The Fall of Shaylar

by River Fairchild

  The Fall of Shaylar

  A prequel to the

  Jewels of Chandra series

  River Fairchild

  Copyright ©2014 by River Fairchild

  All rights reserved.

  Smashwords Edition

  First edition published May, 2014

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Cover art and jacket design ©2014 by Erin Dameron-Hill, Award-Winning Graphic Artist

  http://edameronhill.wix.com/edhgraphics

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Acknowledgements

  To my family

  Thank you for all your support and understanding when I talk to my characters more than to you.

  To my four-footed babies

  It doesn’t help when you walk across my keyboard but I appreciate your enthusiasm.

  To my awesome readers

  I love you all. Sharing my stories with you gives them purpose and meaning. Without you, they’d merely be words on paper. Thank you for your generous support and I hope you’ll come along with me on this incredible journey.

  I love being an independent author, able to publish stories that cross genres. One challenge, though, is promotion. If you’ve enjoyed this book, please consider leaving a review on Goodreads or one of the online bookstores. Your show of support makes a big difference.

  Table of Contents

  Map

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  About River Fairchild

  Other Books by River Fairchild

  Untethered Realms

  Map of the Kingdoms of Chandra

  Chapter One

  Two Princes

  Kingdom of Shaylar, harvest season, 467th year of the Celaka

  The gren circled high overhead, the large scavenger scouting the valley for prey, expanding its vast wings to their fullest as it swept the area. Narmek watched it from the road for a moment, then let his gaze travel over the fields, ripe with the new harvest. Some of the peasants out there would stop working now, either cowering in fear or kneeling in the dirt, seeking protection from whatever ill omen they thought the bird possessed. A superstition he hoped would pass from legend with time. It did his people no good to worry about such an ordinary creature, no matter how huge it might be or how fearsome it looked. Narmek smiled as he privately admitted to needing his own advice. He’d been raised on the same fables as the rest of the people.

  He rode on, seeing the large diamond embedded in the massive stone wall sparkling in the noonday sun, its brilliance centered within the symbol of his Ruling House—an open hand, with a crescent moon and diamond resting within its palm. The symbol represented the peaceful reign of Shaylar. Witnessing it gave Narmek great comfort as he trotted his horse through the open gate and started up the hill to the castle proper. He could see workers hanging precariously out the windows of the high towers and chuckled. Nothing was too difficult to attempt, according to them, even stringing banners from unlikely places. Narmek appreciated their excitement over the impending birth of the new heir. They were almost as anxious as he, for the child would be his first.

  He handed his reins off to the Master of the Horse and hurried inside to the Queen’s private rooms, high in one of the many towers. Meelate greeted him with a smile as he crossed over to the bed and kissed her hand.

  “How is my lovely wife today?” He saw the blush of her cheeks and a wince as she shifted positions.

  “Don’t let me go outside. I may roll down the mountain.”

  “Are you in pain? I could fetch the midwife…” His alarm rose each time she grimaced lately, though she repeatedly assured him all was well.

  “I’m fine. Really. Though I’d gladly trade places with you right now.”

  “I think not!” He laughed and tried to dismiss the tension from his long limbs. The Queen looked in good health, her long, dark hair loose and spilling down over her shoulders like a headdress made from the finest silk. Her green eyes glinted with a hint of mischief. Only the dark circles under her eyes betrayed the strain.

  “The servants have been in all morning, discussing plans for the feast. I’m fairly worn from all the decisions. And the priest came by…” She winced again, her face contorting into a frown.

  “You’re not well. I’ll tell Cook to take care of the details.”

  “It’s nothing. The midwife said to expect the twinges.” She reached out to pat his hand but couldn’t lean forward enough to touch him.

  “What did the priest want?” he asked as he moved closer to her.

  “I don’t know.” She gazed off into the distance and wrinkled her nose. Her hand stroked the diamonds at her throat as if willing the magic contained within the stones to give her comfort. Narmek’s hand went to his torque in response, the amulet of his House cool against his fingertips.

  “He was nervous,” she said. “Wringing his hands. It’s depressing to be in his presence. All that black. Black robe, black torque around his neck—he sucks the light from the room when he enters. He’s a blight of darkness.”

  “He said nothing?” Narmek wasn’t fond of the dour priest and tried to avoid him. Lately the man acted more strangely than usual, gathering his oracles in the garden instead of inside the temple, as if he wanted to make his presence known for all to see. The thought occurred to Narmek that the oracles might have had a vision about the birth. Narmek’s blood chilled in his body. He felt cold all over.

  Nonsense. His imagination only proved his excitement, nothing more.

  “He said good morning. Delivered the Old Ones’ blessings and left.” Meelate shook her head and smiled up at him. “I was glad to be rid of him so easily.”

  “I’ll speak to him. Tell him not to disturb you anymore.” He kissed her on the cheek. “Rest now.”

  Narmek strode from the room, an unease crawling along his spine like bony fingers tapping at his backbone. He stepped out onto a balcony and basked in the sunshine until warm again.

  The green valley far below glowed in the light. Peace reigned in the land and it showed as happy peasants went about their day, greeting each other while carts wheeled past on their way to market. They didn’t mind being lowborn, without the magic of the highborn nobility. As King, he made sure they knew their own worth and value to the Kingdom.

  The fragrance of apples drifted along the soft breeze and he inhaled deeply, savoring the smell. It reminded him of earlier days when he was a boy. He’d climb the trees in the orchard out back and eat apples while hidden in the branches, snickering when his nurse came outside and called his name over and over again until she gave up. She’d go back inside the castle to complain to his mother, who’d come out to find him sitting quietly by the door, studying his lesson sheets.

  A shadow passed over him and N
armek looked up at the single cloud blocking the sun. The gren streaked past, seeming to aim its ugly head directly at him, as if contemplating a dive onto the balcony. Narmek felt a moment’s disorientation; his vision blurred and he closed his eyes for a brief time. When he opened them again, the bird was gone.

  Superstition. Leave it be.

  The chill came back. He turned and went inside, determined to shake off his unsettled mood and have a word with the priest.

  Narmek found the man in the garden, kneeling in front of the ancient statue of the Old Ones, the headless sculpture of stone towering over him.

  “I’d have a word with you, Priest.”

  The older man rose, his head bowed as he faced him. “Yes, Your Majesty? I’m at your service always.”

  Narmek noticed the man’s hands trembled as he clasped them together in front of him.

  “The Queen needs her rest. I’d request she not be disturbed.”

  “I…yes, Your Majesty. I apologize for my thoughtless intrusion.”

  “Was there something you needed to speak to her about? It’s not your habit to enter the Queen’s rooms.” Narmek watched the priest jerk his head up, eyes wide. The whites of them seemed the milky pools of the dead. The man blinked and Narmek saw only normal eyes of the living once more. The phantom fingers scuttled up his back again, an unease imparted through their sequence of tapping.

  “Nothing, Your Majesty. Only blessings for the birth.”

  “And your oracles have nothing to tell you?” Narmek pressed, his apprehension growing rather than shrinking.

  “Nothing of importance, Your Majesty. An uncertainty far off in the future. Perhaps it’s a failure with the crops. Nothing to report.” The priest looked up at the statue. His lips moved slightly but no sound emerged.

  Narmek grunted. “Very well then.”

  He turned away, agreeing with Meelate’s assessment. The man was a blight of darkness. Cook came running toward him, a welcome interruption as he left the priest to his prayers.

  “Your Majesty,” the gangly man bobbed and swayed as he tried to bow and trot up to him at the same time before skidding to a halt. Narmek smiled at Cook’s enthusiasm and nodded. “The feast be ready one day after you give word. There be plenty to help the glad preparations.”

  “Thank you, Cook. Your joy is most welcome.”

  The man bobbed again and took off running. Narmek thought it must be how the man stayed so skinny. No meat on his bones at all. He patted his own midsection. Still muscled but perhaps going soft. If he had a boy things will be different. He’d need to stay in shape so he could teach the young prince to swing a sword and hunt. To rule the Kingdom after he was gone.

  What maudlin thoughts are these? I’m expecting a child yet thinking of my own funeral? It was the gren. And the priest. And worry over Meelate’s condition. Nothing more. No portent. No oracle spewing dire predictions of death.

  He’d no sooner entered the castle when his wife’s Lady in Waiting walked up to him and curtsied, her plain face radiant with joy.

  “It’s time, Your Majesty. The midwife is with Her Grace now.”

  Heat and ice took turns flushing his face. His palms grew damp and he wiped them on his cloak.

  “Thank you for informing me.” His voice sounded strangled even to his own ears and Narmek saw the knowing smile on her face.

  After she left him, he started up the stairs to the tower. His boots echoed on the stone steps with the beat of a march. He slowed as he neared the floor with her rooms but didn’t enter the hallway. He didn’t belong there. Not now.

  Narmek kept going, up to the very top of the tower. The small room gave him no more than sixteen paces in each direction. He used each stone, walking first one way and then another. After a time, he started in the middle and walked a spiral, thinking of nothing more than his footsteps, keeping the fear away by refusing to consider anything other than the measured tread of his feet.

  The stars had come and gone again, with Belokan—the red star resting at the bottom of the Wheel of Change—sinking below the western horizon as the dawn chased it from sight. His legs had grown weary hours ago but he ignored the ache. His mind wandered, trying to remember how long such things took. He heard boots running up the stairs. Narmek braced himself for whatever news he would receive and rushed to the door.

  “Your Majesty, you have twin sons. Two princes, both healthy and strong,” his Master of the Wardrobe said.

  “Twins? Two sons? I have twin sons!” Narmek shouted the last. Then his heart shriveled. “And the Queen? Is she well?”

  “She is, Your Majesty. Only tired, according to her Ladies.” The man bowed to him and started back down the stairs, leaving Narmek with a silly grin on his face.

  Twin boys…doubly blessed. He hurried down the steps, coming to a halt in front of the closed doors of the Queen’s rooms. She wouldn’t be ready to see him yet. He went to the dining room, suddenly starved and parched with thirst.

  The bells began to ring in the tower, announcing the arrival of his sons. His sons! A more joyous sound than he’d ever heard before.

  “Set the feast for one week from today,” he told Cook as the man personally delivered a plate of food to him, mounded high with meat and dumplings, along with a loaf of hot bread and sliced apples.

  “The Old Ones have truly smiled on Your Majesties today,” Cook said and bounded back into the kitchen, returning with ale and a basket of pastries to set in front of him.

  Soon after eating, Narmek stepped quietly into the Queen’s room. She lay there on the bed with her eyes closed, looking pale and still. His stomach knotted, the food weighing heavily in his gut. Then she opened her eyes and smiled, banishing the dark shadows.

  “Are you pleased?” she teased him, knowing full well how he felt, with the grin spreading on his face.

  He tried to look stern. “Couldn’t you have had one of each?”

  She flipped her hand at him and he caught it, kissing her fingertips. Meelate closed her eyes once more and Narmek realized he was keeping her from resting.

  “Sleep now. I’ll go see my sons.”

  “I was thinking,” she said, sleep thick in her voice, “about names. Do you like Camon and Sanrev?”

  “Those are fine names, my love. Sleep now.” He left the room as quietly as he’d entered, at peace with the knowledge that all was right in his world.

  Chapter Two

  Bad Omens

  The oracles had gathered around the priest in the small temple behind the King’s orchard, their solemn eyes focused on him as one. Anondar gazed at their youthful faces, recalling how each one of them had found their way into the service of the Old Ones, enabling them to enjoy a peaceful existence instead of remaining in poverty as orphans or grappling with an uncertain future.

  Until now.

  The decision before him lanced his heart, the pain sharper than any blade could possible inflict. If he told the truth, these boys—the children he never had—could die. But if he kept the information to himself, the whole Kingdom would suffer. He wrung his hands, quietly asking for guidance yet again.

  And the Old Ones continued their silence. It was to be his decision alone. His to suffer over. His to decide whom or what to sacrifice.

  A bitter tear slipped from his eye and still the young oracles remained attentive, ignoring his weakness. He didn’t deserve their devotion and yet they gave it. It made the situation even worse; he couldn’t possibly choose to put them in harm’s way.

  But deciding to lie to the King would violate his oath. He’d have to leave the priesthood and then what would become of his children? Who would take care of them as he had? Love them as he did?

  Maybe their visions wouldn’t become any clearer. Right now all they’d reported were vague times of trouble ahead. These portents had all been from before the birth.

  Births, he corrected himself. This is where the problem became more specific. Ancient prophecies spoke of the malignancy of twin births. Usually on
e or both died, being too small to survive. It was a bad omen to have twins for that reason alone but he’d heard the two boys were healthy and thriving. The ancient prophecies had something more sinister in mind but didn’t clarify the problem.

  “Have any of you had a vision since the royal births?” He gazed at the three who raised their hands, silently willing them to tell him the vague portents hadn’t changed.

  The first two said just that and Anondar found his breath flowing a little easier into his chest. The constriction in his throat loosened and he swallowed in gratitude.

  The third, though, sent his heart pounding faster. Treestan stepped forward, the young man taller now by several inches than when he’d arrived eight years ago. The priest remembered the starving boy who’d been living in the fields, a twelve year old stealing scraps of food from the farm animals in order to survive. His determination had impressed Anondar and he’d brought the boy here to the temple, explaining the danger of the Atorweed initiation truthfully to him. Treestan had stared at Anondar for a moment, his eyes revealing the horrors of his existence.

  “I’d like to serve the Old Ones if it means I can stay with you,” he’d said.

  “And if you die from the Atorweed?” Anondar said in a gentle voice.

  “It’s better than going back out there.” The weariness in his words convinced the priest to perform the secret ritual, even though the boy was older than the usual initiate.

  Treestan stood before him now, his head high, waiting to give his report. Anondar nodded, hope sinking further with each uttered word.

  “I’m ready to deliver the message to the King,” he said when he finished the litany. “The Old Ones will do as they wish. I’m not afraid.”

  He knows how dangerous his words are. Anondar grieved for the young man but nodded his acceptance. They could all perish this day. The priest hoped he would be first. He couldn’t bear to see his children die.

  “Then it’s settled.”

  Five days after the births of the twins, a servant announced the arrival of an oracle while Narmek stood gazing at his perfect sons in their nursery.