War of the Realms Box Set

by Sarah J. Stone

  “It would be my honor,” Ardontis replied, watching the necromancer walk into the stables before turning to follow the princess.

  Tyriad watched as the Faith and the princess walked through the halls and disappeared around the corner. He went back out into the courtyard and shifted quickly into his dragon. The wind from his magic blew through the stables, and the sounds of the horses echoed through the canyon on the other side of Athanasia’s walls. He wasn’t planning on going anywhere but wanted to connect with Anthurium to make realm Lassliar’s arrival known.

  So sorry to disturb, Your Grace.

  Yes, Tyriad. What news have you?

  Alfontus has arrived from Lassliar.

  Perfect, I am on the way back now.

  Tyriad looked up as his conversation with the king ended. Alfontus was standing in the stable entryway, watching Tyriad’s dragon with wonder. Tyriad quickly shifted back to his human form. He could speak with the king telepathically as a human but did not have as much control over who heard it, and with the current state of things, Tyriad felt it was better to speak in privacy.

  “You would think,” Alfontus began as he walked closer to Tyriad, “that the princess would fear the wrath of a dragon more than that of the dead.”

  “Ah,” Tyriad smiled. “But she can see, touch, and understand the shifter as it is a living and breathing being. It is difficult to understand the dead.”

  “That it is,” Alfontus replied. “Will we be expecting the king soon? I am anxious to speak with him. I brought him a gift.”

  “He is on his way back now,” Tyriad replied. “A gift? You don’t seem like the gift-giving type.”

  “Ha,” he laughed. “No, but this gift is something that I believe he will enjoy.”

  Tyriad looked at Alfontus suspiciously as the necromancer turned and walked back toward the castle, a strangely satisfied look on his face. The sun was reaching its highest point in the sky, and Tyriad could feel another storm brewing. The sounds of horns in the background let the commander know that the king and queen were close, so he advanced into the castle to alert the staff that lunch should be prepared. Usually, that was not his duty, but he knew with all of the festivities being planned, the staff was having a hard time keeping up with everything.

  It was only moments later that Anthurium and Seville rode their white horses back into the castle grounds. The staff took their horses and watched as they quickly entered the castle, curious of what news Alfontus had brought. They walked straight through the halls and to the council room. Alfontus stood and bowed as the king and queen entered the room.

  “Alfontus,” the King said kindly, “what news have you brought us?”

  “In my early travels,” Alfontus began as he bowed at the queen, “I thought my trip to be more of a strategic meeting than anything else. However, we came upon a man traveling alone, and under further scrutiny found him to be one of Osiris’ shifters.”

  Alfontus nodded at the guards and watched as they drug a man into the council room. He was severely beaten and looked to be more than frightened. In fact, he looked as if he had gone mad, his head swiveling frantically and his body shaking under the guards’ control.

  “What is wrong with him?” Anthurium asked, standing and looking at him with caution.

  “I have bewitched him,” Alfontus replied. “He can see the dead.”

  “If you would,” Anthurium motioned to the man. “I can’t very well speak to him in this state.”

  “Of course,” Alfontus replied as he waved his hand over the man. The shifter quickly calmed but still looked around with fear.

  “Where am I?!” the man yelled. “What have you done with me? The gods will have you for this.”

  “You are in the presence of the fae king,” Alfontus roared. “Show some respect.”

  “Sir,” Anthurium spoke with grace and poise. “What has come of my daughter?”

  The prisoner looked up slowly at the fae king, disgust in his eyes. He smiled slightly before wincing at the threat of the nearby guard. The king put up his hand and allowed a dark green light to escape, covering the prisoner and healing his wounds. The prisoner breathed heavily, fearing what was happening to him before realizing the king had taken the pain he was suffering from.

  “Thank you,” he said reluctantly. “Your daughter is still alive. Hiding in the lands of Vale. We have yet to find her.”

  The king looked at the guard and nodded as they picked the prisoner from the floor and drug him from the room. Asphodul, who had been standing just outside the door, turned to hide her face as the guards walked past unknowing of her presence. She watched from afar as they walked him down to the dungeon and locked him in a cell. Asphodul pulled a cape up over her head and stood quietly in the shadows until the guards were gone. She watched the man look himself over, still in disbelief that he had been healed so quickly.

  The dungeons were dark and dank, and you could barely tell you were still within the walls of beautiful Athanasia. Asphodul took note of the cell where the prisoner had been placed and returned to the garden where Ardontis was waiting for her. He stood as she approached, and waited until she was seated to look to her for information.

  “Leonetta is yet alive,” she whispered. “She is hiding in the Vale.”

  “Oh,” Ardontis sighed a breath of relief. “And what of the other shifters?”

  “I don’t know,” Asphodul stated. “That was all he said.”

  “I can only imagine my sister is strong,” Asphodul stated. “But we need to find her, and soon.”

  Asphodul leaned forward and began whispering to Ardontis, who listened carefully. She told him of her vision and her promise made with Tyriad. She walked Ardontis slowly through every sight, smell, and sound she experienced that day in the monuments. His face stayed fixated in a refreshing look, and Asphodul was unable to read what he was feeling.

  “Your Grace,” Ardontis replied at the end of the story, “do not fear your visions. Even the tiniest drop of sudden rain can change the course of the future.”

  “Yes,” Asphodul replied. “But I must go forward as if I had seen the future etched in stone.”

  “Understandable,” Ardontis replied. “Leonetta would be a great comfort to you at this time. I pray to the gods she arrives soon.”

  “Your Faith,” Asphodul said, leaning back in her chair and sipping her tea. “I understand that you are aware, that as the older sister, when it is time for my mother and father to retire to their eternity, I will take the throne. However, I want to make it clear that Leonetta is my blood and we will, for the betterment of the fae, run this realm hand in hand.”

  “It was never a fear on my mind, Your Grace,” Ardontis stated, smiling. “I, too, have visions. And from what I have seen of the future, it is a strong pathway for both of you.”

  Asphodul grew quiet and sat her tea on the table, her visions racing through her mind. She could still feel the cold stone floors beneath her feet and hear the screams of her people. Her mother’s fearful face almost blinded her from understanding, and she sighed heavily.

  “I fear,” she began, “that with these storms, only death and dismay will follow unless we bring Leonetta home.”

  Chapter Seven: Love and Enchantments

  The air was stale and salty, even as high up as the clouds. Holland had been flying for several days over the large brigade of ships that headed toward the realms east of the Fortune Ocean. King Osiris mostly slept, the cool air and smooth ride of the dragon completely different then what his men suffered on the rocky seas below. The storms had been ruthless and had tossed the ships all over the sea. However, the gods seemed to be looking down on them, since not one ship was lost as of yet. The men, however, were praying that land finds them soon. Most of the army had never been on a ship, much less experienced the retching that accompanied the rocking of the wooden hulls.

  The king had created a sort of seat to place upon the dragon to make the trip less strenuous. It was reminiscent of a l
arge sled strapped to the back of the shifter, the sled’s huge ropes tied under the dragon’s belly. Osiris filled his traveling accommodations with blankets to cover him since the air high up was cold, especially at night. He had also made sure to bring an ample supply of wine for good measure. Before leaving the west side of Fortune, the crew stopped in at the Broom Isles.

  Not long after Osiris had taken all of the realms his side of the Fortune, King Atlas of the Broom Isles had sent Osiris a letter pledging his allegiance. Osiris took this as brave and reveled in the thought of having the army clad Broom Isles by his side in war. When they landed at the ports, Atlas had prepared a feast for Osiris, and the two dined, surrounded by servant girls. Atlas was a withered human king, and the gray and dismal island matched his persona. The sea water had eroded the edges of the castle which perched at the brink of the isle. Seaweed covered the yellow sands, and the smell of stagnated fish pierced the senses.

  After a long day of conversations and the promise to Atlas that his islands would stay his, the Broom Army packed their ships and joined the brigade. The men were weary when reentering the ship, the glamor of sea legs lost on their first night sailing. However, for all intents and purposes, the people had stayed in a positive mindset. Atlas had supplied both his and Osiris’ ships with goods and foods that would withstand the long journey across the sea and allowed the shifters to rest comfortably until it was time to set off once again.

  As Holland flew through the misty winds of Fortune, he sent his other shifters in all different directions. They should be coming upon a group of unnamed islands very soon, giving the armies a chance to stand upon dry land, and the shifters an opportunity to rest. They would stay perched on the island until it was time to strike the Vale’s mighty ports. These ports were only a half of a day’s journey from the islands and were set just far enough off of the shipping crate line that they would not be seen.

  The sun began to burn through the ocean fog, and as the mist cleared, the green essence of the whole islands shown in the distance. The shifters changed track and flew over the islands, inspecting them for any possible dangers. When they found nothing more than sandy beaches and lush shrubbery, they gave the word to Holland. He called down to the ships, directing them toward the islands and sped ahead of the group to land and give it one more look before the king arrived.

  The sand blew through the air as Holland’s wings flapped wildly. The warm sand beneath his claws sparkled radiantly in the sunlight. The sounds of birds in the canopies chirped loudly, and the smell of honeysuckle wafted through the air. Holland shifted to his human form and stood with his eyes closed, enjoying the fertility of the island before the troops began to crowd the space. The other shifters landed and removed the sled from the general’s back. Osiris stepped out into the sand but didn’t notice the beauty as Holland did.

  “After camp is set,” Osiris stated, “let’s go over our strategy before you rest.”

  “Of course, Your Grace,” Holland replied. His knees shook underneath his leather pants, and hunger pained his stomach. Shifters could go days in the sky without rest, but once transformed into their human form, the weight of the trip fell on their mortal shoulders.

  The two men watched as the ships released anchor and men began to row to shore. It took most of the day to get all of the men and the provisions to the white, sandy beaches, but by night, the glow of bonfires could be seen all over the island. Holland yawned as he scraped the last of the food from his plate and made his way to the king’s tent. Hopefully, the king would be feeling the same kind of exhaustion and cut the meeting short. The guards at the king’s tent nodded as the commander passed through the white draperies. Osiris’ tent was simple with his sled acting as his bed. There was a makeshift table and a few chairs they had brought along for the journey.

  “Holland,” the King murmured. “come sit and have a glass of wine.”

  “I appreciate it, Your Grace,” Holland smiled. “But I fear if I drink it you will have a guest sleeping on your tent floor.”

  The king laughed and was about to speak when a guard entered the tent.

  “Forgive me,” the guard bowed. “We found a stowaway aboard the ships.”

  “Well,” the King said reluctantly, “bring him in.”

  “Yes, Your Grace,” the guard stated as he reached outside and drug in a person wearing dirty clothing and a hat that covered most of their face. The stowaway's hands were tied together in front of them, and the guard pushed them forward to stand before the king.

  “Well,” the king sighed. “What say you, lad?”

  The stowaway glanced up at the king and pulled the hat from their hair. Cascades of long, black hair fell to her shoulders, and her familiar ice-blue eyes landed on Holland. He tried to hold a smile back at the sight of Melaya and stepped forward to speak.

  “I am afraid, Your Grace,” Holland began chuckling, “our stowaway is not a young lad. It seems to be one of your faithful servants, Melaya.”

  “Yes,” the king said peering over the table. “I recognize the girl from our council meetings. What do you have to say for yourself?”

  Holland looked at Melaya with wide eyes and gritted teeth as she shook slightly in fear. She took in a deep breath, stood up tall, and nodded at Holland in understanding. Melaya clenched her hands together as she prepared to speak, realizing this adventure she had set out on may very well end her life.

  “I could not bear, Your Grace,” she spoke eloquently and thoughtfully. “The thought of you traveling without the comforts the gods have provided. So, I broke the rules and hid in the ship.”

  “I see,” the king replied with a half smirk. “Well, it is your lucky night as I am too tired to wield a whip. Find her a tent, and she shall report to me every day for service.”

  “I’ll take her,” Holland replied, reaching out before the guards could. “I am headed that way anyways. It seems the king’s exhaustion may only be cured by rest without worrying about this nonsense. We shall meet in the morning, Your Grace, if it pleases you.”

  The king nodded and shooed the two toward the door. Holland took Melaya by the arm and led her out into the night. His grasp was tight, but gentle.

  “What were you thinking?” Holland snapped in a whisper. “Had the king been rested he would have whipped you, or worse.”

  “I couldn’t bear it,” Melaya shouted out, stopping and turning to Holland. “The thought of you alone here. Possibly with that witch, Leonetta. I am tired of being a slave. I was not meant for this. I was meant for greater things.”

  Holland looked around to make sure that no one was watching or had heard Melaya’s words before pulling her inside his tent. He stood her in the center while he lit lamps around the space. Holland stomped back toward Melaya, standing in front of her angrily.

  “You cannot say those things,” Holland replied. “If someone were to hear you…”

  “But you said I could speak freely,” she whispered. “So, I have adopted that way of life.”

  Holland looked down at Melaya’s hands where blood was dripping from her fingertips. The rope had cut into her wrists and was causing her arms to bleed. He shook his head and grabbed his dagger. She flinched before realizing what he was doing. He cut through the ropes and allowed her hands to fall freely. He then led her over to the side where a small bench sat and pulled out some small medical supplies. She watched him carefully as he wiped the blood from her wrists and hands and applied a small bandage to each.

  “Thank you,” Melaya said shyly when he was done. “What can I do for you?

  “Stay out of trouble,” Holland replied with a smile. He knelt down in front of Melaya and held her hands in front of him. “But just so it is known, I missed you as well.”

  Melaya lifted her hand and touched Holland’s weathered cheek. He leaned his face into her hand, closing his eyes. She pulled upward and met his face with hers, their lips touching in the secret of the commander’s tent. He sat up slightly and gave in to the l
ove he had been feeling for Melaya for weeks now. Their walks through the garden had been the highlight of his time in Avalon and something he thought of to comfort himself when he was away. To be honest, he was more than happy to have Melaya in his presence.

  She reached up her other hand and caressed Holland’s cheek, her body pushing into his. Holland stood and picked Melaya up in his arms and carried her to the pile of blankets on the ground where he slept. He ran his hands over Melaya’s shoulders and pulled her hard against him as they lay intertwined. Her soft skin enticed Holland, and he was unable to form restraint at that moment. As she slipped her gown from her body and rolled into Holland, the moon rose high in the sky, showering the island with the incandescent light of the gods.

  ***

  The morning light over the Vale was hard on Leonetta, and she was awoken by the sounds of ogres moving through the camp. She had made it back to the camp just before dawn, and though the Wild did not like the fact that they could not travel with her, she knew this was the only way she could get into Athanasia unseen. It was worth the risk to make it to her father and enable her to move forward in her new home.

  Leonetta stood quickly, gathered her things, and sat, waiting for word from King Byron. The light from the rising sun shone through the cracks in the tent, and a shadow approached from the outside. Leonetta stood and waited as the figure reached for the tent opening and stepped inside. He was tall with strong wide shoulders and the spark of a dragon in his eye.

  “Your Grace,” the man bowed, “I am Ellijah, an advisor to King Byron. I will be accompanying you to Athanasia.”

  “You are a shifter,” Leonetta replied, emboldened by the royal treatment. “Have we met? You look very familiar.”

  “We have not, Your Grace,” he replied, smiling. “I surely would have remembered. May I take your things?”

  “I have no things,” she responded. “It is just me.”

  “Very well,” Ellijah stated. “Then let us get you to your place of travel. We will both be traveling in tents atop the mighty elephants of Cyclopian. They are shrouded in cloth, and no one will be able to see you. I will be accompanying you.”