The Cross of Tarlis: The Awakening

By Julie A. D'Arcy

Princess Tannith of Ellenroh, descendant of Dragonbane, King of the old code. Only by her hand can the pieces of the legendary Cross of Tarlis be assembled and used to raise their God and remove the yoke placed on her people.

Kaden of the Wolfhead, son of a cursed king, haunted by his failure to save his family hunts the cross in order to seek revenge for the destruction of those he loved.

Sernon of Asomos, a powerful Necromancer seeks the Cross to open portals to other worlds, in turn giving him access to unlimited power.

Can Tannith, Kaden, and their companions stay ahead of the evil dogging their steps, be the first to claim the pieces of the cross, and stop Sernon from enslaving their world and destroying their future?

• Language: Unknown
• Publisher: The Wild Rose Press
• Release date: Feb 16, 2022
• ISBN: 9781509237418

Julie A. D'Arcy

Julie A. D’Arcy lives in North East Victoria Australia with her two spoiled Oriental cats, Keila and Sarsha. She grew up reading the likes of Lord of the Rings, Once and Future King, and every fairy tale she could get her hands on. Later on falling in love with the works of David Gemmell, Terry Brooks, Johanna Lindsey, Rosemary Rodgers, and Barbara Cartland. Her love of both the Fantasy and the Romance genres prompted her to try her hand at writing her own novel and she began writing her first novel in 1995. Her first release, Time of the Wolf, was published in 1999 and went on to win the 1999 Dorothy Parker RIO Award for Women’s fantasy fiction. She was also runner-up in the Australian RWA Ruby Award, the U.S.A, PEARL AWARD, and the SAPPHIRE AWARD. Julie is delighted to say The Wild Rose Press re-released Time of the Wolf again in 2019. It went on to garner 5-star reviews from all reviewers who read it and won the Crowned Heart Award from InD'tail Magazine. More of my novels with Wild Rose Press are: 'The Cross of Tarlis: The Awakening', and 'The Cross of Tarlis: The Reckoning. Both receiving 5 star Awards. 'Whispers Of Yesterday' a Historical Romance, Ghost Paranormal, is to be published in 2023. Julie A. D’Arcy has written eight full-length novels, and four novellas. Julie loves traveling, and has visited the UK, Thailand, and many European countries, and hopes to one day visit the U.S.

Book preview

"His gaze ran the length of her body, allowing it to linger on the swell of her breasts.

That is enough! She flushed and crossed her arms over her chest. I am certain I do not want to know. She turned from his perusal and stared over the treetops at the mist-shrouded peaks of Dragon Spur. Who are you?

I am Kaden of Glen-Dorrach at your service, my lady. He bowed with a flourish, and she realized he was mocking her. She would not rise to his bait.

What are you doing out here? Alone?

His expression sobered and when he searched her face, his eyes were pale green. I could ask you the same question.

I asked first.

So, you did. Traveling. I hire my sword for money.

A mercenary?

‘Tis honest enough work.

For several heartbeats, they remained silent, then she spoke again. Thank you for your help.

You handle yourself well for a woman.

She straightened to her full height, a little below his shoulder, and lifted her chin. Who did this man think he was? Did he not know she was a Warrior Princess of Ellenroh? Then she relaxed. No, he did not, nor was she about to enlighten him. Again, thank you. Her words sounded stiff. I was outnumbered. Eventually they would have worn me down.

He caught her hand, pressing it to his chest. If I can be of more service. He arched a brow.

I am certain that will not be necessary. His heartbeat, rapid and strong against her hand but she could not allow herself to weaken. She had a quest. She had a mission…

Praise for Julie A. D’Arcy

The Cross of Tarlis is an enchanting epic fantasy romance that I highly recommend. It will sweep you off your feet and take you away to a place where love and magic triumph over evil.

~Review by Cornelia Amiri

Virtual Writing Services

The plot is a suspenseful tale steeped in lore, possession, betrayal, obsession, and vengeance. Characters are flawed, authentic, and believable beings who leap from the page as their stories unfold.

~InD'tale Magazine.

The Cross of Tarlis: The Awakening

by

Julie A. D’Arcy

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

The Cross of Tarlis: The Awakening

COPYRIGHT © 2022 by Julie A. Darcy

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

Contact Information: [e-mail]

Cover Art by Kristian Norris

The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

PO Box 708

Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

Publishing History

First Edition, 2022

Trade Paperback ISBN 978-1-5092-3740-1

Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-3741-8

Published in the United States of America

Dedication

This book is dedicated to my daughters, Errin and Tegan, for all the times we missed together while I was lost in the world of Tarlis. And to my two lovely Grandchildren, Oliver, and Lyla.

Acknowledgements

Without friends who would we be?

With those words I would like to thank all the people for their support over the last 15 years in bringing this book to fruition. Particularly, Astrid Cooper, who lent me the strength and determination to bring TARLIS to life, gave me a lesson in grammar, and how to reorganize a run on sentence.

Others who I would like to thank: Margaret Wagenholfer, who told me I could write. My writing group friends: Susan Graham, Sandra Alan, Anne Smith, Ruth Ross, Heather Williams, Ian Deakan and who were always there with a helpful word. And, my dear friends, in faraway places: Mary Brehe, Steve Westcott, Kathryn Bryan, Deborah Nemeth, Sherri Good and Frank D’Arcy.

Also a big thank you to my publisher The Wild Rose Press and my extraordinary editor, Lill Farrell.

Dorrachian War Song

We Dorrachians stand and fight,

Great courage fills our heart.

Ever for us the sun will shine,

Ever the night depart:

Our faith is in the power of right,

No truth, no shame can cheat.

Ten thousand times we’d rather die,

Than sound a base retreat.

So, come to me o’ enemy mine,

Lift your sword up high,

And death to you this day will come,

And with your Gods ye’ll dine.

~Julie A. D’Arcy

Chapter One

Five hundred summers have passed since the Great Mage War. Sernon of Asamos is dead. While his bones rest at the bottom of a glacial lake, his spirit roams forever in the Void. Tarlis is at peace. Or is it?

Somewhere deep within the depths of Lake Dalen-Gae, evil stirs…

Oblivious to her guard’s presence, Tannith of Ellenroh, Princess of Dragonbane, slammed the heavy shutters and crossed the deep Argeasian carpet. She warmed her hands at the library fire, hoping the flames would instill warmth into her body and mind. Perhaps give her peace…but there was no peace to be had. Like a caged beast—on one hand, anxious to start the quest to free her people from the siege—on the other, afraid to try should she fail.

Although trained as a warrior, she had never tasted real battle until a few days prior. She thought she was prepared. However, the blood, noise—the horror of war—it was nothing like she had imagined—it was worse.

She poured a goblet of wine, took a sip, and glanced up at the gilt-edged portrait of her grandfather hanging above her father’s chair.

Dragonbane, first king of Ellenroh, sitting astride his massive white charger, exuded power—his ash-blond hair, braided at the sides, did little to detract from the sense of strength and purpose that stamped his hawkish features—strength evident in every line of his body. If only she could be more like him.

Her hand clenched the stem of her goblet. Had she taken on more than she could handle? Was she presumptuous to think that she could fill the boots of one so illustrious, and find the ancient icon the Council had said could end this war? All she knew was she had to try. After all, Dragonbane’s blood coursed through her veins.

She fought to conjure thoughts of more tranquil days, times of sunshine and laughter—days when her mother was alive―before the wasting sickness took her. However, those memories were receding further into the past, and it was hard to focus with so much recent carnage. She ran a shaky hand across her eyes as the lifeless faces of comrades floated before her. Jakeal, Taybold, and Estrial, friends she had grown up with, shared memories with, who would have died for her. Who had died for her, she amended.

She gulped down a mouthful of spiced wine to clear the taste of bile from her throat as the sweet, sickly stench of blood filled her nostrils. She could still see Taybold’s face as he dove in front of her, shielding her body, taking the spear in the side meant for her, and his agonized smile as he whispered goodbye and told her not to blame herself.

Chaffing her elbows, she glanced into the fireplace, feeling like she would never be warm again. The flames leapt and danced in the grate in a hypnotic rhythm allowing her thoughts to wander. Weariness engulfed her, her eyes clouded with unshed tears, but she held them in check. It would not do for the future Queen of Ellenroh to cry. No. She had to stand fast, give her people strength. With her father missing, they now relied on her for guidance.

She strode to the window to push open the shutters. Wisps of blue mist floated through the open portal, filling the library. The mist was magickal, a sorcerer’s breath, of that she was certain. For days now, whisps of moist blue air had seeped into every niche and corner of the castle. Even the icy wind blowing outside did nothing to disperse the mist’s insidious presence.

Evil pervaded the very air she and her people breathed. A dense alien mist blanketed the Urakians, camouflaging them until they were almost atop her men; its icy fingers soaking through the armor and into the bones of the Elisian warriors as they fought. They had defended well, but she could understand why they were demoralized. It was hard to fight an enemy one could not see.

She sought to penetrate the fog with her night vision. She knew there must be at least ten thousand camped across the moat, but she saw nothing. She heard their animalistic chanting as it floated upward on the breeze and crossed herself in the way of her faith—shoulder to shoulder, lips to heart. They must have another prisoner. May Magus have mercy on his soul. She had seen the remains of the other prisoners the enemy had dumped at their gates.

Father are you out there? she whispered into the night. Are you dead or held captive in some dark dungeon?

No answer came. Only silence and a gentle crackle drifting from the fire in the grate.

She sighed and slammed the shutters.

It cannot be that bad. A small lyrical voice spoke into her ear.

Tannith gasped and jumped, and the goblet slipped from her fingers, crashing to the floor. Wine pooled like ruby blood at her feet as she stepped aside for the guard to attend the mess, then smiled when he finished, dismissing him for the night.

A Faerie no more than a handspan tall, with red curling hair and the garb of a warrior, fluttered before her face.

You surprised me. Tannith stretched out her hand for the Faerie to step onto her palm.

Forgive me, Highness. Skylah pushed her red-gold hair from her eyes. I have been searching for you throughout the castle.

Settling into a padded chair by the hearth, Tannith lowered the Faerie to her knee. She glowed with an eldritch light.

What is this news that could not wait? She smiled.

The Urakians have reinforcements.

You have numbers?

Five thousand infantry and two hundred cavalry. Siege towers, too. The Faerie hopped into the air and flew toward the window. Tannith hastened after her to ease open the shutters. Miraculously the fog had vanished, but what remained made her heart plummet. Thousands of campfires lined the banks of the moat and lit up the fields. They wanted her people to see them. They wanted her men to feel despair, and then while her warrior’s spirits were low, they would strike again.

There. The Faerie pointed to the left. I managed to get close before I was seen. Eight war machines, she said dismally. How can we fight those monsters?

Tannith grimaced. Etan will have a plan. And if not, then one of the generals.

Of course, the Faerie brightened, Etan will know.

Tannith noted the wistful note in her friend’s voice. Did you see him there tonight? He led a raid on the Urakian supply wagons.

No, but I could see where he had been. Skylah laughed. The camp was still in disarray. Tannith glanced unseeing across the room at the fire. He never told me he was going. I had to hear it from Loden at the meeting.

Etan keeps a close counsel. You know that.

He has been doing that a lot of late. Tannith wondered why the thought hurt her. They had a prisoner. Did you see who it was?

Captain Gadrian. The Faerie looked away. They killed him.

Was it quick?

No.

Tannith leaned back against the windowsill. I thank you for being so honest. Without you, we would truly be lost. We could not keep track of the Urakian’s movements. You must allow me to reward you.

Skylah shook her head and swept up to hover midair before Tannith. She pushed her disheveled hair from her small heart-shaped face. It is not reward, but revenge I seek, and to find what happened to my people. You cannot give me that.

No, but―

"And it is I who owes you the debt, Skylah cut her off. If you had not found me that day in the forest, I would now be dead."

Tannith opened her mouth to speak, but the library door slammed, stalling her answer.

Tannith, are you in here? called a deep male voice from the far side of the room.

Over here, Etan. Tannith returned to the hearth, to wait for him to wind his way through the ancient rows of tomes. She had heard rumors among her people that one day they expected her and Etan to marry. She had never discussed the matter with him but was certain he would be of like mind. It would be the same as marrying her brother.

What is the story between you and Captain Jarrisendel? Skylah asked quietly, alighting onto her shoulder.

There is no story, really. His father, who was my father’s general, died saving the king from a daring assassination attempt when Etan was eight. He lost his mother at childbirth and had only his grandfather. My father had us raised together.

****

Etanandril Jarrisendel cursed and cut his way doggedly through the two long stands of musty tomes, separating the door from the hearth. He found the princess standing by the fireplace and halted, drawing upon his experience as a warrior to keep his emotions in check.

With her features highlighted softly by the glow of golden flames, she was lovelier than ever. Reaching only to his shoulder, she was full-breasted and slim-hipped. Her skin so smooth and perfect, sometimes he ached to run his hands over every inch of its flawless beauty. And her violet eyes, he could drown in their depths and never mourn his own passing.

He had always been in love with her, could not remember a time when he was not. However, he knew his feelings were not reciprocated. Therefore, he had never spoken of what was in his heart, and probably never would. He stepped close, lifted her hand, and touched it to his lips, silently cursing their ties of familial affection. He released her and stepped back. You were nowhere to be found after the battle. I was afraid you were hurt.

Your worry was unwarranted, my fine protector. She smiled briefly, lifted her arms then lowered them. As you see, I still have all my limbs. She sighed and ran a hand through her disheveled hair. We lost Taybold today. She turned away. He died saving my life.

I know. I saw him fall, but it was what he was trained to do.

It does not make it any less painful. He was a good friend.

I too shall miss him. However, he will not be the last. You have to know that.

She poured him a goblet of wine in silence and handed it to him unsmiling. I was helping with the wounded. When I finished, I went up to the battlements. She looked down at her hands. I can still smell the blood.

It will pass. He leaned his elbow casually on the wooden mantel and nodded toward the closed shutters. What do you think they want?

What does any enemy want? Power, riches, slaves. But never fear, Dragonbane Castle will stand—’tis the mightiest in all Ellenroh. King Dragonbane had this castle built to his own specifications. It cannot be taken. Just let the Urakians send what they will, this castle will still be in the hands of the Elisi long after the demon scum are dead and rotted in their graves.

He arched a brow. Brave speech. Who are you trying to convince, me or you?

If my faith should fail me, then who would follow me?

What does it matter? He shrugged. We have nothing to combat sorcery.

And if we did?

He met her violet eyes trying to read her face. Are you keeping secrets? We share everything, remember?

Tannith’s lips curved. I was waiting for you to ask. She looked away. I attended a meeting with the Council Elders, a notch of a time-candle ago. They suggested—as you know they always suggest—never order, merely suggest in a manner that cannot be refused, that the only way to free our people from the Urakian siege is to find the Cross of Tarlis. An ancient artifact left over from the Great Mage War.

She turned to warm her hands at the fire. High Counselor Loden—your grandfather, she amended, "informed me of a prophecy that the royal scribes have unearthed from a tome of Tarlisian History. The book described a magickal icon. A Cross made up of five sections, and when it was assembled it could resurrect our God, Magus. The book said our God would battle the evil threatening us. When I asked where the icon could be found, Loden told me the only lead was an ancient Druid, living on Merrum Island.

But that is not all… she paused as if assessing his reaction.

Go on.

There are rumors the Sorcerer Sernon has been raised from the dead. He also seeks the Cross. Maybe that is why the Urakians are here. Perhaps they are his minions. Sernon might think the Cross is here at Dragonbane.

Is it? he asked slowly, curiosity overruling his misgivings.

She turned back to him watching his face. "Loden handed me what he called the Key—the first piece of the Cross. My ancestors have passed it down through the generations. A prophecy has been unearthed, naming me, the first Princess of Dragonbane born in five centuries, to be the only one capable of assembling the Cross when all the pieces are brought together."

He laughed softly. "Let me understand this correctly. In the morning you and I are to search for the rest of an icon that might have magickal powers and has not been seen for five-hundred summers?"

Since the Great Mage War, she confirmed.

He laughed out loud. Am I also to understand, a necromancer of renowned insanity has been raised from the dead and is also searching for the Cross? He released a heavy breath. You cannot be—

I am. Tannith half turned, and Etan’s words lodged in his throat. A flicker of firelight cast in shadowy relief a small being, perched in the crook of her right shoulder.

His jaw clenched. What is she doing here? I cannot believe you allowed that creature to overhear our plans.

Skylah was about to speak, but Tannith cut her off. Skylah has been to the Urakian camp and has brought back vital information. Why are you always so mean to her?

He ignored her question. She made it across the lines?

She did more than that. The Urakian’s have brought in siege towers.

I know. His gaze rested on the Faerie while he spoke. I saw them, we torched a couple. He took in the Faerie’s appearance, her long sleek legs beneath her short battle skirt; red-gold hair that hung to her waist in a tangle of ringlets, and her forest green eyes—a pity she was only a woman in miniature.

Disgusted with the trend of his thoughts, he turned and strode to the window and opened the shutters, breathing deeply of the night air.

****

Skylah watched Etan turn from her with a palpable sense of loss. Head and shoulders above all other Elisians, he appeared godlike. With his ash-blond hair, azure blue eyes, and the confidence of his gait when he walked into a room, he lit a flame in her belly whenever he came into view. However, that feeling was usually quashed all too soon by some cruel word or jest thoughtlessly tossed her way. She shook her head, knowing he would never notice her as a real woman. To him, she was a pest to be brushed aside—a creature of little worth.

She took to the air as Tannith joined Etan’s side by the window. It would never do for the captain to see her weep. It would just be one more thing he could taunt her with. She knew where his affections lay. She saw the way his eyes softened and heard the gentle inflection in his voice whenever he spoke Tannith’s name.

Being the last of her kind, she felt more alone than ever. If only she were taller. If only she were an Elisian maiden. However, it would take a miracle to achieve that feat. And if she had the choice, would she really take it and give up what little chance she had of being reunited with her brother and her people? Would any man really be worth that? Thoughts of the day of the massacre filtered into her head but she pushed them aside, this was not the time. She sighed. Even Faeries must sleep. She feigned a yawn as she flew toward them. I bid you goodnight, Princess. She nodded at Etan.

Yes, agreed Tannith. You have done well, my little friend. Rest now for you have had a long day, as we all have.

She drew level with Etan’s eyes, bluer than the bluest sky. What would it be like to have the love of such a man? A dream she would imagine. One she would never achieve. If only Tannith realized how lucky she was. With a blink of her eyes and a small wave, she vanished in a