Fractured Throne Box Set 1 Read online

  Contents

  COPYRIGHT

  Dedication

  The Promise of Dragons (Fractured Throne Book 1)

  Prologue

  1. Imel Katan

  2. The Red Company

  3. The Prince

  4. Things Past

  5. Things Present

  6. The High Lord

  7. The Priestess of Vacia

  8. Letters in the Dark

  9. Lady Miren

  10. The Madness of the Wayward Prince

  11. Malrich

  12. Transfuser

  13. Greenstone

  14. The Herald of Tiber

  15. Emonia

  16. A Spy by Night

  17. The Ruin of Vas Perloh

  The Wayward Prince (Fractured Throne Book 2)

  1. Hardthorn

  2. The Fearless Runner

  3. The Lord Captain

  4. The Admiral

  5. The Barren Tracks

  6. The False Shadow

  7. The Long Walk

  8. A Father's Wisdom

  9. The Northern Ador

  10. Requiem of Cataclysms

  11. A Journey's Ending

  12. The Tremelese Dagger

  13. The Sorcerer of Bi Ache

  14. The Court of Atimir

  Map - The Continent of Elandria

  Map - The Four Realms of Eremel

  Afterword

  A Word of Thanks

  Books by Lee H. Haywood

  The Story Continues…

  Copyright © 2019 by Lee H. Haywood

  All rights reserved. Neither this book nor any portion thereof may be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is entirely coincidental.

  Story Consultant and Editor: Kerry Haywood

  The Promise of Dragons (Fractured Throne Book 1)

  Copyright © 2018 by Lee H. Haywood

  Originally published as Fractured Throne (Fractured Throne Book 1)

  Paperback ISBN 978-0-9970810-8-4

  The Wayward Prince (Fractured Throne Book 2)

  Copyright © 2019 by Lee H. Haywood

  Paperback ISBN 978-0-9970810-9-1

  www.leehhaywood.com

  For J.B.

  PROLOGUE

  Killing a god was never a pretty affair. It was violent and ugly, and rarely went as expected. Lillian had seen dying gods rip mountains in two and turn cities into craters. She had also seen gods plead for mercy with their dying breaths, acting no different than the mortals they lorded over.

  “My own death will be more dignified,” said Lillian, trying to reassure herself. She leaned out over the edge of the precipice and considered how far it was to the base of the cliff. A league or more of unobstructed sky spanned between her and the valley floor.

  The drop will suffice, she imagined, that is, if my skull isn’t bashed to bits against the cliff wall first.

  The wind howled up to greet her, twisting her hair and tugging at the feathers that sprung from her back. For a moment her balance wavered. Like the talons of an eagle, her toes hooked into the crevices that pockmarked the basalt ledge. She flung her wings wide, letting them hang on the updraft. A blissful smile creased her lips as she enjoyed this final sensation of flight. It would be the last time she would experience such joy while she wore this guise.

  Bong. Bong. Boom. A bell tolled in the distance, calling the tribunal to order.

  The smile faded from Lillian’s lips.

  “From this point forward all of my actions will be out of necessity,” Lillian whispered to herself. “My life will be hard and cold, but I will survive to continue the fight.” She must survive. She had to.

  It was an oft spoken mantra, yet no matter how many times she reassured herself of this truth, a nagging doubt remained. When she closed her eyes she saw other lives and other paths, and in them all the Shadow still lingered. “Maybe this dance is eternal.” She scowled at the prospect.

  “We did the best we could,” said Lord Parius beside her, misreading the frown on her face. There was a resignation in his voice that had not been there earlier in the day.

  He has come to accept his fate, realized Lillian with a degree of pity.

  Lord Parius knelt, trying to display a degree of grace in his final moments. Both he and Lillian had been stripped naked; it was the Calabanesi’s vain effort to shame them before the sundering. But Parius, god as he was, would not be cowed so easily. He stared defiantly into the crowd that had gathered to witness their executions.

  The gods of Calaban were collected in a narrow plaza that overlooked the precipice. A crescent colonnade encompassed three sides of the plaza, while the basalt ledge, upon which Lillian and Parius stood, made up the fourth.

  Lillian scowled at the gods. “We’ll do better in the next life,” she insisted.

  “The next life? Ha!” Parius curled his lips scornfully. “Perhaps you will fare better, but I only had this one chance. No, Lillian, I have failed in my purpose.”

  Have patience, she wanted to say. Let the trial run its course. You will find a flicker of hope in the depths of your despair. But she didn’t dare say anything that would reveal her plan, not with so many eyes watching their every move, not with the Shadow so near. Instead, she turned away from the abyss and gave Parius’s hand a reassuring squeeze.

  The gaunt lines of his face drew into a strained smile, but the doubt within his eyes did not fade.

  She didn’t blame him. In truth, she didn’t blame anybody. The malignant Shadow. The unflinching Secutor. The false gods. All were playing their part as fate would have them. It almost gave her pleasure to consider how orderly events had unfolded. Everyone and everything was in their place until now. This is the part I did not foresee.

  For eons Lillian had danced with the Shadow, and with each step she wove her web with care. Each string was as fine as gossamer; invisible to the eye yet as strong as steel. No one saw that she was weaving a noose until the very end. First she deceived, then she ensnared, lastly she destroyed. Unfortunately, she had faltered in the final step. Betrayed perhaps, or maybe she was simply outmaneuvered.

  Lillian scanned the crowd of gods, seeking the telltale symptoms of the affliction; blotched skin, a darkening of the eyes. The face of every onlooker was shadowed — they all wore hoods — and Lillian could see nothing of their complexions. The only distinguishing feature that stood out were their wings. Some were garish — green, blue, and red. While others austere — jet black or pearl white. The colors represented membership in one faction or another, the ideological distinctions of which made little difference right now. Currently, all were unified for one purpose — to kill Lillian and Parius.

  Seated in the shadows of the central colonnade was Tiberius, supreme lord of the Calabanesi. He sat sullenly upon his copper throne, thrumming his fingers impatiently upon his armrest. While he was typically fair in all measures of beauty and grace, these attributes were lost to him on this day. His golden locks had turned brown, his vibrant skin was pale and sickly. And his eyes, which were usually bright and warm, hung heavy, pulled earthward by the shame of his disciple’s betrayal.

  A father is never free of his child’s sins. Tiberius raised Parius, trained him and loved him like a son. But Parius had too much of his mother’s spirit. He couldn’t resist the impulse to do what was right; that was why Lillian selected him.

  “Maybe I should tell him the whereabouts of Shadowbane,” said
Parius, moved by the pain in Tiberius’s eyes. “There has to be another way forward.”

  “There is not. The weapon is beyond our reach,” said Lillian, hoping it was the truth. “Take heart, Tiberius has already forgiven you. He would stop this madness if he could, but it has run too far. It is the Calabanesi’s will and the Calabanesi’s way. There is nothing else he can do, Fate has seen to that.” Lillian smiled at her own part in this wretched affair.

  Her grin seemed to anger Lord Tiberius. His emotions boiled over, reaching into the physical world, and the sky became entangled in his will. The sun fell behind a wall of churning clouds and a tempest roared out of the north, filling the sky with lightning. Hail and freezing rain pelted Lillian’s bare flesh, causing her skin to pimple.

  It is time, Lillian admitted to herself. I can delay no longer. She took in a deep breath and envisioned the world as it truly was. Not the world of flesh and blood, earth and water. The spirit world, the web eternal, and the One Soul that linked all living things together. In her mind’s eye, Lillian plucked one string, and like a symphony, the world played for her. The ceremony began.

  Bong. Bong. Boom, tolled the bell.

  A figure emerged from the row of cloaked gods, taking long haughty strides. The Secutor was a tall man with a stern, chiseled face. His hair and furled wings were as black as onyx. In one hand he grasped a rusted iron chain that trailed back to the foot of Lord Tiberius’s copper throne. In the other hand he held a dagger, the fuller of which was set with twinkling gemstones that were at one instant blue, at another green.

  The Secutor rested the blade on Parius’s shoulder, placing it threateningly close to his neck, then he took a knee, coming cheek-to-cheek with Parius so he could whisper in his ear.

  “Lord Tiberius offers mercy, Parius,” said the Secutor, “but you must tell us what you did with the weapon. Where is Shadowbane?”

  “The tribunal has ruled, brother,” said Parius, his voice wavering ever so slightly. “Nothing I say or do will change their decision.”

  “The tribunal be damned,” hissed the Secutor. “I offer mercy. The blade or the Shadow? Mercy or damnation? The Shadow will take your soul, brother. Do not let it be this way. One path returns your soul to the web, the other makes you a slave to the Shadow. Is that what you want, to spend all eternity in damnation? Choose mercy, brother. What did you do with Shadowbane? Where did you hide it?”

  Uncertainty filled Parius’s eyes.

  “It’s gone,” blurted Lillian, speaking for her master before his fear betrayed him.

  “Silence!” The Secutor slapped her across the face, striking her with such force she almost fell over the edge of the cliff. She immediately clawed back to her position beside Parius; he would need her strength.

  Parius’s eyes wandered to the blood dribbling down Lillian’s lip and chin. All doubt vanished from his eyes. “Send for the Shadow, brother. I have nothing more to say to you.”

  Shaking his head with pity, the Secutor stood. Like a man girding himself to wrangle a bull, he looped the chain around his hand and grasped with all his might. For an instant Lillian detected a quiver in his lip. Uncertainty perhaps, or fear.

  “Send forth the Shadow,” ordered Lord Tiberius, as he ruefully ordered his own disciple’s undoing.

  The Secutor gave the chain a harsh tug.

  A black shape rose from beside the foot of the dais, blotting out the sheening copper throne with its frame. If there was a shape to the damnable creature, Lillian could not detect it. The Shadow was nebulous, a well of pitch darkness surrounded by undulating grays. It inched across the courtyard on unseen limbs. Lillian’s vision blurred as the Shadow drew near. The world seemed to dim. The howling wind became a mere hiss on the periphery of her senses. All she could think about was the wretched clangor of the rusty chain that dragged in the Shadow’s wake. The Shadow stopped before Parius and rose to its full height, looming impossibly tall.

  Lillian had forgotten what true fear felt like. She found herself short of breath, and an involuntary tremor worked through her body. She was so close, she could feel the bite of chill air emanating from the Shadow’s invisible core. Her instinct told her to flee, to jump over the cliff and into the void. But the trap had not been set. She girded herself, resisting all urges.

  “Strength, my lord,” she whispered to Parius. Have strength to bear the unbearable. Have strength for the both of us.

  The nebulous shadow took form, and a hand clasped at the wrist by an iron fetter reached out from the gloom. It was dead, gaunt flesh, pale to the point of being translucent. Knobby fingers stroked Parius’s cheek in an almost loving fashion. Parius grimaced as his mind became polluted by temptation. He leaned forward, slowly drawn into the abyssal darkness of the Shadow’s cloak. Suddenly, a second hand grasped Parius’s forehead, striking like a snake hitting its prey. The pungent smell of burning flesh filled the air.

  “Mercy,” moaned a terror-filled voice from the crowd of onlookers.

  “Mercy,” echoed others.

  “Bear it,” chided Lillian sternly. Parius had to withstand the test. If his mind broke, there would be nothing else she could do. “Don’t give in. Resist the temptation.”

  Billowing smoke began to emanate from beneath the Shadow’s fingers, concealing Parius’s face behind a ghastly cloud.

  One by one, the onlookers in the crowd looked away, sickened by the sight. “Have mercy, my lord,” called more voices than Lillian could count. Each gasp of disgust and grimace of displeasure was another thread sewn, Lillian’s grand army in the making. She smiled inwardly. The Calabanesi were finally seeing the devil they allowed to linger in their midst.

  Parius’s body trembled. The sinew in his neck strained. His jaw twisted. A halo of light appeared above his head consisting of a thousand sparkling cinders that burst upward through his flesh like droplets of sweat. It was his spirit being drawn from his body. Much more of this, and Parius would cease to exist. All that would remain would be a witless husk.

  “Have mercy, my lord,” cried the witnesses in chorus. The will of the Calabanesi had shifted. No one wanted to see what would happen next. The murmur rose until it could not be ignored.

  Tiberius raised his hand. “Stop!”

  The Secutor wrenched the Shadow’s iron leash taut. The Shadow did not comply; the latent willpower of the enslaved spirit was somehow resisting the enchantment on the collar that kept him ensnared. Parius moaned pitifully as countless points of shimmering light danced on the air above his body. The Secutor gave the chain a second yank, and this time the hand receded, leaving a trail of red and blistered flesh on Parius’s nose, cheeks, and brow.

  The sparkling motes of light cascaded around Parius’s body in a shower of sizzling embers. Parius collapsed, his chest heaving in exhaustion. He coughed and sputtered, straining to breathe. Lillian sighed with relief. Parius had passed the test. His soul was still his own to command. What was more, he had won the pity of the audience. The hard part was over. Now all they had to do was survive the fall.

  The Secutor tugged the chain a third time. The Shadow withdrew to the foot of the throne like a faithful dog. The nebulous black form seemed to decrease in size, once again bowing beneath the weight of its chains.

  Tiberius motioned to the Secutor.

  Grim-faced, the Secutor stepped over Parius’s fetal form, and came to stand before Lillian. He lifted her chin with his knuckle, forcing her to look at the dagger in his other hand. No reflection shone off the black steel. It was like looking into a pool of ink. The gemstones set in the fuller glimmered with pulsating light. They were Sundering Stones, and they had only one purpose — to drain the energies of the divine.

  “Do it,” hissed Lillian.

  He pressed the blade to her flesh and the skin eagerly parted. Muscle and bone were cleaved in two as if they were made of parchment. Lillian experienced an agony she did not know was possible, and she bit her lip until she tasted blood. Pain is momentary, she tried to reassure he
rself. My life is eternal.

  She suddenly felt lighter. The Secutor was finished. He threw the hacked remains of her feathered wings on the ground. A crimson sphere grew around the stumps, pooling on the rain-washed basalt. The blood stood in stark contrast to the pinions, creating a ghastly collage of red on white.

  The Secutor bent over and kissed Lillian’s forehead, then he took the Sundering Stones set in the blade’s fuller and held them firmly where he had laid his wet lips. Lillian felt her energies wane, like water siphoned from a well. Her vision narrowed to shades of black and white. Her body quaked uncontrollably, her throat closed until her breathing became a desperate death rattle. The world seemed to slow to a miserable crawl, and then she was suddenly outside of her body, watching the purging from an impossible height.

  She had passed through to her true form, and in her mind’s eye, thousands and thousands of threads were laid bare, flaming tendrils that connected all life. The world became a glorious web, with interconnected blotches of light that shined as brightly as the burning sun. That is, except at the foot of the throne, there existed a hideous void about which the light warped and bent. The Shadow was the antithesis of life, and everything it touched became twisted and polluted. Lillian gazed unflinching into the nothingness. The malevolent spirit looked back.

  Movement near the edge of the precipice drew Lillian’s attention away from the Shadow. Caught up in the bliss of transcendence she had almost forgotten about her earthly form. The Secutor was evaluating his work. Lillian’s body appeared limp and lifeless. Her eyes stared vacantly from their sockets, and drool dripped from her lower lip. Satisfied that the sundering would prove sufficient, the Secutor cast her body backward, sending her tumbling over the precipice and into the endless fathoms beyond.

  With a shudder, Lillian returned to her plummeting body. The sundering was through. The ruse had worked. She reached out, embracing the fall as weightlessness overtook her. The individual threads of the web she had spent a lifetime weaving slowly encroached. One-by-one she plucked them. A thousand notes became a thousand chords, and the world hummed in reply. Lillian smiled blissfully as the dissonance came into sudden harmony.