Amidst The Rising Shadows (Book 3) (4 page)

“We’ve been sending in teams to help clear away the rubble. People will return to Shandara,” Iranus said.

Colind drew in a shallow breath and sighed. Perhaps returning to Shandara would help put some of those ghosts to rest. From there he would begin his hunt for Mactar.

“Only for a short while,” Colind said. “There are things that I must do. It’s time to recall the Safanarion Order, if there are any of them still out there.”

"Surely some of them have heard of your return and are making their way to Rexel by now."

"Perhaps, but there are some that live upon the fringes, preferring a more solitary existence."

Iranus nodded, "Then I wish you good luck, and you can always reach me through the comms device."

Colind followed the Hythariam out of the room and brought out the travel crystal and studied it in the palm of his hand. There were a number left among Aaron's things, and Verona had thought that Colind could use one. He put the travel crystal back into his pocket and headed toward the trams, resigning himself to once again go back to Shandara.
 

C
HAPTER
2

A NEW POWER

Far to the north of Khamearra there was a small town nestled in the shadows of a dark keep with a solitary tower. The locals knew better than to venture anywhere near the place. The only indication that someone lived there was the occasional visit from the deaf mute caretaker that lived there. A hundred years ago the place was known as Baerstone Keep, where a small plantation lord resided until Mactar appropriated the keep from him, and it had been his ever since. The townsfolk understood their place, and it was not at the keep unless Mactar brought them there. The occasion that he brought someone to the keep was usually the last anyone ever saw them again. It had been two generations since Mactar had to show the townsfolk that if they left him alone he would do the same to them.

Mactar stood atop of the tower to Baerstone Keep and gazed down at the lights of the town twinkling into the night sky. Dawn was a few hours away, but it was the quiet at this time of night that he preferred to be alone with his thoughts. He had repaired the Drake's metallic bracer that it had used to control the Ryakul. The bracer was only half of what he needed, with the specialized call being the other half to the key of controlling the Ryakuls. That was the theory. He had yet to prove it, but he was getting close. So close that he could almost feel it.
 

Mactar clasped his hands together and drew from memory the strange strumming sound that the Drake used to command the Ryakuls. Other than the mere memory of the sound, he hadn’t been able to crack the inner workings of how the Ryakuls were commanded.

Mactar descended the stairs that led directly toward his trophy room. A collection, of sorts, of all his victories. Hanging on the far wall were the remnants of a flag bearing the Alenzar’seth coat of arms. The fires that engulfed Shandara had blackened the flag so that you could barely discern the once-proud standard. It was meaningless now. Reymius (with the help of the Hythariam) had gotten away, and the House Alenzar’seth had been allowed to endure. Aaron, the sole remaining heir to the ancient House Alenzar’seth, had proven to be more powerful than all his forebearers. Mactar closed his eyes, remembering how Aaron had deftly danced through a sky filled with Ryakuls. Ferasdiam marked or not, the feat had been impressive. It had been weeks since those events occurred, and he hadn’t heard anything more of the Heir of Shandara. A worthy adversary. He waved his hand, sending tendrils of energy to the burnt flag of Shandara, causing it to unravel into a pile of dust upon the floor. He would strike a crushing blow against those who would oppose him, and a new order would be upon Safanar.

Mactar came before a window where a dark cylinder hovered over a small pedestal. It was by far the least obtrusive of all his trophies, and it only garnered the attention of the keenest observer. Most of those who had come into this room had grown preoccupied with the objects that gleamed. Only Sarah had noticed the cylinder when she had come to summon him to the High King. How much had changed all those months ago. High King Amorak was correct: he did have a soft spot for his beautiful and dangerous daughter.
 

He had been among the first to encounter the Hythariam as they came to Safanar. A shaft of moonlight streamed through the window, reflecting off the cylinder. The device itself was broken, and it was something he would never be able to fix. The only proof he had that there were Hythariam still on the other side of the barrier. A different caliber Hythariam than those fools hold up in Hathenwood. He knew it in name only and had no idea as to the actual location of where the Hythariam called home on Safanar.
 

Mactar turned from the window and approached his workbench, where two bracers sat. He and Darven had returned to the mountain and found the remains of the Drake’s body. They were able to salvage the other bracer and use it as a blueprint to repair the one that the Drake cast aside.

Darven quietly stepped up behind him. The former Elitesman could be the very definition of silence when he chose. This was one of the rare moments where he had truly caught Mactar unaware.

“Any luck at Rexel?” asked Mactar.

“Nothing that we don’t already know. They are building airships and outfitting them with things that I’ve never seen before. They train their troops constantly. I can’t get onto the palace grounds, and each time I tried to use the travel crystal to get there the alarms are raised,” Darven said, shaking his head. “They’ve found a way to detect when someone enters the palace grounds by travel crystal. I was able to get into other places, like the airfield and where the barracks are. Looks like you finished repairing the bracers.”

“Yes, I believe I’ve gone as far as I can with them. The airships are different, you said?”

“Yeah, there are additional smaller engines on the wings and on either side of the cells above the ships. I didn’t see any of them actually fly, but the Rexellians are working night and day on them. One thing I did learn though. They aren’t calling themselves Rexellians or even Shandara’s De’anjard.”

“What are they calling themselves?”

“The Free Nations Army or FNA for short. They seem to be composed primarily of the Rexellian corps and the remnants of Shandara’s armies that settled there, but I also saw other kingdoms represented,” Darven said, his voice trailing off.

“What is it?” Mactar asked.

“You’d be surprised what you could learn near the barracks and at some of the inns the soldiers drink at.”

“I’m sure it’s truly enlightening,” Mactar said dryly.

“Usually when kingdoms align against a common enemy, the armies are as likely to fight each other as they are to fight their intended foe, but the Free Nations Army is different,” Darven said.

“Different how?”

“Well, they rank by experience. A nobleman may be an officer, but if they are inexperienced then they will be a lower ranking officer. Doesn’t matter how highborn they are. And I’ve seen a number of Hythariam there. Threw me off seeing their darker skin with golden eyes. I’ve seen some near the palace grounds, but never for very long,” Darven said.

“Intriguing,” Mactar said. The Free Nations Army at the moment was much smaller than the armies of the High King, but what Darven had described could almost be considered radical. “We’ll see how they hold up in a real battle. You can’t unlearn a thousand years of practice in a few weeks.”

Darven nodded, “And they don’t have Ryakuls at their command.”

“Technically, neither do we. I think we need to capture a Ryakul. I know you’ve just returned, but are you ready to leave again?”

Darven smirked, “That almost sounded sincere. I know for a fact that you care nothing for my comfort. If you’re ready to go now, then so am I.”

Mactar grabbed one of the bracers and tossed the other one to Darven, which he caught easily. The Elitesman’s reflexes were never off.
 

Darven glanced at the far wall where the standard of Shandara had hung, “Wasn’t there something hanging on that wall?”

Mactar headed toward the staircase that would take them to the top of the tower. “It used to be something, and now it’s dust. Let’s go. We’ve got work to do.”

C
HAPTER
3

PERCEPTION

Despite whatever Mactar had said that night in the arena, Rordan knew what he saw. It wasn’t trickery, it was real. The Heir of Shandara had called a Dragon...an Eldarin to the arena. The Dragon lords were supposed to be a myth. Folklore told to children of those marked by fate with the ability to speak to Dragons. It couldn’t have been a trick.
 

He stood alone in his chambers, having dismissed his servants, preferring the solitude of his thoughts. With the deaths of his brothers, Tye and Primus, he was under constant protection of a guard who always had a few Elitesmen among their ranks. Rordan could slip away if he chose and had done so many times before. The sun was up, and the birds that frequented the palace grounds chirped away in their morning routine. He closed his eyes and heard Aaron's voice in his head.

“There is a threat to this world that none can escape from. The Alenzar’seth have sheltered this world from an invading army. Take a good look around at those in power. Take an honest look at who counsels the High King and then the king himself.”

Rordan had thought long and hard about what Aaron had said when they met. In his mind, the Alenzar’seth was many things, but a liar wasn’t among them. He had debated on sharing what was said with his father, but they had been either locked away meeting with the council of the Elite Masters and the War Council, or with the armies themselves. The armies hadn’t been mobilized to this degree since he had been a child. Smaller kingdoms were showing signs of rebelling against his father’s authority. There was resistance even here in Khamearra, and the city had been under lockdown ever since, the district captains having orders to arrest anyone out after designated hours. Examples of stragglers had been put on display at every market square in the city. But everyday there was some type of fire. Not near any district headquarters or soldiers’ barracks for now, but any inn or brothel that was known to be frequented by the king's guards were targets. When he was in the city last, there were even attempts on his own life. One problem was you couldn’t tell where an attack was going to come from, but one thing was certain: Anyone could be involved. From the harmless old hag wandering aimlessly through the streets to the most ordinary common folk. Now the guards only travelled with a number of men sizable enough to give the opportunists pause. That’s when they started attacking the guards in groups and the Elitesmen became involved. They quelled most of the outright attacks. Yesterday, there had been reports of the letter
F
written on the front of shops in all the marketplaces in the city. The shop owner’s themselves were ignorant as to how the letters came to be painted upon their shop doors or windows, but they worked quickly to have them removed.
 

The letter F was painted with a curved sword at the cross section, which was in the style of the surname, Faergrace, the ruling house of Khamearra before his father had ascended to High King. Sarah was among the last of the direct line except for some cousins. Cousins didn’t count for much, and none resided in the city, especially when someone like his father had taken out all his opposition. The Faergraces were not a threat.

Ideas could be threats though, but what was the real threat here in Khamearra? Was this mysterious army that Aaron spoke of the real threat? How had the Alenzar’seth sheltered this world from anything when they had been gone for longer than he had been alive?

Rordan glanced out of the window.
No billowing smoke.
Perhaps this day would be free of attack. A knock at the door came as a subtle reminder that he was expected to leave for the next War Council meeting. He tied on his sword belt and fingered the pommel at his hip. He couldn’t defeat Aaron in combat, but did that necessarily mean he couldn’t kill the man? He and his brothers had always tried to get the better of each other to win their father’s favor. So the fact that Aaron had killed them could be viewed as a favor. He had always thought, especially in Tye’s case, that he would have to kill at least one of them. They were still family, and the choice of whether they should die or not should have been up to him. Primus was his twin, and, like it or not, he felt his brother’s absence more than he cared to admit. Sarah, on the other hand, was altogether different. They only shared the same father, and he didn’t know he had a sister until a few years ago when she returned to their father's court. Aaron wouldn’t fight him. He had said it was because Sarah wouldn’t want him to, which he found hard to believe. There hadn’t been any sisterly affection before, but that may have been the result of how they had treated her. He and Primus had tried many different ways to have their sister meet with a number of unfortunate accidents. From faulty saddles to an insecure bed onboard an airship where the lines had been cut, causing the ship to tilt precariously to one side. Grease on top of the grand staircase at the palace, which had taken the life of a maid who had fallen down the stone staircase and broken her neck. He smirked at the thought, remembering the popping sound her neck had made and the vacant look in the maid’s eyes as she stared lifelessly up at them in a twisted heap. After months of Sarah thwarting their attempts, they had tried to attack her in one of the shadowed passageways that most people didn’t frequent. They had only wanted to scare her and scar her pretty face. When she had first come to live at the palace, many had remarked on how beautiful and fair the princess had become. Living up to the Faergrace name. Their attempts to teach Sarah a lesson had failed miserably, and he still had the scar that ran along his side to prove it. At least she didn’t scar his face.

Rordan left his rooms, and the guards followed him. An Elitesman walked quietly at his side, and if he was the least bit put off by having lowly guard duty there was no indication of it. The Elitesman was older and one that he had not faced during his training sessions. He wore a silver cloak, and when Rordan glanced at him out of the corner of his eyes he could have sworn the Elitesman’s eyes had a reddish glow to them. Rordan quickened his step and made his way to the council chambers. He paused outside the door and glanced back at the quiet Elitesman, but said nothing as he went through.