The Chronicles of Lorrek Box Set

by Kelly Blanchard

  However, Verddra surprised him by speaking again. “I am the only one outside the immediate royal family of Cuskelom who knows exactly where the handblades came from.” At Therth’s perplexed face, she nodded with a smile. “Its metal does not originate from this planet, and its source has long since been forgotten. However, the metal is limited, and that is why you, Therth of Cuskelom—though you be of royal bloodline—do not have a handblade of your own. All the World Orbs and such also did not originate from Cuskelom, but in ancient times they were housed here for safe keeping, and someday the true Keepers of the Orbs will come and take back what is theirs.”

  Therth was shaking his head and backing away. “No—no, you’re wrong.”

  “Shall I show you?” Verddra lifted her hand to conjure a screen for him to view the events she spoke about, but Therth grabbed her wrist and yanked it down—a forceful glare in his eyes.

  “I said no.” Releasing her hand, he stepped back again then folded his arms over his chest as he drew up to his full, imposing height. “Now, I want you to give me Heldon’s handblade, and I want you to leave Nirrorm. This is not your kingdom. You have wronged it, and you should leave.”

  With a sigh, Verddra reached into another dimension and pulled the bracelet form of the handblade out. She turned it over and over again in her hands then pressed her lips into a thin line and locked eyes with Therth. “Allow me to do you a favor.” A sly smile tugged at the corner of her lips. “I will leave Nirrorm as you ask. In actuality, I have already given rule over to Erita since she is a kind and gracious sorceress, and the people have already responded sincerely to the prospect of her being their queen now. They like the thought of having a magic user as their queen since she will not banish the use of magic from the borders of Nirrorm again.”

  Therth hesitated when he heard this. He was relieved that Verddra would give up Nirrorm, but it seemed too easy, so he regarded her with a cautious eye. “On what condition will you do this?”

  “On the condition...” She lifted her hand then used magic to phase Heldon’s handblade onto her wrist. She smiled at the stunned Therth. “That you do not get this back—at least not until I decide otherwise. If you want it, you’ll have to come and get it.”

  He snatched her arm before she had the chance to magic away, and he advanced on her, scowling down at her. Anger boiled within his soul. He worked to restrain it, yet he could barely keep it out of his tight voice. “Where will you go?”

  Verddra smiled at him then patted his arm. “To Cuskelom, my dear. King Honroth needs an army, and I have one. I will be more than willing to lend him my aid at this time.” She phased her arm through his grasp and magicked away.

  With an angry shout, Therth spun around and stormed through the library, marching through the corridors of the palace. He bellowed, “Erita!!”

  Everyone scurried out of his path and stared wide-eyed at each other, but Therth saw none of them. He didn’t know where he was going or where Erita might be, but his feet carried him to the throne room, and he shoved open the doors, sending them crashing against the walls.

  All the sorcerers in the council hall spun around with fiery orbs in hand, ready to attack, but they hesitated at the sight of the furious Therth.

  “Stand down. Now.” A voice rose above the silence, and Therth realized that voice belonged to Erita. Spying her at the head of the long table in the center of the council hall, he saw how she rested the side of her head on her thumb and few fingers and rubbed her temple. Exhaustion, distress, and conflict seeped from her person, and when she saw Therth, she straightened, lowering her hand from her head, and relief flooded her eyes, soon followed by concern.

  Realizing something was amiss, she sank back in her chair and sighed. “What is it?”

  Therth ignored all those present and stalked up to Erita until he stood over her. “Magick me to Cuskelom. Now.”

  She straightened then twisted to look up at him with furrowed brows. “Pardon? I can’t.”

  The fury simmered beneath the surface, and he clenched his jaw to keep control. “You must magick me to Cuskelom now.”

  With a dry laugh, she shook her head and looked at those gathered around the table. “I can’t, Therth. There is too much at risk here. They need a ruler since Verddra just dropped it on me—”

  “And she cannot disappear at this time,” an advisor spoke up.

  Another man nodded. “We need order and stability until this transition is settled.”

  Therth drew back and stared at them. Had they forgotten who their rightful rulers were? Had they so soon forgotten King Wordan, Princess Mordora, and Prince Moren? He shook his head, not believing this, and he looked back at Erita to try and reason with her. He grabbed the back of her chair and leaned down to speak in her ear. “This is for Heldon and for Honroth.” He shifted to look into her face. “For Cuskelom. Verddra has gone there, and she will overthrow it if we allow her any time whatsoever.”

  With a sigh, Erita looked at those around the table then scooted her chair back and rose to her feet. She nodded for Therth to follow.

  Once they were a fair distance from the others, she spoke in quiet tones. “I can’t magick out of Nirrorm. None of us can. Verddra enforced a spell binding all of us from leaving this kingdom through magic. Only those who come into Nirrorm via magic can still leave that way. She herself, of course, was the exception. I have men working on a solution, trying to find a weakness in the spell.” When she saw Therth look away, discouraged, she sought out his eyes and tried to reassure him. “We will find something, Therth. I just don’t know how long it will be.”

  Therth stared at her. She was speaking the truth, and she was sincere, but that did not solve their problem. He wanted to get on a horse and ride hard to Cuskelom to warn Honroth, but he knew Verddra was already there—probably in an audience with the king. Honroth was not a fool, so Therth trusted him to see through the countess’ lies. However, Honroth had charged Therth with the safety of Heldon. He had told his cousin not to return without Heldon, so Therth knew—for now—he had to stay in Nirrorm.

  He gave Erita one final glare then turned and marched away.

  Erita watched him. Much heaviness weighed on her heart at the turn of recent events. She still blamed herself for Heldon losing his hand. She had been surprised when Verddra released her from the dungeon and named her regent—with the potential of being queen—of Nirrorm, and now Erita felt too busy with the mundane issues of the court to help her friends.

  She would, however, find a way to help them and stop Verddra.

  With renewed determination, Erita approached the table and resumed her seat at the head.

  14

  In his bloodstained and mud-crested armor, the battle-weary King Honroth rode his black stallion through the gates of Cuskelom and noted—with dull comprehension—the lack of cheering in the streets at the army’s return. The old men and the women stood in the doorways of their houses and acknowledged their king with a bow when he rode by, but none offered him an encouraging smile. Their king was alive, so that was good, but the people knew the seriousness of the threat against them.

  Although they had won this last battle along the northeastern border and the one before that east of them, they had lost just as many battles. Honroth had lost many men to both injury and death, but the Jechorian forces never seemed to weaken. “We fight no men,” Honroth had told his war council on the eve of a battle, and it was true. What they faced were soulless machines, and no injury ever hindered them.

  Honroth’s only blessing had been Gershom and the surprise appearance of the thieves, Tradek and Radim. While Gershom and Tradek combined their powers against the machines of Jechorm, Radim displayed fearlessness by running up to them and dismantling the metal creatures. She also stole weapons from the Jechorian troops and gave them to Honroth. Gershom’s charge, Caletta, took the opportunity to inspect the weapons. She was quickly able to analyze how they worked, and she showed the men, who eagerly took up these new
weapons.

  Now though, Honroth retired to Cuskelom. He had received word of a recent development in the city and left his constable in charge of the troops at the border while he investigated.

  Returning home meant seeing the damage done by the Rakessat, and that brought images back to Honroth’s mind of Inecha’s lifeless form in his arms. He drew in a deep breath at the hollowness he felt in his chest. It still hurt. He hadn’t had the time to dwell on it yet.

  Halting his horse, he dismounted then handed a stable-boy the reins and fixed his gaze on the palace. He could teleport to his chambers with a touch of his handblade, but he preferred to walk. It gave him the opportunity to think—to reflect.

  So he set one foot in front of the other and headed for the palace.

  His mind fell back on the memory of Inecha.

  Inecha—her sudden appearance in the halls of the palace all those years ago had made Honroth suspicious of her, but Vixen had vouched for both her and Erita. Honroth remembered that day perfectly. After discovering Lorrek, Loroth, Therth, and Vixen had been missing from the palace for days, their father dispatched search parties. He intended to name Theran captain of a troop, but when he realized his eldest son was drunk and unconscious in his chambers, Sindric said nothing but assigned Honroth the extra troop while Heldon took another and Constable Zhirak led yet another. In the meanwhile, Sindric sought the realm of magic for any trace of his son and his nephews.

  When Honroth, Heldon, and Zhirak returned from another fruitless search, they marched through the corridors on the way to the council hall to report their findings and hear what the king might have found when a sudden gust of wind tore through the palace, forcing the three men to lift their hands to shield their faces. When the wind finally died and they lowered their arms, their eyes fell upon the three women now in the corridor. One unfamiliar woman cradled another unknown woman close to her while the third leapt to her feet and spread out her hands as if to keep the men away from the women.

  Honroth had recognized the third woman as Vixen. He lowered his guard and demanded to know where she had been and what was going on, and Vixen—as reliable as always—dodged his questions by insisting King Sindric see to Inecha because her life was in danger.

  That was the first time Honroth had seen Inecha—held in Erita’s arms while Erita watched him with wary eyes. Honroth regarded the irony now, how the last time he saw Inecha was when she was held in his arms.

  Pain pulsed through his heart down his arm at the reminder of her passing, and he clenched his fist, but then he felt the familiar tingle of the handblade on his wrist. Lifting his hand, he watched the bracelet become a black gauntlet over his hand, and then he shifted his gaze around his surroundings.

  The handblade only activated when it sensed its keeper was in danger, and it often knew danger was near before the wearer realized it.

  Grateful the sword hadn’t emerged yet, Honroth lowered his hand guardedly and crept forward. Around the corner were his chambers, and he saw no guard stood in the corridor, but he wasn’t surprised; they needed all the able men for the battle. If someone waited there to attack him—well, Honroth welcomed the combat. On the battlefield he worried for his men and the result of the battle, but here it would only be himself and whoever attacked him. He hoped the assassin put up a good fight; he didn’t want to be disappointed.

  Reaching the door, he lifted his handbladed hand and watched the smooth, dark sword emerge from the bracelet. Once it was at its full length, he exhaled slowly then pushed the door open.

  He gazed around the familiar setting. Darkness pooled into his room at this late hour, but the servants had anticipated his return and had lit some torches and candles. A breeze disturbed the drapes at the closed windows, and a shadowy figure sitting behind his desk caught his attention. Lifting his handblade to the silent person, he approached but stayed a safe distance away. “Who are you, and why are you in the king’s chambers?”

  A chuckle floated through the air, and suddenly all the torches and candles in the room flared to life, brightening every corner. “Hello to you as well, King Honroth.” Honroth narrowed his eyes when he saw Countess Verddra, lounging at his desk—almost too comfortable with the setting. She picked up a document from the desk and tsked her tongue as she shook her head. “You should really sign these. Many people are waiting for simple permissions.”

  Shifting his jaw, Honroth willed himself to take a calming breath. Here sat the woman who had captured Heldon and Erita. He had no idea what had happened to Theran, but he assumed she did something to him as well. This woman was responsible for the death of Wordan and overthrowing Nirrorm. “Why are you here?” He jutted his chin, not trusting her enough to allow his handblade to resume the bracelet form. “What have you done with Heldon? And Erita and Therth?” Then he added, “And Theran.”

  With a sigh, she straightened in the chair and folded her hands on the table as she locked eyes with the king of Cuskelom. “You misunderstand me and my motives, Your Majesty. I never wished to rule Nirrorm myself, but I sought to set it free from the tyranny of King Wordan—”

  “You had no right!” Honroth sliced his sword through the air toward her but stopped short of her throat.

  She stiffened at his actions but stared at him, curious and almost daring him to follow through.

  Heaving heavy breaths, Honroth met her gaze. He wanted to finish this here and now. He wanted some form of justice in the midst of all this chaos with Jechorm, but he knew magic users. They could phase through a solid object, and Honroth already imagined the chiding smile Verddra would give him if he tried to cut off her head.

  With much effort, Honroth withdrew his handblade and tucked his hands behind his back—the safest place for them now, or he might stab someone. “I ask you again, why are you here?”

  Verddra rose to her feet with measured movements. Anything too abrupt would alarm Honroth, and she did not want him on edge. “I am here to offer you my assistance... and my army.”

  Honroth narrowed his eyes. “And why would you do that?”

  She smiled. “Because, Your Majesty...” She moved around the desk—still careful with her steps as Honroth remained on guard. “I have a personal vendetta with the Jechorm. It is my understanding that their Rakessat killed Inecha, did it not?” She raised her brows and waited for Honroth to nod. Once he did, she nodded as well and began to walk around the room while Honroth kept a close eye on her at all times. “Inecha is...well, she is the half-sister to my daughter—”

  “Fawn.”

  Verddra shot Honroth a sharp look. “Yes. How did you know that?”

  Realizing he had spoken aloud, Honroth straightened and met her gaze. “A young woman, who Vixen said was Fawn, suddenly appeared after Inecha died, and she defeated the Rakessat. Then she took Inecha’s body after claiming to be her sister. I...” He looked away, hating to admit this truth. “I never had the chance to bury her myself.”

  “You cared for her—Inecha, that is.”

  For a moment, Honroth stared at the unsigned documents on his desk. He still had much work to do, and he dismissed all this because he still had to deal with Verddra. He had no interest in allowing her full control of the situation. He also did not want to think on Inecha. It hurt too much.

  Shaking his head, he looked back at the countess, turning his back on the desk to face her, and folded his arms as the handblade returned to the bracelet form. “You wish revenge on Jechorm then? And you will aid me?” He shook his head. “You captured my brother, and you expect you can come here, offering aid without first releasing him? I have no reason to trust you.”

  “Your Majesty.” Verddra lifted her hand to halt his rant. “Things are not that simple. The reason I did not return here with Prince Heldon is because he is assisting Lady Erita, whom I have assigned as governor over the land of Nirrorm during this time of transition.”

  Honroth hesitated. He wished Inecha was here to reach out to Nirrorm and confirm Verddra’s words, but
she wasn’t, so he was clueless and had to decide what to believe. Narrowing his eyes, he regarded the countess. Though he did not trust her, he had heard of the might of her army. “You say your army will be mine to use if we join forces?”

  Verddra nodded with a charming smile. “All my men will be at your disposal—though of course I would very much prefer to sit on the war council and have a say in how the army is used.”

  “Of course you would.” Honroth thought but knew better than to say it out loud. He lifted his chin. “I wish to see this army of yours, and if I agree, then we shall meet in the council hall to discuss the terms of our alliance with the war council. For now, I must ask you to leave. A servant will show you to your chambers.”

  “My chambers—I believe you mean the chambers set aside by your father for me when I visited to train Prince Lorrek?” Verddra smiled, but she didn’t require an answer. “I know exactly where it is, and you can find me there when you have made your decision.” She bowed to him.” Your Majesty.” Then in a gust of wind, she vanished, and Honroth sighed in relief when she was gone.

  Rubbing his forehead, he paused then pulled his hand away as he realized he still wore his armor—covered in the grime of the battlefield. With a sigh, he reached up to the straps on his shoulder and began to undo the armor. Piece by piece he removed the shoulder plates, chest guard, and rubbed the now-bracelet form of his handblade. He made no effort to remove it. Instead he went to the basin beneath a looking-glass across the room and splashed his face with the cold water.

  Lifting his eyes to the mirror, he watched the water dribble down his cheek, bead at his chin, and then fall back into the basin, staining the water with blood and dirt. Yet Honroth stared past his own face into his very mind.

  He wished Lorrek was here. His little brother had a way of reading people and knowing their intentions—whether they be true or evil, yet throughout his entire reign, Honroth never had Lorrek’s counsel. He couldn’t help but wonder how different things would be if Lorrek had been there to whisper words of warning when Honroth did not see a threat.