The Shattered Trident, page 1
part #4 of The Endarian Prophecy Series
ALSO BY RICHARD PHILLIPS
The Endarian Prophecy
Mark of Fire
Prophecy’s Daughter
The Curse of the Chosen
The Shattered Trident
The Rho Agenda
The Second Ship
Immune
Wormhole
The Rho Agenda Inception
Once Dead
Dead Wrong
Dead Shift
The Rho Agenda Assimilation
The Kasari Nexus
The Altreian Enigma
The Meridian Ascent
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Text copyright © 2019 by Richard Phillips
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by 47North, Seattle
www.apub.com
Amazon, the Amazon logo, and 47North are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.
ISBN-13: 9781542007337
ISBN-10: 154200733X
Cover design by Shasti O’Leary-Soudant
I dedicate this novel to my wife and lifelong best friend, Carol.
CONTENTS
MAP
PART I
1
2
3
4
5
6
PART II
7
8
9
10
11
12
PART III
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
PART IV
21
22
23
24
25
26
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
PART I
Magic is of three forms: time, life, and mind. And each form branches thrice, forming nine magics in all.
In the grip of what I once believed a noble ambition, I gathered the nine fingers of focus, forging them into a weapon of staggering potential. But this trident of magnification filled my mind with such wretched temptations that I have dismantled the thing before it unmakes me.
Thus have I sent my sons and daughters to secrete six of these mummified fingers within the far reaches of the Continent of Sadamad. The other three have I hidden on the Endarian Continent, that they may never again be so combined.
—From the Scroll of Landrel
1
Southeastern Endar
Year of Record (YOR) 415, Late Spring
Kragan sat at the edge of the red and black lines etched into the stone floor, staring at the she-vorg seated cross-legged at the spiral’s center. The warrior was lit by the three candles arranged in a triangle around her, the flickering flames casting a trio of shadows up the chamber’s walls to waver on the granite ceiling. Over the months since he had merged his mind with that of Kaleal, the primordial Lord of the Third Deep, Kragan had grown to like this new seven-foot-tall body with bronze skin, golden eyes, fanged mouth, and fingers tipped with sharp, retractable claws. A vast improvement over the stunted human body the magic wielder had last occupied. His slitted pupils widened with an anticipation that tensed his muscles, threatening to burst the seams of his leather armor.
Charna, the she-vorg who commanded Kragan’s vast army, stared sightlessly toward him, her black hair cascading down onto the bronze chain mail that draped her torso. Her lupine jaws jutted an inch from a vaguely human-looking face. The squareness of her chin reflected the aggressive nature that defined her even in the midst of the trance.
When Kragan spoke, his low voice rumbled through the chamber. “Shall we begin?”
“Yes, my lord,” said Charna, although her eyes remained unfocused.
Ever so carefully, he created a magical channel from the mummified ear in his left hand to Charna’s right ear. Before the Endarian time-shapers had created the time-mist barrier that wreathed the Endarian Continent, this branch of life-shifting magic had been Kragan’s most powerful ability. Now, isolated from the source of his power, which lay across the Brinje Ocean, he could barely even manage this minor transference. But it would serve its purpose.
A low moan escaped the she-vorg’s throat. Her right ear shriveled as life essence was pulled into the Zvejys ear that Kragan held. The ear plumped and warmed in his hand until it felt as it had all those centuries ago, when he had cut the organ from the head of the body that had once been his own, back on his home continent of Sadamad. With a deft movement, Kragan drew the ceremonial dagger from its belt-sheath, leaned forward, and cut Charna’s now-shriveled right ear from her head, feeling the spray of warm blood on his knife hand. A heavy odor wafted to his nose, leaving a faintly metallic taste on his tongue.
After setting the knife on the stone floor, he pressed the Zvejys ear against the bloody hole on the side of Charna’s head, wielding his magic to funnel the life energy from a caged rat to heal her wound. Ignoring the rat’s agonized screeching, Kragan watched as the Zvejys ear knitted itself in place, stopping the flow of blood that ran down Charna’s neck and onto her armored shoulder.
Kragan leaned back, picked up the dagger, wiped it on a dirty wool rag, and returned the weapon to its sheath at his side. Then, with a sharp clap of his hands, he awoke the she-vorg from her trance.
The warrior blinked twice, and her grimace became a scowl that she quickly suppressed, her iron will a testament to the self-control that had long ago earned his respect. Charna reached up to touch her new ear, comparing it to the feel of the other. Once again a scowl tweaked the corners of her mouth as she arranged her blood-matted hair to hide the deformity.
“So now we will be able to talk from a distance?” she growled as she climbed back to her feet.
“Only if I open a channel between us. But you can always sense the direction back to me. Those abilities will be important when we begin our assault on the Endarian citadel next week.”
Charna spit at the mention of the foes she hated almost as much as Kragan did.
“Can’t wait,” she said, then turned and walked from the chamber, her long strides carrying her rapidly down the hillside toward the encampment in the valley below.
Kragan glanced down at Charna’s shriveled ear lying in a puddle of crimson, gracing himself with the thought that he would soon be standing in rivers of Endarian blood. Only fifty leagues now stood between him and his vengeance.
A familiar voice rumbled in his mind, that of Kaleal, whose body Kragan now shared.
“Are you certain she will come?”
“The tiles are lined up as I have arranged them,” said Kragan. “Our attack on Endar will bring a response from High Lord Rafel. He will seek to aid his former lover, Elan, the queen. And Carol will accompany her father’s legion to Endar Pass. It will happen as Landrel foretold.”
Kaleal’s laugh escaped from Kragan’s throat as the primordial broadcast his next thought into Kragan’s mind.
“The Scroll of Landrel leaves the outcome of that encounter in doubt.”
“Landrel failed to foresee what we have become,” said Kragan. “As one, you and I shall shatter this world and Landrel’s prophesied witch along with it.”
“You sent hundreds of those who called themselves the protectors against her, and yet she destroyed them all,” said Kaleal. “If we are to overcome her, I must forge the wards that can protect us from her mind magics, of which elemental sorcery is but one branch. That can only be done in one place.”
Kragan knew where this discussion was leading him—to the throne room from which Kaleal ruled the four elemental planes as Lord of the Third Deep, a place that Kragan had visited only once before, a place where he had endured awful suffering to secure his alliance with Kaleal. A shudder spread from the base of his neck, raising gooseflesh down his arms and up into his scalp.
He could return to that realm with Kaleal only by performing the ritual that would grant the primordial lord supremacy over their shared mind and body. That meant submitting to possession, along with all the horrors that would accompany it. But the thought of the danger Carol Rafel posed overcame Kragan’s reluctance.
Remaining in the cross-legged posture he had maintained while forging his link to Charna, Kragan stared at the pool of vorgish blood, tendrils of which had crawled toward him. He inhaled deeply, held his breath for several seconds, and slowly released it.
Kragan closed his eyes and muttered his question. “After you create the wards, you will return me to this world and reinstate the arrangement we both agreed to?”
“Yes.”
Although this was what Kragan wanted to hear, the anticipation in Kaleal’s voice filled him with trepidation. Nevertheless, Kragan let the tension flow from his body. And as he did so, he felt the world dissolve around him.
Kragan felt his mind pushed into the background as Kaleal took control of their body. Although all of Kragan’s senses still functioned, he could not so much as twitch a finger. He was merely along for the ride. Kaleal stepped to a heavy, iron-bound door, twisted the ha
The stairway ended, and Kaleal entered a dimly lit chamber, its high ceilings supported by tall, fluted columns. In the great hearth on the far wall, an eternal flame bled its red light into the mist that swirled almost to Kaleal’s knees. Kragan felt his eyes drawn to the throne across from the fireplace. The red wood of the chair had the texture of scabbed flesh. Bas-relief faces distorted in pain crowded together along the surface, portraits that seemed to move as he approached.
The sight of that chair and the tortured souls forever enslaved within it pulled forth the memory of the pain that Kaleal had inflicted on Kragan within the chamber. He could almost hear the ghostly cries emanating from the wood.
Kaleal paused before a massive golden kite shield mounted on the stone wall to the throne’s right, its metal, rubbed to a mirror finish, reflecting Kaleal’s firelit figure. Then the primordial turned and seated himself on the throne. As he settled into place, the agony of the thousands of souls that Kaleal had imprisoned within the chair filled Kragan’s thoughts.
Kaleal fed upon their torments, drawing power and focus from his seat of authority. With a flick of his right hand Kaleal summoned a piece of delicate white cloth from the mantel above the roaring hearth. A vivid memory blossomed in Kaleal’s mind, pulling Kragan into that dreamscape along with him.
The primordial lord stood in his throne room facing Carol Rafel, who wore only a white lace nightgown. Kaleal moved closer, his hungry eyes devouring her body as she watched. A smile flitted across Kaleal’s lips as he reveled in the foreboding he sensed within this young woman. She imagined herself strong enough to dare confront him here, within his nexus of power. Such arrogance carried a heavy price.
“You are the one of whom the Endarian Landrel foretold. I am Kaleal.”
Her beautiful face tightened in a mask of concentration, and a wall of steel bars materialized between them. Kragan reinforced his mental vise on her mind, achieving a link so strong that he could hear her thoughts and feel her emotions, a rush that left him salivating with anticipation of all to come. He held out a hand, flicking his finger upward. A sudden gust of wind whipped up her gown. As Carol moved her hand to push the flimsy covering back down, she lost her focus and the bars disappeared.
“Girl, in moments you will beg me to take you, even though you know that to make love to me is madness.”
Kaleal’s eyes narrowed, and a wave of desire assaulted Carol, leaving her squirming beneath his gaze. Her breath came in ragged gasps. He projected a vision into Carol’s mind of his strong arms encircling her body.
Kaleal moved in until his body lightly touched hers, his fingertips softly stroking a path up her stomach. As he bent his striking face to look directly into her eyes, Carol’s knees sagged. She struck out at him, but somehow her slap became a caress, her arms moving up and around the primordial’s neck of their own accord. As her hands touched his smooth skin, a wave of passion surged through her body, robbing her of the strength to remain standing. Kaleal swept her up in his arms and carried her toward an ebony-colored divan.
He felt Carol struggle to get hold of her feelings. She knew that to have sex with a being from the elemental planes damned the human soul to eternal imprisonment and would leave Kaleal in control of her earthly form.
Kaleal laid her on satin. Thin veins of red meandered through black cloth, veins that pulsed with a vitality matching her pounding heart. The primordial’s hand stroked lightly, barely touching her skin, leaving her gasping and squirming beneath his touch. Carol began to shake uncontrollably. He leaned over her, gently caressing ankle and calf. Her gown had risen until more than half her thigh showed. His ravenous eyes sucked her in, his hot breath searing bare skin.
The primordial moved her hand to his breast, guiding it to stroke his chest. Carol’s eyes widened and began to water as she fought with every ounce of her strength to deny the feelings that assaulted her.
Kaleal’s lips brushed her neck, and she felt her hands move over his chest. He reveled in her horror as Carol realized that he had released them. Carol’s mind tried to lock the experience into a part of her mind where she would not remember it. And his knowledge of such thoughts further excited Kaleal.
The primordial moved slowly atop her, his hand slowly raising the hem of her gown. Kaleal then shifted his attention to the upper part of her nightgown. Peeling it back from her shoulders, little by little, he revealed the firm curves of her heaving breasts.
Lowering his head, he kissed her throat softly, the contact sending an electric thrill through her with each exceedingly light touch. He moved lower, working ever so slowly down her silky throat. A low moan escaped Carol’s parted lips.
“Easy now,” Kaleal purred. “The pleasure that only I can deliver is worth eternal damnation.”
Kaleal felt her burst of will as Carol forcibly shifted her thoughts to a man whose name she spoke aloud.
“Arn.”
Kaleal seized upon the image that formed in her mind, covering his face with his hands. When he lowered them, Arn, the assassin known as Blade, stared back at her.
In this guise, Kaleal leaned in. She kissed him, running her arms around his neck and into his curly brown hair. A wave of emotion stronger than the primordial’s desire suddenly took hold of her.
“I love you, Arn,” she gasped, clasping him to her. “I have always loved you.”
With that admission, a new strength of will blossomed in her mind. She loved the real Arn, not this impostor. Releasing her arms from around his neck, Carol shoved him away.
Kaleal snarled, transforming back into his true form. The dark slits within his golden eyes widened as his lips curled back to reveal fangs.
“So you reject my passion. Then know pain.”
As Kaleal’s clawed fingers touched the shoulder of her nightgown, Carol’s anger crystallized. Above Kaleal, the ceiling supports gave way, crushing the primordial to the floor beneath tons of falling stone. He tossed debris aside in an attempt to rise, but she conjured steel chains that strapped him to the ground. Kaleal fought desperately to break free. The chains thickened and held. Carol fastened a steel collar around his neck and bolted it to the stone floor.
For a moment the woman stood over him. Then she faded from the primordial’s realm, leaving Kaleal clutching the scrap of lace that he had torn from her nightgown as she pummeled him to the floor. The magical chains with which she had bound him disappeared as well. As he climbed back to his feet, squeezing the garment fragment in his right fist, Kaleal’s bellow of rage shook the stone walls. The sound died away to a low growl that devolved into a disgusted hiss. The Lord of the Third Deep had just endured humiliation at the hands of a novice wielder of magic.
He had never sensed such raw, untamed prowess within any other being, not even within the long-dead Endarian wielder, Landrel. The prophecy that Landrel had penned all those millennia past spoke of this woman. Even though much of the scroll’s message remained obscured by ciphers that Kaleal had been unable to unravel, its contents had filled him with concern.
Kaleal walked to the golden mirror, placed his hands on the wall to either side, then leaned forward until his forehead touched the chill metal surface. How had he allowed himself to underestimate this acolyte? Kaleal had squandered the perfect opportunity to destroy the threat that the woman presented, all because he had lied to himself, denying the seed of worry that Landrel’s prophecy had planted within his primordial soul.
Deep within his breast, Kaleal felt that seed sprout green tendrils of dread.
Kaleal’s memory evaporated, leaving Kragan shocked at what he had seen. This had been Carol’s introduction to the elemental planes. Unlike any other aspiring wielder Kragan had heard of, she had been brought into the presence of the Lord of the Third Deep by the Ritual of Terrors. By all rights, her mind should now reside with the other lost souls, trapped within the scabbed wood of the throne atop which Kaleal now sat.
Kragan turned his attention to the piece of Carol’s nightgown that had pulled Kaleal back into the memory that haunted the primordial. Ever so carefully, Kaleal shifted the lace to his left hand and plucked a single strand of brown hair from the cloth. He held the hair up so that it shone with the light of the hearth flames.
