Pieces of Parthalan: Chronicles of Parthalan

By Jennifer Allis Provost

Six all-new stories from in and around Parthalan!  We all know the main stories of Asherah and Aeolmar, but what happened between the main novels? What went on before Caol'nir met Alluria, and why did Latera make the choice to never return to her homeland of Gannera? Within these pages you will read about…

 

• A young soldier serving at the Southern Border, dreading his return to Teg'urnan
• How a nymph from the northern woodlands became a huntress for the queen
• And how Aeolmar actually routed those orcs (as if he hasn't told that story a hundred times over)
• And an added bonus: the original introduction to Rise of the Deva'shi!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bellatrix Press
• Release date: Mar 26, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393554103

Jennifer Allis Provost

Jennifer Allis Provost writes books about faeries, orcs and elves. Zombies, too. She grew up in the wilds of Western Massachusetts and had read every book in the local library by age twelve. (It was a small library.) An early love of mythology and folklore led to her epic fantasy series, The Chronicles of Parthalan, and her day job as a cubicle monkey helped shape her urban fantasy, Copper Girl. When she’s not writing about things that go bump in the night (and sometimes during the day) she’s working on her MFA in Creative Nonfiction. Connect with her online at www.authorjenniferallisprovost.com

Book preview

Pieces of Parthalan

All-New Stories from the Land of Parthalan

Jennifer Allis Provost

Bellatrix Press

Copyright © 2021 by Jennifer Allis Provost

All rights reserved.

No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

Introduction

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If you’re new to Pathalan, welcome! And if you’ve been reading about Asherah and Aeolmar’s adventures since that first book with the bright orange cover, I’m so glad they’ve interested you enough to pick up this collection of short stories. Either way, what a long strange trip it’s been.

I’ve been writing about Parthalan since I was in middle school (we won’t discuss how long ago that was). I grew up reading mythology, folklore, and Tolkien, and the earliest versions of Rise of the Deva’shi reflected that. Back then it was called Latera’s Song, and I really leaned into the lost girl/stranger in a strange land theme. Latera also rode a tiger around Parthalan, which is what happens when an eleven-year-old makes all the plot decisions.

No tigers made it to the final versions; depending on how you feel about big cats, this may be a negative result. Aside from Latera’s mount of choice, something else I didn’t anticipate was just how many characters I would be dealing with, and all of the backstories and choices that went along with them. As long as my books are, I still can’t devote the space needed to discuss every interesting circumstance of their lives… but I wanted to. I wanted to dive into Innetha’s past, watch as a young Caol’nir was unintentionally heroic, and find out if Wren really did feel overshadowed by her legendary sister. And how exactly did Elvalsla kill the mordeth-gall, anyway? With these stories, I did all of that, and more.

The following short stories were a joy to write, and I hope you enjoy reading them just as much. Thank you, for taking this journey through Parthalan with me.

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Southern Soldier, Eastern Priestess

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This story takes place directly before Heir to the Sun. When it begins, Caol’nir and Alluria are at opposite ends of Parthalan, and both are dissatisfied with their place in the world. An outside event brings these two very different individuals together, and the rest is history.

***

Caol’nir jabbed his elbow into the side of the lesser demon’s face as it crept up alongside him, dropping it to the dirt. It wailed, and Caol’nir wondered if he’d broken his jaw. Almost as an afterthought, Caol’nir shoved his sword into the demon’s neck, ending its misery. However, Caol’nir‘s own misery remained.

He stared at the body for a time, watching the demon bleed out while the battle raged around him. Caol’nir didn’t feel a twinge of emotion for the creature, and he hated that about himself. It was a demon, yes, but it was a still a living thing. Someone should mourn it.

Someone should mourn all of us.

Not so long ago, his eldest brother, Fiornacht, would find Caol’nir hiding behind the sola, refusing to attend his combat lessons. The younger version of himself had been aghast at the thought of killing something—anything—demon or otherwise. Fiornacht had thought him lazy, and dragged him out of his hiding spot and back to his practice sessions. After all, when he was grown, there would be a place for him among the con’dehr, the elite warriors tasked with guarding Olluhm’s temples and led by Fiornacht himself. There was no greater honor in all of Parthalan, save serving Olluhm himself.

As he gazed at the battle with a heart cold as stone, Caol’nir wondered what happened to that boy. He was the Prelate of Parthalan’s son, which meant there was no way he could have avoided a warrior’s life, unless he chose the priesthood. Even if he had, he was certain his father would have confiscated his books and pressed a sword into his hand, regardless of any vows Caol’nir took.

Brother.

Caol’nir turned and saw his twin brother, Caol’non, striding across the field. Here, he called.

We’ve routed them, Caol’non replied. The border holds another day.

Caol’nir grunted. For all the good it does us. They’ll return soon enough.

Caol’non clapped his shoulder. All the more reason for us to celebrate this victory. Come, let’s meet up with the commander and take our new orders.

Caol’nir didn’t miss the sarcasm in his brother’s tone. Based on birth alone, they outranked every other soldier stationed there. But their father had wanted them to learn how to take orders, and it was required that all members of the con’dehr first serve in the legion, so the twins accepted their assignment to the Southern Contingent. They also accepted their orders without complaint and carried them out as best they could. If they occasionally made a few alterations to them, what of it? It was all for the greater good.

What do you think he’ll have for us this time? Caol’nir asked. Better not be ditch digging again.

I thought you liked digging holes, Caol’non said. With any luck, we’ll be relieved for the rest of the day.

Or be sent home. Caol’nir didn’t give voice to his thoughts, since he’d be no happier in the con’dehr than he was at the border. Somehow, his life had gotten away from him, and he had no idea how to reclaim it.

***

Caol’non was right, and they were relieved for the rest of the day. Caol’nir went to wash up and ended up lying on his cot, staring at the ceiling. His name meant warrior’s fire, while his twin’s meant warrior’s strength. He had always wondered how his mother had known that Caol’non would be the strong one, and how her youngest child—younger than his twin by a full day—would be known as hot-headed, but little more. His mother had died long before he had the nerve to ask her such things.

Caol’nir had cultivated a reputation as a lazy, argumentative man, but in truth, he was neither of those things. In reality, he was terrified he would one day be called upon to lead the legion, or—Cydia forbid—become the Prelate. If that came to pass, his life truly would be nothing but destruction and death.

Stifling the urge to scream, Caol’nir yanked on his boots and stalked out of the tent. He hated his post with the Southern Contingent, with its almost daily skirmishes and seemingly endless parade of foes for him to kill. And when he was called back to Teg’urnan, he would be made a member of the con’dehr. Caol’nir was doomed to be a warrior, all because of the man who’d fathered him. It wasn’t right or fair, and Caol’nir had no idea what to do about it.

He grabbed his sword as he exited the tent; since it was long past when the child sun went to rest, Caol’nir knew the practice field would be deserted. He strode onto the packed dirt and drew his blade, offering up a prayer to the moon goddess, Cydia, before he began a routine as familiar to him as breathing. He went through the motions fast, then slow, then slower yet, his innate grace making the routine more of beauty and less of death.

When he lowered his sword at the end of his fourth repetition, he heard clapping behind him.

Well done, brother, Caol’non said as he emerged into the pool of torchlight. Quite a change from the slackard you pretend to be.

Caol’nir scowled as he sheathed his sword. I have my reasons.

I know you do, Caol’non acknowledged; indeed, he was the only one privy to his twin’s quiet misery. "Even so, you’re the best among us. Perhaps one day you’ll lead the con’dehr."

May Solon keep that from coming to pass, Caol’nir muttered, then he turned toward the exit. I’m going to get something to eat.

It may come to pass sooner than you think, Caol’non called.

Caol’nir stopped, looked over his shoulder. What do you know?

New orders came earlier today, Caol’non continued. We’re to return to Teg’urnan at the next dark moon. Our time in this hell is over.

Caol’nir faced his twin and smiled. Thank Cydia for that. Come, let’s celebrate at the tavern.

Go on without me, Caol’non replied. I’ve a lady visiting me tonight.

Lady, eh? Will you bring her back to the palace?

Caol’non chuckled. I don’t think either of us are after that. I’ll see you tomorrow.

Caol’nir nodded, then he strode toward the tent he and the other soldiers used as their alehouse. He was ecstatic and relieved that his time at the border was nearly over, and that he would soon return home. Teg’urnan had been peaceful for many centuries, ever since King Sahlgren had beheaded the usurper and restored Parthalan to fae rule. One thing that kept gnawing at Caol’nir‘s gut, no matter how hard he tried ignoring it, was that he knew such times never lasted.

Caol’nir set his fears aside, entered the alehouse and signaled for a mug. So what if he did join the con’dehr? At least he wouldn’t be here.

***

Rough time?

Caol’nir looked up from his ale and saw his friend and fellow soldier, Olwynn, standing over him.

No worse than usual. Caol’nir indicated the seat across from him. Olwynn took it and signaled for a mug of his own.

I hear you got your marching orders as well, Olwynn said. With any luck, we’ll be headed north before they attack again.

May Cydia make it so, Caol’nir said. Once I’m back behind Teg’urnan’s walls, I’m never coming south again.

Agreed. Olwynn’s ale was delivered, and he took a long draught.

What will you do? Caol’nir asked at length. Remain in the ranks?

For now, yes, he replied. Not at the palace, though. I’ve taken a post with the Northern Contingent. I’d like to see more of Parthalan before I settle down.

Settle, eh? Caol’nir knew what settling down meant for him—finding a mate and living a quiet, violence-free life—but he’d come to realize that for others, it meant something very different. Going to put up your sword, learn a trade?

If it comes to that. Olwynn drained his mug and set it on the table. We’re young Caol’nir, far too young to decide what we want to make out of our lives. We need to travel the land, seek our fortunes.

I don’t have that luxury, Caol’nir said. "I’m to be con’dehr, remember?"

You say it like it’s a punishment, Olwynn observed.

It’s not that. Caol’nir signaled for more ale. I’d just like a life where my survival didn’t depend on my sword. Gets heavy after a time.

That it does, Olwynn said. "And who’s to say it will always be like this? They say that after Sahlgren routed the mordeth-gall from the palace, Parthalan was at full peace for centuries. The demons have rallied since, yet he’s beaten them back time and again. With any luck, we’ll get to live through the next peaceful times."

By all the living gods, Olwynn, I hope you’re right.

***

Alluria sat in her favorite meadow, arranging the herbs she’d gathered on a cloak spread before her. It was a sunny day, and as the elder sun’s rays enveloped her in warmth, their she felt a peace akin to what a child must feel at its mother’s breast.

She supposed so, anyway. Her own mother had disappeared long before Alluria had been properly weaned.

A tear splashed onto Alluria’s knee, and she wiped her cheek. She never let anyone see her cry, told no one of the loneliness that was her constant companion. Alluria was far from alone in life, what with her sister priestesses and all the temple’s patrons that surrounded her every day, but she longed for the sort of companionship one shared with a mate. Being that she was the last priestess in Parthalan as yet unclaimed by Olluhm, she doubted she’d ever know the feeling.

I highly doubt you’re the last, Atreynha, the temple’s Mother Priestess, had said the last time Alluria brought up her unclaimed state. There are many priestesses, and the moon only darkens thirteen times a year. Perhaps he hasn’t had time to visit you.

That’s not the point, Alluria muttered. He ignores my prayers, acts like I don’t exist. He readily answers you, so why not me?

Atreynha laughed softly. Are you so sure he doesn’t hear you? If I were to lay a wager, I’d say he listens to you most of all.

Nonsense, Alluria had said, then she found something else to do.

Now, as she tied her herbs into bundles, she wondered what Atreynha had really meant. Atreynha was always alluding to things, but Alluria’s temper tended to get the best of her and she didn’t pay attention to what the Mother Priestess was saying. Besides, Alluria wanted answers. If all she sought were vague half-truths, she’d visit an oracle.

Alluria packed up her herbs and donned her cloak, and began the short walk back to the temple. When she arrived, she found Atreynha herself, standing in the clearing before the western entrance and scowling at a messenger. Alluria nodded a greeting to the Mother Priestess, and entered the sanctuary. It wasn’t long before Atreynha joined her and assisted in sorting herbs.

The messenger upset you, Alluria said.

He did nothing of the sort, Atreynha said, only to fall silent when Alluria touched her hand. Atreynha had shredded the leaves and blossoms to bits.

Perhaps he did upset me. Atreynha dropped the ruined herbs and wiped her hands on her skirts. The messenger was from Teg’urnan. Our king has issued an edict.

Another one? Alluria asked. I hope this edict is somewhat more useful than the last, she said, remembering the king’s stance on mixing dyed and undyed wool in a single garment.

I don’t know how useful it is, but an edict from the king must be followed to the letter. Even by us.

Alluria put down her sorting tools. Atreynha, what did the messenger tell you?

Atreynha withdrew a small rolled parchment from her robes and set it on the table between them. All priestesses are to relocate to Teg’urnan. Beginning with the next bright moon, we will be serving in the Great Temple under the High Priestess, Sarelle.

All of us? Alluria grabbed the scroll and read it once, twice. It offered no information beyond what Atreynha had shared. For how long?

As near as I could gather, this will be permanent.

Alluria stared at the Mother Priestess, then at the small parchment that had apparently decided their fates. She knew of Teg’urnan and its great history, as all Parthians and certainly all priestesses did, but she had never seen the fabled heart of the land. In fact, Alluria had never been farther than walking distance from the temple she was born in, the one where she now served her distant god.

What is this supposed to accomplish? Alluria asked. If we all move to the palace, who will tend the temples across the land? Who will answer our patrons’ questions, help them understand the will of the gods and fates?

Our patrons will be looked after, Atreynha replied. The priests shall remain where they are.

Alluria scowled. That is not fair.

No, it is not. Atreynha smiled tightly. Regardless, we shall soon begin our journey to the palace. Can I count on you to see to the apothecary implements?

Of course, Mother Priestess. I will not let you down.

Atreynha’s smile widened, and reached her eyes. There is no way you could ever disappoint me, Alluria. I have said it since the day you were born. You truly are a gift from Olluhm.

***

Less than a sennight after the messenger brought word to Atreynha, the Prelate of Parthalan arrived at the temple to escort the priestesses to Teg’urnan. Alluria watched as the man, second in power only to the king, strode into the temple and greeted the Mother Priestess.

The Prelate himself, Alluria murmured. He’s called Tor, correct?

Correct, her sister priestess, Alyon, replied. I’ve heard he has three sons. Alyon swept her gaze across the six con’dehr that accompanied the Prelate. I wonder if his sons are among those warriors.

They’re not, Alluria said. None have an attachment to him beyond an oath. There is no blood relation of Tor’s present.

Alyon raised an eyebrow. The things you know. Even Atreynha doesn’t understand your intuition.

Alluria shrugged. I’m not trying to learn anything. I just know.

Do us all a favor, and don’t speak of your gifts around anyone but Atreynha and I, Alyon said. At least, not until we’re acclimated to Teg’urnan, and the people there.

You think someone might try to exploit me? Alluria asked. But surely the king would keep that from happening!

Alyon pursed her lips and nodded toward the Prelate. The king is supposed to keep us in our temples. Things are changing, and not all change is for the better. Best have caution now, rather than regret later.

Alluria looked from Alyon to the Prelate. He was a good man, something else Alluria instinctively understood, but she also understood Alyon’s concerns. She had no idea what she would encounter in Teg’urnan, save that her life would change. She hoped it would be for the better.

***

The next morning, the brothers packed up their gear and said their goodbyes to the southern outpost they’d called home for the past year. Caol’non reminisced about their time in the legion, but Caol’nir couldn’t wait to put the outpost behind him.

Is there anything you’ll miss about this place? Caol’non asked.

Not a thing, Caol’nir replied without hesitation. You?

Freedom. Caol’non pulled the strap tight on his pack. At home we’re Father’s children. Whatever we do—or don’t do—reflects on him. Here, I can do as I like.

Caol’nir grunted; he’d never thought of it that way. Then why not go north with Olwynn’s company?

"It’s tempting, but no. I will return to Teg’urnan and take my place in the con’dehr, but the next time I leave the palace, it will be for good. Caol’non shouldered his pack. I thought you