KINGS OF ASELVIA
TRILLIUM PRESS
H.S.J. Williams creates a fantastical world of darkness and light, hope and despair, with relatable characters in a vivid world setting. Definitely recommend for fantasy fans!
-Morgan L. Busse, award-winning author of THE RAVENWOOD SAGA
MOONSCRIPT is an enjoyable adventure with engaging character dynamics and an encouraging message of hope in the face of suffering.
-Laura Hollingsworth, creator of the webcomic, THE SILVER EYE
This is a wondrously beautiful book, raw with pain and rich with hope. H.S.J. Williams's deft imagination breathes life into a vivid world of elves and humans (and other stranger fantastical creatures), lower and higher realms, and the Darkness that seeks to claim it all. Upon this epic tapestry, delightful characters provide a bright contrast and serve as a living embodiment of hope in the face of despair. You'll find yourself alternating between tears, laughter, and smiles in turn.
- Gillian Bronte Adams, author of THE SONGKEEPER CHRONICLES
© 2020 by H.S.J. Williams
Published by Trillium Press
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons is entirely coincidental.
Cover art by Salome Totladze
Map art by Noverantale
Part I, II, III art by Hannah Rogers
To the One who gave me this story
and the power to complete it
Also, to Grammie—your appreciation
of Errance is duly noted
PROLOGUE
oOo
The shadow of death swept over the moon.
However brief, the dimming of the celestial light caught the young elf’s attention, and he paused on the steps of the inn to look up at the sky. He fingered the necklace upon his chest, a medallion reflecting the crescent moon above. “Did you see that, Miss Daisha?”
The creature draped across his shoulders gave a small yawn, her pink tongue curling. She flapped her wings, throwing him a little off balance, then settled down again, her grey fur rubbing against his neck. “See what?” she asked sleepily.
“The shadow…”
“Errance?”
The voice of his ever alert guardian brought the prince’s attention back to earth, and he smiled into the concerned face of the elder elf standing on the steps below him. “Never mind, Reyin, I just thought I saw something.”
Reyin, a warrior through and through from the muscles carving his body to the one beating in his chest, spun and stared back into the wood from where they’d come.
The tall pines swayed in a slight wind, the tips of their needles winking in the silver glow. In the shadows below, the ferns whispered a sleepy reply to the breeze.
The prince brushed away the brief unease with a light laugh and rested a hand on the elf man’s shoulder. “Easy, General. I’m sure it was nothing more than an owl. Our good ambassador has assured this place is as safe as any in Orim.”
“The only safe place for you, my prince,” Reyin muttered, reluctantly releasing the grip on his sword hilt, “is back home.” He huffed. “I still can’t believe you chose this over reading the Moonscript.”
“I can read it when I get back home,” Errance said with a shrug. “It’s not like the Higher World is going anywhere.”
“It’s not like the rest of Orim is going anywhere either.”
“But…humans do change and die so quickly, yes?”
Reyin’s mouth twitched. “Well, you’re not wrong.”
The inn door opened just then, and a warm light washed out over the company. “Ambassador Ireth, at last, do come in.” The man ushering them in had a refined accent unlike any the elf prince had ever heard, and the boy craned his neck to look around his ambassador and see his first human. He heard they grew hair around their mouth, and he couldn’t imagine anything odder. Seeing it in illustrations was one thing, but real life was another matter. However, his heart flopped a little to see that their host was clean-shaven. To be sure, he did have a blocky structure and weathered skin, but that wasn’t as interesting.
Most of the elves remained outside to stand watch over their horses and the surroundings, but the company of five who entered were enough to make the small inn room seem smaller still. They were a strange contrast to the rustic wooden walls and the simple furniture. Even the amber light of the candles casting myriads of shadows could not detract from how their souls shone with a wild, young life like spring streams and evergreen trees. Handsome and vibrant they were—the ambassador poised with confidence, the fire-gold general strong and intimidating, the autumn colored twins on his either side elegant and sharp-eyed.
And then the prince.
While the others possessed an ageless quality, the prince was truly young, a boy on the cusp of manhood, no more than twenty years. He was beautiful even for his kind, with dark umber hair to contrast his fair skin and the brilliant blue-green of his eyes.
He was even more fantastical with the company of the winged mammalian upon his shoulders, a gracile creature with far too much intelligence in her eyes to be any common beast.
Ambassador Ireth gave a polite bow to their welcoming host. “Prince Errance of Aselvia, I would like you to meet Ambassador Carlson of Dormandy.”
“Sir,” Prince Errance said with his own courtly bow, “I am honored to meet the man who has shown such faithful alliance to my people.”
“The honor is all mine, Your Highness,” the man said, dipping low. “I look forward to presenting you to my city. But for tonight, may I present you to the town of Denji and the owners of this fine inn, my cousins.”
Two other humans, a man and a woman, emerged from the shadows where they’d hidden in awe of their visitors, and they bent, saluted, and curtsied in an uncertain and excited display.
This man did have a beard, and the prince burst into a grin. Surely, it was so messy to have hair around one’s mouth. Did they have to wash and comb after every meal? General Reyin subtly poked him in the back, and recovering his manners, Errance bowed to the couple as well. “Thank you for receiving us at this late hour. We are forever grateful.”
This earned quite a puff of pride from the man and a giggle from the woman.
But before a word could be moved beyond introductions, the door burst open again and one of the elf sentries rushed in. “General,” he hissed. “You must hear this.”
Reyin leapt to the door, Errance pressing in curiously from behind, and they both listened to the silent night outside. Except it was not so silent as one first thought. There was a distant clatter, like small rocks tumbling down a mountain slope, only the sound didn’t fade…it grew sharper and nearer.
“Shards,” Reyin breathed. He whirled around and glared at the bewildered human ambassador. “Who else did you tell of our coming?”
“I—no one, I swear.”
Reyin snarled something elvish, but there was no point in finding out who else, if anyone, had known that the prince had left the safety of his home. There was no point, because it was known. By shadow. By death. And who could have guessed that Darkness would have watched and waited so carefully for its revenge.
“What is it?” Prince Errance asked, and his fair face, as yet unburdened by years and wisdom, bore no fear, only a hope for adventure.
“Ret
reat to the forest,” Reyin ordered the elf sentry. “We race to Aselvia, they cannot reach us there.”
“But the village—” Ireth began.
“—will be safer without us,” Reyin snapped. “They are here for the prince.” As he spoke, he grabbed Errance by the arm and hurried down the steps, bent low. The winged creature launched from Errance’s back and headed towards the forest, her wings quickly giving her the lead.
Ambassador Carlson followed behind, confused and stammering. “I am sorry, I don’t know what went wrong; we’ve always been safe h—”
Something hissed through the air, and his voice broke off in a horrible cry. Errance turned to see the human ambassador slumping against the doorframe, a stone bolt buried in his chest. The inn owners cried out and stumbled backwards, the woman reaching for her husband’s hand. Ireth took one distressed step towards them.
“MOVE!” Reyin barked, all concern for stealth cast aside. He sprinted for the forest, dragging Errance behind him as the elves flanked them in a circle, bows facing outwards, looking for any sign of their attackers. Not a moment after they had reached the first trees, the air was shattered by the shriek of stone bolts seeking life.
Errance tried to turn, tried to see who had made it with them into the woods, but his general kept pulling him on, hissing out commands to the elves around him. The warriors were safest in the trees and the tall bracken; they had commanded their horses to lie down and hide themselves. Their bows sang in answer to the attack, but the shadows in the forest and village were deep and they still had no sight of their enemy, only the sound, the terrible sound, now crying like scratches against stone.
“What are they?” Errance demanded again, but before he could be answered, an elf near them fell with a gargled cry, another of the stone bolts through him. The prince stared, the sight of death beginning to stain his heart, just as the blood stained the elvish livery. His father had warned him of terrible things in the world beyond, but how little he had listened…how little had he understood.
Reyin threw them both to the ground, under the cover of the tall ferns. “You are going to take your horse and flee back to Aselvia. We will hold them off.”
Errance pulled his gaze from the dead body and looked to his general, the meaning of those words clarifying. He shook his head, pushing down the heave of his stomach and swallowing past the cold knot in his throat. “You trained me to be a warrior, Reyin. I will not leave you or my men.”
The lord’s eyes glinted in a glare. “I am your father’s appointed guardian; you will not question me.” He whirled back to the elves and ordered, “Cover us!”
The elves rose as one and released a volley into the forest that roused shrieks of steel on stone. In that moment, Reyin whistled sharply to one of the horses and pulled Errance into a crouched run through the ferns, retreating farther into the forest. The summoned horse came alongside them, dancing in fear.
“Take him, Starsilver,” the general told the horse as the prince vaulted into the saddle. “Do not stop.”
Errance leaned down and caught Reyin’s arm. “You still have not answered me! Who attacks us?”
Even in the darkness, he could see Reyin sag as a man might when afraid or in despair, but the general could surely be neither of these things. He reached up to grasp the boy’s arm in a gentle squeeze. “Go.”
An unknown dread wrapped around Errance’s heart. “Reyin…” Panic seeped into his voice. “You will meet me in Aselvia?”
“GO!” The lord whispered with the force of a shout and slapped the horse’s rump. Starsilver leapt forward, surging into the forest. The wind rattled the branches like bones after them.
And the general was left standing alone, shuddering in the gathering cold. Hoping that he and his warriors could keep the attention of the monsters and whatever else was with them. That it was not too late for his prince. For the harsh cries and stone bolts meant the shards of the north, and where shards gathered, Darkness was not far behind.
Through the forest Starsilver fled, without stumble or hesitation. Cold tears ran down Errance’s cheeks, and he bitterly cursed the horse’s swift flight from the companions whom he should have been fighting alongside. He hadn’t even been given a chance to find Miss Daisha again, though she would surely be safe, even if she was too young to fly great distances. But Starsilver had been trained by Lord Reyin and would not be easily swayed.
Their flight brought them into a clearing strewn with shale sharp as knives. The moon shone in the open sky above, peering down like a squinted eye and for the first time in his life, Errance found its beauty mocking. His horse plunged back into the forest, hiding him from the moon’s gaze, but branches tore at his skin and hair. Scratches stung his cheeks, though he lay low at his horse’s neck, dodging between the trees. Nothing but the pounding of hooves and the pounding of his heart pierced the eerie silence.
He felt a sharp tug against his throat, and before he had time to realize what was happening, the necklace strand snapped and the moon medallion spun away into the consuming shadows.
He twisted in the saddle, reaching out in a useless attempt to catch it. “Stop, I can’t lose that!”
Impotent anger rushed through him as the horse galloped on, and he pulled back on the reins with all of his strength. “Stop!”
Neighing, Starsilver reared and skidded to a halt. Errance flung himself from the saddle and staggered back to where the necklace had broken. He trembled at his rashness, but he was far more concerned about returning home without his father’s precious heirloom. He searched the forest floor hastily. It would only take a moment. The medallion shone with its own light, so surely it would be easy to find. The wind swirled ever tighter around him, flinging his hair before his eyes, and the night descended into deeper darkness as even the moon hid her face away.
There! Amongst the needles and leaves, the moon medallion glimmered bright and true. Dropping to his knees, Errance caught it up, but the strand was snagged.
Under a booted foot.
The prince stilled, unable to tear his gaze from the sight, unable to understand why he had not heard or sensed another life approach. Slowly, he raised his eyes, hand reaching for his sword.
“Hello, Errance,” said the Voice.
And Darkness fell.
SEVENTY YEARS LATER
1
ooo
The forest faded, melting into the darkness of Tellie’s slowly waking consciousness. Her jaw ached with pressure, and she slowly uncurled her fists to pull the pillow off her head. The screams still echoed in her mind as she rubbed her eyes and released a shaky breath.
Just a dream. Just a dream, like always.
And as always, she couldn’t stop it. She could only watch, helpless, as the elven prince ran straight into death. In waking hours, she knew the tragic legend well enough, but she didn’t know why her imagination had decided to conjure up such a vivid depiction of it to dream about over and over again.
Swallowing, she blinked away the remnant horror and nestled deeper into her cot’s thin mattress in a hope to reclaim night’s peace.
Her door burst open, banging against the wall with a sharp crack. She startled upright, squinting into the unexpected candlelight. Few faces could be welcomed after such a greeting, but the face of Missus Norne, shadowed and glaring, sent her heart pounding all over again.
“Get up, you useless girl! Are you deaf?” The innkeeper’s wife reached down and yanked her out of bed. “What good are you if you can’t even fetch the door?”
Tellie tottered to her feet, senses reeling. She hadn’t been thinking of sound at all before now, but she remembered falling asleep despite the thunder of a spring storm trying to break through the attic roof. The storm had apparently not ceased, for she could still hear the violent pelting of rain on the shingles, the dripping of leaks, and the wuthering wind.
She tried to process Missus Norne’s words, something about a door and visitors having come in from the storm. Good heavens.
A knock at the door this late of an hour could only be a bad omen. It was a miracle the innkeeper’s wife had heard the knock at all, since she and her husband usually went to bed drunk. Whatever strangers had come must have been very insistent indeed.
The Missus stumped back downstairs, and after hurrying into a simple frock, Tellie followed a few moments later. The wood stairs creaked under her wavering footsteps, the sound an eerie echo of the forest through which the elf prince had fled. If she was lucky, this would only be another bad dream.
There were strange stories about The Only Inn in the small town of Denji, stories of sinister shadows and spooks. But in three years of serving food and cleaning rooms, Tellie had never encountered such a feeling of dread. It wasn’t because of anything so thrilling as a ghost or a shard, but when she saw the three men waiting in the inn foyer, a shiver went down her spine, chilling her right down to her bare toes. What sort of men traveled in the middle of the night, in such a wild storm? Runaway criminals, bandits, bounty hunters? Whatever the case, they practically screamed ‘villain,’ from their dark hooded cloaks to their spurred leather boots.
At Missus Norne’s barked command, Tellie hurried forward. “I can take your cloaks and hang them to dry,” she managed, dipping into a curtsy. The men only huddled deeper into their cloaks, eyes glittering from the depths of their hoods. Another shiver shook her body. She lowered her hands and looked down at the floor. Rainwater was puddling under the men’s boots, but the floor was in a terrible state anyway, so what did a few more soggy stains matter?
The hair on the back of her neck prickled and she looked up again, straight into the hard, grey eyes of the leader. His gaze locked on hers, colder than ice. She froze, heartbeat filling her ears, and her breath caught in her throat. Finally he looked away, stepping past and moving toward the dull fireplace.
Moonscript (Kings of Aselvia Book 1) Page 1