The Ancient Realm: A Queen's Heart, #1

By David Waine

Five years have passed since Avalind and Mussa faced the Hag, Sannaeoth, in her lair. Both have suffered the consequences of that encounter, for they share horrifying, prophetic dreams. Now they dream of a fabulous city, in a blessed realm, torn apart in blood and fire by a merciless invader with weapons beyond their imagination. Avalind knows that those brutal forces will soon be unleashed on her own people. Mussa wonders what else they inherited.

• Language: English
• Publisher: David Waine
• Release date: Nov 13, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393726883

David Waine

David Waine was born in Newcastle upon Tyne, England, in 1949. He is the youngest of three brothers, all of whom went on to become teachers like their father. It was during his teaching career that he developed an interest in writing, initially plays, and his adaptation of Shakespeare's 'Macbeth' was performed at the Cockpit Theatre in London (the forerunner of Shakespeare's Globe) as part of the Globe Theatre restoration in 1991. He took up novel writing after leaving the profession, and his first published work, The Planning Officers appeared in 2011. He lives with his wife in the foothills of the Pennines. www.davidwaineauthor.com

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THE ANCIENT REALM

Part One of A Queen’s Heart

by

DAVID WAINE

Turnspit Dog Publishing

© David Waine 2013

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This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are fictional. Any resemblance to a real person, living or dead, p[lace or event is entirely coincidental. No part of this narrative may be reproduced without the written consent of the copyright holder. David Waine has asserted his moral rights. All Rights Reserved.

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www.davidwaineauthor.com

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First published 2013

This edition published 2022

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Dedication

To my wife, Helen, and our sons, Michael and Paul

CONTENTS

THE ANCIENT REALM

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

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 24

THE SHATTERED REALMS

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

CHAPTER 1

SHE SWOOPED TOWARDS the land over gently lapping waves, her feathers ruffled gently by the warm breeze. A kindly country of rolling green hills, backed by glittering mountains, rose from the horizon as she banked on the salty air and tasted its tang. On she flew, skimming high, grassy dunes that lay before the mighty barbican of a great city wall.

The grandest and fairest of all cities spread out before her. Even Zinal had but a fraction of its girth, and Kurial — its beauty notwithstanding — could not compare. Gliding over avenues of tall fruit trees, laden with blossoms, she glimpsed happy folk in a cheery market. She skirted a tall fountain, dipping a webbed foot in its frolicking waters, before speeding on over avenues and squares, rooftops and treetops, until the ground sheered up to a huge fastness, where stood the proudest of all citadels, crowned by a dome of polished crystal, its battlements sparkling as if impregnated with gold. Tall windows shone in every wall. Within, she saw courts and cool gardens where dignitaries in sober robes conversed in scholarly tones.

Wherever she looked, the people were industrious and cheerful, laughing as they wove, sawed, hammered and stitched. She passed forges, where steam hissed and metal glowed; other workshops were alive with the clatter of looms or vibrant with freshly dyed bolts of cloth hung out to dry.

There were taverns, shops, a theatre and, by the sea wall, a harbour beyond any she had ever known. Cranes bent and swung at five busy wharves where a dozen ships were docked. Further out in the huge bay, proud vessels rode at anchor, their sails furled. Beyond the twin headlands, she glimpsed the vast, gleaming ocean over which she had flown, dazzling silver against the blueness of the sky. One of the headlands, she now realised, was really a wooded island with a narrow channel between it and the mainland. A graceful craft, its snowy sails gathered, slowly navigated its way through this to the harbour.

Lofting again, she flew beyond the city to the countryside and found it equally blessed. Villages and farms nestled in quiet, green vales, their walls neatly whitewashed and their roofs shingled. The scent of fresh grass hung in the air.

Looking up, a truly vast mountain reared its distant peak to an immense sky: an ice-draped pyramid thrusting to the heavens and dwarfing its fellows, guardian of this contented land.

A clarion rang out. Banking, she passed a proud column of knights, armour gleaming, pennants fluttering as they bore down upon the main gate at a loping trot. At their head rode the rulers of this realm. He, resplendent in gold, wore his years with ease. His hair, full and grey, flowed from his helm. His consort wore a rich purple gown and cloak. Her raven hair fluttered in gleaming tresses from her crown and cascaded down her back. Even from this height, she looked years younger than him, yet the bond between them was obvious.

Another clarion sounded, and the great gate swung open to answering calls from the ramparts. A crowd of cheering townsfolk streamed forth to greet their king and queen and strew flowers in their path. The monarchs smiled, raising their hands in greeting as their regal steeds strode triumphantly on towards the citadel where, even now, their personal banners broke out to greet their return.

***

MUSSA'S EYES FLICKERED open. It took a couple of involuntary blinks to clear her vision sufficiently to identify her own bedchamber. All was still. The fire had gone out, the casement was dark, and the candle clock indicated that the dawn was still at least an hour away. Her breath came in short gasps and her skin felt clammy. Gradually she brought her breathing under control and waited for the thumping in her chest to ease. Realisation dawned finally, and her heart sank. Another one — the beautiful first. The horrifying second would follow seven nights hence as surely as season followed season, and there was nothing that she could do to prevent it. Lying still, she forced herself to concentrate, opening her mind to the resurfacing vision and storing each memory as it filtered back into her conscious mind.

A grunt and movement to her left told her that Keck had just turned over in his sleep.

The summons would arrive directly. Closing her eyes in concentration, she clawed back every sight, every sound, every scent. Nothing must be missed, for even the slightest fragment could prove crucial. As they returned to her, shred by filament, the feeling of dread in her breast expanded and her heart began to pound again.

There was a soft tap at the door. Mussa checked that Keck was still asleep before slipping from their bed and pulling on her robe. A lowly serving maid — such as she had once been herself — waited with downcast eyes.

Excuse me, My Lady, said the girl softly, the queen requires your attendance in the council chamber.

Thank you, Helta, replied Mussa with a tired smile. I know.

Fastening her robe tightly around her body and casting a wary eye at her husband lest she should wake him, Mussa made the journey through connected corridors until the two of them stood before the great oaken door, dotted with black iron studs and guarded by men-at-arms. The maid knocked deferentially. A soft voice from within cried, Come!

She opened the door and stepped inside.

Lady Mussa, ma'am, she announced with a brief bob before stepping aside to admit her charge.

Mussa entered the room and curtseyed, the maid withdrawing and closing the door behind her. Another servant who had just completed kindling the fire, straightened, nodded a quick bow and left.

Queen Avalind Vandamm, the supreme ruler of the Kingdom, sat in the royal chair at the head of the massive conference table. The first green rays of the predawn were just beginning to finger their way over the horizon, visible through the huge window.

The queen was also dressed in her night attire, her long, russet hair brushed out and her gilded robe fastened tightly around her slender frame. A close look was required to discover that her nose was ever so slightly crooked from contact with an enemy’s boot in battle. Mussa also knew that she carried a scar from a sword slash on her left shoulder and faded stripes on her back from a flogging that she had received when a slave, but all were hidden by her clothing. During her five years’ reign, Avalind’s beauty had, if anything, increased — the passage of two babies through her loins having banished the last vestiges of the girl from her form and launched her into full, blooming womanhood.

At her side stood her consort, Prince Adiram — generally, and affectionately, known by his surname, Cabral. He had been roused hastily from sleep and looked unkempt. He was living proof that nothing was beyond the reach of a truly devoted man, for he had once been a common soldier and even a brigand, yet he had married a queen and fathered her children.

The only other person present was the ancient chamberlain, Gledden, who leaned wearily on his staff behind the queen's chair. He was also dressed in his night robe and his face wore a haggard look. Having been roused from a rare deep sleep at his age, he knew that there was little chance of its returning that night.

Mussa remained in her curtsey, her face lowered. You sent for me, ma'am, she said softly.

Queen Avalind smiled warmly and indicated that she should rise. Be at your ease, Mussa, she said gently, if you can — for I know that you have had another dream.

Mussa nodded solemnly. I have, ma'am. She looked her sovereign full in the face for the first time. And so, have you.

***

DENSE CLOUDS BLANKETED the trees in an unnatural semi-gloom that never seemed to lift. The mother looked up from cleaning her pots and declared that they had not had a bright day since the Lord returned. Rain fell most of the time now — torrential interludes in an eternity of drizzle — to stimulate the growth of an endless supply of trees. They would need it, for the military was cutting them down far faster than Nature could ever regrow them.

Kopik had told her that the Lord was building a great navy and would need many ships. But why, when Morgonnun did not even have a seashore and the border was sealed anyway? She put down the pot she was washing and stared anxiously through the window. Their cottage commanded a view down to the great lake through a broad break in the trees. It had once been beautiful with forests rising to rocky peaks that glowed a fiery red as the sun sank. Most were gone now, replaced by never-ending drizzle and league after league of despoiled land and tree stumps. She could see one end of the town, black with smoke from the furnaces, and the long line of ships, also black, either already completed or being built.

She missed Kopik, her eldest, desperately. He had been taken by the military shortly after the Lord’s return, two years previously, and she had only seen him once since. He had looked fine in his captain’s uniform — black like the town and ships — and reassured her that he was employed for his engineering skills, not his fighting qualities or his hunting abilities. He had learned to be a dead shot with a bow when his late father took him hunting before he went to the academy. Now, he was in charge of building and arming the ships.

Opening the door, she called, Larussi! Hurry up with that water. We still have a mountain of cleaning to do!

The response came from the trees at the bottom of her little garden. I'm coming, Mama. These are heavy.

She came, bent under the weight of two buckets of water, yoked together over her shoulders. Her mother smiled. Larussi, her youngest, really was the fairest little thing on two legs. The smile rarely left her face.

The mother knew of the brutal gangs that rounded up the prettiest girls to stock the Lord's brothels. Word had it that he had ten thousand soldiers under his command and needed to keep their collective lust quenched lest they turn their killing skills on him. All the more reason to keep her only daughter secret. She gave thanks that the forests that surrounded their little cottage had not yet been cut back to reveal her.

Come quickly, girl! You'll be seen!

Larussi placed a firmer grip on the rope handles of the buckets and waddled across the garden, spilling a little as she passed.

There, she said brightly, depositing them on the plain earthen floor. More than enough to clean the whole cottage and have it sparkling for when Kopik comes home.

Her mother scowled. "If he comes home."

He will, Mama. Larussi placed a consoling hand on her mother's cheek. He has special favours. They say he sits at the Lord's table. Larussi's self-assurance belied her slight, thirteen-year-old form.

Her mother took the girl's hand and squeezed it gently. I know, she said, a faint smile of her own creasing her worn face. She opened the casement and peered out. Vash! she called, Vash! Gulden! It's time you were back!"

No, it isn't, Mama, said her daughter's soft voice at her shoulder. They haven't been gone so very long really.

The older woman looked down lovingly at the girl who now stood drying freshly washed pots and smiling back. Her eyes were huge and the lashes long and curling. What would I do without you, Larussi? she asked fondly. Now that your father has gone, you are my only help."

I am not, smiled the girl in return. Vash and Gulden both help you, and Kopik would as well if the Lord did not need him.

Vash was nineteen and Gulden fifteen. Either might be recruited without notice. The realm had been drained of men as the Lord had taken them. So few remained that the land of Morgonnun was increasingly tilled by women and children.

In the woods nearby, two boys were picking up fallen wood, when the younger, a willowy youth with dark hair, suddenly straightened. Ssh! he gestured to his companion.

What? whispered Vash, his heavier elder brother, shaking droplets from a stick.

Horses, came the hushed reply, and iron wheels.

It could be traders, pointed out the elder.

Gulden shook his head. They are riding hard. That's a military detail.

Vash immediately took charge. Drop your wood!

Both boys ran fast, cresting a low rise and emerging from the curtain of trees in time to see a black wagon escorted by a dozen horsemen pull up outside their mother's cottage. Their hearts caught in their throats. A candle burned in the window and a wisp of blue smoke drifted from the chimney. They were still inside!

It was only then that they noticed the iron cage.

Without further thought, they hurled themselves down the hillside towards their home. Several soldiers dismounted and approached the door. Their leader gave a signal to a minion, who kicked it down, half a dozen burly men in black tabards pressing through after him. Screams of terror came from within. Moments later, they reappeared carrying two squirming figures, their mother and their little sister, heads and shoulders thrust roughly into sacks. Another minion opened the door of the black cage as they were flung inside and the bolt rammed home.

NO! LEAVE THEM ALONE! yelled Vash and Gulden together in their rage, hurtling down the last of the slope to their home.

The commander turned at the sound and a cruel grimace creased his face. He stepped forward to confront the onrushing boys, uncurling a cruel bullwhip.

***

THE SWARTHY YOUNG officer wiped a greasy hand across his brow and handed over supervision of the shift to his lieutenant, a cruel beast of a man, called Kutarik, who immediately belaboured the nearest work detail. The Lord had no lack of willing acolytes to indulge his excesses, and this was the basest of all. The searing snap-crack of the bullwhip biting into flesh, and the howls of the flogged, ran like hot metal though Kopik's head as he turned away in revulsion and shame to answer the summons.

Captain Kopik had laid vague plans for his escape ever since receiving his commission. He would take his family, for they would certainly endure his master's wrath if he did not.

He was young for a senior officer, fully ten years the bestial Kutarik’s junior, at a mere twenty-four. His dark hair was shoulder length and tied back. Although tall, he was lightly built for a man in uniform. His face, once handsome, now bore too many care lines. His eyes glittered yet, however, deepest brown, for the Lord had not crushed quite all of his spirit.

The wind had a rough, raw edge, ragged gusts cutting through his doublet and chilling his heart. According to the calendar, it was spring; the sun should have been shining and the trees laden with blossom. Since the Lord's return, blossoms had become a memory. Even trees were becoming a memory.

Skirting a hotchpotch of grubby thatched cottages and a rough stone barracks, he did not even glance at the hollow-eyed beggars on every corner, or the chained lines of exhausted shipwrights shuffling their bloody footed way back to their billets, under the brutal whips of their guards.

His path led past the gallows, currently displaying a recently hanged corpse that twisted creakily in the wind. He recognised the man, despite the hideous disfigurement inflicted by the rope and the crows. Shreds of his tongue still protruded from his tattered lips and the hollow sockets of his eyes gaped black. He had worked in one of the details before being dragged off without explanation two days previously. He had been an honest fellow and a hard worker. Kopik only learned later that the Lord had ordered him killed on a whim.

The cell block lay beyond the scaffold, a plain stone building with a central door where two guards patrolled. There would be another two inside. He suppressed a shudder as he passed. He had designed it, to his everlasting shame. It was a squat, squalid monument to tyranny. The block was silent, but he knew that it would be occupied. It always was.

Kopik trudged on up the winding path that would bring him to the doorway of his master's foul room, with its bowl of scummy water, high in the tower.

A scabbed hand described a slow arc over the greasy liquid, ruffling the surface without touching it. The ripples spread and rolled in oily concentric rings to the rim of the bowl. It took up two-thirds of the room. The hooded head bent over the rim and studied the surface intently, impervious to the stagnant smell. Deep-set, glittering eyes willed the ripples into stillness.

It came in a slow cloud, broadening beneath the surface until the entire bowl was filled with glowing greyness, the heart of which opened to reveal an image.

Come! See! rasped a hoarse voice as the latch turned and the young engineer hesitated in the doorway.

You sent for me, My Lord? The loathing in Kopik’s voice was ill-concealed.

The figure stood stooped and shrunken, the black robe hanging loosely from his frame, the body within shrivelled and skeletal. A translucent sable aura surrounded the Lord, darker even than night. It was this that set him apart from the rest of creation and rendered him immune from attack, for nothing could penetrate that shadow.

The officer crossed the bare stone floor to stare into the bowl. An image floated therein of two women and two men. Instinctively, he knew that the Lord's focus of interest was the women. Both were beautiful, one — with abundant red tresses and sporting a golden circlet on her brow — incomparably so.

A king, a queen, her lady and — a minister? he ventured.

The hooded head shook slowly. She wears the circlet of state, it rasped. He is her consort, but he is no king, and the old fellow is a minister beyond doubt.

The officer nodded. Your interest is in the women?

He saw the thin, cracked lips turn downwards into a scowl within the hood. They have seen, he explained. They bear her mark.

The officer peered closer. I see no mark.

A hollow chuckle responded. They bear it nonetheless.

The officer's eyes were drawn involuntarily to the woman with the circlet. Never had he seen such beauty.

The glittering eyes flicked up momentarily before returning greedily to the vision. She is the ruler of a rich land. Her robe is royal purple. The other is a lady of some standing, but not royal. The rheumy eyes glowed, Nor was she highborn. There is, however, a deep bond between them. He paused for a moment, his crusted, grey face screwed up in concentration. There are several bonds, most notably one of shared love, but also a greater bond, of which they are aware but do not understand.

The officer turned to his master. A bond of love?

The eyes narrowed in dry amusement. Love is a complex and powerful phenomenon that I have studied for more years than you can conceive, Kopik. Unless poisoned, there is no stronger power. This is an unstained love, such as may exist between friends or siblings. The lips parted to reveal yellow, grooved teeth. Know your enemy. I am an authority on love. He paused for a moment, licking his lips.

Kopik fought down the revulsion rising in his breast. What would you have of me? he grunted at last.

He was greeted by a dry chuckle. You will be a potentate with nations prostrate at your feet — and yet you will also be nothing in truth because you are my puppet and capable only of my will.

The soldier was within arm's reach of the monster and could have killed him with one hand, but for that black aura. A cloud of depression had settled on him, imposed to keep him subdued and deepening as he drew closer. Is the bond the mark? he asked.

That is its manifestation, nodded the hooded head, returning to the image. The mark itself lies within. She has touched them.

The officer recoiled slightly. She has? But you showed me the ancient scrolls. She fled across the Limitless Sea. She must be long dead by now.

The hood shook slowly. "I am not dead. She is of my blood, so why should she? Remember this well, Kopik. The Lord turned to him and said slowly and firmly. There is no such thing as a limitless sea. Just because the far shore is beyond the horizon, it does not follow that there is none. Its true name is the Sundering Sea. You can build ships and forge munitions, but you know little else. He returned to examining the image. As we have seen their home, a glimpse only, they have also seen."

The officer blinked, thinking. Us? They have a seeing bowl?

The hooded head shook firmly. No. They know nothing of us. I surmise that they have dreamed it.

The Imperial City?

The head nodded. But not the manner of our return. Not yet.

They cannot see what has not yet happened?

The hooded eyes raised themselves from glaring at the surface of the water and confronted the soldier with feigned patience. Prescience is my expertise. Yours is to get your hands dirty and submit yourself to my grooming. You merit nothing save a regular beating to remind you of your subservience and a soft harlot to slake your lust.

You insult me, sir, said the soldier stiffly.

I am the greatest mound of corruption that it will ever be your misfortune to encounter, came the reply, but I have one saving grace. I do not tell lies.

Wafting his hand over the surface of the water again, he caused it to ripple and the image to vanish, leaving just a dull, vague glow. Turning his cold eyes on his officer, he rasped, A new consignment of wood has arrived from the sawmill. I have dried and seasoned it as usual. How advanced are the preparations?

I… I know about the wood, My Lord, the officer stuttered, pulling himself to attention. We proceed on schedule, and there should be enough to complete the ships and provide a stock of spares, although we are desperately, and unnecessarily, short of manpower, not least because you reduce our numbers by hanging them. He took a gulping breath. We will do well to complete the fleet and training within three months. Munitions plants are working every hour of the day and night, yet — even so — many of the men are not fully armed and we have only fortified half the ships. The gangs cannot work faster than they do already. Every week their numbers dwindle as you hang more. Simple mathematics, sir. Dead men cannot work!

Prune the dead shoots and the plant will prosper, came the idle response.

But we are not prospering, sir! Kopik’s frustration burst forth in the tone of his voice.

We will advance the schedule by one week!

The officer's jaw dropped in dismay and he stepped back a pace. But, My Lord!

The hood rose marginally and cocked itself to one side, listening intently and ignoring the outburst.

Wagon wheels and a mounted escort, the grating voice rapped.

Kopik crossed to the door and looked out over the sombre view. A single prison wagon, with an escort, had pulled up outside the cell block and the soldiers were bundling a handful of struggling prisoners inside.

That is your family, Kopik.

The officer sprang round in horror, automatically reaching for his dagger.

You cannot draw your weapon unless I permit it, said his master nonchalantly, without looking. Your mother, your two brothers and your little sister, arrested this afternoon, went on the hood smoothly.

Larussi! Kopik cried, a crack in his voice.

Is that her name? I did not know. A delicate name for a winsome child. You reveal the depth of your love for her. That is an unstained love, such as I spoke of before. You see, you knew it all along.

The officer returned to his master's side, all defiance expunged from his demeanour by an overwhelming fear for his loved ones, but the hatred remained in his eyes. What is their crime?

Theirs? None. Yours, by dragging your feet, went on the hood idly.

I am doing all I can, sir! cried the officer wildly.

Very well, came the growled response, the glittering eyes flicking towards their victim. For every day you fall behind, I will hang one member of your family. Your mother has been allocated a cell that overlooks the gallows. She will be the last, so that she may enjoy watching her children die. Kopik was dumbstruck. He could do nought but stare at his tormentor in absolute horror. So, went on the gravelly voice, responsibility for their continued survival rests with you.

***

MUSSA RETURNED TO her bedchamber to find her husband, Sir Keck, sitting up in bed and rubbing his eyes. What time is it? he yawned.

Almost five, she replied, climbing in beside him.

You had another one? he asked, taking her in his arms.

She nodded. And so, has she. That makes three.

He paused from fondling her breast, recalling what she had told him of her previous dreams. What was it like?

She smiled softly in response, but he could see the alarm in her eyes. This was the nice one, she said. The first one always is. It was a city by the sea and the countryside beyond. The most beautiful city I ever saw. Her eyes glowed in pleasure at the memory. The people were happy and well-fed. There was enough for everybody. And they all loved their king and queen.

You saw them?

She nodded, smiling. They rode in on great white horses with a column of knights. The people rushed out of the gates to throw flowers before them. He was quite old, I think, but he looked well on it. She's a lot younger. It didn't matter, though. They only had eyes for each other. Keck, you should have seen their palace. It makes King Kurian's look like a farmhouse.

Sounds like a really good dream, he responded, settling back on his bolster.

It was, she answered, her heart heavy, but the queen had it too, and that's bad.

CHAPTER 2

THE WEEK PASSED in such a frenzied blur of preparation that neither Avalind nor Mussa had time to dwell on their shared experience. Although undisturbed by further visions as they slept, both were acutely aware of the impending second dream and woke frequently. The former was kept busy during the day attending to matters of state, while Mussa was as industrious attending to her mistress's needs and those of her young family. It would be a tearful Mussa who bade farewell to her son, Callin, the only surviving Vorst — now six years of age — and his little half-sister, Mura. Being of royal blood, Prince Rhomic, four, and his three-year-old sister, Princess Elina, were expected to accept the temporary separation with dignity. Being very young children, they didn't.

There was a caravan to equip, provision and guard: more work for Chamberlain Gledden, for this was no mere line of wagons. This was a royal caravan, which included conveyances dedicated purely to the transportation of Avalind's wardrobe. Her clothing, in turn, had to be chosen carefully, for although the queen must look exceptionally stunning at the wedding — as opposed to the usually stunning that