Prophecy's Embrace

By Seth Giolle

The quest to unite the Kingdom of Ammoll with those of the east has failed. War is coming at the hands of Dark Magic, in the steps of the Dead. Ellec, the young teen thief follows an old calling from an older, broken blade with Osseeth at his side. The Hawk and Keiritte march north with Coleck the dwarf to seek the help of the dragons. And Frokel rallies a city fated for doom at the centre of it all. And the shadows watch, waiting for the time to strike!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: May 2, 2015
• ISBN: 9781329110397

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

Prophecy’s Embrace

Book 2 of Thieves and Prophecy

by Seth Giolle

Other Works by the Author:

the Legacy of Auk Tria Yus

The Bonds that Bind

The Foundations of Power

Breadth of Legend

Heart, Soul, and Steel

Elemental Soul

The Crafting of Millosai

Thieves and Prophecy

Borne of Thieves

Collected Stories

Science Fiction

(Volumes 1, 2, and 3)

Drama - Adult

Drama – Youth, Teen

Youth Adventure

(Volumes 1, 2, and 3)

Adult Adventure

The Amulets of Aazlim

A How-To Guide

Collected Poems

Grun’s Tales

Writing for the Author

Tips, Tricks, and Tools for the Beginning Author

Reflections of Gaia

Jan

Prologue

I’d heard it was bad, but this is ridiculous!

The pale-faced merchant’s sneer was near a glower. That superior expression faltered under the watchful eye of a passing patrol, but the man’s stance remained confident even after the three guards in their chain mail and starched tunics had pushed their way down five more stalls out of sight. The marketplace shoppers slowly filled in behind them until regular, bustling talk and haggling had resumed.

They had me outside for an hour routing through my cart, the merchant grumbled on. Me! Can you imagine?!

The vendor raised one brow staring drolly across a moment before shaking his head and resuming his inspection of the offered goods. The merchant watched the old man sift through his brown woven bag of fresh vegetables a moment with a frown before gazing anxiously around. Smells of honey and sugar cane mixed with potatoes and fresh bread. The sounds of shouting vendors and street barkers competed with shoppers to be heard.

The thirty year old hugged his worn, woollen coat in closer against a gust of cool wind. Hats were tipped, and marketplace canopies lifted and rifled until the wind died down again, and people shuffled about complaining about the recent weather.

The merchant kicked a rat that had climbed from the sewer grate below aside, making sure it was gone from sight before staring at the vendor where he frowned, undecided.

They’re perfectly good! the merchant shouted.

There’re spots on the leaves, the vendor complained. The tired frown lifted the corners of his mouth and creased his brow. He scratched behind his ears and shrugged. Four silver for the lot, he offered. The merchant’s eyes near bulged. Five, the vendor groaned, nothing more!

The merchant sneered but nodded. The vendor fitted the vegetables into a crate to his right before handing the bag back across and pulling the next offered sack up. He made sure to wash his hands on his grey apron before picking through the leaks and radishes now presented for his appraisal.

So what have you got anyway? the merchant pried. The vendor hummed a vague response. All I’ve got is rumour, the merchant pressed, pleaded slyly with a wink. King Thelles is dead. Everyone knows that. They both watched a guard patrol walk across the marketplace front in the distance. But they say he was killed, neck slashed? the merchant mused with a grin and quick head shake. I don’t buy it. And what happened to make the left tower fall? That had to have killed a lot of people.

The castle with its right standing tower remained tall above the neighbouring houses. The tower was visible above the whole of town and its market place. Houses folded back row on row around them.

The left tower was a large pile of debris, grey stone, loose shale, and displaced mortar included. The debris was spread out over a large clump of those houses that had been built closer in towards the castle grounds.

The vendor glanced around on all sides before settling his shoulders and curling his nose. I’ve heard poison killed Thelles, he offered in a low voice. The merchant leaned further in. The page told the kitchen boy and help, the vendor continued conspiratorially, that he curled over on his throne, dying in his own piss and vomit.

The vendor raised both brows before returning to his search of the goods before him. As for that blasted tower, it killed plenty, and we blame a lightning storm, but no one knows for sure. Likely those blasted mages up to no good.

The merchant nodded. He slowly exhaled, then, shrugged wide. And they’re hunting representatives from Zilmn for poisoning him? he asked in an incredulous tone. I’ve never even seen anyone from across the Wilds. His puffed cheeks slowly drained. They’ve certainly never been to Teshellon, or I’d have known to warn him. If he’d asked.

Like they ever ask us anything important, the vendor joked, the merchant smirking along. The thing is, the vendor mused, clearing his throat, that they weren’t from Zilmn. The merchant inhaled deep. They don’t know where that pair claiming to be from Zilmn were from, the vendor grumbled, shrugging innocently. He set the sack aside. Five more silver.

Six, the merchant argued.

They’re curling, the vendor groaned. I won’t get more than seven for them here in Davers. Too much local competition from fresh gardens. What’s in it for me at six? He screwed up his face. Five.

The merchant sighed, nodding again. What else you got? he asked, offering up some baskets of fruit from his cart. The old horse tugged on its leads, its tail flicking at some flies. The cart stayed put, and the merchant urged the animal to settle. The horse whinnied flatly and shifted its stance, settling once more. They’re looking for more people, right? the merchant prodded.

The vendor leaned over the baskets and shrugged ever so subtly. They’re looking for the rest of that group they sent over to Zilmn, he quietly muttered, blaming them all for that one pair.

The Prince’s party? the merchant checked. Even I heard that boy was sent across though I never was told why. The Prince is on the throne now, isn’t he?

Of course he is, the vendor grumbled. And neither were we told what sent them across, but he left, or at least, his look-alike left. The merchant stared the old man down until the vendor stopped his inspection again to wipe his hands on his apron and glance around anew. We’ve got a local, the vendor divulged, a young thief hereabouts. He stands in for the Prince now and then. The merchant gawked across. Tell no one, the vendor warned.

Not a soul. Everyone knows?

The vendor bobbed his head left and right. Not everyone, just a few of us. He restarted his study of the fruits. He’s a good boy, just happens to look like the Real Prince who doesn’t have much of a back bone.

Both merchant and vendor smiled and nodded.

They sent Ellec over to Zilmn, through those cursed Wilds, the vendor groaned. Sixteen, and they send him on a trip like that, he balked. A heavy sigh. He was gone a good ten or more days maybe. He raised both brows and curled his nose. Word has it he discovered some kind of plot to start a new war, and they followed him back. Something like that.

The vendor slid the baskets to a side.

Ten silver per, the merchant insisted, only price. The vendor’s gaze was pitiful. You’ll never grow them here, the merchant argued, arms flailing. They’ll never have them except at your stall for that matter. It’s a sure win. They stared each other down before the vendor relented and the merchant grunted consentingly. I have chickens.

How many?

Twelve and one hen.

Let me see them.

The baskets were stored below that front counter while the merchant fished crated chickens off his cart for the vendor to look through. Feathers stirred in a cacophony of panicked clucking until the crates were set down on the counter and the chickens settled down.

So they think your young thief, this Imposter Prince turned on the King with the two unknown men, the merchant mused, but you don’t?

The vendor was quick to shake his head. I know Ellec. He’s young and stupid, but he’s no traitor, and he had nothing to gain by killing King Thelles. It was a cursed trip they took, did none of them good. I mean, what happened to all those dwarves he left with? Coleck, the rogue leader of the dwarves, he came back, but they lost a good eleven dwarves in the crossing by my mark. They’re looking for Coleck too, of course. It was a doomed venture from the start for everyone.

There was a pause while he checked the chickens where they pecked and bobbed around. How much? the vendor asked.

Thirty.

Silver? The merchant nodded. The vendor shrugged. Deal, he agreed. They’re pretty thin, likely too old for much more than meat, but they’ll do for that much. I’ve got cages in the back here to transfer them. I’ll get the butcher over here later to check them out.

The merchant leaned on the one cage. So where’d they go? he asked, keeping his voice low. You know things, he prodded slyly. The guards are everywhere in town. The soldiers are out patrolling out of town, stopped me three times on the road before I even got here. They haven’t found them yet. The vendor shook his head and shrugged at the same time. Your Imposter Prince, two unknown men, a rogue dwarf – all blamed for Thelles’ murder, all gone missing.

And a woman, the vendor put in. The old man handed some coins across, and the merchant counted, finally nodding. They say there was a woman, the vendor explained to the merchant’s inquisitive gaze. As the left tower fell and a good portion of the castle blew out, she took off with our Ellec there. Those men and the dwarf took off on their own. Where to? Another shrug. No one knows, but I’m sure they’re not around here, or they’d have been found out already.

And the war? What the kid came to tell about?

The vendor frowned. He peered around more suspiciously than ever in that bustling, calamitous marketplace a moment longer before wobbling on a reply. Some say they’ve seen soldiers massing in Nellot, he whispered back, albeit grudgingly.

The vendor paused as if unsure if he should continue. There’ve been rumours King Mihil’s planning an invasion using the dead, he groaned, resigned, and those soldiers across the water from us? They say they’re some of those dead he’s getting ready to throw at us. Even King Swemon’s vanished in a flurry of swears to mass his army to fight them. A tired shrug.

Who knows? the vendor groaned on. All we get’s rumours. I heard young Ellec and them? I heard they came back warning of more than just a war. The vendor sneered a moment before licking his teeth and curling his nose. They say he was talking about some great shape-changer evil when hiding out from the patrols. Apparently, there’s someone here in Davers that can look like anyone and kill them through shadows. They say Ellec and them were fighting this shape-changer when the castle fell, that this evil thing brought the place down.

They shared ominous glances, then, wry grins. I never said our Ellec wasn’t worth a laugh or two, the vendor mused. His expression turned more serious. And I know that if there’s a war and if King Mihil’s coming here to kills us, he asserted more seriously, then we’re dead. No one’s going to save us, certainly not if there’s an undead army on the march.

I should get back to my own kingdom then, the merchant put in. After you, they’ll come for us, he figured with a grim expression. I should have been born in another time when dead stayed dead.

As should we all, the vendor agreed, the two men nodding soberly.

Table of Contents

Chapter One: North

Chapter Two: Whalms

Chapter Three: Dwarf Peak

Chapter Four: Dwarf King

Chapter Five: Descent

Chapter Six: Mourning

Chapter Seven: A Calling

Chapter Eight: Labyrinth

Chapter Nine: Undercity

Chapter Ten: Battle

Chapter Eleven: The Dragon’s Spear

Chapter Twelve: Dragon’s Blood

Chapter Thirteen: Deeper In

Chapter Fourteen: Metal Eye

Chapter Fifteen: An Old Friend

Chapter Sixteen: Ante

Chapter Seventeen: Fearless

Chapter Eighteen: Daggers

Chapter Nineteen: Old Plans

Chapter Twenty: Ajelara

Chapter Twenty-One: Baptism by Fire

Chapter Twenty-Two: Battle of Davers

Chapter One

North

Stay still already! The Hawk gritted his teeth casting Coleck a venomous glare. This would be a lot easier if you’d have been faster, the dwarf joked, ripping the cloth wrap from the Hawk’s back with a sneer. Coleck quickly grabbed and turned his nose from the stench released. The stench kept the Hawk down, hunched over like he was and gripping the bottom of the thick branch he lay over.

Just hurry, he breathed, his eyes nearly rolling back into his head.

Coleck frowned. The dwarf applied the paste he’d prepared. The lake they’d camped around had helped in the mixture as had the forest around them. Coleck had been able to find everything he needed and more. Luckily, this forest was clear of dark mages. At least, so far, none of them had shown themselves.

The paste was an herbal mixture, a thick grey paste, and Coleck held his nose as he dipped the thick leaf he’d chosen and wiped the paste into the five, inch-deep slashes dug into the Hawk’s bared back, the same five slashes Oenar had delivered, or was he Shallet now? Maybe they should think of him at Edioi. Who else had Oenar been portraying over time? Who would he be portraying when they returned?

To their left, Keiritte sighed. His right arm was bandaged tight with some of the same paste pressed out from under the thin, brown material.

Like his brother’s wound, it wasn’t healing well, and it burned badly. Still, they had to hurry. If they didn’t get the dragons’ help in time, King Mihil’s army of the undead would march on Ammoll and leave nothing behind, and that would only give Oenar greater strength.

Keiritte hadn’t figured out how Oenar would turn the tables to his favour, but somehow, he’d do it. They just had to stop him, and to do that, they’d need dragon magic.

Coleck stepped back. He collected the wrap he’d washed and tied it into place. The dwarf even patted the Hawk’s back for good measure.

The Hawk turned angrily, barring his teeth and closing his eyes. His greying, dusty brown hair was full of yellow grass; his weathered skin, like his clothing, in bad need of a wash.

They’d run through a dust storm a ways back and been trapped under its barrage for two hours. When the storm had finally passed, they’d trudged on. Thanks to the Hawk’s wounds, he couldn’t bathe for fear of stripping the paste, and as much as nothing was healing the damage Oenar had done in his shadow attacks, the paste at least eased the pain and kept the wound from getting worse. That much was worth the smell.

We should get moving soon, Keiritte urged.

His wavy, brown hair was freshly washed, grey shades and all. It was something that had his brother sneering enviously. The Hawk pulled his tunic up over his head. He stopped twice to fit the tunic over Coleck’s wrapping before finally letting it fall down over his chest, back, and pants.

I’m hungry, he grumbled. Keiritte sighed. What? the Hawk asked defensively. I’m hungry. Whatever this thing does, it also makes me hungrier than usual.

The poison’s sapping your strength, Coleck offered with a grunt, rubbing the scar running over his right eye. That’s what it’s doing to you.

The Hawk shrugged. Then let’s eat before I die. Alright? Keiritte smiled. Coleck did the same resting his thumbs under his thick, leather belt. The dwarf’s heavy cloth tunic hung from his short but large frame. Most, if not all of it was muscle.

It would be easier to catch some dinner if I had one of those, Coleck mused, grinning and pointing towards where Goelld’n-Auk and Bvornt’wenn leaned.

The Hawk frowned. He moved Goelld’n-Auk closer to his leg reflexively. Running his fingers along the sword’s hilt with the decorative hands and wings, also considering the runes running the blade’s length, he shook his head.

This sword has one bearer, Hawk insisted, and that’s me.

Coleck frowned. He looked to Keiritte hoping for something more positive, but Keiritte shook his head as well.

Bvornt’wenn’s hilt was decorated with land, skies, and animals. There were runes running the length of its blade like those of his brother’s.

Sorry, Coleck, Keiritte returned. Magic swords are particular who they’ll let bear them. Even if we were okay with letting you borrow one, they would object.

Coleck frowned. Then how could Shallet, Oenar, whoever we’re supposed to call him – how did he get to use Di’Jennai?

I don’t know, Keiritte groaned. I’d like to know. The Hawk nodded silently along.

Coleck shrugged picking up his heavy, double-sided axe and patting the decorative surface. I’m sure we’ll be fine on our own then, the dwarf mocked with a smart grin. He strode off leaving the Hawk shaking his head.

You know he’ll be using a trap line, right? the Hawk joked.

Keiritte nodded. And a throwing knife I imagine.

The Hawk laughed, instantly cringing. The paste didn’t cover up all the pain.

It didn’t take long for Coleck to find a small animal. Keiritte noticed how it was something close to a tinelle from his and the Hawk’s time. Coleck didn’t have a name for it. For him, it was just food, and in the end, that fitted all three of them just fine.

How did he get the True Armour on? the Hawk asked mid-bite, food and spittle flying as he spoke. He wiped his mouth and looked apologetically at his brother. Keiritte just sighed. Oenar didn’t have it when we attacked him in Tso Alo. In fact, I remember Jerdann wearing it, likely still is. I’d like to know why Jerdann never came out of the time trap with us for that matter.

I’d like to know that too, Keiritte agreed, frowning. As for how Oenar got the armour, he likely created it out of shadow, mimicking the real suit of armour with its protective enchantments. I imagine that by crafting it himself this time, not even women can harm him while he wears it. That explains why we didn’t kill him in Tso Alo.

So no one can harm him? Coleck balked.

The Hawk shook his head. Jerdann can because of that ring he wears, but like I was saying, he’s still frozen in time.

Coleck sat back a little. So that man still frozen in the bottom of that cursed castle is the only one who can help us? Why aren’t we headed south then to free him?

Because Jerdann didn’t come out from that time spell with us, Keiritte groaned, and because Oenar’s grown too strong. There’s no way to know for sure if even Jerdann could stop him now, not without some serious help. Besides, I’m hoping the dragons can heal what he did to us, he said, looking to his arm.

The Hawk snorted. You’re not complaining are you? Do you want to switch?

No, Keiritte replied, smiling. That’s alright.

Too bad.

Coleck rolled his eyes. Glancing upwards, he sighed. The purple clouds still covered the sky. The three suns shone through just enough to give the constant light their world knew, but it was never bright and never cheerful.

Coleck then looked further north and shook his head. The mountain set in silhouette along that northern vista was just the way it had been so long ago. He’d been sure he’d left it all behind, but now, being so close, it was all coming back.

Keiritte glanced upwards as well. He’d been hoping as they made their march north that the skies would clear, but even the wind was pretty much the same as what they’d faced around Davers and across the Wilds. It carried a bit more chill, but that was about it for difference.

Keiritte’s gaze north took in the horizon and its jagged spire of a mountain only for a moment. There was something vaguely familiar about that peak, but he couldn’t place the name.

His gaze passed quickly on to the smaller details along that horizon. He supposed they’d use the wind as a marker. The colder it got, the closer they were to reaching true north and their portal to the Dragon Realm.

How cold do you think it’ll be here, in this time? the Hawk asked, breaking both of them from their reveries. Coleck didn’t respond, so the Hawk looked more pointedly to his brother.

Keiritte shrugged. It was all ice and snow in our time, he noted, but we had the suns in our time too, and they gave the land more heat, so I’ve a hunch it’s colder than I remember it. That being said, who knows? Coleck silently nodded.

The Hawk shrugged. You’re sure the dragons are up there, right Coleck? This time, he waited longer for the dwarf to answer.

Coleck glanced from brother to brother distractedly. I can only tell you what I’ve heard, the dwarf mumbled in reply. No one I’ve met’s seen a dragon, Rider or not, so we’re working on legend here.

The Hawk paused for a moment chewing on a thought. Shrugging, he took a bite of his meat and savoured its juices. He slowly nodded before finally swallowing and wiping his mouth. They had a base up north, he noted, looking across the fire from Keiritte to Coleck. The dragons started it to make sure we stayed in line, to make sure we didn’t attempt to damage our Spark. Or their’s. That may have been two hundred years ago, but I’m betting they’re still there.

Coleck raised his brows.

Keiritte smiled. Our life stream, he explained, people, dwarves, barbarians, or Wild Men in your time – we all share a life stream, a Spark. The dragons and gnomes each have their own, and when touching a Spark, you gain incredible power.

Coleck nodded. And you could do serious damage to it too, I’ll wager, the dwarf reasoned, the brothers nodding. And your Oenar who’s caused us all this woe, old True King gone bad, he touched the Spark that belongs to the dead, right? That’s where he got all of his dark gifts?

And when we kill him, the Hawk started, drinking down some of the brew Coleck had mixed for them. His face twisted in a sour disgusted expression. The Dead Spark will be sealed, he continued with a forced cough, closed up, and the land should heal from this horrible Darkening you’ve got going on. What did you put into this?

Coleck smirked contentedly. You’ll love it. The dwarf chuckled. It’s good for the body, but I’m not sharing the recipe. I never have and never will.

Please don’t change that, the Hawk replied, closing his eyes and forcing another gulp down. Beside him, Keiritte looked from his own mug to Coleck. He wasn’t sure how thirsty he was anymore.

It doesn’t matter how many people Oenar shifts into or from, the Hawk continued gruffly. It doesn’t matter how many shadows he walks through. We’ll stop him, and we’ll kill him. Too many people have died because of Oenar. Too many people to mourn. It has to stop.

Keiritte and Coleck