Blade Asunder Complete Series Box Set

by Jon Kiln

  The whole castle and surrounding town was involved. Myriam wanted the people of Palara to welcome Cronos and see Mirnee once again as an ally. She would be making speeches to the armies and speeches to the town folk, and encouraging them to unite in friendship.

  The people were pleased to see their young, brave queen and her cohorts. They had come to learn that her closest advisors cared much about the kingdom of Palara. First, they had saved the princess from the coup, and then they had accompanied her to rescue her Grandmother, a fine Duchess. They loved their royal family, for they trusted that they only had the people’s best interests at heart.

  As Myriam walked amongst her people, they loved her even more. This was not some token gesture to them, but a real love for her people and kingdom. She had proven this by fighting the enemy herself and had been wounded in battle.

  Ganry observed the queen as he accompanied her around the crowds. Someone had to be with her for support, as she was still suffering from her injury. He watched her win the people over. It was just what they needed and just what she needed, too. Her caring nature shone through and the people could see it. She kissed the heads of children, hugged those who had lost loved ones with their bravery in the battle, and promised everyone they met that the future was bright.

  Myriam had won the hearts of her citizens. She had done so by showing her bravery in battle, her kindness and her wisdom. It had been a difficult time for all Palarans, but their young queen gave everyone hope.

  Sentinel

  1

  Mistress Thalia smiled with a sadistic satisfaction as she listened to the torturous screaming of the creature known as Arman. His pain was truly exquisite. There was something about witnessing the suffering of others that fulfilled her needs. Although her needs were many and it would take more than this to satisfy her completely, it would suffice for now.

  Arman had failed her. And she never gave anyone, or anything for that matter, a second chance. As soon as he returned, she had him dragged before her. He fawned and begged, but all for naught. A slow agonizing death was the fate for anyone who is useless to her.

  Hanging from the stone walls in chains, she smiled as a small flesh-eating bug was placed into one of his ears. It quickly scurried out of sight, disappearing inside his body and eating its way through Arman’s brain. The bug was small and it would take a while for it to resurface out the other side, but Thalia did not mind. The cries of pain fed her like a bountiful feast, and she licked her lips in satisfaction.

  Any unfortunate enough to enter these chambers as a prisoner would soon find a long, slow and painful demise awaiting them. Here, in this dungeon of despair in the underworld, there were many opportunities to deal out death. Some slow, and excruciatingly painful, like the flesh-eating bug that fed on Arman’s brain. Others quicker, like the deep pit in the center of the chamber, its bottom already littered with the bones of hundreds of creatures who had perished in the fall. She had considered skinning Arman alive, but he was an Akkedis lizard creature with thick scaly hide. Skinning one of those was near on impossible.

  The huge green lizard-man had been chained with his two rear legs hanging down. His limbs stretched to the maximum, so his joints were probably broken and disjointed by now. Droplets of blood ran from his eyes and ears as he writhed in thick chains.

  She had tolerated Arman when he had been a willing and able slave, but he deserved his fate. It had taken all her power and strength to open up a portal to transport him to the Kingdom of Palara. Once there, he was to help kidnap the albino child, kill him, and bring her a vial of his blood so she could then perform the ritual. He had failed her miserably. This wretch of an albino was becoming troublesome, even thought he was just a child. She had lost her trusted High Priestess, Ravyyne, and now her witches were in chaos, lost without a leader.

  Leaning back in her thick cushioned chair, she enjoyed the screams and wails of misery that filled the chamber. It was not just from Arman, but the many other wretched creatures that were in the underworld. Some left to rot as they also hung in chains, while others were being tortured. It was music to her ears; a serenade of agonizing screams and grunts, blood curdling cries of torment. The stench of death and blood hung heavily in the air. She breathed it in, luxuriating in the aroma.

  “Mistress! I found out about the scrolls and what will happen on his first decade!” Arman cried out, his voice hoarse from his screaming. “Surely that makes me a deserving servant?”

  “Fool!” she screeched. “I asked you for his blood. Because of you I have to wait two years before I can make my next move. Besides, it is too late now. The worm is in your brain and it will not surface until it eats its way through to the other ear. By then, my dear Arman, you will be truly dead.”

  Arman fell silent, resigned to his fate. Here he would die, in this god forsaken place. His brain to be eaten from the inside out. There was no point in screaming out for mercy, as she nourished on others’ agony. No, he would slip into matarat, a meditative state that only Akkedis could achieve. Slowly his own organs would shut down until he died. He consoled himself with one thought: the boy was stronger than even she imagined. With any luck, one day, he would be her undoing.

  Thalia looked curiously at Arman as he hung there, now completely silent. Was he dead already? No, she had not sensed his passing. That was the best part. She would experience an exquisite shiver down her spine, as she soaked in some of the power of his passing soul. He was still alive, but somehow his presence had gone. Standing up from her chair, she strolled over to the slumped lizard-man. He was still breathing, though it was shallow. His normally bright scales were dull and pallid. Sensing that his mind was gone, Thalia knew that somehow he had managed to escape her full wrath. He had used the matarat, the wily creature. She’d forgotten that the Akkedis could do that.

  “If only you could have been as resourceful on the other side, Arman,” she said quietly, before lashing out with her hands. Extended finger nails cut cleanly through the thick skin of the Akkedis’s throat, severing his windpipe and jugular. He did not flinch or cry out as his life’s blood flowed from his neck. A crimson waterfall cascaded down his body and into the gutters at his feet. There it ran along channels, into a great vat of blood stored underneath the chamber.

  The store of blood was the source of nourishment for the creatures that lived in the underworld. Some thrived on it, gorged on it, and without it, mayhem would ensue. The lowly idiots would resort to killing each other in a frenzy to feed. The one who controlled the flow of blood held all the power of this world. At this moment in time, it was Mistress Thalia who was firmly in control.

  She sat back down and mused on her next move. Her witches’ coven was leaderless and scattered in disarray. If only she could go to that world herself, but she had been banished hundreds of years ago. All this time she had waited patiently for an albino child of the right bloodline, so she could be released, and finally one was born. But, it seemed she was surrounded by fools, unable to do one simple task for her. At least, thanks to Arman, she now had hope when the boy turned ten.

  Perhaps she should not have killed Arman, after all.

  2

  All Kingdoms that surrounded Mirnee were coming together in celebration of the first decade of the Emperor’s young son. There was to be a grand party, and the day had been decreed a holiday so all could celebrate. Since helping to save his kingdom from the witches’ coven, Cronos had become a popular and well liked child. Although young in years, he carried himself with a confidence that belied his age. He was growing up fast, thankfully. His father, Emperor Nestor Fontleroy, had not fully recovered from the cruelty he had suffered in the dungeons, and by the betrayal of his trusted friend, General Jeon. Nestor still ruled, but no one could be certain for how much longer.

  The celebration was not only for Cronos’s birthday, but also to strengthen relationships between his neighbors. The recent cruel and difficult war with Palara had left wounds still raw, and bridges needed to be bui
lt. This would be a great opportunity for the two kingdoms to come together in happier times.

  Cronos was particularly looking forward to greeting visitors from the Kingdom of Palara. These were the people who had helped save his life. Queen Myriam was so very beautiful and her Knight, Sir Artas Holstein, along with her favorite advisor and Artas’s mentor, Ganry de Rosenthorn, had all played an important part in his life. Two years ago, he had been forced to hide in their kingdom, away from the rogue witches who were attempting to take over Mirnee.

  It was during these events that he had gained his own two personal guards, Torno, the man who could change to a wolf, and Rochmyr, the giant. They returned with him and remained his trusted advisors. Men he respected and loved.

  Torno had become the leader of his personal guards. He was a seasoned fighter with an amazing ability to collect intelligence. One day he would lead Mirnee’s armies, when Cronos became emperor. Rochmyr was his bodyguard, and went with him everywhere. Though it had proved somewhat awkward and comical at times, having a ten foot tall man shadowing a small boy, but Rochmyr insisted on never letting Cronos out of his sight. They had all three become true friends and faithful companions.

  Cronos was on his way to see Druid Azmariddian, perched on Rochmyr’s shoulders. The shaman had been researching through ancient scrolls on the Emperor’s lineage. He was hoping to uncover what ability Cronos would gain on his first decade of life. Legend had it that with each decade, the albino would gain a special power, so he could serve and protect his people. No one really knew if this was true or not as Cronos was the first albino in centuries. Every day, under Azmariddian’s instructions, he would practice his present special skills: seeing through another creatures’ eyes and being able to control small animals by thought. He was yet to try this out on a person but the thought made him uncomfortable. Controlling an animal was one thing, but a human?

  Arriving at the druid’s home, he followed the stone stairway that climbed up to the top of a round tower. This was a building with no windows, except at the very top, where it boasted a huge domed glass roof.

  “Azmariddian, are you here?” he shouted out as he entered the workshop under the glass dome.

  In the center of the stone room was a long wooden table, covered in books. Asleep in a chair, his head resting on the table, was Azmariddian.

  Smiling mischievously, Cronos crept quietly upon the sleeping druid, and yelled into his ear, “Azmariddian!”

  “What? What?” the druid cried out, startled. His head turned this way and then that, before he spotted Cronos standing before him, smiling.

  “Yes, young master, very funny. You will be the death of me one day with your practical jokes.”

  “You’ve got to do something about that, Azmariddian.” Cronos laughed as he sat in the chair next to the old man’s. “You are always sleeping these days.”

  “I’m old, I need my rest. Looking through all these books is hard work on my poor head.”

  “Yes, yes,” Cronos cried excitedly, anticipating what the druid might have found. Maybe he would be able to fly, or disappear even. He could have fun with that.

  “Did you find anything?”

  “Ah yes, my boy. It’s good news, I believe,” he said, and then shut his eyes.

  Cronos shook him before he fell asleep again.

  “I know you were a master druid in my father’s time, but all I ask is that you stay awake long enough to tell me the information you’ve found from the scrolls,” Cronos said.

  “Yes, boy, yes, I was a master. I was a genius, you know, but alas, I grow tired, in my old age,” Azmariddian replied. “Now then, let’s have a look,” he said, standing up and rummaging around the scrolls on the table. Yes, here it is. It seems you are to have a spirit guide, that’s it.”

  “What exactly is a spirit guide?” Cronos dared to ask, slightly puzzled.

  “It should be one of your ancestors, maybe even one of the albinos from the past. Someone who will guide you, help you to control your special abilities as they develop. Advise you on the ruling of your kingdom.”

  “Is that it?” Cronos exclaimed, a little underwhelmed by the news.

  “This is a great gift, Cronos, do not be disappointed. In this life we are always learning, my boy. Even I. You can never have enough knowledge about anything, and having someone or something to help impart that knowledge will be useful.”

  “I suppose so,” Cronos said, a little sulkily. “I thank you, Azmariddian, for taking the time to learn this information. I look forward to meeting my spirit guide.”

  “Very well, boy, off you go then. Let me have some peace and quiet. Always talking you are, always asking me questions. An old man needs his rest.”

  The old man muttered to himself as Cronos left the room and walked down the stairwell to his bodyguard, Rochmyr. This was one of those places that he could not enter, because of the narrow stairwell.

  “Why so glum, Master Cronos?” he asked when he saw the young man coming down the stone stairwell.

  “Nothing, Rochmyr. I just didn’t get the news I’d hoped for. Come, let’s return to the palace and prepare for our guests.”

  3

  “Cronos, it is good to see you again, my friend,” Lord Artas said, as he greeted the boy.

  “And you too, Artas. I am so happy you could all make it to this important stage in my life.” Cronos was genuinely pleased to see his friends from the Kingdom of Palara.

  “Queen Myriam, you honor me with your presence.” Cronos bowed respectfully to the Queen of Palara.

  “Nonsense, Cronos, we wouldn’t have missed this for anything. It is us who are honored, and look how tall you are now,” she replied, genuinely happy to see him grown so big and healthy.

  “Welcome back to the land of your birth, Ganry,” Cronos greeted the Queen’s personal bodyguard. “I hope this visit is more to your liking than the last one.”

  “I’m sure it will be, young master,” Ganry replied. “I am pleased to see you and your father in such good health. Long may it continue.”

  “We’d like you to meet Hendon,” Queen Myriam introduced her close friend, the forest dweller. “He’s somewhat mysterious, just like you, Cronos. I think you two will get along just fine.”

  Cronos stepped forward to shake the hand of the stranger dressed in a long dark cloak. For some reason, he reminded him of a tree. He had a brown beard and thick wavy brown hair. His face was stern and serious looking, but he had kindly brown eyes, soft and gentle, and trustworthy.

  “Any friend of Palara is a friend to this kingdom too,” Cronos said, diplomatically. “I am very pleased to meet you, Hendon of Palara.”

  Hendon had been amazed when he saw the boy. He had been informed of his striking appearance, but he was still taken aback at first sight. Everything about him was so very pale; white hair, twinkling white eyes framed with white eyelashes, pale fingers topped with white finger nails and very pale white skin.

  “Ah, so you are Cronos,” Hendon took his hand. “I have heard so much about you. For such a young one, you have caused quite a stir. And, my word, you have an aura about you that is quite stunning.”

  “Do I? Well, it is a special day for me today,” the boy continued to smile. He liked Hendon for his honesty. “It seems I am to meet my spirit guide, so maybe that is the aura you see.”

  “Yes, you must tell me more of this. I used to have my own spirit guide, of sorts. I thought of him as a wizard. He taught me many things that we construe as the magical arts.”

  “Oh no, you two are not getting into that,” Duchess D’Anjue interrupted. “There will be time for proper introductions later. Come along now, Cronos, your father has arrived and he’ll be expecting you to attend to him.”

  Cronos liked the Duchess, and he liked the new stranger, Hendon. He almost felt reluctant to drag himself away from his Palaran guests, but he must be with his father, the Emperor, for his ceremonial event. It was his father who would lead the ritual today, reciting t
he words that would bestow on him the new skills he was to inherit. Already, he had received the dragon’s eye tattoo on his shoulder, the first stage in this process. The dragon’s eye would allow his spirit to see into his world. They had learned all of this from the scrolls, but exactly what was to happen today was still shrouded in mystery. Now it was so close, he felt a tinge of excitement.

  Thinking of his soon to be spirit guide reminded him of Shaman Grecia, the wolf woman from the far reaches of Palara. She would be attending, but could not be here for the actual ceremony. It clashed with one of their own celebrations. He felt an affinity with Grecia. Together they had managed to kill the leader of the witches’ coven. The witches had tried to capture him for his albino blood, which they needed to free their banished witch Queen.

  “It is almost time my son, are you ready for this next stage in your life?” His father approached, carrying the ceremonial gown Cronos was to wear.

  “I am ready, father,” Cronos replied, leaving his lingering thoughts behind.

  They walked together to the holy chamber where the ceremony was to be held. Despite his assurances to his father, he still felt a little nervous. There had been no albino born in hundreds of years, so none were certain what to expect. How would the spirit guide interact with him? Would it be a voice inside his head? Was this spirit to live inside his mind? So many unknown factors, but he still wished to continue, as was his birth right. It couldn’t be all that bad if it had been accepted before by his ancestors.

  They entered the holy chamber, a room built of crystal glass. His spirits rose at the sight of so many friends and he drew strength from their presence. He looked from the altar, where the ritual was to take place, to the friendly audience, and there stood a large dark skinned man, next to Ganry. This must be Qutaybah of Vandemland. He had never met him, but had heard many good things of him as a rich trader with his lands.