The Chronicles of Klaye: Book 1: Blood Dawn

By Adam Van Dyke

About the Book
The first installment of the Chronicles of Klaye saga, Blood Dawn, marks the beginning of the terrors that befall the world. Powerful beings known as Magi are created once every thousand years to the elven and human races to keep the balance of power in the world. When the threat of world domination by an undead wizard becomes a reality, the ambitions of rulers, wizards, and even the Magi unfold. When faced with almost certain death and destruction, even the best of people begin the downward spiral that can only lead to evil and dismay.
Following a variety of characters, from a simple thief to the most powerful wizards, most every angle of the events taking place at the time are revealed. A young princess witnesses the murder of her family and fights to become the Magi the world needs her to be. Evil wizards and dragons join forces with the undead wizard for their own gain, forcing unlikely allies to band together in hopes of defeating the evil threatening to destroy Klaye. Despite war, death, and seemingly hopelessness, love and compassion abound among various people. Their desire to do good and to be the light in the world that will guide the kingdoms of humans and elves to victory is felt everywhere. Their belief that goodness will prevail over evil gives them strength when it appears there is no hope.

About the Author
Adam Van Dyke is currently 38, engaged to a wonderful woman, and has one son and one daughter. He is a Christian who has suffered a lot of hardships in life that have given him the inspiration to write these books. Since age 12 he has played Dungeons and Dragons, giving him the creative outlet to express ideas and stories in a fantasy setting. Progressing through life, he has enjoyed hobbies from various games and musical instruments to writing and drawing. Adam is currently working on completing a degree in creative writing.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dorrance Publishing Company
• Release date: Apr 12, 2023
• ISBN: 9781685377533

Book preview

1

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Kythra

To Kythra, pleasure is attained by several methods, each of which is lived for, and she was known for her selfish indulgence throughout her realm. Sex, power, magic, and inflicting pain are simply a few devices she used over the years to obtain what she wanted… and Kythra always got what she wanted.

The greatest, most conniving, and terrifying plan she’d ever devised was to come together and begin at any moment. The wait and anticipation were almost too much to bear, evident in how she paced the cold stone floors of her bedchamber and stopped in front of her wall mirror at each pass. Again, Kythra came to the metal frame, inlaid in silver with maple leaves etched into the entire border that outlined the oval glass holding her image.

Her perfectly straight, thin black hair was pulled back behind her petite elven ears to hang at her waist. Her ivory-colored skin was flawless in every way, heavily contrasted by her bright emerald eyes and thin red lips. Though her bed robe was black as night; being sheer silk, it revealed far more than it covered, leaving her prefect and desirable body easily visible in the torchlight. Kythra smiled at her own beauty, revealing pearl white teeth set in perfect proportion and alignment with a slight dimple in each cheek. Spinning around on her bare feet, her weightless robes took flight about her ankles before she continued to pace around the room as she waited.

The moonlight from both Lunis and Elisran entered the windows on either side of her vast bedchamber, the shutters open to allow the warm breeze in. The black and silver sheer draperies danced in the soft wind as floral scented incense burned throughout her room. The atmosphere seemed almost as perfect as the plan.

There was a soft knock a few moments before Darrec White, her chamber servant, entered with eyes lowered and a voice barely above a whisper. Your guest awaits, My Queen.

Kythra glanced at the young blonde human, loving every word he spoke from his nervous lips almost as much as she enjoyed making him undoubtedly uncomfortable. Excellent, she said with a smile. Let him in.

Darrec bowed without raising his eyes to her and backed out the doorway to let her guest in, then closed the door behind him.

Marcus, I’m glad you came, Kythra said, approaching him as she spoke, watching his eyes devour her from head to toe. She knew that her natural scent was unique and sweeter than any flower or dessert, so with a grin and the magic within her, she amplified the aroma to become intoxicating.

Of course, My Lady… His deep voice lost its confidence while his blue eyes closed, and he inhaled her scent. Kythra watched his body relax as he stood less than a foot from her, his shoulders lowered first, then every tense muscle was eased. She looked up to his calm, pleasant face of hardened flesh, beaten by years of warfare and stress; though a well-groomed, short cropped beard and hair revealed his royalty despite his disguise. He opened his eyes and smiled at her. I wouldn’t miss a moment like this. Marcus then raised a callused hand to her cheek.

Feeling his abrasive hand on her soft face was enough to make her turn away from him, but she knew it was one of many things she must endure. To her relief, he turned over his hand and outlined her jaw with his knuckle until he reached her chin and raised her face to his. She continued her seductive grin, even as he bent to her and pressed his lips to hers.

Taking his hand in hers after their brief embrace, she spun away from Marcus and led him to her elaborate canopied bed. Vines and leaves were carved into the oak wood frame while the black and silver curtains matching the window draperies were pulled back to reveal the royal bedding. The event to come was nothing, merely a single irrelevant act that was only part of something much more important, and one that she was well practiced in. Kythra let go of his hand and spun in a circle as she let her robes fall from her shoulders, cascading down her body to the floor, where they silently landed.

My lady, you are so beautiful. So desirable… His voice trailed off as she began with his doublet, keeping eye contact the entire time it took to disrobe him. She saw that he opened his mouth to speak, most likely to offer more useless compliments she’d heard countless times, and by men far more attractive, and placed a finger to his lips while forcing herself to smile.

Shh, Marcus. I know you’ve wanted this for a long time, but please use your mouth for something more useful than words. Again, maintaining her smile, she looked down at his nakedness before giving him a look so seductive she knew nothing would pull his desire from her. She then backed away from him and climbed onto her bed, hiding nothing from his eyes. She knew she had him by the way he licked his lips and looked at her with such desire.

Altering her scent to chocolate and roses, she then spread her legs for him. Let’s see how good your tongue… Before she could finish her sentence, he was grasping her thighs and tasting her. The tenderness of his mouth and the roughness of his beard was both irritating and arousing, a combination that could at least keep her interested for a few moments. To her surprise, the man was rather talented, and it didn’t take long for her interest to turn into orgasm. A few times she made to pull away from him, but he held her in place to give her pleasure, which she allowed for only so long, then she forced herself away. I want to feel you inside of me…, she had said to distract his obvious dismay.

Marcus wasted no time in repositioning himself to enter her and did so delicately. Knowing he’d spent every day and night of the last two years desiring this moment, she also knew he wouldn’t last very long, so when his gentleness turned into ravage thrusting, Kythra changed the pace. Bracing herself and channeling her magic to increase her strength, she grabbed ahold of him and rolled over on top of Marcus. While he moaned, she sat up straight, gathering her long hair behind her to better look at him.

Are you ready? she asked him with a smile, guiding his hands onto her hips.

I’ve been ready for so long…

As he spoke, she lowered herself down onto him, his words turning into grunts of pleasure. Two years of secret meetings, flirting and seducing, all came down to this moment. With her knees sliding up his body along her black satin sheets, she got into a rhythm and before long both of them were nearly ready to explode.

With the scent of sex and chocolate making her head light, Kythra shook each time she took all of him inside her. Moving faster and faster, she continued while maneuvering his hands from her hips to the sheets above his head and held him there. In one quick motion she slid herself back. As he groaned in protest and pleasure, Kythra pressed herself firmly against Marcus and kissed him, her hair covering them.

Having activated the desired magical effect from within, she slid her tongue over his the moment their parted lips met. She felt resistance in his arms, probably trying to grasp her somewhere but she held him down and stopped moving her hips. As the kiss persisted, she felt his strength and hardness slip away quickly, and before Kythra made another circle around his tongue with hers, she realized that he wasn’t responding.

Pulling her lips and face away from his to better consider his eyes, Kythra smiled at the sights before her. Sitting up, she could see that while she was wet with her pleasure, he hadn’t spilled his seed, which broadened her grin into a wicked smile. Her gaze then returned to his face which she enjoyed the sight thereof more so than anything. His sapphire blue eyes were cold and lifeless, his expression set in frozen agony, while no breath escaped his lips.

With both palms on his broad chest, Kythra balanced herself while straddling him, snapping her head to let her hair hang to one side. His lips quickly became purple, then turned black. The veins in his face and capillaries followed suit, creating rivers of black blood under his paling flesh. As Kythra slid backward off his body, she watched in pure satisfaction as the poison quickly spread from head to toe.

Allys Robah. Kythra uttered the words as her feet found the sheer black robes beside the bed and they immediately rose to cover her before tying above her waist. Darrec!

The fifteen-year-old servant was opening her brass framed maplewood door before she’d crossed her bedchamber to the wall mirror. He shut the door with eyes to the floor as usual, followed by the expected courtesy. Yes, My Queen?

The phrase never loses its luster. Kythra had used Marcus to acquire Alemn Keep along with the surrounding city nearly four years ago, beginning the foundation of her larger schemes that truly began this day. As Kythra stepped in front of the mirror, she turned slightly to look over her servant, who was dressed in the uniform attire of all her subjects. From collar to toe he wore black dyed cotton; having boots, breeches, and undertunic stitched together with silver thread. His jerkin was black leather, bearing her chosen sigil on each breast mirroring itself: a black raven perched on a crystal ball.

In the brief moment of silence, Kythra watched as he awkwardly glanced to Marcus’s body sprawled across her bed, his eyes widening before returning to the floor. A grin came to her lips as she sensed his fear and discomfort. Afraid of a body?

In the blink of an eye, Darrec’s gaze shifted from her to the floor again before he answered. No, My Queen, of course not. His right hand moved to the raven sigil and traced the silver threads of the crystal ball, then with a surprising leap of courage, his eyes met hers. You are most beautiful, yet deadly, My Queen. Perhaps you should have chosen the black widow as your sigil.

Kythra’s grin persisted, pleased that her servant of two years was finally man enough to speak to his queen as such, yet more so from the statement he made. The raven can be deadly as well, young Darrec; to me, it has a deeper meaning. She turned to her mirror before giving her order. Dispose of his body, servant. You had best ensure no one sees you leave my castle with it, though it needs to be easily found in Dhaliah.

Yes, of course, My Queen. Darrec set to dressing and wrapping the body of Marcus while she focused on herself, preparing to leave for the next few days. Gazing at her flawless beauty, Kythra ensured there were no lasting blemishes, bruises, or other discolorations on her skin and smiled, pleased with her appearance. She understood completely why men stopped to stare at her wherever she went, a weakness she utilized to the fullest on every occasion.

Allowing for a mental image of her favorite appearance to form in her mind, she then uttered the words of power that would cause the desired attire to fabricate itself over her body. Visra robah. As she spoke the two words in the language of magic, she noticed Darrec glance at her while he worked. Focusing her attention on the image of herself change, she watched as the bed robe from her waist down transformed into sheer skirts that hung to the floor, slit up each side to her mid thighs. Soft black leather began to make its way around her hips, spinning upward to form a corset that slightly lifted her breasts, while leaving the front open from collar to naval. The leather worked its way over her shoulders, adding padding and form as it went, creating shoulder guards and a collar that appeared as thorns. Her sleeveless arms were then covered only by matching leather gloves that hugged her forearms as it traveled to her elbows. Her long black hair was spun into dozens of braids that were tucked into an impressive platinum and black onyx crown, allowing only a handful of her long braids to travel down her back.

In the next moment, Kythra rose a couple of inches as heeled knee-high leather boots formed around her feet and wound up her leg. As a platinum, onyx, and emerald necklace completed its formation around her neck, she turned to face Darrec and uttered, Fragrah lismo, allowing all scents on her body except what was natural to her, to extinguish. Of course, I do not need to emphasize how important it is that you aren’t seen and what the repercussions will be should you fail me?

Darrec had finished dressing Marcus and started to roll him to the foot of the bed as she spoke, yet he didn’t stop in his duties to reply. I understand, Queen Kythra. It shall be done as you have commanded.

With a wave of her hand, Kythra created a thin black outline on her lips and thick black eyeliner that brought out her emerald green eyes. Raising her arms slightly, she uttered, Equ’Almys, to call her sword and powerful staff to her hands.

The elven crafted longsword was forged of Kiln steel, blackened and enchanted during its creation, and designed just for Kythra from the ancient elven city of Visrah. The soft leather scabbard formed around her small waist with her sword, known as ‘BlackBlood’ in its sheath. In her left hand materialized her beloved staff, created by the traitor, Lord Syris Whitestorm. Crafted from bone and cast in silver, the length of the staff was lined with rubies and black sapphires, matching the appearance of the lather handle of BlackBlood. The staff’s crown was a twisted network of blackened steel encasing a gigantic ruby, also matching the pommel of her longsword. Engraved along the shaft, alongside the alternating gemstones, were dozens of runes, written in the ancient language of magic, each containing a spell of great power.

Of all her possessions, these two items were more important to Kythra. The longsword was the only thing her father ever gave her and had proven most useful many times; and the staff was her direct channel to the Veil of magic that binds the world, allowing her to draw its power and use the spells crafted into it. Also, it alleviated her from the need to vocalize the casting of most spells that she knew.

Glancing at each of her weapons, she started toward the door, allowing one final look to the corpse that would start it all and smiled. Darrec finished wrapping Marcus and looked up to her and simply bowed his head. Kythra inclined her chin and headed for the bedchamber door, opening it with the staff’s power.

Kythra always held a brisk pace as she walked, allowing her skirts to flow behind her while admirers watched her pass by. Servants, guards, and courtiers stopped all that they were doing or saying to bow and admire their queen as she walked down the halls of Alemn Keep. Elaborate tapestries, sconces, and statues covered the walls while vaulted painted ceilings loomed overhead, yet nothing was noticed except Kythra as she moved in silence besides the thud… thud… thud of her staff upon the stone floors.

Quickly heading through the castle, Kythra headed directly to her stables where Shadowmane, her prized courser, had been prepared for her. Disregarding the stable hands and various servants, she gathered her skirts and mounted her muscled black horse. Needing no guards or escorts, she situated herself in the saddle and stirrups while setting the base of her staff into its holster at her ankle and grasped the reins with her free hand.

Moments later she was riding in a trot throughout the open streets of Alemn as Illiuus, the first sun, rose from the horizon. The early morning crowds dispersed along the roadway to let her pass and bowed respectfully as she rode by. Though the scents of bakeries and floral shops wafted along with the breeze, so did the other unpleasant smells of a human city. If nothing else, Kythra missed the music and flowers in Visrah, which Alemn completely lacked, causing her to shake her head in disappointment.

By the time Kythra left the dismal city walls behind her, Illiuus was beating at her backside, casting her long shadow far ahead of her onto the road. She looked back, a faint smile on her lips as she gazed at the peculiar beauty of Alemn at dawn with its rock and wood structures illuminated in bright reds and oranges.

My city. My people… and they are only the beginning. Her thoughts raced back and forth from the last four years of plans to the future so close at hand. Digging her heels into Shadowmane, the mare sped up into a steady gallop, pulling her hair and skirts into the wind behind her.

Narrowing her emerald eyes to the northwest, over the hills, Kythra grasped her staff and the reins with a firm hold, speaking a word of power: Fiera. No sooner did the word escape her lips did her temporal magic take effect. The morning birds appeared to freeze in place in the skies while leaves on the occasional tree ceased from moving. Only herself and Shadowmane seemed to race along the roadway as the world around her came to a halt. Kythra grinned for a moment, knowing that the powerful magic from the staff coinciding with her own will had created a dimensional pocket that allowed her to move through time far faster than the world around her.

In the blink of an eye, everything else seemed to catch up and race past her, creating an almost blinding stream of light. The rolling hills passed by in seconds, travelers and foliage weren’t even visible, and the great city of Dhaliah came and went to the southwest. The massive tower of Krathis appeared to rise from the horizon ahead of her, darkening her thoughts immediately. There is no man or elf I hate more, not even my father deserves to die as much as he…

2

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Dawn

Dawn had seated herself beside the eastern window of her bedchamber enjoying the comfort of her goose down cushioned chair. It was a three-hundred-year-old piece of Dhaliahn art, crafted from greenwood oak, carved from the headrest to the feet with doves and roses.

Her long golden blonde hair tumbled over her bare shoulders in wide ringlets that rested in her lap, covering the sky-blue bodice she wore to match her eyes. Dawn’s young skin, pale and fair, though slightly freckled, illuminated with the soft glow of Illiuus as it rose from the horizon. The first sun’s light cast its ray into the room and over her; setting the aquamarines, diamonds, and blue sapphires of her dress to sparkle, making the beautiful princess to appear almost radiant.

While she admired the sunrise, her two chambermaids; Victoria and Emra, tended to her hair and nails, completing her regal appearance. Having access to every comfort and luxury, Dawn enjoyed being the most beautiful princess Dhaliah had ever known, or so she’d been told, and wanted to look the part every day. Aside from her physical beauty, her dress, and jewelry; her servants were fixing flawless aquamarines into her toe and fingernails, which were painted a soft blue to match her eyes and dress.

Today, as it was seventeen years ago on her birthday, a gorgeous orange and golden yellow dawn filled the skies, reminding her where her name came from. The story was told to her countless mornings by her mother.

I’m so sorry to hear of poor Prince Ludis, My Lady. He was most handsome and brave, surely a perfect match for you. Victoria’s words cut through Dawn’s thoughts like a knife, breaking her concentration and bringing her to the here and now. She said nothing to her servant, only managed half of a smile as she glanced at her before Dawn looked back outside, into the brightening skies.

Prince Ludis was the first born of King Vaeleth Drolland and his Queen, Ellis, the heir to the entire Krollan Kingdom and supposed to be Dawn’s husband. Her father, Marcus Dhaliah, had warred with the Krollan lands for more than a decade before peace was finally achieved. Part of the treaty included a marriage contract, binding the two families together by unifying Marcus’s seventeen-year-old daughter and the fifteen-year-old prince.

A raven had come the previous day bearing the terrible news of the prince’s untimely death and the uncertain nature of it. It was said he perished in a training session by his own squire, but at that point, nothing was confirmed. An emissary was dispatched the same time as the raven, to be expected by dawn at the Dhaliah Palace.

She had met the prince only once, a week ago at the great feast her father hosted, celebrating the signing of the treaty. Dawn saw him once in greeting, then again at departure besides the feast, though no words were spoken. He was younger than Dawn, but she wouldn’t have known it by his comely face, standing six feet tall with broad shoulders, short blonde hair, and green eyes. Those eyes… they had exchanged glances and smiles throughout the whole meal.

Do you suspect that the King intends for you to marry Charles instead? Emra’s soft voice cut into her thoughts again as Victoria’s had and it came to Dawn that her servants wouldn’t let her alone about the issue.

I’m not sure, Emra. She turned her head to look between the two servants as they completed their duty. I must do as I am told and that’s all I know. The thought of being used as a peace banner wasn’t something Dawn was pleased to think of herself as, but her entire life, as she well knew, was meant to prepare for marriage. She’d never argued with her parents, nor caused them grief in all her years, something she was most proud of; now, as the time has come for her fate to be decided, she wished her opinion mattered.

Emra slid toeless blue crystal slippers onto Dawn’s feet before Victoria took her by the hand and helped her out of the chair. Thank you, she said to both of them, each smiling and nodding in response. I’m surprised Mother isn’t here already. The thought wasn’t meant to be spoken, but her servants said nothing for a change. Typically, the Queen was at her door or at least summoning her by first light, strange that today there was no word from her as of yet. Then, as she stepped to her wall mirror to inspect her hair and dress, she realized that the emissary must have arrived, delaying her parents.

Well done, ladies, Dawn said smiling and spinning herself in front of the mirrors.

Thank you, My Lady, the girls said in unison. They were of an age with Dawn and they’d practically grown up together, so she had come to love them almost as sisters. Hopefully they could come with her when the time came considering all that she would leave behind. Dawn glanced across the bedchamber and through the archway that led to her own tower within the Northern Keep of the palace. Two libraries, a study, six wardrobes, and a lot of memories were among a few things she may have to let go of, not to mention perhaps her servants as well.

A slight commotion from outside her eastern window broke Dawn’s concentration, and giving into curiosity, she walked around the greenwood oak chair and peered outside. Three hundred feet below sat the cobblestone courtyard; spacious yet filled with ivory and marble statues that created pathways from the Northern Keep to the East Gatehouse. Looking down to where the clatter of hooves on stone along with shouting came from, Dawn saw her eldest brother, Elijah, leading an armored contingent from the palace. His shield bearer held the large banner of Dhaliah; a red dragon surrounded by spears on black, as it rippled behind six men, each of them mounted and galloping across the courtyard.

Strange. It was the only word that came to mind while watching her brother, armored and escorted, moving with such speed within the palace walls at such an hour. Something is wrong.

A soft clang of armor came to her ears from outside the bedchamber, growing louder until it stopped at her door. Typically, a page, squire, or servant of some kind would announce the Queen or whomever came to her chambers, however, the door was nearly thrown open by palace guards. Though her heart pounded in her chest and both her servants took a step back, Dawn relaxed somewhat at the sight of her mother, the Queen Prescilla, as she passed between the guards and entered her bedchamber.

As the Queen stepped into the light, Dawn’s heart pounded even harder as she realized something was terribly wrong. As Dawn appreciated her beautiful and ladylike appearance, so did her mother; however, the Queen was in such a disheveled state that the sight was startling. Her mother was dressed in fine red gowns; yet her hair wasn’t done, being pulled back and a mess, her eyes were swollen and red, and no makeup had touched her face. The expression she wore was a seeming mixture of anger and sadness like Dawn had never seen on her.

Mother, what’s—

I will not be attending breakfast this morning my dear, and neither will the King. The Queen’s voice waivered, thick with emotion, yet she only glanced around the room and lowered her eyes while lifting her chin. I will speak with you alone afterwards. Without allowing Dawn to speak, the Queen spun on her heels, her skirts twirling about, and left with her guarded escort.

When the door shut behind them, Victoria and Emra rushed to Dawn with nervous expressions while each of them reached for a hand. What is troubling Her Majesty, would you suppose? Victoria inquired as Emra asked, Did you see her eyes?

Ladies, Dawn said in her sweet young voice, finding the courage to stay calm. Let us not gossip about my mother, I’m sure everything is fine, and she was woken early for some reason is all. Not used to even the soft reprimand from the princess, the ladies bit their tongues and kept silent on the matter.

Her mind did begin to race however, trying to connect the departure of the crowned prince at dawn, her mother in the condition she was, and the comment of neither herself nor the King joining Dawn for their morning meal. It had been tradition for as long as she could remember that the royal family, obviously excluding those away at war or an event, broke their fast together. It was a time of the day that she cherished, and Dawn knew that everyone else did as well. Something is terribly wrong.

Typically, her chambermaids didn’t join Dawn for breakfast, she would join her mother for the walk to the West Hall and meet the rest of the family there. Considering she’d be dining alone this day, Dawn figured it appropriate to ask Victoria and Emra to break their fast with her. Each of them smiled sympathetically and graciously accepted the Princess’s offer. Within moments the three of them were ready.

Victoria opened the chamber door for them and to everyone’s surprise they were greeted by a silent contingent of palace guards, armored in plated steel and armed with sheathed swords and halberds in hand. For a brief moment Dawn couldn’t move, immediately noticing the guards’ red capes with black lining on the underside, the opposite worn… except in times of war.

Dawn’s heart began to pound again, recalling the last time she saw red caped guards, it wasn’t war within the palace or even city walls, but the exile of an Archmage believed to be extremely dangerous to the royal family, especially her, after years of service. It was feared that the powerful wizard would become hostile, yet he left the palace after secretly meeting with Dawn. She had been terrified, being only thirteen and appearing in her bedchamber, but he had tears in his eyes and simply said his goodbyes before leaving peacefully.

The guards looked immaculate in their suits of plated steel with each piece overlaid in platinum, shown bright in the combination of morning sun and torchlight. Their breastplates glistened the most, having rubies for the red dragon insignia and orange citrines for the spears that were fixed into the steel. One such guard stepped forward, towering over her, and raised the face guard of his great helm and took a quick bow, the plume of red feathers swaying behind his helmet.

My Lady, we are to escort you to the West Hall.

The guard wasn’t a handsome man from what she could see, but his voice was kind enough. Unsure what to say, Dawn simply fell into formation, being accompanied by her chambermaids and surrounded by palace guards.

Whether it was from the awkward silence or the strange morning, Dawn couldn’t tell, but the walk through the elaborately decorated palace halls seemed to take forever. The clangor of the guards’ armor was almost as irritating as the glare of Illiuus off of it, along with the glares from their eleven-foot-tall halberds. Upon reaching the great double oaken doors to the West Hall, she was more than relieved, although it seemed strange that they hadn’t passed anyone during their walk except for guards.

Two guards opened the doors and Dawn was led inside the Hall, immediately bathed in sunlight from the seven-story windows and the aroma of fresh bread and various meats. After stepping toward the long table where she and her family ate every morning, Dawn turned around to see the guards had also come into the Hall and took their posts by the door.

Is it truly necessary that I be guarded while my servants and I eat? she asked in a soft voice after gaining the courage to ask them.

The guard who had revealed his face and spoke to her before was the one who answered her now, his voice muffled behind the faceguard. By order of Her Majesty, the Queen, Your Highness is to be protected henceforth. Dawn had no reply to his words, an order was an order, and if her own mother feared for her safety, then so be it.

With a sigh, she turned around, noticing her chambermaids’ nervous glances, and led them to where servants had begun to prepare their places. Oddly enough there were three chairs pulled away and empty platters set with goblets and silverware. Directly across the table was a single setting prepared, various servants bringing out a buffet of various foods and placing the platters on the center of the table.

Musicians entered and began to softly play harps and sing from the two farthest corners of the Hall as they did each morning, the familiarity bringing a faint smile to Dawn’s lips, and she took a seat in the center of the three chairs offered. After Victoria and Emra followed suit on either side of her, their platters were filled with duck, eggs, cakes, bread, and other food. Before she could take her first bite, the sound of a door being opened echoed from the end of the Hall near the musicians.

To Dawn’s surprise, the person who walked in was the last person in the world she’d expected. Victor, her mother’s brother, strode in wearing black studded leather armor, having coin-sized diamonds sewn into his collar. His leather pleated skirt was fashioned in the same manner as the rest of his armor and boots, being embroidered with platinum thread. His tight leather breeches and sleeves revealed a muscular build, and as he came closer, Dawn could see that the handsome man with her eyes didn’t appear to have aged a day in four years. His high cheekbones were framed with a short light brown beard while a plain platinum circlet held back his long sand-colored hair. She also noticed the diamond pendant that he wore around his shoulders that indicated his title of Lord, which he held in place as he bowed after reaching the single setting at the table across from her.

Nodding, Dawn glanced at Victoria, who sat to her right with a peculiar expression coupled with a smile. When Victoria looked to Dawn, her smile faded, and she blushed while shrugging her shoulders. Dismissing her servant’s expression and focusing on her uncle, Dawn wracked her brain trying to think of what to say to him.

Good morning, Princess, he said in a monotone, emotionless voice, much unlike she remembered him sounding. His blue eyes bore into hers without a smile, yet faint lines around his eyes and brow seemed to her as if he was hiding amusement. The look made her flush in frustration and her heart began to beat a little harder as she mustered the courage to speak her mind rather than reply in typical courtesy.

Good morning? Her soft, yet bold voice echoed in the Hall. Perhaps to some, but I find this morning confusing and full of secrets. Why are the guards’ cloaks in red? Why, after four years, are you the only one here to break their fast with me while the family I eat with every day is gone? She felt her eyes water and cheeks grow warm while more questions came to her but when her uncle simply smiled at her, she became so upset that she nearly cried. Instead, Dawn sighed and glared at him.

While both Victoria and Emra were clearly uncomfortable, each simultaneously picked up their forks and started to eat. Dawn, however, positioned her hands in her lap and focused on not crying while waiting for answers.

As they stared at each other for several moments of awkward silence, servers poured a sweet red wine into their goblets. Victor elegantly picked up his once it was filled and took a long sip, then held onto the goblet’s stem delicately while smiling at Dawn. You are becoming a very beautiful young woman, Princess. It’s a pleasure to see you again.

All her life; courtesy, respect, and etiquette were engraved into her mind, helping to make Dawn the perfect princess that she was. In this moment, she lost her courtesy and desired only to speak her mind, though without being rude, especially to a Lord and her own uncle.

Thank you, Uncle; it’s pleasing to see you again as well, though some answers would be appreciated more than compliments. Feeling somewhat odd that she was the only one not eating or drinking, Dawn delicately took her own goblet and drank a small sip. As the wine trickled down her throat and warmed her stomach, she took a second to enjoy the fruity taste, a perfect blend of bitter and sweet.

My Lady, I pray that you forgive me. It isn’t my duty to tell you what worries your Queen mother, or why you and I…, Victor gestured to Victoria and Emra, and your chambermaids, are dining alone.

Unsure whether it was what her uncle said, how he said it, or because of the smug look on his face; but Dawn felt an overwhelming urge to scream out in anger and frustration. It took another, larger sip of the morning wine to clear away the negative thoughts and consider what he said was true. Her uncle wasn’t the reason for the morning’s events, though it was odd he was here, and yet she owed him every respect.

I do forgive you; and please forgive me, this has been a very frustrating morning so far. Dawn tried to ignore the unchanging smile Victor wore and decided to taste the food before her that smelled so delicious.

Of course, My Lady. I can only imagine what you must be thinking. I can say that your mother asked me to accompany you this morning and I am very happy to do so. He sipped his wine and Dawn could swear she saw him steal a glance over his goblet at Victoria. I hope you are enjoying the wine; it is new to Dhaliah. A vintage known as Axem Berry from the Riverwood. Visrah, I believe.

While he spoke, Dawn had begun to chew on her freshly baked bread. She took up the goblet and sipped, both to wash her food down and to taste the wine again. Though her tutoring consisted of mostly court etiquette, sewing, vocabulary, and the like; the small amount of geography she learned was enough to remind her that the Riverwood was the forested lands to the north, belonging to the elves.

At first, she didn’t think much about it, then after a moment, curiosity overwhelmed her. Elven wine? Neither the Queen, nor the King, enjoy elven wine. Why is it being served? She enjoyed another sip.

They are absent, and I thought you might enjoy something new. Victor’s monotone voice was becoming as irritating as his seemingly painted smile.

The last time I saw guards in red, my father and the Conclave had exiled the Archmage. Would you please tell me something to ease my concerns? She tried her best to sound kind and respectful, yet thought she had angered or upset her uncle since his smile finally faded and he simply looked at her in silence.

My dear, you are a princess and most deserving to receive answers to your legitimate questions. I wish more than anything right now that I could tell you what you want to know; however, it is your mother, the Queen, who will speak with you when Her Majesty sees it timely to do so. His words and expression were genuine enough, and perhaps it was because Dawn felt he knew what was going on and chose not to tell her, but something peculiar was surely being withheld. Something in the air, about him, isn’t right.

Dawn could only sigh and reply, Thank you anyway, Uncle, and resumed her breakfast. The rest of their meal was eaten in silence and to her relief and disappointment, Victor rose after his food and wine were gone.

There are duties I must tend to, My Lady, if you’ll excuse me. Without waiting for a reply, he stepped away from the table, bowed, and began to make his way back to the door he had entered from. As Dawn watched him leave, she saw for the first time that her uncle wasn’t wearing the Dhaliah insignia. Across the back of his black leather armor was a white lion stitched in platinum thread, roaring and proud; the family insignia of the Timron’s, his father’s house and her mother’s. It was then that she also recalled the title of Lord bestowed upon him around two years ago by her father, the King.

Strange, Dawn said, just loud enough for Victor to hear her. He paused and spun on his heels to face her, which was when she continued, gathering her boldness and courage once more. You bear the chain, the seal of Lordship over Andor, given you by the King of Dhaliah, yet today of all days, you wear the insignia of your father’s house. Please, tell me why that is, or is that another secret my mother must explain to me?

 Clearly, she had struck a nerve as her uncle didn’t smile. Instead, his face seemed to flush. He took a deep breath and appeared to force his grin. My dear Princess, I’ve worn the insignia of my family all my life, there is no wrong or bad day to wear it. Your curiosity and uneasiness are getting the best of you. Please, enjoy another goblet of wine, I’m sure your mother will speak with you very soon. Again, Victor waited for no reply before turning and leaving.

Deciding to take his advice, Dawn and her two chambermaids indeed enjoyed another goblet of the fine elven wine. All the while, the Princess could only sit and wonder what was happening, a feeling of dread creeping into her heart.

3

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Syris

Syris Aether Whitestorm, exiled Archmage and Lord of Krathis Tower, stood between two spires on the observatory of the monstrous and infamous structure. Constructed three hundred feet in diameter at its base and rising a thousand feet into the sky, the ancient tower dominated the horizon and allowed a view for miles in all directions. Believed to have been built in the first era by wizards and enslaved giants, though it’s true purpose a mystery to most, Lord Syris has made it his home for the last four years.

Built from Greystone, Krathis was a flush cone of architectural brilliance that even the elves in times past marveled at its dark beauty. The only protrusions from the outer wall were hundreds of statues, carved from enormous greystones; depicting dragons, sphinxes, gargoyles, and other creatures in perfect symmetry, spiraling upwards like a staircase. Every twenty feet was a narrow archway at the top of a window frame, though not a single opening existed along the wall of the tower. At its base was a foundation rising off the ground like a steppe pyramid, leading to a single gigantic stone door with carvings that depicted dueling dragons. Its staircase and door faced exactly east with a row of black marble statues lining each side, each taking the image of something different; an elf, a man, a stallion, a unicorn, and other such beings.

On the observation platform, spanning a hundred feet across, rose a dozen sold stone spires that rose from the crenellations to a single point sixty feet high in the exact center of the tower. Sprawled across the platform was furniture for every comfort; sofas, chairs, pillowed mattresses, bars, beds, and tables. In a delicate and practical manner, draperies of dark hues made of silks and satins stretched between the spires to create a beautiful and relaxing lounge atop the thousand-foot tower.

Enjoying the ancient magical barriers that kept out all the elements, including the wind, save for a faint breeze, Lord Syris slowly sipped his goblet of Dhaliahn Red wine as he peered southeast through a part in the draperies. Anticipating this to be the greatest day he’d had in over four years, the exiled Archmage raised his goblet to salute Illiuus, the first sun, as it gained altitude in the eastern sky.

He had risen early this morning and donned his finest robes; a form-fitting tailored masterpiece of soft black leather and satin, stitched perfectly with silver spun thread. Its top was designed to appear as a doublet with the old Conclave insignia of a silver flame that he took as his own after exile. Wide double pleats allowed the robe to flow from his waist to the floor without hinderance, while covering his black silk tunic, breeches, and leather boots. Completing his Archmage appearance was a collection of jewelry he wore, ranging from expensive gemstone rings on each finger, to the diamond-crested chain he wore around his shoulders, and the platinum circlet bearing a single massive diamond in its center.

The slight breeze grazed over his bristled white eyebrows and set his waist-length black hair and beard, both of which had almost completely given way to white, to playing about him. Though his pale skin was nearly transparent with age, his dark blue eyes were very much alive and determined. He bore black tattoos that appeared as eyeliner that arched back to his ears before turning into ancient runes in the Elder Language that trailed down his face. Glaring at the horizon with his fierce blue eyes, Syris held the goblet in one hand and rested his other on the steel pommel of his millennia old longsword called ShadowBlade.

Gazing through the cloudless sky, he began to pan his surroundings from the south to east and back until his eyes rested on the city of Dhaliah. The enormous city spanned for miles across the Dhaliahn Plains as far as the natural eye could see, a mist of smoke from homes and businesses rising into the sky. Glimmering twenty miles away to the southeast, into the heart of the city, the great palace rose into the air, towers and walls climbing hundreds of feet high.

Speaking to himself, his raspy baritone voice broke the silence. The she-elf whore had best keep her word or her pathetic life will end sooner than planned. He again searched the roadways and plains for her. By the gods, I swear I hate her.

As if she heard his threats, Syris grinned as he spotted the shadowed blur that only powerful mages could see, flying around the city of Dhaliah along the main roadway. Knowing it could only be his former apprentice and now Queen of Alemn, he turned from the breathtaking view and briskly walked to his bar. After setting his goblet down and retrieving his staff, which was plain yet elegant in its own way, fashioned of pure silver with a black sapphire fixed into the crown, Syris uttered, Taknas…

Immediately after the word was spoken, a flash of darkness consumed the old wizard in writhing tentacles of shadows, and he appeared through similar shadows just outside the door at the base of Krathis. As the darkness vanished from around him, Syris turned his head while leaning on his staff, and watched the sorceress travel toward him.

Unbidden, his thoughts began, yet again, to recall his time with Kythra, especially the first years when she was most anxious to learn from him. Nearly six decades he spent trying to look past the unmatched beauty of her appearance, so he could properly teach and advise her. He tried to play the father figure role, yet even that approach backfired in time, beginning when she became exceptionally powerful and seductive. Trying to help her learn to use and study magic was a relatively simple task compared to his attempts to restrain her increasingly wicked and ambitious nature.

Despite all her flaws and seductive ways, he had grown to love her quickly, which he never admitted, never wished to accept. Whether it was because of a break of interest as her mentor or because of their past, he’ll never know. When King Marcus Dhaliah had asked him to join the Conclave of Mages, he had created to advise him on all matters of magic in the realm, Syris had brought Kythra to the palace. When the Conclave voted him Archmage, Lord of Counsel, he placed Kythra on the council to allow her to learn the ways of a conclave and how it functions to help a kingdom.

Within only a few years, her corruptive nature leaked into the kingdom, conclave, and even himself. She was brilliant and subtle, so when the blame for a plethora of strange and terrible things required a person, it fell on him. To this day, he truly didn’t understand how she achieved to convince everyone that it was he without meeting with the other wizards, nor would he ask. When he was summoned by the King for a private audience four years ago, he hadn’t expected to see tears in the man’s eyes as he pronounced Syris to be exiled for treason. That same day, Kythra disappeared and the conclave dissolved, leaving a two-year period of turmoil in Dhaliah that he couldn’t assist with… until she came to him with a most interesting plan.

Her rapid arrival brought Syris out of his moment of reminiscing. He watched the shadows that enveloped her dissipate to fully reveal herself, mounted on her prized mare, Shadowmane. Despite her gorgeous and highly provocative person, his upper lip involuntarily twitched at the sight of her while fragments of a hundred horrible memories of betrayal flew through his mind. For him at least, she inspired lust and hate, admiration, and disgust, yet he found himself wishing all was different, perhaps holding onto the empty hope that she had changed, and he could let her live.

Standing as still as a statue while the breeze took the bottom of his robes along with his hair and beard, Syris grasped his staff with his right hand and tapped the rings on his left hand against the steel pommel of his sword. Just the slight tapping on the dragonhead pommel was enough to pull the thought into his mind to draw the four-foot-long blackened Kiln steel blade with its dragon wing hilt and cut her down right then and there.

The thought quickly vacated as he watched the most seductive dismount he’d ever witnessed. Her striking emerald eyes never left his as she twisted her immaculate body around the saddle, bringing her lower back into a slight curve as she did so. The revealing skirts with their high slits and her completely open corset that revealed over half of each breast down to her naval, all nearly drove him mad. The worst part was her signature wicked grin that every man fell for, except him… almost, though he’d never admit that either. So instead, he glared at her as she struts her way up the stairs, her defiant smile persisting every moment until she was only a few feet away.

Clearly the brothels are open until dawn, Lord Syris said, averting his eyes from her enticing attire and attempting to maintain eye contact. With that comment, her smile faded and was replaced with a frown and a glare, darkened more so by her heavy eyeliner.

It’s a great day, Syris, she said in a flat tone, ignoring his comment, standing before him with one hand on her hip and the other holding her ornate staff.

I suppose that is relative, depending on what news you have brought me. Syris kept his tone flat as well, fully intending to keep the conversation on the business at hand. "It is Lord Syris, show me the respect of my station when you address me."

Lord Syris Whitestorm of Krathis, of course, forgive me, Kythra said sarcastically with a grin to match her tone. As for news; I’m pleased to inform you that after two years of waiting… he brought me to orgasm—

Again, the thought to strike her down came to mind. Spare me the details, Whore of Alemn. Simply tell me if the deed is done! The fury Syris spoke with would have cowered anyone, yet Kythra stood perfectly still in defiance. There was no look of hurt or anger, only that seductive grin returning to her lips that she always hid behind.

There is no warrior, wizard, or king that can resist this. Kythra’s free hand traced a line from her lips to her waist and downwards as she spoke.

Realizing the sorceress was trying to either seduce or annoy him, he quickly replied, I know at least one wizard who— Yet, she cut him off.

You don’t count, old man. Not only would I never waste my body on you but I’m sure your shriveled prick would never bring me pleasure anyway. Worse than the words were the way she smiled when she spoke, causing Syris to nearly lose control. Thankfully, centuries of practice allowed him to understand and properly react to her methods.

I will not partake in this childish banter. Have some dignity, she-elf, that’s all I require besides answers. Did you do it? Syris wasn’t glaring at her anymore, giving her an expression of pity if anything.

Her smile faded as she sighed, and her stance changed to a more direct pose. Why else would I claim this day great? Yes, I killed Marcus Dhaliah. His body will be found this morning in the outskirts of the city and when the physician opens him up, if he needs to, the King’s death will be declared by an unknown, untraceable poison. She turned her head slightly toward the great city on the horizon, giving Syris a profile of her face as the thin black braids danced in the breeze around her shoulders. You will, of course, keep your end of the bargain.

When she first spoke, despite his appreciation for the friendship he once shared with the King, he was happy the plan had begun to unfold. Then, her last comment was stern and a demand rather than a question. It was annoying.

You are the one who abandoned me, framed me, for whatever selfish reasons you had, and you dare to question the honor of my word?! You, Kythra, are hardly in a position to question or order me about, foolish she-elf. You have not the power to usurp your authority over me. I, on the other hand, have the ability to completely annihilate you or condemn you to the dungeons beneath Dhaliah’s palace with but one word. Whether it was genuine or not, he watched her eyes widen and saw fear in her face for the first time in sixty years. His tone softened slightly as he continued. I conspire with you since the day you came here to present your proposal. If you were half as wise as you are beautiful, you would know not to anger me as you do.

You have a cock, however useless it may be; thus, you can’t be trusted, Lord Syris. Never mind your past or our history, I just want to know that my interests are protected. Kythra spoke with surprising confidence and had a peculiar expression he couldn’t place. Then, like a lunatic, her demeanor changed to a sweet and calm person as though they were partaking in casual conversation. I hurt you, Syris, and I’m sorry for what I’ve done, but it was all for a reason, all for this future I want. Nothing is more important to me and when I become focused on something… I forget how I may affect others. Just tell me that in the whole arrangement of your plans, nowhere in them do you intend to betray me.

There are better ways to ensure loyalty from your old mentor, Kythra. I will not betray you; I promise. Besides, for me to accomplish all that I need, your plans must be completed. Syris turned to the side and waved his hand, the door opening at his silent bidding.

Thank you, Lord Syris. I’m glad to hear you need me, Kythra said with a smile.

Motioning the sorceress inside, he followed her into Krathis and said, I will tell you this now, so there’s no chance of confusion, and defaulting will be your end… the girl is mine, no harm is to come to her.

What girl? she asked as they entered the antechamber.

Marcus’s only daughter, the Princess Dawn.

4

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Mika

Mikandrah Silverwood inhaled slowly through her quaint, pointed nose, pulling the stone-tipped arrow, fletched in cockatrice feathers, past her elven ear. Her soft green eyes were trained ahead of the unsuspecting hare forty yards away at the base of the hill she stood on, accompanied by eight other elves. The finely crafted elven bow was virtually silent as it flexed in her grip. Her thin lips parted slightly as she exhaled slow and even, loosing the arrow the moment her target stood and sniffed the air. Mika had her companions watch as the arrowhead tore through the rabbit’s throat, slicing through even its vertebrae at the base of the skull, killing the animal instantly while sending it tumbling backwards into the roots of a mothbush. Saying a silent prayer of thanks to the elven goddess of nature, Elmereth, Mika tucked the bow into her quiver and descended the hill.

A nice shot, as always, Sven Alemyere said from behind her in a tone somewhere between envious and sarcastic. She didn’t acknowledge the comment while quietly moving through the dismal brush to retrieve her kill. Upon reaching it, she grasped the dead hare by both ears and handed it to Sven as he approached, the arrow protruding out either of its neck.

Thank you, Sven. Perhaps with practice, you will be able to bring back food when— As she spoke, a sound similar to a low growl came to her elven ears, when Sven began to protest, she held up a finger. Shh. Did you hear that? By then the entire hunting party was at the base of the hill, forming a semi-circle around the orange and tan leaf mothbush.

Hear what? Sven and another elf, Challek Wisewood, asked in unison as Sven extracted the arrow from the hare. Everyone began to look about in search for whatever Mika had heard; which to her, sounded far away.

Waiting for whatever had growled to do it again, she spun in a circle, hoping to pinpoint its direction when she heard it. Upon making a full circle, she noticed, yet again, Sven’s eyes on her body, particularly on her backside. Mika was extremely well fit and wore the typical tight-fitting soft leather and hide clothing all elves wore, and being fairly young, she didn’t truly know how to react to him. She assumed he was attracted to her of course, and though he was fair skinned with a lean figure, long blonde hair, and brown eyes, she didn’t find him particularly appealing.

The subject was too embarrassing or uncomfortable to bring up but spending nearly two decades in his company gave her the courage to at least make comments to him while avoiding the topic in conversation, or so she thought. He’d seen that she’d noticed, their eyes meeting briefly before he looked away. Perhaps, Sven, if you paid more attention to the wildlife around you more than my backside, you’d be as good a shot as I. She tried not to smile but couldn’t help it after seeing him pale before blushing and walking away, tying the hare around the others on his belt with his rope.

A few of the other elves grinned at her comment and looked to her briefly before resuming their search for whatever Mika had heard.

Shaking her head, she listened but didn’t hear the growl again. It was Sven who suggested this area of the forest, known as the Greywood, rumored to be full of game; so being unfamiliar with the area, she tried to associate the growl with an animal she knew. The trees were sparse where they stood but appeared to grow denser further to the southeast away from their home. Her visibility was limited enough and since the noise didn’t continue, she started slowly moving around the mothbush and up another hill.

Quickly tucking loose strands of her long, straight blonde hair behind her slightly pointed ears, Mika then reached over her shoulder and recovered her bow. In a second or less she had another arrow drawn and nocked, cautiously making her way through the oak and maple trees that towered over the rest of the foliage, ever watchful of her surroundings.

After breaching the hill and continuing on, the land plateaued and remained relatively easy to travel. Several minutes passed before her ears picked up the sounds of birds taking flight in the distance along with small animals of all kinds scurrying up the trees and across branches. A moment later there was another sound, like a miniature stampede of a sort; which after glancing to her companions, she knew they heard