Tyriad soared past the farming communities into the mostly untouched, wavering plains of the Vale. He moved along the travel road that ran from the ports of the Vale into the realm of Lassliar. As Tyriad approached the edge of the kingdom’s land, the waving of Lassliar’s vibrant purple and gold flags caught his eye. The commander of the army, Alfontus of the capital city of Vallance, stood upon the hill, waving at Tyriad. He soared in a circle and landed at the foot of the hill, immediately changing into his human form and greeting Alfontus with a happy, yet concerned tone.
“Tyriad,” Alfontus greeted as he approached with arms wide, “I was hoping I would see you.”
“It is a pleasure, Alfontus,” Tyriad replied, patting him on the back with reverence. “What brings the brigade to the edge of the Vale?”
“We sent word,” Alfontus stated, pulling back. “It should be arriving as we speak. Three of my shifters set out for Athanasia early this morning. I am coming to speak to the king of our concerns over Osiris and the Cinder Wars.”
“Ahh,” Tyriad replied, “word has reached you, I see.”
“We don’t live that far off the beaten path,” Alfontus replied, laughing. “Come, have a cup of mead.”
The two men walked through the camp where a couple dozen tents stood, soldiers worked feverishly to get their fires started, and dinners cooked before the storm hit. Alfontus and Tyriad had known each other for several years, and though Alfontus was known for his excess, Tyriad knew he had a golden heart for the Vale. Their alliance had been shifted down through the centuries, and to see Alfontus concerned was almost as alarming as if the King of the Vale himself had come forth in worry.
Tyriad stepped through the commander’s tent and looked around at the golden draperies, beautiful rugs, and furniture. It would have taken all of the men outside to move the commander’s things, much less protect it in case of any issues along the path. Tyriad sat down at the large, wooden table and took a cup of mead from Alfontus. The Commander plopped down in the nearby chair and crossed his legs at the ankle in front of him. The windows in the tent allowed the cool breeze to blow through, and Tyriad relaxed for a moment.
“These wars are not surprising,” Alfontus stated. “After the death of the fae Queen of Avalon, we knew there would eventually be war.”
“We hoped the king would die before that,” Tyriad stated. “But it seems his man, Oedipus, after killing his second wife, sparked a new sort of fire in his belly.”
“And what does the fae king say?” Alfontus asked, sipping his brew.
“Nothing as of yet,” Tyriad said with a sigh. “I have put an extra watch on the port side, but that is all for now.”
“No word from the Lady Leonetta?” Alfontus asked, showing he was not surprised with the fae king’s lack of response. “Surely, she should have made contact with someone.”
“Nothing from her either,” Tyriad replied. “We have searched Fortune for any signs, but the skies are clear. Well, except for the cinder storms.”
“The what?” Alfontus said, scrunching his forehead.
“They are storms from the west of Fortune,” Tyriad explained. “They are a mixture of rain and ash. From what we hear, everything there is ash.”
“It’s a damn shame,” Alfontus replied, shaking his head and setting his glass casually on the table. “It was a beautiful land.”
“Will you be staying in Athanasia for the queen’s party?” Tyriad asked, changing the subject. “It is going to be quite the event.”
“I wouldn’t miss it,” Alfontus smiled. “King Shelton of Lassliar will be coming as well with his queen.”
“I am surprised she will be traveling,” Tyriad said, lifting his brow. “Is she not close to her day of birth for her child?”
“Another month,” Alfontus said, swallowing his last gulp of mead. “But the lady wouldn’t miss the Queen’s Mark for anything.”
“It is quite a party,” Tyriad said, putting down his empty cup and stretching. “I should be off. I will see you tomorrow then?”
“Yes,” Alfontus said, standing and reaching out his arm. “We shall meet again.”
The two embraced momentarily before heading back out to the fields. Tyriad walked slowly to the top of the hill and looked out at the storm that was nearly upon them. It would be hitting Athanasia right about now. He shook his head at the thought of flying through that mess and shifted into his dragon. Alfontus chuckled behind him, still in awe as a non-shifter of the power behind the dragon. Though the commander was not a dragon, he did possess a series of magical abilities that helped elevate him to the position in which he currently held. Alfontus was a necromancer, meaning he could raise and control the dead. Such a power came in handy when it came to war, especially since the dead were already just that – dead – and fell immune to the sword.
The rains started almost immediately as Tyriad hit the cloud line, and he squinted through the dusty gray mist that showered down. The winds were troubling, and he had a difficult time controlling his direction with the current catching under his wings. He flew lower in an attempt to get under the gusts, but the mixture of fog and rain made it difficult to see. Without warning, a hard swish of air hit Tyriad under the left wing, spinning him out of control. He struggled to regain his flight, but before he could, his wing clipped the tip of a tree over the Forest of the Deep, miles from Athanasia. He flipped to the side, hitting his body against the trees as he fell through the canopy of the forest and landed hard on the ground. He groaned at the shooting pain surging through his wing and lifted his claw as golden blood pooled around it.
He raised his dizzy head and looked over at the gaping hole in the thin part of his shimmering wing and plopped his head back on the ground. Dragons were able to heal themselves, but this type of injury would take more than a few minutes to close up. Tyriad could feel the energy surging through his body and heading toward the wound. His head began to feel heavy, and the trees around him swirled. Before he could move, his mind closed shut, and he lay unconscious among the leaves, small drops of rain washing away the golden lake beneath him.
***
Several hours had passed before Tyriad began to stir. The sun was closing in on the horizon, and the storm had done its job. He snorted the collected water in his snout and moved his wing, wincing at the residual pain still there. Slowly, he opened his large, blue eyes and blinked, trying to get his vision to normalize. His head was throbbing, and he kept it placed on the soft bed of leaves where it had landed.
“Try not to move,” a voice whispered. “The healing is almost complete.”
Tyriad shifted his eyes to the sound of the voice. Standing beside him, peering over at his wounded wing was a small woman – definitely a fae, wearing a dirty dress, no shoes, and a long black cape. The hood was pulled up over her hair and face, but the pulsing, blue light coming from her hands gave her origin away immediately.
“There,” she said, stepping back. “Try moving it.”
He slowly moved his wing, waiting for the pain that would never come. He flapped it harder, testing it out before raising his head toward the girl. She turned slightly toward a clearing in the woods, casting a shadow over her face. Tyriad lifted his large dragon body and stretched his wings between the trees. Knowing that he was healed, he immediately transformed into his human form, wondering why a fae was so far into the Forest of the Deep.
“Oh,” she said when she turned back, stepping backward in fright.
“I mean you no harm,” Tyriad said, rubbing his shoulder. “Who are you?”
“No one of any concern,” the girl replied. As the light hit her face, a vision of Asphodul came into Tyriad’s mind as the two could have been twins.
“Do I know you?” Tyriad said curiously as he stepped forward. “You look very familiar.”
“I have never met you,” she said curtly. “You are obviously of the King’s Guard. You have been here many hours. You should probably get back.”
“You are right,”
Tyriad replied, still staring at the girl. “But you saved me, and therefore I am in your service. What shall I do in return?”
“Just one thing,” she said, thinking. “Forget you ever saw me. Make no mention of me to anyone. Can you do that?”
“I can,” he said cautiously. “But you see, I am the commander of the fae army. I cannot just let you go in case you turn out to be a threat.”
“I am no threat to your kingdom,” the girl said, laughing.
“Well, isn’t that what a threat to the kingdom would say?” Tyriad said teasingly.
The girl looked back out at the setting sun, nerves showing in her body language. She sighed and lifted her hands to the hood of her cape. She lowered the cape, revealing long, golden hair and a small, golden crown in the shape of flames. Tyriad had seen that crown before. He put his hand on his sword handle and lifted his chin.
“You come from Avalon,” he said seriously. “You should not be lurking in the woods.”
She turned slowly toward him, a small smile on her face. The wind blew rapidly through the trees.
“I cannot tell you everything,” she whispered quickly. “But if anyone knows I am here it will pose a significant threat to your kingdom.”
“Why?” Tyriad said, shouting through the gusting trees.
The girl looked up as a large, shimmering, black dragon began to lower its claws into the canopy of the trees. She reached up and tightly grabbed a hold of one of the paws and looked back at Tyriad. The air from the gusting wings of the Wild Dragon blew the wet leaves into the air.
“Because I am Leonetta, Queen of Avalon, Princess of the fae,” she shouted as she was lifted into the sky. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?” Tyriad yelled back as blue streaks of light shot from her hands and covered his arms.
“I cannot have you follow,” she said as she disappeared out of sight.
Tyriad leaped into the air, attempting to shift into his dragon, only to fall back down to his feet. The blue light glowed brighter around his arms. He ran toward the clearing and out into the valley beyond the forest. Tyriad looked up as the dragon and Leonetta disappeared into the distance. He kicked at the dirt in anger and looked back down as the blue light began to dissipate. She had made sure he couldn’t find her. But why was she hiding?
Once the enchantment had worn off, Tyriad shifted and sped off toward the castle. He knew he had to keep this secret, at least until he figured out what was going on. When he reached the palace walls, he looked down as servants scurried through the gardens and into the castles. There seemed to be a lot of movement for late in the evening. He landed right outside of the keep and shifted back into his human form. He rubbed his shoulder and watched as the guards dawned their armor. He tapped a passing King’s Guard, and the knight turned, bowing to Tyriad.
“Yes, Commander,” he said, straightening his helmet.
“What is going on?” Tyriad asked, looking around.
“The king has received a visitor,” the knight responded, “and we were told to heighten security.”
“Yes,” Tyriad said, shaking his head in confusion. “But since when do we increase security when getting word of the visit of another realm?”
“No, sir,” the knight said, nodding toward the king’s balcony. “Not the shifters. Him.”
Tyriad turned, following the knight’s gaze resting upon two men standing on the balcony. One was the fae king, but the other was a short, round man with a bald head. Tyriad stepped closer. squinting his eyes at the familiar face. Fear fell into his belly as he recognized the man dressed in the uniform of the gods.
It was Ardontis, the High Faith of Avalon.
Chapter Three: A Promise and a Princess
The crashing sound of a whip against the skin echoed through the garden of Avalon. King Osiris, in his constant anger over the treasonous betrayal of his daughter, plucked his people from the streets one at a time and questioned them about her whereabouts. He was sure she had been the one who took the people from the outlying realms before the attacks and therefore assumed those left behind knew something. However, whether due to their loyalty to the princess or their lack of real intel, one by one they fell to the punishment of the Whip.
Holland stood out on the balcony of the throne room, tired of watching the bloody mist fly from the backs of innocent people. He didn’t seem to care anymore for the favor of the king, but he knew if he turned his back now he was as good as dead. With Leonetta flying off, taking most of the kingdom with her, a dark cloud had fallen over the Cinder Territories, even darker than the wars. The king had just returned from the ports where he discovered that the ships were left tied to the docks, holes punched into the bottoms of them. By the time the army had gotten there, all that was left was half sunken ships and burning tinder.
Work had begun immediately to build new ships, but this was a grave setback for the king, even though he knew he would still have an advantage over the Vale’s army. The king would ride atop the shifters on their journey over sea, worried that his inability to find the Fading vale would set the ship off course. Even if it blinded the dragon carrying the king, they would be able to follow the other dragons to land. Once on land, the king would regain his sight.
Generally, in these stressful times, Osiris would find solace and comfort in his own faith. However, with the crown’s Faith having taken off with Leonetta, there was nothing more than an empty chamber in the deep, dark halls underneath the castle. Holland was left to watch over Osiris, and his ability to calm and control him was growing weaker by the hour. The king’s fury was beyond anything Holland had imagined, and even his father was no help. The king had allowed Holland to move his family into the palace since the lands were nothing more than fire and ash. The entire west of Fortune looked as if it had never existed.
“Get out!” the king shouted from the throne room.
Holland turned to see Osiris barrel from the room and through the balcony doors. He grabbed the chalice of wine from the young servant girl and shooed her away. The servants were scarcely seen anywhere near the king since he had killed at least half of them in several of his rages. He had become indignant and heartless, not that he wasn’t before, but his lack of personal connections to humans just aided in his ability to exact dubious acts of violence without any idea of the pain he was inflicting.
“Your Grace,” Holland said cautiously, “why don’t we go for a flight? Clear your mind, get your intentions settled.”
“I appreciate your concern,” the king said, taking a deep breath and wiping the blood dripping from his brow. “But I have no time for personal relief. We have work to do. Meet me in the council room after lunch. We will begin planning our tactics for when we reach the ports of the Vale.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” Holland replied, bowing.
The King stomped off back into the castle and toward his chambers. Holland stepped down off the balcony into the sun, the smell of ash burning at his nostrils. The flowers looked as if their life had flown off with Leonetta, and Holland wondered if the real beauty of Avalon was not situated in the once fertile soil, but in the spirit of the fae princess that, for years, dreamed of a close and fair kingdom.
After receiving the revelation of her mother’s death and her ties to the fae throne, Holland could not find fault in her actions. However, as she flew away, leaving him alone on the balcony of the castle, a seed of indignation was planted in his chest, covering what was once pure love for the princess. She had stood by and allowed him to make sacrifices, to move against his moral compass, for a chance to be her groom, all the while planning to leave him behind for a brighter future. The part of him that knew her heart was bigger than that, that it encompassed the greater good, shriveled and hid behind the cold heart that was beginning to take over.
Holland sighed and looked over at the young servant girl, Melaya, who had been so kind to him through this trying time. She blushed slightly at his admiration and turned to walk away. Holland stood for a mome
nt, fighting his thoughts.
“Melaya,” he called out.
“Yes, Commander,” she said shyly as she bowed.
“Would you mind walking with me? I feel like taking in the garden, but my need for human interaction weighs heavily on my heart.”
“Of course,” she said, walking toward him.
The two strolled slowly through the garden, but Melaya’s understanding of her place stayed strong in her mind. She wanted to speak out, to comfort the commander, but she had seen a change in him from the man she first met in her home realm, now taken over by Avalon. She clenched her fist and replayed the scene from an earlier event where the king had thrown two servants off the towers, calming her need to speak up.
“You are quiet,” he said, looking over at her clenched fists. “Have you always been so calm?”
“If I may speak freely,” she said, looking up into his eyes.
“Of course,” Holland replied with a small smile as a blush moved over her cheeks.
“Before I was in service to the kingdom,” she began, “I was quite outspoken. So much so my father constantly reprimanded me. This has been a great change and a great lesson for me. Sometimes, I find it difficult to be quiet in the face of adversity, but I have seen what our gods do to those that speak out of turn. My hope is that in my next life, my words can be put to good use if the gods wish it so.”
“I like that,” Holland said, laughing. “But let’s make it a rule. You can speak freely to me in private whenever you wish. Does that please you?”
“Very much so,” Melaya replied with excitement in her eyes.
“Perfect,” Holland said, pleased with her enthusiasm. “So, what would you like to talk about? Politics? War? Fashion?”
Melaya began to giggle at the thought of discussing fashion as she walked through the garden in her servant uniform, the gold cuffs marking her service to the kingdom shining in the light of the midday sun. She felt at ease with Holland, but she wasn’t sure that she should. She knew she was not meant to be a slave, but she pushed her dreams of rising above it to the back of her mind, understanding this was her destiny.
War of the Realms Box Set Page 14
