged a partnership between us, and allowed us to live a shared dream and created an unbreakable bond, a bond not even broken by his death. Jared hoped to become a best-selling author, and it is my intent to help him reach that goal. It is with great joy and great sadness that I introduce to you Shadows’ Fall.

~ Samuel Dunn

Jared’s friend & fellow wordsmith

Prologue

As a dark cloud rolled across the blazing moon, the lights in King Hakavan’s castle extinguished. Cloaked forms, barely noticeable in the midnight black, flitted through the cloisters and hallways, up the stairs and towers, into the bedchambers. The queen gasped a death rattle as a thin knife found her throat, and the assassins swiftly moved on to their next targets. Her maids, too, were killed in their beds, leaving no witnesses. They slunk back down the stairs, sweeping into room after room, stabbing all of the sleeping men and women.

Almost the entire way back down the stairs, they turned left into the room of the Captain of the Guard. A light sleeper, he heard the creak of the door and leapt out of bed, unsheathing the dagger strapped to his leg and attacking with rage. As the first assassin fell dead, a second shot him in the back with a sleek pistol crossbow, the tic of the bolt echoing softly as the captain sank to his knees and died. His bodyguards, stirring in their own light slumber, exhaled as more knives buried into their chests.

One assassin entered the side room, where a boy slept. He cocked his head; the boy was surely only in his early teens. Shrugging, the assassin readied his knife for the kill, but yelped as the boy’s hand shot out, grabbed his wrist, twisted sharply, and took the knife.

The boy snarled and thrust upward, shoving the body out the window into the bushes. Voices reached his ears, and he looked out the door, taking in the bloody sight before him. His eyes fell on the fallen Captain of the Guard, and he blinked impassively, nodding soberly to the corpse.

He took a torch, lit it swiftly behind the door, and tossed it into the Captain’s room, letting the carpet become engulfed in the flames. The remaining assassins cried out and attempted to put out the fire, but it had already spread to the curtains and tapestries on the walls. The carpet led outside, and soon, other rooms burned as well. The boy jumped out the window, and fell ten feet to the grass, wincing as his ankles buckled. He watched flames begin to lick his windowsill, and nodded again, this time with satisfaction. He turned and fled into the night, to the town that was only a few miles away. Meanwhile, the body of the Captain of the Guard, the man who had taken him in off the streets, blackened and crisped into charred bone and ash.

The next day, when the King arrived from his hunting trip and surveyed the scorched stone masonry with somberness, a cloaked man pulled him away.

Sire, we have done as you asked. No one survives to oppose your reign.

Hakavan smiled. Yes. Excellent.

A week later, the boy reached another town. Small, dry, and sandy, it seemed to be a beach with no water. The boy dropped his meager belongings, acquired on his exodus, into an abandoned shack. He walked back outside and looked around. The town was small, yes, but many people roamed in it, laughing and talking like a family. The boy nodded. He would stay here until he grew older, and then the monarchy would have something to fear.

Chapter 1

Nine years later…

Offir shaded his eyes and looked across the rolling, springtime plains. The scent of wildflowers permeated the air. A creek ran past, gurgling contentedly, and young jackrabbits dashed across the lush meadow, always on the lookout for greener grass. This beauty was lost upon him as he strode past, pausing only to spit in the glittering, crystal water. He had a job to do.

A ruffian by nature, he prided himself in being a backstabber, thief, and drunkard. This did not mean he was not smart; on the contrary, his trademark cunning mind had always served him well. Strong, fast, and with good instincts, he outmatched and outfought everyone he met… when he was sober. His skills had led him to create and rule his own gang, the Eternal Blades. Though thousands of miniature mobs such as his existed throughout Allysis, less than a fraction of them were successful and even fewer sent a representative to the Senate. A king ruled Allysis, holding the position of complete ruler. However, early on in its history, as citizens became dissatisfied with the monarchy, some began to form clans. They started with families, then families and close friends, and soon, anyone who wished to join was accepted, no questions asked. Since then, cults, clans, guilds, gangs, clubs, cliques, bands and other varyingly named groups of people had floated to power, only to later drift back down. Very few stayed at the top of the ladder, but the Eternal Blades were so entrenched in the top echelons of power that to remove them would have required a miracle. (Many clans tended to have overly creative names that the originators thought sounded interesting.) Offir’s men were just like he was, especially in moral code. They were made up of deserters from the King’s Army, former assassins, and remenants of disbanded clans, to name a few. They numbered over nine hundred at last count. Offir was their chief, and no one questioned his leadership. He sent word through his network to all his gang captains, to the ends of the Kingdom and beyond. The officers were to assemble in the town of Tirann to meet a man who said he had a job for them. Offir fingered his sword hilt with anticipation and walked on.

When he reached the gate, he met no guards—not surprising. In such a city of crime as this, there was no point; and besides, the watchmen on duty took so many bribes that it defeated the entire principle of watching. He smirked and pushed the doors open, sauntering in. Was he not the strongest of leaders? The King himself wouldn’t dare attempt to fight his formidable clan, and the King commanded a huge army. When life is good, you deserve to be confident. He swirled his blue cape about him as he strode down the long street.

Beggars constituted at least half of the city’s populace, but most wouldn’t bother armed men. Please, my lord, just a few coins, for my daughter? a disheveled man pleaded, cradling a sad-eyed child of surely no more than five years of age.

He kicked the pauper out of the way as he walked to the Knife’s Edge Tavern, leaving the crumpled man groaning in the dust and the little girl kneeling beside him. Dust plumed around Offir’s cape as he opened the door of the bar and swaggered inside.

The tavern was filled with people, unsavory types for the most part. A grizzled old bartender was leaning on the edge of the counter, polishing a beer glass with a rag. Offir strolled up to him, casually resting his hand on his long hunting knife.

The bartender squinted through a mess of gray hair at the clan chief. What can I do fer ye, eh? he wheezed.

Where’s the man who came here before me who had a blue cape like mine? Offir asked, his tone an even mix of contempt and arrogant boredom. He has red hair, maroon eyes, bad temper…

The bartender nodded, Oh, that bloke. ’E came about four hours ‘go, arsked for someone that ‘as a blue cape and black hair…ah, you, I would imagine, eh? ’E’s down in the basement with ‘is friends. Turned as red as a tomato, E did.

Offir pushed past the bartender, tossing him a coin. Don’t you or anyone else go down there.

The old man hurried after him. Uh, well, there are a few people down there, who rent out rooms…

Offir turned on his heel and snarled, pointing the knife in the barkeeper’s face, Then get them out of there, muckhead. We need to be alone, d’ya hear? Alone!

The bartender hastily scrambled down the stairs. Offir drummed his fingers on the countertop in impatience as some men came out, thoroughly disgruntled. The old man came back up, gasping and holding his side.

Whew, not as young as I used to be, eh? That should be all of-

Offir cut him off. Shut up. Don’t go back down there until I leave.

Without another word, he strode down the stairs, his cape billowing behind him.

••

Anger poured off Quent Bluddman. The big man paced up and down the torch lit room in front of the seated captains of Eternal Blades, muttering under his breath. Need food and shelter for the boys what came with…why won’t he hurry up? Late as usual…

Offir burst in with a flamboyant swish of his beautiful cobalt cape. It’s not that I’m late, it’s that you’re early, Bluddman. I said I’d be here by seven o’clock, and here I am.

Quent rushed to greet his leader. Chief! Thank the stars, I was about to have to go buy spirits from the old coot up there, and the ale here is awful!

Offir rolled his eyes. Sometimes I wonder if you are really as stupid as you sound. When did the man say he would be here?

The second-in-command shrugged. He said seven o’clock. He should be here.

Well, he’s not. Unless he’s invisible, he ain’t here.

They waited for an hour until Offir began to lose his patience. He and his subordinates went upstairs to get drinks. No one noticed a dark shadow flitting past them.

They sat down at a table and waited for something to happen, guzzling down their ale. How do we know this ‘business employer’ isn’t part of the Kingdom? Krake, the commander of the archers, timidly asked his angry leader. Or what if he is part of the Shadows?

The Kingdom only put a price on our heads because they’re too scared to come and get us! Quent said. "And if it is a Shadow, we can put paid to him quick enough."

Offir scanned the tables around them ignoring his men, Lackeys, fools and bumblers, the lot of them, he thought to himself. They couldn’t kill a defenseless child if they had twice their number to help. They needed him. He guzzled down two pints in quick succession as he looked at the bar’s inhabitants. A soothsayer was in the corner, giving advice to a nervous looking merchant. Some gruff-looking trappers were talking to the old bartender. A group of the local militia was sitting a few tables away playing dice. A man, hooded and cloaked in black, was sitting by a table next to Offir’s own.

None of these people could be a threat…but the cloaked man gave him a slight shiver of apprehension. Cloakers, they were called. They could be anyone, so long as they used cloaks and hoods to disguise their identity. Every few moments the man would turn and look at Offir and his clan members. Offir couldn’t see the man’s face, but he knew the cloaker could hear every word they said. Offir got up and walked over to the strange man. The cloaker didn’t look away from Offir’s face. Although he didn’t know why, Offir felt strange as he stared at the man. After a few seconds, he realized he was nervous. Him, the leader of the most powerful clan in the entire Kingdom, was scared of a man he had never met? Offir curled his lip.

Why are you listening to us? That could cost you your ears if I didn’t feel generous. There, he would show the man who was in control. The man didn’t move, but Offir thought he heard a light snort from beneath the inky depths of the cowl.

He decided to try again. I don’t want trouble. Why don’t you just move to the other side of the room?

The voice was low, threatening. I see no reason to move. Besides, your men have nothing to fear from me. You might, though, if you don’t watch it.

Offir felt his blood boiling, but forced his anger back down. I’ll give you one more chance before I give you the tip of my sword. Leave!

Leave, yourself! growled Kellson.

Offir lost his temper. Perhaps he could have kept cool if he had done business with the man for whom he had called the meeting. Perhaps he shouldn’t have drunk so much, because no matter how bad it tasted, the ale was strong. Whatever the reason, he exploded. You heard me, thickhead! Do I need to clean out your ears with my sword? Get out of the way, and move to another table!

The old bartender came running up. ‘Old fast there, mate. You can’t go ‘bout telling people t’ move to another table, the bar rules are aginst that, see.

I can do what I please! I am Offir the Powerful, and you ain’t gonna stop me from doing what I will, you old oaf! Die! With a drunken roar, he swung his sword at the old man. It whistled through the air, only to stop at the parry of a dagger.

The cloaked man had stood up. He twirled his knife expertly and calmly said, Why don’t we try this again. You go sit down and mind your own business.

Offir’s men stood up and made a semicircle around the cloaker. In spite of being outnumbered eight to one, he was still standing up with his knife held loosely in front of him, with the confidence of someone who could and would kill if necessary. An Eternal Blade captain, named Kayle, ignored that warning sign and unsheathed a foot long, jagged-ended knife.

I’ll do the chief a favor and slit your gullet ‘less you ship out in two seconds flat.

A clang echoed, then a thud, and Kayle’s knife was stuck in the table, buried a quarter of its length in the hard oak wood. The stranger cocked his head and taunted, That should get me a few Suns at the nearest ladies’ school. He suddenly spun and laid out Kayle with a roundhouse punch to the jaw growling, Worthless hothead.

Offir was red in the face and blowing air like an angry bull. He roared and took a swing at the stranger, who sidestepped neatly as the sword crunched through the table. He took another swing. The cloaked stranger ducked and nicked the blade with his curved knife, leaving a faint scar on the silvery steel.

I’ll teach you some respect, you worthless little tramp- Offir began, but abruptly fell silent.

The knife suddenly appeared in Offir’s stomach. He looked down at it, then up at the strange man. The cloaker growled and grabbed his quart mug from the table, smashing it in Offir’s face. Bone cracked. Offir fell over, dead. The silence in the bar was deafening. The killer stooped, retrieved his knife, took Offir’s bag of coins, and calmly walked towards the door.

He looked across to the stunned compatriots of the dead chieftain. If any of you layabouts feel like taking me on, then by all means do so now. I’ve had a cold and it’ll do me a world of good. He gave the thoroughly shaken bartender a few coins. Sorry about the mess. He walked out onto the street and into the night air. The black shadow that had been watching from the corner of the room rose and disappeared, having never been noticed.

••

So someone got the old devil.

Why didn’t you do it yourself, Mr. Wizard? You were right there.

You don’t see a—

Yes, yes. You don’t see a shadow, but it sees you. It was a lot of money.

Besides, the entire point of asking them to come there was to identify his officers.

Did you?

Of course. Here.

Who killed him?