Mirror of Darkness Preview | Chapter 2
Mirror of Darkness: The Eternal Stones 2 by Allison Wade.
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2. The Golden Throne
* * *
Twelve Years Later
* * *
Year 665 of the Bluand Era
Month IV, Day 26
The golden throne was empty and bloodstained.
It stood in the center of the room, bathed in the light coming through the small square windows, flanked by brightly painted columns.
La-Shar’s palace was an ancient building, predating the Flood. Many dynasties had succeeded each other on the throne of what was one of the most active centers on the continent, but in recent centuries it had been Geb’s heirs who had reigned supreme over the Great River.
A blood pact had been sealed in the gold that decorated the seat, preventing usurpers from approaching it.
“You promised to break the spell.” The voice of the Prince of Dusk resounded in the empty room. Gaufrid Weydskath was a middle-aged man with gray hair, a full beard, and the pale skin of the men from the Northwest, younger brother of the current king of his home kingdom.
From the shadows behind him, with a light step, a sinister figure approached. His long, black hair was streaked with white, and a sharp smile cut through the grayish complexion of his face. “It will be done, do not fear. I have concluded my research into the origins of this magic. Those stains that disfigure the seat are the blood of a Warden. A Gebar, to be precise. When the peoples came to this continent after the Flood, they certainly didn’t find it uninhabited. They struggled to conquer their own space. And the Great River became the land of Geb, the Free Will. The ancient Warden of Earth who sat on this throne made an oath, that no other ethnic group could take possession of it.”
“Spare me the history lesson, Lord Heimlik,” replied the nobleman. “All I want to know is whether you are able to remove this spell or not.”
The warlock didn’t flinch. “Of course I am able to. But right now, I need to save my energy for something more important.” He then walked toward the side exit.
“And you leave us like this, with a cursed seat? We must keep the rebels at bay. Showing the people that we are allowed to sit on the throne would silence them once and for all.”
“Patience, Lord Weydskath. I will send someone else to take care of the matter.”
The Dusk Prince stood watching in puzzlement as the warlock disappeared into the shadows.
Heimlik walked down the hallway that led to the royal officials’ rooms. Then he stopped, casting a sideways glance. “Exactly who I was looking for, Sargon.”
A figure showed itself in the dim daylight. Brown hair and a neatly trimmed goatee framed his lips rippling in a smirk. His features and accent betrayed his origin from the lands of Ur. “What can I do for you, My Lord?”
“I have received word from my spy lizards. They followed the trail of some of the Wardens all the way to the Snake Kingdom. They found a fortress in the mountains, protected by a powerful distortion spell.”
Sargon frowned. “There must be something very precious in there.”
“Something extremely dear to the Wardens of Light. Can we guess what it is?” Heimlik’s tone sounded amused.
“If that’s the case, they might have already recovered it.”
“Oddly enough, they seem to have left empty-handed. This means that the precious thing is still within the magic field.” The warlock raised his cold, grayish eyes on him.
“Do you really think it’s the Sun?” replied Sargon, cutting to the chase.
“Answer this question. If the Flower is blocked and the Sun dies, who inherits the power of Rebirth?”
“Light follows the Sky in the wheel of the Elements.”
“But Leif Bluand is dead, this we know for sure. So, who inherits both powers?”
“After the Light comes the Water. The Fay trapped in Wodr. That’s where the powers so far have been blocked.”
“A curse trapping her body, keeping the spirit suspended between dimensions. Yet, what is the only power that would be able to bring a spirit back into its body?”
Sargon opened his mouth and paused for a moment, caught by the sudden realization. “Rebirth,” he murmured.
“If the Fay had really inherited that power, she would have been able to free herself from the curse. Instead, she is still stuck in Soth. I made sure that was the case during my visit to the lands of Wodr. This can only mean one thing. And only a fool like Zarkon could have believed the lies of the Warden of Hate.”
“Misha Bluand is still alive,” confirmed Sargon.
“And now we know exactly where she is,” added Heimlik. “It is time to resume our journey. Your services to the Court of the Great River are no longer needed. You have been very valuable in facilitating our intervention from within. But now that we have secured the Kingdom, I need you for something more interesting.”
“It will be a pleasure to follow you, My Lord. How can I serve you?”
“You will come with me to the City of the Dead; I need someone who will be able to carry out our plan while I’m busy elsewhere. But first, we made a promise, didn’t we? Go take care of breaking the spell on La-Shar’s throne,” he concluded with an annoyed hand gesture.
Sargon appeared surprised. “That’s a very powerful spell, and I’m only an intermediate. Do you really think I can break it?”
Heimlik’s gaze darkened. “I don’t know what game you’re playing, but don’t act dumb with me. I can distinctly sense your magical potential, even though you always try to look weaker than you actually are.”
Sargon shrugged, giving a mellifluous smile. “If no one expects too much, they will never be disappointed by my performance.”
“It’s in your best interest not to keep too many secrets from me,” Heimlik intimated.
“I’m as transparent as water, My Lord,” replied Sargon, showing the palms of his hands. “I will take care of the throne.”
“Be quick, we must set out as soon as possible.”
* * *
“The Great River has always been a neutral kingdom,” said one of the local councilors, standing beside the Lord of Dusk. “It is written in the chronicles of the War of the Elements that Geb was the dividing point between the two sides of the continent. This is the first time a foreigner has taken power. That’s why the people have a great regard for the throne and its magic.”
“It’s interesting that you mention the War of the Elements,” Sargon interjected, entering the throne room. “Since we are here to subvert its outcomes.”
The two men looked at him questioningly.
“I think you’d better step back. There may be a release of energy.”
“What are you going to do?” asked the Lord.
“Break the spell,” replied Sargon as if it were obvious.
He didn’t wait for an answer from the other two and took a few steps, his hand stretched forward. The closer he got, the more he felt the energy concentrate. If he closed his eyes, he could feel it swirling around the seat like a whirlwind.
Another step and the wind hit him, ruffling his hair and fluttering the fabric of his clothes.
He raised his other hand as well.
His lips began to move. It was a whisper at first, which then grew in intensity as he spoke words in an unknown, unintelligible language.
A sphere of dark energy formed in his palms, expanding until it encompassed the entire length of the throne.
The wind grew fiercer, forcing Sargon to inch his feet backward, but he continued undaunted with his formula.
The last word was lost in a cry, drowned out by the howl of the storm, and then there was a violent burst, pushing everyone back. Sargon himself ended up sitting on the ground.
But now a static stillness had returned.
The magic practitioner got up, brushing off his vest and rearranging his hair. He took a few steps toward the golden throne and this time met no resistance. He reached up to touch one of the armrests. Then he turned to face the prince with a satisfied smile. “Finally, you can call someone to wash away these stains.”
“You mean… the spell is really broken?” asked Lord Weydskath incredulously.
“Please, take a seat,” replied Sargon with a wave of his hand.
The Prince of Dusk, though skeptical, stepped forward. It was the first time he had been able to get so close without being repelled by an unseen force. With an expression of pure bewilderment, he proceeded to turn around and sit down. As he made himself comfortable, his face broke into a satisfied smile. “Geb finally gave way.”
Sargon nodded, walking toward the exit. “And now, it’s time to deal with the Bluands.”
* * *
Month V, day 1
From the southern walls, with their backs to La-Shar’s palace, two soldiers with the crest of the Lily scanned the delta of the Great River.
“What are those?” asked Erik Lamar, shielding himself from the late afternoon sun with one hand.
“They look like the usual fishing boats,” replied his companion, shrugging and wiping the sweat from his brow. “It’s damn hot today, I’d gladly take a dip in the river.”
“Aren’t they a bit too many to be fishermen?”
The soldier huffed and looked south again. “In fact… you don’t see so many boats, usually.”
“Maybe we should warn the Comand-” Erik began, but his sentence was cut short by the sound of a horn.
The other tapped him on the arm. “It’s the alarm, let’s go to the Commander,” he said hurrying down the walls.
“I knew there was something in the air,” Lamar muttered, taking one last look at the approaching boats. Then he turned and made to descend the wooden ladder, but a sudden noise caused him to stop, chilling the blood in his veins.
The roar of a ferocious animal.
Erik had only the time to see his companion being knocked to the ground by a large beast with a wheat-colored mane.
The lion bit the soldier’s shoulder, tearing away shreds of armor. Splashes of blood stained La-Shar’s pale stones.
Erik stepped back, returning to the walkway, and ran in the opposite direction, before the animal could see him and tried to catch up.
“What on earth is going on?” he muttered to himself as he sought cover. An uproar of weapons and shouts could be heard among the streets farther east. More roars.
He recognized the thatched house near the walls. He didn’t stop long enough to think and leaped.
The roof couldn’t support his weight and he crashed inside. He bumped into some furniture and landed badly on one leg. He heard a pop and a stabbing pain, then lost consciousness for a few seconds.
When he opened his eyes again, he was confronted with the furrowed face of a young woman. Black hair and bronze skin, brown eyes drawn by dark lashes. “What were you thinking? Falling like that from the roof!”
“I…” Erik tried to move, but a rush of pain radiated from his left leg, tearing a groan from him.
“Are you hurt?”
“My leg…”
“Don’t move.” She drew back a little to peer through the window. “My brother will be back soon.”
Erik gritted his teeth. “What’s going on?”
The young woman unfolded the curtain to conceal the view from outside. “Mother Earth has answered our prayers. Her children have come to save us.”
He frowned. “No one told me I would risk being mauled by lions when I left for war.”
The girl shook her head, grabbed a knife, and returned to him. “Let me see what happened to you.” She laid the blade on the floor and carefully began to pull off his boot.
Erik had to bite his lip to keep from screaming.
“There are no visible lacerations, but I think you’ve broken some bones.”
He felt a drop of sweat trickle down his temple. “That’s great. If anyone finds me here…”
“They won’t find you. But you’d better get the marks of the Mists off of you while I look for something to splint your leg with.” She stood back up, and let out a sigh. “Stupid Erik.”
“Hey…” he protested, but then furrowed his brows. “Why are you helping me? I’m your enemy after all.”
She turned to face him with a stern expression. “Because I owe you, you know. Thank Mother Earth for sending you my way.”
“With a broken leg, I won’t go very far, as soon as your Geb friends figure out who I am.”
She reached him with bandages and two pieces of wood. “It’s nothing serious, you will heal in a few weeks. I’ll put in a good word for you.”
“Adelyn,” he called her in a softer tone.
“Gosek will be here soon, don’t get any ideas,” she replied.
“I just wanted to thank you.”
She lowered her gaze and began to place the slats. “You don’t have to thank me. I’m only doing this because you saved my life.”
“I hope this is enough to keep me from getting mauled by lions.”
Adelyn tugged at the bandages.
“Ouch!” he complained.
“I have to squeeze tight to keep the bone in place,” she replied with a sly grin. “Now shut up, and let Geb take care of the rest.”
* * *
Month V, day 5
There was a crypt, in the dungeon of the Court, where the Bluands of the Imperial dynasty lay.
Isabelle and Christopher, the last heirs, descended silently, alone. With solemn steps, they trod the ancient stone floor, immersed in the damp and stale atmosphere of the underground.
Forty-eight were the Emperors buried with their families, beginning with Gilbert Bluand, who had unified the Empire and reigned six centuries before them.
And the last to be laid down there were their parents, Leif and Lilian. Died too young. Murdered.
Nevertheless, Zarkon had respected protocol and had them entombed according to tradition, leaving them to lie in the place reserved for them while he continued to rule the Court with his hands stained with their blood.
Isabelle caressed the stone sarcophagus, carved with the iris symbol and their names. A knot tightened in her stomach. “I can’t believe I had to wait ten years to cry at our parents’ grave,” she said with a note of sadness.
Christopher didn’t reply; he merely laid a hand on her shoulder.
She raised the Bluand’s blue eyes on him, veiled with tears. “Now it’s just us… and Aunt Misha… Do you think we’ll be able to lead the Empire?”
Her brother smiled. “Of course, we will. And don’t forget that we have the Wardens by our side.”
Isabelle seemed heartened. “I’m glad to have found you again.”
He was about to respond, but a coughing fit suddenly took over, forcing him to turn away and lean against a wall.
“Christopher! What’s happening?”
“It’s… it’s nothing…” he tried to say, regaining control of his voice and breath. He remained for a moment staring at his hand.
“Let me see,” replied Isabelle, grabbing and looking at his palm. “Is… is that blood…?”
“It’s all right,” replied the Emperor, getting upright again and regaining his composure. “Don’t worry. The battle with the demon was exhausting for all of us.” He forced a smile.
Isabelle frowned. “I do worry. You’d better get examined by the priests later… actually no, let’s call Jonathan, he will heal you for sure.”
“He has already healed me, Isabelle. There is nothing more he can do for me now. Now his power is part of mine. I can cure myself.” He gave one last cough, then closed his eyes and took a deep breath. For a moment his body was enveloped in Light.
He returned to look at his sister. “See, everything is all right. Now let’s go back to the others.”
Although reluctant, the princess followed him.
* * *
Silver threads twisted around the purple, curved teardrop, hooked to the thin chain she wore on her neck.
The Stone of Betrayal. Arjanna Blankette knew it well.
Betrayal had guided her life since the day she had discovered the power of lightning within her.
To stand by Lord Zarkon’s side she had betrayed the Wardens and her promises to serve the Light. She had let the man she loved pierce the heart of the Empire, staining himself with the blood of the Bluands. Together they had subjugated the heir to the throne.
An innocent boy who had become a shadow of himself, an unwitting puppet.
Arjanna had lied to everyone, but mostly to herself over the years, convincing herself that this was her place. This was what she deserved: to survive. Nothing else mattered but keeping her head up and walking on.
She could hear her own footsteps creaking on the path leading to Zarkon’s palace – their estate at Point West.
But this time she was alone. Zarkon had not followed her. Stubborn as he was, he had chosen to stay, to fight for his foolish pride.
Arjanna knew how things would end, and not because the Water had divination within. Eterna had told her, in her arcane words. Getting away, running from there, was the only way for them to survive.
Farquhar had not listened. And he would pay the price.
Arjanna Blankette was not the kind of woman who allowed herself to weep. Her heart was now as cold as ice. Yet throughout the rest of the journey, after Sheila and Atres had left to meet their destiny as well, her eyes had been constantly glazed over. More than once she had had to wipe her cheeks.
She had felt it, that immense burst of energy that had shaken the world.
The Flower of Light was now reunited. The new Wardens had shown everyone what they were really capable of.
And Arjanna knew. She had known exactly at that moment, that all was lost. That there was no longer a place for her in that part of the world.
The Palace Steward walked up to her and respectfully bowed. “Welcome back, Your Grace. What can we do for you? I’ll have your luggage unloaded right away.”
Arjanna didn’t even look at his face. She stopped in front of the majestic entrance door, which had been opened to welcome her. That was no longer her home; it had never been.
“Don’t unload the luggage,” she told the man. “Gather everything we can carry with us. Send someone to the dock to have the first available ship ready. We are going West.”
* * *
Month V, day 6
The horses came running as darkness fell.
Sir Gabriel Delacur, Lord Zarkon’s right-hand man, was followed by just under a dozen soldiers, the only ones who had managed to find a way out of the Imperial Court after the return of the Light Wardens.
The rider leaped from his saddle and a man went to meet him.
“I must speak to Lady Blankette immediately,” Sir Gabriel began, but he noticed something strange about his greeter. He had never seen the man, and he didn’t look like a servant.
“Lady Blankette has already left,” announced the stranger.
“Left for where? And who the heck are you?” asked Delacur, bringing his hand to the hilt of his sword.
“My Lord wishes to see you,” the soldier said instead.
“And who would your Lord be?”
He replied with a grin and showed him the way.
Sir Gabriel motioned two of his people to follow him.
They proceeded to the palace and he saw more soldiers standing guard at the entrance. This time he recognized their crest. A white lily on a black background, the Dankfeld symbol.
He was received in the living room on the ground floor. A blond man in fine clothes sat in an armchair in front of the lit fireplace.
“You are…” began Delacur, approaching.
The man turned, addressing him with a smirk. “Dorian Dankfeld, second son of the royal family of Mighs-lend.”
The Mists Kingdom. Then he had not been mistaken. “What are you doing here? Where is Lady Blankette?”
“Please sit down, Sir Delacur. Let’s talk.”
He frowned doubtfully, but finally took a seat in front of him.
“Lady Blankette has already left for the West,” the prince began. “I believe she will join my brother in a few days. That was a very wise move on her part.” Dorian continued to stare at him with that grin plastered on his face. “I suppose you bring news from the Imperial Court. I would like to make sure that my informants have been correct.”
Sir Gabriel clenched his fists. “The Wardens have returned. Lord Zarkon is dead. Lord Veniin… reduced to ashes. We are the only men left. We had to retreat quickly, without looking back. I suspect the Imperial Army will reach us soon.”
Dorian joined his hands in front of his face in a gesture of reflection. “Exactly what I feared. Your General made a grave mistake. He should not have turned his back on us.” Then he stared at the knight. “And you, what are you going to do? Surrender or die fighting?”
Delacur hesitated. “I… fear that we have no way to counter them. We can try to defend the fortress or seek an agreement. If we lay down our arms and submit to the Empire again, maybe they will spare us.”
Dorian gave a sarcastic laugh. “Do you really think they will give you a pardon after you’ve killed and subjugated the Bluands? If you stay here, you are food for the worms.”
“Then what are you doing here, Your Highness?” Gabriel snapped back with a growl in his voice.
“Unlike your former Lord, we look much farther ahead. And we are resourceful. But one thing we will never have enough of is good men. Warriors. And you seem to be suddenly out of work. What do you say?”
Delacur widened his eyes. “Are you asking me to… switch to your service? And what do you want from us? That we face the Imperial Army now that we are decimated?”
“Oh dear, let’s not talk nonsense. It’s not time to be martyrs yet. Come with me, we will leave before the blue capes pay us a visit. They don’t know where we are headed. We know how to lose our tracks.” He stood up and straightened his wrinkled clothes. “Join us, fight alongside us. We offer you good pay and your heads still attached to your necks. What do you say?”
Sir Gabriel also stood up. He gave a bitter smile. “I don’t think we have any other choice right now.”
