Grayden: The Secret of Illryn

By L.K. Evans

One god created the ultimate power, another the ultimate betrayal. Two kingdoms at war, with one man cursed to end it all.

From across the Blood River, the kingdom of Vard watches with disgust as their enemy, Eadom, feeds its children to the necrophites. Since before histories were recorded, Vard has sought to free Eadom’s children from their horrific fate, but have only seen defeat. Until now. The church has finally recovered a dreadful power stolen from them years ago, a power that can liberate Eadom’s children, a power never before seen in Illryn. The power lives within a man named Grayden, but he’s known as the Executioner.

With no memory of his childhood before the age of ten, Grayden has been conditioned to fulfill his destiny. Living with the silence from the god that created him, he endures doubt even as he is driven by righteous purpose toward his fate.

As Grayden ventures deeper into Eadom, memories begin to lighten the dark corners of his mind. It is here, in the heart of the enemy, that he comes face to face with his own doom and the betrayal that led to it. The truth is always known by at least one.

• Language: English
• Publisher: L.K. Evans
• Release date: Jul 1, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463092118

L.K. Evans

I was born in Phoenix, AZ, where I resided for the first half of my hopefully long life. At the first opportunity, my husband and I packed up the wagon and traveled north to Washington State, where I currently am living happily ever after with my wonderful husband and three beautiful, hysterical, and often crazy Siberian huskies. Right out of high school, I got recruited into the corporate world and found I had a knack for accounting. I spent seventeen years in various divisions of accounting, but never felt fully satisfied by the turn my life had taken. Of all I had imagined my future to be, chained to a desk was not in any of my plans. In one of those wild moments where you're ready to bungee jump off a bridge, I quit my job and went to work on opening a dog daycare business, with all the support and love of my husband. As I was planning, I used my free time to start a story. I'd read a book and was rather unhappy with the ending, so I decided to write something I would enjoy. It started out as a secret. It was a side hobby, a release, an escape. But one day, my husband came home early and caught me. Instead of allowing me to continue on in secrecy, he planted a seed of publishing in my mind. The thought of being an author went against everything I had made of my life. Security. Stability. Debit and credits. Cars and houses. Textbook accounting. Writing was creativity; no rules, no certainties of success. And I found it exhilarating and something I absolutely loved doing. The dog daycare idea was unattainable for us, but the writing blossomed into a dream I never bothered to dream. So here I am.

Book preview

Part One

Upheavals

Chapter 1

—~—

By the gods, I hated the smell of piss and vomit. The rancid stench clung to the air like a disease.

Before me, forty-eight bound criminals knelt in the Executioner’s Square. My square. Moonbeams lit the winter air steaming off their wet groins, and clouds rose up from pools of vomit melting the snow into an unsavory brown mush. Crammed together, street upon street, the throng of onlookers gawked at the criminals who’d been stripped naked so as to leave the world as they had entered it. The usual jovial, boisterous nature of the city had grown quiet and somber, their murmurs done in sympathetic tones while their eyes betrayed the sick pleasure people seemed to gain while watching others suffer.

Turning my gaze to the criminals, I curled my lip in disgust as they begged for mercy like a starved dog begged for food. Of the forty-eight, I counted eleven who gazed at me without pleading, without tears streaming down their face, and without wetting or retching all over themselves. For those few men, I nodded in approval. Better to meet death without fear, without regret, and for the love of Cehdyah, meet it while staring into its eyes. That was how I hoped to die: unafraid and unyielding to my executioner.

Krowen joined my side. The captain was one of the few other men who surpassed me in height, and when I looked up into his normally cheerful eyes, no joy glittered, and his voice lacked its usual easy cadence. Bishop Shaln has given the prisoners’ their last rights, Commander Grayden. Cehdyah has not spoken to save them. Their damnation is yours to sentence.

With the captain’s words, sobs crescendoed through the spectators. Thousands of gazes darted to me. I knew their thoughts. Rumors had spread like wildfire through the city of Traptin since my first publicly performed execution seven years ago when I was a mere eighteen. To the people, I was death reincarnate. My chainmail and surcoat were blacker than the deepest pit, but what petrified the masses was my power. None other in all of Illryn possessed it.

A movement in the crowd caught my eye. Four men with no other purpose than brute strength carried the High Arch Bishop’s litter to a cleared alley. Pelik rarely left the church, but as he stepped from his litter, he made no attempt to interrupt or gain my attention, so I carried on with the execution.

My voice rang emotionless in my ears. The words the same ones I’d repeated for years. You have been found guilty in our courts. Cehdyah has denied you entrance into Blessed Sanctuary and no longer wishes to hear your pleas.

I flicked my hand. The power within roiled in my veins, freezing cold. It chilled my bones then rippled out across the square. The criminals’ screams gurgled back in their throats as blood sputtered from their mouths and their severed tongues fell to the ground. At least I wouldn’t have to listen to the begging anymore.

As the less sturdy women and children quieted their screams, I searched for the eleven criminals that had been brave. Three had lost control of their bowels and sat in their own excrement, sobbing. Three more babbled incoherently, weeping like hysterical children. Only five kept their hateful gaze upon me.

Arch Bishop Shaln began to murmur his prayers at my side, a singsong rhythm of words that always made the man sway. Gray hair along his temples shone in the torchlight, and his salt-and-peppered beard had been recently trimmed, his simple crimson robe pressed smooth.

When his verse ended, he looked up at me with dull brown eyes softened by near forty years of devoted service to his god. He shook his head and gave me a sympathetic smile, wrinkles springing to life around his mouth and eyes. Their crimes are unforgivable, child, he said in his soft voice, his words meant only for me. He placed a light hand on my arm. Cehdyah will not save these men.

I inhaled a deep breath and raised my voice for all to hear. Cehdyah is not an unmerciful god. He grants you blindness so the horrors of the Netherworld do not drive you mad.

I flicked my hand. Another wave of power rolled over the square, leaching more strength. Ninety-six eyeballs popped from their sockets. I clasped my hands behind my back to keep the tremors of exhaustion hidden. An eyeball wobbled down the cobblestones to rest against my boot, the accusing brown iris staring up at me. I kicked it aside and silently recited my purpose: I live but to serve, and my service is death. I live but to serve, and my service is death.

I glanced at the five men who’d remained steadfast in the face of death. Two retched through sobs, one had wet himself, and another rolled on his side screaming. Only one leveled his eyeless glare upon me.

I waited for the shrill cries to subside before I spoke. For crimes against kingdom and church, I condemn your unclaimed souls to roam the Netherworld! Let all who look upon your heads take to heart the laws established. Let all who dwell in the Kingdom of Vard adhere to these laws, lest their fate be the same!

I flicked my hand. Another surge of power left me. My bones seemed to sag inside my skin and exhaustion seeped into every muscle. I widened my stance to keep from toppling over.

Starting at the criminals’ feet, their skin liquefied and streamed down the cobblestones, followed by streaks of rich crimson as muscles dripped from bones like melting wax.

I turned my gaze to the one man. He convulsed silently on the ground. He did not plead or scream, and he did not writhe around like a dying animal. I flicked my hand and stopped his heart, ending his misery.

My gaze sought the gore rushing around my boots, staining them, contaminating them. Blood and dissolving organs added hues of red and putrid yellow, and white tendrils of bone snaked through the mess.

Shaln whispered, Mountains breaking the river of sin, child. Today you have made Vard safer than it was yesterday. Cehdyah is pleased with his Chosen.

Once my power had eaten away their bodies and only the heads of the criminals remained, I turned to Krowen. Impale the heads along the outer wall of the city. I glared at a handful of soldiers retching. Though they were not of my own Morté force, their weakness could not be tolerated. I motioned to them. Ten lashings to each man who became ill.

Krowen leaned close, his watery blue eyes and blond hair still vibrant in the lanterns’ dim light circling the square. They’re new to our service, Commander. The scene is gruesome and—

Assign ten lashings to yourself. I angled forward and lowered my voice to a menacing whisper. And by Cehdyah, if you ever question me again the sight before you is nothing compared to what you will endure.

Krowen held my gaze for a short breath then lowered his head in submission. The captain was my most trusted Morté, but more than once I’d seen this slight rebellion: the pause in obeying. I always surprised myself when I ignored it. I glanced at the Arch Bishop waving me over. Clean up this mess, Captain.

I turned on my heel and marched to Pelik, leaving Shaln behind to say the newly departed’s last prayer. By the gods, I hoped I remained upright. I cursed myself for not eating a meal before the execution. Behind me, Krowen’s voice rang out with orders, organizing the king’s men and my own handful of Morté that had been present at the execution.

Pelik jerked his head to an alley cleared of citizens. A lone lantern bobbed back and forth in his meaty fist as he waddled, his crimson robes swishing along the ground, the fabric tight against his rolls. I followed him, staying focused on his back to steady my dizziness.

Waiting like a serpent in high grasses was Ulissah, the High Arch Bishop’s seedy spy. The scrawny man made my skin crawl. His oily complexion glistened in the lantern light swinging long shadows along the buildings, seeming to call attention to his shaking body and adding a nasty hue to the open sores dotted along his arms. I assumed he had not had his recent fix of nictrin. Sweat beading down his face and dark circles framing his eyes confirmed my suspicion. He would have disgusted me, but I was all too familiar with the pains of addiction. Instead, I pitied him.

Ulissah bowed to Pelik, and his words hissed out like the poisonous snake curled around his forearm. I have troubling news.

I leaned against the wall. Although my knees quaked, I managed to keep them from rustling my chainmail. Krowen soon joined me, looming just behind me, arms crossed over his chest, a short, thin stick hanging between his lips, wiggling around as he chewed it—a most irritating habit.

The Kingdom of Eadom has sent spies to our blessed city, Ulissah said.

The hairs on my neck stood on end when the man’s fork tongue slithered between his lips.

Pelik stroked his white beard, small brown eyes bright with thought. Why would Eadom send spies?

You are a fool if you think these are the first Eadonians to spy on us, a voice boomed from behind.

I turned to see King Brackard sauntering down the alley.

You forgot to summon me, Arch Bishop. Brackard’s jovial wrinkles were drawn in a tight frown. Luckily, I saw your little serpent slinking through the streets.

Pelik tilted his head. I was going to send for you once I learned the nature of his news, King Brackard.

Brackard sniffed. Don’t lie to me, Pelik. We’ve known each other far too long for lies. The king turned to Krowen and me, and a smile lit up his dull brown eyes. Boys.

We both tilted our heads in greeting.

Brackard clapped my captain on the back before regarding Ulissah. Where are the spies and how many?

No more than an hour’s ride outside the city, Ulissah responded. Due south. I did not get an accurate count, my king. Five, maybe six. They left before the gates closed.

Go back to your hole, Ulissah, Brackard ordered.

The willowy man bowed to us all before he slipped away into the shadows.

Brackard shook himself. Why you use that Penian is beyond me, Pelik. He’s unnatural.

Pelik’s smile did not reach his eyes. Penians are rare to find in our lands. When one manages their way across the vast sea, it is wise to snatch them up before another does. Their services are … most valuable.

Sneaky! Brackard spat to the side. You can’t trust a Penian.

Once Ulissah’s shadow disappeared into the night, I collapsed. Krowen seemed to be expecting it and reached out at the last instant to ease my fall. Denied food and the red leaf, my power feasted on my life force, draining my strength like a horse-sized leech. My vision faded in and out, and Pelik and Brackard’s voices sounded muffled and far away.

Leave us, Krowen, Pelik commanded.

Krowen propped me against the wall and said, Commander?

I managed to nod. I heard his heavy footsteps leave the alley.

Dammit, Pelik, Brackard muttered. Why didn’t you give him any?

I gave him two this morning, Pelik responded, kneeling by my side. And one before the execution. He probably didn’t eat enough.

Brackard squeezed my shoulder. You really need to find a way to perform these without such a drain on you, boy. Can’t be good for you. Tugging on the strings of his purse, Brackard growled to Pelik, You know as well as I that he needs more when he does the executions, food or no food. He—

Do not tell me what he needs. Pelik glared at the king. Remember who serves whom. Grayden belongs to the church. And so do you.

Brackard shoved a stiff, thumbnail-sized red leaf into my mouth. I bit down to release the bitter juices. Energy tingled down my body, and my power switched to feed off the nectar of the leaf. The leaf’s revitalizing properties fortified my muscles, and a surge of strength dimmed my vision. My head buzzed from the rush of blood until the power and my body found their equilibrium. It wasn’t enough though. My limbs were still heavy with exhaustion.

Brackard grabbed under my arm and hauled me to my feet. His honey-colored eyes twinkled a smile. There you go, boy. Better?

I apologize, my liege.

Pelik reached up and patted my shoulder. Nonsense, Grayden. You kept upright until we were alone. None others witnessed your limitation.

Brackard offered another leaf. I chewed it as if I hadn’t eaten for days. I shook off the lasting effects and turned down the third leaf Brackard offered. I will take my men and find the spies, my lords.

Brackard grinned. I’ll go with you. It’s been a while since I’ve had myself a good fight.

Don’t be a fool, Pelik snapped. You’re not young anymore, Brackard. You’ll get yourself killed.

Brackard chuckled. You wouldn’t let that happen, now would you, Grayden?

Of course not, Majesty.

See! I’m perfectly safe.

I could order you, Pelik threatened.

Mirth drained from Brackard’s face. There is a line, Pelik, and you’re very close to crossing it.

In hopes of distracting the two men, I went down to one knee before Pelik. Might I have Cehdyah’s blessing, Arch Bishop?

The two men who ruled all of Vard glared at each other as if they were common folk locked in a pissing competition. I remembered a time when I was young, before my sixteenth naming, Brackard and Pelik had been close. I wondered what had driven a wedge between them.

I cleared my throat to gain both men’s attention. I swear I will keep the king safe, Arch Bishop.

Pelik rested a pudgy hand on top of my head, his gaze still locked upon Brackard. Who do you serve, Grayden?

Cehdyah.

And who conveys Cehdyah’s desires to his Chosen?

You do, Arch Bishop.

You belong to the church, Grayden.

I do, I said. I live but to serve, and my service is death.

Pelik smiled smugly. You may accompany them, Brackard.

Brackard stormed off toward the crowd.

Pelik kissed my forehead. May Cehdyah watch over his Chosen and guide your sword. Kill all of them, Grayden. Leave no one alive, show no mercy, and do not listen to their pleas. Eadonians are a devious race. Let not their foul lies reach your ears. Rise and kill, Grayden.

I left the alley to find King Brackard fuming in the street.

The King cleared his throat. I asked Krowen to accompany us along with three men from your private force.

Five Morté against five or six spies? I think one Morté would suffice, my liege.

Brackard chuckled. Perhaps you’re right.

A voice thundered over the murmuring crowd. Commander Grayden!

Silence struck the square. The masses parted way to show a young one-armed man with a sword clutched in his hand. Tears stained his reddened cheeks, and his breath clouded out in the frigid air. An old woman clung to his leg, weeping for him to be silent. He couldn’t have seen his seventeenth winter yet.

He leveled his sword my direction. I challenge you for the honor of my father! Or do you fear a one-armed man?

I glanced at Krowen reaching for his axe. Stay out of this, Captain. Finger by finger, I pulled off my black gauntlets as I walked towards the young man. I fear no one, boy.

My father— The boy’s voice choked off.

I motioned to the bloody pool of heads. The boy nodded.

Your father was a criminal, I said. He received a trial, and the courts found him guilty. Justice has been served this night. You do nothing to honor your father’s death by fighting me.

The boy’s upper lip curled. He stole—

I raised my hand to stop his explanations. I care not what he did, boy. I care only for the verdict of the courts.

Cehdyah does not want your soul yet, son of Vard, Shaln said, his soft voice somehow traveling over the crowd. Do not do this.

The young man shook off his mother and charged. I barely drew my sword in time to stop the blow from cleaving my head. Bloody Ert! The boy’s one arm bulged with muscles, and his strength would be the envy of half the King’s soldiers.

I blocked his flurry of attacks without surrendering any of my own ground. Thank Cehdyah for the leaf. I would have been a wet rag if the power had not been satisfied. The young man backed off to regain his footing and breath.

Why do you not use your powers, Chosen? the boy sneered.

A duel should be fair, boy. Your skill is impressive. You would have been a valuable asset to the king’s army.

The boy snorted. I tried to enlist, but they laughed in my face. They said a one-armed boy had no place in an army.

Damn fools. The boy could kill twenty before the average soldier bested one. Such a waste. I unleashed my frustration into an attack. I drove the boy back, step by step, thrust by thrust. Sweat glistened on his face, and his breath panted out of him. I could have sliced his head clean off, but I backed up to allow him to recover. We circled each other twice before he advanced. The boy had natural talent. He mimicked my previous attack, though somewhat clumsily since he had not practiced the moves. Still, I admired his ability. Such a shame.

Without letting him regain solid footing, I countered. Again, the boy stumbled back until we stood in the center of the square, slipping on the slimy blood, tripping over heads. One duck of his overextended thrust, followed by a flick of my sword, and my blade rested against the boy’s neck.

Defeat glittered in his eyes as his sword clanged on the cobblestone street. He did not beg, he did not cry. His eyes were as defiant as the last brave criminal, and his features made it clear who’d fathered him. I stepped closer and lowered my voice so only he could hear. Know this, boy. I ended your father’s life early. He did not endure as much as the others. I did so because he was brave. He looked death in the face just as you are now.

The boy lifted his chin and squared his shoulders. I am ready.

The men who turned you down will be punished. Take my promise with you to your grave. With a little boost of power to ensure a quick end, I slid my sword through his neck as if it were warm butter. His head teetered off his shoulders and rolled to land in the pile. A woman screamed.

I raised my gaze to the crowd backing up, their gaping mouths frozen open, their eyes wide with shock. Do any others wish to seek vengeance upon me? I roared.

The crowd flinched. After shared glances, they fled like a flock of scared birds. Cowards. I cleaned my sword on the boy’s tunic.

Krowen handed me the reins to a steed. I wasn’t looking forward to riding another horse. O’hoc was a reliable mount I’d rather take into battle, but my home was in the opposite direction of the front gate.

Before I swung into the saddle, a sharp boom—louder than anything I’d ever heard—reverberated among the stone homes, shaking the ground and making my horse nicker and rear back. Screams started immediately, followed by a rising rumble of a different pitch as if Cehdyah’s Peak were crumbling into ruin. A gust of powder flooded down the street and encased us, instantly causing racking coughs to spread.

A strong hand clamped down on my shoulder as I pressed the back of my arm over my nose and mouth, swallowing globs of thick saliva, trying to keep my lungs in my chest. Krowen’s grip tightened, his hacking cough no better than my own.

Shrugging from his hold, I choked, Guard the king! Find the Arch Bishop!

By the time I’d blinked dust from my eyes, I’d managed a few steps, and the rumbling had simmered down to an echo. People flooded past me, most covered in white dust, streaks of tears wetting their cheeks.

I shoved through the mob toward whatever they were fleeing, squinting as the dust thickened, suspended in the cold air. Lundred and Breyfore joined me—Breyfore using his incredibly large frame to part the wave of people. Lundred, too thin and short to do much good, took up a position behind me.

Orange began to throb through the haze, like the sun wrapped in thick clouds, and heat warmed my face. A few more steps and I saw the flames licking out of shattered windows, billowing from the demolished entrance. Rocks were strewn about, piled mostly around where the welcoming door had once stood. A priest lay face down on the cobblestone street, his humble brown robe burned, his back charred, and his fat bubbling. Others were staggering away, blood seeping from small wounds no doubt caused by the explosion.

I recognized the ruin as one of the old churches, a quaint one used by the poorer citizens of Traptin. Nearby, a man held tight to a woman as she screamed for her child and reached longing arms out to the next building—an apartment based on the size and number of floors. With Traptin so congested a city, flames were eating at the outside of whatever shops and homes surrounded the church.

Nathren and Drale, two others in my service, were already running into the building, chainmail crashing about their knees, swords thumping their legs. I took one step toward the building when Breyfore placed a restraining hand on my shoulder.

Nathren and Drale will help those inside, Breyfore rumbled. You can’t risk going in.

I was about to argue when I heard Pelik say, Eadonian bastards. He leaned heavily against Krowen, his face red and tear streaked, his voice a rasp through the cloth he held over his nose. This was their mission? To burn our church? To maim our worshipers? Have they no heart?

Shaln rushed ahead and, despite the heat and flames, went to the dead priest, his mouth moving in prayer.

I studied the flames, trying to gauge the volume of the fire. My power was a fickle thing. It only went as far as my imagination, and I was embarrassed by how lacking I was in utilizing it to its full potential. Imagining a fire going out was a daunting task. And always I had to think of the repercussions of whatever I chose to do. A lesson learned too late after I’d conjured up a storm in my youth. The city had barely survived its rampant massacre.

As I examined the building, the fire, the people around, I could think of no mishaps if I were to simply rob the flames of air. Fire could not burn without it. Closing my eyes, I imagined the air slowly leaving, starting from the center of the church and working my way outward. It took an eternity in my mind’s eye, a lifetime of determined patience.

When finally I reached the outer walls of the church, I let my power fade and opened my eyes. A few stubborn flames sputtered just outside the front of the church, and by now a bucket train had started and those were easily doused.

Success, but by Cehdyah I never wanted to do it again. Using that much imagination, that much patience and perseverance, left me dizzy and sick to my stomach. I swear my power feasted on my bones. Too many complicated acts in one night.

The mother flung herself at my feet, kissing my boots, not seeming to mind the muddy gore caked on them. Bless you, Cehdyah’s Chosen. Bless you!

Their villain one moment, their savior the next. Such was the way with people.

Drale and Nathren came from the apartment, a bundled child held in Nathren’s arms. The woman kissed my boots again before scrambling over to her child, crying loudly as she cradled it close.

Cehdyah looks favorably upon his Chosen, Pelik said. You honor your god this night, my dear boy. He clasped my hand, discreetly passing me a bundle of leaves. Pulling me close, he looked intently into my eyes, his flaring with righteous anger. Kill those damnations, Grayden. Kill them.

I bowed deeply. As you command.

Whirling around, I made my way back to Executioner’s Square, shoving the leaves into my mouth and chewing fervently. Footsteps echoed behind. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw Krowen and the King trailing me, Krowen calling to the other four Morté to restore order and