Rise of the Nightkings Read online

  Carefully, Inyalia climbed onto the massive sickle and slid to its base, faster than desired. She landed hard, her leather boots unable to keep traction against the frozen slab. She collapsed into a heap, hearing the violent pop inside her legs. It didn’t hurt. It happened too fast for that. Glancing down, she knew both legs were broken.

  Rolling away from the pillar, Inyalia untangled herself and sat up. Grabbing the armor of her left leg, she twisted, forcing her foot to face the correct direction. Whatever pain had eluded her initially, hit tenfold. She fell backward into the loose powder. Lying there, a part of her wanted to die. It was so intense. Hissing through her teeth, spitting every curse that came to mind, Inyalia summoned the will to pull herself upright.

  Practicing short, rapid breaths, keeping her body under control, Inyalia ensured her legs were aligned. She’d have to break them again if they weren’t. It took everything she had to stay conscious. Methodically, she slipped her hand into the pocket of her quiver, drawing out a slim glass vial. Silver flakes were suspended within the transparent liquid. Bringing it to her mouth, she bit the cork stopper, breaking it between her teeth. Spitting the fragmented chunks, the liquid began to swirl, turning a deep purple. Closing her eyes, Inyalia tipped it back and swallowed.

  A coppery taste filled her mouth, but it was the chalky texture that she noticed first. Suddenly, every muscle and bone in her body began to move. She collapsed into the acidic mixture of ash and snow. With no choice but to give it voice, her tormented screams echoed into the mountain peaks. Her body was being torn apart, only to be forced back together. Biting her hand, she felt the skin break. Blood soaked into the leather. But even that wound was already healing. The pain intensified, bringing rage. She wanted to cause pain to anything and everything. But there was nothing for her to hurt. A thick layer of sweat clung to her brow, though she trembled in the cold. She could feel her heart racing within her chest. The thump began to slow, falling quiet. And the pain finally subsided.

  Calming herself, Inyalia sat up. She couldn’t recall thrashing about, yet the gray and white powder clung to every inch of her. Slowly, she got to her feet, testing her freshly healed legs. They functioned as intended, though the muscles were intensely sore. They were going to hurt for a while, but it was better than the alternative.

  Drawing her sword, Inyalia laid a series of deep gashes into the icy pillar. Each swing was hard and precise. White fractures spiderwebbed through the transparent green formation, and the pillar began to groan under the weight.

  Inyalia sheathed her sword and turned to make her way from the ravine. Chunks of ice began to break and fall to the ground. What began as a few pieces at a time quickly became a downpour as the pillar broke free of the tunnel and toppled to the earth, shattering into thousands of pieces upon impact.

  Halfway up the hill, Inyalia corrected north and continued toward her destination. Denholme was less than a mile away. Anyone attempting to follow would suffer far worse than a few broken legs.

  Staying near the mountain range, Inyalia located the icy pass that led into the small town. She paused just off the path, considering her options. Denholme was under her protection. It was the one place she’d denied the others access. It was a sanctuary away from the corruption of life. It wouldn’t take much to guess this her destination. Most of her officers knew her fondness of the place. If any of them spoke, an assault was nearly assured. Was it selfish to endanger its occupancy with her presence? On the other hand, would her presence make a difference? They’d come whether she was present or not.

  Decided, Inyalia stepped onto the pass and made for the gates of the secluded town. Denholme wasn’t just some random settlement. It was a grove protected by mountains. And its only pass was protected by her. In all the frozen north, it was the last place that remained green, reminiscent of her homeland, before everything changed. If she was to escape, this could be the perfect opportunity. Could a dethroned nightking simply disappear? Was escape even possible? She’d asked the questions before, but she’d never been in the position to make them a reality. Unlike the others, she had no desire to bend knee to Izaryle. But the calling was undeniable. She’d resisted it far longer than most. Sooner or later they all had to answer. The trick was in retaining one’s identity while doing so. That was something this new nightking was going to have to learn.

  The gate was unguarded. That didn’t set well. The other nightkings didn’t dare invade her territory. And few others knew of the grove’s existence, let alone were powerful enough to enter by force. But if the gates were unmanned, that meant her resort had fallen.

  Prepared for the worst, Inyalia marched through the pass, keeping watch for the slightest sign of trouble. She followed the road around the natural rock formations. It opened into a wide clearing. The howling wind ceased, unable to find its way through the pass. And without the wind, the snow thawed and melted, leaving the ground constantly saturated and muddy.

  Searching the soft ground, Inyalia saw no sign of tracks, new or old. Wherever the guards went, it wasn’t this way. That was unnerving. Where had they gone, if not fallen back? Stepping off the road, Inyalia took what joy she could from the grass under foot. It had been a while since she’d last felt the soft cushion. Climbing the hill to her right, she made for the overlook cave. It wasn’t deep, but it made the perfect place to send an evening or two. And with its elevation, it was the best place to scout the town. If it had fallen, she’d know from there.

  Reaching the top of the hill, the dark opening sat in wait. Though it wasn’t as she’d expected. Just outside the entrance, a fire burned within a ring of stone. Fresh logs were stacked neatly, their bark recently blackened from flame. At the far side of the pit a man sat upon a large stone, studying her approach. She’d never seen this man before, though introductions were unnecessary. She knew exactly who he was.

  Sighing, Inyalia approached the fire. “And so ends my reign.”

  Chapter I

  Growing Pains

  Strands of golden-brown hair shrouded the elven woman’s face, whipping in the light breeze. She leaned through the side door of the two-story cabin, bracing herself against the wooden frame. "Baal, gather your sisters. It’s time to eat!” Pulling herself back inside, she closed the door.

  It was mid-day in the forests of Trendensil. Though that name encompassed the entirety of the elven lands. This was the eastern edge of Highlor, in the Ashamere barony. Spring had arrived a week past, and already little creatures ran wild, unafraid to show themselves.

  Inyalia sat near the top of a massive beechwood tree, overlooking her beloved homeland. Though her sight was not locked on the small city to her back. She knew it intimately, and therefore, had become complacent with its many buildings and streets. It held no surprises for her anymore. Instead, her eyes were fixed to the northeast. By horse, it was nearly a week’s travel to the elven capital. But at this time of day, from the tallest trees, and in just the right light, she could just barely make out the faintest outline of the skyward towers and pillaring turrets.

  Inyalia had visited Camruun City a few times, when her father had been called away for an extended period. It was bright and beautiful in every way the promise of adventures untold could be. Though there was much about the city she didn’t understand.

  Inyalia enjoyed spending time in the massive settlement. There was always something happening, always something to do. People rushed about, day and night. And the shops displayed thousands of wonderful treasures she’d never seen before. And while she desired its many secrets, it was the forest that truly called to her. She was most comfortable surrounded by trees. No matter how grand the city was, it could never compare to the beauty found outside its walls.

  Inyalia’s favorite pastime was pretending to be a member of the Ranger Corps. She was by far a better archer than most children her age, prompting a show of skill anytime the opportunity arose. Though it had gotten her in trouble on more than one occasion. Inyalia took a bite from her juicy
golden apple, recalling the scolding she’d received the day prior, for shooting one off her sister’s head.

  Hearing footsteps below, Inyalia stole a glance from the high branches. Through the outstretched limbs and thick leaves, she saw her brother. His soft steps were nearly soundless as he approached. It was their sister who’d given him away. Vera was clumsy. And she had a habit of ruining any surprise no matter how small.

  Reaching the base of Inyalia’s favorite tree, Baal searched the peak, spotting her almost instantly. "Inyalia, mom said food’s ready. Climb down and let’s go home."

  Quickly scaling the branches, Inyalia jumped the final few feet, bending her knees to absorb the impact. “Did she say what we’re having?”

  The siblings were close, but none so close as Baal and Inyalia. The two did nearly everything together. Usually at the expense of Vera, whom they knew would tattle if they got into too much mischief.

  “Does it matter? You know as well as I, she’s gonna make us eat whether we like it or not.”

  “Doesn’t mean we have to rush home if it’s something nasty. What if it’s bird soup?” Inyalia wrinkled her nose in disgust.

  Baal laughed. “She’ll beat our butts if we take too long. She’ll think we were past the border. That won’t bode well for any of us.”

  “Fine!” Inyalia surrendered, marching south.

  Baal was a cycle her elder, and remarkably wise for his age. He was always able to think of other perspectives, giving him an edge in any contest. It had saved the both of them from trouble many times over.

  Reaching the forest’s edge, they paused, overlooking the vast ocean extending further than the eye could see. Highlor had been so named because it rested atop the massive cliff shadowing the bay. The port city of Largar’Thor, and a few smaller villages, could be seen on the lower land mass, but there was no way to reach them from here. All travel to and from the lower earldom happened either by ship, or the northern road that bridged to the rest of Trendensil.

  Following the cliff, they raced home, singing their favorite hymn. In no time, they reached the northern corner of the small city. Smoke rose from a number of the vast stone chimneys. In all of Highlor’s thirty plus structures, their home was the second largest residence, surpassed only by the Baron’s manor on the opposite edge of town. Approaching the split-log cabin, they could see their mother through the kitchen window. The filtered sunlight cast a warm glow about her peach skin. She stood radiant, mindlessly focused on her work. Both Inyalia and Vera matched their mother’s appearance in nearly every way. Though Inyalia’s hair was a few shades darker. Baal on the other hand, while having his mother’s hair, resembled their father in likeness.

  Rushing through the door, their mother’s honied voice echoed from the other room.

  "Wash up and get the table set. Your father will be home tonight.”

  It took but a short time to strip from their soiled clothes and wipe away the day’s grime. One by one, they filtered into the kitchen and began their nightly routine.

  Inyalia dispersed the wooden cutlery, laying a fork beside each of the seven plates. She found it silly to waste the additional tableware. They were never used, yet they were washed each night, and set out again the following day. Taking her seat, she waited patiently, looking from Baal to Vera, and back again.

  They were each equally impatient to dig in, but they knew better. Prematurely reaching for anything was the fastest way to feel the sting of their mother’s favorite spoon across the back of their hand.

  Just as the sun faded through the kitchen window, the front door creaked open. Footsteps echoed along the wood planked floor, drawing closer. A moment later, their father appeared in the entryway. Elegant armor covered him from knee to neck. The leather breastplate was embossed with the sigil of Trendensil and had been inlaid with gold. Removing his cloak, he tossed it over the banister at the base of the stairs and stepped into the kitchen. A warm smile settled, drinking in the sight of his family. Making his way to the table’s head, he ruffed up Baal and Inyalia’s hair as he passed. He would have done the same to Vera, but she was seated on the other side. Settling into his chair, Kalen stretched across the table and grabbed a golden roll from the bowl at the center.

  Melaena turned just in time to see his hand wrap around the flaky crust. On instinct, she swung the spoon, making contact. A resounding pop echoed in the large dining area. A flirtatious smirk greeted her husband. “You’re no different than the kids. Go wash up. You can have as many rolls as you’d like afterward.”

  “Yes, dear.” Kalen stood, pulling his wife into his arms. Holding her for a moment, he kissed her forehead. He’d been away for nearly two weeks. It was two weeks too long. Desire sated for the moment, he turned and made his way toward the wash room.

  Melaena laid another bowl on the table, just as Kalen returned. Absent his armor and sword, a dark-green gambeson covered his fine silken clothes. The material was thick and quilted, designed to withstand a single blow in the event of an unexpected attack. Though there was little need for it here. Returning to his seat, Kalen hesitantly reached for the roll once again. He paused, ensuring he was clear of the vicious spoon.

  Melaena nodded her approval and fell into her own chair.

  Snagging the warm bread, Kalen tore it in half. Looking up from the steaming center, he found the waiting eyes of his children. "What are you all waiting for? Dig in.”

  Chaos ensued. Hands shot to the variety of platters, bowls, and dishes, displaying everything from roasted ham to jellied fruit.

  Loading her plate, Inyalia stabbed the three-pronged fork into a thick slab of meat. Raising it in its entirety, she took a hefty bite, ripping the chunk free. The savory flavor of glazed honey and salt filled her mouth. It was delicious. And it wasn’t bird soup. She didn’t much care for soups of any kind. They were always so watery. In fact, adding dried and crushed bread seemed to be the only way to make it bearable. But that took longer than her mother cared to wait. Usually, she ate just enough to be excused. From there it was easier to sneak something better. But never bird soup. Nothing was capable of making it tolerable!

  The meal progressed, and plates began to empty.

  Kalen leaned against the back of his chair, rubbing his bloated belly with one hand. The other was busy picking bits of food from between his teeth. “Dinner was delicious.” He stated out of habit more than anything else. Changing the subject, he addressed his children. “What kinds of trouble did you three find today?”

  They responded at once, creating an indecipherable mass of volume.

  Chuckling to himself, Kalen laid the silver pick beside his empty plate and leaned forward. "Let’s try this again. One at a time, perhaps? Baal since you’re the oldest, we'll start with you."

  "We played hide and seek in the forest for a while. It didn’t go so well. Inyalia kept winning because Vera kept giving me away.”

  “I didn’t mean to. I was only trying to find a good spot myself!” Vera insisted. “Besides, it’s not like you were hiding in good spots anyway.”

  “It’s my turn to talk, Vera!” Baal demanded, continuing his story before anyone else could interject. “After that, I went for a walk. I was almost back when mom called us home."

  "Inyalia, what about you?"

  "I practiced my ranger skills so I can grow up to be just like you, Daddy!"

  “Butt kiss!” Baal taunted under his breath.

  A hearty laugh escaped Kalen. His kids could always make him smile. “You’ll make a fine ranger, Inyalia.” He had no doubt she’d do well. They all would. But of the lot, she was the only one who frequently expressed interest in following his path. Though she had to come of age first. She had a few cycles to go before she could undertake the trials. As General of Trendensil’s Ranger Corps, Kalen needed every ranger he could get. And best of all, the lands had been at peace for as long as he could remember. That was unlikely to change in his lifetime. If his children became rangers, there was little worry they’d
have to fight. That in itself put his mind at ease. Turning his attention to Vera, he raised an eyebrow in question to her activities. Of all his children, Vera was the quietest. She was shy and innocently honest, which often raised conflict with her siblings. But she’d grow out of it.

  "After Baal got mad at me, I found a fuzzy white rabbit with brown spots. It was so cute and fluffy. I tried to catch it, but it was too fast. But then—.” Her eyes filled with tears. Sniffing, she continued through the growing sobs, her trauma renewed. “Then, Inyalia shot it!” Vera buried her face in her hands, crying her pain away.

  Kalen gently rubbed her back, comforting her. Directing his attention to Inyalia, he raised a stern eyebrow. “Inyalia, what have I told you about shooting things you don’t plan to eat?”

  She lowered her head in defeat, wishing to avoid his lingering gaze. “Don’t.”

  “That’s right. If you’re going to hunt, you’d best not be wasteful.”

  “Yes, Daddy.”

  Shaking his head, Kalen sighed, looking around the table at the empty chairs. He missed his other two sons. And while a place was always set for them, they hadn’t ben home in quite some time.

  Taerel was the oldest. He’d moved away shortly after Baal’s birth, and he hadn’t returned home since.

  Wyrlan, on the other hand, paid a visit about twice a cycle. Magic was extremely rare in Irayth. Estimated reports showed less than three hundred natural born magicians existed among the elven population alone. Considering their race was just shy of ninety-thousand in total, about a third of a percent possessed the arcane arts. Wyrlan was one of those extreme few. He’d left home just under six cycles ago to seek training in Camruun City. But his abilities quickly surpassed those of his instructors. From there, he traveled to the college at Risolde, where he graduated with a specialty in enchantment, though Kalen had no idea what that meant. Unlike his own father, he’d never cared to explore the things he couldn’t explain. Since then, Wyrlan was reportedly living in Hailsort, though he never spoke of his dealings when he visited.