Kindle Edition
Amazon
Category:
Fantasy
Publisher: Art of the Acane
ISBN-10: B0757DHL4R
Type: Fiction
Pages: 160
Copyright: Oct 1, 2017
Price: $3.99 (eBook)
Eighteen years have passed since Justin’s mother broke the God of Light’s curse, freeing humans from the bonds of slavery. Justin is heir to the throne of the Dark Empire his mother built from the ashes, but he is a Red Wizard, an order opposed to the war between the religions of darkness and light - an apostate.
But when a beautiful red-haired knight comes for vengeance, prophesying return of the storm dragons and wielding a sword of light, the fuse of war is lit. To stop it, Justin can no longer sit on the sidelines. Torn between family and love, he will have to make a choice, and put his faith in someone or something other than his magic.
Excerpt
Justin’s mother must have called the storm. It had come in so fast his ears popped. He ducked under the jawbone of the dragon skeleton as he made his way across the stone floor to a stack of crates. Thunder rattled the thin mullioned windows high in the walls of the sweltering Freedom Hall. He stopped to glare at the barred double-doors and pushed a sweaty strand of thick black hair off his forehead. On mid-summer afternoons like this one, without the doors or windows open, the great hall turned into a sauna.
The lack of amenities in his mother’s Empire made him miss Dromkin, capital of the Gnomish Guild-State where he’d apprenticed for four years under an Archmage. No self-filling tubs or convenient light orbs here, just a lot of drudge work. Thankfully, by tomorrow evening he would have a new apprentice to pass it off to.
He straightened his soggy crimson robes with a sigh and bent to examine the last dragon tooth lying in its bed of hay. His mother had forbidden him to use light orbs so he had only an oil lamp chandelier sputtering high above the dragon’s head to illuminate the room.
Justin picked up the tooth and gestured with it. “It won’t do for the son of the High Priestess of the Dark Temple to carry around a glowing testimonial to the God of Light,” he mimicked aloud to the empty room, remembering the casual indifference on his mother’s face. Never mind the year it had taken him to master the creation of such items. Or the fact that they had nothing to do with the God of Light. Magic did not come from gods. If every new magical trinket he created would have a religious significance forced upon it, bringing magic to the Empire would take generations. But his mother rarely – if ever – listened to his entirely practical arguments.
Thunder rolled again, culminating in a boom that shook the entire keep. The fact his mother had summoned a storm could mean something was amiss, but it could also mean she needed to water the fields or flush the sewers, so he continued working. The city had legions of Red Knights at its disposal, the militia, and his mother - who could wipe out a small army on her own. If she needed him, she knew where to find him.
He climbed the ladder and inserted the tooth into its socket, holding it in place as he fished two loadstones out of a hidden pocket in his robe. He spoke the final words of the spell. The lodestones came together with a click, and the magic fused the tooth to the jawbone. The magnets disintegrated on contact and the spell vanished from his memory.
Justin tested his dentistry. Satisfied, he descended the ladder. In two days, the anniversary celebration of the Battle of Hornstall would begin. Justin leaned to the side with one arm over his head, stretching the knot in his back with a groan. He had finished just in time, his muscles could not take much more. Justin’s master had once told him human backs were too long for real work. At almost seven feet tall, Justin agreed - he preferred his books.
He surveyed the room with a grimace. The escaped hay from the crates was scattered around the room. Old plates and half-empty wine goblets littered the oak tables. It had taken him twenty days to assemble the skeleton and never once had it occurred to him to clean up. The Empress had wanted the monument to remain secret so he’d been the only one with access to the hall.
Justin backed away to get the full effect, trying to ignore his mess. The dragon’s horned skull hung down menacingly, neck arched, mouth wide in a silent roar at the grand entrance. Supported by a single stone pillar, it was posed in mid-flight so as not to obstruct use of the room. The wing bones spread the width of the hall, delicate tips touching the stone wall near the ceiling. The tail curled high above the table, in front of the room’s single tapestry along the wall. It reminded him to change out the flag with his mother’s new heraldry. The current flag was navy blue, displaying the five red stars of the Night Goddess’ Ouroboros constellation. The only addition was a dragon to the center of the circle of stars. A small but important distinction. Important enough to warrant all this anyway.
He finished hanging the new tapestry and leaned against the arched double doors of the grand entrance with a heavy sigh. All the clutter came back into focus and brought anxiety along with it. He had not memorized any spells to aid the cleanup. The two illusions he planned to use were all he had left. He planned on an illusory storm to fill the rafters above, complete with lightning and gentle breezes.
“Justin!” Ayla’s voice shouted from the other side of the steel-banded doors.
Justin leaped away from the entrance, heart racing. The mess. Freedom Hall, as part of the keep, also served as the Temple. If his mother saw the hall in this condition, she might finally make good on her threat to throw him in the dungeon. She yelled again, closer this time and with a distinct note of panic.
“Open the door!”
The twelve-foot crossbar that held the main doors closed measured as thick around as Justin’s waist. He squatted, lifting the massive beam with his shoulder. The heavy door creaked open, and his mother slid in behind him. Panting, she swiped the wet hair out of her face that had come loose from her braid. Her night-blue scale mail dripped water on the granite floor. Ayla turned back towards the cracked door. She bowed her head and cupped her hands under her chin, praying. The thunder rolled one last time, and the rain slowed to a drizzle.
“You called the storm?”
She nodded, out of breath. “For lightning. But it didn’t affect her.”
“Who?”
His mother searched the ward through the crack in the door. “The Guardian.”
The only guardians of Hornstall were the red knights, but those all swore fealty to his mother and the Night Goddess. They would never betray, nor were they impervious to lightning. Justin fought the weight and took a short, shuffling step to keep the bar balanced.
“Close the door. I have to put this back.”
“Wait! Deetra was right behind me.”
“Tell her to get in here.” His voice shook with the strain.
Armored footsteps rang on the cobblestone road outside and the door opened a second time. Deetra pushed it closed behind her and moved away from the door, breathless and holding her halved glaive in both hands. She stared at the door, the visor of her ruby helm cut in half, revealing one eye and a deep cut in her cheek. Her armor had been cut clean through in at least a dozen places.
His mother leaned into the hall, looking behind Deetra expectantly. “Where are the rest of the knights?”
“Dead,” Deetra spat, still gasping for air. She gently shoved the Empress out of the way and slammed the door shut.
“All eight?”
“Every one of them.”
Justin almost dropped the beam. Not a single Red Knight had fallen in battle in almost ten years. Their armor was a gift from the Dark Queen Herself, given upon taking the Oath of Fealty. It was considered indestructible.
“How?” Justin asked.
“A Guardian of Light showed up at our front gate and declared the city under siege. Her sword… it’s like nothing I’ve ever seen.”
Justin stepped forward to replace the beam but the doors burst open a third time and slammed into his arm. He let the beam drop with a boom that rattled the chandelier. He turned to face the latest intruder, chest and shoulders puffed up, ready for whatever horror made Deetra and his mother run for the castle.
The Guardian - a knight clad in silvery armor - stepped in from the wet cobblestone street, streaked with blood from helm to sabatons. The knight promptly took a step back, visor pointed up at the open mouth of the dragon skull suspended behind Justin.
Deetra stood next to him, on the balls of her feet, broken weapon at the ready. But she hesitated. Justin had never seen his stepmother hesitate in the face of danger. The Empress stood behind them, whispering a prayer.
Justin asked the only question that came to mind. “Who are you?”
His mother answered by screaming from behind him. “She’s the daughter of a back-stabber! Traitor-spawn!”
Justin looked over his shoulder. His mother’s face was twisted with hatred. He was confused, the Guardians of Light had all died after the formation of the Empire.
The silver knight turned to Deetra and growled a taunt through the visor. “Hiding on holy ground? Truly, you are a great knight.”
Deetra pointed at the blade at the knight’s side. “I’ll come out when you put down that sword.”
Justin’s eyes widened as they landed on the weapon - which beamed with its own light. The hilt was the body of a dragon, with wings as the weapon’s crossguard. The dragon’s mouth grasped the three-foot-long blade. He resisted the temptation to Detect it for magic; the answer was obvious. Aside from being wickedly beautiful, divine magic poured off it, calling to him.
“Justin!”
He tore his gaze away from the sword and looked down to see Deetra’s red-gauntleted hand squeezing his arm, pulling him back as he leaned forward. When had that happened?
Justin straightened and signaled them to move back before stepping forward to put himself between the silver knight and his mothers. “They’re not coming out, and you aren’t going to step foot on holy ground. So, since we seem to be at an impasse, let’s talk.”
The knight looked up at the dragon skeleton again, then back to him, lingering on his red robes. The helm prevented Justin from reading the knight’s gaze, but the body language seemed almost hesitant. Strange. The Red Wizards of Drokin were a bit rare, sure. But outside of his mother’s Empire, they were known as impartial arbitrators, disciplined and driven by facts and logic. It was what had drawn him to the vocation in the first place.
He tried again. “You’ve seen our faces. Let us see yours.”
The knight stood in the doorway for another moment before lifting the helmet off. Vivid flame-colored curls tumbled down to frame flawless creamy skin, and Justin’s heart skipped a beat. Eyes the color of fresh spring grass gave him a cold, uncertain look. For one breathless, eternal moment he imagined crossing the room, sweeping this feisty, gorgeous woman off her feet and carrying her far, far away. Her eyes would warm as she looked at him, she’d thank him for rescuing her and they would-
“Stand aside, wizard,” she demanded with a wave of her gleaming sword, breaking his ill-timed reverie.
Justin blinked and reality rushed back into focus. What in the Nine Hells was he thinking? This woman was an enemy, one powerful enough to have made the Empress and the General of the Empire run for holy ground. His mother and Deetra never ran - not from anyone or anything.
“I’m sorry, I can’t do that. Surrender now, and I will see to it that you are returned home.” He glanced quickly over his shoulder. “Alive.”
His mother gasped behind him. “You have no right to -”
Justin interrupted her with clenched teeth. “Empress. Let me handle this.”
She came up alongside him and glared at the green-eyed knight from just out of the sword’s reach, daring her to enter the temple. “I was your age when I killed my first minotaur to avenge my mother. I slit the beast’s throat and drowned him in his own blood - the morning after he raped me.”
The overwhelming dread and shame that inevitably accompanied any thought or mention of his paternity washed over him. His mother had told him the story of his father once, upon request. It had been more than enough. Before his mother and Deetra led the revolution that broke the curse of the God of Light, the minotaurs had used human women as breeding stock.
His mother continued, voice rising with the pain of memory. “Do you know that you’re avenging a man who betrayed his people to serve half-beast slavers?”
People began to gather in the rain-slick street. As Empress, his mother could not afford to lose face. The standoff could not last much longer. He put a hand on her shoulder.
“Mom, please. Let me -”
She shrugged his hand away. The silver knight white-knuckled the grip of her sword as his mother continued. His mother wanted the Guardian to enter and attack. The hallowed ground of the temple would cut the Guardian off from her God, weakening her. The Empress baited the Guardian again.
“He stabbed a man through the back.”
Anger flashed across the knight’s expression. She took a step towards the temple and the sword hummed, its pearlescent light intensifying.
Justin barred his mother’s path with his arm. “Mom. St-”
Deetra stepped forward on Justin’s other side. “But not before plotting the death of hundreds of innocent people at Hillside. Your father was a monster.”
Dylan. The Guardian’s father was Dylan, the man who had attempted to burn Justin’s mother at the stake. Had he succeeded, the people of the Empire would still be in chains. The people remembered well the atrocities he committed in the name of the God of Light.
The knight swallowed before she spoke. “I know my father fell from the Light.” The sword burned brighter as she replaced the helmet on her head and lowered the visor. “But my Lord spared him from the Abyss, and now he is my light in dark places like this.”
She stepped over the threshold and the already glowing sword flared to life. The crowd outside gasped. His mother and Deetra took a reflexive step back, shielding their eyes. The light shone into the dark of the sanctuary, creating a brilliant swirl and eddy among the shadows of the room. A fine hum vibrated the chandelier high above and rattled the windows in their sills.
Justin backed up, one arm out to usher his mother back with him. He dipped the other hand into the sash of his robe and retrieved a bit of wool - a spell component.
“Deetra, I need three seconds!”
Illusion called for imagination and concentration. The believability of the image depended on attention to detail. Deetra cut in front of him with a spinning strike at the Guardian. The clash of steel echoed around the room as the blade of Deerta’s broken glaive struck the knight’s shield.
Justin held the wool between his eyes, envisioning every bone he placed, the layout of the room, and the way sounds carried through the rafters above. The battle raging a few feet in front of him dulled, muffled by his focus on the spell. The ancient words fell from his lips, leaving his mind, drawing the magic forth. The pinch of wool disintegrated under his fingertip and cascaded over his eyelashes and nose.
A shriek- a cross between a bird of prey and an elephant - rang through the great hall. The metal bindings that held the dragons tail on the wall burst free and the supporting stone pillar cracked and collapsed in a plume of dust.
Deetra and the silver knight both stopped mid-clash, heads lifted to witness the impossible. The dragon’s clawed feet landed, splintering the massive wooden table. Bony wings folded in to its body with a series of clicks. The skeletal dragon leveled its empty eye sockets on the silver knight and gave another bone-rattling cry.
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