Storm's Clouds, page 1
part #2 of Stormfall Chronicles Series
Storm's Clouds
Stormfall Chronicles - Book 2
by
J.W. Golan
© 2019 by J.W. Golan
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, places, or persons, whether living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Cover designed by L.N. Golan.
Table of Contents
Collected Maps
Chapter 1 - Unsettled
Chapter 2 - Diverted
Chapter 3 - Fear and Fire
Chapter 4 - Trail of the Dragon
Chapter 5 - Onslaught
Chapter 6 - Tales of the Feyfell
Chapter 7 - It All Comes Down
Chapter 8 - Scattered Pieces
Character Guide
Collected Maps
Western Lands
Eastern Lands
The Feyfell
The City States of Trevio
Chapter 1 - Unsettled
“I am not amused, Eirlon.” Princess Elise sat at the head of the table, her blue eyes flashing as she stared down at the petulant gnome. “You placed Lynette and my commanding officer in severe danger. All over a perverse desire to be the first to recover a rare artifact. Your arrogance nearly had all of you killed.”
The table had been set with silver place settings, the dining hall and table adorned with matching blue and white banners featuring a flowered pattern. It was supposed to have been a welcoming celebration: their return from a training expedition – an opportunity for the gnome, two humans and a fae soldier to acclimate and work together. But the story of their encounter, and the risks Eirlon had taken, had severely altered the mood. Elise was not going to accept excuses about how the ends might justify the means.
Eirlon was hunched over in his chair, eyes downcast, his green travel cap in hand, fidgeting with the rim. The white-haired gnome felt unusually small today. His beard was still unbrushed, having only recently returned. His travel pack was propped against his chair to one side. He knew he deserved the tongue lashing. She was right. He had taken an enormous risk.
Elise had ordered the room cleared of all waitstaff and had subsequently dismissed Baxter and Lynette after she had heard the tale of their journey twice through. Only Eirlon and Captain Iolyn had remained behind. Elise’s eyes mirrored the intense blue color of her dress. Her long, black hair, arranged into an intricate braid wrapping around the sides of her head, highlighted the white gold tiara perched atop her head. With its blue and white gems glittering, she looked every measure the crown princess of the Feyfell. Her fae ears were cocked forward – alert, aggressive. It was seldom Eirlon had seen her in such a mood.
Captain Iolyn remained in his chair, as dejected as Eirlon. His grey hair was disheveled, his dark green travel cloak showing the wear from the road – and their close brush with death. He might not have been the immediate focus of her displeasure, but the Captain of the Royal Guard was no less uncomfortable. Eirlon glanced to his side, observing the Captain’s downcast eyes. He couldn’t be certain if the grey-haired Captain was dejected from listening to the princess’ berating, or if he was still feeling the loss from failing to convince his long-lost commanding officer, the fabled Gwythyr, to return with them to the fae kingdom.
Eirlon inhaled deeply, thinking through his response. He needed to choose his words carefully. He had gambled everything to recover Gnotrix’s lost artifact. If he couldn’t explain himself now, he might be banished from the royal court, and the fae kingdom, forever.
“I understand your anger. I hadn’t recognized the risk I was placing myself in, or Lynette, or Baxter. I was wrong, and I apologize for my mistake. I should have confided my suspicions. At least with you, if with no one else.”
“You are employed in my service, Eirlon.” Elise’s anger had still not abated. “And Lynette was under my personal sponsorship at the Fae Academy. She has the potential to become the first human sorceress worthy of the title of arche-mage in over two centuries. I cannot afford to risk her life needlessly.”
“I understand. I was mistaken. My only thought was to recover the artifact before the leak in the Fae Council parsed the pieces together. I am sorry for the risk I put us in. I would never have done so had I known.”
“We did recover the artifact,” Captain Iolyn finally broke in. “We completed the mission. If we failed to retrieve everything we might have, then I am partly to blame. I couldn’t convince him, couldn’t convince Gwythyr, to return with us. It was my failure, not Eirlon’s.”
Elise glanced back and forth between Iolyn and Eirlon, her mood finally softening. “Very well. Let this never happen again. I want to know the next time you have suspicions, Eilron. Mole or otherwise. You are to come to me, not take matters into your own hands. And you, my loyal Captain, are not responsible for the battle scars that drove Gwythyr from the Fae Kingdom so many centuries ago. You bear enough burdens from the war.” Elise regarded the two of them carefully, making sure her words had sunk in. “Now, tell me what we know about the relic.”
Eirlon drew the metallic ring from a pocket in his travel pack, laying it on the table. It was a hand’s breadth across, a circular, metal ring embedded inside of another ring – separated by a pattern of interlocking metallic leaves. “Xythox’s notes were in pretty bad shape by the time we arrived. I haven’t dared to unfold them from the preservation cloth I recovered them in. I have, however, been able to glance briefly through Gnotrix’s own notes and transcriptions from Xythox’s writings.” He paused, uncertain of how to tread on what he had found. “Xythox’s notes apparently contained descriptions of various magical incantations, experiments, conjurations. Most of them were failed efforts. Some very nearly killed him. Many of the creatures, the abominations he created, had to be eliminated before they could cause more damage to his hidden keep.” Eirlon paused, fidgeting with his cap. “The ring was the real secret to Xythox’s power.”
“How?” Elise insisted. “What is it? What does it do?”
“As near as I can discern, the ring is a portal, a key that opens gates to another world, or perhaps, other worlds.”
“What sorts of worlds?” Iolyn asked. “Is the object inherently evil?”
“No,” Eirlon replied, shaking his head. “Not necessarily. It might be, or perhaps I just don’t know. Xythox found the key by chance. At first, his ability to use it was erratic. He would open portals, not really understanding how or what he was doing. Most of those early gateways were small – like keyholes peering into another room. He could gaze through them, but not cross. He didn’t know how to open them further. Not until he heard the voice.”
“Voice, what voice?” Elise asked, leaning forward in her chair.
“I’m not certain,” Eirlon replied. “I haven’t had time to go through all the notes. I’ve only just skimmed the surface of them. But someone, or something on the other side of the portal gave Xythox the instructions he needed to open the gate further. This was the source of Xythox’s power. The weapons and armor he outfitted his army with, as well as the source of his staff of metamorphosis. All of it. Xythox bargained with the inhabitants on the other side of this gate, and traded favors for the means to conquer Bateria. And later, he hoped, the world.”
“What kind of favors?” Elise asked.
“I’m not entirely sure. Slaves, mostly. Subjects he would send across the portal to the other side. And various missions Xythox’s patrons seemed to have identified.”
“What sort of missions?” asked Iolyn.
Eirlon hesitated. “As near as I can tell, Xythox’s patrons had one focus, one obsession they returned to and demanded above all others: the destruction of the Feyfell.”
“The Feyfell?” Iolyn leaned back in his chair, the cold chill of realization climbing his spine. “We had always believed we were just a nuisance, a roadblock to Xythox’s ambitions.”
“No Captain,” Eirlon replied. “From what I could gather, from having skimmed through the transcriptions, Xythox’s patrons insisted repeatedly that he should eliminate the Fae Kingdom. It wasn’t just a passing interest. It was their central focus, regardless of whatever else Xythox might have wanted. The two were not always in agreement on this.”
“How do we know this?” Elise asked.
“As you know, Xythox had conquered Bateria before turning his attention north, towards the East Feyfell. He had assembled an army, a truly massive army, with which to launch a surprise invasion. Xythox was confident the East Feyfell would collapse. He put everything he could into that initial push. Yet somehow, his army failed to reach its objective.”
“You mean in the battle of the East Feyfell Pass?” said Iolyn.
“No Captain. This was decades before that, at the very beginning of the war. The initial strike was supposed to have been a surprise invasion. The timing was no accident. They knew the royal family would be in the East Feyfell that night. They knew, your highness, that you and your parents would be there. They planned to finish the war in one stroke. Until, that is, something went wrong.”
“How so?” asked Iolyn.
“I don’t know. I’m not sure Xythox really knew. But the initial, invading army never reached the East Feyfell. Only a handful of the advance scouts arrived at the southernmost fae villages. What was supposed to have been an overwhelming, crushing blow instead turned into the first raid of what would become a prolonged war.”
“The forget-me-not festival,” Elise replied, her eyes lost in thought. “I remember. It would have been the first raid by Xythox’s armies. Perhaps a couple of hundred goblins in all, and dozens of werewolves and ogres. I was there that night.”
“Yes,” Eirlon continued. “That was the advance scout party for Xythox’s army. The larger army never made it that far.”
“It was the beginnings of the war,” Iolyn replied. “I was a young fae then. Within a few weeks there were routine raiding parties of goblins, ogres, men, werewolves – all running through our kingdom.”
“Xythox never knew what happened to his larger army on the first raid. There were recriminations between Xythox and his patrons. Xythox blamed his competing ogre captains for engaging in their own internal battle for dominance. His patrons blamed the failure on Xythox’s lack of ruthlessness. From the accounts which Gnotrix transcribed, Xythox’s patrons had provided him with a multitude of magical weapons. Tools far beyond what they had supplied before. Xythox never completely knew what had happened. He suspected his commanding ogre generals had become maddened by the power. He surmised one or more of them had decided to use the new, magical weapons to settle internal squabbles, and establish themselves as the supreme commander over the army. Afterwards, his scouts found the dead and broken remains of his army scattered across the mountain range to the south of the East Feyfell.”
“There were flashes of light on the horizon,” Elise replied. “I remember the earth trembling. We never knew what it was – earthquake or thunderstorm, across the mountain range to the south.”
“It was Xythox’s army,” Eirlon continued. “Or whatever became of them.”
Elise and Iolyn had fallen silent, each lost in their own thoughts. Remembering days, centuries ago, when their lives had been changed forever. At last, Elise inhaled slowly. “We cannot allow word of this to leave the room. There is still a spy somewhere in the Fae Kingdom, a spy with access to the inner workings of the Fae Council. We cannot allow our enemies to know how much we have discovered. Eirlon, have you secured the notebooks you discovered, both the original from Xythox and the transcriptions from Gnotrix?”
“I have. They are safe. Buried beneath the Central Library, in my own study.”
“Good. Captain Iolyn, please ensure the metal ring is kept safe, out of prying hands or eyes. You know what to do. We cannot avoid informing the Fae Council about the relic. Our enemies, the ones who conjured the kehereth, the wraith which almost killed you, will no doubt know we have recovered the relic. But we cannot allow it to fall into the wrong hands. No one outside of this room is to know we have recovered the notebooks. Those notebooks are our only chance to identify what we are dealing with before our foes strike again.”
“As you wish, your majesty,” Iolyn acknowledged, nodding his obedience.
“There’s more,” Eirlon said.
“What is it?” Elise replied.
“I have not had time to read through all of the notebooks, but whatever Gnotrix uncovered left him shaken. He decided to go and investigate personally. To see for himself the place where Xythox had first discovered the metal ring.”
“And where was that?” Elise demanded.
“Mara Hall. It was the last entry recorded by Gnotrix, the destination for his final trip east. Before he vanished. He went to visit the remains of Mara Hall.”
* * *
Lynette reached her dormitory quarters, her body still sore from the journey, her mind spinning from all the events. She realized she should have stayed with Baxter a little longer, maybe talked him through whatever ghosts he was tormented with. But she was just too tired. She trudged up the stairs, giving a short “hello” to Konrad – the badger-like creature who did maintenance around the dormitories. He hissed at her as usual.
She unlocked the door to her room. Her roommate, Glynis was out on the balcony, studying one of her textbooks next to her darrow tree – its silver-tipped leaves stretching out to capture the light of the afternoon sun. “Hi Glynis. I’m back.” Lynette realized she really should be more social. She had been gone for almost a week. But she just couldn’t bring herself to do more. Too much was weighing on her.
She kicked off her boots and collapsed almost immediately on top of the covers of her bed. Her long, blonde hair fell loose around her shoulders. She was dimly aware she should have changed out of her travel clothes. The pale tunic and dark breaches bore witness to the unexpected risks they had been through. But she felt drained. It wasn’t just her sore muscles and feet. It was the confusing, swirling images which cluttered her mind. She needed to recuperate, to think, to sort through all which had happened.
“How was your trip?” she heard Glynis ask softly.
“It was eventful, I suppose,” Lynette replied, still lying back against her covers. Her eyes were closed, remembering. The goblins. The fires she had conjured to her will. The sense of fear and pure dread. She had come so far: from a peasant girl in a remote village to a sorceress in training, fighting for her life. Things she knew she was not allowed to tell Glynis or anyone else. The wraith, the smell of death, and the flames burning brightly in the night. And . . . Garth. Or Gwythyr? Or whatever his name really was. Was he human or fae? Why did it even matter to her? The swordsman and mage who had saved their lives – only to vanish again afterwards. How did she feel about him? She was so conflicted. Did she fear him? Or was it something else? Something she dared not admit, even to herself. It was all too much to absorb. She sighed deeply.
“Who is he?”
Lynette’s eyes popped open, realizing her reactions had given away more than she had intended. “Who is whom?”
“The man you’re remembering. I’ve seen that look before. Like a distant memory, still sweet, but also sad.” Glynis was standing at the edge of the bunk bed, a short, frail fae girl with large, dark eyes and short, jet-black hair.
Lynette sat up, propping herself against her arms. “It was nothing. Just someone I knew, or thought I knew.”
Glynis sat down on the edge of her bed. “It’s okay. We all imagine things, want things, which we cannot have. I had a crush once on an older boy at the Academy. I was only a young fae of sixty-four back then. He had the softest eyes and the gentlest voice. But some things are never meant to be. Like a sweet dream, something you can never fully grasp. It’s okay to remember and feel the loss. But don’t let it blind you to all you have.”
“Blind me? How?”
“There will be others who will steal your heart, others you will take a fancy to.”
“What makes you so certain I was thinking of someone?”
“You could hardly fool me. I know the look. What I’m saying is, don’t let your dreams of things you can’t grasp prevent you from finding a few rays of happiness in what your future has in store.”
Lynette considered, absorbing her friend’s advice, turning it over in her mind. “The fae boy you liked, the one who was older. What happened to him?”
Glynis gave a shy, sad smile. “Turned out he preferred girls who didn’t look like twigs.” She shrugged. “It happens.”
* * *
Baxter was in his room – or rather, the room Eirlon had reserved for him when they stayed in the Feyfell. The few times they had ever stayed still. The furnishings were few, but elegant, as would be expected from a dormitory at the Fae Academy: a small, cot-like bed – softer than any he had ever slept in as a farm boy or squire; a table with four chairs, carved with woodland patterns; a bureau for his clothing; a window that looked out onto a forested shade garden; and a washroom attached through a narrow door. How Eirlon had managed to arrange for the room Baxter had never surmised. It wasn’t as if he was an actual student at the academy.
What was he doing here? Did he really belong here? Did he belong anywhere? He wasn’t fae. Deep down inside he was still a farm boy from Enbor. A farm boy who had become a squire. A squire who, in some inexplicable fashion had been swept up into all of this. He needed to clear his head, to think things through. His chestnut hair and chocolate brown eyes were bent over his lap, focused on the gear he was intently cleaning and polishing. He had changed into a fresh beige tunic and dark breeches. With his sturdy shoulders and battle-hardened hands, he might have looked like more than the farm hand he had once been. But he didn’t feel like it.
