The Royal Wizard (39 page)

“You doubted me.”

Freki surged to her feet. Head low, hackles up, she snarled at the shadow and the figure emerging from its depths. As Muninn took flight and alighted on Loki’s shoulder, cocking his head from side to side, Woden breathed a quiet sigh. Here stood the most beautiful Halfling ever born. Beautiful and flawed. “Yes,” he replied simply.

Loki’s reckless smile skewed, darkness leaking from his empty eyes. “You, who knows all, doubted a future set in eternity?”

“Nothing is ever set, Loki. You should know that better than anyone.”

Muninn cawed, unsettled by Loki’s growing anger. “I destroyed the stone, did I not?”

“You created it in the first place,” Woden reminded him. “And what of the Veil?”

A burst of darkness flared out of Loki. Where it touched, the world changed. Grass coiled like a nest of snakes, pebbles grew spider legs and crawled, jumping onto trees and logs which suddenly groaned like ravenous beasts. “
That was not my doing!
”

“It came about as a direct result of your actions. You will be held accountable.”

Loki shouted to the sky, and his new creations screamed with him.

Woden fisted his hand and slammed it down on the smooth stone surface of his armrest. A deafening boom made the earth shudder, knocking Loki to his knees and startling Muninn into flight. Everything Loki had brought to unnatural life reverted to its inert form, though it would forever carry his dark taint.

Chest heaving with wrath-filled breaths, Loki glared at Woden. He would not stand until Woden allowed it.

The All-Father rose from his seat and looked around, breathing in the serenity of this place. It would not last much longer. Loki’s interference had set in motion events which could not be stopped by an act of the divine. The Veil was not only a separation between the human realm and the Otherlands, but also the vessel of divine power. Even now that power bled out of Asgard, dispersing into the aether and very soon it would leech from the gods themselves.

Though he was far removed, Fenrir’s howls echoed on the wind. The monster knew his time was nigh. He fought his binds, bit at the delicate ribbon tied about his neck. For now it held. A product of Dwarven magic and skill, it was yet unaffected by the change. But if Nialei and the Others failed to restore the Veil, the ribbon’s magic would drain and Fenrir would break free and devour the world as had been foretold.

Loki closed his eyes and smiled to hear the eerie sound. There was something akin to pride in the set of his shoulders. Even subjugated to his knees he showed no humility. “Listen,” he whispered. “My son sings to me of freedom. Is it not beautiful? His agony will be your end, All-Father. It’s coming, can you feel it?” When he looked at Woden again, his smile was sharp as a blade, promising terrible things.

“Get up,” Woden commanded.

Like a puppet on strings, Loki rose to his feet. “You so like your Shadows, Trickster? Good. You will stay in them henceforth.”

His black eyes widened. “How long?”

“Until you learn that your actions have consequences. Forever if need be.”

“No!” Loki lunged at Woden, but the binding spell held him back. The Shadow from whence he came grew and reached out, wrapping smoky tendrils around the Trickster, drawing him back into its depths. “I’ll kill you! All of you!” He screamed ancient words and curses, his voice echoed by Fenrir’s rising frenzy. He could feel his father’s wrath, as Loki felt his. “
Avenge me, son!
” When the Shadow swallowed him whole, its stain dissipated and peace settled over the land once more.

It took a long time for Fenrir’s maddened howls to die down. When they did, mist poured into the clearing, swirling up and taking shape. From its center emerged Frigga, a worried frown marring her brow. “How long will it hold him?”

“Not long enough, I fear.”

“Nialei will need time.”

“She might not have it.”

Frigga nodded. “Then we will have to speed things along.”

“Frigga,” Woden said, taking her hand in his. “You cannot stop the inevitable.”

His beautiful wife smiled. “So you say. But did you not also say that nothing is ever set?” Before he could answer, Frigga turned to mist and blew away.

With a weary groan, Woden settled back in his seat. “Deserted again,” he told Freki.

She tilted her head at him and whined.

“What’s wrong? What isn’t? The Veil is down, Others sit the throne of a human kingdom, magic is spilling everywhere and…” he sighed. “And the worst of it is this is only the beginning. Darkness grows outside of Wilderheim. Can you feel it?”

Freki shook herself out.

Woden nodded and closed his eyes. Unbidden a vision formed in his mind, a portent of both light and dark. The great dragon flew through the air, breathing massive plumes of fire at the clouds. The desert moon rose on a shriek of demons rioting through the night. A vast army gathered beneath the sign of a blood red cross. He opened his eyes and rubbed his aching head. “Whatever you plan to do, my love,” he said to the winds whisking her away, “do it fast.”

The End…?

AUTHOR’S NOTE

Okay, so when I said The Royal Wizard would be a stand-alone book I lied. Well, no, I didn’t lie. I just didn’t anticipate the nefarious wickedness that is my friends.

“You have to make this into a series!” they said.

“No, it’s done,” I replied. “The story has a happy ending, it’s finished.”

And then one of them asked the most dangerous question there is: “But if you wanted to, how would you continue it?”

Well, I thought, it couldn’t be Saeran and Nia’s story again, because they are finished. It would have to be their child. Probably a girl who is nothing like her level-headed mother. But better make it twins, a girl and a boy. And, being that they are children of Halflings, naturally they will have issues, and with everything Nia and Saeran had done, they won’t be the only ones and…

I hadn’t even formed the first sentence to answer this meddlesome friend before I had the outline of an entire book in my head and half of one for the next book after it. So instead of saying all that, I turned to my friend, eye twitching and said simply, “I hate you.”

She laughed and said, “I love you too.”

So now I am stuck with a pair of royal dragonborn twins who can’t seem to get their magics under control, a kingdom in shambles with Others roaming in plain sight, and, oh yeah, there is the little matter of an Aegiran assassin come to kill Saeran and Nia because he blames them for the death of his sister and the plights his tribe suffers as a result.

Whatever else may come, this one is going to be one hell of a ride. I hope you’re ready!

Keep turning the page for a sneak peek at Dragonborn.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Alianne is an avid lover of stories of all kinds. Having grown up with fairy tales in a place where it almost seemed they were real, it was no surprise when she began making up her own stories. She loves books, hiking, archery, and won’t shy away from travel and zip lining Alianne graduated with a business degree and when she’s not off in the land of fantasy, she lives in California.

DRAGONBORN

WHEN DEMONS FLY, THE WORLD WILL BURN…

PROLOGUE

She was
aseti.
Outcast. She, who had never caused harm to another, who’d shown her tribe nothing but love, given them all she had. Disowned by her family, stripped of her name, forced to live on the outskirts of their camp, and all because she’d been born with something that ought never have belonged to a woman. Magic.

They called her witch, shunned her from their midst. They feared her, and they should. While the Magi relied on their spells and rituals, the witch’s power came from within her, not from the gods. When she called on her magic, it poured out of her heart along with her emotions. An outcast could not work, wed, or bear children. They could only beg and pray the tribesmen showed them kindness. A witch was a blight, a curse upon the tribe, and as such was not allowed near others at all. She could not beg or even show herself to the tribe, and no one would look upon her for fear the curse would infect their eyes and be reborn in their children.

In all her life, there’d been only one who would dare brave such perils and secretly bring an old woman food and water. The
shansher
’s beloved youngest daughter, Mari. For her kindness, the witch had loved her like her own flesh and blood, and she’d cursed the
shansher
the day he’d sent Mari to the northern king. The witch had known then the girl was riding to her doom; she had warned the
shansher
not to do this, to send another in his daughter’s place. He had not listened. No one had, pretending she was not there because in the eyes of the Imarah tribe she did not exist.

Almost a year now since the riders returned with Mari’s ashes. The rains have come and gone three times while the witch waited for the
shansher
to do something, to ride on the north, to avenge his daughter. And in all that time no one had stood up for her. No one.

How dare they let one of their own disappear this way! A princess, no less! Forgotten as if she were an outcast herself.

The witch knew now they would never right this wrong. Princess she may have been, but she’d still been only a woman. Hatred for every man in the tribe consumed her. She could not bear to look at any of them, lest she let loose a terrible wave of magic and destroy them all where they stood. It would not be a good enough end for them. For what they’d done, the witch would make them all suffer.

When the sky turned dark and the sands had cooled, the witch stole a torch and ran into the desert. Countless stars shone above her, but the moon was dark tonight, averting its face so her deeds might go unwitnessed.

The witch looked around to make certain she had not been followed. She hadn’t been. No one cared about the witch. If she went missing, they would rejoice to be rid of her. For that, too, the Imarah tribe would pay.

She traced a large circle in the sand with her toes, deep enough to create a channel. The black powder came next, sprinkled into the channel evenly all around. It would blaze bright green when fire touched it, an irresistible lure to the djinn. And once she had it trapped in the circle, she would make it do her bidding. It would be the vessel of her wrath.

The witch stepped out of the circle she created and raised her torch high, calling on her magic. She’d seen the Magi perform their rituals, summoning the gods’ good will. The witch mimicked their movements but spoke her own words. Three steps along the left side of the circle, four back to the right. Five to the left, six to the right. She whispered the words at first, then spoke them, and as she rounded the circle at last, she shouted them into the night, forcing her will into the air, making it congeal as black smoke. When she slammed the torch into the black powder, green fire flared as high as she was tall and she stumbled back from the heat of it.

Gasping for breath, she returned, squinting through the fiery veil into the circle. She saw a figure within, heard rasping breaths on the night breeze. Harsh, foreign words hissed all around her, dark groans made her shudder and trace the sign against evil over her chest.

When at last the fire died down, she beheld the creature she had summoned. It was tall and thin, with wide shoulders and gangly limbs, long black hair plaited back into a thick rope that reached the sands and coiled around its feet. Or rather, where its feet ought to be. It wore shadows as clothes and every time the breeze blew, the creature briefly turned to smoke, as if it would blow away in the wind.

“I am—”

“No one,” the creature said. “How dare you summon me, no one?”

“I…” She could not find her voice. The creature’s red eyes glowed, following her every move, staring through her, into her, and the witch hugged herself for fear of having her soul ripped out of her chest.

The djinn laughed, a terrible sound in the night. “No one wishes to be someone. To be seen and feared.”

“N-no. I wish…”

“I know what you wish. I can taste your soul, no one.” It licked its lips with a long, pointed tongue and hummed. “It is as bitter as firedust. You wish to see your mistress avenged. But where to begin? With her father who gave her away? Or her mother who gave her such a miserable life?” It floated closer, touching the blackened circle which would not permit it to go farther. “Would you like to see the man who took that miserable life, no one?”

The creature held its bony hand out and with a harsh command summoned a blaze into its palm. It swirled like a mad thing, twisting and stretching every which way to escape, but the djinn’s magic held it in place. “Look upon the face of your enemy. See how happy he is.”

The witch looked into the flame and gasped.

There, the castle in the north. There, the fair haired king sat on the bed, gazing down at a pair of babies swaddled in blankets. He looked up at the woman who had birth them and smiled at her with such love the witch felt tears slide down her wrinkled cheeks. She shook with hate. That love should have been Mari’s. Those children should have been hers.

“What will we name them?” the king asked.

“My daughter’s name is Liadan,” the woman said. “Your son waits for you to name him.”

The king gazed down at the child and at length said, “Fal. His name is Fal.”

The woman smiled. “Liadan and Fal.”

“They’re beautiful.”

Suddenly a dark haired man was there. “They are too much human,” he said.

The king and his woman looked at each other and grave understanding passed between them. “They are only just born,” the woman said, her eyes pleading.

“Yes,” the dark haired one said.

“What demon is this?” the witch gasped.

“He is a dragon,” the djinn answered. “He has lived long before your gods birthed your tribe. The king is his grandson and he is mighty with the dragonblood coursing in his veins. Do you think he will be so easy to defeat?”