The Queen's Secret: A Tale of Elves and Dragons

By Benjamin Towe

The Queen's Secret recounts deeds of elves and dragons in ancient Donothor. Enmity and eye color separate Dark Elves and Gray Elves. Young Dark Elf Cellexa hates the Grays and blames them for the deaths of his father and idolized older cousin. Cellexa's animosity drives him to infiltrate the Grays, where he discovers beautiful Myrrhna. Is his hatred unfounded? The burden of kingship unexpectedly falls on his shoulders. With that burden comes the need to rekindle the mutually beneficial relationship with Donothor's black dragons and gain the fealty of renegade Dark Elf elders. Learned mentors, brave High Guards, and steadfast friends support the young king. King Cellexa makes a perilous journey to treat with the mighty Dragonlord Xollos. Cellexa often thinks of the lovely Gray Elf. Extraordinary events bring Myrrhna and Cellexa together. Can their love survive the ancient enmity between their peoples? Can Xollos and Myrrhna help Cellexa overcome his enemies, unite the chaotic Dark Elves, and save his kingdom?

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Sep 10, 2020
• ISBN: 9781728371757

Benjamin Towe

Benjamin Towe is a dedicated Whovian, crafty old Dungeon Master, and lover of all things magic and make believe. Ben is a graduate of Mt. Airy (NC) High School, Davidson College, and the University of Virginia School of Medicine. Dr Towe served five years in the US Army Medical Corps and has practiced family medicine. Doctor “T” loves reading and writing science fiction and fantasy novels. The novels of the Donothor and Elfdreams series are Doctor T’s Rx for fantasy. Children of Magick joins his literary family of Justful Deception, the Queen’s Secret, Thirttene Friends, Dawn of Magick, Lost Spellweaver, First Wandmaker, Wandmaker’s Burden, Emerald Islands, Mender’s Tomb, Deathquest to Parallan, Orb of Chalar, Chalice of Mystery, Death of Magick, and Unwonted Spellweavers. Escape to an Elfdream! Happy reading!

Book preview

One

Tragedy befell Boton Klarje Jhundi, and the bereft Head of the Order of Dark Sorcerers of Sagain desperately sought to regain what he had lost. An artifact called the Tome of Translocation came into his possession along with fossilized shypoke eggshells needed to cast the ninth level spell encoded in the volume. Boton laboriously studied the spell and rehearsed the complex incantation. The tall Necromancer of Koorlost crushed shypoke eggshell and scattered the dust to define his point of return. The Dark Sorcerer followed his trusted elderly companion’s suggestion and applied amber to his left palm to secure his treasured Staff of the West Wind, one of the legendary Thirteen Staffs.

There was nothing left for it.

The sorcerer painstakingly muttered the incantation and crushed more shypoke eggshells. Blueness flashed throughout the chamber and the sorcerer vanished. The spell produced a wave on the sea of Magick akin to the power of a True Wish. Uncertainty accompanied such Magick. The Dark Sorcerer felt his body and mind ripped through the fabric of space and time. He passed through absolute darkness, cold, void, and then vortex after vortex of color and energy. His thoughts were spinning violently out of control. Pain coursed through very nerve ending. He felt the air sucked from his lungs. Grayness and feelings of hopelessness enveloped him. Then bright red light surrounded him. Boton unceremoniously hit marshy ground and hungrily engulfed fetid air. Smells and sounds of a swamp surrounded and overwhelmed his senses. The Dark Sorcerer sloshed through shallow water on his hands and knees and gained cover behind some trees.

A single little sun danced in blue sky dotted with gray and white clouds. The sun was much closer than the distant twins that gave light to Sagain. Flat terrain limited his vision. The bog extended about a hundred paces and similar flora stood on the opposite side. A large bug crawled across his hand, and he slung it away. Boton steadfastly clutched the Staff of the West Wind in his left hand. The amber aided his grip.

Boton Klarje heard heavy wings and ducked behind the nearest tree. A young black dragon saw the sorcerer and covered him with gooey acidic spittle. Luckily, Boton’s resistance to dragon breath extended to wyrms of other worlds. The dragon swooped downward. Boton directed the Staff of the West Wind toward the approaching wyrm and stood brazenly still. The dragon confidently dove toward its presumed easy meal. When the beast neared, Boton dropped to his knees, raised the Staff of the West Wind, and barely touched the dragon’s left foreleg talon. Boton rolled onto his back. Swamp water splashed up around him. The beast screeched, changed to dull gray color, attempted futilely to move its hardening wings, turned three revolutions, crashed to the swampy ground, and broke into pieces.

The Petrification Spell was intrinsic to the Staff of the West Wind, which was oft called the Staff of Stone. Its bearer was called Stonemaster. Only its forward-facing horns differentiated the black dragon from those he had seen on Sagain. Now that he had dispatched the beast, Boton oriented to the new world. Nature’s laws still applied. The staff indicated west. The swamp offered no trails. He intuitively chose to travel south.

Boton detected movement out of the corner of his eye, turned quickly, and directed the Staff of the West Wind toward the still moving underbrush. Two creatures jumped up, raised their hands submissively into the air, and declared they were elves.

Dark-eyed Fracer and gray-eyed Nylles were brothers and identical save the color of their essence-piercing eyes. The translation power of the mighty Staff of the West Wind facilitated communication. Boton sensed rivalry between them.

Fracer said, You destroyed the dragon. There’s no power in the Lachinor that could strike down a black dragon save that of the Banshee′. Please don’t turn us to stone. Allow us to return in dust in the forest that we love. Before you kill us, accept and bear this item to your matron. It fell from the sky. Our elders can’t ascertain its import. Surely it must belong to the Wailing Witch. We were carrying it her lair in the Dead Woods as a token from the elves of the Lachinor to ask her to spare these lands. Her evil rots the forest in the east and forms a wasteland.

Something glinted in the elf’s hand. Boton kept the staff at ready, but the brothers merely trembled. The elf held a fabled artefact known as the Gate Key. But…how did it come to lie in a primitive swamp?

Boton answered, So you are elves! I’ve heard stories of elves. I thought you would be smaller and have pointed ears. Of whom do you speak? I know of no one called Banshee′.

The dark-eyed elf answered, Don’t amuse yourself with us, stranger. We are elves and die proudly. We’ll not beg. Kill us and be done.

The sorcerer replied, I’m not from… here. Tell me of this Banshee′. Is Lachinor the name of this world?

The gray-eyed elf Nylles responded, Bear with us, stranger. Your dialect is difficult. Your path leads to the lair of the Wailing Witch, a primordial evilness that infests our world. The Lachinor is the name of the great swamp where we stand. This world has many names. The barbarians who live north of the swamp call the land Donothor. Did you come for this artifact?

The brothers had the unenviable task of seeking the Wailing Witch’s lair. In return for guidance in the dismal swamp, the sorcerer agreed the join the brothers’ quest. The elves gave Boton some delicious trail mix, a combination of nuts, fruits, and berries. Boton gave the elves alien blackberries that gave immunity to black dragon’s acidic breath. The trio endured an arduous trek and progressively horrific encounters. Finally, further adventuring became too risky. The elves lost the Gate Key. Boton had seen enough of the swampy world. The sorcerer uttered a single word in a foreign tongue and vanished in a flash of blue light.

The Elves’ quest failed.

Gray-eyed Nylles and dark-eyed Fracer faced off. Each blamed the other for the failure of their mission. The brothers had a long history of rivalry, and many arguments had ensued between them. The anger of brother against brother was never quenched, and it passed through their seed. Gray-eyed Nylles went west, founded a hamlet Detlor, and welcomed only elves with gray eyes. The hamlet Detlor became the center of Gray Elves’ society. Dark-eyed Fracer went north to their family’s ancestral home Black Dragon’s Horn and welcomed only elves with dark eyes. Nylles chose Nightshade as his family name, forsaking the name of Dragonhorn. The families quarreled henceforth and grew ever far apart. The peoples of the Lachinor came to call the quarrelling factions Gray Elves and Dark Elves.

Neither Fracer nor Nylles ever spoke of the mysterious stranger. Both suffered nightmares and talked in their sleep. Their somnolent ramblings made their way into campfire stories. In addition to their enmity for one another, the brothers passed down resistance to the effect of black dragon’s breath to their progeny. Elves exposed to the thick acidic goop suffered no more than the discomfort of being covered by a big glob of molasses.

Magick whisked Boton back to Koorlost. A brilliant flash of red light heralded his arrival. The room was unchanged. His elderly companion sat in the same overstuffed chair and looked curiously at the returning Sorcerer.

The oldster commented, You’re back. What could you have possibly accomplished in five minutes?

Boton Klarje Jhundi never returned to Donothor. However, telltale flashes of red light reappeared 1584 and 1585 years after the sorcerer’s visit. Blue flashes never followed the future red flashes.

Intrepid explorers of the southern Lachinor returned with descriptions of a broken stone dragon. Bards sang of strange travelers. Gray Elves and Dark Elves went about their separate ways. Inhabitants of the great swamp concentrated on survival. Black dragons dominated the skies and congregated in social organizations called gaggles, each lead by a dominant drake. Goblins and Hobgoblins infested the swamp lands and grew in numbers. All living things avoided the Dead Woods. The Gate Key became one of the treasures of the Banshee΄!

Many generations of Black Dragons, Dark Elves, and Gray Elves lived out their lives and saw little change in the great swamp over three and a half millennia.

Two

Dalyor wiped his brow and pulled a thick strand of long black hair away from his face. His deepest blue-black eyes that characterized the Dark Elf ilk squinted through purplish sweat that trickled down his face. Dark Elves were shorter than Hobgoblins, but taller than Goblins and incredibly handsome with olive skin, delicate stature, well-defined musculature, and perfect complexion. High Guard Sergeant Dalyor had led a party of seven High Guards from Black Dragon’s Horn on a mission to Unrenlian, an outlying hamlet. Unrenlian produced goods both needed and treasured by the populace of Black Dragon’s Horn, the largest Dark Elf Dark Elf conurbation, domicile of the current King Frest, and garrison of the High Guards, the elite fighting force charged with protecting the people. In many ways, outside Black Dragon’s Horn, in Dark Elf society, the King was merely a figurehead. Many hamlets held steadfast to their independence and considered their local High Elder their true leader. Unrenlian was loyal to the King, and he repaid their loyalty by sending his best High Guards to assist the community. Recent monarchs had expanded Black Dragon’s Horn’s sphere of influence and gathered more hamlets under their wing. Unified communities with a central leader gained strength and stood more effectively against other folk of the expansive Lachinor swamp of Donothor, including goblins, hobgoblins, ogre clans, and odd roaming dragon. Most ogres lived in the Iron Mountains to the north, along with the races of giants. Dark Elves had an off-again, on-again alliance with Ice Giants in the highest mountains and Black Dragons who shared their swampy realm. Men and dwarves occupied lands north of the great River Luumic, though much of the land remained wild and unsettled, and the domain of many wandering beasts. Lawless men, assassins, pirates, robber barons, mysterious monks, and highwaymen ran roughshod throughout the east. Everyone avoided the expansive Dead Woods.

Elders of Unrenlian requested aid to quell attacks against its farmers and harvesters. Aged King Frest gave HGS Dalyor the task and added responsibility by insisting his grandson and novice High Guard Milnac accompany the troupe. Milnac was the only son of Prince Esesari, King Frest’s son and sole heir. Young Milnac possessed great skill and shared his father’s zealousness to expand the Dark Elves’ sphere of influence in the Lachinor, the great swampland of Donothor.

King Emaohi had led the Dark Elves for over fifty years. His elderly brother Frest ascended to the throne with his passing. HGS Dalyor’s spouse Aelene was the daughter of the King Emaohi and Queen Bealla. Emaohi relished isolationism and continued this long-established policy of Dark Elf rulers. Frest was more a figurehead and oft took the counsel of his brother’s widow Bealla. Old Frest oft sat silently and toked on his favorite pipe. Bealla held fast to the traditions and policies of her spouse. Council meetings oft erupted in arguments between those loyal to the Queen and memory of King Emaohi and followers of the heir apparent to the throne, Frest’s son Esesari. Esesari and his spouse Adlana had a son, Milnac. Bealla’s daughter Aelene took High Guard Dalyor as a life mate and welcomed their son Cellexa. Young Milnac had seen nineteen changes of seasons. Cellexa was 6 years younger than Milnac. Aelene and Dalyor’s son Cellexa looked up to his older cousin. Milnac in turn stood up for his younger cousin should circumstances arise. At maturity, Milnac entered High Guard training, excelled in all areas, and quickly rose in ranks. Attaining High Guard status was amongst the highest honor for the Dark Elf ilk and being the King’s son afforded young Milnac no privilege. He worked as hard as anyone else. The stout Prince had faced and overcome all challenges. Cellexa hoped to follow his older cousin’s footsteps.

Reports from Unrenlian implicated rogue goblin bands in the malfeasance. The mostly nocturnal attacks had resulted in thievery, injury, and loss of life. The attacks had compromised the elders’ ability to supply Back Dragon’s Horn with goods, including the scarce blue bee honey so relished by old King Frest on his morning crumpets. The thick azure luxurious goop’s sweetness was second to none. Harvesting blue bee honey was better accomplished at night when the ornery bees were settled down. Not to matter, Dark Elves worked equally well at night due to excellent night vision. Night work facilitated not only harvesting the valued blue bee honey but also taking advantage of many swamp fauna, which were more active at night, and night blooming flora as well. But the blue bee honey was the ultimate product. Only Gray Elf tobacco was coveted more. Occasionally the exceptional leaf from the western Lachinor made its way to Black Dragon’s Horn, usually through bartering with a merchant from one of the towns in the east such as Rancide or New Fairlawn. Dark Elves disdained contact with Gray Elves. Deep seeded enmity between the races made trade impossible.

Goblins usually stayed more to the center and southern great swamp, but adventurous blokes on occasion fomented misdeeds in the east. Sergeant Dalyor surmised most any show of force would drive the interlopers away. Goblin weapons’ effectiveness paled in comparison to Dark Elvish forged weapons and self-bows. Most sorties ended with heavy goblin losses and rarely any Dark Elf casualties. Seven-foot-tall Hobgoblins in the mix changed matters a bit, but the chaotic nature of the beasts kept them from cooperating in the absence of a charismatic leader. Charisma was seldom the long suit of goblins and Hobgoblins.

HGS Dalyor handpicked the veteran squad and ordered Milnac to stay by his side. Dalyor’s group stealthily traversed the swampy forest and made their way toward Unrenlian. The High Guard troupe had a brief meeting with the elders and interviewed witnesses whilst enjoying a meal of fruits of the forest. Both Dalyor and Milnac were champing at the bit to enter the forest and get to the bottom of the matter. Unrenlian guides led Dalyor’s party to the site of the most recent attack. The Dark Elves fastidiously studied the area and found no goblin sign. The gangly swamp dwellers were innately messy, careless, and chaotic and left footprints, hair, trash, scent, and often stained the forest with drops of their gray-green blood, just as often spilled in goblin versus goblin squabbles as in battling foes. Nothing pointed to goblins as the fomenters. Yet witnesses insisted the swamp denizens were the culprits. Guides led Dalyor’s crew to another ambush site and more survivors. The attacks were occurring along the routes most traveled by harvesters returning to Unrenlian laden with goods. New witnesses described companions for the goblin interlopers, but no one described vicious Hobgoblins. A young she-elf named Lorathyra insisted an elf with light colored eyes was among the goblins. Another claimed she saw a dwarf.

Dalyor mused, Dwarves hate goblins! And they hate the swamp more! For that matter, the short folk have as much enmity for our race as we do for them.

Lorathyra asked, Why do Dwarves hate us?

Dalyor replied, I’m no historian, but I’m told it goes back to an ancient conflict when we allied with Ice Giants against them.

Milnac absorbed the testimony of the lovely she-elf and bemoaned the large wound that scarred her face, a result of the recent attack.

The Prince asked, Describe the elf?

The shy young female blushed and answered, My prince, he stood about your height, tall for our people. I first thought him a captive of the goblins, but then he barked commands to them. His dialect differed a bit, but I understood his meaning. He ordered the goblins to kill us.

Milnac said, You mentioned his eyes.

Lorathyra responded, They were different, my prince. Much fairer than yours, which are so beautiful.

She blushed again.

Milnac blushed in response to her compliment, and asked, Were there other features about him that differed?

She said, He was just an elf, like you and me, but he had those haunting blue-gray eyes.

Milnac muttered, Gray Elf. Gray Elf scum.

Dalyor responded, Milnac, don’t jump to conclusions. I’ve encountered brigands from Rancide with elvish features. Gray Elves are reprehensible and insalubrious, but elders never speak of their running with goblins, nor traveling this far east in recent time. We must investigate further.

Milnac answered, My father believes all the old stories. The Gray Elves live in the richest and most productive lands of the Lachinor. Their misdeeds against our people go unrequited. Their comeuppance is long overdue. I’d relish the chance to move against them.

Dalyor replied, Milnac, I stand steadfastly loyal to your grandfather, our king, and your father. My bow and sword are theirs to command. I have heard the stories of our forebears’ strife with the Grays. To be honest, I’ve never met one. I don’t know a Dark Elf who has. Our only contact is secondary through peddlers and brigands who ever so seldom carry goods from Detlor to our lands. King Frest relishes the Detlor pipe weed. Sampled it once myself and tend to agree with him as to its uniqueness. Maybe it’s just the forbidden fruit thing. If I’m ordered to march against the Grays, I’ll do so. Otherwise, the policies long followed by our people of staying away from Grays seems wise.

Milnac replied, None could question your loyalty, High Guard Sergeant. I’m honored to serve with you. But you’ll see. My father knows best. He’ll lead us to greatness.

Dalyor smartly replied, "Black Dragon’s Horn already knows greatness, young Milnac. Our people have lived there for a hundred generations. I’m a soldier. But I’m also a father and yearn for our people’s thriving. I trust our leaders to plot the right course for our people