Silevethiel
The Vaelinel Trilogy
Book One
Andi O'Connor
Silevethiel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is purely coincidental.
Copyright © 2013 by Andi O'Connor
Cover art and design © 2013 by Madison Romig
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the permission of the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.
Purple Sun Press
P.O. Box 62312
Harrisburg, PA 17106-2312
www.purplesunpress.com
ISBN: 978-1-940417-07-3
First Digital Edition
Table of Contents
Cover Page
Other Works by Andi O’Connor
Dedication
Acknowledgements
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
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty One
Chapter Twenty Two
Chapter Twenty Three
Chapter Twenty Four
Chapter Twenty Five
Vaelinel Elvish
About the Author
Other works by
ANDI O’CONNOR
THE DRAGONATH CHRONICLES
The Lost Heir
Awakening (Coming in 2014)
To Jonathan
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I would like to thank my editor, Mary V. Welk, for her invaluable suggestions and advice. I would also like to give a huge thank you to my husband whose undying support and love has kept me sane.
1
IREWEN’S BARE FEET SLAPPED AGAINST THE COLD stone floor as she ran down the hallway. The news of her father’s murder during the night pierced her heart like a knife.
She approached the king’s bedchamber, ignoring the guards’ mournful expressions. She’d seen many heinous injuries during the few times she had helped in the infirmary, but nothing prepared her for the grotesque scene that met her eyes when she burst into the room.
Her royal blue skirts fell still about her as she stared at her father’s mutilated body. Stabbed more times than she cared to tally, his torso was nothing but a chaotic mass of ripped flesh and tissue. Large amounts of blood had already congealed into dark sticky pools among the tattered remnants of his light green sleep shirt. The king’s heart, torn from his chest, lay draped across his forehead. Dried rivers of blood trailed into his unseeing gray eyes.
This can’t be happening!
Her hands trembling at her sides, she gaped at the scene before her in horrified disbelief. Closing her eyes, she willed herself to wake from the hideous dream. She struggled to push the horrid image of the king’s body from her mind, but it continued to hover behind her eyelids like a demon from a nightmare. The fetid smell of death permeated her nostrils; wincing, she took a deep breath and opened her eyes. It was not a dream. It was real.
A strong arm suddenly wrapped itself around her shoulders. Unaware of the man’s identity, she nevertheless allowed herself to be pulled into the sanctuary of his muscular arms as they circled her slender waist in a comforting embrace. She buried her face in his chest, her warm tears soaking his fine silk tunic. Overcome by the brutal finality of her father’s murder, her choked sobs drove away the penetrating silence enveloping them both.
“Forgive me, Irewen.” Her cousin Elthad’s rich sympathetic voice infiltrated the dense haze obscuring her senses. “You should not have been subjected to such an appalling scene. Come to the sitting room and join me in a drink. It will calm your nerves and aid in purging this distressing image from your memory.”
She did not resist as Elthad gently escorted her from the king’s bedchamber. Her pale blue eyes stared into nothingness as he slowly guided her through the expansive castle. Her spent tears glistened on her fair cheeks like tiny droplets of morning dew clinging to the delicate white petals of a rose.
She took no notice of her surroundings when they entered the lavish sitting room. Elthad led her to a settee where she perched uncomfortably on the edge of the velvet cushion, her skirts ballooning around her. A servant poured the wine. The clear ringing of crystal on crystal echoed off the stone walls, an unwelcome merriment invading her sorrow.
“Have a drink, my lady,” Elthad said, handing her a goblet from the tray.
She looked at the crystal wineglass uneasily; the dark liquid within matched the intense redness of her father’s pooled blood.
Elthad sat next to her and held the goblet to her pale lips. “Please, Irewen,” he pleaded. “At least take a sip. Your father’s murder has come as a tremendous shock. The wine will help your mind relax.”
She didn’t protest when Elthad carefully tilted the goblet to her lips. The velvety liquid trickled into her mouth and rolled against her tongue. She savored the strong earthy tones of the wine and relished the vintage as it slid down her throat, coating her insides with its rich, comforting warmth.
She took another sip, and her senses began to clear, the heavy fog rolling aside in her mind. Like the sun banishing rainclouds after a storm, the wine freed her from her daze. She could think clearly for the first time since bursting into the room housing her father’s mutilated corpse.
Tucking a stray raven curl behind her ear, she peered closely at Elthad, now fully aware of her cousin’s presence. His light brown hair framed his face in soft waves, falling just below his strong jawline. His rugged features, deeply tanned from the countless hours spent outdoors, displayed prominent battle scars covered by day-old stubble. Gazing intently at her through thick tawny eyelashes, his warm amber eyes offered what little comfort they could. He waited patiently for her to speak on the horrors plaguing her mind.
“Who?” she asked, her voice cracking like thin ice covering a pond. “Why?”
Elthad shook his head, appearing burdened by weariness and sorrow. “I do not know, my lady. I have questioned your father’s personal servants, as well as the guards and sentries who were on duty throughout the night, but I have not received any beneficial information. No one seems to have heard or seen anything out of the ordinary. I have not even ascertained if the murderer is still within the walls of the city.”
Fresh tears rolled down her cheeks. “Irewen,” Elthad said softly, taking hold of her hands, “until the murderer is discovered and we are able to establish his motives, your life is in danger. It is no longer safe for you to remain in Dürgeld or anywhere else in Dargon. You must leave. Travel north into Mistwood. Seek refuge with the Wood Elves.”
“No, Elthad. My duty lies here.”
“My lady, the people of Dargon cannot risk you suffering the same fate as your father. Although we have not had any recent dealings with the Wood Elves, Mistwood remains one of our most powerful allies. Lord Brandir will provide you with his protection until we have captured your father’s assassin. Once I am assured the city is safe, you will return to Dürgeld and take your rightful place as queen.”
Tense minutes passed while she considered her cousin’s words. She was an only child
. The safety of the kingdom of Dargon was now her responsibility. She didn’t want to flee, yet Elthad had a reason for his concern. Until the murderer was found, she would live in a constant state of fear and trepidation. She knew in her heart she would be of no use to her people until her father’s assassin was captured.
“Very well, Elthad,” she finally conceded, seeing the worried tension disappear from his face as he let go of her hands. “I will do as you wish.”
“Preparations for your departure will begin at once,” he said. “I’ll send our fastest rider to the elven city of Silverden to inform Lord Brandir of the situation. Five of my best men will accompany you as your personal escort. You must remain on your guard, especially while traveling through the vast farmlands to our north. There are few places that will provide protection against unwanted eyes.
Pausing to sip his wine, Elthad scrutinized her features. “Secrecy and haste are your best defenses,” he continued gravely. “Your long, black hair and fair skin are quite distinguishing characteristics, especially among those native of Dargon. Until you pass the southern border of Mistwood, keep your hair pinned beneath a head scarf. Wear poorer clothing, and conceal as much of your face and arms as possible. Let my men do the talking. You are to speak to no one. We cannot risk someone recognizing you, especially while you remain within the city walls.
“Whatever you do, you must trust my men explicitly. They will recognize signs of danger that you will not. Darkness is this maniac’s ally. You must be well outside the walls of the city before sundown. With luck, your movements will go unnoticed.”
She answered her cousin with an almost imperceptible nod. Letting her gaze fall to her hands resting delicately in her lap, she mulled over Elthad’s words. The entire situation felt totally surreal. She wondered if she would ever believe it to be anything but a nightmare.
Despite what reasoning told her, she didn’t want to leave. She felt comfortable in Dürgeld. It was familiar to her. It was home. In the twenty years of her life, she’d never ventured outside the stone borders of the city. She rarely even stepped foot beyond the castle grounds. She knew nothing of what the rest of the world looked like aside from what she read in books or learned from her father.
Even though she didn’t want to admit it, her cousin’s argument made sense. Anyone else would think she was asinine for wanting to remain in the vicinity of an assassin rather than seeking safety, but it was true. Like a baby bird preparing to fly for the first time, she was scared to venture from the security of her nest. But just like the bird, she had no choice. Even though she outranked Elthad, he had made his decision. She knew him well. He would hound her until she agreed to leave.
Like a thief in the night, she would flee to Silverden, abandoning her duties to her father and her people.
Irewen did her best to suppress a shiver. She rolled to her side and pulled the heavy wool cloak tighter against her body in a feeble attempt to keep out the winter chill. The campfire had begun to die long ago; she could hear the faint sizzle of the last remaining embers clinging desperately to life.
Praying for the welcome release of sleep, she let out a faint sigh as she closed her eyes. Sorrow still wrapped her in its dark arms; she’d said little over the journey, and in response, the soldiers had left her in peace with only her terrifying memories for company.
The constant monotony, frigid temperatures, and barren surroundings of the past nine days were more than her shattered heart could bear. She looked upon the remainder of the excursion with dread. Though they’d crossed the southwestern border of Mistwood before sunset, it was at least another five days’ ride before they reached the gates of Silverden. Another soft sigh escaped her lips. She feared her anguish would not be lessened, even in the jovial company of the elves.
Faint snoring drifted over the camp, and she let her thoughts wander to the five soldiers escorting her to Silverden. Like her, they had spent most of the journey in silence, their hushed voices occasionally wafting through the crisp winter air. She recognized two of the men from the time she’d spent with her father in court, but she had been unable to identify the remaining three.
She wasn’t surprised. Elthad had first alerted the king of the increased threat from the southern country of Thaurod nearly two years ago. After reporting that a number of small raiding parties had been sighted in the southeastern Lynden Forest, Elthad had persuaded the king to heighten the security across the wide expanse of Dargon’s southern border. Patrols were deployed in order to aid the rural villages dotting the countryside. Elthad had insisted on leading them himself, occasionally sending word to the king of what little progress was being made. Nothing could really be done until the motive for Thaurod’s attacks could be determined.
Most of Dargon was open, flat land. Unlike the northern regions of the country which were vast farmlands, the rocky, claylike soil in the south was not suitable for cultivation. Save for scattered towns where people made their living from fishing in the Gretchnel Lake or hunting in the Lynden Forest, southern Dargon was devoid of natural resources and largely uninhabited. There was nothing stopping Thaurod’s armies from marching to the gates of Dürgeld. Yet, they weren’t. What interest could they possibly have in the lands they were raiding? It was a question she had posed to her father on numerous occasions. Each time, it had been downplayed by Elthad and dismissed by the king.
Nevertheless, her uneasiness persisted. Something wasn’t right. While Dargon’s relationship with Thaurod had never been wonderfully friendly, it was amiable enough, certainly since the time her grandfather had been king. During his rule, an agreement was made between the two countries that served them both quite well.
Dargon was the larger and more fertile of the two kingdoms. The great walled city of Dürgeld was home to the best craftsmen among the four human nations in Vaelinel. On the other hand, Thaurod had amassed an impressive amount of wealth by mining metals and gemstones from the expansive twin mountain chains in the southwest. Her armies, home to some of humankind’s finest warriors, were large in number and strength, but their weapons and gear were subpar. Hoarded in grand rooms of the castle, the country’s wealth was meaningless. In order to groom an unstoppable army, the gold and jewels needed to be traded or sold.
King Marlen Donríel, Irewen’s grandfather, recognized the neighboring kingdom’s predicament and struck a trade agreement with then King Trillard of Thaurod. In return for sending shipments of the metal and jewels to Dargon’s crafters, the generals and captains of Thaurod’s armies would receive their choice of weapons and armour for themselves, and the same would be commissioned for their men at a much reduced price.
But Marlen was not a foolish man. Dargon was getting nothing out of the deal other than experience for its crafters and a pittance of tax from the low commission. As a result, he pushed for his merchants to be granted exclusive rights to purchase Thaurod’s metals and jewels in order to be used and sold as the crafters saw fit. King Trillard had been reluctant to agree, but seeing no other way to get what he wanted for his armies, the deal was made.
Since then, the trading had continued with no qualms from either side. As it stood, there was no reason for Thaurod’s king to send raiding parties into Dargon whose armies were now equal, if not superior to Thaurod’s. If the raids were to lead to war, Thaurod stood to lose a great deal.
Irewen shrugged. None of it made any sense.
She let her mind wander to her cousin. She suddenly realized that the morning of her father’s death was the first time she’d seen Elthad in over six months. He had returned from a patrol the previous evening. As always, he’d reported straight to the king and the two men had spent long hours alone in her father’s study discussing the consequences of Thaurod’s continued pressure. She suspected Elthad had enjoyed only an hour or two of sleep before being awakened with the news of his uncle’s murder.
She stretched her cramped legs before returning to the fetal position beneath her cloak. What a thing to return home to
. It is no wonder why he looked so weary and haggard.
She found herself wondering when she would be able to see her cousin again when the muddled sound of footsteps pulled her from her reflections.
“Lady Irewen?”
The guard’s cautious whisper sounded like thunder in her ear. She felt a tentative hand on her shoulder and rolled over to find herself staring into the concerned eyes of Sir Leif. She sat up, wrapping the cloak around her shoulders.
“I apologize for disturbing you, my lady,” he said, “but I did not want to speak to you before I was certain the others were asleep. There is something I feel you should know.”
She nodded her head and waited silently for him to continue.
“Neither Shon nor myself have ever seen the other three men assigned to this mission. I questioned Prince Elthad before we departed, and he informed me that because of the mounting threat of Thaurod, he was given permission as Captain to swear men into the royal service without the king’s approval. I was not aware of any such decree, but knowing his fractious temper, I did not press the matter further.
“Nevertheless, I am troubled by these strangers. Though they have been careful to disguise it beneath their woolen over-garments, they are wearing non-regulation leathers. The weapons they carry are of strange make and design and are not permitted for use by soldiers of the royal guard. They continually exchange furtive glances, and on numerous occasions, both Shon and I have heard them whispering to one another when they believed everyone else to be asleep or too preoccupied to notice.
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