Nightfall: Book Two of the Chronicles of Arden

by Shiriluna Nott

  Copyright 2015 by Shiriluna Nott

  All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced, either physically or digitally, without the express written consent of the author. All characters are creations of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to persons living or dead are purely coincidence.

  Edited by Karen Robinson of INDIE Books Gone Wild

  Proofread by Jennifer Oberth of INDIE Books Gone Wild

  Cover Design by Dennis Frohlich

  For Dave. Thanks for sticking with me through this crazy adventure.—Shiriluna Nott

  Chhaya keep vigil, for one of your children comes. My heart is heavy as my sister crosses the veil today. In loving memory of Amy Barrett. Without you, sister, I may have never found my voice.—SaJa H.

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  Links to other books in the Chronicles of Arden series:

  A Call to Arms: Book One

  Table of Contents

  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

  Chapter Fourteen

  Prologue

  Deep below ground, not a single trace of light penetrated the thick walls of the passage. Constructed from marble and brick and devoid of any windows, the corridor was darker than a moonless night. The sound of water trickling through crevasses in the damp stone wall and the stench of rotted moss and dirt were the only indications the corridor was anything more than a hollow void.

  A shrouded figure made his way through the encompassing gloom, features hidden beneath a cloak of linen. The man moved with deft silence, his footfalls assured despite the lack of light. Above him, cobwebs spanned the ceiling like tents of yellowed silk. Spiderlings skittered along the webbing, seeking out their next meal, but the sight caused the shrouded man no distress. Such horrors were commonplace here.

  The passage seemed to stretch into infinity, but at last the man came to an archway where a door stood ajar. Faint light glimmered beyond the threshold, beckoning him forward. He slipped through the entrance, glancing only once over his shoulder to ensure no one followed.

  Once inside the chamber, he pressed white hands to the ancient oaken wood, and the squeal of protesting hinges resonated through the darkness. The door slid shut, locking the room from the outside world.

  Soft words fell from the shrouded man’s mouth as he uttered an incantation. Almost instantly, a swirl of hazy-blue mist illuminated the door frame as the man’s warding spell settled into place. No prying eyes or ears would infiltrate the meeting tonight.

  He turned from the door, facing the interior of the room. The space was small, a former torture chamber or prison cell, perhaps, and certainly no place for civilized company to assemble. The quarters were cramped and the lack of comfort offensive, but given the earnestness of the message he’d received, the shrouded man hoped he’d be rewarded for suffering such inconveniences.

  A table sat in the center of the room, and a lone mage orb hovered above, bathing the chamber in eerie false light and bringing attention to the two men who sat waiting. The shrouded man took the last remaining seat.

  “I’d begun to think you’d taken it upon yourself not to show,” said the first man, his voice a hiss from the far side of the table.

  Distrust lingered in his words, and the shrouded man held back the urge to smirk. Trust was a frivolity reserved for the weak and foolish. The two men gathered at the table were neither of those things, which made them all the more dangerous.

  The shrouded man responded without hesitation. He knew better than to show even the slightest trace of frailty. To do so would be to seal his fate. In this land, the ruthless prevailed and the feeble were plucked from power like weeds. “Never fear. My loyalty is true and steadfast. I had to ensure I was alone before coming.”

  The third and final man leaned closer to the mage orb, clasping pale, boney hands together. “Now that we’re all accounted for, shall we begin?”

  The shrouded man could feel shrewd eyes watching him. He set his jaw in a defiant gesture and returned the stare. Their menacing scowls sought to undo him, but he remained undisturbed. He had prior experience dealing with cutthroat and power-hungry politicians. Attempts to rattle his confidence almost always failed.

  “We’ve been watching you for some time now.”

  He’d known, of course. He welcomed the scrutiny. If they’d been observing him, they surely knew how committed he was to their cause.

  “Do you know why you’ve been summoned?”

  The shrouded man inclined his head. “You wish to take control of the gem in the south and require my assistance.”

  Icy blue eyes penetrated his flesh like shards of glass. “The gem has been in trouble for some time now.”

  The shrouded man issued a dark chuckle. “I’d wager placing agents inside its borders has finally begun to pay off.”

  “Yes, but not quickly enough. We grow increasingly discontent with the sluggish progress being made.”

  Again, the shrouded man nodded. “The betrayer hinders our work. The gem shines far less brightly for its imperfection.”

  The thud of a fist slamming the table resonated off the stone walls. “Our agents have been attempting to dismantle the betrayer for years, but despite our best efforts, he continues to cling to his undeserved pedestal, perverting the ideals of the Giver of All Power and making a mockery of the order we established there centuries ago!”

  “The arrogant worm has proven clever,” replied the shrouded man after a bout of tense silence. “But he’s not indestructible. Two years ago, one of our agents came close to wiping the imperfection clean. The betrayer’s time is limited.”

  “It’s time for this imperfection to be dealt with once and for all. It’s time to reclaim what is ours by right.”

  A villainous smile crept over the shrouded man’s mouth. “If you give me the means to take care of the problem, I vow to see the task through. I assure you my spine is thicker than those you already employ. Many of them lack the conviction to be entrusted with a mission of such importance. But not I.” Licking dry lips, he planned his next words with caution. “Of course, I hope my loyalty won’t fall upon blind eyes.”

  “I can ensure you’ll be rewarded accordingly, should you please us. Our favor isn’t easily won, but those who succeed are bestowed power beyond their comprehension.” The pale-handed man’s voice dropped to a guttural snarl. “However, if you should fail—”

  “I will not fail.”

  The silence following the bold assertion should have unnerved the shrouded man, but he’d lost his sense of fear years ago.

  “Very well,” said the sinister voice.

  In the encroaching darkness, a trinket was pushed across the table toward him. The light of the mage orb reflected off the polished face of a small, turquoise gemstone. To any common fool, it would have seemed nothing more than a beautiful jewel, but he knew better. Even before he touched it, he could sense the disconcerting magic emanating from within.

  Exhilaration flooded his veins as he took the stone, rolling the polished gem in the palm of his hand. “Is this part of the new plan?”

  “The pl
an has already been set into motion. We need only an agent cunning enough to deliver the final blow—the blow that will destroy the betrayer and reinstate our ultimate rule over the gem in the south.” The shadowed man raised one hand, blotting out the light of the mage orb. He leaned across the table, eyes glistening like eerie globules. “Are you ready to claim your place of power?”

  A shrewd smile broke across the shrouded man’s face. He clasped the turquoise stone, holding it tightly against his chest. “What need I do?”

  Chapter One

  Gibben Nemesio set a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Are you ready to meet Dean Marc?”

  Calisto, the youngest of the Nemesio children, looked up at Gib and nodded eagerly. “Yes! I’ve been ready for the last two years.”

  It was a week until Harvest, the beginning of a new year and the start of Gib’s last semester at Academy. The beautiful cherry trees lining the courtyard had already turned from pink to orange, and the nights were cold enough to warrant extra fire at the hearth. The streets of Silver City bustled in preparation for the imminent festivities. The autumn crop had been bountiful—surely a sign of good fortune from the Goddesses, Chhaya and Daya. If luck were on their side, a mild winter would follow. Despite the tension on Arden’s northern and eastern borders, the mood around Silver was jovial.

  Gib knew better than to be deceived by the illusion of safety, however. As the understudy of Seneschal Koal Adelwijn, right hand of the King, Gib saw daily the political power struggle which plagued the High Council of Arden. Radically different viewpoints threatened to boil over into a war that had nothing to do with their eastern neighbor, Shiraz. The real conflict had more to do with how Arden was being ruled, and with so much at stake, Gib found himself losing a fair amount of sleep.

  Calisto all but skipped down the hallway to Dean Marc Arrio’s office, the sound of his boots echoing off the smooth limestone walls. Having just celebrated his thirteenth Naming Day, Cal remained blissfully unaware of the raging political battles Gib witnessed every day, and the whispers of war were but a distant rumor to the young boy.

  And I plan on keeping it that way as long as I can, Gib thought. Daya knows I had to grow up too young. Tayver too. I want Cal to enjoy his childhood for as long as possible.

  Now a young man of sixteen, Gib’s life was a stark contrast to how it had been when he was drafted three wheelturns prior. Gone was the gangling boy who had been plucked from his farm outside Willowdale and released into the middle of Silver City. He’d met highborns, councilors, royalty—the King of Arden himself. He’d trained with a prince, attended a grand ball at the palace, fallen in love, and even thwarted an assassination attempt. The story was so incredulous that Gib often found himself wondering if he were living a dream. Would he wake up any moment to find himself on the cold straw floor of his farmhouse, dressed in rags and worrying about his aching stomach? At times that seemed more plausible than the path fate had set him on.

  “I’m glad there’s no waiting line,” Gib noted as they drew closer to the familiar polished door. “I have to eat lunch and be at the palace before the midday bell rings. Seneschal Koal told me he expected this afternoon’s council session to be long.”

  Calisto’s mouth curled downward. “You didn’t have to come. If you’re busy—”

  “No, no. Liza brought me here on my first day. I can’t very well break tradition now. Besides, I need to make sure my own classes are in order.” Gib winked, earning a quiet titter from Calisto, and raised a fist to tap the door.

  The two students waited only a brief moment before the door swung open, and the Dean of Academy himself came to greet them. Tall and slim, with dark hair that showed only the slightest grey flecking, Marc would have seemed intimidating if not for the twinkle in his dark eyes and the wide grin taking up the entirety of his face.

  “Gib!” Marc exclaimed, smiling broadly as he reached down to give Gib a pat on the shoulder. “What are you doing here? I thought you’d already be on your way to the palace by now.”

  Gib returned the smile. Marc had an infectious personality and had always been kind to his students. His words of encouragement had helped Gib adjust to life at Academy when he’d first come to Silver City.

  Setting a hand on Calisto’s back, Gib gave the youngster a nudge forward. “I’ll be on my way to the council meeting shortly. Dean Marc, this is Calisto. He’s my—”

  “Oh! This must be your little brother.” Marc bent low and held out his hand for a shake. “Daya, you two could be twins!”

  Calisto snickered as he shook the dean’s large hand. “No, sir. I’m three years younger than Gib and already just as tall—and I’m definitely the more handsome of the two.”

  Gib’s brown eyes danced. “Hey now! Be nice. I am understudy of Seneschal Koal, remember? You’re supposed to treat me with respect.” He ruffled Cal’s curly mop of hair.

  Cal beamed. “Understudy or not, in another few moonturns, you’ll be looking up at me.”

  Gib’s attempt to stifle a groan was in vain. It was true. Tayver, their middle brother, was already taller, and Cal threatened to close the gap any day now. And I’m not even going to think about my friends. The last time I didn’t have to look down at Nage was two years ago. Tarquin is a whole head taller than I, and he’s still growing. It seems I’m destined to be surrounded by giants.

  Marc laughed at the banter as he stood back to his full height and motioned for the two brothers to come into the office. He shut the grand oak door behind them and gestured toward a pair of chairs meant for guests. “Please, have a seat. I take it you’re here to get Calisto signed up for classes?”

  “Yes,” Gib replied. “He’s going into the sentinel training program.”

  “I want to be in the cavalry unit someday,” Cal added.

  Marc slid into the chair behind his desk and pulled out a fresh sheet of parchment. “Cavalry, eh? Do you know anything about horses, Calisto?”

  Cal nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, sir. I’ve been a stable hand for the last two years over at the Broken Arrow Inn. I love horses. Gib warned me that it’s really hard to get into the Royal Cavalry unit, but I figured if I work hard enough, I’ve got as good of a shot as anyone else.”

  Gib looked down at his feet to hide a grimace. Hard was the word he’d used when speaking to Cal about it, but what that really meant was the cavalry program was terribly expensive. He wasn’t sure how he would ever pay for it, but he didn’t want to crush his brother’s dream so soon. Liza, their only sister and eldest sibling, had already expressed her desire to help pay for the extra schooling. Even Lady Mrifa, Koal’s wife, had all but insisted the Adelwijn family sponsor Cal—assistance which Gib had politely declined. I feel guilty enough having my schooling paid for by the Crown. I’ll find another way to pay for Cal’s tuition.

  As a true testament to Marc’s benevolent character, the dean offered only encouragement. “It sounds like you’ve had some excellent experience, Calisto. I’m sure it will give you an advantage should you choose to pursue your dream.” He dabbed a quill into an inkwell and scribbled onto the blank parchment. “For now though, weaponry class, Ardenian Law—how are your writing and reading skills?”

  “Better than mine were when I first arrived.” Gib chuckled.

  Cal nodded in agreement. “I can read and write pretty good—err, well. I can do both well. Gib and Tay taught me.”

  Gib’s heart throbbed in his chest as he recalled Joel Adelwijn’s gentle corrections as Gib himself had been learning to read. The mage trainee never once lost his patience, despite Gib’s many blunders. It all seemed so long ago now. I can’t believe it’s been six moonturns since I saw him.

  Snow had been clinging to the ground the last time Gib had laid eyes on his companion. Upon graduation from Academy, Joel had been sent to the kingdom of Shantar as an understudy ambassador to complete his internship and become a fully trained mage. Saying goodbye had been difficult. Gib had grown accustomed to Joel being a constant, so
not having him close was a hard adjustment to make.

  Gib’s stomach fluttered. Surely he’ll return any day now. The internship is bound to be over soon. It won’t be long before we’re together again. He did his best to push thoughts of Joel Adelwijn aside. Neither time nor distance could ever break their bond. Soon Joel would be back, and life would return to the way it had been.

  “All right, Calisto,” Marc replied, never glancing up from his writing. “I’ll put you in Ardenian History instead. Best to get that class out of the way as quickly as possible.” The dean rolled his eyes inconspicuously. “I was hoping that damn fool Anders Malin-Rai would retire this year, but I suppose none of us can be so lucky.”

  Gib fought the grin which threatened to overtake his stoic features. “At least Diedrick Lyle resigned from the Instructions Master position. Your office must be peaceful now.”

  “Thank The Two,” snorted Marc. “If only he’d resign from the High Council as well. Diedrick and Anders both. Neither would be missed, and surely their empty seats would be filled by someone less foul.” The dean glanced up, knitting his eyebrows. “Sorry. I shouldn’t be discussing this right now—and not in the presence of students.”

  Gib gave a stiff nod, recalling heated arguments between the members of the High Council. As Seneschal Koal’s understudy, Gib was allowed to observe the meetings, and lately the debates had been brutal. King Rishi had only recently managed to raise the draft age from thirteen to sixteen, preventing young boys—children—from being whisked away from their families as Gib had been. While the ruling was immensely popular among the citizens, many of the councilors were disgruntled. The conflict with Shiraz was but one border skirmish away from being a real war and the recent buildup of forces on the Nales border was also a cause for concern. Despite the King’s best effort to keep Arden from marching, King Rishi was losing his battle to the will of the High Council.