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Swift as a man who’d practiced, Rakiar swung the dagger toward Valo, drawing a crimson line over his throat, then turning the weapon away—to hurl it at Aniketos, embedding the blade solidly below his left shoulder.
Eliya and Valeria screamed. Every man within the meeting circle bellowed and grasped for weapons.
As Eliya fought to reach her brother, others gripped her arms—Danek and his cousin Sion. She struggled to shake them off. “My brother’s wounded! Let go!”
But as Valo’s guard dragged him away, Aretes lunged toward Rakiar, aiming his gleaming long-spear at the northern ruler’s heart. Rakiar’s two guards struck aside Aretes’ spear, then stabbed him, toppling him dead into the grass before Eliya.
More onlookers charged into the circle, joining the fray—two noblemen clad in Trisguard’s green hues lifting daggers toward Eliya. Undoubtedly, Rakiar had ordered her death. Danek stepped backward, shielding Eliya while Sion mirrored his movements from the opposite side, trapping her between them, echoing each other’s war cries.
Eliya ducked out of their way, then planted her hands in the cold, coarse grass. Only fools risked attacking the Walhaisii king; he’d destroy them all. Yet, “Liege, save him! Protect Danek and Sion!” And Valo.
Was Valo dead? Danek and Sion held their ground, almost back to back as they defended her. One of her attackers fell at Danek’s feet, his gray-green eyes going blank as he died—staring at her. Eliya flinched, then looked ahead. Her gaze fixed on Aretes’ shimmering fallen spear. She must not think. Only act. Rakiar’s polished black boots tramped along the grass just beyond Aretes’ spear as Rakiar and his guards battled Aniketos’ guards. By Rakiar’s actions, he’d fight his way toward Belkrates and kill him.
No. Rakiar must not claim the sun crown.
Eliya scooted away from Danek and Sion, grabbed the spear with both hands, braced herself, then lunged upward at Rakiar with all her might. The spear slid beneath his embroidered cloak, then stopped with an appalling flesh-muted thump. Laros froze, his gray eyes widening in obvious pain. Eliya released the spear as Rakiar met her gaze.
Baring his teeth, Rakiar swung his sword downward at Eliya. Danek blocked the blade with the flat of his sword. Adalric charged Rakiar, screaming, “Murderer!”
Rakiar’s sword clattered against Eliya’s diadem-encircled head, then dropped to the grass. Danek lunged to shield Eliya, but Adalric collided with Laros Rakiar, knocked him flat, then stabbed him over and over, screaming in a berserker’s unintelligible rage.
Sion and Ceyphraland’s two guards subdued Rakiar’s men. The tumult faded almost as swiftly as it had begun, leaving only the groans of wounded men, and blood seeping from the dead. Before Eliya could stand, Danek swung an arm around her and scooped her to her feet, almost carrying her toward Valo.
Ashen, held half-propped up by his guard, who was staunching his bloodied neck, Valo exhaled when he noticed Eliya. “I saw you go down. I thought you were dead.”
“No, Danek and Sion sheltered me. Let me see your wound.”
“Lady,” the guard warned, “His throat’s flayed. Not a pretty sight.”
Ignoring the man, Eliya lifted the folds of yellow cloth—a cloak swiped or loaned from an onlooker. Beneath the woolen folds, Valo’s throat oozed blood from beneath a wide flap of skin. His neck resembled a badly blundered shaving accident.
Danek leaned in and stared at the wound. “It’s not pulsing blood. We’ll steep him in wine and ale, then stitch him up. He’ll live.”
Eliya pressed the cloth down on her brother’s wound, then kissed his cheek. “Obey Danek, please. I’m going to find Valeria.”
She didn’t mention Aniketos. But Valeria would be with her beloved lord-uncle.
A small hushed crowd encircled Aniketos. He lay, eyes closed, his head resting in Valeria’s lap as she smoothed his hair and dripped tears onto his face. The bloodied lethal dagger rested at his side, near the crimson-spattered Adalric, who huddled beside his father’s corpse and sobbed.
Eliya touched Valeria’s shoulder making her look up.
Her reddened eyes streaming tears, Valeria pleaded, “Valo ...?”
“Lord-king Danek says he will live.”
Valeria wept. After fighting to compose herself, she begged, “Stay with us, Eliya!”
“I will. For as long as I’m needed.”
Torena’s voice called across the crowd, “Lady! Eliya—”
Eliya stood. Torena rushed to her, snatched her into a fierce embrace worthy of any mother, then refused to let go.
AS DUSK MERGED INTO night, Eliya folded her arms tight to suppress inward tremors, then stared up at the stars while Torena waited beside her.
They’d sent Rakiar’s men north this afternoon, bearing his corpse, as well as one-fifth of the crushed sun crown, and the news that the Syvlande Empire was no more.
The grieving Adalric sat vigil over his father’s body, while Valeria comforted herself by tending Valo’s wound with remedies of gall, honey, and pulverized onions offered by her ladies.
As for tomorrow .... Eliya sighed. She’d be sure Third Commander Aretes received an honorable burial, his spear resting over his chest as befitting a high-ranking guardsman of Ariym and Khelqua.
Had she dealt Laros Rakiar a death-blow with that spear? Or had the frenzied Adalric sent Rakiar onward? The guards were still debating who’d actually landed the killing wound.
Eliya said, “Torena, I believe I killed a man today. Tell me about the Eternal’s forgiveness.”
Torena shook her braid-wreathed head and stared up at the stars. “Why do you believe you need forgiveness? You defended others by killing Rakiar. Furthermore, Lord-king Rakiar also killed before he died, lady—with malicious intent.”
“But my intents weren’t altogether pure. Yes, I was truly frightened for everyone else he might kill, including myself. Yet I wanted him dead, particularly for wounding Valo. That needs forgiveness.”
“Then ask the Eternal, lady, as the Liege bid you. But remember that the difference between your soul and Rakiar’s is that his Chaplet faith required him to purchase his soul’s eternal forgiveness with forfeits. Mortal gifts paid to mortal hands. Whereas you ....” Her gaze seeming enraptured, caught in the sparkling heavens above, Torena continued softly, “Through your faith and His love, the Liege purchased eternal forgiveness for you, with His immortal blood. No mortal can buy such a priceless gift.” Shifting her gaze from the stars, Torena smiled. “I pray you rest easy tonight.”
“I pray so too.”
Several pairs of footsteps approached. Lord-king Belkrates, Belkian, and Danek. Eliya forced herself to not stare at Danek. To not run to him and hide her face in his chest. But perhaps then, she’d stop shivering.
He watched her steadily as if gauging her mood. But he remained silent. Lord-king Belkrates spoke first, almost unforgivably serene despite today’s carnage. “Did you notice, lady, that the attempts on your life ended when Laros Rakiar entered the encampment? It was as if he’d ordered the assassins to stop.”
Hadn’t Belkrates heard of the two men who’d tried to kill her amid the fray? Eliya nodded. “Thank you for declaring the contract void, my lord.”
“Of course. From the moment I heard of it, I suspected he’d conspired against us all. Aniketos believed Rakiar would attempt to make himself emperor of the Syvlandes, supported by Khelqua’s wealth. Therefore, we decided to break the empire. It was already splintered. We no longer follow the old ways and old beliefs. The prophets, if they ever existed, belong to ages past. Our people are clamoring for their freedom and identities as separate countries once again.”
“They’ll buy their immortal souls from mortal hands,” Eliya murmured.
“What was that, lady?” Belkrates stepped nearer.
“A thought, my lord. Nothing you’d consider sensible.”
Belkrates shrugged. “What will you do now, lady?”
She smiled, deliberately casual. “I’ll remain with the Lady Valeria until my brother’s fully recovered. Then ... I’ll return to Khelqua’s borders. If any of my people have survived, I must find them. Beyond that, I don’t know.”
“You will always be welcomed with kindness in Belvasae. We honor your courage.”
“Thank you, my lord. I’ll remember your generous offer.” Yet, he’d abandon generosity if he knew she trusted the Liege’s Rone’en. All of Belvasae might assemble to watch her die at Belkrates’ command.
Obviously considering his duty done, Belkrates bowed and departed with Belkian, who followed him like a bored puppy.
Lord-king Danek remained. “I’m proud of you—spearing Rakiar as you did.” He hesitated, then asked, “How long will you remain in the west?”
“How long will I be welcomed in your realm of thorns, my lord?”
“Forever. If you choose.” His dark, quiet gaze promised refuge.
Too tired to care if anyone might be shocked, she stepped into his arms and rested her face against his chest.
Danek folded his cloak-covered arms around her, holding her warm and close, as if welcoming her home.
HIS EYES STINGING WITH the overabundance of burning incense clouding each smoky street corner, Danek walked one step ahead of Valo and Eliyana as they followed Aniketos’ silent funeral procession through Ceyphraland’s crowded, shrine-filled capitol of Rhyvemuth. The city reeked of Chaplet worship rites, and the citizens stared at him as if he’d been dragged from the savage wilds of a distant continent. As he lived, he’d never return to this place. Unless Eliyana required visits with Valo.
For her, he would endure even Rhyvemuth’s sweltering, stone-cobbled streets, and Ceyphraland’s rank foods. But not for too long, he hoped.
Their pace measured and somber, they followed Aniketos’ embalmed gold-draped body as it was carried reverently along the main thoroughfare and into one of the most imposing buildings within the city—a towering, spire-spiked stone crown of a temple. A place so choked with incense smoke that Danek held his breath as Aniketos was laid to rest within a marble coffin, while Adalric, king of Ceyphraland watched in silent grief.
Valeria, stately, somber, and draped in black, placed white flowers within the coffin, then stepped away. Toward Valo, who’d exchanged vows with her five nights past, sharing Danek and Eliyana’s quiet marriage ceremony.
As Valeria retreated, Adalric stepped forward and offered his father a final gift—Ceyphraland’s crushed, sparkling portion of the Syvlande Empire’s broken sun crown.
The symbol of Ceyphraland’s freedom, won at Aniketos’ death.
VALO RESTED HIS WRITING quill in its tray and smiled at his wife as she swept into their shared writing room, then closed the door. How could she be so beautiful? From the first instant he’d seen Valeria, she’d been ‘the delight of his eyes’, to quote a verse from Torena’s Rone’en.
And Torena thought he hadn’t paid attention to her during lessons.
Who would guess that he’d miss his revered teacher and her stern gaze? Almost as much as he missed Eliya, now traveling west with Danek and Torena.
Valeria wrinkled her delicate nose, teasing, “We’ve been in residence only one day, my lord, and you’re already writing to your sister?”
“Yes.” Valo tugged his wife closer, his senses exulting as she bent and kissed him.
But then she slipped from his grasp. Valo huffed. “Wait! What are you doing?”
“Sharing a secret.”
As Valo watched, he rubbed his scar, which itched his neck furiously, though it was healing. Valeria unlocked a covered shelf on the far wall and eased open its carved wooden door—the hinges squealing their thirst for oil. Smiling, Valeria tugged a heavy book off the shelf and placed it on the table before him, almost creasing his note to Eliya. He set aside his writing, then opened the book.
Illuminations, brilliant with thick black lines, vivid crimsons, bold blues, greens and gold paints. And verses, so familiar they stole Valo’s breath with the homesickness of reading them. He might still be sitting in Torena’s writing room, facing those words. “The Rone’en.”
“Yes. The Eternal’s sacred Word. My family’s copy, commissioned twenty years past.” She smoothed a page tenderly as if it were a child’s cheek. “We’ve kept it secret. Some factions at court consider it dangerous to hold, much less interpret without training. Too controversial. Too biased against the beloved Saint Syphre and Saint Gueron. Before he died, my lord-father said we should bequeath it to a house of Religious, where it will be studied and protected. He feared possession of the Rone’en would ultimately be outlawed, risking his descendants’ lives.”
Did she expect him to part with this book so soon? Valo slid the book away from her hands. “We can study and cherish it as mightily as all the Religious in a single house.”
“I was hoping you’d say so!” She laughed and sat in his lap, kissing his bewhiskered face. “Read one chapter to me now, then I’ll allow you to finish your letters.”
“Yes, lady.” He nuzzled her soft face, then began to read.
ELIYA FORCED HERSELF to look ahead. To face the autumn-tinged landscape.
Three days past, they’d departed from Danek’s rustic stone and timber palace—a welcoming, yet imposing structure situated on a shorn hill, surrounded by forests that scented the Walhaisii king’s robes and furs with the mingled fragrances of cedar oils and woodsmoke.
Even now, as Danek lifted Eliya from her horse, those delicious cedar aromas tempted her to remain in his arms, never mind that Torena and most of his household milled around them like a restless colony of ants, setting up their encampment.
Danek kissed Eliya and rested his forehead against hers, their unborn child shifting within their embrace. “Lady, I’ll never understand why you chose to marry me.”
“I suspect it’ll be useless to explain, except to say that I love you.”
“Are you certain you want to face this?”
“Yes. But ... please, walk with me.” They crossed the wide clearing, approaching the deep slope overlooking the former valley below. Clasping her husband’s hand, Eliya kissed him, then leaned into him, listening, studying the becalmed ocean vista beneath their hillside.
A late-autumn breeze caressed Eliya’s cheek and lifted Danek’s dark cloak. Birds flitted about them, clinging to last spring’s dried, swaying branches. Eliya caught her breath. “It seems so peaceful.”
“Yes. But it’s an appalling peace, remembering what Khelqua was.”
Unable to say more, she could only nod. Their household surrounded them, joined by the mere handful of Khelqua’s somber survivors, rescued from the foothills after the flood. Torena clasped the Rone’en as if it were a child, and Danek’s humbly clad religious clerk bowed his head for a simple prayer that would inspire derision in most Chaplet circles.
How ironic that the smallest, most scorned realm of the former empire endured as the only realm still devoted to the Liege and the Rone’en. This, then, was her purpose: to help Khelqua’s few survivors, to serve the Walhaisii, and to ensure that her children studied and safeguarded the Eternal’s Rone’en for love of their Creator.
Prayers finished, they stood together, staring at the relentless lapping waves far below, the distant tide sweeping in, whispering from the dead waters of a realm swept away.
Vocabulary
IN GENERAL ORDER OF Appearance:
Eliyana El-ee-AN-ah
Eliya El-EE-ah
Khelqua Kell-KWAH
Torena Tore-ENNA
Kiyros KEE-Ros
Cyphar SEE-far
Gueron GYEH-ron
Syvlande SEEV-land
Ceyphraland SEH-fra-land
Belvasae BELL-vas-ay
Trisguard TRICE-guard or TRISS-guard
Ariym ARE-eem
Rodiades RO-dee-Aids
Rone’en RONE-en
Laros Rakiar LAY-rose RAY-kee-are
Iscah ISS-cah
Valo VALL-oh or VALE-oh
Jesca JESS-cah
Danek DANE-ek
Walhaisii Wall-HAY-see
Vaiya VAY-ah
Aretes AH-ree-tees
Aniketos An-ee-KEY-tos
Adalric Ad-AL-rick
Belkrates Bell-CRAY-tees
Belkian Bell-KI-an
Valeria VAL-ere-ee-ah
AUTHOR’S NOTE
WHILE REALM OF THORNS, and its sequel series, Legends of the Forsaken Empire, are written as a standalone series, readers of the Books of the Infinite series will recognize those stories as a *possible* ancient history of the Syvlande Empire and future stories in Legends of the Forsaken Empire.
Why?
Because Books of the Infinite illustrates the building of a fantasy realm’s Sacred Word, while the Legends of the Forsaken Empire series portrays the political and spiritual effects the Sacred Word has upon mortals struggling to survive in a fallen world. Think of the Legends of the Forsaken Empire series as a medieval fantasy family saga inspired by Earth’s actual history.
History fanatics might recognize a few similarities between the kings of Legends of the Forsaken Empire, and some of our own, more notorious, medieval rulers. Much of this series is grounded in actual medieval accounts and traditions.
Realm of Thorns—set in their world’s New Testament era—details the Syvlande Empire’s beliefs and links us to Eliya and Valo’s descendants in a distant medieval future. I hope you enjoy their family’s story!
APPRECIATION!
REALM OF THORNS WOULD have been impossible to imagine and write without my beloved husband Jerry’s unfailing support and understanding, as well as editing suggestions.
Also, much appreciation to Jim Hart of Hartline Literary Agency, as well as Elizabeth Kim of Hartline for their extraordinary patience as I wrote Realm of Thorns and the first volume of Legends of the Forsaken Empire.
Special thanks to my parents, Robert and Sharon Barnett for their love and to my aunt and uncle, Jo and Loren Coila for their continued encouragement as I write. Love you all so much!
To Robin and Rebekah Dykema, you two rock, and you make me laugh. Love and hugs!
Special thanks to a new member of my writing team, Sean, my fiercely adorable ten-pound Ratcha pup, who makes sure that I take my much-needed, often-forgotten ten-minute breaks away from the computer for some food and exercise in between lots of quiet naps at my feet. You deserve all the toys and Teeny-Greenies treats forever.
Map layout: R. J. Larson
Map icons: CathyeChild
https://www.deviantart.com/starraven/art/Sketchy-Cartography-Brushes-198264358
Cover art: Shutterstock: Magsi.
CONTACT:
HTTPS://WWW.FACEBOOK.com/RJLarson.Writes/
https://www.facebook.com/kacy.barnettgramckow