The Lords of Valdeon (2 page)

Mikel clenched his left fist as he stared down upon the lion's head within the stone. He was willing to sacrifice his life for those innocent souls shivering behind the thin walls of the shack. This being was asking for much more. It was asking for the future of his family line. His eyes drifted to the dying leaves the Sarcion had left behind. So be it. His heirs would serve like their sire before them.

"I will wear this ring of yours and serve you for the sake of my people."

"And those faithful to you? Will they also serve me?"

Malcolm stepped toward Mikel, resting a hand upon his shoulder. "I will stand with you, my brother. You will not bear this oath alone."

The others joined the two D'Antoiné brothers, their eyes staring unabashedly at the Jalora. Each of them nodded their acceptance. They were all brave men, pulled together by desperate need.

"Very well. I name you the Sacred Guard. Great power will be yours. Fulfill your eternal duty to protect our covenant."

Warm energy ran along Mikel's skin as the Jalora brought the Lion Ring closer. The middle finger of his left hand grew hot, aching to touch the ring's silver band. Need, urgent and insistent, grew within his heart. The pull of the ring was strong. Would he lose himself and all he had been if he put this band upon his finger? Mikel's heart grew grim. No. He had nothing left to lose. Duty to his people was the only spark of meaning he had left.

"Never let this ring fall into the hands of evil, my Lion. It is the key to summoning my power. If evil should take this ring, your borrowed magic could be turned against the very people it was meant to serve."

"You have my promise. This ring will not leave the Lion's hand while breath still flows from our bodies."

Mikel kneeled down and stretched out his left hand. The Jalora thrust the ring onto his middle finger. Hungry feelers bit into his flesh. He swallowed a scream as tiny teeth burrowed and chewed. Searching for a stronghold, the feelers at last struck bone. Tiny tentacles latched tightly into the marrow. Other tentacles opened, sucking Mikel's blood into its stony belly. Its mortal host threw back his head, unleashing a mighty roar.

"Mikel! Your eyes burn with fire. Amber flecks form within the brown."

Malcolm clutched at Mikel's hand as he fell to the ground. Heat burned within his body as the Jalora's power filled him. Pain overwhelmed his senses threatening to send him into unconsciousness. Words came to him as from a great distance. Still, his brother held firm to his hand.

"You are the Lion's Right-Hand, second only to him."
The Jalora's voice echoed in the mist.
"Mark those amber eyes well, Malcolm D'Antoiné. They are unique to the Lion. This is the mark I give the rightful heir of the king. Guard your Lion well. The lives of a great many depend upon him."

Chapter One

Obsession was a demon, driving men with the whip of blind ambition. Julian D'Antoiné felt the sting of its whip as his ship fought against the perpetual downpour. A great hound's muzzle — encased forever in bronze — snapped at the frigid air from under the bowsprit. Its distorted reflection upon the water was a herald, an ill omen of death.

The forgotten land ahead, as if in retaliation for the impending violence, threw all its ill will against them. Brutal wind sent daggers of rain pounding into the solar sails of the air schooner. Rough currents pushed against the ship's descending hull, but the vessel held its steady course toward shore. Julian ignored the wet striking his face. All his focus and will remained fixed upon the prey trapped somewhere within the thick coastal bog. The object of obsession was, at long last, cornered in the most desolate part of Andara.

He smoothed at the ring gripping his finger. It shivered with anticipation. Mentor and friend, the Sarcion had shown him many things. His greatest ally had once belonged to a nation of great people whose magic had been called "technology." Much of what it told him brought only confusion, but its promise of power he understood well. Bitter rivalry between the Sarcion and its eternal enemy, the Jalora, fueled an infinite match. Julian and his fellow mortals were but pawns in their endless game. He accepted the diminutive role and was being richly rewarded for his part.

"My lord prince." Captain Nunez's scarred face leaned in close, his voice fighting against the winds. "We've received the signal from shore. They've found it."

A single lantern light flashed from the thick trees crowding the rocky shore. Its message came in steady pulses. The hand holding the lantern was insistent, urgent and hungry. Julian's grip upon these new soldiers was a tentative hold at best. Obedience in exchange for the promise of freshly slaughtered human flesh. The creature would obey his commands until the driving hunger overpowered its will. The scent of blood drove them into frenzy, but their need mustn't be satiated yet. His own need was greater.

"Get me to shore, Captain," Julian commanded, boarding the hovering dinghy. "We don't have much time."

Leaning hard upon the throttle, Julian sent the craft bolting forward. Crystal engines blossomed brilliant white. Vessel and rope ripped out of the hands of his human crew. Flying recklessly toward shore, the craft bounced precariously above the waves. Not far now. He sailed faster as his own demons gave chase. Julian reversed the engines when the hull drew near rock. They whined in angry fits of metal. He leapt out of the dinghy and onto the rocky beach. Discarded, the small boat drifted slowly toward the tree line.

A long shadow fell across the ground before a small break in the trees. He scrambled over wet rock and driftwood to the spot. Dignity be damned. The shadow brushed at his hand for a moment, and then fell away. Julian mastered his revulsion at the intimacy of the touch. No affection dwelled in the shadow's frozen caress, only a hunger to devour. He forced his eyes downward and scraped moss from the weather-worn stone with the toe of his boot. They’d found the ancient road leading to Sea Point Outpost. His father would be there, hiding like the animal he’d become.

He pushed through the overgrowth as the shadow retreated into the bog. Following its dark blemish upon moss and stone, he forced his way into the inhospitable barrier. The stench of things long dead assaulted his nostrils, making his eyes water. Muggy heat hung about the dead branches. Julian rubbed a strong-smelling balm under his nose. Fresh air was a stranger in North Marsh.

Tearing, scratching, and gnawing at his body, the land fought back until it revealed the secret it had hidden so well. He glared up at the ruined fortress, its skeletal remains stretching helplessly toward the ocean it once guarded. The Jalora Legion had abandoned this stronghold long ago, along with the continent of Andara’s northwest coastline. Now it was nothing more than a rotting corpse slowly fading away into the bogs.

Much like a painful birthing, he pushed through the tangle of limbs and growth to stand upon the dried path. Someone had cleaned off the stone and cut away nature's fingers, leaving an island of rubble. He sneered, absently stroking the talisman upon his finger. It was unlike his clever quarry to be cornered with no means of escape.

"I’ve found you, Leo!" Julian’s shout echoed among the stones. "I can feel the Jalora’s life force pulsing within your Lion Ring. You have nowhere left to hide from my power as long as it is upon your finger."

Dark eyes flecked with fiery amber pierced through Julian from a small gap within the stone wall. Nearly eight hundred years had passed since the Jalora had first put the Lion Ring upon Mikel D'Antoiné's finger. Countless Lions had kept Mikel's oath to protect the people of Andara by bearing the ring. Leo was as blindly dedicated to upholding his ancestor's promise as any of those who had come before him.

"The Jalora will never allow you to bear its sacred talisman," Leo called out through the stone. "Take that thing of evil off your own finger, my son. It will see all that is good in Andara destroyed."

"You remain the Jalora’s puppet to the end." Julian spat upon the ground. "By its word you have abandoned the people of Valdeon, neglecting your duties as their king. Now civil war threatens our homeland. A strong leader must take your place."

"Tell this man to come face us then, bastard prince!" Another voice called to his left. "For it shan't be you."

"Brave words. You may well call me a bastard from the safety of those walls. Come face me directly and we'll see how loudly you can bark!"

Movement from the trees forced Julian to master his temper. His hold upon his unstable allies weakened as he lost concentration. The defenders of this ruined fortress had seen his terrifying army easily take their last stronghold, an abandoned abbey in the middle of a Ghent meadow. They were purposely goading him. Were they so anxious to die?

A single arrow flew from the wall, striking the ground beside his boot. Laughter, coarse and proud, filled the bogs. This last act of defiance was no surprise. From the moment a ranger put the ‘Heart of the Warrior’ ring upon his finger, the Jalora took control of his mind. It was a parasite living off the ranger’s life force, sharing his blood within the crystal mounted upon bands of silver. As a child, Julian had been fascinated by the carnivorous appetite of the crystal. He remembered watching in awe as the host’s blood filled its stony stomach. Sickened with disgust, his gaze fell to the ring upon his own finger. The Sarcion demanded no such sacrifice. It was a partner to its host. He smoothed his finger tip along the surface of the black stone. Of course, it did have its own needs.

"Hell awaits all of you!" Julian raised his hand and sliced it down again.

Nine dark figures, shrouded in midnight robes, poured from the rotting trees and tall grass of the marsh. They moved like wraiths toward him. Their passing made no sound, and their feet left no prints. Sniffing the air as one, the creatures caught their quarry's scent. Their blood-stained teeth began to chatter. A nerve-shattering caterwaul emanated from deep inside their billowing forms. They were the Sarcion's advanced guard and special assassin squad. Those unlucky souls who had heard their terrible song called them the Dirge.

They stopped beside Julian, tense with anticipation and hungry for his command to take the fortress. He watched them, feeding on their savage hatred. They had been men once. The Sarcion had changed them into instruments of death, bound forever to its will.

The man who joins the Lion Ring and the Sarcion Ring will rule not just Valdeon, but all of Andara!
The Sarcion whispered within Julian's mind, sending the euphoria pulsing into his body. It was a drug akin to the deepest gratification. The words — as they always had — gave him the courage to push on. For two years, he had patiently orchestrated his rise to power. He had eliminated any competition for the throne of Valdeon. Then the long hunt for Leo had begun. The final element for his victory was at hand.

"I will restore the glory of Valdeon!" Julian breathed in deeply the sensation of his invincibility. "My armies will force all of Andara to cower at my feet!"

Pushing his hunger down, he steadied his emotions. A cool head would see victory this day, not reckless desire. He turned to the Dirge, forcing his gaze to remain fixed on the lifeless orbs hidden deep inside their hooded shrouds.

"Take the fortress. Leave my father alive. I want to see him in his defeat."

The Dirge swept toward the walls, effortlessly dodging the volley of arrows showering down upon them. Agile like predator cats, their movements were quick and sure. Nightmarish forms disappeared and reappeared too quickly to anticipate. They were untouchable. Death's song intruded upon the silence of the marsh. Screams of anguish rose up as the Dirge melted into the gaps of the wall. It was feeding time.

"They move like phantoms," Julian whispered to the Sarcion.

Yes, aren’t they beautiful?
The Sarcion vibrated with pleasure upon Julian’s finger. Its bloodlust never seemed to be sated.

The lifeless bodies of the defenders flew over the walls, landing with a sickening crunch upon the crumbled stone. Julian kicked the nearest corpse over. Three slash marks crossed the man's left forearm. He was one of Leo's "Lion Friends." There would be no pleadings for mercy in this battle. In their fanaticism to protect the old ranger, they recklessly threw down their lives for his honor. Julian stood away from the zealot. He didn't recognize the man. Leo had many such nameless worshippers.

Death's music had stopped. It was silent again upon the marsh. Julian followed the slippery stone toward a large, barricaded opening. The wet wood was easily pushed aside now that no one was left to hold the bracings. Bloodied bodies were scattered everywhere. Some were Valdeonians loyal to their old king. The greater majority were men of other nations, those Leo hadn't disappointed. Julian hurried around them, turning his face away as the Dirge munched greedily upon the corpses. They hissed in warning as he passed.

One of the Dirge was waiting for him at the top of a crumbling wall. He struggled up the mossy stone to join its floating visage. As it turned the hooded cowl toward him, gray-blue skin pulled taut over sharp bones in a hideous mockery of a grin. Black orbs took Julian in with calculating hunger. Then the Dirge turned away and pointed a thin finger to the ancient courtyard below. Leo knelt upon the stone floor directly beneath them. Gone was his carefully maintained uniform. The old king had allowed his gray hair to grow long, tying it back in the fashion of a commoner. The Crown of Sorrows, symbol of Valdeon's ruler, hovered upon his brow. Its magic had diminished to a weak glow.

He had once feared the ranger kneeling before him. Now, the mighty Lion — one of the highest-ranking officers in their legion consisting of kings and other nobility — had been reduced to little more than a peasant. It was no easy thing to stand against the power of a ranger — especially the legendary Leo. Julian's contempt for his father gave him the strength to push aside the last of his fear.

The old ranger’s eyes swept down to the oval ring on his left hand. He seemed to be contemplating the lion’s head etched in white within the stone. The Lion Ring flashed soft purple in the afternoon sun. Was it speaking to its human host? Julian's ring stirred in response. For one wild moment, he imagined his father would surrender. Then a dagger flashed in Leo's hand. His amber-flecked eyes ran across Julian's face. With a final cry of defiance, Leo brought the dagger down upon his left hand.