The Chronicles of Lumineia: Book 02 - The Gathering (2 page)

The sky glittered
with stars in the cloudless night, visible from her room in the House of Runya,
and she pursed her lips in annoyance at the dark heavens.
I couldn’t have
slept more than a few hours.
She sighed and looked over Azertorn, the capitol
city of the elves.

Carved from a
thousand foot cliff, and situated between two waterfalls, the multitiered city
was shaped like an inverted cone. Beginning at two hundred feet off the forest
floor, the first tier housed a glittering pond and abundant gardens. From
there, each subsequent tier was shaped like a half circle, and became larger
the further you ascended through the city.

Rising out of
the lowest level, a great tree reached hundreds of feet skyward. Named Le
Runtáriel, the massive arbor served as a highway from one side of the city to
the other. Hundreds of thick limbs spanned the gap, providing shaped walkways
to and from the center. Other branches had been molded into spiraling
staircases that wound gracefully around the enormous trunk.

Vegetation and
waterways blanketed the rest of the city, creating green pathways and gurgling
brooks. Low hanging fruit and bright flowers added a sweet scent that caressed
the breeze, and thick vines climbed any remaining patches of stone. The variety
and volume of flora was a source of great pride for the elven people, yet could
not hide what lay beneath.

Slumbering
under the vibrant array of magically enhanced gardens lay a citadel unequal in
defensive design. Rarely tested, the fortifications of the city began at the
forest floor, where the city gates were backed by fifty feet of solid stone. Impossible
to breach by a battering ram, they stood next to the real entrance, which
appeared like any other section of smooth rock.

The truth of
the front entrance was a closely guarded secret of the elven people, but it was
not the only one. Behind the real entrance, a giant cavern housed the First
Legion of the elves, and above that a second cavern housed the Second Legion.
Even if the ruse behind the gates was discovered, an invading army would enter
into the teeth of the elven defenses, and be forced to fight through countless barriers
before reaching the city proper.

Above the
city, the Giant's Shelf formed a plateau that began in the western mountains,
and spread to the great Blue Lake to the east. A wide river, swift and
treacherous, ran south until it was split by the city. Its two branches then
formed an ever flowing moat that protected the high walls at the top of the
city, and fed the twin waterfalls.

In centuries
past, the city had been carved by the dwarves for the elves, and many
considered it to be the strongest fortress every created—yet Siarra knew that
it would be destroyed. After ten thousand years, Lord Draeken had somehow
unleashed his army again. Thought to be destroyed by the hero Lakonus, the ancient
defeat of Draeken had caused the black army to be drawn back to the realm where
they had been created.

But the
legendary war had not been without consequences, and in the wake of the army's
disappearance, hundreds of thousands lay dead. Whole nations had been crushed,
defending armies of every race had been annihilated, and cities had been erased
from existence. Although every people suffered incalculable losses, some had
been hunted to extinction. Without remorse, the fiend army was on the verge of
slaying all life on Lumineia—until they had vanished.

With centuries
of time to dull their memory, the holocaust had faded from legend and into myth.
But then Draeken’s assassin appeared once more, and the death of heroes marked
the return of Draeken's army. A supreme killer, the specter of death had left
countless dead until Siarra’s half-brother Taryn and the thief Jack had
succeeded in slaying it. The act had saved Siarra's life as well—leaving her
with a quandary.

The attraction—and
irritation—she felt for the thief was difficult to ignore, but as the Oracle of
Lumineia she had responsibilities, even if she didn't want them. For some
reason it rankled for him to have saved her life . . . twice. She blew out her
breath and turned away from the window. The enigma that was Jack Myst would not
be solved now, and she didn't want to waste her time trying.

As Siarra
moved to her clothes and began dressing, her thoughts returned to her vision. Her
dream had told her much about the coming war. The elven high council had met
hours ago, and already their plans needed to change. For one, she wasn’t going
to stay at Azertorn. If she stayed and helped defend the united races, they
would be defeated soon after she died on the sixth day.

Still fresh,
the image of her death caused a knot to sink into her stomach. Reaching for a
glass of water, she downed it before striding towards the door. On her way out
she grabbed a glass ball from a shelf before slipping into the shadowed
hallway. Sensing the route through her magic, she passed through corridors that
until yesterday were unfamiliar. Even inside, the magic of the elves grew
vines, flowers, and trees on every section of stone. Smooth hardwood creaked
underfoot as she passed, its dark grain absorbing any light.

Reaching her
destination, she tapped on the door. Within moments the door opened to reveal
Taryn with tangled red hair, blinking in the soft light of the hallway. “Siarra?”

A little
shorter than a human, her half-brother was obviously a fighter. Corded muscles
were visible even under his tunic, and the ready stance betrayed his training.
His dark red hair hung free to his shoulders, and his indigo eyes carried a
certain innocence that always made her smile. Although she could tell he'd
tried to hide it, it was apparent he had not been sleeping. She couldn't blame
him. He'd only found out a few hours ago what he was meant to do.

With the blood
of the elves, dwarves, and humans running through his veins, he was the one
prophesied to defeat Draeken. The strengths of the three races in one body was
unique, and created in Taryn a warrior unequaled in combat—but the extreme
ability came with a price that some of his other skills had paid.

“Do you know
if the riders to the other races have left yet?” she asked.

“Hm, I don’t
think so. They were going to depart at first light, weren’t they?” Then he
caught her gaze and his eyes narrowed. “What happened, what’s wrong?”

“We have some
work to do, before the riders leave.”

He nodded and
disappeared while she was still talking. Not a minute later he reappeared with
his weapons on his back, but didn't seem to notice her annoyed look. "What
do we need to do?"

"There is
something we must do, but first we need to speak to Braon and the queen,” she
said, turning down the hall.

“Wait!” He
lengthened his stride to catch up to her. “Why now? I mean, why tonight? Don't
you have a few weeks before the fiends arrive?”

She stopped
and faced him. “If I stay here, we lose. Everyone dies.”

He skidded to
a stop and his jaw dropped at her revelation, reminding her of their mother,
Ianna. She had always told her that she was too blunt. The memory of her mother’s
voice caused Siarra to wince.
Would it be different if she were here
?

Siarra took a
deep breath. “I have to come with you, to help you defeat Draeken.”

Taryn shook
his head, “But—”

“Either way
I’m pretty sure I die . . .” She paused and her expression darkened,

“. . . but not
without a fight.”

Chapter 2: The Power of a Prophecy

Taryn left
Siarra near Liri’s door and hurried to deliver her message. Threading his way
through the House of Runya, he managed to slip outside and into the night air. While
he worked his way to the Queen’s palace on the ninth tier of Azertorn he found
himself mulling over Siarra’s words.

It disturbed
him to hear her talk of her own death like that. In the few weeks since he'd
met her, his half-sister had become much more to him than he could have imagined—and
her power was unmatched in Lumineia. The idea of her at his side would be more
than a little comforting. Ever since she'd told the high council that he was
destined to defeat Draeken, he'd felt very, very, alone.

But if she did
come with him, then who would lead the defenses? He trusted her implicitly, but
at the same time it seemed impossible that someone else could match her skill. Her
foresight in the battle would be invaluable. Who could do better than the
Oracle?

Then he
recalled Siarra placing Braon in charge of the strategic defense of Azertorn. Was
it his calling to do this
alone
? It seemed like too much for a 15-year-old
human—but, Taryn had to admit, Braon was no ordinary human.

Young and
overweight, Braon still had the most strategic mind of any person Taryn had
ever met. He could outplan, outthink, or outwit anyone and possessed an uncanny
ability to read a person's intentions before they acted. If he were a fighter
he would have been invincible.

Taryn smiled
at the image of Braon with a sword and knew it would never happen. Where his
mind excelled, his body lacked. It just wasn’t his place to carry a blade. The
contrast between himself and the young man was too clear to ignore. Trained
from an early age, Taryn had taken to swordcraft as if it was breathing, yet
his talents in other areas were not quite so abundant. His abilities came from
his heritage; strength and stamina from the dwarves, speed and agility from the
elves, and cunning and fortitude from humans. His numerous weaknesses . . . had
yet to be explained.

Together,
Braon the mind, and Taryn the weapon, had to find a way to defeat Draeken and
his army. For his part, Taryn would cross the kingdoms in search of the Lord of
Chaos, and then pray he had enough strength to destroy him—before it was too
late. While he sought the source, Braon would deal with the army. With scarcely
six weeks to prepare, the eastern kingdom in ruins, and an enormous army headed
towards them, it seemed impossible to do alone.

Every
individual is necessary in the battle to do what's right.

Murai's words
came back to him and he shook his head. How could his adoptive uncle have known
how important that phrase would become? It was almost too incredible to imagine
what they were about to attempt—what they must achieve—to survive.

Every race had
to be gathered, prepared to fight, and then somehow be taught to fight
together. And they were still going to be defeated. Millions of people had to
be gathered together to defend their very existence, and every single one was
going to die . . .

Unless Taryn
destroyed Draeken in time.

The weight of
his own calling threatened to crush him until the doors to the Queen's palace
came into view. Welcoming the distraction, he hurried towards the nearest guard.

Before the elf
could say anything, Taryn said, "The Oracle has requested an immediate
audience with the queen. Please inform her at once."

The guard
hesitated for a moment before nodding and entering the large golden doors,
motioning for him to follow. Taryn fell into step behind him and frowned. He'd once
heard Liri use a similar tone, and this time it had the same effect. It gave
him a feeling of power that oddly made him uncomfortable.

Less than a
minute later they came to a familiar door within the Queen's home. It was the
same door that led to the room where Taryn and Liri had been tasked with
finding the Oracle—the same Oracle that had turned out to be his half-sister.

"Wait
here," the elven guard said and departed down the dim hallway.

He didn’t have
to wait long before someone opened the door and ushered him in.

"You may
sit," a guard said and moved to lighten the room by uncovering a flameless
torch.

"The
Oracle should be right behind me," Taryn said as he found a seat.

"We know,
she arrived just moments ago," the elf said and turned to leave.

As if on cue
Siarra skidded to a stop and slipped into the room. Out of breath, she plopped into
a seat grown from a living tree. Before Taryn could say a word another door
opened.

Ayame Ser'Tármaril
entered the room. Tired and worn, she appeared regal at the same time. An alert
guard followed her into the chamber, and Taryn felt his heart twinge as he
remembered Ren, the previous bodyguard of the Queen. They had traveled together
on the quest to find Siarra, and he'd given his life to save Taryn's.

How many
more will perish before this is over?
Taryn wondered, his throat tightening
at the flood of memories. So many had died at the hands of the assassin, and their
faces flashed across his mind. Only the last image brought him a measure of
comfort, the one of the killer collapsing as it was vanquished.

The queen made
herself comfortable before speaking. "Siarra, my dear, what has changed
since our council not hours past?" Her tone made it sound like she clung
to a hope that the news would be good.

"We must
hold the riders for a few hours. There is something they must take with them if
they are to be successful."

From within a
pouch at her side Siarra drew a darkened globe of glass and handed it to the
Queen.

"What
is—" Ayame began, but Siarra cut her off.

"A
vision," She said, "one that you must see."

For several
moments she gazed into the globe before she gasped. Her serene face turned
ashen gray and she began to have trouble breathing. Her wide blue eyes took on
the expression of someone staring into the distance, and not a moment later,
tears spilled onto her cheeks.

"What
have you done to her?" Taryn and the guard asked at the same time, and
both made a motion towards Ayame.

"Don't,"
she said. "She needs to see this." Her tone softened as she added, "It
won't hurt her."