The Dark Queen's Pawn

By Shawn E Crapo

Continuing his quest to take down the Red Hand, fledgling assassin Garret boldly begins the task of eliminating local lords that have been seduced into the mysterious group's ranks. Along the way, Garret and the young ranger, Kuros, learn the details of Queen Igraina's involvement and of the impending arrival of Prince Maedoc to the south. Lord Darragh, having confessed his sins to Sister Helena, joins in the fight to rid Eirenoch of the Red Hand, and allows his young servant, Ferrin, to speak for him at a secret meeting with Maedoc. There, it is discovered that the queen has enlisted the aid of Lord Corrahn's dark servant, Menelith; an ancient Alvar warrior enslaved to do Corrahn's bidding. Queen Igraina, having learned of Garret's plans, sends Menelith to hunt him down, hoping to eliminate him before he kills all of her allies. Unbeknownst to her, however, the Great Druid Jodocus has plans for the spectral assassin. Menelith's power could be the key to releasing King Magnus from the queen's spell, allowing him to end her treason forever. Struggling with his noble past and the compulsion to kill, Menelith must decide whether to continue his dark existence, or to betray his master and return to shadow. Only the outcome of Maedoc's confrontation with his own mother will sway his decision, and the fate of all of Eirenoch.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Necropolis Digital Art Publishing
• Release date: Dec 3, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005289065

Shawn E Crapo

Shawn was born in Fairfiled, CA in 1971. As an avid fantasy reader, Shawn had attempted to develop a fantasy story of his own for several decades before finally finishing his first novel, Onyx Dragon.He now lives in Indiana, where he works as a freelance artist, musician, web designer and electrician.

Book preview

Chapter One

Shadows danced on the walls of the queen’s private chamber, driven to their gentle rhythm by the flames of a large fireplace. Igraina stood outside on her balcony, looking out over the rushing waterfall that tumbled over the cliffs behind the palace. Faerbane was her favorite place, as it was far away from the king, and the influence of the Dragon.

She came here often to lay her ill-conceived plans, as she was always under the watchful eyes of her own son, Prince Maedoc. His prying was a bane to her existence. He was the court seer, carrying both the blood of the Dragon from his father, and the blood of the Ancient Ones from her own line. Of course, she had always hidden his divinity from others. If they knew of his nature, they would be reluctant to risk any involvement in her criminal activities.

It was these bloodlines that gave Maedoc his gifts of sight, and why he had refused to become the kingdom’s heir. He thought he would better serve the throne as an advisor, and pass his rule to the next in line. In this case, it was his new twin sisters. Maebh and Siobhan. They would inherit the kingdom once they came of age and were confirmed in court. And that was when Igraina would secretly rule. She would hold sway over her daughters, as she would train them in the dark arts, away from Morduin; away from those who would thwart her plans.

Especially Maedoc. He saw through her ruses, and knew she had nothing but disdain for the king. She only wanted to take his throne, and she would do so vicariously through her daughters, but only if the king was blind to her intentions.

Fortunately, she had cast a spell upon the king through which Maedoc could not see. Even with his infinite sight, he was blind to her magic; in this case, at least.

She smiled as she dreamed of the future; sitting upon the throne of Eirenoch as its sole ruler, with her twin daughters at her side. Together, the three of them could conceivably rule the world, using their combined powers to topple every kingdom that existed upon the Earth.

It was a divine plan.

My queen, a raspy voice said from her doorway.

She turned, tearing her eyes away from the moonlit rainbow that adorned the falls. Her own seer was there, cloaked in his black robes and deep, dark cowl.

What is it, Goram? she asked.

The seer stepped forward into the lamp light. Only the lower half of his face was visible. As requested, Lord Corrahn of Gallot has arrived.

Send him in, she said.

To your private chambers? Goram asked, surprised. I would suggest the meeting room, or at least the tower.

Igraina shook her head. No, she insisted. Here, in my room. On my balcony.

Very well, Goram said, turning to fetch the noble lord.

Igraina turned back to the falls, gazing down at the pool below. She looked forward to meeting with Lord Corrahn and discussing his possible involvement in the Red Hand. He was one of the only lords of the northern cities that had ever expressed any ill-favor toward the king. He would likely join her in her plans, and provide yet another hub for the organization to operate.

With the loss of Daeglan at the hands of some unknown assassin, the number of nobles she had in her pocket was dwindling. Darragh, of course, was not yet a lost cause. Perhaps he could be bought again. For the right price, they could all be bought.

Lord Corrahn, on the other hand, was much more powerful than most of the others. He had in his employ many mercenaries and assassins of dark nature. Corrahn, being somewhat of a sorcerer himself, always surrounded himself with characters of that sort, whether for protection or his own amusement. Either way, Igraina was in need of an assassin; not only for the king himself, but for Daeglan’s killer. Whoever had taken his life had also destroyed the Red Hand’s operations at the mines; the mines she had worked so hard to rebuild.

She had a sneaking suspicion that Lord Darragh had something to do with it. It was he who had seemed reluctant to become involved in the slave trade. It was he who doubted the magical nature of Daeglan’s hired assassin; or at least pretended to doubt it.

My lady, Goram said again. Lord Corrahn of Gallot.

Igraina turned to greet the noble as he stepped out onto the balcony. He was an older man, perhaps in his fifties, but spry and youthful, with cold blue eyes that were deep-set and small—like a rat’s. His hair, only slightly gray at his temples, was short and well-kept. He was a shady character, to be sure.

Your Majesty, he said, bowing low. She offered her hand, and he took it and kissed it gently.

Lord Corrahn, she greeted him. It is a pleasure to finally meet you.

Corrahn smiled, cocking his head to the side. The pleasure is all mine, he said, smiling. His teeth were numerous and as white as ivory.

I am glad you could come at such short notice, Igraina said. We have much to discuss. Please, sit down and join me.

Igraina clapped her hands, turning to face a small round table that sat near the railing. A serving girl came and set down a carafe of wine and two goblets. She filled them both, bowing low before retreating through the balcony doors once again. Corrahn sat, immediately picking up his goblet and sipping it as Igraina took the other seat.

As you know, she began. The Red Hand is involved in many things. They have, in the past, dealt in precious metals, weapons, and even slaves.

Corrahn smiled, nodding.

But their true purpose is helping me to build a network of allies in my quest to take the throne.

Corrahn nodded again.

Last year, some plans were thwarted by an unknown assassin, she continued. Not only were the mines shut down, but Lord Daeglan was murdered as well.

I’ve heard, Corrahn said. So tragic. What a brilliant business man he was.

Indeed, Igraina said, smiling. And so young, as well.

Who do you believe killed him?

Igraina shook her head, sipping her wine. I do not know, she said. But that is why I called you for this meeting. I am not only inviting you to join me, but asking for your help in tracking down Daeglan’s killer. Whoever it was needs to be eliminated, lest others in our circle be exposed or killed.

Corrahn seemed to agree.

I have heard you have connections, Igraina said. Contacts with those who deal in… how do I say it… contracts. She grinned slyly, prompting him to do the same.

Of course, my lady, he said. I know of many contractors who would jump at the chance of serving the queen.

Good, she said. But they must be wary. This assassin killed the assassin that Daeglan hired as well.

Anyone I know?

Igraina shook her head. I am not sure, Corrahn, she said. She was a dark assassin; vile and cunning, but not entirely human.

Corrahn’s eye lit up. Oh?

Her name was Amarrah.

Corrahn froze with his goblet in mid quaff.

You know her? Igraina asked.

Not personally, no, he said, setting his goblet down. But I have heard of her. She was independent, unlike most of them. She did it for the pleasure, and cared not whom she killed.

Igraina nodded. Pure evil, she said, smiling with delight. Pure and divine.

Corrahn set down his goblet. The last I heard, however, she was killed many, many years ago.

She was, Igraina said. But she managed to come back somehow. And she was changed. Like I said, not entirely human. A demon.

Corrahn chuckled. I suppose if anyone was deserving of that title, it would have been her.

I need someone even more powerful, skilled, and heartless to take down this assassin. One who can find him, and eliminate him before he strikes again.

Corrahn nodded as he thought. I may be able to provide such a man, he said. He is my personal guard, however, but I would be willing to allow him this honor.

Excellent, Igraina said. I will provide payment for him should he complete the task.

There is the matter of my own protection, Corrahn said. If I join your organization, I may become a target, as well. Without my personal guard, I would be vulnerable.

Of course, Igraina said. For the time being, I will allow you to take refuge here in my palace until such time as this assassin is eliminated. You will be safe here. I have magical wards on every entrance, including those inaccessible to the common man.

Corrahn grinned. That would be most appreciated, he said. I will send my messenger to retrieve some belongings. In the meantime, I feel I must retire.

Very well, Igraina said. But I must ask you this; is this guard of yours skilled enough to complete this task?

Oh, Corrahn said, raising his goblet. I think you will be pleased with his nature.

Igraina cocked her head in question. Corrahn cleared his throat. Behind him, the air shimmered and swirled as a humanoid form took shape. Igraina’s eyes widened as she stared in awe of the demonic presence that appeared; tall, slim, and divine. He was dressed in black leather armor, a long black cape, and was armed with what could only be an Alvar blade.

Igraina locked eyes with him, gazing into the pale red orbs as they stared straight into her soul. She couldn’t help but notice his dark, angular features, his flowing white hair, and the slight points to his ears. Even his black leather armor seemed divine; dull but shimmering with magic, and imprinted with countless runes of unknown origin.

How she had not detected him was surprising. Not even Goram had known he was there. What was this divine creature?

Queen Igraina, Corrahn said. I would like you to meet Menelith, a warrior of Dokkalvar origin.

Menelith bowed his head, his red eyes unblinking and unwavering. He was truly a fearsome sight; dark, mysterious, and exuding the very essence of evil. She knew of his kind, the dark Alvar who had fled the encroaching darkness on their home world; banished and cursed to remain on Earth in the shadows.

Now here one stood before her, tamed and employed by nothing more than a human noble. One of minor power, no less. How could such a lowly man persuade a dark and ancient warrior to serve him? Was he more powerful than she was led to believe, or did he possess something that belonged to this creature?

Who was Corrahn, truly?

I am impressed, Igraina said. What other surprises do you have in store for me?

Corrahn chuckled. We shall see, your majesty. We shall see.

Igraina grinned. She had chosen her allies well.

Prince Maedoc sat in the quiet comfort of his study, perusing the pile of tomes that lay spread out upon his desk. He enjoyed these times, when he could be alone with his books and scrolls in the privacy of his tower. Tonight, he had reserved his time to study the ancient language of the Alvar; a forgotten tongue that had not been spoken on Eirenoch since the days of Daegoth II.

Though already well-versed in many of the world’s languages, this one in particular had held his interest for many years, as it was one of the only non-human languages that had ever been spoken openly on this world. The Alvar were no more, as far as he knew, and being able to speak and read their language would propel him to the pinnacle of respect among his peers.

As few of them that were left.

He and Jodocus were all that remained of Eirenoch’s magical elite. Though only thirty, Maedoc had gained the respect and admiration of the Great Druid for his great prowess with the energies of the Earth and the Universe. Even the lich Traegus respected him. The three of them had communed with the Great Mother on many occasions in the past, when Maedoc was still but a child, and their communications with her had only increased his power.

But Traegus was gone now; resigned to solitude on his own island somewhere to the west. Maedoc had not blamed him for his leaving, as the sight of a lich had often brought fear and suspicion to those who beheld him. Perhaps, Maedoc thought, the time would come when Traegus would either pass to the afterlife, or find some way to return.

Until that time came, Maedoc would simply do his best to make up for his absence.

Though it had been several years since Jodocus had visited, Maedoc longed to be in his company again. The Great Druid was fluent in all of the languages that had ever been spoken on Earth, and his assistance in learning Alvar would be of great value. The old man had a knack for making things easy to understand—when he wanted to—but he also enjoyed confusing and bewildering those whom he was tasked to help.

Maedoc had always liked that about him.

He smiled as he thought of the old man, and looked up at his window to gaze at the stars. Somewhere out there, he knew, the Great Druid was trudging away in the forest, doing what he did best—maintaining the balance.

Maedoc was startled by a knock on his door. He closed his tome, turning around to see a young messenger at the doorway.

What is it? he asked.

Pardon me, my lord, the young boy said. I have a letter for you.

At this hour? Maedoc asked, glancing at his clock. From whom?

The young boy stepped in, timidly handing him the small scroll. From a Master Ferrin of Faillaigh, he said, bowing his head.

Maedoc took the scroll, removing the red ribbon that tied it closed. He glanced at the boy, who still stood there for some reason.

Thank you, Ebhan, he said. You may go.

The boy bowed again, rushing out of the room. Maedoc unrolled the scroll, fully expecting a pointless letter of grievance—which was typical of those nobles of the south. He did find it strange, however, that the letter was from the servant of a noble, and not the noble himself. His curiosity was piqued.

Dearest Prince Maedoc of the House of Daegoth,

As a loyal servant of the throne of King Magnus V, it gives me great pleasure to correspond with, and introduce myself to, the rightful heir of our great land. I normally would not write to someone of such great prestige and honor without leave to do so, but a matter has surfaced that I feel requires your attention.

As you know, my lord, Darragh of Faillaigh, is also as loyal a man as could be. I fear he has been coerced into undesirable circumstances by not only his peers in the south, but by a member of the royal family. It is of great urgency that I discuss this matter with you, as I am aware of your great gift of sight. What is currently happening under the nose of the King could have dire consequences to the throne, I fear.

I formally request an audience with Your Majesty at your earliest convenience. This will be a meeting outside the presence (and knowledge) of my Lord. I fear for his life, and his title, should his situation be made public, and hope that we can meet in secret. If it pleases you, please contact Captain Baelion, who will relay any and all messages of acknowledgement.

Sincerely and regretfully,

Master Ferrin Cullainn of the House of Darragh

Maedoc let the letter rest in his lap and sighed with a mixture of confusion and intrigue.

An unusual request, he thought.

The servant of a noble would surely know the chain of command. He had never received a request for a secret meeting; not even from a noble himself. The fact that this Master Ferrin had requested such a thing was highly irregular. He thought briefly of crumbling up the letter and tossing it in the fireplace, but there was something about it that seemed out of the ordinary. It was a matter of dire consequences to the throne.

Why had Ferrin gone to the trouble of requesting a meeting with a member of the royal house if it was not the king himself? Surely his father would be better suited for such a thing. What would Maedoc have to offer? Why request a meeting with the court seer?

What did this young man want?

As he sat and contemplated the request, he realized that one thing was clear: Ferrin wanted to speak to him specifically. Why, he did not know. He sighed, shaking his head as he went back to his books. He would think on it, over a good night’s sleep perhaps.

But, he realized, it was far too strange to ignore.

Chapter Two

Garret lay prone on the moonlit roof of an old farm house on the outskirts of Faerbane. It was here, far beyond the wall and the eyes of the city guard, that the Red Hand captain had chosen to meet with associates of Lord Janar. The noble, one of the Red Hand’s lackeys, was not present himself, but had sent his messengers instead, much to Garret’s chagrin.

However, a high-ranking officer such as Captain Brael was a good target. He had tracked the man all the way from Ardin, having learned of his existence by eavesdropping in the local taverns. When he heard that Brael would be meeting with Janar—or his associates—near Faerbane, he wasted no time in finding him.

Two birds with one stone.

But since Janar had sent his messengers instead, that part of the plan was thwarted. He would have to kill the messengers as well as the captain to find out the purpose of the meeting. Seeing as it was arranged so far away from the city itself, Garret knew it was important.

The messengers had arrived in a carriage; there were two of them, each dressed in rich silks and velvet clothing. The captain wore the typical uniform with the Red Hand symbol on his breast plate. He was, however, draped with a cloak that hid his armor from all but the most observant.

Garret had recognized it immediately.

He had also arrived in a carriage, driven by a non-descript driver who was now asleep atop his bench like the other. Two more targets, Garret realized. He wondered why the good captain had not been accompanied by his own guards. Evidently he was not worried about those with whom he was about to meet.

Garret rolled over, making his way down the opposite side of the roof as quietly as possible, and dropped to the ground below. He thought first of shooting them with his bow, but decided that would make far too much noise.

Carefully, he crept around to the side of the house, making sure he stayed in the shadows. There was a wooden fence here, part of a pen that was to his right. He stayed on the inside of it, dashing from post to post as he went toward the closest carriage. The two vehicles were only about twelve feet apart, but that was far enough to kill either one without the other seeing.

Garret slipped through the fence, climbing up the back of the first carriage as quietly as possible. He stayed low when he reached the top, crawling with his dirk in his mouth as he inched toward the driver. The man sat there with his arms folded, and his head resting downward on his chest—snoring away like a bear.

Underneath the driver’s cloak he could see the same leather armor that the captain wore. This was no random driver hired to transport the captain; he was an official Red Hand employee. Fair game.

With a quick look to the other driver, Garret raised up and grabbed the man around the neck, jabbing his dirk into the soft flesh beneath the left ear. He struggled only for a second, and then went limp. Garret dragged him up and back, dropping down to the ground and pulling the body with him. He dragged it through the fence and into a small bunch of shrubs.

He then went to the other carriage, climbing up the back, just as before. This driver snored loudly, and Garret paused for a moment as he wondered if the others could hear him from the inside. Realizing it wouldn’t make much difference, he quickly dispatched the man and dragged him next to the other one, covering both bodies with leaves and other debris.

Now, he could listen in on the conversation inside—conceivably.

The two steps that led to the farm house’s porch were old and creaky. Garret bypassed them, stepping directly onto the wooden planks that made up the porch. There was a slight creak when he put his weight down, and he stopped momentarily to make sure no one had heard. Inside, the men were still talking amongst themselves; no interruptions so far. He continued toward the nearest window, leaning against the side of the house directly below the glass.

He heard muffled speech, but no details. It was unlikely he would be able to hear any conversations, thus would not get any information. But he wasn’t here for information, he was here to eliminate Captain Brael. That, he could do. From the looks of the Red Hand operative, the job would be easy. The man was inattentive, cocky, and overconfident; a characteristic of someone who had not faced an enemy head on, but had his men do the dirty work.

The others, Janar’s men, were of no consequence. They were simple servants, armed but likely not skilled. They looked fearsome, as extortionists usually did, but they too were likely unskilled when it came to direct battle.

Exploited peasants would only see their outer appearances. They looked frightening, nothing more.

Garret peaked up through the window, seeing the three men sitting around the table. The house around them was mostly empty, so there were few shadows inside. Every wall was bare and well-lit by the lantern on the center of the table. Captain Brael had spread a large document out on the table, and the three of them were hunched over it, pointing to various places and nodding to each other.

If the document was a map, it was likely similar to the one Garret already had, only with some updated information. He and Etanos had shut down the Red Hand’s operation at the mines, with the help of the rangers, so the new map probably detailed new smuggling routes. It would be useful either way.

One of Janar’s men produced a leather pouch and handed it to Brael. The captain took it, smiling strangely. He stuffed it in his cloak without inspecting its contents, and handed the man a small wooden scroll case about as long as his hand. The man took it, smiling, and opened it. Inside, was a small scroll; grayish, as if written on some kind of old leather.

What could it be, Garret wondered?

With that, Brael stood, pointing to a few places on the map. The two men looked at each other nodding, and one of them offered his hand to Brael. The captain shook it and slid in his chair. The two men began rolling up the map. Evidently, the meeting was over.

Garret slipped to the corner of the house, vaulting the railing onto the ground below. He produced his bow, knocking an arrow, and waited. He would allow Brael to go to his own carriage, and dispatch him from afar, and then take on the two messengers from behind.

He heard the door open, and the voices of the three men finally became audible.

Don’t forget, Captain Brael said. If Janar doesn’t send his guards to join our ranks, then he forfeits all benefits.

He will be most willing to join, one of the men replied. I assure you. He has the most loyal men in the kingdom, as you can well imagine. He pays very well.

Captain Brael grunted. Good, good. Once we have assembled a formidable force, the queen will arrange for the aforementioned… attacks on the villages. Then we can eliminate the rangers together. They will be no match for the Red Hand.

Garret winced. So, the Red Hand had plans to remove the rangers. That made sense as a tactic. Without the rangers guarding and patrolling the roadways and surrounding forests, the Red Hand would have free reign in the south. The only thing that didn’t make sense was that the queen herself was deeply involved in the south’s politics. She had the nobles eating out of her hand, right under the king’s nose. She could do whatever she wanted, and Magnus never got involved.

Garret wondered why. What was it about the king that made him so dismissive of these things? Surely, as the Onyx Dragon, he would not only be aware of everything that happened in his kingdom, but would do everything in his power to prevent his people from suffering as they did. Was he under some kind of spell?

Janar must keep the scroll on him at all times for the wards to be effective, Captain Brael said, stepping off of the porch. Understand?

Understood, captain, the messenger replied. Good travels to you, sir. We will wait for you to depart before we leave.

Very well, Captain Brael said.

Garret watched the captain make his way toward the carriages. He heard the door to the farm house close as the messengers went back inside. Smiling, he pulled back his bow, waiting for the captain to pass the first carriage. When he was out of the line of sight, Garret loosed, striking the captain square in the back. He heard the man groan, and quickly shouldered his bow and drew his dirk to finish him off.

The captain lay face down, groaning with pain and breathing his last breaths. Garret quickly dispatched him with a rough thrust of his dirk. He felt the man relax soon after, and sheathed his blade. He felt around for the pouch that the messenger had given the captain, finding it in the cloak, full and heavy with coin. Garret grinned.

Thank you, sir, he whispered. A nice hot meal and a warm bed for me tonight.

He stuffed the pouch into his cloak, and stood to peek around the end of the carriage. The others were still inside, he saw, so he swiftly went back to the house. He could either wait for the two to come out, or simply burst in and surprise them. Either way would work, but he needed that map. Bursting in and attacking might cause too much of a ruckus, endangering the map. Any scuffle that occurred could knock over the lantern and set the map on fire, and probably the whole house.

Before he could decide, the door opened and he heard the men step out.

Why is he still here? one asked out loud.

I don’t know, the other said. But where is our driver?

Garret heard the ring of steel as both men drew their blades. He gripped his saber and dirk, waiting for the two men to bound down the steps and toward the carriages. As they passed, he stood, following them silently as they investigated. When they reached their carriage, one went left and one went right. Garret followed the smaller man that went left, drawing his dirk and grabbing him around the neck. He thrust the blade into the man’s back, hearing and feeling the point puncture the man’s leather armor. There was a slight struggle, then stillness as the man went limp.

Garret gently set him down, crouching by the edge of the carriage.

What the hell? he heard the other man exclaim.

Garret leaped out of the shadows and drew his saber with the same motion. The man’s eyes went wide when he spotted him, and Garret easily dispatched him before he could even react. He sheathed his blade as the man fell to his knees and toppled forward.

Sorry, friend, Garret said. Let’s see what you have.

He searched both men thoroughly. Neither had anything of value on them, except for the small scroll. Garret opened the case and removed it, unrolling it under the moonlight. He could see very little, only a few faded runes on its leather surface. He would have to examine it in better light, and possibly have someone translate it for him.

Shrugging, he went back to the farmhouse to retrieve the map. It was still there on the table, with the lantern sitting beside it. It was nearly identical to the one he already had, but with different lines and writings, much as he expected. The Red Hand had changed their routes, and even a few new places were marked. One of them was Faillaigh, he noticed. Lord Darragh’s house was in Faillaigh. Lord Darragh, whose servant was Ferrin.

Garret grumbled. So that contrived worm is involved, he growled. I should have known.

Though he didn’t know Ferrin, the young man didn’t seem to be a terribly bad person. Garret didn’t like him that much, but as a thief, surely he would have ties to the Red Hand, especially being in the employ of Darragh. Were there any nobles left in the south who still had allegiance to the king?

Swamp rats. All of them, he said, rolling up the map.

Sneering, he stood back and kicked over the table. The lantern shattered on the floor, and it wasn’t long before the main room of the house was in flames. He exited, jumping down onto the ground and returning to the carriages as the house began to burn. He cut the horses loose, taking one for himself. He wasn’t sure where he would go, but one thing was certain; Lord Janar would be his next target. And then, if need be, Darragh.

He would take down the Red Hand and avenge his mentor, he swore.

With a yip and a tug on the reigns, he turned the horse eastward. Faerbane was a day’s ride away, and he now had the funds to find a room for his stay. There, he would watch his target, finding out everything he could before killing him. And if the queen was there, she too would be watched. There was much more going on than a simple smuggling ring, he realized, and it was obvious that the queen had something to do with it.

He loathed the thought of assassinating her. But if it came to it, he would do so without regret. The kingdom was in danger.