The Fate of Li Syval

By Kenneth McDonald

In this final installment in the “Gem of the Deep” series, set in the world of "Forgotten Lore," the magical machinations of Zealla Alcuri and her criminal sponsor have unleashed an ancient eldritch horror upon Li Syval. As the city is consumed by violence, Aris, Nails, Ferret, and their new allies must find a way to unlock Ferret’s latent magical powers and confront the sorceress before it is too late to save the stricken city from total destruction.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kenneth McDonald
• Release date: Mar 11, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215150542

Kenneth McDonald

I am a retired education consultant who worked for state government in the area of curriculum. I have also taught American and world history at a number of colleges and universities in California, Georgia, and South Carolina. I started writing fiction in graduate school and never stopped. In 2010 I self-published the novella "The Labyrinth," which has had over 100,000 downloads. Since then, I have published more than fifty fantasy and science fiction books on Smashwords. My doctorate is in European history, and I live with my wife in northern California.

Book preview

Forgotten Lore

The Fate of Li Syval

Kenneth McDonald

[e-mail]

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2023 by Kenneth McDonald

Cover Credit: The cover image is adapted from Stormy Sea in Étretat, by Claude Monet (1883). The image is in the public domain.

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Works by Kenneth McDonald

The Ogre at the Crossroads

Forgotten Lore

First Series – The Elderlore Libram

Secrets of a Lost Age

Warriors of Shadow

The Shattered Key

Mysteries of the Book

Second Series – Shadows on the Frontier

The Road to Ironbridge

The Towers of Khormur-Dhain

Trouble on the Borderlands

The Horror in the Wood

Third Series – The Gem of the Deep

The Streets of Li Syval

The Secrets of Li Syval

The Heroes of Li Syval

The Legacy of Li Syval

The Fate of Li Syval

The Graves Crew

The Graves Crew and the Restless Dead

The Graves Crew and the Damned Dam

The Graves Crew and the Firestar Amulet

The Graves Crew and the Road of Doom

The Graves Crew and the Magical Forest

The Graves Crew and the Mountain Fortress

The Adventures of the Graves Crew, Volume 1 (omnibus paperback edition)

The Adventures of the Graves Crew, Volume 2 (omnibus paperback edition)

Refugees of the Crucible

Powerless

Overpowered

Balance of Power

Legacy of the Bulrazi

Power Play

Power Game

Power Surge

Soul Weapons

Wizard’s Shield

Soul of the Sword

Wizard’s Stone

Tales of the Soul Weapons

The Dwarf on the Mountain

Legends of the Soul Weapons, Volume 1 (omnibus paperback edition)

Legends of the Soul Weapons, Volume 2 (omnibus paperback edition)

The Colors of Fate

Black Shadows Gather

Green Hearts Weep

Red Vengeance Rising

Faded Yellow Dreams

Blazing White Stars

Shiny Golden Schemes

Silent Gray Depths

The Colors of Fate, Volume 1 (omnibus paperback edition)

The Colors of Fate, Volume 2 (omnibus paperback edition)

The Mages of Sacreth

The Labyrinth

Of Spells and Demons

Grimm’s War

Grimm’s Loss

Grimm’s Love

Of Blood and Magic

Of Steel and Sorcery

The Godswar Trilogy

Paths of the Chosen

Choice of the Fallen

Fall of Creation

Daran’s Journey

Heart of a Hero

Soul of a Coward

Will of a Warrior

Courage of a Champion

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Prologue

The Elder slumbered.

It could do so in perfect security, for it had defeated all of its rivals eons ago, and none that could threaten it could enter its realm without alerting it.

But then, in that placid stillness, a disturbance intruded. It was very faint, a presence almost puny enough to ignore, but it was persistent enough to become annoying. Irate at the interruption of its long sleep, the Elder reached out and established a connection. What it found was another place, another realm, one separated from its ancient home by a vastness beyond mere measurements of space. But such gaps did not trouble the Elder, for it was an entity with an instinctive grasp of the realities of the multiverse. Perhaps it itself had been spawned in a realm like the one it now contacted. It had existed so long that the details of its own origin had been forgotten.

The Elder used the connection to the vague Other to examine the source of that communication. The place was cold and unappealing at first glimpse, but it had life, a plentitude of life that contrasted with the denuded seas of the entity’s home realm. The ancient being was reluctant to stir itself further, wary of a trap, but it did gather a part of its Will and sent it through the portal it had created to learn more.

* * * * *

Chapter 1

ZEALLA

Zealla woke to a feeling of bitter cold. Something was hitting her face, and as she blinked her eyes, she realized that it was raining. She tried to move, to get up, but her body responded with a surge of pain that nearly dragged her back under again. She tried to speak, but only faint, feeble sounds made it past her lips. She could feel the cold beneath her body, siphoning off whatever warmth she had left. She knew that she had to move, but was reluctant to try again lest the attempt draw another wave of agony.

She blinked some more, trying to clear away the grimy haze that lay over her vision. She saw something pale and realized that it was her hand. She tried to move it and felt an absurd relief when she managed to make the fingers twitch. She was filthy, the raindrops leaving black marks as they continued to patter on her skin. She felt hollow, empty, and wondered where she was and how long she had been unconscious.

What have you done?

The voice was vaguely familiar. Its source was not far away; she managed to turn her head enough to see, although even that consumed a huge effort. It took her a moment to match the face to a name… Ordis. He had a look on his face that combined both horror and disgust. She tried again to speak, but again could only manage a few garbled, nonsense sounds that rattled in her throat.

Oh, you stupid little fool, he said. Bring her.

Only then did she realize that he was not alone; she could hear the heavy tread of someone approaching. Rough hands grabbed hold of her. She caught a glimpse of dirty boots and heavy work coats, and then she was being lifted out of the mud. Some instinct told her to fight, that she was in danger here, but she might as well have been trying to break iron manacles with her bare hands. She could hear a rough curse as one of her attackers stumbled slightly, but that was all.

As they pulled her up, she finally got a view of her surroundings. The buildings that surrounded them were familiar. A voice whispered in her mind, Hightown. Yes… this was the neighborhood that surrounded the house with the secret sewer where she had spent so much of her time, where she had found…

Her memories scattered as she blinked and took a second look. The house, cellar, sewer… all were gone, replaced by a sinkhole a good fifty feet across. She’d been lying in the mud at its edge, right on the brink of a slope that quickly slanted down to… nothing, as far as she could see. The hole looked like it went down forever, though she knew that had to be impossible. She shivered as she stared down into the gaping opening that had almost swallowed up her as well.

Come on, let’s get out of here, Ordis said. This is going to draw a crowd.

Zealla couldn’t quite get her feet solidly underneath her, but that didn’t stop her captors from lifting her up and carrying her off. She tried to speak, to offer up some kind of protest or explanation, but all she could manage were mewling gasps that Ordis and his men ignored as they moved briskly into the maze of back alleys and side streets that formed the landscape of the island city of Li Syval.

They did not carry her far. They were still in Hightown, though in the nicer part of the district near the Bright Canal. The streets were wider here and more traveled, but before Zealla could think to try another escape her escorts ducked into a side alley that culminated in a fenced-in courtyard. The gate had a lock on it, but it only took Ordis a few moments to get it open. He held the gate as the two men holding Zealla dragged her inside.

The courtyard was a scant ten paces across. It accessed the back of a two-story building that had the look of a house rather than a business. Some decorative plants that had not been tended in some time sagged in planters flanking the entry, and a few pieces of patio furniture poked out from under a protective tarp in one corner. Her captors waited as Ordis resecured the gate and opened the door leading into the house. He followed them as they made their way into the dim interior. The air smelled musty there, and motes of dust floated through the air. The windows were all covered by heavy curtains, and the furnishings were plain and looked to be in need of new upholstery.

Another safe house, she thought. At the moment, however, she did not feel very safe.

Ordis took the lead again, directing his men down a hallway narrow enough that they had to turn her sideways to make their way to the end. They passed a few small bedrooms before entering a study covered in old wallpaper that had started to sag from its moorings in a few places. There was a couch protected by a canvas cover against one wall, and against the other, seated in a plain wooden chair in front of a sprawling desk, sat the Artist.

Georgios Galdari was a good-looking man not far past thirty, clad in a well-cut suit in dark colors. As he turned in the chair to face them, Zealla could see he was wearing a silk shirt in a rich shade of violet and silver thread on the collar tabs showing the sigil of his House, a cluster of grapes. A slender duelist’s sword was laid out on the surface of the desk, the ornate basket hilt within easy reach. From a casual glance, he seemed to be only what he was, a younger scion of one of the city’s more powerful Houses, clad in privilege, if not the subtle power of an Heir.

What Zealla knew, and surprisingly few others, was that he was also the Artist, one of the most prominent criminal chieftains of Li Syval.

Something of that other identity came to the fore as he rose slowly from the chair to regard her, still imprisoned between the two big men holding her arms. Ordis had taken up a spot off to the side, flanking his master, a neutral expression on his face.

What did you do? he asked her.

She wet her lips. I did what you wanted… she began, grateful that she could now manage to speak.

What I wanted, he interrupted in a dangerous tone. What I wanted. You caused an earthquake. You opened a bloody sinkhole in the middle of the city, one that’s eaten most of a city block, so far. There’s no way this goes unnoticed, people are going to be asking questions, a lot of questions. You may as well have shone a bloody beacon lantern on me, you stupid bitch.

Don’t you want to know what happened? Zealla asked. She felt a bit stronger, but for the moment she let herself hang in the grasp of her captors. A faint buzzing had started up in the back of her head, and as the fog from whatever had happened to her in that secret dungeon faded, she could feel her awareness stretch, her familiar other perceptions expanding within her mind.

Georgios looked at her for a long moment. No, it’s time to cut my losses, and do what I should have done a long time ago. He turned half away from her, looking down at the surface of the desk. With a dismissive wave of her hand, he said, Snap her neck.

Zealla said, Yes, you should have done it sooner.

He looked up in surprise, to see her standing freely. His two men were still holding her, but they’d made no movement to obey his orders; they both just stood there staring ahead with slightly vacant looks on their faces.

Understanding flashed on Georgios’s face, and he immediately reached down and grabbed his sword. The perfect steel, Hanser-forged, hissed as it slid from the scabbard. He started to shift forward, but as Zealla fixed her gaze on him there was a flash of something around him, and he staggered back a step. For a moment, a ripple in the air became visible, a faint wave of power that flared around him, the disturbance focused on a small amulet that he wore on a chain tight around his neck. The display lasted barely a second, and as it faded Georgios recovered his footing. He reached up and touched his nose, looked down to see blood on his fingertips. Neither Zealla or his men had reacted. He snarled and lunged, the point of the sword coming up toward her heart. He only had to advance two steps before he could drive the blade home.

But he managed only one before a hand came up from behind him, yanking his head back as another hand drew a razor-sharp knife across his throat.

Georgios staggered to the side, the fine sword clattering heavily on the bare wooden floor. Blood poured in a cascade from the gaping wound. Zealla took a slight step back as the spray nearly reached her, her guardians releasing her instantly at some unspoken command. The man who moments before had been one of the most powerful in the city managed one incredulous look at Ordis, standing there with his bloody knife in one hand, before he stumbled toward the exit, making it two steps before collapsing onto the floor next to the couch. He reached for it, trying to pull himself up, but he only managed to smear the canvas with his blood before he fell limp, faint sounds issuing from him as he bled out.

Zealla brushed some of the mud from her clothes. It was a futile gesture; she would have to secure replacements as soon as possible. You should have listened to me, she said to the dying man. It’s a pity that you won’t be around to see what you helped bring into being.

She regarded the limp form of Georgios Galdari for another moment. Finally, she stepped forward and bent down, heedless of the spreading pool of blood that she smeared with her boots. With a tug she pulled his amulet free. She studied it for a moment, then put it in her pocket.

Come, she said to the three men, who had watched the scene without reaction. We have a lot to do.

What about that? Ordis asked, gesturing toward the body. It had stopped moving, though blood continued to trickle from the gash across its neck. It was clear, though, that the eyes that stared straight up at the ceiling no longer saw anything.

Leave it, she began, but then a thoughtful look crossed her face. On second thought, bring it. He can still be useful, to stir things up a bit, if nothing else.

The two thugs pulled the canvas off the couch and used it to wrap the body. Zealla looked at Ordis, who wiped his blade clean and replaced it in the hidden sheath in the small of his back. She wondered how he would react if her hold over him slipped. That was something she did not intend to allow happen, of course. Maybe he would just accept it; he had always been a practical-minded sort. He just stood there, watching her with a blank expression not far from his usual one.

It took her new servants just a minute or two to finish getting ready, and then Zealla led them back out into the city. She could hear a ruckus back in the direction of the sinkhole, but that was no difficulty; her immediate destination lay in the opposite direction.

There was so much to do, and little time to get it all done. But her earlier fugue and exhaustion had faded, replaced by an eagerness to put the final stages of her plan for revenge on the city that had destroyed her family and ruined her life into motion.

* * * * *

Chapter 2

STEFAN

The first sight of Leconta House stirred a sudden pang of emotion in Stefan Leconta. The tiles on the eaves jutting out from the upper story still looked a bit shabby and need of repair; he even caught a glimpse of a bird’s nest peeking out from under a broken one. The window casement on his mother’s window had the same crack it had borne for the last five years, ever since his father had unexpectedly died. But the small garden that fronted the property was alive with blooms, and he could smell their wafts over the familiar odors of the nearby river as the cart rattled to a stop and then slowly backed into the drive that ran alongside the property.

Stefan’s bladder was uncomfortably full, but he stayed where he was as the cart drew up alongside the house. Part of it was that he was wedged in tightly by a mass of half-full sacks and heavily quilted blankets; his mother must have raided the linen closet before sending Riva out. But part of it was fear of the reaction he might provoke if he tried to get out and ended up passing out—or worse—in the side yard of his house.

He didn’t see his mother at once, but Armand was there, offering solicitations that Stefan barely heard. He looked up at the upper-story windows but didn’t see any telltale signs of movement.

We’ll get you squared up right away, sir, Armand was saying. Stefan tried to offer the long-time family servant a reassuring smile, but it felt false even to him. He knew he should have been grateful to be here. He’d expected to stay at least a few more days in Lakeview after the cleric from Summer Landing had treated his wounds; while no longer in danger of dying, the healing had left him as weak as an infant.

The cart swayed as Riva stepped over from the seat onto the bed. Well? she asked. You going to get up, or what?

He didn’t bother trying a smile at Riva—that never worked on the Leconta armswoman—and gingerly extracted himself from the padded couch where he’d ridden from Lakeview. His back protested at the movement; Riva hadn’t taken it slow, probably operating under orders from his mother. He’d given the veteran warrior a precis of what had happened on the trip; she hadn’t commented much beyond a few grunts. He almost wished she would have been critical. There was plenty to critique: almost getting himself killed, losing his family’s sword to a man armed only with a prybar and a knife, and not least, demonstrating his utter ill-suitedness to be the future leader of House Leconta.

For all her casual words, Riva watched him like a hawk as he dismounted from the cart, and offered him a supporting arm as they made their way into the house. His obvious need for the help overcame any efforts to preserve his pride that he might have made. There was no point to it in any case; that ship had sailed.

He was expecting an ambush as soon as he made it inside, but there was no sign of Helena Juliana Leconta as he made his way into the familiar kitchen and the dining room beyond. He glanced up at the stairs with some alarm, but Armand quickly interjected, We’ve got a space fixed up for you in the guest bedroom, Master Stefan. Stefan felt too weak to make a fuss, and let them guide him there.

The bed was already made up for him, and seemed to beckon him, but he forced himself to make use of the chamber pot first. Riva gave him his privacy, but Armand stood by as if afraid that his cock was going to fall off. That rogue thought made him chuckle, but it turned into a wince as his partially-healed wound reminded him that he was far from whole.

Armand lingered once he was settled in the bed. Is there anything else you need, sir? he asked.

Nah, I’m good, Stefan said. I think I’ll just lie here a bit. Ah, Armand? Um… have you seen my mother?

She and Cami went out into the city to get a few things, Armand said. They should be back soon… unless you wanted me to go look for them?

No, that’s okay, Stefan said. But even as he spoke, he could hear the sound of the front door slamming, and voices from the foyer.

Ah, that must be them now, Armand said, and he quickly decamped—with what Stefan thought was a bit of relief. Or maybe he was just eager to avoid the coming scene. Stefan was a bit eager for such an escape himself, but it wasn’t like the bed was big enough for him to hide underneath it. But he was eying the closet when the door opened and his mother appeared.

Helena Juliana