The Oracle's Daughter: Landeron I, #1

By Paula de Vera

Aldin has always felt out of place. In her fifteen years of life as a refugee alongside her parents in the small elf enclave of Lar, she's never displayed a single one of the gifts for which her race, the oracles, are known. But what if she isn't who everyone wants her to believe she is? What if there's another explanation?

The Oracle's daughter is the first book in the Landeron saga, a coming-of-age story that explores the power of friendship, solidarity, and the love that's possible between people of different origins, whose paths will cross in the fight for survival in an unforgiving world.

Because the only limits that exist are the ones we place on ourselves.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BadPress
• Release date: Apr 19, 2021
• ISBN: 9781071597057

Book preview

For Ángel,

my greatest critic,

now and forever

I appreciate your opinions

and your ideas.

"Queen Marla was gazing across the throne room’s wide balcony, watching her angel spar, when she received the news of Count Aren’s assassination. The messenger spoke into her ear so no one else could hear him. Her only reaction was a slight pursing of her lips.

She didn’t discuss the matter with anyone else."

(Alas de Fuego, Laura Gallego García)

Table of Contents

Blood moon        9

Who am I?       17

A new perspective       24

You have to understand      32

Despite our differences      39

Secrets       48

Now what?       55

Here we go       62

Seeing is believing       71

Trick or treat?      80

Catch me if you can       88

Don’t look back      98

You can’t run from the past    105

Home sweet home...     115

Look to the horizon       125

Shattered dreams       134

Do you trust me?      145

The game begins      157

Hidden secrets      165

Wait for me? Always.     173

Wake up       183

Long live the queen       192

You have no idea      203

Deceit         214

You may have won the battle, but not the war   222

The Columns of Hell     229

This is only the beginning      237

My Lord. Heed my words because they will shape your future. It is true that you will achieve power and glory. That you will gain followers and triumph once you’ve reached Landeron. But to these glad tidings I add a warning.

When you are on high, only one being will have the power to stand in your way and spell the end of your glorious reign. The daughter of a great seer, a descendent of Aden, will rise in Gadar, and her army will be stronger than any the world has ever known. It will be bound by love, friendship, and trust; it will tear down the barriers between the races.

Thus it is prophesied, and you shall be powerless to stop it.

Heed my words.

Blood moon

The night began like any other.

A crescent moon cast the shadows of rooftops onto the cobblestone street below, creating fantastical silhouettes. The castle loomed imposingly over the city, rising high above the humble homes that almost completely surrounded it.

The fields stretching out on the other side of the city walls – sheltered by the mountains known as the Crossed Horseshoes – shone with small, silver flecks: ripe grain that would soon be harvested to provide food for the region's inhabitants.

But this night was not like any other. In fact, it would be remembered as one of the bleakest in Landeron's history.

The first, silent indication that something was wrong was a mass that broke free from the horizon like a black wave, devouring the landscape as it rushed towards the city from the County of Nïedar’s eastern plains.

The sentries posted at the gates were the first to notice it, immediately raising the alarm. Torches were lit, archers took up their positions, and the anxious whispers on everyone’s lips grew more strident until they’d reached the palace and the ears of the king himself. But it was all for naught.

In what felt like seconds, the dark procession had reached the gates. Upon impact, several masked figures broke free and leapt onto the walls with insulting ease, climbing the battlements with equal agility. Their gloved hands appeared to fit perfectly into the crevices between the dark stones. Fear began to creep into the commanding sergeant’s mind as to precisely what kind of creatures they were dealing with. Throughout Landeron, there had been unsettling rumors about dark armies silently attacking cities by night, leaving no survivors. But he’d never expected to encounter them face to face.

With an urgent cry, the gadarath sergeant called for reinforcements. Just as his troops were arriving, however, the first of the mysterious climbers also reached him, grabbing him by the neck and mercilessly tossing him over the battlements.

Two approaching soldiers froze in terror when they saw the impossible creature – over six feet in height – effortlessly launch their sergeant through the air. And their dread only increased as their executioner turned his attention toward them.

From under the creature’s dark hood peered a face that was stony in the literal sense of the word: grayish, lined with dark seams, and illuminated by two glowing, red eyes. Their sinister opponent regarded them briefly, as if sizing them up, before his mouth stretched into a macabre grin and he strode towards the first soldier. The man, having momentarily regained his wits, tried to stop the creature by brandishing his sword, but to no avail. The blade only slid off the creature’s tough, impenetrable skin with a screeching noise, and the sword’s owner quickly suffered the same fate as his sergeant.

The other soldier, now alone with the nightmarish warrior, took off running in the opposite direction in search of more reinforcements. But he’d barely made it a few steps before another monster dropped into his path. He didn’t even have time to scream before a stone claw closed around his throat and he lost consciousness, joining his comrades in death.

Having dispatched their opponents, the two stone beings exchanged a smug glance before dropping the nearly twenty feet from the wall to the ground below, touching down forcefully and shattering the stones on which their powerful bodies landed. From the nearest houses a volley of cries rang out as the dark forces advanced through the city streets, finding out its inhabitants. Some terrified citizens, attempting to run and hide, froze with a shout in mid-flight when they saw the two creatures land and fall into line with the two hundred or so other geruks that made up the dark battalion.

In the castle panic reigned as well. The king and queen had jumped out of bed when they heard the commotion; as soon as he’d been informed of the cause of the turmoil, the king peered out the window to observe the chaos in the courtyard with his own eyes. He’d had hardly any time to take in the scene before an enormous stone, launched from somewhere along the wall, crashed into his forehead, killing him instantly.

The queen shrieked with terror when she saw her husband fall and threw herself on top of him, taking his body into her arms. But it was too late.

*  *  *

When the queen’s sorrowful cry echoed from within the castle, reaching the ears of the invading force’s general, he raised his hooded head and smiled sadistically. So the queen was still alive then. But the same could not be said for the king. The geruks had done well. Good, he thought. My revenge on her will be complete.

He was in the city’s main square, surrounded by burning houses and scattered bodies. But the carnage didn’t appear to disturb him; in fact, it didn’t even seem to register. His sole purpose for the past five years – ever since he’d set out with his army after hearing that damned prophecy – necessitated such destruction. With a sharp nod, he summoned several of his henchmen to follow him down a narrow alley; a few minutes later, they arrived at the gates of the fortified palace compound.

The heavy gates that had once barred entrance to all intruders were folded in on themselves, debris scattered across the courtyard. The hooded leader, undeterred, stepped over the rubble of twisted iron and broken stone, striding into the midst of the chaos that had broken out in front of the palace’s main entrance. Here was the monarchs’ residence within the royal complex.

On catching sight of the abandoned, unguarded apartments surrounding the enormous, central edifice, his henchmen had fallen to looting. As they picked their way through the deserted homes, they also picked off anyone still alive who might try to get in their way. Their hooded commander grimaced, displeased by such thievery, though the bloodshed still didn’t seem to bother him in the least. He signaled to his captain, who trailed him silently, barely a yard behind:

You know what needs to be done with the thieves, hissed the general.

The geruk quickly nodded his head and grunted in warning at the foot soldiers scattered throughout the courtyard. Most of them quickly threw down their loot, though some didn’t heed the order. The geruk captain grunted once more, this time to himself. They would learn their lesson soon enough.

After they’d regrouped, the small battalion entered the castle at a leisurely pace, carelessly throwing open doors adorned with mother-of-pearl and silver. They ascended the grand staircase and turned left, bypassing several hallways until they found the door they were looking for. This led into a silent gallery illuminated by shafts of moonlight that entered through an arcade overlooking the courtyard to the left. As more geruks swarmed the castle’s lower level, destroying everything in their path, the band upstairs advanced doggedly towards the far end of the balcony, without sparing a glance behind them or pausing to admire the view. Their leader walked at the helm. At last, they arrived at the foot of the royal tower.

The hooded general nodded stoically at the door in front of him. He signaled to the geruk on his left, his personal executioner. Without batting an eye, the creature gave the wood a swift kick, reducing it to shards as the surrounding walls quaked with the impact. Unfazed, the troops entered the dark, spiral stairway that rose up on the other side of the door.

As they climbed, a woman’s sobs overhead grew clearer. When they arrived on the landing, the door to the royal bedchamber was locked. As they stood before it, the door’s carvings of ivy and exotic flora seemed almost to subtly shift and twist for an instant. There was something supernatural on the other side of that wood, they could feel it. But upon closer inspection the carvings were still, and the general exhaled forcefully to rid himself of such disquieting thoughts. If the girl was here, he was certain that she’d be with her mother. As at the foot of the tower, he gestured to his executioner, and the man repeated his process of kicking in the door.

When the wood splintered, they heard an unnatural shriek from within the chamber, but the invaders were undaunted. The queen’s eyes widened when she recognized the group’s leader, only to narrow as she mustered a furious glare.

You, she hissed.

He threw her a malicious, lopsided smirk from under his hood.

So, Alia. You do remember me!

The queen pulled her gaze away from him as she threw herself recklessly towards the foot of the enormous, canopied bed, hastily extracting something from beneath it. The sword’s metal scraped along the chamber’s stone floor with a screech as Queen Alia of Gadar tried to hoist the weapon overhead, without much success. But she still assumed a fighting stance, ready to defend herself against her dark opponent as best she could. Her adversary, unimpressed, raised a hand and uttered a stream of incantations. The queen was instantly disarmed and, now rendered defenseless, drawn roughly towards him.

Where are your manners, Majesty? he chuckled, before serving her a swift punch to the gut.

The blow was a surprise, but the queen knew her fate was ultimately sealed. Mere seconds later, her body crumpled to the floor like a lifeless doll, her face upturned. Her killer gazed at it for a moment, dagger in hand, before murmuring:

You should have been more sensible, Alia, He shook his head with mock disgust before teasingly adding, At least now you can join your ‘beloved husband.’

That said, the general returned his dagger to its sheath under his cape and walked towards the cradle in the furthest corner of the bedchamber. It was so simple. Just a few white blankets – embroidered in green and gold thread with the letter E – lay between them now. He grinned. Just one more step... Just a little further and his torment would end. He eagerly lifted his hand and pulled back the blankets that hid the cradle’s contents.

But it was empty.

The general stood for a moment, struck dumb, and then let out a furious roar. The fighting had ceased outside the window, and his cry could be heard throughout the hushed city, after which an even deeper silence settled over it. There were no survivors. No gadaraths left alive to tell the tale of what had happened here. But it had all been for nothing.

The general clenched his fists until his knuckles turned white and returned to his entourage, who stood unperturbed by the door.

Find her, he grunted hoarsely. I want that girl’s corpse laid at my feet, no matter the cost. Understood?

The geruk soldiers nodded briskly and exited the bedchamber without a sound. Their leader, however, remained behind for a moment, lost in thought. Then he reached a decision. He slowly walked to the balcony’s edge and peered out over it. His henchmen, gathered in the courtyard below, let out a cheer when they saw him; their gruff voices seemed to rise from the very depths of the earth. He ignored their fawning while his mind worked at full speed. He had to find a way to ensure that the princess wouldn’t return and become a problem in case his geruks failed to locate her... A vicious smile spread across his face when the solution came to him in a moment of inspiration.

I can handle this little problem yet, he mused. Several minutes later, he worked his way to the head of his army. She’ll have to follow my orders now. She’ll have no other choice, he thought, as they crossed the fields of Gadar, leaving the ruined city of Mehyan in their wake. Once the proud capital of a kingdom, it now lay devastated and in flames.

Who am I?

Fifteen years later...

Aldin walked home, furiously kicking at the pebbles in her path. Her face, with its sky-blue skin – characteristic of the oracle race – was set in an angry grimace. Her green eyes sparked with rage and her jet-black hair, pulled back into a ponytail, swayed violently with every step she took.

She couldn’t believe this. Today had, beyond a shadow of a doubt, been the last straw. That morning – like any other day – she’d gone to the Women’s Temple, greeted some of her companions with her customary reserve, and walked to the second-floor classroom to attend her embroidery class, where, as usual, her nemesis waited.

Aelhia was the daughter of the city’s ruler, Karan. Lord Karan was an elf with dark hair, pale skin, and chestnut eyes, who, while not exactly a tyrant, wasn’t particularly beneficent either. Every time Aldin had seen him ride out of the village on one of his diplomatic trips – the path inevitably wound past the farm she lived at with her parents – she could have sworn she detected some buried sorrow in his expression. But she’d never stopped to think why, mainly because she had other things to occupy her mind all day.

Karan’s daughter, on the other hand, made no secret of her disdain for the non-elven inhabitants of Landeron. For generations, Lar had acted as a refuge for members of other races fleeing from the poverty and war that plagued their home countries every few years. The elves, altruists by nature, had never refused to take them in. But this didn’t mean that the treatment they gave outsiders was always cordial.

This morning especially, the grimace that Aelhia had directed at her gulin classmate – for so oracles were called in their own tongue – had been far from friendly, which was not unusual, but Aldin sensed something more mischievous in her eyes, black like those of a fish. Aelhia was plotting something, Aldin was certain of it. But when Aelhia turned away to whisper with her friends, Aldin tried to clear such half-formed suspicions from her mind and concentrate on her work. She calmly pulled her embroidery out of her satchel and carefully assessed it before deciding where to place the next stitch.

But her work had been interrupted mere moments later by a long, white hand that seized her embroidery and gave it a quick tug, snatching it away.

Hey!

Aldin had risen quickly, annoyed, and ready to go toe to toe with whomever had dared to interrupt her labor, but she froze when she saw who it was.

My, Aldin. I do apologize, Aelhia had crooned mockingly while she held the embroidered cloth as far from her body as she could. I only wanted to admire this... she glanced then at Aldin’s work, distaste twisting her features, thing that you’re embroidering.

Give it back, Aelhia, Aldin had growled without thinking. Now.

But when Aelhia had turned, as if in slow motion, to face Aldin, the gulin knew she’d made a very costly mistake. Lord Karan’s daughter approached her slowly, squinting at her prey while the insult provoked a blush that spread all the way to the tips of her pointed ears.

What did you say to me? she’d hissed.

Aldin had instantly deflated, bowing her head and replying in a voice barely above a whisper:

Pardon me, my lady. Would you be so good as to return my embroidery, please?

Aelhia had straightened up then with a triumphant smile, but she neither acknowledged nor complied with Aldin’s careful request.

You lack simple manners, you dolt.

Aldin, her pride hurt, had cringed at the insult, still backing away. But instead of leaving her alone, Aelhia advanced on Aldin until she fell back into her chair with a thud, which had Aelhia’s cronies bursting out in laughter. But then a voice in the doorway made them all jump.

What’s going on here?

Both Aelhia and Aldin had jerked their heads up and Aelhia paled momentarily – much to Aldin’s fleeting enjoyment – when they noticed their severe instructor standing in the threshold, arms crossed, awaiting an explanation. But Aelhia quickly regained her composure.

Forgive me, Madame, she’d deflected with flawless manners. I was only complimenting Aldin’s... creation.

Her smile had been so fake that Aldin had to stifle a gag. How could an elf be so... so... But, for all Aelhia’s feigning, the teacher fell for her little act, turning suddenly towards Aldin instead.

Is this true, Aldin?

Madame! Aelhia had cut in without giving her victim time to respond, One must not question...

The nobility. I know, Aelhia, the teacher had returned calmly, ignoring her student’s open-mouthed shock at having been addressed by her first name. However, here it is not rank that matters, but your ability to someday carry out the tasks that are entrusted to us as women. And I imagine, she added before Aelhia could protest, that if Lord Karan had you sent here, he did it for a good reason.

Aelhia had scowled, her entire body going stiff at the reprimand. Yes, it was true. Her father had decided that perhaps his wayward daughter was