The Lord of the Pale: Stories from Caeloran

By Ionos Belazza

Ellin Vanne is First Ranger for the flourishing town of Wayhaven that has been haunted by unsafe roads for the last two years since the outbreak of a war in the west. Harrowed by the deaths of two men she held dear and facing opposition from those in power in regards to her investigation of the matter, she encounters on chance the infamous battlemage, Trystan of Rhonwen, a man who carries secrets that are deeply entwined with Ellin's identity. The two embark on a pursuit for the origin of a strange curse, her foster father's mysterious demise and a shadowy figure named the Lord of the Pale, who will stop at nothing to get what he wants.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ionos Belazza
• Release date: Mar 15, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215858721

Book preview

Part I: Prologue

It was nigh twilight , and all the birds had gone to sleep to leave the crickets in the forest, albeit the ranger had heard nary a sound for a good while now since she came upon the road. She brought her torch closer and assessed the scene. To her left a cart was on its side – its contents carelessly about the ground in whole or in pieces, and its owner nowhere to be seen. Further ahead was the savaged carcass of a grey pony, half of its body was missing. There had been a tussle , her heightened senses told her, but it had not lasted long. A large animal, or worse .

She went down on one knee on the cold, hard earth and let her fingers hover above the trail of dried blood that veered off the beaten path and snaked its way into the dark wood sheltered under a light blanket of snow.  The ranger wanted to follow, and maybe put an end to whatever foul menace that had seemingly robbed the lone traveller of his life and made the act of undertaking journeys on this particular road bothersome, but common sense forbade her from making such a reckless decision.

She was alone, with no backup, and her outpost at Wayhaven was more than half a mile away. She fixed her jade eyes on the uninviting backwoods; a tall army of spruces, pines and firs standing in close proximity, with a thick undergrowth below them. It would be a hassle to get through it, and in the dark no less. No, this was a trial for another day. On the morrow she would return with an outfit, if Commander Rand would finally see it fit to provide her one. If not, well, she had some convincing to do.

In the dark of the fast approaching night, two pairs of hungry eyes watched her...

WAYHAVEN WAS A FORMIDABLE fortress, perched atop a high hill that provided a stunning vista of the River Finduin and the sprawling Forest of Vanowen – or as the locals dubbed it, the Queenswood. The castle's lordly citadel was enclosed within a pair of sturdy red walls, and the summit of the hill was crowned by four massive round towers fashioned from pale stone which pierced the sky, their windows arranged in an asymmetrical pattern. Beyond the castle walls, a thriving town bustled with life and trade, an intersection of commerce and culture. In the bygone past, it had just been a tiny hamlet where weary travelers sought respite on their journeys to the splendid cities of Ironfell and Rhovinar. Now, Wayhaven had grown into a flourishing center of trade, thanks in large part to the generosity of King Vildris IV.

During the Second Strife of Princes, the king had sought refuge at the Wayfarers' Inn, where he had been hidden by an alderman who, despite his noble heritage, had fallen on hard times. In gratitude for the alderman's courage and loyalty, the king had provided him with a significant purse and commissioned the construction of a mighty castle that would serve as a bulwark against the threats that plagued the realm.

The thick bronzewood gates of the town's main entrance were still open when she returned; mainly because of the brawl seemingly about to take place in the middle of the road. A pair of guards stood between a quartet of rowdy looking men garbed in mail and fighting leathers. No steel had been unsheathed yet, but words sharp as were flying about rapidly.

Good morrow, gentlemen. Eilin said when she had reached an appropriate distance and drew back her hood, letting her golden locks tumble free.