War Of The Realms
Books 1-5
Sarah J. Stone
Erin D. Andrews
Stephanie Kuklish
Copyright and Disclaimer
Copyright © 2019 by Sarah J. Stone
In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher. All rights reserved.
This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is entirely coincidental. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Website: www.sarahjstone.com
Contents
Title Page
Copyright and Disclaimer
Book 1
Book 2
Book 3
Book 4
Book 5
More From The Author
Book 1: The Cinder Territories
Prologue
The realms west of the Fortune Ocean were once known as one of the most alluring places in the world. The lush, flowering fields and deep-green forests enveloped the landscapes, running from just beyond the crystal-teal shores of Fortune outward until they met with the steep, marble sides of the snow capped Barron Mountains. No matter what direction you traveled, your senses were impassioned by the bright, natural colors of the foliage, the unblemished scent of purity in nature, and the sounds of the plentiful inhabitants that groomed and maintained the countryside.
Fortune wasn’t just the name of the raging sea bordering the land. It was also used to describe the lives of those that lived there. From sea trade to masonry and everything in between, the lands west of Fortune held a plethora of prosperity. The people woke each morning, eager to face a new day and knew their tables would be fruitful and full of jubilation. As the sun set over the realms, the echoes of laughter cascaded through the fields and out across the ocean. There were no separations or judgments, all creatures–the fae, the sprites, the trolls, the ogres, the dragons, and all of the other creatures of the land–lived harmoniously and in sync with everything and everyone around them.
King Osiris was a mighty man, tall in both stature and pride. He took the throne on a late summer’s eve in the capital city of Thorn, in the realm of Avalon, approaching his eighteenth mark of birth. His father, the late king, had died after taking an arrow to the chest during the annual boar hunt in honor of his son’s approach to manhood. After the ceremony marking his reign as king, Osiris stood on the balcony of his castle bedroom and looked out over the crowds of people that had gathered at the foot of the palace steps. He could remember being a boy, watching the city from the hill beyond the giant walls of Thorn, dreaming of the day that all of Avalon was his, but he couldn’t shake the feeling of sadness that his father wasn’t there to pass on the crown.
As time progressed, young Osiris’ sadness grew, eventually turning from angst to bitterness. He would watch as the fae lived their lives unguarded and immortal. He would listen with irritation to the stories of the dragon shifters and how they could endure grave injuries and be healed within minutes. Osiris quickly became aware of his own mortality, and from that, his envy became hatred for anyone that was not human. However, Osiris was an intelligent man, and he used the strength of the non-humans around him to shield him from the world.
By the king’s twenty-fifth mark of birth, the Kingdom was looking to him for a queen. The thought of bringing a human heir to the throne terrified him, so he bartered with the fae, and Amelia became his queen. Amelia was strong and proud, and Osiris, despite his best efforts, fell deeply in love with her. For a moment, it was as if the clouds had lifted and Osiris could see the beauty in the world around him once more. It wasn’t long after their wedding that Amelia became pregnant, and under a year later, Avalon welcomed their first princess, Leonetta, born a fae. But the celebration didn’t last long, as the news of Amelia’s death during Leonetta’s birth spread across the lands. What should have been a day of joy became an extended period of mourning, especially for the king.
Osiris’ grief engulfed him, and his fear of death cultivated a rule of tyranny that turned the once prodigious realm of Avalon into a place of fear and poverty. In an effort to latch on to the essence of his godliness, he consumed his realm’s resources as if they, too, were immortal. The people of his kingdom were forced to pay higher taxes and were driven from their homes when their pockets had run dry. The once bustling and faultless Thorn had become riddled with beggars and street merchants, who hid from the king’s watchmen during patrols. The surrounding towns and villages would endure endless searches from tax collectors, fearing they would burn their homes to the ground if they did not pay.
Children wandered the rotting fields, put to work long before their time in order to produce the quantity of vendible crops that the king required. The smell of cinder from nearby towns wafted through the air, leaving a pertinent reminder of the price you pay for less-than-adequate production. The sound of the dragon shifters’ wings echoed off the mountains, and the wind stirred the dusty fields below them. Osiris knew the benefit of keeping the dragons close, and therefore made sure they were provided for in exchange for their security and advancement of his ever-changing laws. The king had become restless, lost in the vision of excess, changing laws at his will, often unbeknown to his subjects.
The fae, having fled Avalon and crossed the seas to the Valley of Vale, where the fae king sat on the throne, forced Osiris to choose a human as his second wife. Mary was kind and quiet, but took care of Leonetta as if she were her own. Leonetta was an outspoken girl with the courage of her father but the heart of the fae. She was a dreamer, and her thoughts led her from love to the fields outside of Vale. Her father scorned her for her clouded mind full of wistfulness, but she knew that was all she had–dreams. But despite the tyrannical rule of her father and her thirst to seek out her people, Leonetta sat patiently day after day as she grew and blossomed into the woman she would become.
From birth, she was promised to her father’s friend and Commander of the Army of Avalon, Oedipus of the Hills from the realm of Gillian. His father had been the Commander before him, and he had grown up with Osiris. Oedipus stood proudly beside the king, whispering in his ear, and going shoulder to shoulder into a deeper hollow for Avalon. Oedipus knew that one day he would be king, and he needed to make sure there would be plenty left for him when he took the crown. He was a man of opportunity, and his greed led him to be a cold and emotionless human being. Leonetta loathed the idea of marriage to such a cruel example of humanity and feared for the people of her kingdom. She knew that her father was bad, but Oedipus was purposeful in his actions, making his treatment of others almost diabolical in nature.
The burdensome mindset of Leonetta’s father had changed the entire landscape of Avalon, both politically and culturally. On her weekly outings into the country, she barely even recognized her home anymore. The lines of subjects–from human to ogre–waiting for a chance to gain the king’s favor once stretched out of the palace on a daily basis. They would put on their best clothes and bring gifts to the king in thankfulness for his godly rule. Now, the lines were empty, and only a few stood, malnourished and desperate for help. There were no more approbations of love from the king’s people, and the cries of hungry children chilled the night air, crossing the other realms and disappearing into Fortune’s darkened waves. Leonetta could feel the utter despair in the towns around her.
As the days turn to nights and the seasons move in their unrem
itting cycle, Avalon’s grandeur quickly dissolves, leaving a pit in the seven realms that are starting to spread like the plague. Oedipus realizes that power is only good if it is beyond the walls of Thorn, and his quest for future glory consumes his mind. The long nights are getting longer for those that still reside under the king’s rule, and word is spreading that war is on the horizon. With little resources left in Avalon, Osiris knows he must reach out and take the other realms before the kings of the seven realms look to Avalon as a prize.
The days ahead are full of thunder, and the drums of war are growing louder and louder. Oedipus and King Osiris have their battle maps strewn across the long oak tables that pepper the dining hall of the palace. Leonetta sits quietly in her room, gazing out the window as the leaves blow by and the land turns gray from the wilted remains of a once-flourishing countryside, wondering if this is all she has for eternity. And as the army sharpens their swords, the dragons take flight, and those still loyal to Osiris brace for the inevitable, Avalon’s putrid stain begins to take over.
Chapter One: The Whip
The sun reflected vibrantly off of the glistening steel of Oedipus’ sword as he held it high over his head, the tense muscles in his arms shaking under the weight. The sound of the massive weapon slicing through the air echoed across the gardens behind the Castle of Thorn and came to a stop just inches from the massively scaled claw in front of him. Oedipus looked up at the dragon before him, standing nearly as high as the castle walls, its scales reflecting hues of oranges and reds as the clouds moved across the bright afternoon sun.
The dragon’s eyes were shut tightly, waiting for the pain of Oedipus’ mighty sword. He smiled coyly and swiftly sliced across the dragon’s scales, watching in amazement as the skin opened slightly and blood that glistened gold in the light trickled over onto the ground. The dragon flinched, pulling his claw back and opening his eyes sharply at Oedipus.
“Oh, don’t be such a swine, Holland. You know you will be healed within seconds,” Oedipus scorned, wiping the golden mixture from his sword. He looked up and watched wide-eyed as the wound slowly closed until no remnants of the afflicted area were noticeable. A deep laugh emanated from Oedipus’ belly, and he turned back toward the dragon, ready to fight again.
Holland, though large as a dragon, stood around six-feet tall in human form, with long, red hair, and approaching his nineteenth mark of birth. He was somewhat shy, and often fearful of the reign of terror that was sweeping Avalon, but he always stood strong with false confidence. Holland’s broad shoulders gave others the impression he was not to be messed with, though once he spoke, you could tell his heart was as golden as the color of his blood. For this reason, Oedipus required him to stay silent to all guests, merely using his girth and the others’ fear of the dragon’s wrath as leverage.
He serviced Oedipus as the assistant to the commander, a job his father had been forced into when Holland was just a boy. But his father had grown old and weary, and Holland traded his services to Oedipus in exchange for his father’s freedom. Though dragon shifters had been free for decades, Avalon still had their finger on the pulse of the shifter community and often forced them into servitude as penance for unpaid taxes. With the dwindling number of shifters on this side of Fortune, they feared rebelling would only kill off the last of their kind in the seven realms, so they accepted positions of protection with the king’s army.
Holland, feeling a bit of courage in his belly, stood up on his hind legs and stretched his wings as far as they would go. Oedipus chuckled and stepped back, admiring his impressive ability to overshadow anything around him. A rumble stirred, and a rubicund glow slowly burned in the pit of the dragon’s belly, turning Oedipus’ laughter to scowl as he crouched with his sword, ready to strike.
How dare you threaten me, boy?
Oedipus spoke in his mind to Holland, using the rare endowment of telepathy that dragons had adapted for humans. Holland glanced over at the villa overlooking the gardens where Leonetta was sitting, watching him inquisitively with a blush falling across her cheeks.
You have exactly two seconds to fix yourself, boy, or I will slice you so deep, the rivers will turn golden with your blood.
Holland snorted, smoke billowing from his inflamed nostrils, bringing his wings back into his body, and settling on all fours. He scooped his head low in obedience, too ashamed to meet Leonetta’s gaze once more.
My apologies, sir. I meant no threat by it. I was simply allowing you to show your valor to your lady, who is watching.
Oedipus stood, slowly bringing his sword back to his side and looking over at Leonetta, who had gotten to her feet, and upon her eyes meeting with his, turned with a flat look and walked out into the garden, her ladies in tow.
Well, though I am sure the lady was dazzled, I don’t need your weak and unimpressive show trying to woo any ladies for me. She is my wife-to-be that is written. I don’t need to impress her. Her hand, however, is new, and I wouldn’t mind a conversation in my chambers with her later. Arrange it.
Oedipus tossed his sword to the keeper next to him, a young boy of no more than fourteen marks, who simply stood by to catch whatever he tossed to the side.
Yes, Commander. I will see that it is done. The King’s Faith is walking toward us, sir.
The commander looked up at the stairs leading to the throne room and straightened his leather vest, the soft, thin fabric of his blouse blowing in the wind. The King’s Faith, a round man, bald, and wearing plain brown robes hurried along the pathway toward the commander. Obviously, he had news from the king; everyone moved quickly these days, when the king commanded something.
“Your Faith,” Oedipus greeted, slightly bowing but keeping eye contact with the man as he slowed his approach. He was fearful of dragons, and Oedipus glanced back angrily at Holland.
“Commander,” the King’s Faith, Ardontis, greeted, bowing slightly. “Shall we take a walk?”
Oedipus nodded and gave Holland word to shift and meet him in the throne room. The commander walked slowly next to Ardontis, waiting impatiently for him to speak. The King’s Faith was not only his religious attendant but his ears and eyes of the Kingdom as well. He was careful who he spoke in front of, and Oedipus found him to be untrustworthy in nature but understood he was to hear him out for the king.
“It is no secret that our resources are dwindling,” Ardontis spoke as they walked along the path to the gardens. “The king has raised the taxes, but let's be honest, you can’t take money, where there is none. We have gotten word that the other kings in the seven realms are planning a coup.”
“We have heard these rumors for months, Ardontis,” Oedipus said, annoyance quivering in his voice. “What makes it any different now? They are rumors. Spread by the towns of Avalon to give these filthy peasants some sort of will to go on. I’d sooner slit their throats, but you can’t get money from a dead man.”
“True,” Ardontis said, choosing his words carefully, “but this rumor comes from higher up. One of our army shifters caught sight of training on the other side of Villager’s Pass, just beyond Gillian. They are preparing for battle, and their leader comes from your very place of birth.”
“Artus of Gillian,” Oedipus growled turning to Ardontis. “The king, he has knowledge of this?”
“Oh, no,” Ardontis gasped. “This news must come from his commander. I came straight to you.”
“Good work, Your Faith,” Oedipus said, putting one hand on the man’s shoulder and looking up at Holland, who stood outside of the throne room’s terraced doors. “Take these coins and spread them to the poorest. A false hope may buy their loyalty for a bit, something we may need in the coming days.”
“Yes, Commander,” Ardontis said bowing his head, taking the small leather pouch of coins and stepping to the side.
“Oh,” Oedipus said, turning back to Ardontis, “and make sure they are taxed double next cycle. We aren’t here for charity.”
Oedipus walked swiftly, running the news t
hrough his brain but blocking it from any shifter that may be listening. He made his way to the throne room and quietly stepped inside, standing next to the guards and watching the spectacle unfolding before him. It was the peasants’ day in the Kingdom, and the few that dared to breach the castle doors were standing and waiting to request the king’s favor in various issues.
King Osiris sat perched at the head of the throne room, heavy fur robes draped over his shoulders as a young servant girl stood scantily dressed while pouring wine into his outstretched cup. His face showed humor, especially since peasant days were only still observed for the king’s play more than anything else. Guards lined the walk to the throne, and a man dressed in tattered clothing, dirt covering his face and hands, knelt in front of the king, his hands clasped to mask his anxiety.
“Your Grace,” the man stuttered in fear, “we have no grain to plant. Without grain, we can grow no crops. Without crops, we cannot pay our taxes.”
The king popped a grape into his mouth and squeezed it between his front teeth, the juices squirting out and running down his thick, brown beard. He stood from the throne, his servants shuffling around quickly to clear a path for him and adjust his robes. He stretched and looked over at Oedipus, a look of mischief in his eye.
“If I remember correctly, peasant, we gave all of our subjects three barrels of seed at the beginning of last season. After last year’s harvest, I would say you should have an overabundance of seed harvested.” The king brushed the crumbs from his hands and looked down at the peasant.
“Yes, Your Majesty, but you see, with the frigid spring, the crops wilted, and we were unable to pay our taxes, so your soldiers burned our feed barn,” he said, shaking and staring at the smooth marble floor.
“Well,” the king said, thoughts brewing in his mind, “that doesn’t quite seem to be a fair punishment, does it?”
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