The Fall of Delajen

By Seth Giolle

Jeann has taken to Shadow. To save those she loves, she accepted a darkness too terrible to conceive. And is now slowly succumbing to its will. The world has taken to the hunt with a war between human and dragon looming.
In Book 4 of The Call of the Lucherne Suns, her friends must find a way of freeing her from the grasp of darkness or risk facing a foe unlike any they’ve ever seen before!
And she was the person who defeated the Shadow Creature in the Veshod, not them.
She is their friend, and maybe soon their greatest nemesis. Evil knows no shape when it’s bathed in shadow.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Jun 13, 2019
• ISBN: 9780359726233

Seth Giolle

Seth Giolle was born on a small, rural farm in southeast Ontario. After Travelling throughout Canada in all its splendour, he once again makes Ontario his home.

Book preview

Giolle

Call of the Lucherne Suns

Written Word

Shadow’s Wake

The Runes of Delajen

Fall of Delajen

Re-Unions

Chapter One

Wishan made a quick, soft step into the brush. Ressal ducked in quietly beside him. Ressal’s double axe was at his back, but the dwarf pulled three throwing knives from his boot for rapid fire. Wishan soundlessly drew his bowstring back to his cheek, arrow nocked.

The light brown tinelle poked its head from the light tree cover ahead. Its pointed ears, dotted forehead, and furred muzzle were clear in the morning light. It made an easy target, but Wishan frowned and stood again, Ressal huffing, disappointed. Hearing the rustle from their renewed walk, the young tinelle bolted around the nearest bend.

The buck can’t be far off, Wishan noted.

Ressal just grunted softly beside him.

Courtesy of the Queen, parting gifts on their hasty departure out the back roads from Davergen before the Council had returned from its break, both Wishan and Glastil wore fresh tanned-hide cloaks complete with belts and hoods, and they both wore flexible leather boots fit for any terrain. As such, Wishan blended up against the browns and dull reds of the natural stone base. Half of his face was still black against the dark blue of his skin, and black spikes still grew around his ears and down his neck. The wind that rustled his hood and cooled his face weren’t much distraction, not with his more recent jaunt up north where he’d learned the true meaning of cold.

They paused at the next length of bush and string of trees for Wishan to inspect the grass underfoot. There were indents in the soil, and something heavy had rested near the one tree. There was even a scrape where a blade had used the one trunk for sparring practise. There weren’t many trees in these ravines for shade or water, so travellers were naturally drawn to each copse or cave in turn. The Shewesse eyed the light green, chalky reds, and dull browns ahead and behind, then up those cliff walls running the length.

Ressal had paced ahead to study some bent leaves and the remains of a meal, discarded under a poorly overturned fire pit. The dwarf moved his thick brown hair behind his head again, coming down to three braided tips. This was a few days ago, he groaned, nothing recent. The food doesn’t even hold a good smell anymore.

I agree, Wishan put in. There’s been enough time for nature to push noticeably back. If anything, they came through here before reaching the watchtower, not after.

They hadn’t expected to find bandits camped out around the last watchtower and its signal fire on top. Their presence had made the task of lighting that fire more involved than it should have been. The fact that a few had run left their number a threat worthy of, in the least, some serious consideration.

Hence their current scout.

Doesn’t mean they won’t backtrack, Ressal warned with a dark grin.

Wishan considered the number of foot treads and displaced gravel patches he could isolate around them, including some urine stains up against the cliff base. I count nine or ten at the most. We didn’t leave that many alive. The cliff face became the greater focus. But I suppose it’s still possible. We need height to be sure, the Shewesse suggested, pointing. That break should do the trick.

Ressal took to the wall with a quick step. Though half Wishan’s height, the dwarf made quick powerful ascent, nearly skipping from some ledges and hand holds to the next. Having left his heavy dwarven armour and sash at camp made him lighter and more mobile.

Wishan adjusted his blades at his back, smaller blade below the longer of the pair. His climb was slower. The small landslide that had created the small gouge in the rock face offered ample grip, but he could smell something on the wind, and he was moving more slowly until he could figure out exactly what it was.

As he climbed, the ravine floor becoming noticeably smaller below him, he cast his senses out and upwards. The few small white Etis flying in the sky above shared their observations, and he connected with some mice living around nearby roots. No animal offered him anything helpful. The youngling might have gotten lost, but it was unlikely, so it was possible adult game was close by. It was just as possible adult predators hunting the tinelle were even nearer. He reached the top of that cliff and rolled up into a crouch. Ressal was already padding a few feet along, looking out upon the many ravines their main channel branched and spidered off into.

There were pools and small oases in some, but most of the green was limited to bunches and small offerings of momentary shade. The Tchronin Mountains were an imposing chain cast in the glow of sunrise, and peaks rose tall around them. If there was anyone following or nearing from this perspective, they’d be easily spotted from their height.

And there was no one else about for miles.

Wishan checked the map in his head and started them off back towards the main channel once more. It would do no good if their patrol took them too far from camp, and now that they’d confirmed the remaining bandits hadn’t followed, there certainly was no more need to follow this tangent further.

It makes no sense, Ressal grumbled, keeping pace. You don’t sneak out the back of a castle, then light signal fires to mark your route.

You do if that was the Queen’s edict, Wishan suggested, glancing over to the distant fires, still visible in the distance, even in the light of new day. He figured his friend’s frustration was due more to the fact that he’d missed a good fight than anything else.

You were there when she passed the Captain her orders as were the rest of us, and this way, if they learn anything from their libraries regarding the Linking Stone, they can find us, and our great mystery may be solved at last. It’s our best bet for saving Jeann until we can think of something better.

They won’t have anything in their libraries about a dragon rune stone, the dwarf groaned. Only a fool would believe the dragons ever shared secrets that precious with the kings!

Wishan averted his gaze to hide a quick scowl. Why did his friend’s opinion bother him? After so many years adventuring with the dwarf, there was little new to heated discussion. He forced reason to the surface once more, undaunted by Ressal’s derision, as ever.

Ressal rolled his eyes and bunched up his shoulders, snorting with disgust. And the Captain, he hissed, changing to subject with a quick snort, cannot be trusted!

Her motives are less than pure, Wishan allotted, but what can we do? Qilanna is the Queen.

But she’s not here with us, is she? the dwarf slyly joked.

Wishan’s attention went left. A cave from ravine base below had wormed its way up top to a small wood just within range of his hunter’s nose, and it carried a recognizable scent. That and some shlet had warned him of a new presence. His bow was off his shoulder and an arrow nocked as he dropped into a crouch. The arrow was silent and swift, his aim true, and the adult tinelle was felled. Three others from its herd bolted. Ressal’s throwing knives dropped one, and they allowed the does to flee back into the damp of the cave once more.

You cannot be suggesting we turn on the Captain, Wishan insisted. She has been ordered to protect us, and from what I’ve heard, she is always true to her Queen’s command.

Doesn’t mean we can trust her.

I heard you the first time.

They stopped a few feet back from that bit of green to ensure it was safe before stepping in closer. Wishan’s arrow was retrieved, as were Ressal’s knives, and both kills were looped to a strong branch which they hoisted between them. The animal didn’t hang straight, but that was nothing new either. They retook their original trek.

This brings back memories, Ressal mused with a chuckle. How many hunts have we known?

Many, old friend. Ressal nodded at a fond memory. It has been a while now, though, Wishan realised, what with everything that’s been going on. Our hunts have been more complicated of late, and more difficult. Less pleasant, Wishan accorded.

Everything’s changed, Ressal muttered low.

It has, but after we’ve saved Jeann and destroyed this Shadow, we will have to go on a proper hunt once more, ensuring Locishles has recovered of course. And there is the matter of the Riders in general. There’s no telling what will befall the kingdoms with the dragons pulling back. One of theirs sent the Linking Stone to Jeann in the first place kicking all this off. That won’t go over well.

Wishan wasn’t sure why he felt so anxious. The silence he usually welcomed bothered him, so he was feeling the need to fill it with words. The sensation was truly troubling. He was rambling horribly. He decided to make an effort to speak less, just until he could figure out its cause.

I don’t know this world anymore, Ressal grunted. And I don’t think I want to.

We must adapt with the changes.

Must we?

Ressal took in the peaks, sun, then the ravine below as they came back to the main channel and started across the sturdy bridge that had been constructed some ages past. Glastil sat at their fire off to the one side where they’d found a natural well. Captain Locishles, stiff and crisp in each anxious step she took, her armour a shimmering silver, paced to one side. She checked her horse at random, a stallion like those the Queen had afforded them all equally.

A disgusted sneer curled the edges of his lips and nose. What if we don’t want to? the dwarf grumbled, equally low.

The main ravine opened up where the mountain fed down into the sea. The Coloured Seas that circled the Isle of Tchro, the home to Ammoll’s capitol city of Davergen, ended at that curve in the distance where rock met desert. Just within view, a bridge spanned that thin winding dying Sea, and on the other side, Nellot rose with its own mountain ranges and landmarks.

Wishan’s attention went to the other side of camp, a good ten feet from the fire where Locishles, Rider and daughter to the Captain, lay curled up against her dragon. Scarring showed along her arms and across the right side of her scalp where a good portion of her long brown hair had been burned. The rest of her hair hung limp at her side, its braids undone and quite unkempt. Bruises showed on that exhausted face, arms, hands and fingers, and her hooded cloak and boots had seen better days.

All Locishles had said was that they’d run into dragon patrols. And not much else. He was worried for each of them. He was more worried about the Rider, but she and her dragon were one, so he had no choice but to fret for both.

Which he was more than willing to do if it meant she’d see the day through to its end.

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The world’s not too friendly to dragons right now, the dwarf rued, following his friend’s line of sight. We need to be cautious.

Indeed, Wishan remarked, starting forward again. If we do not adapt, we become the hunted, old friend, outdated and unable to keep up with our betters. Which reminds me, where is Reolic? I would have thought she’d follow you out this time.

They stepped off onto the other side and started along that cliff wall. Wishan’s signal was received below, and they made for the open animal burrow ahead.

Ressal considered five or six different conversations, some bitter, others more constructive, but sidelong glances down below towards camp stopped most. The others were aborted from more personal reasons, internal arguments he clearly regretted pursuing.

Nellot leads us on towards Dwarf Peak, he muttered offhandedly instead. I could stop in at some of the clan halls in the area when we get that far. They’ll be able to help us find her. And the gnomes know things even we dwarves have forgotten.

Wishan nodded distractedly. I thought you’d broken off communications with those clans. He knew for a fact Ressal had broken off any trade with those clans. Ressal had gone on about the fact many times over at one point. Perhaps his friend was willing to mend old wounds to save Jeann? It was a fine gesture, though Ressal rarely did anything so simply, and dwarven forgiveness was always a most complicated affair.

I did; we did, Ressal conceded in an exaggerated grunt, but we do what we must.

We do, Wishan mused, his line of sight locked on Locishles below. We do.

The game was dropped over the cliff to the main channel below. Dragons didn’t care if bones were crushed, not when the tinelle would be burned and swallowed whole either way. They ducked into the animal burrow and kicked off walls. Rocks jutted from hard clay with tufts of fur and bone spikes sticking through. The way rounded down to the next level where three large rodents attacked!

Wishan skewered one with his short sword and ran another through. Ressal’s throwing knife stopped the last, and they carried on. Wishan drew an arrow and held the string taught. With his aim and speed, he picked off four more before the burrow emptied out far below, with many twists and turns in between. Ressal had arranged for as many more kills, and they lashed the new game to their existing branch. Hoisted up onto shoulders once more, they carried their sagging prizes on.

Don’t lose your focus, Wishan, Ressal urged, low and guarded. You’re a good hunter and a better friend. In what’s to come, the dwarf added in a regretful huff, stopping there.

In what’s to come, Wishan mused, we must all remain strong.

Ressal tried further times to say more, but again, let it pass. Guilt passed into resignation, and all attention was directed to the nearing fire and Glastil and the Captain’s raised voices.

Haunted Steps

Chapter Two

I should be with my army, not commanding any of you! the Captain snapped. Though equal in size to Glastil, with the man sitting down, she strode like she was twice as tall, and those cold grey eyes showed only contained rage, prime indignation, and profound insult.

And who said you were commanding any of us? Ressal interrupted, the dwarf sneering disdain across camp at that cold, arrogant glare.

Game was quickly discarded, and Wishan took over the fire and food, quietly chastising Glastil for nearly having left it cook too long. Glastil, his face red with spite, surrendered the spit without complaint and dropped back down to stare into the flames. He was quite happy to leave Ressal to this latest argument with the woman, what any amount of argument was worth with the likes of her!

Ressal dropped down across the fire from him, the Captain’s gaze held firm. No one commands this dwarf! he spat, curling his upper lip.

Then why did you come? the Captain barked.

Ressal grinned. He accepted a leg bone from Wishan and took a bite. I must like the company, he jeered, swallowing with a grunt. He took a swig from a proffered mug, glowering across.

Ignore him, Wishan urged. He just likes to get under people’s skin. You get used to it though he has been doing it more so of late than normal, and do eat. It’s almost too dry to be edible.

The Shewesse ignored Ressal’s grunted counter and side-long warning glare. Instead, he turned the meat over once more, pulling a side loose and holding it up to Locishles.

Blank eyes stared into the flames. Locishles made no move to accept or deny the food. It wasn’t that she didn’t see it, and she wasn’t trying to be rude. She just didn’t feel hungry.

And she had a lot on her mind.

The ridge along her dragon’s back was straight, and the barbs under her strong jaw, that thickly-built forehead, and those razor-sharp claws – they offered the illusion of vicious danger to any foe, but Locishles knew better.

There was the small tear along one wing and burns and slashes from her tail to chin. But the small physical injuries were nothing compared to internal bruising she’d taken passing through the patrols guarding the final mountains – the final patrols no one had expected.

Head against her dragon’s thick hide, Locishles could feel her dragon’s weak heart beat and laboured breath. She could sense the limited energies that worked so hard to bind the wounds again.

But it wasn’t just her dragon. And it wasn’t her own injuries. They’d heal, in time. She felt her whole world in tatters. The Rider Corps had been essentially disbanded, and everything she’d once thought unbreakable, including her faith in dragon-kind, had been shattered.

None of that was getting better any time soon. She wanted to cry, but she had so little energy. In short, she wasn’t in the mood to be social by any definition.

Shrugging, Wishan offered the meat to Glastil who nodded and took it instead.

The Captain cut her own rib section loose with a knife from her boot, beginning to systematically slice it into smaller, more manageable strips.

What was she thinking sending me out here? Glastil grumbled bitterly. Pulling his furred cloak tighter around his wide broad shoulders, he shivered a little. We have to find her, he insisted uneasily, slowly picking at his food. She’s out there, and we’re sent off on this. He felt so lost without Jeann. What is this?

A waste of my time, Captain Locishles spat sullenly, retreating to sit forward on an overturned tree trunk for her meal, far enough back to be accorded her own personal space.

Qilanna mentioned getting us away before the Council decided we were a threat and held us for further questioning, Wishan put in, smiling politely while he pulled some meat off for himself.

An inner voice told him to allow the silence or the argument if it came, but it did them no good to argue more than they had to, and Glastil’s scowl suggested another of the many shouting matches of late had been about to begin, so he continued