by Faith Naff
The Shadow of the Throne
Book 3 in the Eternal Forest series.
Written by: Faith Naff
Editors: Faith Naff, Kim Naff
Additional editing by: Sharon Stogner –
Devil in the Details
Cover photo: Faith Naff
Cover model: Dina Young – Patches Cosplay
Cover editor: Sonja Carter – Soulfire Studios
This story is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real persons, places, or events is purely coincidental.
All material © 2015 Moonwing Media. All rights reserved.
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Chapter 1
Through each sovereign territory a road shall be designated which connects all others adjacent. No traveler upon these roads, no matter their business, shall be met with hostility, hindrance, or even questioning.
The Tri-leaf Pact: Article II - Section IV
After the fires died away, the bodies were hauled off, and the tribes of the Lands of Order began putting their lives back together—the smells remained. The thick odors of smoke and blood filled the lungs of anyone near Tranquility, and each inhale was a chilling testament of the chaos that had only recently subsided. For Rainstorm, it was a reminder that the forest north of his beloved Temple lay in smoldering ruin. Even now, many miles north of the destruction left in the wake of the battle, the smells in the air would not let him forget, but they weren’t the only reminders.
As a young elf, and an acolyte of the Temple, Rainstorm had been there during the ordeal. He’d watched the Lady’s faithful fall forever as the balisekts and their demon army overpowered them. He’d witnessed the flying demon, nearly as large as the sky itself, ignite Her forest in a blazing inferno. Only by the Lady’s grace had the dryad warrior been able to stop the beast, and the act had nearly taken her life. Rainstorm had fought bravely, wielding his powerful spells to destroy the unholy uprising. His scars were few, but still quite pronounced on his skin—forever a physical reminder of all that had happened.
“Still dwelling?” a female voice said from behind him.
He was dwelling, and in his thoughts he hadn’t noticed her approaching from behind. There were many with him. In fact, over two dozen acolytes from Tranquility were making their way towards the faerie’s territory of the forest, but she was the first person all day to acknowledge him. Dressed in the same acolyte robes, the human girl came up on his right. Her skin was milky-white and her long, straight hair a pale, blond color. “What of it?” he asked.
“You’re just always so mopey these days,” she replied. Her voice was high, carrying with it an almost childlike playfulness. Rainstorm couldn’t tell most of the time if she meant to sound that way or if she couldn’t help it; either way, these days he often found it annoying.
Rainstorm groaned. “Ilderra, what could there possibly be to find happiness in?” he asked.
She quickened her pace, moving in front of him and forcing him to slow his march through the trees. “Well, for starters, we’re alive.”
“Which hardly seems fair,” Rainstorm retorted. He tried to move around her, but she stepped to the side, blocking him again.
“It doesn’t matter if it’s fair,” she said. “It’s still a blessing to draw breath in Her forest.”
Rainstorm shook his head and placed a hand on her shoulder. It was no gesture of comfort or friendship; he simply wished to hold her in place as he stepped around her. “Just leave me be,” he said in almost a whisper.
Ilderra pouted. Her feet were as still as the tree roots for a moment as she contemplated pressing the issue further. She and Rainstorm had been such good friends before the battle. They had trained together, worshipped together, and done the Lady’s work side-by-side. Ever since the demons attacked the Temple, Rainstorm had been increasingly standoffish. She’d been trying so hard to break the shell he’d put around himself, but it seemed harder to crack with each passing day. Still, she was nothing if not persistent, and she knew her dear friend was still in there somewhere.
“This sure seems like a lot of people just to find two fugitives,” she said as she hurried her steps to catch up with him.
“You said that yesterday,” Rainstorm said. His fingers massaged the sides of his head next to his long, slender, pointed elf ears. His skin was pale, though not as greatly as Ilderra’s, and his black hair was braided down his back.
“Yes, and we didn’t talk about it yesterday, so I’m bringing it up again,” she responded. Her determination to make him open up was unfaltering. “There’s so many of us here, and in such exalted company. Surely this is too much just to find two rogue acolytes.”
“The order for this search came from Grand Seryan Silvermist herself,” Rainstorm said. He hated that he was giving in to her pressuring, but if he appeased her appetite for conversation, perhaps she would leave him alone once she had her fill. “Regardless of what we think of it, it’s not our place to question. Besides, you know we’re not the only group out looking.”
“But that just makes it even stranger,” Ilderra continued. “Acolytes abandon the path all the time. No one ever goes out looking for them.” She looked up, letting the bright beams of the high sun shining through the canopy land on her face. It was a beautiful day, the kind of day she would rather spend in training or prayer on the shores of Tranquility. Tracking down a faerie and an elf that had run away during the battle seemed like a terrible waste of such a gorgeous afternoon.
“It’s not our place to question the commands of the Grand Seryan,” Rainstorm reminded her again. “Silvermist receives divine messages from the Lady herself. Their intent or purpose is not…” Rainstorm paused as a shiver went up his spine. From one step to the next, the air felt different, and the thoughts in his mind changed without his consent. The energy in this part of the forest was dissimilar, meaning they had crossed the border.
Ilderra also felt the change in energy. She took a deep breath and shook her fingers at her sides. “Out of the Savage Lands at last,” she said.
“We’re in faerie territory now,” Rainstorm said. With his head turning side to side, he watched the reactions of his fellow travelers as they too crossed the barrier. Everyone in his party was an acolyte, priest, or priestess, and all were infused with the Lady’s magic. It gave them the ability to cast powerful elemental spells, but they were also able to better sense the magical barriers put up around some of the territories.
“We must be cautious now,” a tall, elven woman said from the head of the group. She had dark skin and a wild mess of short, dark hair on her head. Her robes were more ornate than Rainstorm’s or Ilderra’s, proudly displaying her advanced rank within the Lady’s Temple. “The faeries monitor the movements of foreigners in their lands very closely.”
Ilderra shot a glance up into the canopy, her eyes darting from one empty branch to another. “I don’t see any faeries around,” she said. “You really think they’ll come out this far to see if anyone’s nearby?”
The dark-skinned elf chuckled softly at the young human’s foolishness. “My dear acolyte, I assure you, the Rose Thorns were aware of us before we even crossed the border. Everyone be sure to stay upon the path.”
Ilderra’s visual scan of the trees went from curious to worrisome. Everyone in the Lands of Order had heard of the Rose Thorns, though few ever laid eyes on one of their members unless destined to die. They were the faerie queen’s elite army, a collection of silent assassins that could kill an entire convoy without their presence being known
. Those that were left alive by a Thorn attack said it was like fighting an army of ghosts. One by one, perfectly healthy soldiers or travelers would simply fall over dead, with no sign of an assailant in sight. Goosebumps formed on her arms as she hurried to walk a little closer to Rainstorm.
“Relax, Ilderra,” Rainstorm said. “Our convoy travels along the Safe Road and on the Grand Seryan’s errand. The Thorns will not harm us as long as we show no hostility in their forest.”
Ilderra nodded. His words offered her some comfort, but not enough to keep her body from trembling at the thought of being watched by a phantom force. They covered the next mile in silence, making sure to keep their feet upon the path and their actions in check. It wasn’t until the path took a sharp left that the dark-skinned elf halted. The rest of the party from Tranquility stopped as well, remaining silent as they waited for their leader’s next move.
“Why does the path turn so abruptly?” Ilderra whispered in Rainstorm’s ear.
Rainstorm groaned as his fists clenched at his side. The human acolyte’s foolishness was going from annoying to dangerous. “The Safe Road has never been a direct path to Windsong,” he responded.
“Then how does anyone visit the Faerie City?” she questioned further.
Though he knew it likely imprudent, Rainstorm turned around to face his inquisitive friend. “No one ever does,” he said.
Up ahead, the dark-skinned elf slowly dropped to one knee. She brought her hands up in front of her face. With her wrists crossed, her thumbs interlocked, and her fingers spread out, making her hands take the shape of a bird in flight. This gesture was the Wings of Grace, a traditional faerie greeting that communicated friendship and trust. “Rose Thorns,” she declared loudly into the seemingly empty canopy. “We know you are here. We know you watch our steps as we approach your city. No farther shall we go without your consent, but the Temple has business in Windsong, and we are sent from the Grand Seryan herself.”
“We know why you are here,” a female faerie said as she descended from the canopy. Her red and white butterfly-like wings were an amazing sight. The sunbeams shined off her creamy-white skin as she passed through them. Her fiery red hair was tied behind her in a tight tail, while her snow-white bangs hung down the sides of her face in long, wide curls. Like all faeries, she stood only a few inches tall, and like the elves, she had long, slender ears that came to a sharp point near the top of her head; rows of small rings were pierced into the cartilage. The faerie landed on a low branch near the dark-skinned elf, bringing them to eye level with each other. “Your message arrived days ago.”
“Then you know we are here to search Windsong for the fugitives,” the elf continued.
The faerie scoffed. “That won’t be happening,” she said confidently.
Obviously taken aback, the dark-skinned elf’s stance stumbled most ungracefully. “We have brought faeries with us to conduct the search, and…”
“They will not be allowed,” the faerie reiterated. “By order of the Rose, none of you are allowed to approach the Faerie City.”
Even Rainstorm was in shock over this little faerie’s brashness. He’d never heard someone defy a Temple order so boldly. What’s worse, he couldn’t even fathom a reason for it. They weren’t asking to occupy the city or declare martial law. This was simply a request to search for a lawbreaker. To be dismissed so rudely felt like blasphemy.
The dark-skinned elf clenched her fists at her sides and lowered her head. “What is your name?” she demanded. Her voice mirrored all the sass and pride of the faerie’s as she attempted to remind her who carried the authority in the Lady’s forest.
“I am Sparrow, captain of the Rose Thorns,” the faerie said. She bowed flamboyantly, an action intending to convey more smug pride than respect. “And who are you?”
“I am Oakleaf,” the elf responded boldly, “and I am a Priestess of Tranquility!”
Sparrow chuckled as she leaned her back against the trunk of the tree. “Your parents must be so proud.”
Oakleaf was so startled by Sparrow’s response that she fumbled with her words. Only a series of choppy, guttural noises escaped her lips before they were finally able to form something coherent. “Never have I been so insulted!”
“You want to talk of insults?!” Sparrow snapped as she lifted off the branch. Her wings held her aloft at eye level with the enraged priestess. “You have already insulted all of Windsong with your triumphant march through our territory. The Grand Seryan’s letter was received weeks ago, and a reply was sent. Your fugitives are not here. Our swiftest messenger sent the note himself, so it must have reached your dear master before she even sent you.”
Oakleaf’s eyes darted about as she searched her mind for a response. “We were…”
Sparrow continued her ranting, not letting the priestess finish her thought. “Your presence here communicates one of two things: you either did not read our letter of response, or you disregarded it and sent your army anyway. In either case, you have insulted our tribe and the Rose will not have you in her city.”
Oakleaf knew she was losing the upper hand in this argument, but she couldn’t bear to show weakness. She knew who was watching. “I request an audience with your queen,” she said. Her tone had become less harsh, but maintained its confidence. “Perhaps she and I can…”
“You will not see the Rose,” Sparrow responded.
Oakleaf stomped her foot like a frustrated child. “Will you not even deliver the message?”
“As leader of the Thorns, I speak for the Rose. My word carries her full authority.”
“Who is the Rose?” Ilderra whispered in Rainstorm’s ear.
“The faeries refer to their queen as the Rose,” he whispered back.
Ilderra nodded.
Beneath her soft lips, Oakleaf’s teeth were gnashing together. “Perhaps an audience with your high priestess then,” she offered. “Surely your spiritual leader will speak with the Lady’s faithful from Tranquility?”
Sparrow landed on her branch again. “You may visit with the high priestess if you’d like. But do not forget, elf, things do not work in Windsong as they do in Moon-hollow. Here the high priestess is merely a consultant to the Rose, not a figure of authority.”
Oakleaf fought the urge to breathe a sigh of relief. At least she was getting somewhere. “Very well then,” she said as regally as she could manage. “Your high priestess and I will have our discussion and see if we can…” As she spoke, Oakleaf’s left foot lifted off the trail and landed in the forest north of the path. As quickly as a lightning strike, Sparrow pulled a tiny bow from her back and loaded an arrow into it. The bolt was little more than a long splinter, but the tip was stained with a dark, sappy substance. All around the canopy, other faerie soldiers emerged from the late summer leaves. Each had an arrow nocked and ready to fire.
The travelers from Tranquility froze in place. Ilderra’s eyes darted from one faerie to the next hovering between the late morning sunbeams. The Thorn’s poisons were legendary. If one were to fire upon her, she could seize up and die before ever feeling the prick, which would be the most welcome of all possibilities.
“I did not say you were welcome into the city, Priestess,” Sparrow said coldly. Her bowstring was pulled back to its limit, but her well-trained hands were as still as the mountains in the east. “Step back on the road.”
Oakleaf was too terrified to worry about her pride anymore. She quickly pulled her foot back, bowing her head in apology. She felt like a coward, and her soul burned with hatred for this humiliation, but all that mattered now was survival. Once she was fully within the confines of the path, Sparrow lowered her weapon. The faeries above returned to their hiding places in the tree tops.
Ilderra and Rainstorm were awestruck. Even after watching their faerie assailants retreat into the leaves, they were still unable to detect even the smallest sight of them. It was as if they vanished like the morning mist.
Sparrow returned her bow and arrow to
her back. “We will bring the high priestess to you, servant of Tranquility. Just sit tight and you’ll all live to return home.”
“Tranquility will not stand for this outrageous treatment!” shouted a commanding female voice from the middle of the group. The acolytes parted to the sides, revealing an older elven woman. She had skin tanned to the color of sandalwood, and her blond hair was arranged and pinned atop her head in an intricate braid. She wore robes of deep green that shined like an emerald. A thick, gold chain hung around her neck, displaying a charm shaped like the outline of a rounded leaf. It was the sigil of Moon-hollow, the home of the elves.
Sparrow’s hands landed on her knees and her jaw dropped. “Lady’s grace, they even sent a seryan all the way up here?”
“You have no right to speak the Lady’s blessed name after the treatment you show her devoted followers,” the old elf snapped. With a long, gnarled walking stick in her left hand, she marched her way up the path towards the faerie leader. She all but shoved Oakleaf to the ground as she passed, as though discarding something that had proven itself useless.
“Don’t think you scare me, Seryan to the Elves,” Sparrow said confidently. “The weight of your title doesn’t change my orders.”
“Foolish little faerie,” the seryan said. Her tone was like hearing a mother scold her disobedient child. “You may be a skilled warrior, but against the power of the blessed Lady, you are even less than the insect I see you as.” The acolytes behind her cringed together at the sharpness of their leader’s words.
Sparrow felt her hand reaching for her weapon again, but sense overpowered her instinct to silence the elf’s unthinkable words. Being compared to an insect was a vile and hateful insult when used by one of the large races. It was a detestable barb commonly used against her kind in the days before the New Tri-leaf Pact. The following silence was a testament to the discipline of her soldiers. She had no doubt they heard what the seryan said, and they were likely fighting their own desires to attack without order.
