by Levi Samuel
About the Author
Levi Samuel was born in 1986 in Elk City Oklahoma, though he was raised in Springfield Missouri. While in high school, he discovered the game, Dungeons and Dragons, as well as a Live Action Role Playing group, where he truly discovered who he was. Graduating high school, he joined the Army, but quickly realized that wasn’t the life for him. He returned home and went to work in manual labor jobs. Being a quick study, he became a skilled tradesman in a number of fields, but the quest for happiness and purpose evaded him. In 2008 he became a father and has raised his daughter by himself ever since. In 2009, he decided to write a book, which was the start to a lifelong and rewarding career. His first book was published in 2013 under a penname. He’s since established a laundry list of qualifications and achievements. Levi lives with his daughter and their cat, Alona. Though they moved in November 2018 to take care of his grandfather.
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In many ways this was my first book. I’ve learned a lot from it since I wrote the initial draft so long ago. And now that I’m able to experience the finished product, I very much enjoyed reading it. I hope you will too.
I would ask a small favor of you, dear reader. Whether you enjoy this book or not, please leave a review at your preferred online retailer. Reviews tell me how I can improve my craft. But they also help other readers to decide if they’re willing to take a chance or not.
Thank you,
Levi Samuel
Nightking Duology
Volume One
RISE
OF THE
NIGHTKINGS
Levi Samuel
ELDARLANDS©
Nightking Duology – Volume One
RISE OF THE NIGHTKINGS
Eldarlands Publishing
Copyright © 2015-2019
All rights reserved. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without express permission. You are supporting writers and allowing us to continue to publish books for every reader.
The story, cover art, and illustrations by Levi Samuel.
Genre: Fantasy / Series
ISBN: 1-7321471-9-1
ISBN-13: 978-1-7321471-9-5
Publisher's Note
Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used with expressed permission. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, and locations not covered by a release is entirely coincidental.
This work, including all characters, names, and places:
© 2019 Eldarlands Publishing, unless otherwise noted.
Find all the author’s projects at http://www.LeviSamuel.com
In memory of Kevin Edmonds
1964-2018
I didn’t have the chance to know you as your family did. But you raised a strong daughter, who has been a good friend to me. Without her, I wouldn’t have been able to write this book as I have. You will be missed.
Contents
Prologue
For Whom the Bell Tolls
Chapter I
Growing Pains
Chapter II
The Great Escape
Chapter III
A Ranger’s Call
Chapter IV
A Road Less Traveled
Chapter V
The Path to Enlightenment
Chapter VI
Birds of Prey
Chapter VII
Rumor Has It
Chapter XIII
Elves and their Tests
Chapter IX
A Final Trial
Chapter X
The Breaking
Chapter XI
The Hall of Guardians
Chapter XII
The Lost Stronghold
Chapter XIII
Creatures of the Dark
Chapter XIV
An Unexpected Ally
Chapter XV
Burying the Past
Chapter XVI
The Fractured Pieces
Chapter XVII
Misfits Company
Chapter XVIII
Storming the Keep
Chapter XIX
Trading Lives
Prologue
For Whom the Bell Tolls
A thundering quake echoed through the foundation of Icefall Citadel. There was little doubt the ramparts had fallen. Tremors grew closer, more frequent. That could only mean one thing. The resistance reached the keep.
Stuffing the final components into the pocket of her quiver, Inyalia slung it over her shoulder and quickly strode from her quarters. Her mind raced with excitement and enthusiasm. Who could have guessed they’d turn their attention toward her? The young nightking, so taken by his thirst for power since the defeat of Rezerik, had formed an alliance with the resistance. It was no surprise really. They sought to use him before the corruption became too strong. Before he’d become as dark and twisted as his predecessor. Inyalia recalled a similar station when she ascended the throne herself. But time for recollection would have to wait. She needed to flee, to fall back before the castle was overrun.
Rounding the corner, sounds of battle echoed off the stone walls, ringing out sword on sword in the distance. They’d breeched the courtyard. Inyalia calmly made her way toward the commotion, keeping an eye to the distance. The last thing she wanted was attention. Finding her query, a thick tapestry dangling from a suspended iron rod, she lifted the heavy fabric depicting a white stag skull set in a field of deep blue. A wooden door rested subtly behind it, out of sight for ages. The grain was rough and petrified, having hung in place for so long. She slowly twisted the iron latch and pressed the door inward. The rusted hinges creaked eerily, revealing a long and dark passage into the castle’s underbelly.
The cool temperature held the rancid stench at bay, but it was growing stronger in her descent. Her elevated senses didn’t help. Though it was also a blessing in times such as these. She could detect the slightest change at a moment’s notice. Sure, when faced with the lingering stench of rotting feces and discarded waste, it was a bit of a nuisance. But had her senses not been so keen, she never would have known she wasn’t alone. That knowledge was likely to see her safely from this place.
Following her internal compass, Inyalia turned east, approaching a rusted and broken grate. The stone had washed away, weakening the iron bars over time. Grabbing the metal lattice, she yanked as hard as she could. The corroded stone crumbled and the embedded bars tore free. As quiet as possible, Inyalia laid it beside the hole and crawled through.
The walls and floor were made of the same brick, packed tightly together. Though a few had fallen from their mortar here and there. The curved surface was moist and slick. It felt more like the inside of a tube than a corridor. Moss grew along the brick, tracing the grout lines where the shaped stones met. It was thick and patchy. She’d have to watch her step. A fall could potentially alert others to her presence, but that was minute compared to the dangers before her. She was familiar with this moss. The very poisons she carried had been made from it. The slightest touch could release the deadly spores, ending her escape plan long before she reached the outside world. Selecting her path, Inyalia stepped over a large patch and worked her way to the gathered water in the center. She counted her blessings. Were it not for the tunnel’s tubular shape, she’d be walking in fetid and stagnant waste. And while the incline was less than ideal, it provided a decent walking path. A mild breeze traveled through the musty tunnel, guiding her escape
.
Inyalia traveled the maze of corridors, turning left, then right, following not only the breeze but her memory of this place. It’d taken nearly two-hundred human years to memorize every twist and turn the labyrinth had to offer. Time well spent for one of her position. Her life wasn’t one of luxury. Precautions had become a second nature.
The crisp outside air rushed through the tunnel, freezing the hair inside her nose. The sticky fibers thawed with each breath. Paying close attention to the scent, Inyalia knew the trespassers weren’t far behind her. A wicked smirk formed upon her lips. If they were foolish enough to pursue her, their choice had already been made. Stepping near the glossy bricks, Inyalia waited for her target to present itself. As expected, footsteps echoed around the bend. She could see the flicker of torchlight growing closer. It betrayed them. Had she not caught their scent, the open flame would have certainly given them away. Fortunately, she didn’t require such crutches. Her eyes could perceive even the smallest light, making sight possible in everything but complete darkness. Standing perfectly still, Inyalia prepared herself, awaiting the slightest movement. Finally, a warmth caressed her. Though it wasn’t just any warmth. This was body heat, felt nearly thirty yards away. She could feel the torch too, but that was brazen. This was subtle, minute in comparison. And there were multiple sources.
Without hesitation, Inyalia kicked against the wall, sprinting along its curved slope. It was her speed that carried her. Nearing her target, she locked her fingers around the unstrung bow resting in her quiver.
Two men exited a side passage, pausing at the intersection. They were dressed for battle, and on the hunt. Their eyes widened, adjusting to the woman shrouded in darkness at the edge of their torchlight and rapidly growing closer. Unprepared, they reached for weapons.
Denying time, Inyalia was upon them. Swinging her arm as if cracking a whip, her bow came free whistling as the solid shaft impacted the closest man’s head. He toppled and dropped the torch. Landing in the muck, it sizzled and went out. Inyalia spun opposite her swing, feeling the wood flex from impact. With trained precision, she released the string and looped it around the polished notch. Her other hand drew an arrow, nocking it before the string went taut.
A solid thud impacted the man’s chest. He staggered backward, staring shocked at the thick wooden shaft protruding from him. Pain registered and he fell to his knees.
Inyalia watched the trespasser collapse. He was dead before he hit the ground. If not from her masterfully aimed shot, then from the moss’s poison coating her arrowheads. She heard more footsteps down the tunnel. Another torch came into view.
“There she is. Get her!” Two of the newcomers stepped into view, firing crossbows. Another three charged around them, swords drawn.
Inyalia spun, throwing her back against the moist wall. Bolts plinked off the stone behind her. Another arrow nocked and aimed, Inyalia felt the torque as it twisted off the string, impacting its target almost instantly.
One of the swordsmen staggered and fell face first. His weight carried him several feet, sloshing muddy waste about the place.
Nocking two arrows at once, Inyalia spaced the shafts with her finger. Cocking the bow sideways, providing a steady platform, she selected her targets. The charging swordsmen were a growing threat, but the crossbowmen were nearly ready to fire again. They were the largest threat, as they could catch her off-guard. Taking aim, Inyalia released. Both arrows found their marks. The crossbowmen, one elf, the other human, were dead before they finished loading. Slinging her bow around her torso, Inyalia drew her sword. She raised it just in time to deflect a deadly slice. Rolling her wrist, the sharpened steel cut through flesh and bone, severing the hand of her attacker.
The man screamed, grabbing his bloody nub. His sword hit the bricked floor, still clenched in his weakening grip.
Refusing mercy, Inyalia brought her sword around, severing the man’s head and silencing his screams. Twisting at the last moment, avoiding a potentially deadly blow, she felt the impact in her side. She crashed to the floor, her assailant atop her. Narrowly able to keep grip on her weapon, she bucked, throwing the man overhead. It freed her, but she was now open for attack.
The prone swordsmen scurried to find his feet. He had a small window before she’d regain the advantage.
Cautiously, the third swordsman approached the prone nightking. Sword at the ready, he stabbed, hoping to run her through before she could recover.
Inyalia rolled, swinging blindly. She needed to get back to her feet. But doing so while flanked was dangerous. Feeling her sword impact, she stole a glance. The tip had buried itself in the standing man’s ribs. She’d gotten lucky. He’d lunged at the wrong time, impaling himself upon her blade. Retracting her sword, blood and intestine fell from the wound. He’d soon be dead. But until then he was still a threat. Weighing her options, Inyalia launched her sword at the disemboweled man, releasing at the apex of her swing. She knew it was a foolish decision, but the long blade was next to useless in her current position. And getting to her feet would be difficult, if not impossible, while flanked.
The sharpened steel pierced the man’s throat, lodging itself mid-blade. Instinctively, he grabbed his neck. The sudden movement opened him wider, spilling his bowels further. Uncontrollable wheezing escaped as he suffocated and drowned at the same time. His skin turned pale with loss of blood. Staggering, he stumbled and fell forward, landing beside the prone nightking.
Inyalia stole a glance at the one who’d charged her. He was nearly on his feet, and she was unarmed. But there were still a few moments remaining. Seizing the opportunity, Inyalia grabbed hold of his dead companion. Using his weight, she rolled and launched the corpse.
The body hit the wall with a thud, rolling down the curved surface and into the remaining man’s legs. Unprepared for the sudden impact, he landed atop the body and rolled with it to the tunnel’s center.
Wasting no time, Inyalia brought her armored leg around, kicking as hard as she could. The thick heeled boot caught the man in the mouth.
A sickening pop echoed in the narrow corridor. Eyes rolling, the man collapsed, his slack face disappearing beneath the putrid sludge.
Inyalia got to her feet and approached the unconscious man. Grabbing his chainmail sleeve, she pulled him from the muck, rolling him to his back. It was one thing to kill a man in battle, but to let him drown seemed almost cruel. She looked upon him with pity. His tongue had gotten caught between his teeth and her boot. Only a sliver of useless meat kept it attached. Between that and the damage she’d inflicted, he was unlikely to ever speak again. That meant he couldn’t report her presence, provided she let him live. But life in his current state seemed almost cruel. It’d be kinder to end his misery.
An inkling of remorse coursed through her, disappearing almost as quick. She recalled a memory of a time when dealing death wasn’t so familiar. Taking a deep breath, she made her decision. Inyalia withdrew her sword from his companion. It desperately needed to be cleaned. But now was not the time. Positioning the tip, she closed her eyes, thrusting the blade quickly and keenly. It slid easily into his spine, offering only minor resistance. His body twitched as the sharpened edge destroyed everything that was left of him. A final gasp escaped, and he fell still.
Inyalia removed her sword, wiping the excess blood and grime onto one of the other bodies. She’d done enough to this one already. Smearing the single tear upon her cheek, she inspected the wet area clinging to her glove. That was all she would shed for these men, but it was more than most received. She didn’t particularly like killing, especially when they were no longer trying to kill her. But when she had to, it was best to make it as painless as possible.
Taking a deep breath, Inyalia allowed the frozen air to surround her. She liked the cold. It reminded her of what she had to do. Stealing herself, Inyalia glanced at the bodies. She couldn’t leave them like this, not so close to her exit. Any half decent tracker would be able to follow this trail straight to he
r. She had to cover things up a bit. Only then would she be able to leave undetected.
Inyalia drug the bodies to the last intersection. Strategically positioning them to remove any sign of direction or destination, while adding it elsewhere, she made the scene so confusing that anyone who stumbled upon this massacre would have no idea which direction to follow. That was all she could hope for. Covering tracks was little more than a shell game. If she had to leave a trail, leaving overwhelming options was the only way to go. And once she was through, they wouldn’t even have the breeze to follow.
The moonlight glowed bright, illuminating the labyrinth’s only escape. This was the only place in all of Irayth where the clouds didn’t completely block out the sky. That was part of why she’d claimed it. But even with the partial clearing, it wouldn’t have been so bright if not for the thick layer of powdery substance covering the ground. The northern lands had been frozen for centuries, creating an inhospitable terrain that only the strongest dared travel. It was also where the shadow had the strongest hold. But here, the mixture of ash and snow, reflected the light. It was minimal, but it seemed to keep the shadow at bey. In a world covered by a perpetual blanket of black rolling clouds under a red sky, minimal was often enough.
The night seemed almost tranquil. If not for the battle echoing in the distance, Inyalia could have enjoyed its serenity. The frozen winds brushed against her pale skin, carrying strands of dark hair about her face. Tucking it behind her pointed ears, she stepped from the sewer opening and onto the icy ledge. Turning, she grabbed hold of the iron handle protruding from the wall. It was stiff, but she’d expected as much. Giving a firm tug, the hidden gears began to clank, and a solid iron barrier began to slide into place. Within moments it completely covered the tunnel, blocking both light and air from entering. It would also mean flooding for anyone unfortunate enough to remain inside. Locking the iris into place, Inyalia turned her attention to the column of ice. Over time, the trickle of drainage had formed into a thick pillar, connecting the sewage tunnel to the frozen ground beneath.