Qetran Revival: Crimson Prophecy, #2

By Derrick Hall

Mere days after her coronation, Enara, Rider of the Storm Wind, Warmage of Restoration, Shield Maiden, the last daughter of Caedar, and High Queen of Sevandil faces the first challenges of her reign.

Unrest is brewing in Qetra. Camps of armed soldiers are found on the fringes of Sevandil, dissent sparks in her inner circle, and rumors of her predecessor's evil deeds are spreading.

Book Two of Crimson Prophecy.

In an attempt to atone for past crimes and garner favor with the new queen, Tiarsus, her former enemy, comes forward with new and troubling information. The curse that was used to cast the unsuspecting people of Qetra into magical sleep cannot sustain itself forever. If the magic is allowed to expire, the people will die.

Enara and Tiarsus, the former commander of the defeated Black Army, embark on a quest to learn the terrible truth. Several days' journey from home, they stumble into a city filled with corpses and narrowly escape an encounter with a mysterious mage able to wield powers that shouldn't exist, but soon find that they are being hunted.

Armed with the knowledge that time is running out, Enara must learn who to trust as she and her friends race to lift the curse before all of Qetra meets a grisly fate.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Derrick Hall
• Release date: May 25, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223259435

Book preview

Derrick Hall

Qetran Revival

Crimson Prophecy Book Two

Copyright © 2023 by Derrick Hall

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.

Derrick Hall asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

Derrick Hall 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.

First edition

Advisor: Christina Lefebvre

Advisor: Lilian Rose

This book was professionally typeset on Reedsy

Find out more at reedsy.com

Publisher Logo

This book is dedicated to second chances. May the end never truly be the end.

Contents

Acknowledgement

Previously in Crimson Prophecy

For Life

How to Fall

Problems of the World

What is Past

Worrisome Mother Hens

The Foundations of War

With a Pleasing Sound

Good Luck & Fair Winds

Ambassador

The Dunes

Adrai

On the Bones of Slaves

Information

The Right to be Embarrassed

Our Very Doorstep

The Way of Things

An Inconvenient Teacher

Forest of Flames

A Bizarre Tangle of Shadows

Difficult at Best

Just Like That

No excuses

Practiced Paranoia

High Stakes Tag

Zankara

I Am Invincible

You of All People

Memorial

Hollow

Findings

Laid to Rest

Whims of Life

Leap of Faith

Highly Improbable

I’ll Credit You

Ruins

Prossa

A Gambler’s Death

Half of the Equation

Walking is Pointless

She Has Her Reasons

Moral Implications

A Bit Greedy

One Thing at a Time

Kingdom of Equality

I Cannot Be King

By Ignorance or Arrogance

Of Sheep and Civilians

Greatest Honor

Something to Trip Over

The Cleansing of Volis

It is Done

About the Author

Also by Derrick Hall

Acknowledgement

I would like to thank all of the many people who helped me make this book a reality. Whether by brainstorming ideas, helping me through blocks, editing, proofing, or cheering from the background. You know who you are.

You guys are the GOAT.

Previously in Crimson Prophecy

Enara awoke from a tumultuous dream at the gentle urging of her mother, Lyrei. The elvish ward of Tualan was aflame and soldiers were systematically ousting the elvish populace and taking them away, but no one knew where or why. Enara quickly gathered her things and they set off through the shadows and alleys of the city, hoping against hope that they would remain undetected. Their tense journey ended in a back alley where Enara was separated from her mother and left with a large human and instructions to trust him.

In Raevan’s cellar, she was joined by two more elves — a strong-looking ranger named Dravos, and an old woman who could not speak. The trio left the cellar by way of a secret passage and found their way to the coast and a waiting ship.

Weeks of storm-tossed seas blew their ship far off course and when they landed, Enara, Dravos, and Iris found themselves in the middle of a waking nightmare. Every citizen of Volis, save the elves, were asleep—bewitched by a mysterious woman who rode at the head of a black army. She promised freedom and sactuary to any who left with her and most did.

Vamir, leader of a remnant of elves who remained behind, took in Enara, her companions, and the weary crew who spent several days recovering. During this time, Enara discovered both that she was the heir to an ancient bloodline, and that she possessed the ability to relive traumatic events by touching objects connected to them, with potentially dangerous consequences. She would physically experience any injuries sustained during the events that she witnessed. These injuries could not kill her, but they would on several occasions come close.

When she had recovered enough to travel, Enara, Dravos, and Iris, joined by Gremar —one of the sailors and a minotaur— and Raevan. Thalen, a young ranger who came highly recommended by Vamir, would serve as their guide. Freshly supplied, they would travel by river, navigate the Eye of Iorr, and skirt the edge of the mountains. Their destination was Dawnlord, an ancient and long-abandoned fortress of the elves.

It was here that Enara met Master Edoneus a human wizard of unusual skill, who helped to train her in the use of magic and to better understand her odd visions. While in residence at Dawnlord, Enara spent her time training with sword and bow, in preparation to take her place on the front lines of history.

When her training was deemed adequate, Master Edoneus revealed the existence of a powerful magical relic to Enara, and released it into her possession.

Soon after, Enara, Thalen, Gremar, and Raevan set off to the Folds, and a black army cantonment that sat poised to bewitch yet another major city. Their mission to poison the soldiers and delay their progress proved to be a success, though their escape was not without complications, and Enara took an arrow to the leg. Edoneus’ gift also proved its worth, allowing Enara to work complex magics that would enable their escape.

Several days later, the group set out again—this time to the north and east to rejoin a former colleague of Dravos who had information on a way through the mountains—and were surprised to find an entire city of dwarves alive and well beneath the northern mountains. Dhor Baadir proved to be much larger than Enara had hoped, and the queen of the dwarves — Finja — more than receptive to an audience.

Queen Finja agreed to help Enara and her companions pass under the mountains and even offered to accompany them through the caverns personally. The journey took several days on horseback, but they soon emerged on the far side, deep in a valley near their destination—Sevandil— the former capitol of the Elvish Empire, and current home of the black army.

They were met with an unforeseen complication, however—The black army was allied with a dragon. Seeing no way to kill the beast, they opted instead to try to speak to it. They succeeded and were able to gain a powerful new ally for the battle to come.

While Dravos and their new ally set the camps ablaze to create a distraction, Enara and the rest of her friends infiltrated the ruined city and confronted Nylathria — the leader of the black army.

It was a long and difficult struggle, but Enara prevailed. Now it was time to change the world. Enara used the magical relic gifted to her by Master Endoneus to restore the source of all magic— a large crystal called the Font, of which the relic was part — and restore magic to the land of Qetra.

The restoration proved to be a grueling task that left Enara weak and scarred, but victorious. With the black army effectively beheaded and the Font restored, all that remained was for Enara to take her place in history as the Queen of the elves.

For Life

Enara swept through the outskirts of Sevandil, her brisk pace forcing the guards to hurry to keep up. She was dressed in light, loose-fitting clothing, which aided her mobility as she deftly scaled walls and jumped across the rooftops. Enara quickly rounded a corner and slid underneath a bush, out of sight, and waited breathlessly. She silently thanked Dravos, the elf who had trained her in combat and mobility, for teaching her how to move. A moment later, two of the royal guard sprinted past, the weight of their armor noticeably slowing them down. Enara smiled and waited for a beat before she burst from her hiding place at a full run, chasing down the guards that had passed. Enara quickly caught up to the pair of guards, her bare feet making little enough noise that they failed to notice her approach.

Ha! she shouted just as she shouldered past them and continued sprinting.

Your Majesty, please! We must protect you! the guard named Fenris called after her. He was a young elf, barely older than Enara who was sixteen, that usually guarded her apartment. Enara was far from helpless on her own, but she heard the earnestness in his voice and had to admit that he only wanted to do his duty. She slightly felt bad for being so hard on the pair of young elves, slid around the corner of a small outbuilding and leaned against the wall to wait. They soon caught up to her, rounded the corner, and stopped. Fenris and his counterpart, Tenga, leaned heavily on their spears and doubled over, gasping for breath.

Please, Queen Enara, Tenga gasped, We are supposed to guard you. How can we protect you if you leave us behind? Surely you did not overlook the people that turned their backs during your coronation speech?

Enara crossed her arms and straightened from where she leaned against the wall. She was far from helpless. Her training had molded her into a formidable mage, and the royal amulet that she wore gave her the power to conjure weapons and armor on a whim. As a newly crowned queen, however, she saw the necessity to allow for a certain show of force whenever she appeared in public. Despite the fact that she had never wanted any of it, she had to admit to herself that her power was not yet fully secure.

Fenris, you know I hate titles. Just call me Enara.

Yes, ma’am. the elf bowed his head.

We’ll keep working on that, Enara mumbled, I can handle myself, you know, but you’re just trying to do your jobs. I’ll try to be a little less troublesome.

Thank you, milady, Tenga replied as he stood back up, having finally recovered his breath.

Just a little though, Enara said with a wink. She took two quick steps up the wall and kicked off, vaulting over the pair. She landed with a roll and came up ten feet away Are you two ready to move on? she called over her shoulder. She didn’t wait for an answer before setting off at an easy lope. She smiled as she heard them groan and reluctantly follow.

* * *

Enara slowed before a grove of slim, white-barked trees and ordered her guards to wait nearby. She weaved her way through the tightly clumped trees, emerging into a hidden clearing on the other side. The space was nearly seventy yards round, and the ground had been cleared to dirt throughout. Berylis stood hunched about forty yards away pouring white sand into a series of grooves that had been carved into the dirt. Her silver braids swung about her face, creating a stark contrast to her ebony skin. When taken in as a whole, the grooves created the intricate designs needed for the bonding ritual. Enara realized while she examined it that it reminded her of the medallion set into the floor of the resonance room in Dawnlord. Berylis’ mountain lion familiar, Gaetir, lounged in the shade nearby looking very much like an overgrown house cat.

Good morning, Gaetir, Berylis, Enara called with a wave. She found it odd how quickly she had accepted the ebony-skinned huntress and her familiar as part of her inner circle, especially considering how Gaetir had tried to eat her upon their initial meeting. Her immediate distrust had quickly been replaced by reluctant respect, largely driven by Berylis’ unwavering loyalty in the face of extreme odds.

You made it, Gaetir said dryly.

Of course I made it, did you doubt me?

No, she did, The lion yawned, I won the bet.

There was a bet? Enara called indignantly to Berylis.

I figured you would either forget or turn craven, she called.

Have you no faith? Enara feigned shock.

Just little enough to lose a bet it seems. Berylis laughed, brushing dirt from her dark skin and close-fitting clothes. Bring me another bag of sand, will you? The ritual circle is almost ready.

Enara grabbed a canvas bag from a nearby pile and carried it to Berylis. She appreciated that the woman didn’t treat her differently since she had been crowned queen the week before. She was just one of the crew, and that meant a lot to Enara, who generally regarded formality and titles with disdain.

Thanks, She opened the sack and returned to pouring sand, Are you sure you’re ready for this? I’m surprised the Wyvern agreed to bind himself to you.

As ready as I’m going to be, Enara nodded, I was too, though Angos did promise to aid me in my mission.

Aide and bonding a far from the same, Gaetir said from the side of the clearing. I can help you catch a deer, but that doesn’t mean I want to share my thoughts with you.

True. Angos knows what it means, and he offered. I merely accepted, she paused eyeing the intricate patterns drawn on the ground, Does it hurt? Enara asked with a hesitant grimace. Berylis shrugged.

It didn’t for me until the claws came in. That hurt, but the ritual itself feels different to everyone.

Is there any way to know which abilities will transfer? Enara asked, kicking at a clod of dirt.

Speech transference seems to be reasonably common, mental communication and location awareness are nearly universal as I understand it, but I have a small sample size, Berylis explained as she dusted off her hands.

Will I grow scales or something? How will I know what powers have transferred? Enara’s nervous energy was manifesting itself in the form of questions.

Listen, your majesty, the dark woman said sarcastically, You get what you get. This is magic, nothing is set in stone. Berylis released an exasperated sigh.

It was at that moment that Angos chose to make a dramatic entrance. The massive wyvern fell from the sky, slamming into the center of the clearing and kicking up a choking cloud of dust and sand. Berylis and Enara struggled to keep their feet as the ground shook under his weight. The dragon creature struck a pose, rising to his full height, and released a deafening bellow. Enara was still awed by his imposing size. Angos was nearly seventy feet long, the spaces between his oily black scales were tinged with copper and the blue-green of old copper. Enara’s guards burst through the trees, weapons drawn. She glared at them and waved them off.

Good morning, Angos. You’re in a good mood! Enara laughed.

Berylis and Gaetir opened their mental link to Enara so that she could get the wyvern’s responses parroted back by Gaetir.

I have awaited this day with anticipation. Are you ready to join with me? Angos lowered his head and turned one massive eye to face Enara.

I am. Enara placed a hand on the side of his muzzle and felt him lean into the contact just enough to reassure her.

Last chance to change your minds, you’re both sure you want to do this? The bond is for life. Berylis asked.

I am certain. Angos dipped his head. I swore to aid her mission to free all people.

As am I. Enara echoed with a nod.

I hate to interrupt, but if you ever want to wear those clothes again you should take them off, Gaetir called from the edge of the clearing.

Wait, what? Enara turned to the other woman and found an amused smile painted across Berylis’ face.

You heard the cat. Strip. This could get messy. she gestured at Enara.

Fine. Enara rolled her eyes and started pulling off her clothes. Fully undressed, she rose from collecting the bundle of cloth to find Angos examining her carefully.

Um… hello, Enara said. She felt her ears redden, suddenly self-conscious, Have you seen enough?

I have never seen an undressed elf before. How do you keep from getting hurt? You have no scales.

We wear clothes, Angos, and armor, Enara said incredulously and tossed her bundled clothing to Berylis. The wyvern made an odd guttural rumbling that Enara quickly realized was the creature’s version of laughter.

Enara, you take the smaller circle, off to the left there, and Angos, you get the large one, Berylis instructed. Stand or kneel in the middle of your circle, and draw in as much magic power as you can and hold it.

How did you gather enough power for the ritual if the wild magic was so low? Enara inquired as she knelt in the dirt.

It took months to gather enough power. I stored the magic needed in a gemstone so that I could use it all later. Berylis explained.

That must have been a big stone.

It cost me a small fortune, only to be destroyed by the ritual, Enara could tell that Berylis’ patience for her questions was running thin, If we may continue?

Right, sorry. Enara lowered her head, appropriately chastised.

Kneeling in the dirt next to the wyvern, Enara took a series of deep breaths and closed her eyes, nearly entering a meditative state. She let her mind and senses expand outward until she felt the flow of the wild magic, with its eddies and swirls. As she dipped her mind into the flow of raw magic, it felt like an icy mountain stream. A sharp sensation of cold was followed by tingling numbness. Enara drew a portion of the available power into her body, basking in the feeling of the magic flowing through her veins. Just when she felt she was about to burst, she reached out her right hand and rested it on the wyvern’s side. Her left hand lay on one of the lines of white sand. Her ears filled with the sounds of rushing water, and she felt the ritual markings pulse under her fingers as though hungry for the power that she held.

Release the power into the runes! Berylis called. She had coached Enara through the ritual the evening before, explaining everything that she would need to do during the process.

Enara started at Berylis’ muffled words. She had been so enamored with the sensations flooding through her that she had nearly forgotten to continue the ritual. Enara took the power that she had been holding inside herself and directed it into the line of white sand beneath her fingers and, despite her friend’s warning, was surprised when the sand began to glow blue and leaped into the air.

Suddenly, an uncomfortably hot wind tore through the clearing and began to swirl the glowing sand around Enara and Angos, whipping across her skin like thousands of tiny daggers. Enara’s vision flickered and shifted. One moment she was looking out into the storm through squinted eyes, the next she was looking down on herself, naked and bleeding amid the squall of sand. From the latter perspective, everything looked different, as though the color had both been drained from the world and heightened. The blue glow of the sand was more saturated, and tinged with green, as was the sky. The trees were tinted more to yellow and seemed to glow around the edges. It was unlike anything that Enara had ever seen, and it took her a few minutes to realize that she was watching herself through Angos’ eyes.

It was at this point that Enara felt something move within herself, almost as though she had eaten some bad food, but less familiar, and not isolated to her gut. Her shock bordered on horror as she looked down and watched the thousands of tiny cuts caused by the sand widen and begin to emit more than just blood. A thick black goo bubbled out of them, quickly coating Enara from head to toe in sticky excretions that reminded her of pitch or tar. As she watched, the smell reached her nostrils, causing her to immediately retch the remnants of her breakfast onto the ground. It-or she, the origin was unclear - was rank with the stench of death and rot.

The goo continued to flow from Enara’s skin until there was a sizable puddle on the ground beneath her, and then it stopped. She sighed with relief as the winds calmed and vanished, dropping the sand to the dirt floor of the clearing, and the glow of the sand guttered and winked out.

Enara felt as though she had just been through a battle. She was covered in blood, goo, and sweat, and her breathing came in heavy gasps. She was exhausted and her muscles trembled from fatigue. Enara let herself fall from her knees to a sitting position where she leaned against Angos. The Wyvern turned his massive head around where he could see her and gently nuzzled against her.

I’m okay, Angos. Just winded, she said, rubbing his jaw tiredly.

The wyvern pulled back a little.

I know, he said aloud.

How to Fall

It took Enara a moment to realize that the response had not come from inside her head, nor was it interpreted by Gaetir. Angos has spoken aloud, in the common tongue.

You can speak! she exclaimed as she burst to her feet, the fatigue of moments before suddenly forgotten.

Yes. the wyvern’s voice was a deep, warm baritone that seemed to carry years of wisdom and experience.

It worked! Berylis muttered, It really worked!

Was success ever in doubt? Enara asked the woman.

Well, I’ve only ever witnessed the ritual once, and that was my own bonding. I’ve never set it up for anyone else… she stumbled, I had hoped, but I wasn’t sure.

Well, you pulled it off, so no sense worrying about it now. Gaetir chimed in.

The cat has a point. I guess I should try to clean off this goo. Enara shook her hands experimentally to see if any of the black substance would shake off.

Thank you, Gaetir said smugly. Berylis just glared at him.

That won’t be easy, Beryrlis continued, ignoring her familiar, There is a stream a little way into the wood, you can scrub it off there. Berylis pointed up the slope that backed the clearing.

Convenient. Enara nodded appreciatively.

More like purposeful planning, Gaetir added with a yawn, I’ll show you the way. The lion stood and padded toward the wood in the direction his bond-mate had indicated, scooping up Enara’s bundled clothes along the way.

Thank you, Gaetir. Enara followed the large cat, turning around briefly as she continued to walk, Once I’m clean, we have a lot to talk about, Angos. she smiled.

Yes, we do. I eagerly await your return. The wyvern dipped his head in her direction and Enara disappeared into the trees.

The tiny cuts caused by the whirling sand had healed remarkably fast - within minutes - due to her magical healing ability and were quickly forgotten, but the rotten stench of the black stuff still stung her nose even hours later. The black goo leftover from the bonding ritual, however, had turned out to be extremely stubborn, and it had taken over an hour of scrubbing before Enara felt clean enough to dress. Her hair proved particularly difficult to wash clean, and while she frustratedly labored over it, she realized that there was a new sensation tugging at the edge of her mind, like a distant and barely perceived sound. She stopped her scrubbing and slowly turned in a circle. The tugging remained in the same place, spatially anyways, as she changed her physical orientation.

Could that be Angos? Enara muttered to herself, gingerly reaching toward the mental stimulus. She nudged it experimentally.

Enara? Angos’ voice echoed loudly in her head.

Enara jumped, not really expecting any sort of response, let alone the deafening shout.

Not so loud! Enara winced, Do you have something tugging on your mind as well? she asked, not bothering to introduce herself. I touched it and you answered.

Apologies for my volume, I am as unaccustomed to this form of communication as you. I do feel something, though I assumed it to direct me to you, as seems to be the case. Angos said much more softly.

"That’s better, thanks," Enara relaxed a little, Berylis did say we would be able to know the other’s location. I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t that.

"Much of this is new to both of us. We will have to learn." Angos rumbled.

True. I’m almost done cleaning this damned goop off. I’ll be back soon. her only response was a feeling of contented anticipation.

* * *

High over Sevandil, Enara leaned tightly into Angos’ neck as he banked through a dizzying turn, hugging the mountain slopes. She sat on the wyvern’s neck, just above his shoulders, where one of the bony protrusions along his spine had a surprisingly comfortable slope to it. The spot reminded Enara of a saddle, if a bit harder, and seemed as though it had been made for someone to ride there. Her hair whipped around her face as Angos partially folded his wings and dipped into a steep dive. The air rushing past was icy cold, despite the springtime warmth that the valley was magically imbued with, and Enara pressed her face into the crook of her arm to protect her eyes.

Angos spread his wings full again, quickly arresting their dive with an audible pop as the membranes caught the air, and circled higher on the thermals rising off of the mountains.

What do you think, Mistress Enara, is flight all you had hoped it would be? Angos asked as they seemed to float over the valley.

It is amazing, Angos! Enara replied, looking over the city of Sevandil and taking in the sights.

The city itself sat amid ancient forests and was ringed by massive snow-capped peaks. Here and there building peeked through the trees, most notably the Spire - a tall tower supported by four flying buttresses- which served as a palace of sorts and Enara’s home, and the domed temple that protected the entrance to the caverns which held the Font - the mysterious crystal that was the source of all magic in the world. From this high up though, Enara noticed something about her new home. What she had assumed was a natural valley that just happened to be somewhat round, was actually a crater. The city rested at the bottom of a large bowl, and the surrounding mountain peaks were particularly jagged, as compared to the rest of the range - something that Enara found interesting enough to make note of and look into later. For now, though, she was content to float over the city and bask in the warm pre-sunset glow.

Angos floated ever higher on the thermal winds, his gentle movements lulling Enara nearly to sleep. She was tired and there was no denying that the ritual had taken a lot out of her.

Would you like me to wake you up? Angos asked her randomly.

Wake me up how, exactly? Enara was surprised that he could tell she was falling asleep.

The wyvern didn’t answer, but rather made a tight corkscrew roll, throwing Enara from her place on his back and out into the void.

Enara screamed and flailed wildly as she tumbled through the air, and inevitably, in her mind, her death.

Angos! she yelled, her own voice barely audible over the howl of the wind as she fell.

Calm your mind, little one. Use your limbs to control how you move in the air. Angos replied, mentally this time, I will not let harm come to you.

Enara moved each of her arms and legs in turn, experimentally seeing what the movements would do. She quickly established that holding out an arm or leg on one side would make her turn to the opposite side and slow her fall, whereas pulling all her limbs tight to her body made her go faster. She managed to stop her spinning in a matter of seconds once she established the patterns of movement, and spread her arms and legs wide. This position was the most effective at slowing her fall, and by using slight adjustments she could control where she was pointing or move along the ground in a specific direction.

Good. Now get ready. the wyvern’s voice came again.

Enara looked around for him, but could not see him. What she did see, however, was the ground, with all of its potential impaling protrusions, rushing toward her at breakneck speed.

Any time now, Angos! she shouted, mentally putting all the force of her fear and frantically beating heart into the statement.

A split second later, the massive creature shot past her, his wings folded tight to his black scales. He deftly maneuvered beneath her and snapped his wings partially open, slowing his speed to match her own. Angos twitched his tail and slid to the side, aligning her seat on his neck to her fall, and slowed his fall a slight bit more. Enara grasped at the bony protrusions on his back, her knuckles white as she felt her weight press into his neck. Angos unfurled his wings fully and settled into a glide just above the treetops.

Don’t do that! Enara chastised through gritted teeth and muscles tense with adrenaline and fear.

You are awake now, yes? came his reply, and Enara could sense his amusement.

Well, yes, but that’s not how I wanted it to happen.

If we are to fly together, it is best that you know how to fall. the wyvern continued, The need may arise for us to separate in midair.

I don’t see that being a pressing need, but I suppose it is good to know, Enara admitted, Maybe warn me next time, or even better, let me decide when we practice that, okay?

Agreed.

The sun was setting below the peaks and the valley succumbed to the shadows of the evening as Angos angled toward the spire, coming to a gentle landing near the gate to the massive tower. Enara slid down his side, landing lightly, but thankful for solid ground after her ordeal.

I will see that a shelter is built for you if you like. Enara offered.

There is no need, I prefer to feel the wind and rain. Angos stretched his wings.

As you wish, friend. Enara smiled and watched as he kicked off the ground, launching himself some fifty feet into the air before snapping out his wings. Two or three good beats and he disappeared over the city, flying low to the treetops.

Problems of the World

Upon their return, Tiarsus and what remained of his company had been directed to camp in the shadow of the ancient trees that ringed the capital of Sevandil. Over half of his men had chosen to go home to their families, leaving a fraction of the force that had marched into the valley, but Tiarsus held no ill will for them leaving. If he had a family here, he would have done the same, but he was, as always, alone.

As it was, he spent his time resting, and when he could not abide any more rest, set off to explore the city and learn the source of the changes that had come about in his absence. Initially, the bits of information that he managed to gain were little more than rumors, bandied about by the loose-tongued and idle. Tiarsus knew, however, that even rumors often held some truth, and he worked to find the common threads among them. It was there that he would gain the seeds of what had really happened to Nylathria.

Two days after his return to Sevandil, there had been a funeral, filled with pomp and ceremony, but he had chosen not to attend, opting rather to find a drink and return to his tent. The morning after the funeral procession dawned to an unnatural bustle, as the whole city hummed with activity. Garlands of fresh flowers were hung from nearly every eave and draped around doors. The people, poor as they may be, dressed in their finest clothes, and every man, woman, and child made for the grounds surrounding the Spire.

Tiarsus, still intoxicated from the evening before - and still clutching the half-empty bottle - staggered in their wake. His actions were driven out of curiosity more than intent, but he had nothing better to do. He soon learned from listening to the people around him that it was coronation day, and Sevandil was to have a queen once more. Rohanis had come. Tiarsus scoffed at the mention of Rohanis. That prophecy was a legend that had nearly turned into myth, but somehow the common folk still believed it. It had been four millennia since a ruler had sat on the throne in Sevandil, and Tiarsus didn’t believe that it would ever be occupied again.

He followed the crowds into the Spire grounds and found a place near the back of the cheering throng where he could sit comfortably in the shade. He took a swig of his drink and watched as a girl in an elaborate white dress stepped out onto a high balcony and began to give a flowery speech about equality, freedom, and justice. Tiarsus mostly ignored the speech, he had heard this one before, but as she spoke, the girl turned slightly to one side and the morning sunlight caught her flame-red hair. Tiarsus sat up a little straighter. Red hair was the mark of the royal line.

After all this time, could this unknown girl really be a rightful ruler by blood? That was the claim her herald had made, calling her the ‘named heir’. That couldn’t be right, there was no one left to name her as an heir. That bloodline had faded centuries ago. Another lie from another up-jumped ruler, then. It had to be. Tiarsus stood and turned his back as the crowd began to chant, Rohanis!, Rohanis!, over and over. It started small and grew to a deafening roar as Tiarsus staggered away through the gardens.

The afternoon of the coronation saw merriment and dancing in the streets of Sevandil as the people celebrated their new ruler. Tables were dragged into the city squares, casks and kegs were tapped, and food and drink flowed like water. Tiarsus took a seat under one of the party tents that had been erected and availed himself of the food. A chunk of roasted pork sat before him, a puddle of juices soaking through the hard trencher it was served on. People of all ages, though mostly elves, danced to a merry tune nearby.

Tiarsus knew that they were eager to accept the promises of a yet unproven ruler, but personally, he had seen these events before - even falling for them himself. He knew that the promises of those new to power were almost always misleading, often purposefully. With a new ruler this young - the girl looked to be in her teens, twenty at the most - he assumed that there must be a puppet master. Someone to pull the strings from the background and direct events to their wishes.

Tiarsus took a long pull of mead from his mug as he brooded in the midst of the party. Part of him hoped that he was wrong, that this girl, Enara she had been called, was pure of heart and meant what she had said about a safe home for all races, ending slavery and indenture once and for all. Being a pessimistic realist, he doubted her words, but still, he wished them to be true. His former master, Nylathria, whose fate was still unknown to him, had once made the same promises. She had held to them for a time, though once she gained any real power, her methods had become violent and she found ways to justify the same atrocities and oppression that she claimed to fight against. She had merely redirected the injustices at those she decided deserved them.

Tiarsus scoffed. How he had not seen Nylathria’s brand of tyranny sooner still baffled him. Looking back, he could see that the elf had been unhinged from the beginning. Her sleep spells had enabled them to free whole cities of enslaved people, largely elves, though her treatment of them afterward was less than the safe haven she had promised. She conscripted her armies out of those she freed, promising their families protection in return for service. Those that refused were sent to the diggings, and those that accepted found themselves in a situation little better than the one that they had left in search of her promised freedom.

At the time he had met her though, Tiarsus was at his lowest, begging on the streets and running con games for enough coin to drink himself to sleep at night. She had promised him power and played to his higher virtues and history as a military man and privateer. Nylathria had played him, knowing that he would jump at the chance to pursue his dreams, and even presenting him with his former ship, the Bondless, and returning it to his command. He could see now that it had been an attempt to garner his favor and cause him to overlook the questionable aspects of her plan. Tiarsus’ shame was that it had worked.

Now, that regime had fallen, and with it, Tiarsus had lost his position and what power it had given him. He could not even rightly command his troops, as they were no longer his to command. The question that plagued him now, was what to do next. He could present himself to this new queen and offer his service but imagined that his former station would cause complications. He had been, after all, a general. Second only to Nylathria herself, now deposed and likely imprisoned if not dead. The potential stood that by presenting himself, he would end up in the next cell. The other ready option was that he could still present himself, but offer information as a sign of good faith, along with his offer of service.

Tiarsus shook his head and dug into the cut of pork. He ate, generally ignoring the world around him until two mugs of mead sloshed down on the table, followed by another plate and an oddly fierce-looking and surprisingly tall woman. She was an elf, a bit younger than himself, her strawberry blonde hair tied back in a braid. She was clad in mismatched scraps of armor that looked to have seen more battle than maintenance. She pulled a battered round shield from her back and leaned it against the table leg.

Mind if I sit? she asked, pushing one of the mugs toward him.

I’d rather be alone, Tiarsus growled but took the mug regardless.

You always did seem the type to prefer being alone in a crowd, she said, sitting opposite him at the table, How did you get so haggard, I wonder?

Tiarsus looked up and examined the woman more closely. His initial impression remained the same, but there was something about her eyes. They held a look that he knew all too well, as he saw it in his own eyes. A look that said ‘I have seen more than