The Complete Shadow Trilogy

by Dayne Edmondson

  “It is a rather odd layout for a city,” Dawyn agreed. “But the heights give a strategic advantage in the event of amphibious assault.”

  “What if the enemy breaches the main gates and gains the heights?”

  “Then ships could flee from the docks to safety, and they could use choke points on the paths down from the heights to stall the enemy advance.”

  “I suppose you’re right, sir. Shall we enter?”

  Dawyn nodded. “Yes, let’s go. Raise the banner please - I want them to know we’re here.”

  Memories of the rangers lost during the hunt for Lord Garik haunted him at night. He played that day over and over in his mind, trying to think of how the rangers could have lived. What-if scenarios played out many nights as he tried to fall asleep, representing the choices he could have made. In some scenarios, he managed to save them, but in most they died anyway. He could not predict the future, it wasn’t his fault, yet he couldn’t help feel that he had been selfish to place those rangers in danger. The families of the men had money for their loss, but no amount of money could replace the love of a man for his wife or children.

  As the group rode, Dawyn noticed a large cluster of colorful tents in the distance. “They’re having a tournament.”

  “Sir?” Captain Grief asked.

  Dawyn pointed toward the tents. “Those are the tournament grounds. Every year they have a massive tournament where nobles and peasants from around the kingdom gather. It’s too large to fit inside the city, so it spills out to its own fairground.”

  “I haven’t heard of these games, sir. I presume they are tests of martial skill?”

  “Aye. The melee, jousting, archery, that sort of thing.” Memories of his time in the tournament from many years earlier brought a smile to his face. Yes, both good and bad memories resided in Mara Damare. Which would the day ahead bring?

  In stark contrast to his first time in Mara Damare, his retinue of a dozen rangers plus himself under the banner of Tar Ebon - an image of a white tower overlaid by a black shield, sword and white falcon, with seven stars overhead - received priority in the line and was able to stay intact as they passed through the eastern gates unhindered.

  So far south, the cool north breeze of early autumn met the warm ocean breeze and combated the still-hot summer sun, providing a temperate environment that was neither sweltering or cold in Dawyn’s mind.

  The group moved through the main boulevard of the city, the common citizens paying little mind to the small procession. Selucia was not a large or mighty nation, for its capital of Mara Damare was smaller than other ocean ports like Valnos or the Citadel, but it was no stranger to nobles and wealthy merchants traversing its streets. Street vendors cried their wares, guards patrolled the streets, men and women bustled from storefront to storefront. Like veins of a body, the streets of Mara Damare carried the life-blood of the city.

  At the end of the boulevard sat the heart of the kingdom of Selucia - the High Castle. High gray stone walls stretched between large cylindrical towers with cone tops. Banners of the kingdom of Selucia, a golden lion on a blue background, flew from the top of the towers. Behind the walls rose the castle proper, stone chimneys ejecting smoke from the kitchens, its rooftop tapering to a triangular point. Guards patrolled the walls and flanked the outer portcullis opening.

  Dawyn had avoided the castle the previous year when pursuing Lord Garik. He had thought secrecy his best ally at the time; an assumption that cost forty rangers and many innocent civilians their lives. Dawyn and his companions had fled the city in the chaos after the battle at the Five Daggers, heading back to Tar Ebon.

  As Dawyn approached the outer portcullis to the palace, the guards at the gates stood straighter. He halted before the guard house.

  “State your business,” the sergeant said gruffly.

  “I am Dawyn Darklance, emissary from Tar Ebon. It is urgent that I speak with King Morisette.” He proffered the letter given to him by Coryn.

  The guard took the letter and looked at it, though judging by his eyes he could not read it. “Call for the chamberlain,” he ordered one of the other guards. The man he gave instructions to nodded and hustled off into the castle. “Wait here,” the guard holding the letter said.

  “Does the king know you, sir?” Captain Grief asked.

  “He may have seen me when I was here protecting our king, but I doubt he remembers me.”

  The chamberlain came striding out from the depths of the castle. The tall thin man’s short gray hair gave him a distinguished look as his beady green eyes studied the group from Tar Ebon. The look was further accented by his attire: a navy jacket over a gold vest and yellow trousers, with white stockings rising to just below the knees and black shoes polished till they shimmered. “I am Gustave Gagnon,” he began. “The guard tells me that you are an emissary of Tar Ebon?” He accepted the letter from the gate guard and read it twice. “The letter seems to be in order. My condolences for the loss of your king, my lord.”

  “Thank you, Gustave. Will you take us to your king? There is an urgent matter that we must speak to him about.”

  Gustave nodded. “If you and your men will follow me, I will lead you to him.” He turned on his heels and began walking through the portcullis.

  Dawyn motioned for the rangers to follow and urged his horse forward.

  As the group passed through the outer gates they arrived in an outer courtyard bustling with activity. Blacksmith hammers rung in the distance, servants moved across the yard, guards practiced in one section of the yard. Guards flanked the inner gates of the castle as well, but the guards saluted the chamberlain and paid the group no further mind.

  The group moved through the inner gates and arrived at the courtyard. Small windows pocked the walls boxing in the courtyard, while a stairway led to the grand doors of the castle. Here the household servants to the king and his family moved about their business. A pair of nobles strolled around the outer edge of the courtyard, their status marked by the long dresses with gold embroidery they wore.

  Servants in the blue livery of House Morisette rushed forward to lead the horses away once the rangers and Dawyn dismounted.

  Following Gustave up the staircase, Dawyn admired the architecture of the castle. Built with defense in mind, the castle could defend against a force of attackers many times the size of the defenders, utilizing small spaces to funnel enemies and kill them with arrows or boiling oil.

  The inside of the castle stood in stark contrast to the utilitarian exterior. Elaborate red carpet blanketed the floor. A large candelabra hung above the entrance foyer. A grand double staircase led toward the upper levels of the castle. Doors beneath the staircase led toward the throne room.

  Gustave asked Dawyn and the rangers to wait outside while he spoke with the king and announced them. Several minutes passed and he returned. “The king will see you now. Please follow me.”

  In the throne room the elaborate decoration continued. Tapestries covered every inch of the wall. Half a dozen candelabras hung from the vaulted ceiling. A man sat in a throne at the opposite side of the cavernous room. It had to be the king.

  Dawyn halted at the steps of the dais and knelt, hearing the creak of leather as his companions repeated the gesture.

  “Arise,” the king said in a bold voice.

  Dawyn and the others rose. The king had curly black hair with touches of gray, set with a golden crown. Gray eyebrows gave way to a graying beard and mustache. He wore a blue cape, while a golden choker adorned his neck.

  Brown eyes studied the group from Tar Ebon. “I welcome the emissaries of Tar Ebon. Gustave tells me you have urgent matters to discuss with me?” The king’s accent reminded Dawyn of the English-speaking French back on Earth.

  “Yes, your majesty. My name is Dawyn Darklance, former commander of the Shadow Watch Guard. I have come on behalf of Queen Coryn of Tar Ebon.”

  King Morisette nodded. “The death of the king of Tar Ebon saddened me. The reports state that i
t was an enemy from the north that killed him, yes?”

  Dawyn nodded. “It was a race of creatures named the Krai’kesh. They hail from the far north, beyond the Hagues River, and have succeeded in destroying the majority of the Tar Ebon army. This crushing defeat has precipitated my visit here. Queen Coryn is requesting the aid of all allied nations of Tar Ebon. The Krai’kesh march on Tar Ebon and we expect they will lay siege to the city and soon attack. If Tar Ebon falls, the enemy army will continue unimpeded across the continent until nothing remains. We beseech you to call your banners and bring your army to fight with us.”

  The king was silent for several minutes, absorbing the news. “Is Selucia the only kingdom you have asked?”

  “No. The queen has sent emissaries to each of the nations on the continent. She believes we can only defeat this enemy if we unite, and I agree."

  “While I sympathize with your plight, sir Darklance, what benefit do we gain by helping Tar Ebon?”

  Dawyn groaned inside, though he had been expecting the question. Hadn’t the king heard him when he said the Krai’kesh would wipe out the continent if Tar Ebon fell? “You will gain the safety of your subjects and generations to come. As I mentioned, if Tar Ebon falls, so falls the rest of the world.”

  “How certain of such a thing are you?” a graying man to the flank of the king asked. The decoration on his uniform marked him as an officer.

  “Because the Founders wrote such in the ancient texts,” Dawyn said. “Prophecy says that if the light of the Seven Stars goes out, so too will the light of humanity be extinguished. We cannot afford to fail.”

  The officer snorted. “You listen to prophecies written a millennium ago and believe them? Phaw! Your majesty, I must recommend ignoring these pleas for aid. Let us prepare our own defenses for if these creatures should come to our lands. They will break themselves on our infantry and our knights shall crush them!”

  Dawyn opened his mouth to give a retort, but the king held up his hand.

  “I must speak with my generals and nobles on this matter, sir Darklance. Most have come for the tournament. I welcome you to join me to watch the games and to take part if you so desire. We shall make a decision at the conclusion of the games.” The king spoke with finality, brooking no argument.

  Dawyn bowed in resignation. “Thank you, your grace. I shall accept your gracious offer to see the tournament and shall await your decision.”

  The king rose from his throne. “You and your rangers are welcome in the halls of my castle for as long as you need. There is room in the barracks for your men and I will have the servants prepare a room in the castle for you if you accept.”

  “That is most gracious,” Dawyn said. “We will of course accept.”

  The king dismissed them and exited the chamber, the officer who spoke earlier following.

  Gustave cleared his throat. “If you will follow me, Lord Darklance, I will escort your men to the barracks and show you to your room.”

  Following Gustave out of the throne room, the party snaked through the halls of the castle toward the barracks. Elaborate carpets blanketed the center of every hall they tread. Wall tapestries ran uninterrupted down the flanks of each hall. They passed servants in House Morisette livery, haughty nobles and soldiers. The sound of children playing echoed through the halls.

  Passing into the barracks, Gustave waved at a man wearing the insignia of a captain. “Captain Garlan Ager, may I present Dawyn Darklance and his retinue from Tar Ebon. The king has offered the hospitality of our barracks for his men.”

  Captain Ager, a short man with short black hair and gray eyes, stepped up and shook hands with Dawyn and Captain Grief. “Welcome to the royal barracks.” He eyed the rangers. “A dozen men? Easy enough to house. If you will follow me, I will take you to your bunks.”

  The rangers saluted Dawyn and followed Captain Ager. Captain Grief stood back to let his men pass before looking at Dawyn. “Will you be all right sir? Shall I assign some rangers to you?”

  Dawyn dismissed the notion with a wave of his hand. “No, I should need no protection here, Captain, but thank you for the offer. Your men are free to go about the city and the festival as they desire. I will try to check in each day with you to see if there is anything to report. Understood?”

  “Understood, sir.” Captain Grief offered a salute before exiting the room.

  Next, Gustav led Dawyn to the second floor of the castle and showed him to his own chambers. Sunlight entered the modest room from a pair of narrow windows along the far wall of the room, while a cool breeze wafted past open shutters. A large bed graced the center of the room while a chest of drawers, wardrobe and nightstand furnished the rest of the room. Thick rugs carpeted the floor, while the fireplace sat unused along the wall to his right.

  “I do hope this room will meet your requirements,” Gustav said.

  “Yes, it will do nicely,” Dawyn said. “Thank you, Gustav.”

  Gustav gave a bow and left.

  Dawyn let out a long sigh that he had been holding since arriving at the castle. It hadn’t gone as well as he hoped, but there was still a good chance they would join the cause. He would stay for the tournament and continue to make his case to the king. The fate of the world might depend on it.

  Chapter 5

  John braced himself against the cool north wind as he looked out across the grasslands that formed southern Rovark from atop his horse. Rolling hills marred the land, looking like waves in a sea of grass. The tall brown grass blew in the wind, adding to the illusion of a sea. The scene reminded John of the movies he had seen as a child of the great plains of the United States. He wondered if buffalo roamed these plains as they had those old plains of Earth.

  After departing Tar Ebon, their journey had taken them north to the town of Solace, where they crossed the Tar River and arrived at the edge of the Rovarkian Plains.

  “What’s the winter like around here?” he asked, looking to the man beside him.

  “Cold, sir,” Captain Dacian Hills replied. “Snow as tall as this grass is now blankets the land for several months. The Rovarkian women and children huddle in their huts and tents around their fires telling stories while the men go out on them snowshoes of theirs to hunt.”

  “Seems like the women get the better end of that deal,” John said. He hated hunting ever since his first experience with it at 13 when his father took him hunting for the first time. Not only had his shoulder been sore for days from the recoil of the rifle, he had become retched upon seeing the poor deer his father gutted. His father had forced him to watch as he did the gruesome work, even encouraging him to hold the knife and help skin the beast. From that year onward John made up any excuse not to go hunting. His father had let him be.

  “It’s almost as bad down near Tar Ebon, though not quite.” Captain Hills replied.

  “Well, let’s hope we stop the Krai’kesh before the snow flies.”

  “Perhaps the snow would slow them down,” one of the men chimed in.

  John shook his head. “I doubt it. They were in stasis or whatever up in the far north. I’m sure they’re accustomed to the cold.”

  A worn path through the high grass marked the trade routes used by merchants and Rovarkians seeking to trade. According to Captain Hills, the Rovarkians were known for their leather products, pottery and horse bows, among other products. They breed mass amounts of horses and led many to southern lands in exchange for gold and riches.

  Captain Hills turned his horse toward the worn path, the small group of a dozen rangers following. “At this pace, sir, we should arrive at the first Rovarkian village along the path by nightfall. They should give us shelter before we leave for Rovark. It’s close to two weeks from the border to the capital city of Rovark.”

  “That will have to do,” John said. He would never admit it to anyone, but his first mission frightened him. First, Queen Coryn and later Dawyn had stressed the importance of the mission. They must not fail under any circumstances. Any deal co
uld be made if it would increase the chances of the world being saved.

  As they rode, John watched the vast landscape blur together. It was all the same thing. His mind began to wander, his horse following Captain Hill’s horse almost without need of direction. In the months since arriving on Tar Ebon, John felt stronger than he ever had before. Learning that he possessed the power to manipulate matter and energy had been a huge revelation and was a fact he eagerly accepted. Command of fire was easy, but John had been hungry for more. Now light, light was fascinating. Alivia hinted that the Founders of ancient times, who were from Earth sometime in John’s future, a fact that made his head spin when he thought of it, had been able to command light. Unfortunately, the knowledge of commanding light seemed to become lost during the intervening centuries. John’s own attempts at commanding light had met with failure. Jason, with his scientific mind, had postulated that it had to do with the dual nature of light - with behavior of a particle and a wave - but understanding what the problem was didn’t help John fix it.

  After riding for a time, John extended his mind out of his body and found himself floating in the air above the party of rangers. Particles of oxygen moving in the wind flashed past, mixed with dust and pollen and particles of other elements. Ignoring the air, John filtered his mind to see the light. It came down like sheets, hitting objects or the ground and reflecting to the eye. Light allowed humans to see the different colors of the spectrum while also carrying heat and radiation. Testing a theory, John stretched out a mental hand to take hold of a stream of light, but as his own energy swept through the stream, it parted like water and he could not touch it. Frustrated, he tried encompassing the light in an orb of energy, but still, the light escaped, experiencing minor distortion by the energy field he created. A shout interrupted him as he prepared another spell.

  Snapping his mind back to his body, he looked around.

  Captain Hill pointed in the distance, where smoke rose. The wind carried the sound of combat - swords and screams - along with the faint iron smell of human blood. “Come on, we have to help,” he said.