Immortal Defiance Read online

  Contents

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Maps

  Things of Interest

  Prelude

  PART ONE: The Rebellion

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  PART TWO: The Rebels

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Interlude

  Acknowledgments

  IMMORTAL DEFIANCE

  Laura Maybrooke

  Immortal Defiance

  © Laura Maybrooke (2019)

  Published by Laura Maybrooke (registered publisher)

  https://lauramaybrooke.com

  This is a work of fiction.

  All names and places are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  ISBN

  978-952-69295-0-7 (paperback)

  978-952-69295-1-4 (PDF)

  978-952-69295-2-1 (EPUB)

  978-952-69295-3-8 (MOBI)

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system in a database, and/or published in any form by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise without the prior permission of the publisher, except in the case of quotations embodied in reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  DEDICATION

  To Anna

  Thank you for being my best friend on this journey since high school.

  It took over 20 years, but now Dulcea and Krath finally get to embrace the light.

  This story would not exist without you. Thank you.

  For everything, and most of all, for being my friend.

  MAPS

  The countries of Caeryn, as known to cartographers of the time.

  Of S’Aruse, to the west, no known maps survive on the eastern continent.

  THINGS OF INTEREST

  Fortnight:

  A consecutive time of 14 or 15 days in one lunar month, depending on the length of the month. The first fortnight (always 15 days) of a lunar month is called A Fortnight of Shadows (as the full moon is waning) and the second one is referred to as A Fortnight of Light (as the new moon is waxing).

  Lunar Months of the year:

  1. Cold Winter Moon

  2. Quickening Moon

  3. Little Spring Moon

  4. Planter’s Moon

  5. Blossoming Moon

  6. Strawberry Moon

  7. Mead Moon

  8. Mating Earth Moon

  9. Harvest Moon

  10. Hunter’s Moon

  11. Dying Light Moon

  12. Long Nights’ Moon

  Calendar days:

  A Fortnight of Shadows:

  First / Second Moon’s Day

  First / Second Flames’ Day

  First / Second Water’s Day

  First / Second Zephyr’s Day

  First / Second Alchemy’s Day

  First / Second Earth’s Day

  First / Second Sun’s Day

  Unsung Day (15th day of the month)

  A Fortnight of Light:

  First / Second Moon’s Day

  First / Second Flames’ Day

  First / Second Water’s Day

  First / Second Zephyr’s Day

  First / Second Alchemy’s Day

  First / Second Earth’s Day

  First / Second Sun’s Day

  Radiant Day (possible 30th day of the month)

  The fifteenth day of every Fortnight of Shadows (Unsung Days) and the possible thirtieth day of every Fortnight of Light (Radiant Days) are special days of celebration, reserved for honoring the dual nature of life (light and dark, life and death).

  Prelude

  Of Sovereigns and Ladies

  Northern Usvameer, location unknown. Little Spring Moon (spring season 7093)

  The sixth year of the Rebellion.

  The Lady of the Dragons had done well, and now she would soon be on his doorstep. Something nearly forgotten stirred within him. Excitement perhaps. Krath pressed a hand to his chest, trying to recall the sensation of his breath hitching as all his instincts flared to life. It had been so long since he had last enjoyed a good challenge. The thrill of the hunt burned in his blood, ever-familiar even now. But, the curious pleasure of anticipation was new to him.

  He did not care about her companions; they did not matter one jot. The fact they had lost one of their generals in breaching the defenses at Fellmaar, in Southern Usvameer, was none of his concern. This was war, not a game in the sand. The world was full of death, and only the fools believed otherwise. As long as Lady Sarosha kept her hands off what was his, such trivial worries were beyond his care.

  “Are you going hunting tonight?” his companion asked.

  He pushed his soldier to the next slot on the board. “Probably. I could use the distraction.”

  “You need to decide. You cannot be ambivalent forever,” his friend said, moving his sovereign piece.

  “I know.”

  Krath surveyed the game board, plotting his next move.

  An opportunity caught his eye, and he extended a hand to move one of his soldiers. “You get careless with old age, Saranis.” He smirked at his companion.

  “Guess again, sire.” The man grinned, flicking his adversary’s soldier off the board with a flourish. “You see my Castle? This game’s as good as mine.”

  “It’s good you’ll not get another opportunity then. I’m way ahead of you, friend.” He smiled, moving his Lady and forcing Saranis’s Sovereign into the hollow at the center of the board, thus ending the game in his favor. “You were saying?”

  His companion raised his hands. “I concede. Excellent game, sire.”

  Krath rose, walking to the window to gaze out into the darkening evening. It looked to be a perfect night. Turning back to observe the sovereign piece on the board, overpowered by the Lady, he felt a certain sense of irony.

  “I always play to win.”

  “I know you do, my lord.”

  He gripped the windowsill with rigid fingers. Conflict ate at his heart. He wanted to see what marvels Dulcea Lightbringer would yet do with the power granted to her by the Golden Dragon Clan, even if it spelled her demise. His, too, if he was not careful. He had a certain aversion to her hopeful idealism, but it also drew him to her. She was bright and rare, like a distant star shooting across the sky, and he wanted her by his side as much as he wanted her just… gone.

  PART ONE

  The Rebellion

  Chapter 1

  The Capture

  Usvameer, somewhere outside Camp West Ford. Blossoming Moon (spring season 7093).

  The sixth year of the Rebellion.

  The rain came down with a steady beat, running in rivulets down her face. It seeped into the damp wood of the open carriage floor under her and soaked the bag over her head. Dulcea swallowed water, shocking herself awake. She wheezed and coughed, spitting out the liquid in her mouth. A hot flash of pain lanced her, and she gasped for breath. A sturdy rope bound her hands behind
her back and tied her feet together, restricting her movements. Recollection rushed back to her.

  Had Delbin betrayed her…?

  Dulcea struggled for a better position, but because of the continuous jolting of the wagon, she kept falling on her face. Someone laughed. She was in a horse-drawn carriage: she could hear the horses snorting and the clop of their hooves as the vehicle moved. She twisted her hands, trying to free herself, but the ropes held fast and cut into her skin as she wiggled.

  Her captors did not speak. Dulcea knew neither their number nor their allegiance. She ceased her struggling. Her shoulders ached, and her hands were numb. She was exhausting herself for nothing.

  Dulcea dug her nails into her palms, forcing herself calm. Think. Her panic faded a smidgen, and a sense of foolishness washed over her. She was not defenseless, not while she still drew breath. If she could not free herself by physical means, then she would bend minds to do it. The ranks of enchanters had not called her an esteemed colleague before the war for nothing.

  She would make them free her. Dulcea attempted to summon her powers, but something blocked her illusion magic. Phantom wisps of words and images lingered at the edge of her consciousness, but she could not force them to materialize. Fear and anger made her blood run cold. Her heart thumped, writhing in agony under her ribs. All hope fled from her. They knew and had somehow robbed her of her powers.

  “Delbin is a traitor,” Dulcea said in Caerynian Common, hoping to identify her captors. “Why do you follow him?”

  “Silence, you wretch!”

  Dulcea gasped. The reply came in Quelthae, a language known to her. Her mother tongue.

  These were Silver Elves—her own people! A slight hope budded in her chest.

  “Take me back to camp, and as your High General, I will show you lenience. Delbin is the one to blame. Renounce him, and his crimes will not taint you. You swore an oath to me when you joined the Caerynian army; do not forsake the fight now.”

  A rough hand yanked the sack off her head. A fair-skinned elven man with silver white hair gagged her with a scrap of dirty fabric, and Dulcea fought not to retch. She glimpsed a shred of evening sky just as the man put the bag over her head again. Dulcea tried to recall her evening’s schedule. When would her generals at West Ford notice their commander’s disappearance? When would Amparo Darksun realize his dragonmistress had gone missing?

  Her spirits sank. She had no duty tonight. Unless her generals had urgent need of her, no one would look for her before the morning. She was at the mercy of her captors.

  Terror surged in her veins. Sweat trickled down her back despite the cold downpour. Did they have her Golden Staff of the Suns? Had Delbin kept it, hoping to become a dragonlord himself once she was dead, or did he intend to gift it to her enemy, the Saruseans?

  The evening stretched on, turning into night. It had stopped raining, but she was still cold and wet. Her clothing clung to her like a leech to a bare arm. Dulcea tried to listen for any kind of hint of the place to where they were taking her. How would they deliver her to the Saruseans? The Caerynian camp was on the south bank of the River Sithra, the Sarusean on the north. They would have to take her across by boat, but the ride had dragged on for a few hours too many. Where could they be going? The retreating Sarusean army had burned all the bridges between Usvameer and Lavea, and her army controlled this side of the river.

  ---

  Several hours later, the vehicle pulled to a halt. Her captors climbed out of the carriage, and her weary body jolted along the wooden floor with their movements.

  “Emperor Delbin Surinquel sends his greetings.”

  Dulcea’s stomach dropped. The Silver Elves had switched to speaking Sarusean; her enemy had her now. How long did she have to live? The carriage moved on; her captors different, but her fate the same. A few more hours passed on the road before a change occurred. The air turned colder, and the sound of the horses’ hooves began to echo. A tunnel? A cave?

  The carriage stopped. Rough hands grabbed her and lifted her out of the vehicle. She crumpled into a listless heap, unable to stand for her weakness. Someone removed the sack, and despite the poor lighting, Dulcea perceived a group of human men in red-and-black armor standing around her. They looked fascinated, perhaps even awed. One of them grabbed her by the ropes and forced her to her feet. Another seized her by the chin and turned her face from side to side to take a better look. A third one was touching her matted silver curls the way one might touch a horse’s mane on a marketplace to examine its value. Dulcea was helpless to do anything about it.

  The man holding her by the ropes gave a low whistle. “It is her!”

  His comrade snorted. “Like you would know! Have you ever seen her? I know I haven’t.”

  “Yeah. For all you know this could be any Silver Elf girl they came across,” a third one said.

  “Any Silver Elf girl would not have the Golden Staff of the Suns, though.”

  “True. That thing looks real enough. The mages will take care of it. We better not touch it.”

  Dulcea’s heart sank. She had hoped Delbin would be foolish enough to keep her enchanted Golden Staff. A traitor like him, the golden dragons would have either ignored him or eaten him alive.

  The men spoke to one another in fast, clipped Sarusean, but Dulcea could glean enough information from their conversation to understand her situation.

  “We better not touch her, either. She might put a spell on us.”

  They exchanged uncertain glances. The man touching her hair withdrew his hand.

  “She’s been cursed: she can’t do a damned thing to us!” The Sarusean holding her face sneered, but hesitation was clear in his manner.

  Dulcea’s breath caught in her throat. A curse? It made sense now why she could not use her powers. The evil energies of the curse also explained the frequent headaches that plagued her in the days before her capture—a result of her mind trying to access sealed information.

  The man straightened his tall frame, puffing his chest. A decorative metal badge on the front of his cuirass caught her eye. Dulcea supposed he was the leader of the group. He gave a slight nod, and the Sarusean holding her hoisted her over his shoulder. The world tilted, falling out of perspective.

  They proceeded further into the cave, leaving the horse carriage behind in what appeared to be the stables. A dozen men were there looking after the animals, their gazes boring into her as they passed them.

  Cold sweat and water trickled down her brow, stinging her eyes. This was no path under the River Sithra as she had expected, but a permanent settlement. Usvameer was not yet free. There remained at least one hidden Sarusean base in the kingdom, and the Caerynian army had not found it because their enemy had built it underground!

  Dulcea shivered, absorbing the situation. How many fighters did they have here? A thousand? Ten thousand? Could they manage a surprise attack on the Caerynian camp? It would not threaten the war, but it could prolong it—as if almost five and a half years of constant warfare were not enough already.

  “Breza.” The group’s leader gestured at his subordinate. “Run ahead and tell the Master we have her. Her Staff is still at the stables; they are to send someone to retrieve it.”

  The man in question nodded and dashed off to deliver the message.

  Dulcea frowned. The Master? Warlord Turendar, her mind supplied. She had never met the man in person, but it was he who ruled at the head of the Sarusean army in Caeryn. Back in S’Aruse, their mother country, the rumor had it that the Saruseans had a different ruler. A king. A terrible, fearsome king.

  The previous morning felt like a lifetime away. Dulcea supposed it must have been long past midnight by then, but the underground base was far from quiet. They came across guards on duty and maintenance people going about their business of hauling wood, water, and animal carcasses. Some people sat in groups around campfires, immersed in gambling and eating. They all stopped in their tracks to stare at her. The place turned out to be ever larger
the further toward the center of it they ventured. All over the caverns, disappearing into the distance, Dulcea could see habitation carved into the stone, and massive wooden structures and simple tents. There were smells of smoke, cooking, and open sewage, and the sound of blacksmiths hammering steel.

  She had estimated wrong. This went beyond a mere base. It was an entire town.

  Everyone was staring at her. Dulcea shuddered. The soldiers who had been sitting, rose to their feet, and the ones carrying a load, set their cargo down on the ground. People began to gather around them as the news spread, staring at her with dark, hard eyes. Their hostile gazes made her skin prickle. They knew who she was.

  Dulcea could hear the soldiers they passed murmuring to one another.

  “That’s her,” said the whispers in the crowd.

  “Dulcea Lightbringer.”

  “The witch queen.”

  Soldiers began to fall in behind her captors, following them at a distance. Others were gathering on the sides of the trail in front. The Saruseans holding Dulcea quickened their pace. The man with the leader’s badge walked with an anxious step, and the soldier carrying her almost stumbled in his haste. Their sudden, inexplicable nervousness made Dulcea worry.

  A group of soldiers stepped across their path, forcing them to a halt.

  “We’ll take over from here,” a self-important man in a red cape said. “Hand her over, boys.”

  The leader of Dulcea’s group shook his head. “No. The orders were to take her to the Master.”

  The caped figure laughed. “We’ll take her to Master Neros all right.”

  Master Neros? Dulcea’s eyes widened in surprise. Who was that, and where was Warlord Turendar?

  “The order was whoever finds her first, brings her over.” The men glared at each other.