by Ben Hale
By Ben Hale
Text Copyright © 2019 Ben Hale
All Rights Reserved
To my family and friends,
Who believed
And to my wife,
Who is perfect
The Chronicles of Lumineia
By Ben Hale
—The Shattered Soul—
The Fragment of Water
The Fragment of Shadow
The Fragment of Light
The Fragment of Fire
The Fragment of Mind
The Fragment of Power
—The Master Thief—
Jack of Thieves
Thief in the Myst
The God Thief
—The Second Draeken War—
Elseerian
The Gathering
Seven Days
The List Unseen
—The Warsworn—
The Flesh of War
The Age of War
The Heart of War
—The Age of Oracles—
The Rogue Mage
The Lost Mage
The Battle Mage
—The White Mage Saga—
Assassin's Blade (Short story prequel)
The Last Oracle
The Sword of Elseerian
Descent Unto Dark
Impact of the Fallen
The Forge of Light
Table of Contents
The Chronicles of Lumineia
Map of Lumineia
Prologue: The Fragment of Power
Chapter 1: Aftermath
Chapter 2: Forewarned
Chapter 3: A Shift in Power
Chapter 4: Weakened
Chapter 5: Return to Blackwell Keep
Chapter 6: An Old Friend
Chapter 7: A New Mount
Chapter 8: Dedliss
Chapter 9: Duel
Chapter 10: A New Direction
Chapter 11: Targeted
Chapter 12: Enmity
Chapter 13: Battlefield
Chapter 14: A Daring Plan
Chapter 15: The Melting
Chapter 16: The Prisoner
Chapter 17: Vanquished
Chapter 18: Vanguard
Chapter 19: The Fourth General
Chapter 20: Sacrifice
Chapter 21: Fallen
Chapter 22: Retreat
Chapter 23: The Warview
Chapter 24: The Bonebreaker
Chapter 25: Rebirth
Chapter 26: Betrayal
Chapter 27: Serak’s Shadow
Chapter 28: Serak’s Secret
Chapter 29: A Tale of Brothers
Chapter 30: A City Destroyed
Chapter 31: Elenyr’s Plan
Chapter 32: For Elenyr
Chapter 33: Draeken’s Kingdom
Chapter 34: The Ancient Warrior
Chapter 35: Return to Xshaltheria
Chapter 36: Walls of Glass
Chapter 37: Light’s War Machine
Chapter 38: Allies
Chapter 39: Breached
Chapter 40: Defiance
Chapter 41: Plummet
Chapter 42: Empowered
Chapter 43: The Final Trap
Chapter 44: A Mother’s Request
Chapter 45: A Given Name
Epilogue: Master and Servant
The Chronicles of Lumineia
Author Bio
Map of Lumineia
Prologue: The Fragment of Power
Draeken picked his way through the dead soldiers, lifting his cloak so it would not be stained in their blood. Shouts rang out in the city of Keese, mostly by those fleeing the destruction of the estate.
The walls of the structure had been reduced to spikes of stone piercing the ground like claws through flesh. Stone and wood, blackened by fire, sent curls of smoke into the afternoon sky. The dead lay were they had fallen, while the living sought to crawl away.
Draeken ignored their whimpering as he advanced into the interior of the estate. Serak, Zenif, and Zoric claimed places on his flanks. Bartoth strode through the grounds of the estate, hunting targets to kill. His enormous frame cast a shadow on the survivors, who cried out as his black armor filled their vision.
Gendor also sought targets, albeit against his will. He killed quickly, an act of mercy for those close to death. His will was bound to Draeken and Serak, and he continued to exploit Draeken’s orders, manipulating them to his own purpose.
Draeken ignored them all as he advanced to the front doors of the estate. Whispers and hissed fears came from behind the ornate wood paneling, the voices of those who’d fled to the perceived safety of the estate.
Draeken chuckled and leaned back, gathering flame and light into his hand, golden beams merging with the fire, so bright the others were forced to shield their gaze. Then he leaned into the blow, striking the ornate doors.
The wood shattered, bursting inward, the splinters shredding the guards braced in the hall beyond. The handle struck a man in the side, breaking his ribs and flipping him onto the stairs. Another length of wood pierced a man’s stomach like a spear, pinning him to the wall.
The shards of wood embedded into walls and shattered glass. As the dust settled, fires licked at the broken remains. Draeken advanced to the threshold and called into the interior, his tone amused.
“Will you come out and speak to your guests?” His voice echoed down the hallways. “Or must I further destroy your home?”
He waited, half hoping they would continue hiding, and half hoping they would come out. One meant he could destroy more, the other meant he would get what he sought. A thudding of boots sounded in the distance and Draeken glanced to the streets with a frown. He did not wish to be interrupted by the city guard, so he motioned to Serak.
“Don’t let the city guard interfere.”
“As you will,” Serak said, his tone worshipful.
Draeken glanced to Zenif and Zoric, the two mind mages, father and son. “Is she still inside?”
“They have not escaped,” Zenif said, and Zoric nodded.
Draeken gathered the fire in his hand. The flames spilled onto the floor, turning into paws and legs, a large, muscular body, and powerful jaws. Draeken cast the reaver entity as easily as he would pour a mug of ale, and the beast pawed the entranceway, its claws digging burning grooves into the finely tiled floor.
“Last chance,” he called.
A door slammed open and a woman appeared. The Lady Dentis. Her husband sought to drag her back into the room but she shook him free. The nobleman hesitated, the terror on his face evident before he leapt after his wife.
“Let the guard deal with them,” he growled.
Draeken grinned. “Your hope is misplaced, Lord Dentis, for we are no common thugs.”
“Then who are you?” Lady Dentis snarled, all the haughtiness of her birthright twisting her features. “Do you have any idea who I am . . .?”
She slowed to a stop in the corridor, her eyes going wide in recognition. Zoric smirked, while Draeken merely offered a short bow. From the memories of the fragments, he knew the Lady Dentis recognized him, but she also saw that he was no longer a fragment. He was Draeken, the fragment of Power.
“Indeed I do know of your identity,” he said. “You are the Raven, powerful head of the bandits known by your name. It is a pleasure to meet you.”
“You think my wife is the Raven?” Lord Dentis scoffed. “She is a noble of Talinor, and I am—”
Draeken pointed to the man, and a needle of light burst from his finger. Three inches wide and three feet long, the bolt of light pierced his chest and sent his body tumbling down the corridor. He crashed into a cabinet of fine ales and fell in a heap.
Lady Dentis stared at the body of he
r husband, her eyes wide and unblinking, her chest heaving. She swallowed and turned back to Draeken, her haughty pride leaking from her features and turning to fear.
“Walk with me?” Draeken turned and motioned out of the house.
Trembling, the Raven glanced to her dead husband, and then did as Draeken requested. She joined him on the threshold, and followed him into the ruined grounds of her once beautiful estate. She glanced back again, and Draeken chuckled.
“Do not pretend you loved him. He was not as vile as you, but neither was he a good man. You used him and his position to cover your bandits; a well-executed persona, I must say.”
“What do you want?” she asked.
He mentally applauded her bravery. “You,” he said simply.
“For what?” Her eyes narrowed.
Draeken motioned to Zoric and the mind mage pulled a dark cloak into view. Like liquid ink, it poured off his fingers, a sheen of material that made the woman shudder and retreat a step. Zoric advanced and handed the cloak to Draeken.
“I’m not going to wear that,” the Raven said flatly.
“It is unkind to refuse a gift,” Draeken chided.
“I know who you are,” she said. “You are Draeken, the guardian that was once broken into five fragments.”
“True,” he said with a smile. “But I am so much more than you know. You see, the fragments are not part of me. They are separate and broken. I, on the other hand, am the fragment of Power, and my will is untarnished by their impossible quest to protect the people.”
She swallowed and shook her head, her eyes on the cloak. “What is that thing?”
“Isn’t it beautiful?” he asked, his smile turning soft. “I wish I could take credit, but my servant Serak prepared it.”
Men shouted in the street, followed by orders as the city guard arrived. But the orders were cut off with a brutal crunch that echoed into the estate. Armor cracked and bones were broken beneath Serak’s magic. The flicker of hope in the woman’s eyes died and she shook her head again.
“What will the cloak do to me?”
“It will give you power,” he said.
“What sort of power?”
Draeken smirked at the touch of desire in her voice. “I know you from the memories of the fragments. Your ambition is insatiable. You hunger for power, for gold and possessions. And that is why you are perfectly suited to be one of my four horsemen, the destroyer who will be known as Famine.”
The Raven gazed at the cloak, the greed alight in her eyes. The cloak would indeed give her power, but it would also destroy her flesh. Half-truths were so much better than lies. The Raven glanced to him and back to the cloak, and then to Gendor as he glided close.
“It will rob you of your will,” Gendor said. “Do not fall for Draeken’s—”
“Gendor,” Draeken said. “Must you continue to resist? Must I punish you?”
“You already did,” Gendor said, and swept his skeletal hand across his body.
“Does he speak the truth?” the Raven asked.
“He does,” Draeken admitted. “But look at Bartoth.” He pointed to the towering rock troll. “I have no need of enforcing my will because he has chosen to become my general.”
“You will forever be his,” Gendor warned.
“Death,” Draeken ordered, addressing Gendor by his proper name, “go kill a child.”
Gendor’s red eyes glowed in his cowl, and then he swung his scythe into the ground. Lifting the weapon, he showed the young mouse. Draeken chuckled at his clever loophole, unable to refute his logic.
“And if I refuse?” the Raven asked.
“Then I go to Princess Melora,” Draeken said. “She too, is ambitious . . .”
The words struck the woman like a dagger to her heart, as Draeken knew they would. The Raven hated Melora, for she was a rival. The prospect that Melora might win the prize was sufficient motivation for her to straighten and reach forward.
“I’ll be your general.”
Draeken handed the woman the cloak, and then retreated. She eyed the cloak, and Draeken ordered Gendor to silence. His continued belligerence was amusing, but Draeken’s patience was not eternal.
The Raven lifted her chin and then swung the cloak about her shoulders, shoving her hands into the sleeves. Then she yanked the cowl over her head, as if the motions could hide the tremble in her fingers. The cloak rippled—and then sank into her flesh.
The Raven screamed, the sound echoing into the city, stilling even the cries of the wounded outside the estate. She sank to her knees and clawed at the cloak, desperate to remove it, but it was part of her body now, the flesh sinking inward, her bones showing against her skin, her body sunken and hollow.
Cries of fear came from the nearby homes, where men and women peeked through windows. The food in their homes crumbled on their tables, spoiling before their eyes, mold appearing and consuming bread and meat, root and leaf.
The Raven screamed again, and then sucked in her breath. Draeken had ensured the magic would not touch him and his companions, but his stomach rumbled. He smiled and stepped forward, pulling the woman to her feet.
“Rise,” he said, “and claim your place at my side.”
She stood and looked at her arms, at the flesh worn away, but her eyes bore a haunting victory. She felt the power, knew it in her bones. She could kill with a touch and rob men of flesh by standing in their midst. At a distance she could destroy food and resources, ravaging an attacking army with desperation and hunger.
“I live to serve, my master.”
Draeken smiled, the sense of victory like sweet nectar on his tongue. Three of his generals stood before him, and only the fourth remained. When the horseman of Plague had been collected, he could finally open the Dark Gate.
Serak crossed the courtyard and joined him, nodding his approval. “Our plan advances.”
Draeken met his gaze. “It does indeed.”
Serak examined Famine with pride, but Draeken’s smile was not of gratitude. Serak had prepared armies and hidden fortresses, even created the chance for Draeken to become whole, but Draeken was the master, and his plan was his own.
“Come,” Draeken said. “Our work is done for the day.”
He reached upward, and a red dragon dropped from the sky, landing in the courtyard. Bendelinish, Serak’s mount, was one of the strongest reds the dragons had produced in ages. Draeken stepped into the air, and flew.
Those still watching fell silent, their shock robbing their voices as Draeken lifted himself off the earth by force of will. Draeken alighted on the dragon’s neck, while Serak used a foreleg to join him. As the dragon flapped its wings, Draeken pointed to the estate.
“Burn it.”
The dragon lowered its maw and fire burst forth, engulfing the building. Serak’s mount rose into the air as it poured fire onto the roof of the estate, filling the halls and corridors with dragon’s breath. Draeken watched the inferno before calling down to his generals.
“You know what to do.”
They nodded and then departed, disappearing into the rising smoke. Draeken directed the dragon into the sky, rising above the wall and the soldiers huddled against the battlements. He paid them no mind as he soared over a country illuminated by the setting sun. His land. His kingdom.
“Witness the dawn of my kingdom,” he said. “And my reign will be endless.”
Chapter 1: Aftermath
Elenyr advanced into the remains of the estate, her footfalls sending ash rising in small puffs. The city guard had managed to contain the fires before they spread, but the estate itself was nothing but ruin. The supports of the home resembled a burned carcass, its bones reaching skyward. Another corner had caved in, the beams and stones a pile of debris.
“There were a handful of survivors,” the captain of the guard said from her side. “Would you like to speak with them?”
Elenyr shook her head. “No. Leave them to their healing.”
The man bowed and then de
parted. The fragment of Mind took his place. “Why did you want to come here?”
Elenyr frowned at the sense of fear rising in her throat. Draeken had separated from the fragments, but she had no idea what to expect from him. As the fragment of Power, he was more dangerous than he’d ever been.
“It’s been two weeks since you separated from Draeken,” Elenyr said. “I expected more from him, but he didn’t appear anywhere on Lumineia. Then he suddenly showed up here? I want to know why.”
“Witnesses say Lady Dentis put on a cloak,” Senia said, joining them. “I’m guessing it’s the same type he forced Gendor to wear. With the way the food rotted, I’d say he turned her into Famine.”
“That means he has three generals,” Elenyr said. “Only one remains.”
She turned to the rest of their group, all sifting through the wreckage, looking for reasons why Draeken and Serak had come here. Despite their foes and the dire situation, a small smile appeared on her face. The fragments and their friends were powerful, and Draeken was a fool to ignore them.
All five fragments were alive and whole. They were not really fragments anymore, but after viewing them as such for so long, she had a hard time shaking that concept. They were her sons, her family she’d nearly lost, but thanks to Mind, they were alive and well.
In addition to the fragments, others had gradually joined the conflict. Willow, the dark elf called the Inked One, with weapons tattooed on her flesh, a walking armory. Lira, the Eternal, as well as Ero, head of the Eternals, who lived under the persona of Jeric.
Senia, the oracle, had brought Rake, a man bonded to a white dragon. And then there was Tardoq, the bone-armored dakorian. Once a servant to an invading krey, the mighty Bloodwall towered over the rest of the group. Elenyr was still uncertain of his role, even if Rynda spoke in support of the soldier.
Queen Rynda, head of the rock troll people, and revered by her entire clan, stood talking to Tardoq. By all accounts the two were friends, though both had scars to prove they were once adversaries.
