War for the Realm: Light of Adua, #7

By Brien Feathers

Brethren turn to enemies, and enemies to allies.

Constantine bows to Keket as he recalls his former self, but the faith of the mad priest conflicts with his loyalty to the queen. As the dark queen wreaks havoc aboard the Redeemer, the priest must choose between his queen and his God.

Commander Drake and his champion Marcus quarrel like children. Unbeknownst to them both, the deal has turned sour, and calamity awaits at sea. Before there is any hope of saving the realm from the apocalypse, Drake must first do what he cannot: kill Sasuke.

Chosen by the dark queen as her champion and tricked into accepting the task, Warlord Sasuke must defeat Drake to save his beloved Giselle.

The fate of the realm shall be decided in the battle of wills between father and son. The victor takes all in the war for the realm.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Brien Feathers
• Release date: Feb 25, 2023
• ISBN: 9789919985486

Brien Feathers

Dark fantasy author, poet, screenwriter, and cat enthusiast living in the land of Mongols.

Book preview

War for the Realm

Light of Adua, Book 7

Brien Feathers

image-placeholder

Brien Feathers

Copyright © 2023 by Brien Feathers

All rights reserved.

No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

The characters in this book are entirely fictional. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

Cover design by Karen Dimmick at Arcanecovers.com

Contents

Princess and the Knight

1. Redeemer

2. Stranger

3. Lamb

4. Adonai

5. Cruel

Prince and the Champion

6. Minerva

7. Wokou

8. Dawn

9. Run

Warlord and the Past

10. Raijin

11. Prison

12. Son

13. Raven

14. Ren

15. Husband

16. Wrath

Soldiers and Commanders

17. Durak

18. Rendezvous

19. The Vine

20. Intentions

21. Must

22. Zvesda

23. Weakness

24. Enemy

Battle for Zvesda

25. Bell

26. Assault

27. Night

28. Dawn

29. Betrayal

30. Fight

31. Exceptional

Ever After

32. Reaper

33. Light of Adua

From the Author

"Fire is clear, but death is not. The decision not yet made, fate is uncertain. I see a hinge and the door swings with a word, mercy… Shoo! A wren has nested in my roof. A child of a slain mother and a son of none, I hold fate not in my hand but my mouth. Mercy, I must say it. An act of kindness, I must speak it…"

Headmistress Nia of Suns,

The fifth era of the dragon millennium of the High Council

Princess and the Knight

Chapter 1

Redeemer

The reflection of the full moon glistened as if God had dropped a golden bowl in the ocean. At the deepest hour of the night, the constellations were bright overhead. The calm waters sloshed lazily as the Redeemer sliced forward, her many cables creaking and the hull groaning softly.

Ferah, a beautiful boy who bit his lower lip when he smiled, wore concern on his face. Elbows propped on the ship’s railing, his thick black hair tied loosely behind the head with stray strands falling over his neck and face, his gaze wandered through the dark waters, lost in his own mind. Nailah need not be an empath to feel his aura full of doubt—a common theme on board the Redeemer as of late.

Ferah glanced back over his shoulder before he spoke, the light of the lantern falling on his face. He was checking to see if there was anyone else around, but Nailah knew it was only them above the deck—no one else was in earshot.

I can’t do that, he whispered, then turned his gaze back to the dark horizon.

Whatever else she is, she’s one of us, an Elder, Nailah whispered back, leaning into Ferah, who inadvertently touched the silver knife wrapped to his arm—he had two, one on each wrist. A telekinetic, he never missed.

I can’t do that. Not without Father’s say so, said Ferah.

But she poisons his mind, hissed Nailah. What kind of angel travels as ravens?

That’s not for me to know. Ferah may walk away from the lantern light and disappear into the night, but he couldn’t hide his doubt from Nailah—no one could.

They were sailing to a group of militant islands, hostile waters she’d been told, risking all for a single woman—a stranger—who claimed to be a queen. But if there was to be a queen bee… well, the Redeemer was Nailah’s hive.

After Ferah left, Nailah stood alone for some time, then as she heard the night shift returning to the deck she descended the ladders and sauntered the passageways as she’d done for decades. The Redeemer was her home.

Before she pulled open her cabin door she knew Constantine was inside with one of his Obedients, but which Obedient she couldn’t tell for they all had the same aura—red. As she entered, she saw it was the captain of the ship. Tall standing next to any other than Constantine, the captain was a lanky man, tough despite the skin-on-bones look. Sailors had surprising strength beyond their physical appearance. Perhaps it was the life and work at sea that hardened men.

Jasvik, the captain, was in his fifties now, but Nailah remembered him being twenty. She’d also known the captain before him—Jonah died of the flu.

Nailah frowned as she closed the door behind her. The room smelled of blood, still. Dalila hadn’t cleaned well. At the far end of the cabin, by the long table in front of the tall windows, Constantine and Jasvik were speaking, pointing at something splayed out on the table—probably a map. They had numerous instruments out, which Nailah recognized to be navigation tools.

Decorated with ancient Egyptian artifacts that Nailah enjoyed, the cabin glowed soft orange from the many candelabras and hanging lanterns. Constantine didn’t like the dark and kept the light on till dawn.

It’s late, Nailah said to no one in particular as she kicked off her shoes. The old boards were smooth and warm. The sway of the Redeemer was as familiar to her as her own gait.

You get some rest, said Constantine without looking at her, and continued his discussion with Jasvik. Are you certain? I’d rather not shindig with their navy, he was saying as Nailah sat down by her vanity and began taking the pins out of her hair, massaging her tired scalp as she dropped the hairpins adorned with gemstones into a jewelry box. She watched Constantine in the mirror; he was concerned, same as Ferah—same as everyone else.

As certain as I can be, Father. Jasvik scratched his head. I’ve never been there before. Then he laughed. "You’d know. We’ve never been there before."

Humming to herself, Nailah brushed her hair in the mirror. Her skin was smooth, the color of a bronze statue and she contrasted greatly with the white knight speaking to his captain in the mirror. Her fangs were long and curved, like a viper, giving her the appearance of an overbite although her jaw was perfectly aligned. She preferred Constantine’s fangs. They were sharp, narrow, and felt like a tip of a blade dragging down her neck, his breath warm.

There are four main islands and the rest are… specks, as many as the grains of sands, Jasvik said. As long as we steer clear of the mainland, we should meet no resistance. The trouble is in finding the single grain in a fistful of sand.

These waters are pirate-infested, I hear, said Constantine.

Aye, but the Wokou are past their prime, Father. They might as well be floating on a plank of wood. We’ll out gun and out sail them at every turn.

I still want my ship intact and my sailors in full numbers. Avoid them if you can.

Of course, Father.

The men’s voices were lost in the hiss of the sea and creaking of the hull as Nailah walked across the Persian carpet, moving farther away from them. She snuffed the candle burning by the bed, then lay down and closed her eyes—not to sleep, but to do a headcount as she did every night.

A hundred and thirty-seven Obedients, including Captain Jasvik, and a hundred and fifty Elders including Nailah and Constantine. A hundred and fifty-one, as of recent, with the addition of Dalila from Tanzania. Nailah liked her because she was an empath like her, someone able to see emotions in the colors of the aura and feel intentions through closed doors. A healer, Dalila called herself, and Nailah had begged Constantine to spare her, hoping they’d be friends, but more often than not she found the healer’s company dull.

Then, there were the others. About a hundred—she didn’t count—lost souls in the cargo bay who Constantine was bent on saving. She didn’t like crawling her empath tentacle that way, to the cargo bay, because there, all she felt was despair.

Why not repent then and find salvation? Constantine sought only to save. It was better to be imprisoned in the flesh than to be damned eternally. That was the templar knight’s true mission: to save whom he could before they stood in front of their maker. How the ‘queen’ factored into that, Nailah was yet to understand. Constantine had explained to the disciples that she was an angel sent by God to bring about the apocalypse, the judgment day. Nailah would believe him if he believed it himself, but she couldn’t ignore the doubt the queen’s presence brought to his soul. Like a disillusioned child, the knight’s aura was devastated. The others felt it too, for the ‘queen’ called Constantine ‘Sethos’, and he bent the knee to her, ‘My Queen’.

Constantine did not kneel. Perhaps to God, but not to a woman who called him a heretic name. For centuries Constantine had avoided a direct clash with human courts and military, but here they were, sailing right into war. The unspoken question—silent on the tongue but heavy in the heart—spread through the Redeemer like the flu, infecting all with the disease of doubt.

The queen who came and went as she pleased wasn’t on the ship, and having done her nightly rounds, Nailah had fallen asleep when she heard the cabin door close and groaned. Assuming Jasvik had left, she wanted to get up and change into her nightgown but the rocking of the Redeemer, her cradle home, lulled her right back to sleep.

Once, I asked the most beautiful woman for a dance. Constantine was over her, his weight pressing her down.

‘You shouldn’t do that,’ she said, Nailah whispered with her eyes closed. "‘The shah will kill you’."

I’m rather hard to kill. He ripped her dress.

Then she was awake.

A duel to the death, that was how he won her—a hundred and fifty years ago.

image-placeholder

Nailah woke up first and ran her nails down Constantine’s naked back, his breathing slow and deep.

Princess, he whispered, then baby blue eyes—the color of clear skies—opened one at a time to peer at her. Nearly twice the height of Nailah, Constantine was made of strength, every inch of him. He turned on his back, draping his arm around her, and they would have stayed in bed a little longer had there not been a knock at the door.

Father. It was Darius, a Persian like Nailah but paler than Constantine. Merely a skin tone deviation, it did not affect the color of his aura. Father, there is heavy fog. Jasvik isn’t certain where we are.

Constantine did not take the Lord’s name in vain, but he did utter, Fuck, as he got up. A silver cross dangled from his neck as the knight got dressed.

‘Why silver?’ Nailah had asked long ago.

‘To remind myself I’m mortal,’ had been his answer.

Nailah yawned, stretched, and after Constantine left, she cleaned herself with a damp cloth, brushed her teeth and hair, then sat by the vanity with a glass mirror—a precious item Constantine had gifted her—and began putting the many pins back into her hair. She’d wear a gold choker with a white cotton dress, she’d decided, and was doing that when Dalila came in after a courtesy knock. The healer had a bucket of water and either the water or she reeked of urine. Nailah wrinkled her nose.

Better take a bath, dear.

Dalila sniffed her own attire, then said, I’m sorry. I just came from the cargo bay.

"You’re washing them?" Nailah was aghast.

No, I have to feed them. Morning rounds. The healer kept her head down, made the bed, then scrubbed the floor as Nailah tried on different chokers.

Dalila, although pretty, was a miserable empath. She didn’t like being here, Nailah got that. But why not make the best of her circumstances? One, she was alive, and two, she wasn’t in the cargo bay. Constantine had thought to drown her to death, but Nailah had pleaded for her life—she was yet to see the gratitude.

image-placeholder

Water breaking at the prow left a white foaming streak alongside the hull, but the world beyond the bow was a mystery in the white haze. Nailah reviled the Dutch flag flying above the mast, in place of Constantine’s templar insignia.

If we lose any more wind, we’re going to be dead in the water, she heard Jasvik say. He was at the bow with Constantine and the sailors were sounding orders back and forth, running along the deck, trying to capture the smallest breeze in the sagging sails.

Bad omen. Cedar, a light bender, flicked the spinning pendant of St. Anthony he wore around his neck—the patron saint of lost things.

You always say that, said Darius who was to Nailah’s left, and they three—Nailah, Cedar, and Darius—were gawking into the mist, with elbows propped on the railing alongside each other.

With his telekinetic hand, Ferah was waving a torchlight far above the mainmast and Darius’s necromancers, all hundred of them it seemed, were on the deck as well. Although most hid it from their faces, concern flaked everyone’s aura. Jasmine and Joseph, twin necromancers that appeared as children, were sitting by a water barrel and singing an old hymn whilst they threaded a crown with rodent skulls.

Of the Father’s love begotten, Jasmine sang, ere the worlds began to be…

Of the things that are, that have been, and the years that shall be… Joseph picked up.

Theo, an Aerian, landed on the deck, shivering. He always complained it was cold ‘up there’. Ferah lowered the torch and doused the fire in a barrel of water. The steam hissed.

Blind as a bat out there, Father. I can’t see shit, said Theo, rubbing his hands and blowing into them. "I missed the Redeemer twice and almost flew into the signal fire."

Land? Constantine twisted back from the bow.

Theo shook his head. Don’t know, Father. I can’t see.

These be the waters that swallowed Kublai Khan’s armada, said Jasvik. Some say demons guard these islands.

Then we are in the proper waters. Constantine smiled, and the small gesture of reassurance radiated as faith throughout the men’s aura.

Nailah had smiled as well, but too soon. A raven landed on the prow and cawed. A black flock fluttered over the white sails—the queen.

Follow the birds, Constantine said as the ravens flew ahead of the Redeemer.

Aye, Father. Jasvik nodded.

image-placeholder

The fog cleared but the day had fallen. The Redeemer had dropped anchor in a calm, clear harbor of a small island. The ocean flowed through the island as well, splitting it. The sun was on the west horizon, warming Nailah’s back as she peered through the spyglass. Constantine, Ferah, and Cedar had taken a boat to the island with Theo. Nailah wanted to go as well, but Constantine said, ‘It’s not safe.’

Darius, tasked with watching the ship, stood beside Nailah, looking through his own spyglass.

Strange architecture, he said.

Yes.

May I see? Nailah heard from behind, and turning, saw Dalila. Anxious about Constantine returning, Nailah had lost awareness of her surroundings.

Sure. Nailah gave her spyglass to Dalila. She’d seen enough of the island.

Small houses, like stacked wooden boxes, hemmed the raised shoreline sitting on a modest cliff. Many houses had fishing boats tethered outside them as one would tie a horse to a picket line. Cherry blossom made the landscape pink and the petals floated in the water as it flowed through the island.

It’s beautiful, Dalila said.

A beautiful place to die perhaps; Nailah didn’t like how long Constantine was taking. She liked even less not being informed of what they were doing here.

Where is everyone else? Darius muttered while looking through his spyglass.

Nailah snatched her looking glass from Dalila and peered through it. Spotting the boat, then Constantine on it, she breathed relief. But he was alone with the queen and rowing the boat himself.

What happened? Where is Ferah? Cedar? Theo?

Nailah ran the length of the ship to get a better view from a different angle. But no matter how many times she looked, it was only the queen and Constantine.

Everyone, even Obedients, had crowded the middle of the ship, but a single flick of the Whisperer’s keen blue eyes sent the sailors scampering back to their positions. Nailah remained, however, and watched Hatt—a telekinetic—toss down the rope ladder and float the end into Constantine’s hand.

The queen, who didn’t need a ladder to climb aboard, burst into ravens before forming into a single being on the deck. The darkness of her aura sent a chill down Nailah’s spine.

Queen. She curtsied in passing but kept her eye on the boat drifting alongside the Redeemer—Constantine wasn’t alone. He’d brought someone back with him, a stranger, who appeared unconscious.

The knight casually tossed the unknown man over his shoulder like a sack of grain and grabbed the end of the ladder, but Hatt strained to Pull up the weight of both men, so Constantine climbed with the strength of a single hand. The other held onto the… cargo over his shoulder.

Nailah knew better than to question the queen and remained quiet, although her heart pounded. Who did they bring and what happened to the others?

Chapter 2

Stranger

The sick bay was a single cabin on the lower deck, the deck above the cargo bay and the water hold, and Nailah stood outside its open door, pressing her back against the thick wooden bulkhead. She wanted to know what happened to Ferah. Although a full century younger than her, the telekinetic was a dear friend, someone who had her trust which she didn’t give easily.

Had the queen found out Nailah asked him to kill her?

The one who called herself the queen, she who appeared Egyptian but was not, spoke a language that sounded Coptic—which Nailah spoke—but was not. In the sick bay she and Constantine were speaking in an unfamiliar tongue, making Nailah suspicious as to how her knight would know such a thing. Eavesdropping, she did not understand a single word, so she stuck her head out and looked in. The Redeemer was her home and she wouldn’t be intimidated by an intruder, queen or not.

The stranger, the unconscious man they’d brought, was laid on the operating table bolted to the deck. Was he a beast? Constantine had chained him in the same manner he did shifters: with a silver collar and cuffs to keep them from changing. Both the queen and Constantine flicked a look at Nailah when she peered in, but both ignored her and continued with their conversation. A lopsided exchange, as only the queen talked while Constantine nodded and stared at the floor.

Where is Ferah? What did you do with him?

Unbound by the physical limitation of having a body, the queen came and went as a ghost, but she was their kind—an Elder, for she had fine fangs like Constantine and drank blood the same as they. If she lived, she could die.

Curiosity killed the cat, little kitten, said the queen in English as she passed by Nailah. She had an odd accent in that tongue and even Theo, who was English, couldn’t place the origin.

Queen, Nailah greeted in Farsi and curtsied.

Constantine wore the key to the stranger’s silver collar and cuffs around his neck like his cross, and pushed Nailah out as he closed the door to the room and bolted it.

Who is he? Nailah asked now that they were alone.

A dangerous thought speaker. Stay away from him.

Why have you brought him here then? she wanted to ask, but Constantine didn’t discuss the queen’s affairs. So she asked instead, Where are the others? He hadn’t understood her question. Where is Ferah? she clarified.

I’ve tasked him with something. We’ll weigh anchor when he returns with the others.

Thank you, God!

She buried her face in his chest, the chainmail cold against her cheek. She wished the queen would go away so they could return to their normal lives, and Constantine’s aura wouldn’t be burdened all the time. But trouble had a way of festering if one didn’t solve it oneself.

If she lives, she can die.

image-placeholder

It was night and Ferah hadn’t returned, but they were waiting for him and that was well enough for Nailah. At her quarters, Nailah stood behind Darius who was seated on a wooden chair. She braided his hair while the healer moved around the cabin lighting candles and lanterns. Although her Farsi was fluent, she didn’t say much—ever. So much for the friendship Nailah had hoped for.

Darius’s hair was white, long, and delicate. He didn’t like how flat it looked lying plain, and Nailah had grown accustomed to braiding it for him in strands. In return, he made her bone jewelry which she did not wear but kept in a box to be gracious. The box had grown into a trunk over the decades.

You know, Nailah adjusted Darius’s head so the boy could see himself in the mirror, if you bring me human hair, I can make the braids thicker.

They won’t match my hair, Nailah.

Blond is close enough.

The boy seemed to be considering it as Nailah tilted his head forward to seal off the last braid. All done. Look how handsome you are. She smiled at the boy checking his hair in her glass mirror.

Cast out by his village, Darius was living alone in a cave when Constantine found him. He was the most loyal of the disciples, and as a Puppet Master who could animate hundreds of dead at once, Darius was a small army on his own.

Should I bring it with the scalp? Darius asked.

Nailah arched an eyebrow because she didn’t know what he meant. Then, realizing he was asking about the blond hair said, Don’t do that. It will rot. Just shear off the hair when you kill them. Longer is better.

Thank you, Nailah. I made this for you. He produced a rodent bone bracelet from his pocket.

Thank you. How nice of you. Nailah took it with a smile. The Redeemer didn’t have rats because she had necromancers.

I’ve been thinking of making a cane, said Darius. Perhaps a bigger skull on the handle. Like a feline? What do you think?

Is the cane for style? Because your gait is fine.

Yeah.

Then go for human. Nailah put away her comb and washed her hands as the healer poured water into the basin.

Darius cupped his hand, perhaps imagining holding the crown of a human skull, then shook his head. Too big. I like cat better.

Suit yourself, dear.

After Darius left, Nailah moved a candle from a chair and motioned for the healer to sit. The candle had been on a wooden stool by her bed, which Nailah kept close by to read when Constantine was up and away at night. But today, she wanted to speak with Healer Dalila.

Pour us some wine, dear. Nailah sat on her bed and held out her cup.

Dalila poured them wine, then settled on the chair. She massaged her calves, reminding Nailah that the healer was on her feet all day, every day.

What do you think of this queen? Nailah asked right away. She could be bold with Dalila because the healer had no other ally on the Redeemer and her Talent was keener than Nailah’s—which was why she’d wanted to consult with her.

Her aura is a single color, black, and she wears it like a cloak.

Not a cloak but folded wings, which Nailah could see with her lesser Talent. She narrowed her eyes at the healer because she was being mundane on purpose. "Does she read like an Elder?" Nailah asked.

I suppose so. Dalila casually poured herself more wine.

Waste of wine, waste of time. Why was she so unhelpful? Had it not been for Nailah dramatically pleading with Constantine, the healer would either be drowning at the bottom of the sea or chained in the cargo bay with the rest of the… beasts.

What do you think of the stranger? The man they’ve brought today?

I can’t read a sleeping man, Nailah, for those in slumber do not have wilful intentions.

True enough. Nailah looked bitterly at her wine. How to get rid of the queen who kept Constantine away so late at night?

Ferah, said Dalila.

What? Nailah jolted up.

Ferah’s outside, the healer pointed at the window, and he’s distressed.

The windows at the main deck, or any other deck, did not open. Nailah ran out into the passageway, leaving Dalila to consume the wine by herself. She dashed up the ladder to reach the upper deck. The weather was calm, and the air tasted of salt. There were some sailors on watch, as there always were, but no Elders. Nailah peered down over the railing into the dark waters.

Ferah? she whispered, afraid to be heard by any other. Ferah?

Pipe down, she heard Cedar say behind her, but when she twirled back she did not see him. The light bender was in cloak.

Only after she calmed her own anxiety did Nailah feel Ferah and Theo along with Cedar. They were all in cloak—or more precisely, Cedar was throwing a cloak over all three of them.

Nailah pretended to be looking down at the water. What’s wrong, Ferah?

Longboat, Ferah whispered, and he meant the largest of the smaller vessels the Redeemer carried on her back.

Nailah casually passed the sailors, Obedients wouldn’t question her anyway, walked the length of the ship, and after glancing around hopped into the longboat—one of the three boats fastened to the deck. She crouched down below the freeboard so as not to be seen by sailors or Elders passing by.

Dropping cloak, Cedar, Theo, and Ferah appeared in an equally folded position. They squatted in a circle to whisper amongst themselves. Cedar and Ferah were drenched and Theo the Aerian was dry.

Did you swim back? Nailah gasped.

Never you mind, Nailah. We’re in a world of shit. Cedar spoke as the other two remained hunched like scared children. And we need you.

What happened?

Father asked us to wait for a woman, and kill her when she returned home, said Cedar, his voice hoarse. But she saw us and just poofed out of fucken existence, Nailah. Gone, like that. We lost her. And we need you to find her.

I can’t track someone I’ve never met! Nailah punched Cedar in the chest. "How did she see you?"

My bad. My bad. A single woman, I didn’t think there would be trouble. Ferah never misses, said Cedar.

"I didn’t! She was gone before the knife even left my hand," said Ferah.

What kind of Talent is that anyway? Theo chimed in. "A flicker of light and just gone. We didn’t even see her leave."

Nailah could take a boat and go with them to the island, but without having ever met the woman there was no way for her to differentiate her from the others—unless everyone else on the island was dead.

Fine. Take me to where her home was. Maybe she’s nearby. Most people returned home when they thought they were safe.

What are you doing? Constantine’s voice boomed and if Cedar hadn’t pissed himself, he at least yelped. The three boys and