Chosen: The Year of Veras Book 1

By J. Mark McDonald

The richest man in the world enlists powerful allies from another plane to assume his place as emperor, not realizing that even he is a pawn. War rages between Bronland and Tomania, threatening the foundations of both countries. A new religious movement challenges the dominant Theocon for the souls of man. All that stands between Androvia and ruin are a squire, a servant girl, and an executed criminal that has returned from the grave.

And that's only the beginning. Worse things than the petty squabbles of men threaten the land they call home.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Jan 5, 2023
• ISBN: 9781639039425

Book preview

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Chosen

The Year of Veras Book 1

J. Mark McDonald

ISBN 978-1-63903-941-8 (paperback)

ISBN 978-1-63961-316-8 (hardcover)

ISBN 978-1-63903-942-5 (digital)

Copyright © 2022 by J. Mark McDonald

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. For permission requests, solicit the publisher via the address below.

Christian Faith Publishing

832 Park Avenue

Meadville, PA 16335

www.christianfaithpublishing.com

Cover design and illustration by Jeff Brown Graphics

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Day 1

Day 2

Day 2

Day 5

Day 6

Day 8

Day 9

Day 11

Day 12

Day 14

Day 17

Day 19

Day 22

Day 25

Day 28

Day 28

Day 28

Day 28

Day 29

Day 30

Day 32

Day 33

Day 34

Day 38

Day 40

Day 42

Day 44

Day 47

Day 48

Day 50

Day 51

Day 53

Day 54

Day 55

Day 56

Day 58

Day 61

Day 62

Day 64

Day 66

Day 68

Day 69

Day 72

Day 73

Day 74

Day 76

Day 77

Day 78

Day 78

Day 79

Day 80

Day 82

Day 84

Day 86

Day 87

Day 88

Day 89

Day 90

About the Author

Characters

Day 1

Duke Elinar Fairchild

Draiden Castle, Fairchild

Looking at his reflection in the mirror, Elinar wondered if there were a few more strands of gray in his dark hair. If there were, at least he had a good excuse. What he was trying to accomplish would crush most men. No one understood the strain. The other dukes weren't trying to change the world. Kings and queens, monarchs from around Androvia, had their petty issues, but none were about to change history. But then, he was the only one that could. The other monarchs didn't have the vision, the resources, or the allies to develop or implement such a far-reaching strategy. Some would even fight against a new order despite the obvious advantages. He had the ability and the courage; it was his duty to wield the power at his disposal for the benefit of all men, even those that resisted.

A slight grin crossed Elinar's lips. You couldn't hold power in your hand, spend it, or eat it, but men always wanted more.

Elinar straightened, squaring his shoulders before adjusting the massive chain of his ancestors, the primary heirloom of the Fairchild dynasty. Eleven thick rectangles of solid gold etched with images of his ancestors hung heavily around his neck and across his chest. Their names and dates of rule sat beneath each intricately carved image. His own likeness and legacy would one day be etched in gold and placed in the necklace that had been worn by his family for two thousand years. Elinar chuckled softly, wondering if future generations would feel the same pride in the family's legacy or if they would think him mad. More importantly, what would his son believe? Would Trenton see him as a visionary leader of a new realm or a lunatic that destroyed the world? Would he agree that the means justified the end?

Life would have been immeasurably easier if his great-great-grandfather hadn't made such a disastrous decision. How many times had he wished Naranor would have stayed the course? Like the coins in his treasury, he couldn't count the number. It couldn't have been due to cowardice. The historical accounts demonstrated Naranor's willingness to confront the scourge of the family lineage, his own father, Eliazar Fairchild. Could there have been some obscure reason, some logic that escaped the historians? Or was it really like the books described, a response to his father's madness? Elinar shook his head as if to clear the frustrating daydream. His eyes narrowed. Time to focus on the matter at hand. Today was another step in rectifying the situation.

A year from now, the world would be a very different place.

A servant finished buckling the last clasp on the back of his breastplate, barely steadying his hands against the tingling caused by the enchanted armor. Through arcane and secret rituals, a gifted blacksmith from a distant empire had bound the metal with a spirit, imbuing the armor with supernatural power. The servant nervously adjusted the underlying sleeves of his master's embroidered doublet, the green of the silk matching Elinar's eyes. Nearly oblivious to the man's activities, the duke caressed the hilt of his enchanted rapier, the sense of magic tingling like raw power, infusing him with energy and determination.

Turning toward the mahogany door, Elinar smiled as he listened to the muffled dissonance of hushed conversations, sliding chairs, and rattling armor, all combining to signal the arrival of men and women from around the country. The hall would be near capacity with leaders waiting to hear his annual presentation on the state and direction of the duchy. Taking a deep breath, he waved off the servant. It was time.

Captain, announce me.

Yes, sire. Wes Heath, Captain of the Royal Guard, moved to the arched door, his traditional plate armor glowing in the warm light thrown off by the oil lamps. Black and yellow, Fairchild's national colors, were proudly displayed in his cloak. A sheathed longsword hung from his left hip. Drawing the heavy door with ease, he stepped through, moving to a position at the center of the dais. The aroma of freshly cut flowers drifted into the antechamber. The great room fell silent as the captain's commanding presence took the floor. Captain Heath paused for a moment, ensuring attention. Ladies and gentlemen, His Grace, Duke Elinar Fairchild.

The eruption of applause and cheers brought a smile to Elinar's face, their display of gratitude for his leadership bolstering his confidence. Striding through the doorway, he climbed the stairs as Captain Heath moved to the side of the dais.

Elinar waved to the crowd of over sixty men and women, the sounds of their appreciation bounding off stone walls and marble floors. Some were dressed in bright robes, others in black and yellow tabards over chain mail. Knights and captains with their brimmed leather hats stood further in the back, allowing the barons and counts the seats close to the front. Bishops took the center section, summoners close by. Heads of noble houses wore their finery including their best silk hats, each trying to outshine the others.

Elinar motioned for people to take their seats on the wooden benches arrayed in two columns. A fitting way to set a new course for history, he thought, scanning the room. But they must be brought along slowly. One step at a time.

The gold-framed paintings of his ancestors appeared to be smiling down at him from the walls. He could almost hear his father's slurred voice complaining about the state of the world, daydreaming of the glory days of the Androvian empire. Black and yellow banners lined the back of the cavernous hall. Huge stained-glass windows provided light from the late afternoon sun. Crafted into the windows were grand symbols overlaid on backgrounds of colorful country landscapes. A mighty hammer, the symbol of Hendir, all-powerful father of the gods and creator of mankind, dominated one window. The other displayed a profile of a pregnant woman, the traditional symbol of his wife, the merciful goddess Flanora. Elinar stared at the two ancient symbols for moment. I know you and your children approve. Help me deliver the future.

Duke Elinar waved his hands for silence, and the room quickly stilled. Good afternoon. Welcome to Draiden Castle, and thank you for joining us today. I know you would rather be drinking and feasting than listening to me, so I will be brief. He paused ever so slightly for the polite laughter. But before I begin, I would like to recognize our esteemed guests of honor. Elinar motioned to the first row, offering a slight bow of acknowledgement. First, please welcome Duke Ventry Kendorus.

A handsome, middle-aged man with short black hair and warm brown eyes stood, turning to wave to the room. His captivating smile appeared bright against the deep-blue velvet of his tailored suit. He wore no armor and his blade was suspiciously absent, a testament to their peaceful alliance. Ventry had been the first to see the wisdom of the strategy. Kendorus, the nation that shared his name, was not as powerful as Fairchild, no nation was, but the alliance was strategic for various reasons. Duke Ventry returned a pronounced bow to Elinar and took his seat. Duke Kendorus, we all appreciate how far you have travelled to be with us today. The bond between our nations has never been stronger. We look forward to continuing our resilient alliance.

Duke Kendorus nodded in agreement. He spoke loud enough for the entire room to hear, As do we, Duke Fairchild. Ventry was polished, even more articulate than himself, perhaps. Elinar knew he was capable of lying without providing even a hint of deception.

Next, I would like to honor the Archbishop of Hendir, Obreon Forstner. Adjusting his flowing red and gold robes, the archbishop stood, careful not to move too quickly and as a result, dislodge the towering headdress of his office. His eyes were bright red around a dark pupil, the telltale sign of a joining that had lasted for more than a decade. With a quick nod to the duke and a wave to the assemblage, the archbishop once again found his seat.

Given their power and dubious loyalties, Elinar decided against giving either of the archbishops any more recognition than a courteous introduction. True, they were allies, but the kind that were best kept under surveillance. Trusting them completely would be dangerous and foolish. Had he made the right choice? Was it too late to proceed without their support?

And, of course, the Archbishop of Flanora, Deirdre Cousland. Following her counterpart, Deirdre stood, nodded, and waved. For some reason, her headdress, just as grand and pompous as her counterpart's wasn't restricting her movement. Her overly pale skin along with a very thin figure gave the appearance of being ill. She had served as archbishop for twenty-six years. Within three years, the outer limit of a joining, another would take her place. Her eyes were just as red as Obreon's, but somehow seemed more pleasant, more welcoming. Chiding himself for such thoughts, he refused to underestimate Deirdre or anyone with red eyes. That path could quickly lead to ruin.

The wariness passed from Elinar's brow. A smile brightened his face as he waved toward the man who could have been his younger self other than the slightly darker skin that came from his mother. He had dark, curly hair cropped short, green eyes, and a clean-shaven face; they even shared the same general build. Elinar wondered if he looked that young, that innocent eighty years ago. You all know my son, Trenton.

Cheers and hollers erupted, preventing him from continuing for a moment. In his late forties, his son dressed similarly to his father other than the enchanted breastplate and the family heirloom. He rose, offered a quick wave, and sat. He wasn't the type to revel in the adoration of his subjects. The duke patted the air to calm the shouting men. Trenton is my heir. He will sit upon my throne one day. I could not imagine anyone more capable of succeeding me. Trenton, as everyone in this room already knows, I am very proud of you.

His son returned the warm smile, bowing his head in respect.

And as always, I save the best for last, my wife, Lady Ophelia Ramirez-Fairchild, Duchess of Fairchild.

The duchess stood to polite if not subdued applause, her white gown contrasting her olive skin and long black hair, telltale traits of Alwanian ancestry. Despite her decades as duchess, many of the members of the audience still saw her as a glorified commoner. For them, her homeland, Tomania, was a land torn by war, ruled by a peasant and a populated by patchers. Quite intelligent and thoughtful, Ophelia didn't deserve the disdain, but Elinar couldn't control everything his subjects thought. As she sat, Elinar mouthed a thank you, more for handling her duty with her usual aplomb than for sharing his vision for the future. Her dark eyes were suspicious as always, but not condemning. She didn't know enough to accuse him, and he meant to keep it that way for at least another six months.

Elinar let the warmth slip from his clean-shaven face, peering into the audience with serious green eyes. Time to see if they were ready. Barons, counts, captains, bishops, knights, and summoners, the nation has made great progress in the past year. Unlike the kingdoms of Bronland and Tomania, we remain at peace. Trade has increased, and we once again find ourselves in the enviable position of having a significant surplus. Pilgrimage to the twin temples has increased, and the archbishops tell me that more people visited than any year in recent memory. The Grand Temples are beyond compare, and we should be proud of them just as we are of Kingston and the other great cities our hands have built. Thanks to your efforts, crime is down. And I am pleased to announce that we have finally slayed the last wyvern in the nation thanks to Sachard and his party.

A knight in riding clothes near the back of the room raised a hand in grateful acknowledgment as colleagues cheered in approval.

Elinar grinned, anticipating the room's response to his planned tease. He shouted, Now, go get that blasted roc!

Sachard suddenly stiffened. His face grew pale with the thought of facing the terrible winged monster. Wondering if the duke was actually sending him on a mission assured to end in death, he tried to maintain composure. The room exploded in laughter, appreciating the duke's jest at the expense of the knight. Joining the fun, Sachard quickly waved his arms, frantically avoiding the mock request.

Fine, now back to business. The duke paused, bringing the room back from the moment of laughter. We have many initiatives in process that will benefit the nation and its people. We are about to sign a trade agreement with Tomania that will aid their war effort and increase demand for our timber, weapons, armor, and the bounty from our farms. Work continues around Kingston and this castle to improve our defenses. The war between Bronland and Tomania has taught us to be vigilant. We will be prepared should any of our neighbors make the terrible mistake of challenging us. This preparation is creating many opportunities for our less fortunate citizens. Construction projects will provide work for many in the poor quarter just beyond the outer wall of Kingston and in many other parts of the nation. We are working with not only the sects of Hendir and Flanora but the entire Theocon to ensure their ministries and our offices reach people in need. We are improving the quality of life for everyone.

However, despite all the progress we have made, I believe we stand at a crossroads that will determine the future for generations to come. Elinar paused for effect. Our ancestors left Tanivar with wagons of supplies and heads full of dreams. They had a sense of destiny. They had no idea what lie ahead of them, yet they carved an empire out of nothing. In comparison, consider where we stand today. We have a far better foundation to build upon than they did. Monsters aren't destroying everything we are trying to build. We have great cities, roads, mines, and industry. They had nothing. We are the wealthiest nation in the world. The other duchies in the Federation are strong allies. We should set the course for the future and beckon our neighbors to join us!

Cheers rose from the room. Elinar felt their passion mounting as clearly as he felt his own. Heart pounding beneath formed breastplate, his palms sweating, the duke was caught up by his own vision. We are going to unite the world! He took a breath and forced himself to focus.

We need to march into the future with that same determination, that same sense of destiny that the founders of the Androvian Empire felt. Their blood runs through your veins. Their destiny is yours as well. My great-great-grandfather, Naranor Fairchild, agreed to step down as emperor, and through that selfless act, he established the Federation and the three kingdoms we are so familiar with today. But we are still the heart of what was once the greatest empire in the world. We need to be that shining light to the other nations, and together, we will all rise!

Cheers erupted again.

Elinar let the room settle. I know some of you believe the End is near, that based on Lyford's prophecy and all the signs, Hendir will soon come to cleanse the world. He grinned. Still, I better not hear reports of any of you holding placards on some street corner! After pausing for a few chuckles, he continued, I intend to make such a positive impact on our nation and Androvia as a whole, that Hendir will delay his plans. We will overcome scourge, war, plague, broken crowns, and even red-tailed stars! Everything Lyford foretold! By your efforts, the world will be a better place and Hendir will cancel the End!

A few even stood to offer their applause. The End was nonsense, but the fear that had polluted hamlets and cities across Androvia over the past three decades could be used. Lyford had been dead for fifteen hundred years, but he could still be helpful. Glancing about the room as the cheers died down, Elinar nodded in approval. Good reception so far, but he had to bring them along slowly, step by step. He spoke solemnly, The road ahead may be difficult. We will no doubt face challenges, but trust me, the nations will follow our lead. Raising his voice, he cried, Are you with me?

Men and women rose to their feet and shouted with one voice, Aye!

Duke Fairchild raised his hands, settling the exuberant audience. Excellent! I expected no less of the best commanders in the world. Now, I will close with some more good news. The duke looked into expectant eyes and savored the moment. We are going to raise the pay for the guardsmen and military. There will be no increase in general taxes for the entire duchy this year.

The applause and cheers continued, echoing off the ancient stone of his family's castle. Elinar felt a genuine smile light up his face. They were ready. In the first row, Duke Ventry gave him a telling nod, signaling both his agreement with the vision and his congratulations on motivating the men. The archbishops' faces seemed pleased, but as always, they had their own agendas. Trenton was on his feet leading the chorus of cheers, his face beaming with pride. The duchess smiled pleasantly, but her dark eyes were penetrating; Elinar knew he could not easily dissuade her suspicions.

Raising his hands again, Elinar called, Now, please, adjourn to the dining hall and enjoy the feast.

Day 2

Marciene Carter

Draiden Castle, Fairchild

Sitting in the duke's favorite chair as if it were her own, Marciene grinned. Like the rest of her kind, she was still celebrating the news received late yesterday. The threat had been silenced. Victory over the enemy was so delicious, so glorious, she couldn't help but smile. He was finally dead. It was hard to believe, but the report was confirmed. Now they could stop the spread of that infectious cult and get back to normal life.

Savoring the moment, the sorceress glanced about the room. A few paces away, the hearth crackled with a warm fire. The portrait of Fairchild's father, the prior duke, sat above the mantle. On each side, shelves ran floor to ceiling, filled with leather-bound books and various reminders of the family dynasty. One of the heirlooms, a lifelike figurine of a solitaur, was even rumored to be a priceless artifact crafted by the Selvyns themselves. Behind, glazed windows overlooked a portion of the expansive courtyard and the sea beyond. A portrait of the duke's mother hung on one of the pillars. Below the painting, a Travail board sat atop a small table, pieces fashioned from silver and gold ready to begin a game. To her right, the duke's mahogany desk sat with parchments requiring his attention stacked neatly in a pile beneath a gold paperweight. The secret journal he kept so meticulously to provide future guidance for his son sat in the upper right drawer. Sometimes he kept it in the vault hidden behind one of the shelves. He still thought she didn't know.

All the fuss and worry about dead family members seemed pointless. They couldn't help him now.

Voices sounded in the hall. Rising, Marciene moved to the door, her obedient hound following. Leaning against the door of the private study, she heard the voice of Duke Fairchild talking in pleasant tones in the hallway beyond. She silenced the throaty growl of her great black mastiff with a glance, pressing her ear closer to the crack between the door and the frame. The dog tilted his head questioningly but obeyed.

I am pleased to hear you say that, Duke Kendorus. I hope the rest of the audience found the message equally stimulating. What about you, Wisseric? Did you hear anything during or after the feast worth discussing?

Marciene envisioned the thin man with the hooked nose and stringy hair. He was certainly a capable steward, but he couldn't keep his eyes to himself. But then, toying with him was one of her favorite hobbies. Wisseric answered, No, sire. Nothing unusual. Everyone I talked to was excited to see what lies ahead.

Wes Heath agreed, I heard similar comments, sire.

The captain stood just on the other side of the door. Marciene still didn't understand what was so attractive about the man. Why did she think about him so often? Something about the captain stirred emotions deep within her. In one sense, the fact that any man could cause such a reaction was revolting. He was supposed to be controlled, used, little more than a number in the great game, captured for glory.

Lucas, were you able to divine anything of import?

The sorceress sneered as the master summoner responded in his typically slow, methodical way. All the summoners she had ever met were just as pathetic. It was as if the dullard were thinking about every word before he spoke. Not that I would consider it important, but the only noteworthy piece of information shared by the spirits was that a few of the men would have preferred more specifics about your plans for the coming year.

Duke Fairchild chuckled. As is always the case. Well, gentlemen, I need to spend some time with Duke Kendorus, so if you will excuse us.

Almost in concert, the steward, the captain of the Royal Guard, and the master summoner all responded respectfully, Sire. Duke Kendorus. Marciene could imagine their bows of overt fealty.

Wisseric added, Sire, the refreshments are prepared, and the servants have been dismissed.

Opening the door quickly, Marciene ensured the three departing men would notice her presence. Being included in the duke's private discussion with Ventry Kendorus demonstrated her authority. As she held the door for the two dukes, she drew back long, dark hair, posing to allow Wes and Wisseric to gaze upon her voluptuous figure. She smiled at the captain, invitingly. Wisseric enjoyed the view and responded with a slight nod. Wes's glare never left her blood-red eyes, his hand resting on the hilt of his longsword. Was that one of the reasons he was so attractive? He wouldn't succumb to her temptations?

Good morning, Marciene.

Offering a seductive smile and a sultry voice, Marciene replied, Good morning, Duke Kendorus. It is a pleasure to see you again. The duke had never expressed an interest, but she could still enjoy the game. It wasn't that he was completely faithful to his wife, the princess from Bronland; he was just too smart to indulge in a place where he didn't have complete control.

Signaling Duke Kendorus to be seated, Elinar motioned toward an ornate high-backed chair. The chair was covered with a thick woven fabric that depicted knights wearing Fairchild colors hunting a wyvern on a field of green. I am going to have some tea. Would you like a brandy? I am told it's very good. Because of his father's addiction, the duke never indulged.

Ventry took stock of the great mastiff standing protectively beside Marciene, but his face showed no signs of fear or concern. Of course, thank you. Standing in front of the assigned chair, he continued, You know, Duke Windstrom considers your avoidance of strong drink to be a character flaw. He said, ‘How can you trust someone that does not drink?'

Marciene felt certain that if Windstrom knew the duke's history with his father, he would understand. On the other hand, given their relationship, he probably did know the history and was just making a point about a general lack of trust in Duke Fairchild.

Elinar chuckled. I can see Windstrom saying that. Given his penchant for frivolity, I am sure he also thinks I misplaced my sense of humor decades ago. Leaning over the refreshments, the weighty gold heirloom swinging from his neck, Elinar half-filled a goblet from an ornate crystal decanter, offering it to Ventry. Pouring steaming tea into a gold-rimmed cup, he sat across from Duke Kendorus, placing the cup on the mahogany table positioned between the chairs. Ventry took his seat, leaving Marciene standing over the two men.

Marciene's crimson eyes flashed in anger over the duke's slight. How childish! By offering only Kendorus a drink, you think to diminish my glory? Enjoy your moment while you can, Duke. You are not as important as you think.

Another voice, soft and weak, sounded distant in her head, begging to be heard but too frail to be assertive. He didn't mean anything by that. It wasn't on purpose.

The sorceress's eyes narrowed and teeth clenched. Face flushing, her thoughts shouted, Quiet! When I want your opinion, I will give you permission to speak.

Taking a breath, Marciene told herself it didn't matter. Today was a day of celebration. Nothing was going to ruin her joy over his death.

Zedra, Elinar called out of habit. Marciene cringed, trying to withhold facial expressions that might relay her disgust as she heard the soft pads of a cat's paws. A moment later, a tan and black lynx sauntered past the mastiff and leapt into Duke Fairchild's waiting lap. Good morning, sweetheart. Did you miss me?

The lynx didn't answer.

Did he realize? The richest man in the world frequently had cat hair covering his lap. But then, every man had foibles.

Thank you again for making the journey, Elinar continued, oblivious to Marciene's contorting features and internal dialogue. I know you have your own set of challenges and duties to perform, but it was helpful for the men to see you yesterday. Given the events we have planned for the future, they needed to understand the depth of our allegiance.

Ventry smiled warmly, his style and polish so sophisticated that despite a hundred years of political experience, even Duke Fairchild could not decipher his true thoughts. It has been my pleasure. It was an important day, and the men need to be in the right frame of mind for what lies ahead.

Agreeing with the statement, Marciene nodded. Unfortunately for them, they had no idea of what lay ahead. As always, they were marching to a tune they couldn't even hear. So it had been for the past few millennia, so would it continue, especially with the recent triumph in Tomania.

Elinar nodded in agreement, absently stroking the lynx. He turned to the sorceress. Marciene, is there news from Ferdinand regarding the Tomanian?

Marciene's face brightened. She had to make sure her elation didn't cause carelessness and let slip an inappropriate phrase. Yes, as a matter of fact, we have great news. By the grace of Hendir, everything went according to plan in the trial. The execution occurred yesterday. The Tomanian is finally dead! She reveled in the thought for a moment before continuing. Baron Esperanza believes he is above suspicion, and everything is unfolding as planned. Almost gliding across the floor, her feet hidden by the red silk gown, Marciene moved to the tray of refreshments. She poured brandy for herself, pausing to make sure Duke Fairchild witnessed her appropriation of his finest liquor. He described the followers as being scattered to the four winds, and neither he nor his staff were challenged over the sentencing.

Good, Elinar stated flatly, discharging a hint of pent-up frustration. Apparently, he didn't care about the liquor. We can finally forget that nonsense and focus on reunification.

Marciene's red eyes narrowed, her tone becoming short. I would not call that issue nonsense. Your most important ally would find that remark most distressing. The sorceress watched the slightest cringe cross Elinar's brow. Yes, you know I may tell him.

Ventry watched the interchange between the duke and the sorceress with interest, but his warm, brown eyes and controlled countenance did not reflect his thoughts.

Walking toward a chair, the sorceress suddenly stopped midstride. Staring out the glazed window, Marciene paused as if someone had just called her name. She was being summoned.

‘Marciene, I will speak with you and Fairchild.'

‘Yes, Master. At once.'

Recognizing the behavior, Elinar asked, What is it?

He calls, Marciene whispered in near reverent tones.

Traditional link?

No, he will communicate directly.

Elinar frowned, demonstrating little concern over Marciene's awareness of the gesture. Placing his cup of tea on the table, he conceded, Very well. Duke Ventry, will you excuse us? Please indulge in whatever luxuries Draiden Castle may afford. I will meet you for dinner and share anything important from the forthcoming conversation.

Duke Kendorus smiled his practiced smile and rose. Until then. Exiting, he closed the heavy mahogany door, the heels of his boots echoing down the cavernous hall.

The sorceress placed the glass of brandy on an inlaid mahogany table and took her seat. With one part of her mind, she reached out to another realm, calling an ancient name, beckoning. The other part of her mind cringed, retreating like a little girl curling up in a dark corner, trying to hide from an approaching monster.

Elinar took a deep breath, bracing himself as if steeling for battle with a cunning foe. Marciene knew he was preparing mental defenses, focusing on controlling his thoughts. She grinned at the futility. Despite his training and efforts, the man was no match for her master. Duke Fairchild stared straight ahead, discomfort evident on his face, all the satisfaction created over the past day gone.

The lynx growled before dropping from the duke's lap and racing for the door.

The atmosphere in the room changed suddenly. Marciene swallowed to relieve the pressure building in her ears. The duke shifted uncomfortably. Her master had arrived.

A deep voice sounded in the mind of both the duke and his sorceress. ‘Greetings, Duke Fairchild.'

Marciene grinned at the duke's discomfort as Elinar wiped the sweat from his palms. He responded aloud, Greetings. What can I do for you?

‘Yes, well, I have a request for you.' The voice was pleasant, not demanding, but beneath the words, power was evident. ‘I would like you to dispatch men to retrieve three items.'

Elinar's brow furrowed, relaying both confusion and frustration. What items?

‘I know you realize how important the cult leader's death was to our continuing plans.'

Duke Fairchild shot Marciene a glance and found her grinning fiendishly. She shrugged as if to say, I told you.

The thoughts continued projecting into both their minds, ‘There were items used in the Tomanian's execution that his followers will try to leverage when attempting to continue his treasonous activity.'

I thought his followers dispersed.

‘Yes, well, they have, but they will no doubt gather their wits and the cult will once again attempt to deceive the masses. Everything about them is an affront to the gods, and they must be eradicated.' The ethereal voice paused as if considering. ‘They are a doltish, simple-minded band of peasants, but nonetheless, we should not aid their folly by allowing the items to be used as a weapon against the good people of the region.'

Elinar's brow raised. Weapon?

‘Figuratively speaking.'

I thought your fixation on this cult and its leader would end with his death. I never understood its significance in the first place. Why is this so important now that he is dead and his followers are dispersed?

‘As we have discussed many times, we are allies with shared goals along with distinct, individual objectives. I do not ask you for justification for every objective for which you request our support.'

Hmm, I see.

Marciene knew that was the duke's typical response when he didn't want to say what was really on his mind. It didn't matter. He would never understand the importance of the relics. She offered, We should send Phaton's men to find these items.

What? exclaimed Elinar, his eyes wide with disbelief. Why would I send my best warriors to retrieve a few items from a handful of patchers?

The sorceress peered through pupils ringed in solid red and controlled her rage. Because they are important, as the master has explained.

The duke's green eyes narrowed. He still struggled with the fact that she served two masters.

The solemn voice agreed, ‘Yes, well, send them to Tomania today. I am sure we can arrange for Theocon support through local priests and bishops.'

Elinar shook his head, determined not to be dragged into another rathole of insignificance. We have much more important tasks for the Knights of Aridane. I will not send them on an errand that will hamper our reunification plans. I will send other men to see to it. Or better yet, instruct Ferdinand to handle the issue.

Leaning forward, the sorceress's face flushed with anger, and the black mastiff rose as if sensing her emotion. A smirk grew as Marciene thought, This should be interesting. When will you learn, my dear duke? Another voice sounded within the recesses of her mind. He's just trying to do what he thinks is right. Marciene's full lips thinned as her mouth clenched. Silence! Go back to your cowering.

The deep voice answered with unnerving calm. ‘Ferdinand is searching for the items, but they will likely find their way outside his barony, so a nationwide search will be required. That said, Duke Fairchild, it is certainly your choice whether to assist us or not, but we of course will have to make our own decision as well. Should you decide not to send your best resources to retrieve the items, then we will have to make our own decision regarding reunification. Even though spirits were created by Hendir to assist mankind, we still determine how best to provide that support. Ultimately, we may have to withdraw our support of your campaign.'

Elinar's face remained stoic, but the whites of his knuckles appeared over his grip on the chair's arm. Hmm, I see.

Marciene could see the debate raging within the duke's mind as it became evident on his furrowed brow and pursed lips. Should he stand on principle or succumb to his ally's demand? She knew he was strong. He'd demonstrated that over the past decade. Very few men in the entire world could stand up to her master like he did. She almost admired him for it.

A moment later, the duke continued, What exactly are these items?

Day 2

Darcy Fletcher

Draiden Castle, Fairchild

G irl, more ale.

Darcy nervously glanced at the steward, Master Wisseric, and Brandy, the other attending servant, before gathering her nerve and stepping quickly in response to the knight's demand. She held the pitcher with both hands, not because of its weight but to hide her trembling. The man before her was clearly of Urothian decent, with six fingers on each large, calloused hand. But unlike many others that shared the dominant trait from the ancient race of giants, he must have been nearly full-blooded. His extreme height, massive shoulders, reddish skin, and protruding brow made his bloodline clear. Darcy guessed he must have been at least four hands taller than the duke and perhaps five hands taller than Wisseric. Like the other knights seated around the mahogany table, his armor was black and obviously designed specifically to fit his unusual proportions. Leaning against the table was the largest halberd Darcy had ever seen. Based on the tingling sensation she felt on her bare forearm, she assumed it was enchanted. She felt the same tingling when the duke was wearing either his breastplate or rapier.

Stosner, stop scaring the poor wench.

Sorry, Jace. The giant shrugged. It just comes naturally. It is part of my alluring charm.

The other knight was also a descendant of Uroth but not as pure-blooded. Though he also had six fingers, he was only a couple of hands taller than an average man, and the hue of his skin was lighter, less red. Like the four other knights, he too was armored in black plate mail. He chuckled. Yeah, sure. If you say so.

Darcy backed away to stand near the wall of the duke's private dining room just below the great tapestry depicting the traditional symbols of all eight gods. She kept her gaze downward, avoiding unwanted attention from any one of the six knights. Despite her attempt at anonymity, she felt cold blue eyes staring at her from across the room. She'd seen him before in the halls of the castle,