Cronous Fall of Undal: DRAGON COURT, #3

By Katrina Sisowath

The lines are drawn between the Royal House of Undal and the Dragon Court, led by the Royal House of Magan. Cronous and Rhea have gathered to their side ten nations, forming their own empire, one great enough to confront their former friends and allies. Yet victory is not assured.

The Annunaki have their own plans on how to deal with the upstart King and Queen and they keep their own counsel, leaving those that serve them uncertain of what is to come.

With both sides forced to seek out new allies, make alliances with old enemies and confront family on opposing sides of the battlefield, who will go too far?

• Language: English
• Publisher: KS Dragon Court
• Release date: Jan 28, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215077283

Katrina Sisowath

Katrina Sisowath is a British mythological fantasy writer and researcher. She is known for her captivating stories that blend ancient myths and legends with elements of fantasy to create unique and immersive worlds. Her passion for mythology and fantasy began at a young age, leading her to study  Asian Languages and Literature at University. With a background in research, she brings a wealth of knowledge and authenticity to her writing, making her stories both entertaining and educational. Katrina's debut novel, "Ninkha Serpent Priestess", published by KS Dragon Court, was met with critical acclaim, and earned her a spot on the "Amazon" bestseller list. Her follow-up series, "Dragon Court," has also been a commercial and critical success, solidifying her place as a leading voice in the mythological fantasy genre. Beyond her writing, Katrina Sisowath is an active member of the fantasy writing community, often participating in book festivals, conventions, and speaking engagements. She is also a mentor to aspiring writers, sharing her knowledge and experience to help others achieve their writing goals. Katrina Sisowath currently resides in the United Kingdom with her husband Charidy and her two children, where she continues to write and research for her next projects.

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Cronous:  Fall of Undal

Dragon Court Book 3

Copyright ©2023 KS Dragon Court / Katrina SIsowath. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercialuses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed Attention: Permissions Coordinator, at the address below.

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Books in this Series:

Ninkha—Serpent Priestess

Rhea—Doom of Undal

Cronous- Fall of Undal

Innana—Queen of Heaven and Earth

Aset—Holy Crocodile

Tur—Serpent Slayer

Maran—Serpent’s End

Chapter One

On the outskirts of a sleepy little village on a large island comprised of rocks, dry shrubs, goats, and not much else, a strange man lived alone with his child. He had been spotted one day with a pale, sickly woman in a small weather-beaten boat and had been rescued by the chief fisherman. The woman had died soon afterwards, having given the last of her life in the nourishment of the child. The villagers, being of a sympathetic nature, offered to shelter the man and feed the babe, who was in dire need of milk and faced certain starvation should the man be compelled to seek shelter elsewhere.

The man gratefully accepted their offer and explored the island while the women fussed over the tiny child. He must have been born at sea, said one to another, Look at his size.

Yes, and by his size, he might have been born early, or that poor woman did not have enough to eat while he was in her womb.

His father certainly looks half-starved.

Such a tragedy. How did they end up on a boat?

Perhaps they were not married. Other lands have strange customs and punishments for children born out of wedlock.

They certainly seem ill-matched. She looked as though she was a servant, while he looks as though he was a fighting man, though it is hard to tell under all his hair.

Perhaps they were a sacrifice to the Sea-Gods and we should not have saved them. We cannot afford to risk the Gods’ wrath

Don’t be silly. The Sea-God does not demand such sacrifice. Anyhow, would you throw this child into the sea?

See how he suckles you Pene. He may be small but he will drain you.

Lucky that I have extra then, I make too much for little Hera anyhow.

Do we have any swaddling for this little one?

I have some he can have; my babe has outgrown his swaddling.

If you keep feeding him the way you have, he will outgrow your husband’s clothing before his tenth year.

Oh, speaking of men, does anyone have something that will fit the father?

Well, Neala’s husband is the tallest in our village, perhaps his will fit best

It will still be too short

It will have to do until we can spin enough wool to make a suitable tunic and cape.

Poor, poor baby. Why has your fate been so unkind? To never know your mother, said the woman on whose breast the child latched.

Pene, are you crying? Silly woman, you’ll water your milk.

The man of whom everyone wondered about came back in, clearly fatigued. Whatever he had seen in his exploration, he evidently was satisfied. Accepting some food and drink, he fell to it with a gusto that proved he had not eaten in a long, long, time.

The chief’s wife Neala watched him eat, and then offered him the use of the bath house. Cleaned, scrubbed, oiled and hair trimmed, he soon re-joined them, presenting a much less malodourous figure. He picked the child up, cradled it tenderly in his arms and then sank to the floor, resting against the wall for support before drifting off.

When he woke, he found the child once again feeding eagerly. I apologize for his incessant hunger.

Oh, it’s no problem. We are a healthy people, with plenty to eat. One little mouth and one big mouth to feed is no trouble, was the cheery response.

The chief entered the tent, Your wife’s body has been dressed and laid out. What are your funeral rites?

My wi....? Oh, I would not wish to inconvenience you after all you have done for us. It would be an honour for her to be buried according to the customs of those who have saved her son.

The chief nodded, Then we will take her out to sea and lay her to rest so that her body can be consumed by the fish, who in turn give us succour.

Suron said, I will accompany you, to say farewell and give praise to one who risked all for the sake of the babe.

Rising, he went with Chief Tamu down to the shore and helped the men row the boat until it was at a great enough distance that the body would not find itself back on shore.

Placing his hand on the woman’s forehead, Suron spoke softly in a language he did not expect those with him to know, Farewell, thank you for your sacrifice and your care of the child. Your dedication has not gone unnoticed. I will see that your name and deed is not forgotten. Then he stood back as those accompanying him unwrapped the shroud (being a hardy, temperate people subsiding on what their land provided, they were never wasteful) and pushed the woman as nude as the day she was born into the warm, salty comfort of the planet’s womb. Unseeing eyes gazed up at him until the body sank into the depths far out of sight where currents would sweep her up and carry her to unknown seas.

I know not what danger you fled from, but you have been saved by one of ours. That makes you our guest and so we are obliged to feed and shelter you for as long as you reside with us. Though I must ask, are you planning to stay or do you wish a boat to leave? Tamu asked as they began to row back to shore.

I would like to stay, though not as a guest. I intend to earn my keep. All I ask is that I be allowed to raise my son in accordance with our customs.

So long as our people are not in danger from these customs, I see no reason to refuse.

Your people are not in danger from us, I assure you.  If you haven’t heard of what is occurring elsewhere, I can only assume you are so far removed from other lands my son will be safe.

Is he important to someone?

He was intended as a sacrifice. Those deprived of him will not be happy at our escape.

Will they seek him out?

I think they have other worries at present. And a child changes so quickly I do not think they would recognize him, even if they did see him again.

But you?

I have already changed beyond recognition during the voyage. No one will know me if I choose not to be recognized.

Then you are welcome to stay. We shall build you a hut.

No, if it’s alright, I would prefer to dwell in a cave I saw on the second beach from yours.

I know the one. It’s nearly impassable, with only one way in from land and the shore is too rocky for any boat to land. Are you certain you will be comfortable?

Yes, while my son and I will work alongside you and your people, I will train him as I was trained. One day he will avenge his mother’s death. To that end I need the cliffs and caves to train him in, Suron said, not willing to trust Tamu with the truth: that should Cronous’ men ever come looking for him, he would need to be able to hide Crous in the caves and have an escape route planned. By that time the villagers will hopefully trust him enough to flee as well.

I will need some goats, though. Are there any I can purchase? I have some gold.

We have no need of such gold, useless metal that brings fire to the heart but no warmth to the belly. I know of one who has more goats than his children can take care of, he will trade you the goats in exchange for aid in extending his hut.

Suron was pleased with this: he could keep his gold for the future and he did not have to worry about the villagers trying to steal his store. He would also need some basic furnishings for the cave to make it fit for dwelling but, most importantly, he would have a place where he could store and imbibe the orme provided to him by the servant before he left Undal. It was large enough to last him at least five years, possibly six, if he took it sparingly. By that time the war should be ended, he would be captured by Cronous, or found and held by the Dragon Court. Until then he would be grateful for this small mercy. A glimpse in the water as he had watched the wet nurse sink confirmed that his appearance might be permanent: he was hirsute all over his back, shoulders and chest, with the beard of a Northman. His nose and jaw were enlarged so much as to be unrecognizable as the Prince of Undal. Only his eyes gave any hint as to who he really was and those were well hidden amongst his eyebrows and lashes. At least he hadn’t transformed as the others who had followed him from Tartaria. They, along with Rhea when he had last seen her, were now half human, half beast. Only a great strength of will had kept him from succumbing to the smell of blood and losing himself altogether. At least he had orme and some goats to replenish him and control the urges.

Suron found himself accepted into the community and came to enjoy his new life forged on the strange island: blinding white rocks, jagged cliffs, sandy beaches with a sky and sea of lapis lazuli. If he had been born a fisherman in that village he would never have left.

It was soon discovered that Crous (a name Suron thought much about on the voyage, deciding at last that he would hide the boy until he came of age, at which point the child would need both the name and Rhea’s ring—which Suron had had the presence of mind to snatch as they fled-in order to prove himself the worthy heir of Undal) would not sleep through the night, being hungry at all hours. So the kindly women of the village who were lactating took it in turns to have him sleep alongside their own baby while Suron was able to get uninterrupted sleep for the first time that he could remember.

He slept as one who is recovering from a lengthy, life-threatening illness. He slept before the sun went down and woke long after the sun had reached its zenith. Always, the potions his brother had given him wore on his mind and grated on his nerves. A part of him longed for the taste of blood while the other part repudiated it. He knew, as any who had developed an affinity for certain substances, that it would take time before he no longer thought of it, time along with lots of sleep, food and sweating it out. The villagers let him recover his strength, bringing him a fish stew every day, never waking him and watching eagerly as he climbed up one jagged cliff or another before diving headfirst into the sea. He would crawl up the beach reddened from the sun, fatigued, yet also restful, as though whatever demonic issue inside him had been purged just a little more.

Eventually the day came when he rose before dawn and joined in the fishing expedition, returning then to help the one who had sold him the goats build an extension for the hut. After the midday meal he came to care for Crous, bouncing the child on his knee, laughing as the baby squealed when he tickled him with his beard and the woman who was caring for Crous smiled. Dear brother, it is good to see you recovered. You look as though you have found peace, she said.

I have, and I feel blessed. For the first time in forever.

It was tragic for your son to lose his mother, but do not worry, he will have many here.

I am grateful. I could not have wished for a better people to live amongst.

Chapter Two

Hathor stood in the midst of a group of children, wiping the sweat from her brow. Playing with them in her favourite garden had been fun, though it was harder to catch the little ones toddling on their chubby legs than she had thought. Still, to know that they had finally settled and no longer cried for their parents except when under duress had given her some much-needed relief. Sonchis was with the elder children, teaching them language, math and science. Hathor looked at her young charges and hoped they would not have to flee. Magan was perfect. Should they have to leave they would have to go to Tartaria on a prolonged overland trip and, if it were winter, they might find themselves stuck in the midst of a vast forest or in the unthinkable heights of the mountains, with no protection and little in the way of shelter or food. Shiimti would be her preferred choice, but it was too close to Undal. Only Tartaria could match Magan in defense as the route to Madayi Kavu passed through lands now allied to Undal.

The Kispu came out, ready to begin the favourite part of her day: telling the youngest tots stories of Nibiru, the exploits of the Annunaki who came to Tiamut and the birth of the humans. Once again, Hathor was struck by how young the Kispu looked. If one didn’t know who she was then one would suppose her to be Hathor’s mother, still very much in her prime. Hathor could not recall, in all the time she had watched her own parents’ age, the Kispu herself appearing any different. And yet she had often heard the M’hor complain of how life on Tiamut had aged her far beyond what her contemporaries on Duranki would age. Hathor knew of the sacrifices those who had chosen to stay on Tiamut had made in staying with those who had been created, instead of enjoying a life of continuous beauty and wonder with their fellow Annunaki. Yet Hathor wondered if the M’hor would have had a position of power and respect on Duranki, such as she had on Tiamut. Brushing that disloyal thought out of her mind, she was surprised that all the children had assembled without so much as a voice raised in command and were now seated cross-legged in a semi-circle around the Kispu.

She had no idea how the high priestess did it. Never once had a child misbehaved in Tashmetu’s presence, neither had one been sent to her for discipline. She had never had to chase a child, threaten it or cajole it as Hathor had sometimes, to her shame, done and yet the children loved the Kispu and came to her willingly. They were not afraid of her as one might assume, witnessing the speed at which they came when she called. No, to them she was Grandma, the one they showed their skinned knees and torn cuticles to, the one they whispered their bad dreams to, the one whose lap they were now vying to sit on. Hathor recalled how awed her and her sisters had been of their ancestress, she had been busy and they had seen her seldom. Perhaps if she had told them stories daily, they would have not been as dumbstruck in her presence.

Then again, these were tiny children, ripped away from their mothers and fathers. The Kispu’s motherly side had come to the fore and the stern priestess had retreated in the face of these helpless, frightened babes.

Settling down under the shade of a nearby tree, Hathor accepted a cold goblet of water, glad for the temporary reprieve, before noticing that the one who had offered her the drink was not a servant, but her sister. Smiling wearily at Sobekh, she patted the earth beside her.

I do not want to sit too close, laughed Sobekh, I’ve just come in from the training yard and smell like a day old uncooked fish. I saw you here as I was passing by and thought you could use a drink.

How goes the training? asked Hathor, squinting up at her sister clad in scaled armour, putting the viewer in mind of a serpent stood upright, as the light reflected myriad colours and dazzled the eye. The effects of the weapon training were evident; her sister’s arms and legs were stronger than she had ever seen them, thin cords of sinew rippling beneath the bronzed skin.

Well, I did not think I would enjoy this as much as I do, but I could do without the soreness.

I still don’t think you will do much fighting—that is for Chifu, isn’t it?

Yet if he should fall or if the front is overrun, I will need to do my part.

Just don’t lose too much blood; I need it for my healing potions. You’re the strongest priestess in Magan with that gift at present.

Sobekh grimaced, I had completely forgotten—never had to use it before. Can’t you take it now to make the potions? I do need my strength on the day of battle—should it come.

Hathor thought a moment, It won’t be as fresh, but perhaps if it is kept cold as I saw those in Tartaria do, then it would still work. The only place that would be cold enough, though, would be at the bottom of the Great River.

Then I will instruct men to set up an area that you could easily reach to store the potions.

Could you also have them place a fence around it? I don’t want any crocodiles near my potions

Not a problem. So, when do we start?

Tonight after the children have gone to bed. I will need to prepare the other ingredients and then I will take some of the blood. You need to eat the food and drink I will instruct the cook to make and imbibe some orme before I draw the blood. And every time you menstruate, I will need that blood.

How much blood do you need?

I will only take a little, once a week. And the menstrual blood. We may not be as strong as the Annunaki Priestesses of old, but on the battlefield what little strength you possess in your blood may make a difference between life and death to your injured soldiers.

Then you had better take as much as you can.

Only as much as will not weaken you and you will have to follow a strict diet in order to be able to practice weaponry every day.

Sobekh laughed, And here I thought you just knew how to make herbal potions and remedies.

Well you would think that, always so serious with your nose in the books or gazing up at the stars.

How many poisons can you make?

I don’t believe there are any I can’t, why do you ask?

If Undal comes to Magan and our shields are weakening, which they might, as though our priests and priestesses are strong, eventually their voices will give and we will need yet another defence-one such as you can make. I do not wish to use fire as that would destroy our land.

Yet a poison directed at our enemy would eviscerate them........yes, I see what you mean. Well, if what we’ve heard of Cronous and Rhea’s rituals are correct, then I would rather the whole lot of them die painful deaths covered in suppurating boils than for them to get their hands on one of these children. Let me look at what I have in my garden and at my texts and we can decide on the best option.

Good and we will share our findings with our allies. It may be if we can poison the water or air where they are camped now, we may need never engage in combat.

Sobekh rose as the story ended and the children began to get up, looking for Hathor. I will see you later.

Stay, do you not want to play with them?

Little minx, I see the furrowed lines on your face whenever you’re with them. Perhaps we should trade places for a day, you wield this sword against a foe that stands a head taller while I climb trees with these little monkeys, and as she said that she picked up the two who had reached her first, swinging them around until they grew dizzy and begged to be put down again. As they stumbled into one another and collapsed on the ground, the Kispu came up. I see all the effort I put into enlightening their minds has just gone to waste.

The more intrepid of the two stood back up and demanded, again. Hathor interrupted before Sobekh became inundated with requests. Not now, it’s time for a snack, she said, leading them away.

Tashmetu turned to Sobekh, I heard what you were talking about with Hathor. I have to say it has filled my heart with pride to watch you become the queen that you are. Do keep to the diet she gives you. I might join in the giving of the blood for the healing potions, so I will be partaking of the same bitter herbs as you. I might not be of childbearing years, but my blood may be sufficient for humans.

Most likely, Kispu. Have you never tried it?

I never had reason to. I’ve always compared my blood to that of the other Annunaki, thinking that mine was no longer strong enough for the uses demanded of the priestesses. I must talk to my brother when he returns; perhaps he will have some ideas on how to make the limited supply of blood go further.

That night, Tashmetu, Sobekh and Hathor met at the altar of the Temple of Youth. In a subterranean chamber under theirs, a choir of priests and priestesses had congregated, singing the hymns that awakened healing, vigour and energy in those at whom the song was directed. The walls around the three women reverberated as the sound struck again and again, yet it was not unpleasant. Hathor had set up the equipment in a room not affected by sound as some of the instruments were fragile, and was now waiting for the moment to draw the blood from soon to be opened veins and add it to the awaiting liquid which sat cooling.

For the sake of all that is holy, will you not stop wriggling? Tashmetu snapped—the singers immediately silent. You are supposed to use the sounds, the scents, and the lights to draw into yourself, reach your centre and awaken your third eye and yet your thoughts are whirling so loud I can hear them.

I just can’t stop thinking of everything that is happening. I try, but it used to be so much, well actually, not that much easier to do when I was an acolyte here, Sobekh said softly.

You haven’t practised much since then. That at least is evident. Well, you’ll just have to try harder to think less.

Sobekh glanced up; tempted to bring to the priestess’ attention the incongruity of her instruction when she saw Tashmetu’s eyes were still closed. Chastened, she glanced at her sister, but Hathor seemed as imperturbable as ever as she waited in a kneeling position, hands clasped gently. Looking up, Hathor smiled at her sister before reaching for more orme and some wine. Handing it to Sobekh, she whispered, Have some more, it will help I promise. And try not to think about what is happening outside. Only think of how many people we will be able to save with what we are making.

Sobekh took the orme, and then sipped some wine. It had been mixed with an herb, rendering it slightly bitter. Quelling her sudden impulse to spit it back out, she threw her sister an evil look before gulping it down as fast as she could. The singers had started their chanting again, a soft, rhythmic ‘om, om, om’ with others then joining in with high and low harmonies, increasing in both tempo and volume before stopping......and then starting again, and again, and again. Soon Sobekh lost count how many times that same chant had been sung, becoming lost in the beauty of the voices, trying to listen for one particular voice and then another. Her eyes focused on the flame of a single candle in front of her—-where had that come from? All else was in shadow and though she could hear Tashmetu’s and Hathor’s gentle breaths, she could not see them and she did not feel at all inclined to.

The world outside receded as the flame became a pinprick of light in the centre of her mind, her chest rose and fell in time to the chants, her hands were stilled and there was no awareness of her limbs, her neck ache had disappeared. Concentrating only on that light and letting all else fall away; she remained in a trance until she found a stirring at the base of her spine. It continued moving up until it reached the middle of her back, the centre of her shoulder blades, up her neck until it settled in the crown of her head. There was a momentary pause and then a rush of pleasure that she had never felt, even in the most memorable of the occasions she had spent in bed with her husband. Gasping, she woke up to find one arm in a tourniquet and her sister drawing blood from a vein.

It poured into a vase which contained a milky liquid that was steadily turning pink as her blood combined with it. Catching her breath, she looked up to see Tashmetu leaning against the altar, her eyes closed. She was no longer meditating though, but resting. She had already given her blood and there was a