by David Green
In Solitudes Shadow
EMPIRE OF RUIN BOOK ONE
DAVID GREEN
EERIE RIVER PUBLISHING
HAMILTON, ONTARIO
In Solitudes Shadow
Copyright © 2021 Eerie River Publishing
All Rights Reserved.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, organizations and incidents are either part of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Except the Banished, those are real.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without express written permission by the author and or publisher.
Paperback ISBN: 978-1-990245-10-7
Hardcover ISBN: 978-1-990245-11-4
Digital ISBN: 978-1-990245-07-7
Edited by S.O. Green
Cover design Rainbow Danger Designs
Book Formatting by Michelle River
ALSO AVAILABLE FROM
EERIE RIVER PUBLISHING
NOVELS
SENTINEL
STORMING AREA 51
ANTHOLOGIES
Don’t Look: 12 Stories of Bite Sized Horror
It Calls From The Forest: Volume I
It Calls From The Forest: Volume II
It Calls From The Sky
It Calls From The Sea
Darkness Reclaimed
Midnight Shadow: Volume I
With Blood and Ash
With Bone and Iron
Forgotten Ones: Drabbles of Myth and Legend
Dark Magic: Dark Fantasy Drabbles
COMING SOON
It Calls From the Doors
It Calls From the Veil
In Solitude’s Shadow
The Void
A Sword Named Sorrow
www.EerieRiverPublishing.com
A Note from the Author
I never thought I'd write fantasy. To be honest, I never thought I'd write at all, but that's a different story.
Fantasy is my first reading love; from childhood days reading about King Arthur and the mystical, fantastical places in Cheshire through Alan Garner, to having my eyes opened and never closed by JRR Tolkien's The Hobbit, the fantasy genre was always something I found inspiration and comfort from. When I began my writing journey, I avoided fantasy.
Not for any nefarious reasons, you understand. No, because I thought what could I bring to it?
After The Hobbit, I never looked back. The Lord of the Rings and The Silmarillion followed, then I devoured David Edding's Belgariad, Terry Brook's Shannara. If I saw a hooded figure or a sword on a book cover, I bought it. Then came The Wheel of Time, Malazan Book of the Fallen, The First Law, Earthsea, Robin Hobb... my tastes and experience in this wonderful genre of ours continued to develop and leave me in awe of what these masters could achieve. I'd pour over maps, trawl fansites, delve into the communities, and dream those dreams that only fantasy could bring me.
So, I began to write. But fantasy... no, leave that to the masters. But, best laid plans and all that. With each project, my influences crept in. My love of fantasy moved the needle closer and closer until I completed my first dark fantasy short-story. It got published too, a big surprise to me and a sign that maybe, just maybe, I could give it a go.
In Solitude's Shadow, the first book in the Empire of Ruin series, is the end result. It's a book I'm immensely proud of, a book that contains the aspects of fantasy I love, and I hope I've brought something new to say. As you read this, I hope you recall all the wonderful aspects of fantasy, remember all the magnificent places our genre can transport us. But overall, I hope you enjoy the ride.
Thanks for reading, David.
To my first beta readers Chris and Andy, and to those recruited by Eerie River and Michelle; you helped make this book the best it can be. And to my family, thank you. This is for you.
Chapters
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
EPILOGUE
COMING 2021
PROLOGUE
THE SEEDS OF RUIN
Two-thousand years ago
Jakob thrust his blade into the blood-soaked soil and leaned on the pommel. The screams of the dying filled his ears. The stench of the dead made him gag. Smoke rose as he peered across the battlefield.
“We’ve won,” he muttered, shaking his head, sweat stinging his eyes. “How?”
Hours before, they had hidden behind Spring Haven’s brittle walls, cowering beneath the protection of their Sparkers as the First People sent wave after wave of magic users to annihilate them. The war against the rulers of Haltveldt had stretched into its second full year. It had seemed like a battle the humans, and their elven allies, couldn’t win.
Humans and elves were united in their belief that magic was a rare and sacred gift from the gods Raas and Janna, but every soul in the First People’s army possessed magical energy. They wielded their savage power without mercy. They obliterated settlements filled with innocent men, women, and children and they revelled in the carnage. Then the First People moved on to the next village, and the next, and the next.
When the First People’s mages had overpowered their Sparkers, when Spring Haven’s walls had fallen to roaring flame and sundered earth, Jakob had turned to the soldiers around him—men and women he’d known all his life—hoping to give them one last rallying cry. To call on them to die with honour. To make Raas and Janna, their gods, proud.
The words had died on his lips.
The First People hadn’t attacked. They hadn’t done anything. Instead, confused cries rang out like a hundred-thousand gongs sounding at once.
“Jakob?” A cough and the crunch of gravel sounded behind him. “Is that you?”
“Aye, Byar,” he replied. “Well met.”
Jakob made no attempt to hide his weariness. He glanced over his shoulder and offered the other man a tired smile.
“Glad you’re still alive,” Byar said, laying a hand on Jakob’s shoulder. His knees almost buckled. It felt like a butterfly would knock him down. “Can’t believe any of us are.”
“The elves? How did they fare?”
The elves had rallied first and charged. The First People’s slaves had delivered centuries of hate onto their former masters with arrow, blade and spell. Jakob’s soldiers had followed, and the day turned red.
Byar hocked and spat on a corpse nearby, dressed in the uniform of a First People captain. Otherwise, it was unidentifiable. Hacked to bloody pieces.
“More of them alive than you’d expect,” he muttered. “They’ll be trouble, you know? Now we’ve won, and they’re free. They won’t serve anyone again.”
Jakob glanced at him as he wiped a hand across his eyes, smearing crimson on his face.
“And why should they?” Jakob asked, with a frown. “They’re people just like anyone else. They fought alongside us. Died, too. How many millions? Dead.”
“Pah.” Byar spat again. Jakob forced down the urge to cr
ack him across the jaw. The day already held too much violence. “You think elves are people? Look around, Jakob. Look at what they did to their masters the moment they shook off the leash. We may have won here today but they’ll do the same to us, mark my words. They’re animals. Wild animals, and they need to be tamed. It’s all they’re good for.”
“How can you be sure we’ve won?” Jakob asked. He’d gain nothing by challenging the rest.
He admired the elves, marvelling at their resolve and ingenuity in the face of oppression and persecution. Grateful for their kinship in battle, Jakob knew many humans still didn’t trust them. Worse, so many hated them, thought them just a step above a beast of burden. But Jakob had hope. Humans would come to understand and live alongside elves. The First People’s prejudices couldn’t last forever.
“The enemy broke,” Byar breathed, pointing deeper into the smoke with his mace. Blood dripped from its end. “We were losing the battle, Jakob. Then it turned into a massacre. They offered little resistance. It’s like they lay down to die on our weapons.”
A high-pitched laugh snagged Jakob’s attention. Pushing off his blade and sheathing it, he moved towards the sound, stepping through the jumble of corpses. Byar followed. The battle’s heat had left his body and Jakob shivered from the sudden chill. He knew he needed to eat, to sleep, to regain his strength, but there wouldn’t be time for hours yet. First, he’d scour the field, committing the faces of the dead to his memory. Then he’d mourn.
The laughter grew louder, the shrill sound tinged with madness. Through the smoke, Jakob spied a figure sitting on a rock, back turned. Wind tugged at their cloak.
“An elf,” Byar grunted, a dark look in his deep-set eyes and his grip tight around his mace.
Jakob nodded and stepped forward. “Friend, what’s so funny? Not a day for humour, I’d say.”
The laughter continued, as if the elf didn’t even know they were there. Byar pushed Jakob aside and grabbed the elf by their shoulder, twisting them around.
Jakob gasped. Black pits peered back from where the elf’s eyes should have been. Blood crusted their cheekbones.
“Don’t you see?” The elf cackled. Spittle bubbled on their lips. “Count yourself fortunate. I saw too much.”
Jakob drew his sword.
“Sorry, friend,” he muttered, stepping close and driving his blade through the elf’s heart. The eyeless soldier smiled as Jakob lay them down against the rock. “May you shine forever in Raas’ light.”
“Bloody animal burned itself out,” Byar said. “See what happens when they’re not taken in hand? Self-destruction.”
Jakob wiped his blade clean on the sodden grass. “There’ll be more, too. The elves wanted vengeance. I reckon many of them drew more magic than they could handle. You saw the fires?”
Byar nodded. “Can still smell what they burned. Nothing compares to the stench of charred skin and bone. Remember their fury, Jakob. It could be us next. Don’t trust them.”
“Go back to Spring Haven,” Jakob grunted. He took a deep breath and turned to his ally. “Celebrate. Rest. There’s more fighting to come. The First People aren’t beaten yet.”
Byar grimaced. “If you think they aren’t beaten, you haven’t looked at their battle lines. We have bigger problems than the First People now. Trust me.”
“Are you talking about the elves again?”
Byar attracted rumours like horse dung did flies but, maggots could clean wounds, they said.
“Not just them. Our clans united over a common enemy. With the First People defeated… We argue enough as it is. War brought us together. We’ll need a new enemy to maintain the alliance.”
“Over here, I’ve found him!”
Jakob spun to find Trell striding towards him. A Sparker, the woman shared blood with Jakob’s wife. They clasped hands and Jakob welcomed the opportunity to break stares with Byar. A fever lurked behind the man’s eyes; he’d tasted war, addictive as Octarian spice.
“Well met,” Jakob grinned, revelling in one less soul to mourn. “What news?”
Trell paused, a look of concentration flashing in her eyes as she communicated with other Sparkers. Their connection had made Jakob envious once, but after fighting alongside them against the First People, that envy had vanished. He saw the toll their magic took on them, the target it put on their backs. The First People slaughtered Sparkers any chance they got and these weren’t just people they fought alongside. A Sparker would only Link with those they shared a deep connection with—a parent, a loved one, a life-long companion—and they felt them die in their minds.
“A funny thing,” Trell said, blinking and meeting Jakob’s eyes. He saw pain there, anguish he couldn’t fathom. “Sparkers across Haltveldt are reporting the same thing. The First People are routed. Human and elven armies are running riot as the word spreads. They’re fleeing, Jakob. We’ve won.”
“Fleeing?” He shook his head, unable to believe the news. It felt too easy. The First People wouldn’t just give up. “Where? Why?”
“North. It seems they’re heading for Solitude, that fortress they have up there. Reports from all over the continent say the same; battles and skirmishes near Noom, Gallavan’s Seat, Lira. They’ve stopped fighting.”
“Solitude… I’ve seen it,” Jakob said, suppressing a shiver. The battlement stretched across a thin neck of land, built into a pass where towering mountains, the Peaks of Eternity, met then looped in a circle around lands of slate and sparse forests. No-one lived there, though elves said they’d built it for the First People centuries before. “They could hold that place against anything we can throw against them.”
“That’s just it.” Trell laid a hand on Jakob’s forearm. “We’ve eyes up there already. The First People aren’t fortifying the place. They’re moving beyond it.”
“Madness.”
“Jakob, there’s more. They haven’t used the Spark against us since their retreat. As far as I can tell, the First People stopped using it. All at the same time.”
A yell from Byar interrupted them. He staggered into Jakob as a blood-crusted figure on the ground grabbed his leg. Byar shook him off. The figure gasped, as if the breath he sucked in burned his lungs, then heaved onto his back.
“Look,” Trell hissed. “One of the First People.”
Jakob’s eyes confirmed it. Beneath the filth, he saw the man’s milk-white skin, his fair, almost colourless, hair. Jakob stared at the First, and it met his eyes with a yellow stare tinged with grey. Byar raised his mace, murder etched into his features.
“Stop,” Jakob cried, throwing out a hand. Byar glared at him. “I want answers.”
He crouched and pulled the soldier into a sitting person.
“Can you hear me? What’s your name?”
Contempt snaked across the First’s face, before a look of fear mingled with despair replaced it. He swallowed, then nodded. “Bal.”
“Bal,” Jakob repeated. “Your people have fled, and make no mistake, you’re not long for this world. My people would sooner tear one of your kind limb-from-limb than take you prisoner. Not to mention what the elves would do to you.”
“With good reason,” Byar muttered. “I’ll give them that.”
Bal continued to stare at Jakob. Blood dripped from the side of his head. Jakob glanced at it and nodded. He’d seen a killing blow like it more than once. The First didn’t have long left.
“Jakob,” Trell said. “I should be able to sense another Sparker’s power. He’s empty, but he’s not burned out. It’s like someone ripped the Spark from his soul. There’s… nothing. Not a single trace of it.”
A sob escaped Bal’s throat.
“Our punishment,” he whimpered. “I welcome death. Give it to me. Please. Rather that than live without the Spark.”
Jakob unsheathed his sword and laid the point against the First’s chest.
“What happened?” he demanded. “I’ll give you your death. Nice and quick. Just tell me.”
“Muir took it from us. The Spark. It seeks to teach us a lesson. I hear it in my mind, even now, telling me to return to the source. To accept my punishment. To renew ourselves. It’s ruined us.” Bal’s fingers clenched, his eyes grew wide. “How could Muir do this to us? Defy us like this?”
“Don’t speak such drok!” Trell spat. “The Spark doesn’t talk to us.”
Bal gave her a withering stare.
“What is Muir?” Jakob asked, pulling the First’s attention back to him.
Bal shook his head. “That’s all you’ll get from me, human,” he sneered. “Your pet has told you where my people flee. Watch Solitude well. The First People shall return. We’ll triumph over Muir one way or another. We’ll have our revenge and take back what’s ours.”
“You won’t.”
Jakob gripped Bal’s shoulder, intent on living up to his promise. Before he could, Byar swung his mace with a snarl, snapping the First’s head back. The warrior slumped to the ground, legs twitching as Byar swung again, beating his skull into the blood-thick mud. Trell held Jakob back as he watched the slaughter.
With a laugh, Byar turned, happy with his work. “More food for the crows.”
Jakob looked away. He held no love for the First People but Byar’s ferocity sickened him.
“Spread the word,” he said, nodding to Trell. “Notify any Sparker you can. Harry the First People beyond Solitude and fortify it behind them.”
Trell smiled. “Anything else?”
“Watch the elves,” Byar muttered, staring at the bodies by his feet.
Jakob turned on him, weapon in hand. “Leave us. Now. No more of that talk where I can hear, understand?”
“Whether you hear it or not, friend, people will talk. They know what needs to be done.”
Jakob slammed his blade into his sheath and watched Byar depart, before surveying the killing field. The cries of the dying still rang in his ears. He stared down at Bal, noticing the look of contempt frozen on the corpse’s features.
