The Prophet's Ruin: Book 2 of The Chronicles of Talahm

By Colleen Mitchell

Countless disasters, two missing covens, and one frantic Olis. Mythical creatures appear across Earth and Talahm, disoriented and dangerous: A Kelpie in London. A Kraken in the Sleeping Sea. A Dragon in the skies over Camelot.

Luke, suspect

• Language: English
• Publisher: Colleen Mitchell
• Release date: Mar 11, 2023
• ISBN: 9798985054835

Colleen Mitchell

Colleen Mitchell finds it oddly satisfying to tug on readers' heartstrings, whether in her ten years writing Fanfiction or in her fantasy series, The Chronicles of Talahm. She's been writing since at least age twelve and spent a good chunk of choir class ignoring the teacher to trade stories with her best friend in the back row. Colleen holds a BS in Mechanical Engineering from Washington State University and her Professional Certified Coach certification from The Life Coach School. She hosts the podcasts This is Type 1: Real Life with Type 1 Diabetes and The Novel Writing Podcast. Colleen is the founder of Inspired Forward LLC, a coaching practice taking fiction authors from first draft to self-published without the drama of figuring it out on your own.She is the author of The Chronicles of Talahm epic fantasy novel series. Colleen lives in Missoula, Montana with her husband Tim and their cat Luna.

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Colleen Mitchell

The Prophet’s Ruin

Book 2 of The Chronicles of Talahm

Copyright © 2023 by Colleen Mitchell

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

Colleen Mitchell has no responsibility for the persistence or accuracy of URLs for external or third-party Internet Websites referred to in this publication and does not guarantee that any content on such Websites is, or will remain, accurate or appropriate.

Edited by Halie Fewkes Damewood & Lauren Loftis Cover Art by Angelique Modin

Layout & Interior Illustration by LeighAnn Lopez

Library of Congress Control Number: 2023900875

First edition

ISBN: 979-8-9850548-3-5

This book was professionally typeset on Reedsy

Find out more at reedsy.com

Publisher Logo

For the mothers in my life whose steadfast

faith and encouragement laid the foundation

to pursue unbridled creativity.

God has planted eternity in our hearts.

Mom

A woman who never gives up on

her faith, values, family, or passions;

who finds the silver in rain and

gold in God’s promise of forever.

&

Grandma Van

A woman who set the example

of faith, perseverance, courage,

and commitment through ninety-three

years of good times and bad.

The only way to live is to risk living.

Contents

Maps

Other Books by Colleen Mitchell

Pronunciation Guide

1. The Sea Wolf

2. The Last Scout

3. Fenris Wolf

4. Can Parrots Breathe Fire?

5. A Vision of Dragons

6. Welcome Home

7. The Royal Coven

8. Firewhip

9. Lord of the Trident

10. The River Road

11. Cracks

12. A Trick of the Light

13. But a Footnote

14. Sky’s Heart

15. Langoth

16. The Hunted

17. Failure

18. Send Help

19. Arthur’s Grove

20. Into Darkness

21. Beneath Valona

22. The Captives

23. The Prophet’s Ruin

24. Mountains Crumbles

25. Heir to the Throne

26. Tomás Sees

Glossary

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Also by Colleen Mitchell

Maps

Other Books by Colleen Mitchell

Mark of Stars: Book 1 of The Chronicles of Talahm

Sign up for new releases at www.talahm.com.

Pronunciation Guide

Agamemnon – Ag-uh-MEM-non

Amity – AM-itty

Aragon – AIR-a-gone

Argent – ARRG-ent

Artair – ARR-tare

Cara – CARR-uh

Coventra – Coe-VEN-truh

Davan – Duh-VON

Doltev – DOLE-tehv

Hela – HELL-uh

Helcari – Hell-CAR-ee

Igraine – EE-grain

Langoth – LAN-goth

Le Fay – Leh-FAY

Magdalin – MAG-duh-lin

Nimüe – NIM-you

Olii – OH-lie (plural of Olis)

Olis – OH-liss

Petra – PET-ruh

Ralador – RAL-uh-door

Renault – Rehn-ALT

Renova – Reh-NOV-uh

Reva – REE-vuh

Richat – REE-caught

Rishon – Ree-SHAWN

Roque – ROW-k

Sargateth – SAR-guh-teth

Septim – SEP-tim

Talahm – Ta-LAW-m

Tomás – Toe-MOSS

Valon – VAL-un

Valona – VA-lone-uh

1

The Sea Wolf

Perched on the prow of The Sea Wolf , Prince Argent Pendragon traced the leather edge of his journal, brows furrowing at the storm clouds roiling across the horizon. Cold seawater sprayed over the snarling figurehead of a wolf, stinging his bright green eyes and plastering brown hair against his face.

Heeled boots clacked against the forecastle behind him—boots belonging to Cordelia Roque, the acerbic captain of Talahm’s most famous brigantine. Argent stiffened when she stirred the pot again. If there’s one thing I hate more than the bloody Artairs, it’s having to ferry a weakling prince on my ship, possessed or not. I knew people who died in that wretched curse.

Could be a ruse, another witch answered in a throaty whisper. There’s not a sacrifice out there powerful enough to free someone nobody loves. I think Septim’s still in his head.

He should help with the magic then, Cordelia groused.

A third witch chimed in, her high-pitched voice loud enough for the whole ship to hear. "Forget sacrifices. No magic lets a man’s soul linger after death. I don’t think Septim was ever there."

Argent swallowed and glanced behind him, the lump in his throat refusing to melt.

Cordelia peered over the forecastle railing with a wrinkled nose, scorn evident in her tight jaw. And yet here we are, stuck with him as our next king.

Argent turned away from her, hugging the journal to his chest. Emma, the Seventh Sorceress, had been right. She’d told him that King Aragon’s decree to keep the full details of what happened in Camelot secret would only lead to everyone filling in the details on their own. But his father had not seen reason. Argent closed his eyes, savoring the wind, his throat tightening again as he thought back to when Ebony Reva’s sacrifice had freed him from Septim’s twisted shade.

The lightness and hope in his soul, undone by the distrust on his father’s face.

Relief that he was finally free after six years of captivity inside his own mind, shattered by the horror-stricken refugees packed inside the citadel to escape Septim’s deadly curse.

The weight of what Septim had used him for slammed back onto his shoulders when he realized that they all blamed him.

What good is my freedom if no one believes I’m free?

He flipped the journal open to one of the many dogeared pages kept dry by Prophet Tomás Artair’s intricate enchantments. A more complex enchantment allowed him to write to Tomás’s daughter Emma, who was now in her last year of university on Earth, worlds away from where he sat as The Sea Wolf carved south through the Sleeping Sea on its journey home from the Helcari Isles.

The first few earthquakes had seemed harmless, rattling his father’s battle trophies on their shelves in the Royal Apartments of Camelot. They’d had earthquakes before, and when the aftershocks diminished, King Aragon brushed it off as easily as he’d brushed off Argent’s struggles recovering from possession.

But then the hawks came, bearing tidings of tsunamis from the northern port at Asaridge all the way to Helcari. Theirs had not been the only quake.

Then it happened again.

And again.

Without the grain and supplies The Sea Wolf had delivered, Argent doubted the Helcari Empire would make it through the rest of the spring and summer, let alone a winter without their own harvests.

Argent traced their conversations with his fingertips, his only link to Emma for almost two years—nearly four for her, thanks to how time flowed differently between their worlds. Her dry sense of humor jumped out at him—her curiosity, compassion, and staunch dedication to science were a welcome reprieve from the whispers of what had actually happened in Camelot. He admired her tenacity and, most of all, her willingness to share pieces of herself with him.

My birthmark made it to my shoulder today. Other students keep asking who my tattoo artist is, and what kind of ink makes it look like my arm’s alive. It’s funny—saying, It’s magic, makes them stop asking.

I got carried away practicing my sneak magic and almost got stuck inside Edinburgh Castle overnight. It turns out I can phase myself through solid matter, but it took so much power that I slept for fifteen hours and then ate more for breakfast than the entire football team combined.

Argent had no idea what football was, but he hoped to find out when Emma came back to Talahm—when she came back to him. He no longer felt silly thinking that way, not after their moments together in this journal.

I had that nightmare again last night. I wish Bethany understood, like you do, that Septim was in both our heads, using us, but I can’t put that trauma on my best friend. I’m counting the days until I come back. Maybe when I see your face again, when I can touch you and prove to myself that you’re alive—that I didn’t kill you—then the nightmares will stop. I miss you so much.

Sometimes I wish I’d fought more for you to come to Earth with us. It’s hard making friends here when I know I’ll never see them again after I come home.

She considered Talahm her home. After all, her father and brother lived in Camelot. Only her mother remained on Earth. At the sudden thought that he could be part of Emma’s reason, Argent blinked away the pressing tears.

He turned to their messages from a few hours ago. Not for the first time, Argent wished he could reach through the pages to hold the hand of the woman who’d penned those words into the journal’s counterpart.

Think of it this way—your father is showing you what NOT to do when you take the throne. Keeping secrets, sending aid to foreign countries when Renova needs it more, not listening to his son…. It’s less painful to learn from the mistakes of others.

In a moment of utter vulnerability, he’d finally written the words he’d wanted to write since the day she left. Words that revealed the depth of his self-doubt, his belief that no matter what, he’d never be good enough to rule Camelot.

You would make a better queen than I would a king.

And yet, as soon as he’d written it, a weight lifted off his shoulders. As if the mere act of sharing it with someone he trusted meant it didn’t affect him as much as before. Now, Emma’s beautiful script unfolded before his eyes on the parchment, finally answering him. His heart lodged in his throat as he stared at the message.

You’re strong in ways the people don’t know yet. Renova couldn’t handle a queen like me without a king like you.

A clap of thunder startled him. Ozone filled his nose, the first droplets of rain beading over Emma’s words. Dark clouds stretched over the ship, thin cracks of lightning threading across the sky like beacons of despair.

All hands on deck! William Pendragon bellowed from the sterncastle. Argent’s great-uncle, the first officer on The Sea Wolf, seemed like his only ally on board.

Argent jumped to his feet, his stomach in knots over the fact he didn’t have time to respond to Emma. And oh—how he wanted to respond. He climbed onto the main deck, stumbling backward with the pitch of the ship, and he hit the railing, knocking the breath out of his lungs. Wild waves churned around them—waves he hadn’t noticed while sitting on the bowsprit. At William’s command, witches streamed onto the deck, securing the rigging against the sudden snap of the wind, and they battened down the hatches, scaling the masts to tie up the sails. Rain poured down, drowning their shouts.

On the quarter deck, Captain Roque locked the wheel against the pull of the rudder, her dark, gray-streaked hair billowing in the wind. She showed no fear in the face of the storm, snapping orders with more confidence than an entire coven of witches. It was no wonder King Aragon had given her the mission to deliver the desperately needed food to Helcari.

Princeling, William yelled at him, get your sea legs under you! Your mother won’t forgive me if I let you drown.

Argent tucked the journal into his jerkin. He pushed away from the railing, but a flash in the water made him peer over the edge again. Purple lightning crackled deep under the sea, creating a shockwave that rippled out in every direction. A colossal, dark form undulated below the surface. Icy dread trickled down Argent’s spine.

He backed away from the edge of the ship in horror, hand on the hilt of his sword as the first tentacle slithered into view.

Kraken! he screamed, unsheathing his sword.

In the second between Argent’s cry and the crew’s response, blood roared in his ears. Sick, stale air swept across the deck. The Kraken’s tentacles slid closer, wood creaking under the pressure. Argent sprang into action. He leaped forward, his sword coming down on the nearest fleshy limb with a strength he hadn’t known he’d had. Around him, witches joined the fight, capturing tentacles with magical nooses, sending high-pressure jets of air and water into the vulnerable suckers holding the ship in place. The telltale thump of the ice cannons reverberated through Argent’s feet.

His blade cut a thin, oozing slice in the Kraken’s hide, but a moment later, the end of the tentacle twisted around his ankle, yanking him off his feet. It squeezed, and a lance of white-hot pain shot through his leg, tearing a ragged cry from his throat, his ankle snapping. Tightening his hold on the sword, blood drained from his fingers. Argent stabbed at the tentacle, twisting the blade until the Kraken withdrew.

Argent’s chest heaved, heart racing, his hands shaking. Struggling to his feet, he hobbled to the railing, broken ankle dragging behind him. Tentacles seethed around the belly of the ship. Broken glass and splinters filled the maelstrom, and a high-pitched screech filled the air. The Kraken’s gargantuan head rose above the deck, exposing hundreds of circular rows of sharp teeth.

Cordelia lashed a rope around the wheel and leaped from the quarter deck. A staff in one hand and a sword in the other, she jabbed them both toward the Kraken’s maw without flinching. A storm of magic crackled between her and the beast. Three large balls of ice shot from the starboard cannons, slamming into its open gullet. It flinched backward, letting out another scream as its tentacles constricted around the hull and the mizzen mast, jolting the ship. With an almighty crack, the mast toppled across the port edge, crushing the railing and leaving a ragged hole in the deck. If they hadn’t already unloaded the hold, their cargo for Helcari would’ve been lost in that one moment. Argent held his breath, trying not to whimper in pain as The Sea Wolf tilted, listing as water rushed through the cracks.

With determination etched into the premature lines on her face, Cordelia thrust her weapons at the Kraken again. While she distracted the beast, the witches around her cut through its limbs with sharp blasts of magic, working until the Kraken finally loosened its grip on the ship and slipped back into the swirling depths of the sea.

A slick sliding sound behind him caught Argent’s attention. He glanced over his shoulder as the last tentacle slammed into his back, pitching him over the edge in a freefall. A rope of magic cinched around his broken ankle, and he screamed, the sudden rescue dislodging the journal from his vest and sending it tumbling into the waters below.

No!

Cordelia dragged him back onto the waterlogged deck, her face twisted in disgust. If you’d rather drown, I’d be delighted to toss you back, she snapped, the rain plastering stringy hair against her thin face.

Despite the pain, Argent scrambled to lean back over the railing, bits of wood digging into his arms as he searched for the journal. He spotted it floating in the debris from the attack, now falling behind them as The Sea Wolf limped along. Someone help! My book, please, someone get my book! Frantic, he risked taking his eyes off the journal to beg the waterwitches, each of them more than capable of rescuing his only connection to Emma. Please, help me get it back! I can’t lose her!

Buy another in the Trident, little prince, Cordelia hissed, lifting a hand in warning before any of the witches could move. Her pale blue eyes cut Argent to the bone. They don’t answer to you.

2

The Last Scout

Emma Jackman blew at the wisp of jet-black hair escaping her knitted cap. She walked down the dark promenade through George Square Gardens, her cell phone pressed to her ear as she talked to her best friend, Bethany Hawkins. The University of Edinburgh felt quieter than usual this late winter evening, the fresh snow from that afternoon’s storm crunching under her insulated boots. As the strongest witch to ever wield magic in Talahm, Emma could have worn a summer dress in the dead of winter and stayed warm, but on Earth, she had to at least pretend she was normal.

What a joke.

She’d wanted to be normal for her entire life, but the extraordinary, pure white tesseract birthmark resting on her right palm kept that out of her cards. The image marked her as a child of an ancient prophecy set in motion over seven hundred years ago by her ancestor, Sir Lancelot. Black and cobalt tendrils wove around the blemish, bleeding into her skin. Once small, the colored branches now spread across her chest and down the other arm.

The straps of Emma’s backpack dug into her shoulders, the bag heavy with history books. I all but proposed marriage, she whispered into the phone, glancing around the gardens. The only noise came from the thrum of traffic a few streets over, no one around to overhear her half of this strange conversation. I basically told him that Renova couldn’t handle me on the throne unless he was there too. She chewed on her bottom lip, anxious to hear Bethany’s response.

And? Bethany demanded. What did he say?

Emma’s breath caught, her throat tightening. She’d always hated how rejection felt, but somehow this seemed so much worse than all the previous rejections she’d experienced put together. Argent’s willingness to share hard things, his nightmares, and his dreams were like a balm to the bullying she’d faced in the past. After he was freed, Argent never spoke to her with disdain or as if he was better than her somehow. But now he wouldn’t speak to her at all. He never wrote back. It’s been nearly a month, Bethany. A month! I thought he just needed time to process or figure out a polite way to say, ‘no thanks,’ but I asked why he’s been ignoring me, and still nothing. He’s never done this before.

Bethany sighed, the tinny sound sharp in Emma’s ear. The low hum of other students at Washington State University filtered through. What did your dad say about it?

"Not much. They haven’t gotten any letters since The Sea Wolf reached Doltev two months ago. I know more from the news you get from Luke than from what Dad tells me. She exhaled, watching the cloud of vapor rise into the harsh glare of the lamps lining the walking path. It kills me that he’s so quiet. I hope—" A soft crunch of snow to her left instantly drew her attention. She whirled to face it, darkness stretching in front of her.

Em? Bethany urged her to continue.

I heard something, she said, automatically lifting her left hand to cup a ball of magical light in her palm. It let her see further across the otherwise deserted gardens, but eerie silence pressed against her eardrums. Then, a flash