Quest for the Sundered Crown (The Sundered Crown Saga Book 3) Read online

The man stepped backwards.

  “You are not my father. Reveal yourself!” he shouted, fear evident in his tone.

  “So be it,” the voice whispered.

  The darkness deepened until a shadow appeared amongst the trees. It was the shape of a woman. It moved seductively towards him.

  “I am Esperin, Goddess of Darkness and a reluctant part of the God of Balance, your father. You and your kin are my children, too. I suppose you should call me mother.”

  Danon sank to his knees as the shadow stood before him. All light seemed to be absorbed by the goddess. The details of her face were hard to see, but from what Luxon could make out, she was beautiful beyond description.

  “What do you want from me?” he asked in awe.

  Luxon couldn’t believe what he was seeing. This was Danon before his fall. He looked like a normal man. The dark figure standing over Danon terrified Luxon. He had always been told that the gods were just myths, but there was one stood in front of him. The Goddess of Darkness no less.

  The goddess touched Danon’s face with a hand that was pure black. As her fingers brushed his cheek, his body shuddered as if a shock passed through it.

  “I too want to be free,” the shadow said. “I am trapped as part of the God of Balance, but the Darkness should be free. Look at the power I wield.” She pointed to the night’s sky. “All of it is darkness, all of it is mine. This feud over creation bores me – in the end, all things bow to the darkness. What I want from you, Danon, is for you to win this war and tell your brothers to worship me afterwards. With your prayers, I can free myself and order will be restored.”

  Luxon’s mind raced. The feud over creation? The portal had taken him hundreds of thousands of years into the past. He was witnessing the corruption of Danon at the dawn of humanity.

  Danon was mesmerised by the goddess; he seemed oblivious to his surroundings. His skin was covered in icicles and his breath steamed. Luxon noticed that the trees of the forest had withered in the goddess’s presence. All the darkness brought was cold and death.

  “You do not have to answer me now, Danon,” Esperin whispered. “I can sense your confusion. I will return to you and ask you again … if you survive the coming battle. I shall leave you with a warning. You will be betrayed by the one you trust and love the most.”

  The goddess’s aspect dissolved back into the night, and Danon was left alone in the now dead forest, cold, confused and afraid.

  Luxon watched him. The conflict was evident on Danon’s face. It was a strange sight to witness. The Danon he had encountered before was so sure of himself, so corrupted and confident in his dark power. Danon stood and strode off through the forest, and a portal appeared behind Luxon. Taking a deep breath, he stepped through it.

  What would he be shown next?

  *

  Luxon opened his eyes. This time he was inside a dark cave. The flickering of a solitary lamp cast the only light. A terrible scream pierced the air, making him flinch. Again, he ached to have Dragasdol with him.

  The scream came again, but this time he recognised it as a scream of pain. It was a woman’s scream.

  Cautiously, he crept deeper into the cave until he reached a poorly lit cavern. Lying in the middle, atop a bed of straw, was a dark-haired woman. Stood next to her was Danon. Instinctively, Luxon dove for cover. Danon kneeled next to the woman, his hand in hers.

  “I can see the head, my love,” Danon said, a look of joy on his face.

  The woman screamed again. Luxon’s eyes widened – the woman was in childbirth. It was Cliria. Her agonised cry was replaced by panting, and then the unmistakable cry of a newborn baby filled the cavern.

  Luxon hid deeper into the shadows. His fear of the witch was very real. He shuddered at the memory of her torturing him and his friends, of her sending him to the Void. It was because of her that he had been afflicted with the Void Sickness in the first place; it was because of her that Danon had returned.

  Danon leant over Cliria before standing up. In his arms was a child, its cries growing louder by the moment. To Luxon, it didn’t sound natural, and the look of horror on Danon’s face confirmed that the child was not right.

  Slowly, Danon turned, giving Luxon a view of the child. He also cried out at the sight. The child’s head was malformed, and its body was grotesque; even though it was a newborn, its mouth was filled with razor sharp teeth that gnashed the air. Danon sank to his knees and screamed in rage, the child’s cries merging with his despair.

  “Why, father?” he howled. “Why have you forsaken me?”

  Out of the corner of his eye, Luxon spotted a shadowy figure slip out of the cavern. He blinked; he could have sworn that the shadow was the same one he had seen in the forest before. Danon was now slumped onto his knees, the wailing child on the ground in front of him.

  “Niveren has been blessed, and I cursed,” he sobbed. “He and his kin thrive in their golden city while we scratch out a living in this wretched place. Did I not serve as well as him? I led us to victory against Vectrix!” He wiped his eyes before rising, the look on his face was terrible to behold.

  “I will take what should have been mine. The Goddess was right; I am betrayed.”

  Again, Luxon noticed the dark shadow moving in the corner of the cavern. He felt horror as he could sense that it was watching him. Panic filled him, and he fled the cavern. He no longer cared about stealth. He could feel the shadow following him as he ran through the maze of caves. He almost cried out in relief as a portal opened up in front of him. He jumped through it, certain that the shadow had almost caught him.

  7.

  Sumil

  The weather had taken a turn for the worse by the time Kaiden and the other refugees entered the lands of Sumil. But the cold rain and the wind that hinted at snow did not dampen his spirits.

  The road led them through gentle foothills and woodland filled with game. The land had belonged solely to the Order of Niveren, and he had spent many good years there. He noticed as the waggon rolled onwards, that grass was growing through the stone of the road, and there were potholes filled with rainwater.

  He shook his head in dismay.

  The order had kept the roads in perfect condition; now there was no one to look after them. After Eclin the few knights that had survived the battle had laid down their swords and threw off their mantles. The Grand Master and the lesser masters had all perished in their heroic defence of the city leaving the order leaderless.

  With so few knights left and no clear leader, the order fell apart. A part of him was glad that it had done so. He looked over at Alira and squeezed her hand. If the order hadn’t disbanded, then he never would have married her or become a father. He had vowed to live a life of peace, but when the Sarpi had abducted his wife and child, he knew that peace was not an option. A great evil was coming for them all, and they would have to fight whether they liked it or not.

  The idea of returning to Sumil and the priory of the order had entered his thoughts before. He had been happy being a farmer, but his mind would always drift back to his time of being a knight, of the adventures he’d had and the brothers that he knew would always have his back.

  “Would you look at that,” Grig said in awe as he poked his head out of the waggon.

  The old man cooed at the sight that greeted them as they crested a small hill. In the distance were the vast mountains of Eclin. Stood atop three of the tallest peaks, and lost amongst the low clouds, were the famous five-hundred-foot-tall statues of Delfinnia’s greatest kings. Beneath the mountains was the Great Wood, a forest that stretched for hundreds of miles to Caldaria in the north-west, and to the distant shores of Plock to the east. In the near distance was Lake Sumil, its waters shimmering in the sunlight. Situated in the centre of the lake was an island, which was dominated by what looked like a walled town. A tall stone tower rose from the heart of the island: the priory of Niveren.

  Kaiden smiled at the sight. It had been too long since he had last set eyes on Sumil
. No matter where the order had sent him, the sight of it had always filled him with happiness. To him, it was the most beautiful place in the world. It was the perfect place to worship Niveren’s glory.

  His smile dropped as he spotted movement on the island. He raised a hand to shield his eyes from the rapidly dimming sunshine. Soon the clouds would cover the sun entirely, and then the rains would follow. Sure enough, he saw a group of people running into the tower.

  “It looks like the innkeeper was correct when he said that the island has new residents,” Kaiden muttered.

  Grig patted him on the shoulder.

  “Why don’t we go see who those folk are? There are too few of us to take the place if it comes to a fight, and I don’t think anyone else in this wagon except you knows how to wield a sword.”

  Kaiden frowned. The old healer was right. Aside from himself, only Alira knew some combat magic. Perhaps Runf – one of the refugees and former blacksmith at the Watchers – knew how to use a hammer. But if it came to violence, they would not prevail.

  “There’s a sheltered clearing a little bit further up the road. Set up camp there and I will take Herald and see who those people are,” he said, passing the reins to Alira.

  “Be careful,” his wife said softly. He shot her a cocky smile and kissed her on the lips.

  “I’ll be fine. If anything goes wrong, you turn tail and head to Caldaria as fast as you can.”

  He jumped from the driver’s board and walked to the rear of the wagon. Herald whinnied at seeing his master. Kaiden untied his trusty steed and climbed into the saddle. He winced slightly as his wound ached. The injury was healing well, but still he suffered the odd twinge every now and again. He spurred Herald into a trot and waved at Alira and Grig as he rode past them. Once he was clear of the waggon, he kicked his heels into Herald’s flanks to spur the horse into a gallop. He whooped as the wind rushed passed. It had been a long time since he had been able to ride, Herald, too, seemed to be happy to be allowed to run. It didn’t take them long to reach the gatehouse that guarded the bridge leading to the priory. Pulling back on the reins, Kaiden slowed Herald into a gentle trot.

  As they approached the guardhouse, two men stepped outside. Both wore simple leather armour, and each had a short sword hanging on their belts. The taller of the two had a livid red scar running down his right cheek, while the other’s only remarkable feature was that his nose was crooked to such an extent that he must have broken it multiple times over the years.

  “Who are you?” the scarred man asked.

  Neither men had reached for their swords, suggesting that they were confident that they could deal with a solitary rider. Kaiden glanced at the bridge. Two other armoured figures had taken up position, their crossbows aimed at his chest.

  “I am Sir Kaiden of the Marble Shore, Knight of Niveren,” Kaiden replied. It felt odd to use his official title after so many years.

  The two guards looked at each other in surprise.

  “The knights left this place a long time ago,” the guard with the broken nose said. “It belongs to the boss now, so I suggest you move on.”

  “May I enquire as to who your boss is? I’m sure he is an intelligent man, and that would mean that he knows that this island was gifted to the Knights of Niveren for all time.”

  The two guards glared at him for a moment before huddling together. Kaiden could hear them whispering to each other.

  “Any time today if you will. I am in a bit of a hurry,” he added haughtily.

  After some more bickering, the guards ceased their whispering and faced him.

  “Wait here. The boss may want to speak to you,” the scarred guard said. The other guard hurried across the bridge and into the priory. The crossbowmen still kept their weapons at the ready.

  Twenty minutes had passed before the guard returned. To Kaiden’s surprise, the man bowed to him.

  “The King of Thieves has granted you permission to cross the bridge and meet with him. All he asks is that you leave your weapons here with us. He promises that you will not be harmed. On his honour, he promises.”

  Kaiden sat straighter in the saddle his hand gripping the pommel of his sword. He hesitated. A thief with honour? The title of King of Thieves alone suggested that he was dealing with a bunch of brigands. But he didn’t have the men to take the place by force; diplomacy was his only option. With a reluctant sigh, he drew his sword and gave it to the scarred man. The guard gawped at the majesty of the weapon before looking at Kaiden with respect.

  “Nice sword, I’ll keep it safe for you. Sir Knight,” he said with a bow.

  Kaiden dismounted Herald and handed the reins to the other guard.

  “Both the sword and horse had better be returned to me unharmed,” he warned.

  The scarred man waved over one of the crossbowmen who lowered his weapon and jogged over to the gatehouse.

  “Strain here will take you to see the boss,” he said.

  The crossbowman bowed his head and gestured for Kaiden to follow. As they crossed the stone bridge, Kaiden felt a surge of mixed emotions. Flapping from high on the towers that lined the bridge were the worn and torn banners of the Knights of Niveren. The seven-pointed gold star had faded to such an extent that it was barely visible, and the white material had turned a yellowish brown colour after years outside in all weathers.

  His thoughts drifted back to the day he and the last few knights had departed the priory. It had been a solemn affair. There had been only four of them, and the priory had felt like an empty ghost town. The order had been almost slain to a man at Eclin, and only the knights vigilant and Kaiden himself had survived. He remembered them debating about what they should do with the priory. One had suggested they burn it to the ground, but the others had argued that to do so would make it official that the order was dead. Kaiden had argued that the order had disbanded before in its long history, only to return stronger than before; he just hoped that he could honour that tradition.

  He frowned; he had to focus on the here and now. Whoever this King of Thieves was, he had to be persuaded to leave.

  They walked through the gatehouse that guarded the island and entered a wide open courtyard that was surrounded by tall stone structures. In front of them was the unmistakable spire of the Church of Niveren, while off to the right were the barracks and training grounds. To the left was the priory proper. Inside was a large hall that had been filled with desks where the squires handled the administrative affairs of the order. The order in some ways was like a miniature nation of its own. It had its own trade routes, its own vassal settlements to rule, and had the ability to wage war in distant parts of the realm. The enemies of the order had ranged from the bandits that menaced the kingdom’s roadways to Fell Beasts and the dark remnants of the Magic Wars.

  He noticed as they walked that there were more people milling about the courtyard. Most of them paid him no heed, but some stared at him in curiosity. There were women and children amongst them.

  The crossbowman walked straight ahead and, with a grunt, shoved open the two huge heavy oak doors that led into the church. They opened with a loud screech as the rusty hinges protested. The altar that stood at the end of the aisle now had a large throne-like chair in front of it.

  The tall stained-glass windows that depicted the various deeds of Niveren appeared to be intact, save for the largest of them all. That window had shown a scene of Niveren standing over the fallen body of Danon. Niveren was shown as a being made of golden light, while Danon was a shadowy figure. Some of the panes of glass were missing, no doubt damaged in a winter storm. Kaiden took it all in before his gaze settled upon the throne. Sat on it was a person wearing similar garb to the guardsmen, but their face was hidden in shadow thanks to a thick leather hood.

  “I couldn’t believe my ears when they told me who was at my gates,” the man said in a familiar voice.

  “I fear you have me at a disadvantage … King of Thieves,” Kaiden replied, sure to use the title that the
stranger had chosen to adopt. Best to keep the man happy he reasoned.

  The man chuckled. “King of Thieves,’ he scoffed. ‘I am no more a king than that turd Ricard is. It is just a title that my men have given me.”

  The thief waved a hand to summon over one of his men. “Bring us some food and drink. I trust you didn’t come here alone?”

  “I travelled here with a group hoping to take back Sumil for the Knights of Niveren,” Kaiden replied.

  “I’ll send one of my boys to bring the rest of your group here. Tell me, is Ferran of BlackMoor with you?”

  Kaiden’s eyes widened in surprise at the mention of his friend. His mind raced until it clicked. A smile crossed his lips.

  “Thrift?”

  The King of Thieves laughed and clapped his hand together before pulling down his hood.

  “You got it,” Thrift said rising from his chair. “I was a bit hurt that you didn’t recognise me, but I suppose it has been a few years since our paths last met.” He strode over to Kaiden and embraced him tightly.

  “It is good to see you, my friend,” Kaiden said. “I was worried that Sumil had been taken over by a bunch of bandits.”

  “It had been. I’ll tell you all about it, but first, let’s get your people inside. From the sounds of it, the weather has turned for the worse.”

  *

  Alira and the others crossed the bridge leading to Sumil just as a tempest began to grow in strength. Strong winds buffeted the island, and the normally serene waters of the lake had turned tumultuous. Thrift and his people helped the refugees bring in the horses and wagon. Once inside the walls of Sumil, they set about making a feast. The larder was well stocked by the thieves, and before long several deer carcases were soon being cooked in the large priory kitchens. The smell made Kaiden’s mouth water. It had been too many days since they’d had a good meal, let alone a feast. It was now late evening, and the storm continued to rage outside. Lightning flashed through the windows that lined the main hall. The rumble of thunder was overridden by the excited chatter of people. Thrift had turned the priory’s hall into a dining hall. The small tables that had once been used by the scribes had been pushed together to make one long table that filled the centre of the hall. Chairs had been scavenged from all corners of the priory to ensure that everyone had a seat.