The List Unseen, page 1
part #4 of Second Draeken War Series
The List Unseen
By Ben Hale
Text Copyright © 2013 Ben Hale
All Rights Reserved
To my family and friends,
who believed
And to my wife,
who is perfect
The Chronicles of Lumineia
By Ben Hale
—The Second Draeken War—
Elseerian
The Gathering
Seven Days
The List Unseen
—The White Mage Saga—
Assassin's Blade (Short story prequel)
The Last Oracle
The Sword of Elseerian
Descent Unto Dark
Impact of the Fallen
The Forge of Light
—The Warsworn—
The Flesh of War
The Age of War
The Heart of War (Dec 2015)
Table of Contents
Map of Lumineia
The List
Prologue: The End of Life
Chapter 1: The Swordsmith
Chapter 2: Tricked
Chapter 3: An Archmage's Edict
Chapter 4: Changing Fate
Chapter 5: Shackles of Tradition
Chapter 6: The Keys of Time
Chapter 7: The Dragon's Fire
Chapter 8: Refuge
Chapter 9: Guardians of Ruin
Chapter 10: Verisith
Chapter 11: The Lost Guardian
Chapter 12: The Source of Power
Chapter 13: The Hunter's Quarry
Chapter 14: The Watcher
Chapter 15: The Bounty
Chapter 16: The Dragon's Guide
Chapter 17: The Killed
Chapter 18: Imprisoned
Chapter 19: The Peace in War
Chapter 20: The Fallen King
Chapter 21: The Hunter's Grasp
Chapter 22: Teardrop Island
Chapter 23: The Heart of Fire
Chapter 24: A Wolf and a Friend
Chapter 25: Setting the Trap
Chapter 26: Truth
Chapter 27: Underwater
Chapter 28: The Queen's Cup
Chapter 29: The Hunter's Plan
Chapter 30: Ranger
Chapter 31: The Evermist
Chapter 32: The Thieves’ Guild
Chapter 33: The Machine
Chapter 34: The Untaken
Chapter 35: Betrayal
Chapter 36: A Mage's Wrath
Chapter 37: The Weapon and The Mind
Chapter 38: Parting
Chapter 39: Life's End
Epilogue: Book of Oracles
Excerpt from The Last Oracle
The Chronicles of Lumineia
Author Bio
Map of Lumineia
The List
Escape the Shackles of Tradition
Guard the Watcher's Way
Unlock the Keys of Time
Find the Dragon's Guide
Unleash the Peace in War
Touch the Heart of Fire
Curse the Unknown Cure
Chart the Mage's Course
Enlighten the Heart of Thieves
Forge the Weapon
Fashion the Mind
Prologue: The End of Life
In a tide of black flesh they crested a hill and flooded towards the city. The creatures thundered down the slope, tearing holes in the once smooth soil. Their collective roar seemed to come from every side, and sent a tremor through the haze of smoke and dust.
The ones in the lead resembled the race of men, but were darker and boasted manes of blood red. Others glided across the ground with the feral grace of wolves, their shoulders taller than the horses they pursued. Giant scorpions flicked their tails, sending black spears to pierce the fleeing villagers.
But it was the greater ones that did the most damage. Towering over their prey, the hulking goliaths were armored in bone armor growing from their own flesh. Their obsidian swords plowed through their victims, slaughtering without mercy. The very stones in the walls trembled with their advance.
Drael tasted fear as the battlements shuddered under his feet. A veteran of several engagements, he'd thought himself beyond the terror of impending death—but this was different. Sweat blossomed under his helm as he watched the shrieking townsfolk be slain. He flinched at the death of two soldiers, and the sight of their armor being shredded with them.
Every instinct in his body screamed for him to flee, to discard his armor and weapons and run for his life, yet he remained rooted in place. Years of training and discipline bound his muscles like shackles while his mind bellowed for him to escape—and still the enemy poured over the hill. Lapsing into desperate sobs, his fear plead for him to run, but even in the panic and terror he heard a note of acknowledgement.
Fight or flee, there would be no survival this day.
Steeling himself with a clench of his jaw, he forced his mind to turn to his sister and her daughters. Without spouse or children, Drael considered his sister's family his own. Perhaps his sacrifice would give her a chance at life. Resolved to see it through, he stood firm as several around him broke rank.
Shedding armor and weapons their feet pounded on the steps to the ground below. Cursing their cowardice, the nearest captain shouted for their return. Ignoring him, the men disappeared into the streets of Terros. Unable to discipline them with the invaders so close the captain barked an order to shut the gate.
The captain had kept it open as long as he could, but it was too small to allow more than a handful through at a time. As it began to close the crowd swelled with those fighting for the safety of the city. Men shoved and punched, the more cowardly thrusting the women aside in their haste. Mothers screamed and tried to pass their children over the heads of others, but it was too late.
The surprise attack had come too swiftly, and the gate cranked its way down. Even as the portcullis lowered, bodies struggled to get under, knowing it was their last chance. Unwilling to abandon their efforts, several perished as the barrier crushed them. Then it locked into place. In seconds the invaders struck and those outside the gates were torn asunder.
Drael threw his spear into the face of a climbing beast, but more took its place. Panic engulfed him as countless twisted forms scaled the battlements. Brushing aside all efforts to stop them they crashed into the defenders. His hand shook as he wrenched his sword free and plunged it into the nearest. Whirling, he sliced another across the chest.
The man-sized thing shrieked in pain and lunged at him, its claws tearing at his armor. Links in the chain mail popped and snapped under the assault as he backpedaled. Desperate to put some distance between them, he bounced off a weapon stand before he struck the wall. The dark creature followed, clawing at his flesh.
He felt his skin split and he sucked in his breath at the sting. The pain forced clarity to his mind and he recalled a moment from his training. Reversing his sword, he sank the tip into the black demon. A whisper of anguish escaped its lips as its body went limp. His chest heaving, Drael yanked the sword free. Then he turned in search of his next foe.
His heart sank at what he witnessed.
In just the few moments of his duel black bodies had overcome the battlements. Overwhelmed by the mysterious invaders the defending men and women were being slaughtered. The screams of the wounded mingled with the clash of battle. Helpless and desperate they went unheeded. Those that could offer aid had already perished. Then the din was drowned out by a rending of metal and snapping of timbers.
The gates had fallen.
Shock bound his limbs as he witnessed the horde penetrate the city. Soldiers were cut down before they could draw their weapons, women and children fled for their lives. None were fast enough. Then the buildings shook as the supports themselves were assaulted.
Drael gasped as he was struck from behind. Tumbling off the parapet he fell to the roof of a building below. Scrabbling for a hold he sought to get to his feet. Just as he reached his knees a maw closed on his leg. He retained his grip on his knife, but he nearly dropped it when his bone snapped. A scream escaped his lips and he struck at the thing’s face. Releasing his leg it snarled at him, and then lunged for his throat.
Great teeth tore into his raised arm as claws gouged his body, and he growled at the searing pain. Gritting his teeth he raised his knife and plunged it into the sinewy neck. Again and again he sent the short blade into his attacker, until it began to weaken. With a final shudder the beast died. Slumping next to him, it slid down the slight incline until it fell to the ground below.
Gasping for breath Drael looked over the chaos, stunned at what he saw. Black forms flooded the streets, killing with abandon. Surviving commanders had grouped their men into knots of furious fighting, but they were no match for their foes. In every direction men fell, slain by the unnamed attackers.
Weak from the loss of blood Drael was one of the few witnesses. As his strength ebbed he sank onto his side, wishing he at least knew where the dark beings had come from. His mind turned to his sister and her daughters, his hope waning that they had survived.
Soon the sounds of battle began to diminish, until at last he heard a single valiant defender fighting above him. His battle cry resounded alone as he fought to stave off the endless throng. Creatures fell past Drael's view, their mortal wounds bearing testament to the soldier's skill. Then Drael heard a rending of armor and a bellow of pain.
The man's shield clattered onto the rooftop next to him, and he recognized it as the captain's. He'd been
The face he saw was not his own.
Astonished, he looked into the beautiful blue eyes of an elven woman. His mind dying with his body, he felt his consciousness fade. Then his eyes closed and everything went dark.
Rising from the still form, Ianna Elsheeria felt herself drawn upward. Floating skyward, she gazed down on the man that she had been. He lay dead where he'd fallen—but he was not alone. Corpses littered the walls and streets of Terros. Soldiers, women, and even livestock had all been butchered.
Soaring southward, she was the sole witness to the final moments of the city.
Fires were already burning in several locations but the victors were heedless of the expanding flames. Tearing into the stone walls, they crushed homes, demolished shops, and destroyed towers. In a frenzy they attacked the city itself, until nothing remained except rubble, debris, and bodies.
Floating away, Ianna watched it all.
Then she saw the breadth of the black army. Like a blanket of rippling ash, they covered the hills surrounding the city—and there was no mistaking the direction they were moving. With the nation of Griffin destroyed, they were heading for Talinor. As the darkness moved on, villages and fortresses alike were reduced to shattered piles of wood and stone, unrecognizable for what they had once been.
A handful escaped the holocaust.
They fled to Talinor but their warning was futile. The black horde spread like a storm's shadow, devastating the kingdom's occupants with their relentless drive. Renowned for their cavalry, the men of the south fought with a strength fueled by desperation. The refugees lasted an extra day because of their sacrifice. But in the end their fate was the same. Just as in Griffin a few escaped with their lives, and they sought refuge in the elven nation.
Darkening the fair trees of the elven homeland, the invasion barely slowed. Even the great fortress of Azertorn was no match for the invading horde. Shattering its defenses in less than an hour, the black army left the elven kingdom in ashes, and its people extinct.
With millions dead in their wake their hunger was yet to be satiated. Driving north, they killed the druids with hardly a pause, and then entered the dwarven mountains of Tyndrik. To their credit, the dwarves held out until nightfall. Then their gates were breached.
With the dwarves dead the black creatures began to hunt. Expanding north, they slew the orcs, gnomes and trolls. Then they floated on makeshift boats to the islands of Blue Lake. Divided and alone, the azüre people fought to the last man. Warned by survivors, the barbarians and amazons of the deep south sought to unite, but it made no difference.
They joined the world in death.
Within a week every nation was gone, leaving no spark of life to rekindle. Victorious, the army returned to its realm. Behind them nothing stirred except Ianna. Soaring above the desolation, she wept at what she had witnessed.
And the world was silent.
Chapter 1: The Swordsmith
Ianna snapped awake and gasped for breath, the vision so vivid she nearly vomited. Her stomach heaving, she struggled to settle the images—but the sense of ruin and darkness did not fade. Throughout her life she had experienced countless visions of the future, but this was unlike anything she'd ever dreamt.
This was a warning.
She pulled herself to a sitting position and took several slow breaths, trying to make sense of what she had seen. Most important to her was the timing. Would her dream come to pass within the year? Or even in her lifetime? She had to be sure. Scanning through the disturbing images, she looked for a clue as to the date.
They would come in the summer. That much was clear. The scent of spring had already faded and the fields had been planted. Wincing at the sight of men being slain, she looked to the buildings of Terros. It had been several years since she had been there, not since the Festival of Ages.
At that event the king had announced the construction of a monument to commemorate the date. She'd thought it ironic that it was to be a symbol of peace and prosperity in a nation with the greatest poverty. What was important to her was its level of completion. She'd heard that they had begun building it a year ago—but in her dream it had been almost finished. Realizing she was close, her intuition sparked and a number came to mind.
Just twenty-three years until the invasion? She shuddered, sensing a ring of truth to the words. It gave her some time to think at least, think and plan. Something must be done, but what? She could reach out to the elven council, but would they listen? She frowned, knowing that such a vision would be doubted. It had happened before. Even among her people it would be difficult to convince the arrogant. Disbelief and scorn would defeat her before any difference could be made.
Turning her thoughts to the other races, she considered King Drayson first. His son Anders had just been born, and he was busy with life as a new father. Although she knew him to be an ally, his kingdom was fighting an increase in bandit activity. Spurred by a rise in the thieves' guild the people's fears demanded his time.
Recognizing another barrier, she rose from her bed and strode to pour herself some water. The cool liquid refreshed her mind, allowing her to expand her thoughts. In spite of her impulse to scatter the news, she sensed that doing so in haste would be foolhardy. For a brief moment she considered the possibility that it had just been a nightmare—but the doubt did not last. Grunting as her instincts rebelled, she prepared herself for the day. Selecting a dark blue outfit she dressed, lost in thought.
Although all oracles had a talent for farsight, she had been gifted with a greater portion of the skill. The ability came with a cost that her power had paid. Aside from enchanting, there were few types of magic that she excelled in. Unbidden, her thoughts turned to Siarra. Even bound as she was her daughter could perform many class three spells. When she reached fifty years of age and gained her full strength, Ianna had no doubt Siarra would master far more powerful magic.
Her eyebrows pulled together as she considered her daughter's role in the future war. She had seen no hint of her in her vision, but that wasn't surprising. Fear for her daughter's life would cloud Ianna's farsight in that regard. She let out a sigh. Working past personal fear was always a challenge when dealing with the future.
Intuitively she recognized that this vision heralded an event much more expansive than the ones she typically received, but she did her best to hold to her routine. The slivers of fear that had spread through her reluctantly diminished as she set aside time to contemplate what she had learned. In the past she had experienced many visions that revealed glimpses of the future. Ranging from the mundane to issues affecting nations, no other vision had left her with such unbridled fear upon waking.
Methodically she washed her face, still struggling to get her emotions under control. As she reached for a piece of cloth to dry her skin the prevailing fear sent a twitch through her body. Tightening her jaw, she forced the vision from her mind. There would be time for action later. For now she had responsibilities to attend to.
Despite her efforts the sense of foreboding did not abate. Hating to be silenced, the truth settled into a dread that constricted her heart. No amount of distraction could quiet her knowledge.
With a sigh she turned to the tall mirror and surveyed her choice of clothing. Reflected in the gilded glass, a statuesque elf with light blue eyes looked back at her. Even to her, her features looked tender, yet restrained. Her lips thinned as she realized she'd had too much practice controlling her emotions.
As always, she wore the Crest of the Oracle around her neck. The simple pendant bore the symbol for magical power on one side, and an inscription that she had added on the other. Her long blond hair was braided around the crown of her head, and then fell straight down her back. Pursing her lips, she tucked a few stray hairs into place before turning her gaze to her gown.
As with most elements of her life, the outfits in her wardrobe were chosen by someone else. It made her long for the feel of worn leather, or the sensation of water on her bare skin—both of which she doubted she would ever experience. A flash of irritation reflected in her expression.
