The Other Worlds (The Other Worlds Series Book 1)

by M. L. Greye

  “Rape, torture, and then death by Stretcher.”

  Tiara winced inwardly, but kept her face impassive. “So like Foehn – no imagination.”

  The death by Stretcher really was impressive though. The Kendren device did exactly as its name implied; it stretched a person from each limb until they were torn from the person’s body. Someone must have given the idea to Foehn. A Stretcher was far too creative for his simple mind.

  “Take Legann Jeor and Tiara Anteal,” the captain instructed his men. “Kill the rest.”

  “No!” Legann shouted in Arthelian.

  The captain raised an eyebrow towards him. “I thought you didn’t speak Arthelian.”

  “I choose not to speak it,” Legann shot back. “Have my sister take my place.”

  “Slice her through,” the captain ordered.

  “No!” Legann yelled again, fighting the Kendren’s grip on his arms.

  Most of the villagers had already fallen dead, letting out shrieks of their own. Nystik fought and kicked and screamed, but was silenced in one swift movement of a Kendren’s blade, joining the others in her death. As the Kendren pulled his sword free from Nystik’s ribs, Legann’s fists clenched. Tiara watched the searing hot anger shoot through him, displaying itself on his face. She didn’t doubt his rage. His entire family had just been murdered in front of his eyes.

  Legann was yanked forward, followed closely by Tiara. She glanced over her shoulder again towards Legann’s home, wondering where Archrin was. She knew he wasn’t dead, so where was he?

  A box carriage rolled out from the surrounding forest, stopping in the village’s square. Thick steel bars covered its two tiny windows on either side and its one door at the back was a mass of heavy, dark oak. A nearby Kendren opened the door. Then, both Tiara and Legann were tossed inside.

  * * * * * *

  During the golden age of Balinorre, Vrylaen Stones were common. The great leaders of the time used Vrylaens to further education, craftsmanship, and peace. Vrylaens were not used to see the future or past, only the present. The images seen within their spheres were used for inspiration in order to benefit others. When Balinorre fell, the stones were destroyed. Only a few were known to have survived. Dagon held one of these.

  Given to him by his father as a boy, Dagon treasured his small orb. He thrived on the images it offered him of the Other Worlds and its peoples. But as he grew, his treacherous heart began to fill his stone with his greed for more. He bid the orb to aid him in receiving power, rather than to use his knowledge to help those below him. As his lust for power slowly consumed him, the stone darkened. Dagon hardly noticed his Vrylaen’s transformation until it was complete. His stone was no longer the beautiful, glistening silver orb it had been; it had become dark and sinister. Its now black sphere was clouded by wisps of smoke that twirled and spun throughout its core. Dagon’s stone had blackened with his heart.

  Now, as Dagon lounged on his throne in the castle he and his followers had raised from the ground, he held his Vrylaen Stone in front of his eyes, glaring into its dark center. His thoughts were on his niece and nephew, both were becoming a nuisance. Through sheer luck, his niece had united herself with not only a Silver Heart, but also the Key’s heir. How fortunate for her. Dagon sneered. She was well on her way to finding the last Silver Heart. Yet, what good it would do her was beyond Dagon. Olinia and her advisors did not understand that the power held by the Hearts only worked when all eleven were united. The Hearts lost their strength as an invincible unit when Dagon began melting down the Hearts he had captured. Uniting the last two Hearts was not going to help his niece. Now true, individually those who were Silver Hearts were often renowned warriors and leaders, but what good would that be for his niece? To have leaders, one must have a following.

  As for his nephew, Delvich was not consuming Zedgry’s mind fast enough for Dagon’s liking. The ghosts, so characteristic of Delvich, were not having the same effect on the young Lantz. Dagon grunted, twirling his stone between his fingers. How was he to capture Zedgry’s mind if it would not weaken?

  The doors to Dagon’s throne room opened with a creak. He glanced up, irritated by the intrusion. He had specifically ordered his men not to disturb him. As he watched, a slim figure slid between the doors just before they closed. Dagon recognized the woman immediately. He slid his Vrylaen into his vest’s pocket and straightened. “Ah, Illein.”

  “My lord.” She smiled out the side of her mouth as she paused in front of his raised dais, dropping into a deep curtsey, her emerald gown spreading over the floor around her.

  “Only you would be permitted into my presence at such a time.”

  “I thought so,” she mused, beginning up the steps to his throne. She took his extended hand and allowed herself to be pulled onto his lap. He slipped an arm around her waist while reaching his free hand behind her neck, pulling her mouth down to meet his.

  After a few moments, Dagon pulled free and smiled. “How are your parents?”

  “They send their greetings.” She slipped her hand along the inside of his shirt, her fingers brushing over his chest. “What is troubling you?”

  Illein Dairn, or Illein Reien as she was about to become, was the youngest daughter of Dagon’s former Nagreth Captain, two or three prior to Sazx. Illein’s father, Aezir Dairn, had grown too old for the position and had retired. Unlike their lord, the people of the Vrenyx aged; they had not been given the Velvitor elixir of long life. When their gifts were stripped from them at the fall of Balinorre, they also lost their everlasting youth. Illein was no different than her father; she was slowly aging. Dagon was still contemplating whether or not to offer her the same elixir he had taken, allowing her to remain eighteen for the rest of her days.

  “My lord?” Illein watched him through her hazel eyes. Only Nagreth had gray skin and steel eyes. When they bound themselves to Dagon, they lost their color as a symbol of their promise to follow him.

  Dagon pursed his lips. “Family troubles.”

  “Your niece and nephew?”

  He nodded. “Any suggestions on how to capture the Lantz Zedgry’s trust?”

  Illein paused for a moment, her brow furrowed. “Have you given him a reason to wish to be captured, yet?”

  “Interesting thought,” Dagon mused. “Continue.”

  “Well, I assume he has not been given an adequate reason to even contemplate joining us. As he is a Wend, his mind does not succumb to the darkness of Delvich, rather he fights it,” she replied. “In order for him to become attached to the idea of you as his leader and him as your heir, he must first have the desire to be here.”

  Dagon blinked, surprised by her insight. “But what would cause him to become attached?”

  She smiled. “A woman, of course.”

  “A woman?” Dagon raised an eyebrow.

  “You are underestimating the power of a woman.”

  Dagon leaned back in his throne, taking in his young fiancée’s features once more. She was unquestionably beautiful, but the extent of her beauty was exemplified by the way in which she held herself. Seductive by nature, Illein was the bane of any celibate male. She preyed upon the senses while intoxicating the mind. In truth, the reason for his forthcoming alliance to her was due in part to her natural ability to appear irresistible. A slow smile spread across Dagon’s face. “I wonder.”

  “Oh, there is no need to wonder.” Illein grinned. “All your nephew is in need of is a wily, seductive temptress to poison his mind.”

  “But not simply any woman,” Dagon pointed out.

  “Of course not,” Illein nodded, “she must be a professional.”

  “One who could charm a king.”

  “Most definitely.”

  “Or an emperor…” Dagon let his voice trail off.

  She gaped at him. “You want me to seduce your nephew?”

  “Who better to do the job? You have captured my attention, so why not that of my nephew as well?”

  Illein slid out of hi
s lap onto her feet, still staring. “You really wish me to seduce him?”

  Dagon tilted his head to the side, amused by her newfound morals. “Are you incapable of carrying out the task?”

  Her shoulders stiffened slightly. “Of course not.”

  “Good.” Dagon smiled, standing up as well. “Then, we shall prepare you for Delvich.”

  “Delvich?” She blinked. “You will send me into Delvich?”

  Dagon slipped his hands around her waist and kissed her firmly. “Do not worry, my dear. Even Delvich can be defeated. You simply need to know its secrets.”

  12

  ---------------

  Being forced to her knees was not something Tiara enjoyed. She was on the wood floor of the same inn she and Archrin had stayed the night before. She was on the lobby’s floor, to be exact. Tiara felt like spitting. There, about five paces in front of her, stood the three founders of the one institution she truly despised.

  “My lords.” A soldier stepped out in front of Tiara and offered the three men the ritual Kendren salute. “Here are the last of the villagers.”

  “Have them stand,” the youngest one ordered. Tiara guessed he was Pavn. Every Saerd knew the names of the Kendren brothers. The eldest, at the far left was Ryth, and the middle one was Flortt.

  As Tiara identified each brother, she and Legann were raised to their feet. Legann was placed to her right, a few steps away. Tiara glared at the Kendren lords. Unlike their soldiers, they wore no chainmail, nor the dark green uniform that bore their crest.

  Ryth moved to stand directly in front of her, his blue-gray eyes boring down into hers, challenging her to hold his gaze. She did so easily. She wasn’t about to be intimidated by a Kendren. Ryth grunted, looking both pleased and amused. “What’s your name?”

  “Tiara Anteal,” she answered evenly. He didn’t seem to recognize her name. Apparently Foehn’s horrific encounter with her hadn’t reached the king’s ears.

  “Do you proclaim loyalty to your world of Kepleth, Miss Anteal?”

  “Kepleth isn’t my world,” she retorted. “I’m from Drivian.”

  Ryth blinked. “What were you doing in Tamorre?”

  “The people of Tamorre rescued me yesterday from the hands of an evil force – some of your men, if I remember correctly.”

  A dagger was suddenly thrust at her throat, belonging to the soldier behind her. Tiara’s breath caught, but she didn’t flinch away from it. Ryth chuckled and motioned for the man to lower the blade. “Do you see my face, Miss Anteal?”

  “Yes.”

  “In the turns to come, remember it as the face of the man who made you blind.” He gestured behind her. “Bring the poker.”

  “What?” Tiara blurted.

  “After your eyes are removed, you will be given to my brother Pavn. I’ll return to deal with you both later.” He nodded toward another soldier to his right. “Ready our horses for Tamorre.”

  “Enjoy yourself, Pavn.” Flortt laughed as he followed Ryth out to the stables, leaving Tiara to gawk after them.

  Her eyes were quickly diverted though. A soldier was moving towards her, his hands gripping a steel rod – its top end glowing red-hot. Tiara’s heart began to speed. She fell back a step. Two soldiers grabbed her arms, forcing her still. Legann was restrained as well, prohibiting any potential threats to her attacker. A cold sweat formed across her forehead. With each step he took, Tiara grew more lightheaded.

  He stopped in front of her. Tiara forced herself to stare up at him defiantly. She wouldn’t let him see her fear. She caught his eyes and held them, her heart pounding against her chest. His mismatched eyes seemed to be laughing at her. Her mouth dropped open, suddenly realizing to whom the eyes belonged. Archrin. The instant relief that followed almost sank her to her knees. He must have noticed a change in her expression because a smile split his lips. He turned to Pavn. “Milord, may I kiss this beauty before I remove her sight?”

  Tiara stared at him. Pavn seemed surprised as well, but shrugged. “Do as you please.”

  Archrin slipped an arm around her waist – his right arm. As his face lowered near hers, he whispered in Saerdian, “Stay out of the way.” Their lips met and a soldier collapsed to her right.

  The room erupted. Archrin pulled back from Tiara and dug the poker into a second soldier, just as he had done with the first. He released Tiara completely and yanked out his dagger, slitting the ropes around her wrists in one fluid movement. “Go free Legann.” He tossed her the dagger and she ran off.

  Archrin switched hands with the poker, wincing from the throbbing pain in his shoulder. It wasn’t healed enough for the strain he was about to inflict upon it. As more soldiers surrounded him, he yanked his sword free from its scabbard, using his left hand. Relying heavily on his animal instincts, he fought off his attackers through finding their weaknesses. Each blow he parried or produced caused him to ache worse than the moment before. But then Legann was there, sword in hand.

  Across the room, Tiara stood still for a brief moment, watching. Her break was cut short though. Pavn grabbed her from behind, pulling her close to him as she tried to shove him backwards with one hand.

  “You’re a feisty little wench,” Pavn remarked into her ear, beginning to yank her towards the inn’s staircase.

  “Pig, I’m not going anywhere with you.”

  His tongue slid over her neck. “Who’s going to stop me?”

  And I thought Foehn was disgusting? Tiara gagged. “You’re not invincible.”

  “You can elaborate once I have you in my room.” Pavn pulled her up the stairs.

  At the top of the first flight, Tiara yanked him to a stop. She wrapped one arm around his neck and smiled sweetly at his surprise. Then, in Saerdian, she said, “Goodbye, Pavn.” With that, she drove the dagger she’d used to free Legann into Pavn’s side and shoved him backwards down the stairs they had just climbed. She grinned as he fell.

  “Tiara!”

  She recognized Archrin’s voice. “I’m here,” she called out.

  Archrin appeared at the bottom of the staircase, ignoring Pavn’s still form at his feet. “Are you alright?”

  She nodded as Legann joined Archrin. Legann crouched down beside Pavn. “What did you do to him?”

  “You’re worried about him?”

  “Can you make it down the stairs by yourself?” Archrin frowned.

  “Coming.” She slid down the banister and leapt lightly onto her feet in front of Archrin. Up close he looked exhausted. His face was pale, and Tiara noticed the dark brown stain on the right side where he had been injured the day before. His shoulder was bleeding again. She pulled a face. “You need to lie down.”

  “We don’t have time for that,” Legann pointed out. “Ryth and Flortt won’t be in Tamorre for long.”

  Tiara grimaced. “Alright.”

  “I’ll go find us some horses.” Legann turned and headed out to the stables.

  “Are you sure you’re alright?” Tiara asked Archrin.

  “I’ll be fine.” He gave her a weak smile. It wasn’t convincing.

  She touched his cheek. “Liar.”

  He chuckled and cradled the back of her neck with his left hand, his only good hand at the moment. “Come here.” He leaned down and kissed her softly before repeating, “I’ll be fine.”

  * * * * * *

  Will felt the sweat on the back of his neck slide down beneath his tunic and vest. Summer was still going strong. Will wiped his forehead on the back of his sleeve. He had the sudden desire to go swimming. Beside him, Olinia was in the process of tying a leather strap around her hair to get it off her neck. He let out a short laugh.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “Nothing.” He shook his head and loosened the neckline of his tunic. His hand froze at his neck though as he realized how pointless it was to loosen the tunic when he could simply remove it. A moment later he was barebacked.

  Olinia glared at him in envy. “That’s not fair.”

 
He grinned. “Sorry, princess. I’m not putting it back on.”

  “You aren’t sorry.”

  “You’re right. I’m not.”

  They had been out in the sun for hours now. Will glanced up at the cloudless sky. He wasn’t a fan of Langorn. They had arrived the day before, but the next Silver Heart hadn’t been at his home. He was on business at Harborlon Bay, forty miles west of his home in Cree City. Will and Olinia had spent the night at an inn and set out for Harborlon that morning. Will wished he were back at the inn. The relentless sun was making him agitated.

  Langorn was a world with little to no trees. The only scenery on either side of the gravel road was meadows of tall brown and gold grass with an occasional shrub. Thankfully, there were some hills to offer Will’s eyes real stimulation, but those hills were always in the distance. No matter how much road he and Olinia covered, the hills never seemed to get any closer.

  Olinia lifted her waterskin to her lips and pulled a face. “I just love warm water when it’s sweltering hot outside.”

  He chuckled. “How much further to Harborlon?”

  “Another fifteen or so miles?”

  Will found it hard to believe there could be a body of water large enough in Langorn to be a bay. The endless meadows blocked out any image of something even remotely wet. Langorn was almost desolate. Will focused his attention on the road ahead of them. The road was wide enough for him to have turned his Honda Accord around on it. It was unusually wide for the average road in the Other Worlds. But then, when the terrain was only grass, there was more space to work with.

  Up ahead a small group of riders were making their way towards him and Olinia. He squinted to get a better look. The riders were the first he and Olinia had seen all day. Langorn’s roads were just as barren as its land. The riders were wearing dark green – some type of uniform. He glanced at Olinia. “Weren’t Langorn’s colors brown and gray?”