The Reckoning, page 1
Table of Contents
Excerpt
Praise for Julie A. D’Arcy
Cross of Tarlis: The Reckoning
Copyright
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Dorrachian War Song
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Epilogue
A word about the author…
Thank you for purchasing
Also available from The Wild Rose Press
“No, I will hold on to these.”
“You still do not trust me?”
“The Cross contains hidden powers that could be harmful to your kind. I have already proven I can carry it.”
He met her gaze. “As you wish.” His words were evenly spaced, and he lowered his hand.
“What next?”
“We meet Ohma and the others in Jahl.”
“Can you ride?” she asked, looking at his bandaged leg and chest.
“What? These few scratches? I have had worse in the training ring.” He smiled down into her eyes and raised his hand to tuck a lock of white-gold hair behind her ear. “Were you afraid for me?”
“I still need your help.”
His hand dropped to his side. “Of course, how foolish of me.” He stepped back. “I should have remembered.” He made to turn away, but she grasped his arm.
“I am glad you are alive.”
He expelled a short, dry laugh and pulled from her grip. “Sure, you are.” His tone was hard, dry. “I suggest you saddle the horse while I dress.” He raised a brow. “If I still have clothes, that is.”
Tannith turned away as visions of sculpted, bronze muscle flittered through her consciousness. She had never seen a man naked before, never realized a man could be so artistically beautiful, albeit covered in blood. “I mended your clothes the best I could,” she said quietly, her head bowed, her hair falling forward to hide the flush heating her cheeks. He would know it was she who had undressed him. “Your tunic and breeches are in your pack.” She swung away and fled…
Praise for Julie A. D’Arcy
5.0 out of 5 stars
Fantastic Fantasy
“The Cross of Tarlis: The Reckoning is an enchanting epic fantasy romance that I highly recommend. If you’re crazy about fantasy, then you’ll be crazy about The Cross of Tarlis: The Reckoning. It has something for everyone: shapeshifters, dragons, druids, vampires, elves, dwarves, gods, evil sorcerers, faeries, kings, princesses, and…romance. It will sweep you off your feet and take you away to a place where love and magic triumph over evil.”
~ Cornelia Amiri
5.0 out of 5 stars
Great Read
“I thoroughly enjoyed this book from beginning to end. It gave excellent details and was a very fast-paced, easy read. I couldn’t put it down. I thoroughly enjoyed my escape from reality with this work. I highly recommend it!”
~ Amanda Hamilton
Cross of Tarlis: The Reckoning
by
Julie A. D’Arcy
The Tarlisian Sagas, Book Two
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Cross of Tarlis: The Reckoning
COPYRIGHT © 2022 by Julie A. D’Arcy
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: info@thewildrosepress.com
Cover Art by Kristian Norris
The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
PO Box 708
Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708
Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com
Publishing History
First Edition, 2022
Trade Paperback ISBN 978-1-5092-4305-1
Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-4306-8
The Tarlisian Sagas, Book Two
Published in the United States of America
Dedication
This book is dedicated to my beautiful daughters, Errin and Tegan, for all the times we missed together while I was lost in the world of Tarlis.
And to my two lovely grandchildren, Oliver and Lyla.
Acknowledgments
To my writing group friends: Susan Graham, Sandra Alan, Anne Smith, Ruth Ross, Heather Williams, and Ian Deakin who were always there with a helpful word or suggestion. And my dear friends in faraway places: Mary Brehe, Steve Westcott, Kathryn Bryan, Deborah Nemeth, Sherri Good, and Frank D’Arcy.
Also, a big thank you to my publisher, The Wild Rose Press, my extraordinary editor, Lill Farrell and my excellent proof readers, Malcolm Barber, and Cheyenne Chambers.
Dorrachian War Song
We Dorrachians stand and fight,
Great courage fills our heart.
Ever for us, the sun will shine,
Ever the night depart.
Our faith is in the power of right,
No truth, no shame can cheat.
Ten thousand times we’d rather die,
Than sound a base retreat.
So, come to me, oh enemy mine,
Lift your swords up high,
And death to you this day will come,
And with your Gods ye’ll dine.
~Julie A. D’Arcy
Chapter One
Five hundred years have passed since the great Mage War.
The Necromancer, Sernon of Asamos, has risen from the dead.
His insidious presence now dominates the world of Tarlis.
An orange sun spread its last golden rays across the jagged tops of the Wolfstag Mountains, bringing with it a chill wind portending to the night ahead. The white moon had already begun its slow ascent into the ever-changing hues of the night sky. The smaller mauve moon trailed lazily in its wake.
Tannith of Ellenroh, Elisian Princess descended from the legendary King of Dragonbane, dragged her fur-lined cloak closer about her shoulders. Although she shared Phoenix with Kaden, the Warrior Prince of Glen-Dorrach, and her chest was pressed tightly against the warmth of his back, the biting wind still infiltrated her body.
She turned her head to the side, peering into the trees as they wound their way through the gnarled forest of large ornamental fig and miniature Macohann trees. She gave an inward laugh. Why that name, she wondered, as most of the trees were at least thirty feet tall. But then again, the other variety stood around sixty feet tall with trunks close to ten feet in circumference, making them perfect dwellings for the Elves to build their homes. She broke from her thoughts as something caught the corner of her eye. A Dryad. A woodland sprite. A fabled creature of Fae. Although it held female form, it had taken the appearance of the fig tree’s flaky white bark like a chameleon blending perfectly with its surrounding.
She thought they only existed in Faerie tales.
Yet, why not? She had seen a myriad of strange creatures over the long days of her quest for the Cross; talking trees, griffins, a Druid Mage, an ice tiger, and now they rode toward a vampire water sprite who drank the blood of the living.
And should they survive that, they were to seek a race of dwarves who had not been seen for several hundred years. She gave a short laugh.
“Did you say something? Are you all right?” Kaden asked over his shoulder.
She murmured an affirmative, realizing the warrior prince had allowed Phoenix his head to pick the truest path through the thick piles of dried leaves and white flaky bark strewn across the forest floor with its loose sticks and jutting rocks.
The beast of an animal. She knew had she been riding him he would have bolted by now.
She laid her cheek against Kaden’s heavy fur cloak and peered into the surrounding forest hoping to catch sight of another Dryad. The more she looked, the more of them appeared. Almost every ornamental fig, she noted, had a Dryad clutching and writhing in its naked glory against the trunks. Several had partially detached themselves, turned their heads, and raised their hands in greeting. She had no idea whether to reciprocate or not.
She pushed a stray lock of hair from her face as the wind caught it. When she glanced back, they had once more blended into the silvery-white trunks and could only be seen if she really focused. Or was it all her imagination? But no. As they rode close to another large fig, it moved and raised its hand in greeting or, she shrugged, was it goodbye? She leaned closer to Kaden’s ear. “Did you see…?”
“Yes,” he cut in quietly. “They are known to be gentle folk.”
“You have seen them before?”
“Yes.” He did not elaborate. “However, to be certain they do not see us as a threat we must not draw too much attention to ourselves.”
She nodded against his broad back and turned her thoughts from the Dryad. She had other matters plaguing her, and she allowed her memory to flow back
Etan, her bodyguard, and best friend, had been captured by the Urakians and the evil priest leading them. Ohma had released his spirit to the air, attempting to seek the young captain. On locating him, the Druid grasped the Urakians were headed toward the old military fort in Kerbac.
Ohma and the others planned to attempt a rescue while she and the Wolfhead Prince began their separate journey. They were to snatch the second part of the Cross from beneath the nose of a blood-drinking Nymph.
She had begun this quest to locate the remaining three pieces of the legendary Cross which had once belonged to the god Magus.
She laughed inwardly. If someone had told her the story in which they were cast, she would have been hard-pressed to believe it. A castle besieged daily by blue-skinned Urakians, a newly risen evil sorcerer, and his henchman Dannock-Shae, a former priest of the Origen. And still, she was certain there would be more trials to face should they survive the night.
She snapped from her reverie as Kaden drew Phoenix to a halt. “There,” he said, pointing up at the sky.
She glanced up to see the white and mauve moons beginning to merge.
“That is the sign for which Ohma told us to watch.”
As he spoke, a brilliant flash of silver light spread a burnished cloak across the tops of the tall spruce forest up ahead. Then, as quickly as it appeared, it disappeared.
“Did Ohma say anything to you about a silver light?”
“No.” He shook his head and dismounted. “But should it lead us to our destination, I would be most grateful.” He helped her slide down from Phoenix’s back, not that she needed any help. But it was easier than getting into a squabble over something so trivial. She released a hefty sigh of relief to have her feet set firmly on flat ground again. Riding all day perched on a blanket behind Kaden, she found she was aching in places she had no idea could ache.
****
The two moons separated and hung in the sky like lanterns. Their light filtered down through the trees that surrounded the far side of the lake. Frogs croaked among the reeds and an occasional ripple could be seen where a fish skimmed too close to the surface. Night closed in, and the stars shone like pinpoints of diamonds scattered across a cloak of black velvet. In the center of the lake, the water churned. A vortex appeared, and from that vortex a flat-topped rock bearing a shining object emerged.
Moonlight bathed the rock, and for several heartbeats, the two moons merged as one. Then the moons parted. But all was not as it had been…
A shadow of a tree fell across the lake, and from that shadow, she emerged.
Sleek, black hair rippled over pale shoulders. A form-fitting, pale green gown hid nothing of her slender curves. To many, she would appear beautiful, but like an apple with a worm at its core, corruption lay within. She was a creature of the night, her sole purpose to guard her treasure. She was Lan-awn-Shee, Glaisling of the Lake.
She stepped from the water, taking in her surroundings—the lake and trees—always the same. How often had she tried to leave but was drawn back by the mystical shackles with which the sorcerer had bound her? A bright image flashed before her eyes. She groaned and shook her head, but the vision persisted—a shining gold object on a black rock. Ah, yes…
Turning, she stared out across the lake, possessiveness overwhelming her. It was there. She could see its soft glow highlighted by the darkness. She smiled serenely and stepped down into the water, losing herself in its cold depths, making her way toward her coveted prize.
****
Several hundred paces to the north, Kilain of the Elisi, a middle-aged hunter from the House of Dorian, shook his head in puzzlement. Not an hour ago he had witnessed a silver flash lighting up the treetops and two moons merge into one. Despite the stories of strange disappearances near the lake, he was led by curiosity. He had to know why the sky turned silver. It would make a fine tale for the telling at the Hunters Feast.
Cutting north through the forest, he made his way toward the shore of the lake and stopped to lean on his wooden staff peering out over the water.
His curiosity met with disappointment. The water lay still, bathed in glittering moonlight. Except for the occasional ripple caused by a fish or a Night Eagle diving for its supper, he could see nothing out of the ordinary.
He shrugged, about to turn away when something caught his eye—a small pinpoint of gold in the center of the lake. As he watched, the light turned green and grew brighter. It emanated from a large, flat rock barely visible from the shore. However, he prided himself on his eyesight.
Could the light have something to do with that which lit up the trees? He shrugged. He would not know until he swam out there in the morning, though as he thought it, he moved closer to the edge, failing in the moonlight to notice the mushy earth beneath his feet, too late.
The muddy bank, caused by the receding water level, gave way, and he fell headlong down the steep bank, through high Soap Reeds into the night-black water below.
Gasping for breath, he struggled to break the surface and find his feet. Wading through the water and gaining the bank, he spat out a mouthful of rank lake water and silt. It tasted of uncooked turtle, turning his stomach, and he began to shake from the water’s icy temperature. His teeth chattered and shivers lanced his body, prickling his arms and legs. He had to get out of the water, or he would end up with a fever.
He scrambled and clawed his way up the muddy bank, missing the soft hiss behind him and the long-taloned fingers reaching for his leg.
Gaining the bank and solid ground, he stopped to wring the water from his shirt and tunic and push his sodden hair from his face. He gave the lake a last cursory look, then turned and wended his way into the forest toward the camp he had set before his attention had been drawn by the light. Come morning, he would swim out and see what lay on the rock ledge.
Being an experienced huntsman, he soon had a blaze burning and hung his shirt and breeches over a large leafy bush to dry. He pulled a spare pair of leggings and a jerkin from his pack, which he had collected with his horse from within the trees.
After donning the dry clothes, he set about preparing a fat cony he had brought down with his bow earlier that eve. As the meat browned slowly on the spit, he munched on dried fruit and hazelnuts and partook of a draught of his wife’s fine mead from the flask she had packed. It rid the chill from his bones.
A twig snapped, and he tensed. He reached for his bow, notched, and aimed at the dense stance of fir trees to his left. Instinct told him there was something or someone in the shadows, watching.
“Show yourself. I know you’re there.” Confident in his ability to hit whatever it was should there be trouble, he was not overly worried. He had once belonged to the King’s archers but had left that life after wedding a lass from the House of Minalta in Lemma. He smiled, feeling well satisfied with his life. A fine woman, three strapping boys, and a full stomach…what more could a man ask for?
A woman stepped from the trees, and all thought of his good wife dissolved. Ebony hair coiled about her alabaster shoulders like a living thing, drawing attention to the low-cut linen gown clinging to the slender curves of her body. The gown hid nothing from his sight.
Her large, slanted eyes glowed like black jewels in her pale oval face, bright, cold, and seductive. Her red lips, full and wide, held a smile that was sensually inviting.
For several heartbeats, he stared, motionless, then he dropped his bow and closed the gap between them. “Lose your way, lass? Or did you slip in the lake as I did? You are soaked. The lake can be treacherous at night.”
The woman did not respond or move a muscle.
“Come, warm yourself by my fire.” Kilain took her cold hand in his.
Still, she did not react but continued to watch him in the same heavy-lidded, seductive manner. It unnerved him. Why did she not speak? “Now lass, do not be shy.” He attempted to draw her toward the fire. “There is plenty of heat for all, and I have food, a plump roasted cony.”
She hung back, and he turned to face her. The woman took the step separating their bodies and laid her free hand against his thigh. His first instinct was to pull away, having always been faithful to his wife. Then he smiled and relaxed, musing it would only be this once and no one would know. Drawing her closer within the circle of his arms, he lowered his lips to her neck, licking, sucking, and tasting her skin. She countered by sliding her cool palm over the bulge in his mole-skin leggings.
