“Good.”
“I don’t envy you,” Keedar said. Down below, the Stonelords, Soulguards, King Menquan, Hanlin, the Voices and Overlords, Leroi Shenen, the counts, and the Order’s leaders conversed amongst each other. “The Empire is larger than ever. How will you manage?” The remnants of both armies were tending to the wounded and preparing a campsite.
“No one man was ever meant to rule everyone. Each land deserves its own king. With the help of the Order and the Jehazite priests, I’ll set up a council to represent all.”
“A solid start, if I do say so myself. If you must pick a man as personal guard, choose Sorinya. It seems both our fathers trusted him.”
Winslow nodded. “And you, what of your plans?” His eyes were much softer than Keedar remembered when they’d first met in the Smear.
“The Farlands. Something tells me our kind there needs me as much as those here in the Empire need you. Maybe I can convince them that life isn’t over, that having a human as a mate, being able to carry on a semblance of the Dracodar legacy, is worth more than fading away into history.”
“Then I suggest a feast,” Winslow declared. “For victory and for sorrow. For those standing and for the fallen, for those who had to leave us, and for those yet to come.”
“I could drink to that.”
They headed down the hill, reminiscing about old times.
******
The tingling sensation passed. She and Thar stepped from the Gates.
A valley spread before them, the silver snake of rivers crawling through the gold and green oceans of verdant farmland. Dracodarkind with scales burnished bright were herding the Mareshnans down a hill toward a sprawling encampment. Many of her people were looking at their arms or bodies, patting themselves as if amazed to have come through the Gates in one piece. Some held their hands up to the heavens.
“Look!” Thar exclaimed, squeezing her hand and pointing. Her gaze followed his finger.
Strange creatures soared among the clouds. Hundreds of them. Each had leathery wings, sinuous necks and tails. Their scales varied from bronze to silver to gold to blue, white, green, and a dozen other colors. The smallest of them was the size of an average ship. She’d wondered if dragons existed. She had her answer.
Elin-Lahnim frowned. She studied her people once more, particularly the Dracodar. And gasped.
Not one among them had grey, diseased scales.
A glance down at her body revealed gold. She threw back her head and laughed.
P illars of D issolution
Excerpt from Etien’s Compendium
W e stand in a desert named the Seared Sands. Before us are the Pillars of Dissolution, or the Dragon Gates, as the structures are called here in Jiantona. They are two massive black stone structures adorned with glyphs I do not recognize. The patterns of the carvings suggest some type of language. I wish I could decipher the words. I asked Akari if he knew, and he nodded. But he did not say what was written. Nor did I pry. Of late he has been preoccupied with a threat I cannot begin to see or even fathom. One beyond the assassins who appear from time to time.
We fled here after a great battle broke out in the capital city of Tien. The Dracodar were revolting against their masters. Akari’s mention of who caused the strife was unclear. Mad even. Something about the wind or winds and a sword doing battle. I do not understand, but I have seen him face down a hundred men and rip them asunder with a mere wave of his hand. The very sands answer to his call. His power in soul is incredible. Anything that could make him flee must be lethal.
I would be dead if not for him.
And yet that survival might be short-lived. We are trapped in this forsaken place, our path blocked by a line of sand cliffs. An enormous army has gathered at our backs. Although they have not attacked, it is only a matter of time before they do, before their numbers overcome the threat of Akari’s power. I fear these will be my last words.
Akari says he cannot defeat the army, and the only passage to safety is through the Pillars. I cringe at the idea. I cannot fathom it. I came to the Farlands expecting to travel past the Pillars, but there is no way to step beyond them. The stories of a magical barrier that prevents such an occurrence are true. Which brought on a new fear. According to the Word of the Dominion, entering the Pillars is to enter into one of the Ten Purgatories. Hells’ Angels, flames, and eternal suffering await. The desert itself makes me believe.
Akari has scoffed at the notion. He said it is just a legend. He claimed that worlds exist beyond the Gate, and through it, I will be reborn. As terrified as I am, this is the choice that faces me: Death or the promise of life in an unknown land.
There is no choice, is there?
At least he has sworn to see my memoirs published. Etien’s Compendium has a nice sound to it. I wish I could be here to see it, to see people consume my words, to see guiser’s perform my tale.
Something is happening at the Pillars. He is standing between them with his arms outstretched to either side. I cannot see his power, but I can feel it in the hot, dry air.
The air thrums. White and blue lightning crackles around each Pillar, first in rings, flowing up.
Ten Hells!
The magic, for that is what it must be, spit out from each Pillar in several arcs. It met in the middle between the structures, forming six or seven uneven wavy lines, glowing white and blue, humming with power. It made my hair stand on end.
Akari has turned to me now. He beckons me forth. I … I don’t know if I should go.
A roar erupts behind me. I recognize the sounds, and I dare not look lest I freeze in place. The enemy is charging.
Death or life?
I choose life.
READ ON FOR SOULSWORN
******
Thank you for reading the main trilogy in the Quintessence Cycle. I hope you enjoyed! For free swag, free books, news, ARCs, excerpts etc join my facebook group The Void Gate.
As a bonus, one more book was included that follows the path of Aidah Rostlin and her struggle to save herself and her children after Succession Day.
The Quintessence is part of the interconnected worlds of the Cyclic Omniverse. Further stories can be found in Aegis of the Gods , a world of magic and mayhem, of glorious battles and dark deeds, of revenge and retribution. The Omniverse brings to life the fall and rise of Gods, the Age of Man, Worlds of Magic and all manner of creatures and beings as they fight for survival, for love, and for some, to have dominion over all.
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S oulsworn
A n Order to Kill
M y daughters are all that matter. That was her daily mantra. Aidah Rostlin watched them from the upstairs window of the estate’s main bedroom and smiled a somber smile. One was at play and the other at practice. “My daughters are all that matter.” The words felt better when she said them. And yet saying them did nothing to diminish the images of her husband and son. Those two should have arrived weeks ago. Where were they? What was the cause for the delay?
Her eldest daughter, Nerisse, swayed in a battle dance, feet sliding through the short, hardy grass, each movement precise, a reenactment of the commands called out by Blade Lomin’s raspy voice. The man sat on the porch stairs, scabbarded sword across his lap, inspecting Nerisse’s every move, and scowling whenever she made a mistake.
Sweat poured down Nerisse’s face, soaked her loose shirt and britches despite the advance of winter’s chill. Nerisse’s choice of clothing, and hair done in a ponytail, reminded Aidah so much of the girl’s brother that she wanted to look away. But Gaston had not been much for combat. He preferred books and horses.
The practice session would have made Nerisse’s father proud. Kesta Rostlin loved the rigors of training. Although, Aidah had to admit, Kesta’s sessions with their daughter did not seem quite as reckle
ss as what Lomin taught. Lomin had Nerisse take risks that left her exposed, that Kesta would’ve warned against. Aidah supposed such techniques were how Lomin earned his true name as the Suicidal Blade. At some point she would advise him to teach the girl to be safer. For now, this would do to keep her occupied.
Up on the porch, little Clara played with her dolls. She giggled and laughed and offered them a drink from imaginary cups. At least she wasn’t making them walk on their own as she was wont to do in the privacy of the bedroom. Aidah was glad for that. Such displays were to remain secret.
Aidah’s attention shifted to the grassy fields, the trees that dotted them, and out to the hills topped by sunlight. Mandrigal was a hazy orange ball that sat low in the western sky, on his way to his nightly resting place. Already Antelen climbed in the east, her glow cold and pallid. The stars had not yet come to accompany her.
Another day was ending, and neither Kesta nor Gaston had arrived. Aidah sighed, longing for things to be different, longing for her complete family. To be with only half of them was akin to missing an arm or a leg. How am I supposed to function?
She knew she had to stay the course, to be patient while the Gods delivered, but every day such perseverance became a feat. Faith. She could not remember a day she did not have it. If she prayed hard and long enough, if she lived a morally upstanding life, if she placed her trust in the Dominion, they would deliver. Simple. At least it sounded that way. In truth, maintaining such faith in the darkest of times, when the Gods seemed to not hear her pleas, was difficult beyond description. Still, she tried.
Aidah watched the girls until Mandrigal fled the sky and a tide of shadows inched across the land. Candleflies blinked on and off out in the fields. She called for her daughters to attend her. Another day had come and gone, another day with no additional news of her husband and son, another day where hope and dread warred for prominence in her gut.
At night, when Antelen glided across the sky, her silvery glow enveloping the land, Aidah’s optimism would grow perilously close to despair. Hope returned only when Mandrigal lit the horizon at dawn, burnt away the darkness. But days spent believing in good fortune grew more difficult, dire news seeming as inevitable as those same shadows bleeding black down the hills and creeping across the fields.
Two months had passed since the fighting in Kasandar began on Succession Day, since Kesta made her flee with Nerisse and Clara, since he and Ainslen Cardiff had begun their assault on the old king’s forces. Two months. Too long.
Word had come, carried on the dark wings of Kesta’s ravens, that Ainslen Cardiff had killed King Jemare and taken the Soul Throne. Succession Day had ended, their cause victorious. So went her husband’s last message.
She expected another missive, one to say Kesta was on his way to bring the family home to Kasandar. And so, she waited, hidden away on their estate in the Whetstone Mountains’ foothills. Aidah closed her eyes and let out a deep breath. The lack of further contact made her stomach knot, reminded her of days in her youth when Kesta had gone to war, and she would stay up at night, praying to the Dominion for his health. Faith offered strength her heart found difficult to conjure.
The girls entered the room and came to stand beside Aidah. She rested one hand on Clara’s head.
“Mama, when’s Papa and Gaston coming?” Clara stared out the bedroom window, wooden doll clutched tight. The little girl craned her neck to peer at Aidah, expectant eyes seeking comfort.
“Soon, pumpkin, very soon.” Aidah stroked her daughter’s curly hair before shifting her focus to the distant lights of towns and citadels twinkling amid a black field.
She wished to see the forms of her husband and son riding hard for the estate. She imagined the beat of hooves over the wind’s mournful croon that set the vane outside spinning, the metallic creak unsettling. In moments they would ride between the alternating lantern posts that led down the road between barren fields and cast radiant pools among the congealed shadows, shadows that took shape, felt as if they lived, waited for something. Her hand shook even as she told herself all would be well, that they would enjoy a celebrated return to Kasandar, to their mansion on Antelen Hill.
“They really aren’t coming, are they?” Nerisse had grown increasingly skeptical since they fled the city ahead of a major battle between the counts, the King’s Blades, and the Consortium’s guilds.
“They’re on their way, I’m certain of it.” Aidah’s words were as much to reassure her daughters as they were for herself. “Come, let’s pray.”
Drawing the girls close, Aidah stared up into the sky and imagined she could see the Ten Heavens. As she did at this time every night, she lifted up her voice to the Dominion, begging each deity for help. A mosaic of drab clouds blotted Antelen from view but did not stop Aidah’s plea for their house’s patron Goddess to turn back time, make it so her husband and son had accompanied them. She appealed to Hazline for good fortune, to see Kesta and Gaston returned safely. On and on she beseeched each God and Goddess in succession, voice fervent. When she finished Aidah drew the circular sign for the Star of the Dominion over her heart.
“Mama, can I go play?” Clara looked up, green eyes bright.
“Of course.”
“Come, Neri, come. Let’s do story time.” Clara tapped her sister’s hand. Nerisse hesitated.
“Go, keep your sister company,” Aidah said.
Nerisse pouted, but she complied, leading her sister across the lamplit room toward the bed. The expression made Aidah smile as it conjured fond memories of Gaston at sixteen and Nerisse at seven. He had been much the same, preferring to pass his time with his interests rather than with his little sister. Now, it was Nerisse in an identical position at a matching age. The similarities felt odd, perhaps preordained.
Giggling, Clara skipped after her sister. The wooden doll was no longer in her hand. On spindly legs it bounced along the floor as if it were a thing alive. Aidah thought to tell Clara to stop melding but decided against the admonition. Better for her to meld here in the privacy of their estate than in some tavern’s common room.
Within moments Nerisse was participating in the fun. Between the two girls they made the doll twirl and dance and hop. Not once did they touch it with their hands.
Seeing them playing with soul magic in such a fashion made Aidah regret her inability to meld or even understand the basic concepts of their power. Kesta had married her because she was strong in soul, but that strength had never developed into anything more. The children, on the other hand, had inherited both her power and Kesta’s skills. Kesta often bragged of their advancement as he’d taught them melding but also complained that at times he couldn’t see Clara’s soul. Those occasions had worried him to no end.
The children’s laughter fading into the background, Aidah returned her attention outside to the hard-packed path where it disappeared between foothills. Farther on it would join the Empire Road, which ran north to Melanil or south to Kasandar. She and Kesta had spent many nights at this window, him pointing out the various citadels by their lights, so much like candleflies during the mating season. Months before, some of those lights had been conflagrations, reddening the sky, smoke darkening the air. The drum of those imagined hooves came again.
She missed Kesta greatly, his round belly and smiling face, flowing hair, and too-large ears. Some people called him fat and cruel and ruthless. She remembered a different man, a warm bundle of joy, a deep voice that sang and wove tales from bygone times. The children would be entranced by stories of legendary creatures like the Dracodar, at least until Gaston pretended to be one of the man-like, scaled beasts. Nerisse and Clara would squeal in delight then as their brother chased them and acted as if he wielded soul magic. The memory brought on a smile. Kesta was a good man and any who said differently earned what they received for incurring his wrath.
The nights she’d stayed up with him, to help plot their rise, brought fond memories. She savored those moments when they’d looked forward to Suc
cession Day with great anticipation. Their house would stand above all others, below only the king in authority and influence. Aidah sighed.
Her thoughts drifted to Gaston. From the day of his birth she knew the boy was special, and he’d proven it, despite his slight frame. He was handsome, quick of wit and mind, and destined for greatness. He’d been the top of his class at Cortens’ Temple, and although his father preferred for him to learn the sword, Gaston had taken to affairs of the court, delving into the intricacies of Far’an Senjin.
Thinking of her family, she knew Hazline had blessed her. Surely the God would do so again. He’d seen fit for Kesta to be a major part of Ainslen’s plan to dethrone King Jemare, to see the Rostlin family achieve greater heights. The alliance with Ainslen had brought them Clara as a part of Far’an Senjin, and unlike the pairings by many other counts theirs had been successful.
Far’an Senjin. She cringed as she considered the Game of Souls, doubt creeping into her mind. If not for it, Kesta and Gaston would be here beside her. She wanted to curse the Game, the conflicts and the alliances at court that it brought, the betrayals and death. At the same time it had given her Clara. Amazing, beautiful Clara. The Gods give and the Gods take away. She banished the thought.
The beat of galloping hooves resounded, this time not imagined. A glow danced, its origins hidden by the distant slopes. She knew its caper only too well: riders on their way to the estate. Her heart beat faster. Hope surged even as she tried to temper her emotions against past disappointment. She drew the curtains together, leaving enough room to see from the sides. As she had done on every such occasion for the past month, she prayed to Hazline that this would be Kesta and Gaston. Around a bend came four riders.
“That’s not them,” Nerisse said from beside Aidah.
“Are you certain?” She knew better than to doubt her daughter’s augmented sight, but she still had to ask.
The Quintessence Cycle- The Complete Series Page 94
