Contents
Title Page
Prologue - Scribe Notes
Chapter 1 - Dawn
Chapter 2 - Nerído
Chapter 3 - Summons
Chapter 4 - War
Chapter 5 - Salvation
Chapter 6 - The Healing
Chapter 7 - A Warning
Chapter 8 - New World Order
Chapter 9 - The Two Houses
Chapter 10 - The Plan
Chapter 11 - The Battle for Arcanon Major
Chapter 12 - Double Cross
Aftermath
The Battle for Arcanon Major
(The Lost Dacomé Files #1)
by Alexandra May
© Alexandra May 2013
Published by Pauma Publishing
A SCIENCE FICTION FANTASY
ALEXANDRA MAY ASSERTS THE MORAL RIGHT TO BE IDENTIFIED AS THE AUTHOR OF THIS WORK.
This book is entirely a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
Except for use in any review no part of this e-book/publication may be reproduced, extracted, photocopied, recorded or otherwise circulated without the prior permission of the author.
Alexandra May can be contacted at www.alexandramay.co.uk
or by email at [email protected]
Before the people shall be free
Three tyrant rulers shall she see.
Three rulers in succession be
Each springs from different dynasty.
Mother Mary Shipton – Prophecies
For Stuart
File #1 - An account of the Battle of Arcanon Major during the 71st Dynasty of Capíok Dacomé, Ruler of Xiryathon
as told by Halíka Dacomé to Scribe Welíjka
Scribe Notes
Our home, Xiryathon, lies in the Arcaneda system and is the closest of four planets that orbit twin suns. The now stark, barren landscape covering the globe was once an industrial metropolis. War, sands, and decay have eaten away at our once-thriving cities leaving us, the Elementals, on the brink of extinction. The rich interior core that our planet was renowned for, the Xerilium—hard, strong, unyielding mined metal—was the main source of interplanetary barter and revenue for many years, but our mines now lay unworkable and as unfruitful as the land above.
Civil war has ravaged Xiryathon for twenty-seven years. Our enemy, the inferior Primord race, has been fighting for an end to the Elemental monarchic rule. Though our races have existed together on the same sphere, we are vastly different. Elementals are an advanced, gifted, superior race of beings, whereas the Primords are not. Squat, malformed, and almost creaturelike in character, the Primords now only take pleasure in the chaos that war provides.
For eons the Primords have accepted the passive good nature of the Elemental ruling class, and have been treated and judged fairly in all aspects of life by their more advanced neighbours.
But the psyche of the Primords has changed in more recent decades. They hunger for control, power, and want nothing more than to end their minority ruling. They savour the taste of bloodshed. They destroy everything that lies in their path. The other larger cities of the planet were left in ruin; the small towns on the edge of the plains were destroyed. Elemental families who lived outside the protective walls of Arcanon Major were slaughtered, their homes razed to the ground.
And the Primords gloried in the carnage.
We stand on the brink. The final conflict that will leave Xiryathon an anarchic wasteland if the Primords finally win, with the ultimate reward being the total annihilation of the Elemental race.
Only one bright city, one small dominion remains unscathed from the terrible destruction, but the population is ever declining and we are losing hope. The inner city of Arcanon Major, supreme capital of Xiryathon, is now under siege. All that is left of the Elemental reign now lies here. The twin rows of barricades that circle the inner city are sturdy and well built but remain the only defense for the Elementals. It is only a matter of time before the barricades are breached.
The Elemental army of just four thousand will fight an army over six hundred thousand strong. The Primords are aware that their greatest advantage comes in an Edict written in the 68th Dynasty by Fontíoc Dacomé, an historic Elemental ruler.
In the proclamation, written after a personal tragedy, Fontíoc Dacomé declares that all Elementals are forbidden to use their magical abilities in the time of war.
Battles, the Edict affirms, should be won using only the mettle and brawn of men. Victory can only be deserved if the bravest of all fight with stealth, strength, and honour. Any man caught using magical abilities will face the penalty of dismemberment or incarceration, a choice that only trial can decide. All lands, titles, and rights will also be forfeit to the State.
In four thousand years, no man has dared to violate the Edict, until the Battle of Arcanon Major.
Halíka Dacomé resides in prison, awaiting news that will change her life forever—exile—and I, Scribe Lydnet Welíjka, will now tell her story.
Chapter 1 - Dawn
“Blink.”
“What?”
“You never blink.”
“I can’t afford to blink, I might miss something.”
Jerik scratched his stubbly chin. “That’s not true and you know it. This breeze’ll dry out your eyes the more you stare, that’s all.”
I swept my copper hair off my shoulder and glanced momentarily at my brother. Jerik Dacomé was seven years my junior. Much to his dismay he spent most of his time kept away from the heavy action—for good reason. Being here on this embankment was a novelty for him. For me it was an everyday routine.
As the brisk morning wind flicked at our hair, it was hard to believe how much he’d grown up since joining the 5th Legion only a year ago. He was no longer the small boy I wanted to shield from danger. He was almost my height, and almost a man.
A sudden gust pushed a stray lock across his black eyelashes hiding emerald eyes, so like my own. With confident grace, he secured it back into its tidy leather thong.
“Little brother, you fuss too much. Are you so keen to get back to the 5th Corridor?” I said sarcastically and smirked. “I’ll have Orelían drag you back, you know I will.”
“All I’m saying is that you’ll damage your lenses. This dust and sand gets everywhere. I’m just looking out for you.” He let out a deep sigh, defeated, not catching the wit in my voice.
“My lenses are fine. Stop worrying. Anyway, there’s nothing to see yet. But I must remain vigilant, Jerik. The Primords will be on us sooner than I’d like. I have to be ready the moment they appear.” Guilt was an emotion I wasn’t used to but I was aware that I’d stamped on his feelings. “I’m used to this. This is what I do,” I said softly.
“Sorry, Hally,” he shrugged absently. His courage made me laugh. Nobody was allowed to call me Hally but him. “You know I meant no disrespect.”
Sniffing into the air and smelling nothing out of the ordinary, I smiled broadly. “Don’t be sorry. It’s nice knowing you care,” I whispered back.
At last Jerik’s face lifted into a tender smile. A smile that was meant only for me.
I am Halíka Dacomé, daughter of Capíok and Alíanka Dacomé (now deceased) and sister to Jerik Dacomé.
My name was a court title in itself. The last name Dacomé signified the royal bloodline. We had no use for standard royalty titles as the other planets in our alliance used. Dacomé names were created to be spoken together—Halíka Dacomé—reveren
tly and respectfully. First names only were considered the worst condescension and carried a heavy penalty for disloyalty to the Crown.
If Jerik had called me Hally when my father was around, the boy would’ve been flogged for betraying the royal code. I allowed a few close friends to call me diminutives but they were careful enough to use it when my father or any other dignitary was out of earshot. Personally, I disliked the royal code and its pointless rules. It wasn’t as if someone had stolen anything, or hurt anyone intentionally. Still, I had to lead by example. And until my father relinquished his throne, the rule stood.
As daughter of our ruler, I grew up in the crossfire of an ongoing war. As a young child I would sit on my mother’s knee, watching the Skeptics debate in the War Rooms. From the age of four and encouraged by my mother, instead of playing with ribbons and posies like the other girls of nobility, I eagerly grasped a sword, knife, or glaive in one hand, a shield in the other. By choice, the art of weaponry and warfare was my only schooling. Until I was old enough for the real thing. All I’d ever wanted to be was a great warrior, to ultimately lead my people into victorious battles.
On my sixteenth birthday and now considered an adult, I was granted my greatest wish. By order of the Arcan, the most senior Council of the City and as a birthday gift from my father, I was given absolute authority over the Arcanon army.
In my new role as Legion Overlord, the captains and soldiers soon learned to trust my natural instincts and skill. Even the old-timers, those of the Old Elite who’d seen more wars than most. The mantle of being the youngest ever Overlord, and a woman, had been a heavy one in the beginning.
But war was never over, merely an ever-changing, evolutionary cycle. Like the ebb and flow of a tide. Never the same a second time.
An end to this war was long overdue and I craved something I had never known with all my heart.
Peace.
My father finally saw his great reign as a failure when we lost the other Xiryathon cities one by one. The Primords had overtaken and assumed control easily. The loss of our people living in those cities was devastating. Capíok Dacomé was more broken now than he had ever been. He no longer had the luxury of his people’s confidence and his authority was growing weaker every day. He kept himself isolated in the palace, rarely seeing Xiryathon’s one last stronghold with his own eyes, too scared to be amongst the people he ruled. To him, he would lose nothing because he had nothing to lose anymore.
I missed my mother more than anything. Her kindness and strength, her optimism and infallible faith in me. Her death, at Jerik’s birth, had maimed me like nothing ever had. When my father laid his eyes on me, I knew he saw a replication of her, and he disliked me for that reason. His relationship with Jerik had always been strained. Whether blame was behind my father’s reserve, I wasn’t sure, but both Jerik and I remained dutiful. We were both taught from a young age that a kingdom is not just a king. A kingdom is the people, and they needed our strength to guide them through these dark days.
The people only had faith in one person now: me. I led my soldiers into battle again and again. Yes, soldiers died and there was no going back from that. But every battle we won, the people’s hope lifted. I saw it in their eyes when I walked through the city streets. They still clung to a sliver of hope and while they held it in their hearts, I did my best every day not to let them down. We could not lose hope; it was all we had left.
In reality, I had lost more hope than most. In a way, I had lost who I really was.
Underneath my toughened and proud exterior, I mourned greatly when my colleagues, friends, and allies were cut down in a fight. All were exceptional men and women who I would miss. The years of war had made me resilient to the misery and suffering that went hand in hand with battle, but my stonelike manner made people who didn’t know me well uneasy. That’s what it took to be an Overlord.
The soldiers who fought for me would never dare call me anything but my full name.
Chapter 2 - Nerído
“Jerik, once the fight starts, you will return to Captain Orelían, understood?”
He squinted. “I’ve been thinking about that. I know you mean well, but for once, will you let me stay with you?”
“We’ve been through this already.” I narrowed my eyes at him. “Remaining here isn’t an option. The 1st Corridor is too dangerous, brother. You are the sole heir to the throne. I cannot afford to have you here. Father will never forgive me if you get hurt.”
He let out a huff but pushed his shoulders back to stand straighter. “Father doesn’t even notice my existence. I’m just his heir, nothing more. All he cares about is what the Skeptics whisper into his ear.” Jerik folded and flexed his hand, as if to animate a puppet’s mouth.
I scoffed, knowing he was right, but Jerik still needed to know his part in all this was important to the people. “That’s not true. Father does love you. But while you’re here on my battleground, it’s my duty to protect you. I can’t do that and fight at the same time.”
“So who protects you?”
I winced. “Nobody needs to protect me.”
“You need protecting more than any of us. What happens if you die? Who leads our armies?” I scowled, not entirely sure where he was going with this. “But he’s not here to do it, is he?”
Now Jerik was making me angry. “Now is not the time to discuss that. Just leave it alone.”
Our last was spoken silently using mind-speak. A few of our race were gifted and could use it if we chose to. As Jerik and I were of the royal line, we had that ability, but my cousin Cary did not. Mind-speak was useful but sometimes it was just easier to speak aloud and not exclude the ones without the gift. When Jerik and I were together, he preferred to speak in my head where no one else could hear. Getting into his discussion about Nerído Xipilé was far from our priority. The truth was that I did wish Nerído Xipilé were here at the end of it all. Now more than ever.
The ruler of our nearest planet Pyrhon, Nardin Xipilé, had been close friends with my father, a kinship of kings, you might call it. Since childhood, Nerí visited us sometimes for days, but often for weeks when his father visited on state business.
The only time I would beg my mother for time away from training or school was when I heard of an impending visit. She had a soft heart and would always accept, knowing it was the only absence my teachers would ever mark me down for. I wasn’t one for shunning my studies or sword practice and was always quick to catch up after.
Even though we lived in perpetual wartime, Nerí and I always shared an easy, virtually carefree time together despite his being three years older than I was. We played in and around the city as children, chasing each other or playing tag around the market stalls. We climbed trees that grew in-between the corridors to view sparrow hawk eggs in the highest branches, gazing at them for hours, hoping a small beak would crack the shell from the inside. Our favourite place to visit was in the Ulnek Mountains. We could only go during a truce-time with the Primords. To do so at any other time was too dangerous. In the mountains we could walk, climb, or lie in the tundra, run in the green meadows high up between the narrow peaks and pick rare flowers for my mother.
Once, my mother arranged a camping expedition for the three of us. We trekked through the safe zone over the plains towards the Mystric Sea and sheltered during a thunderstorm, snuggling in the small forest and hiding in the hollows of trees when our camp became too waterlogged.
Nerído Xipilé never treated me like a soft girl. He never once thought a rock face was too hard for me to climb. If I ever fell, he would pick me up, dust me off, and tell me that he would have fared no better in the same circumstances. He always made me want to strive harder, better, or faster than before.
Those childhood days were so precious to me. In all my young years, I’d never had a friend quite like Nerí. That didn’t include my cousin Cary or my other two royal friends, Avíra and Sanátu, but Cary was family and with Avíra and Sanátu my friendship was close but d
ifferent somehow. I’d made a few friends at the palace but being the daughter of the king always had its drawbacks. Other girls didn’t understand me and frowned with horror at my calloused hands and scarred knees. Boys treated me like a girl and would laugh when they saw me train. Name calling became commonplace when they sat on the high walls of the training barracks, mocking and jeering, but my sword master always shooed them away when I threatened to turn my sword on them. When Nerí visited, it made all the dark days of war seem full of light again. He was the light that helped me endure the loneliness I sometimes couldn’t escape. And during wartime, I would think of him often.
It was almost a year to the day since our last meeting. Their vessel arrived during the last truce. Nardin was consulting with my father on the progress of our dismal war against the Primords. Nerído was not the heir-apparent—only third in succession so not expected to attend the state meetings or dinners. Instead, he’d sought me out from the war chambers. He gave me a perfect excuse for a long-needed furlough and we’d spent the entire three weeks of the truce-time together.
Another royal code, the rules governed strictly by my father, dictated that Nerí and I could never be together—or marry, even—so any union other than friendship was forbidden. My mother explained when I was younger that I would eventually be expected to marry a Dacomé-born Skeptic or an esteemed member of the Arcan. Dacomés never diluted the ancestral line as had happened on the other three planets. Our bloodline remained the purest.
But despite the rules, my companionship with Nerído grew during those three weeks and we became much closer. Like a natural mutual admiration from afar. While walking through the town, he asked my opinion on planetary matters far beyond my station of Overlord and nodded in agreement at the opinions I gave from a warrior’s point of view. My heart skipped as his eyes glistened with wonder while I spoke steadily of my last skirmishes, or when I recalled a tale of my adventures into the crumbling Arcanon Minor district. Over supper we talked and laughed by candlelight into the small hours of the morning, not wanting to return to our rooms and to the loneliness that lay behind closed doors. In Nerí’s company, I became Halíka Dacomé, the young woman, not the Overlord of the Arcanon army. With Nerí I felt free.
The Battle for Arcanon Major (The Lost Dacomé Files) Page 1