Are creatures of the night and all manner of extramundane beings drawn to certain locations in the natural world? In the Midwestern village of Beth-Hill located in southern Ohio, the population is made up of its fair share of common citizens…and much more than its share of supernatural residents. Take a walk on the wild side in this unusual place where imagination meets reality.

A Dreamer dreams the future when the past is not yet laid to rest. Ten years ago, a plague swept across the Seven Kingdoms. Ten years ago, the Queen of Iomar’s son was exiled and named the author of the magical plague. Now, in the present, Terrin works to complete his ultimate goal: Control of the Seven Kingdoms using his son’s power to supplement his own…

 

When Alban’s father Terrin appeared at the castle door with a vampire in tow and apologies on his lips, Alban fell under his spell just like everyone else and welcomed him home. But Terrin didn’t return to live quietly in his brother’s kingdom. He had other plans and, with Alban’s untrained powers at his disposal, he begins his ruthless plan to destroy the Seven Kingdoms and rule them all, beginning with his brother’s death.

Terrin engineers events to cast the blame on his nephew, Teluride, intending to see the boy executed for his father’s murder. But there are those who would thwart Terrin in his mad plan for power, and Alban forms an unlikely alliance with Skade, the reclusive Queen of Iomar, and Terrin’s slave, a young vampire with no memory of his name or origins. Although the future looks grim, Alban and the vampire attempt to stop Terrin…and they almost succeed.

A darker history lies at the heart of Terrin’s treachery, and only Skade knows the true reason why Terrin would murder his own brother and attempt to destroy both Alban and the vampire to achieve his goals. The Ghost who resides in Skade’s mirror–her servant and thrall–holds one of the keys to Terrin’s madness. Unfortunately, more than one person wishes for the past to remain the past and the future to hold no shadows of what might have been…

GENRE: Fantasy     Word Count: 49, 695

 

(ebooks are available from all sites, and print is available from Amazon and Barnes and Noble)

Continue the Series:

 

 

Chapter 1

 

“Teluride, what have you done?”

The prince turned from his father’s bloody form and stared at the spectre of his uncle in the doorway. Terrin’s face was white–as white as the moon outside–and the faces of the castle staff crowding behind him showed no less horror.

“What have you done?” Terrin asked again, and, as if from some unseen prompt, the prince answered.

“My father…” His voice was rough and grating, his eyes unfocused. “My father…” He swayed, and nearly tripped over the bloody dagger at his feet.

One of the Council members pushed past Terrin and caught the Prince as he fell. Only the prince saw Terrin’s face darken at this intrusion, and he was too dazed to make note of it.

“Help me with him!” The man lowered Teluride to the ground and turned to the onlookers. “Someone see to the King!”

Two more members of the King’s Council pushed past, but it was evident to all that the King was already dead. No one could lose the amount of blood that soaked into the carpets and bed sheets, and survive. Not even their King.

“My father!” the Prince protested as the Council members held him down. “Help him…”

“I think he’s beyond help,” Terrin snapped, “and you’ve made sure of that, haven’t you?”

One of the Council members gaped at Terrin. “Surely you don’t think the prince…”

“He’s been ill; we all know that,” Terrin replied smoothly. “Illness can do strange things to a person’s mind…” He left the actual accusation unsaid, but everyone present knew exactly what he meant.

“You’re a wizard!” Another man pushed past the growing crowd and joined the others. “Can’t you make him tell us?”

“Force him to talk, you mean?” Terrin asked, his voice still maddeningly calm. His eyes glittered at the thought. “I could, but it might damage his mind even more. If I forced a confession, whether guilty or not, he might not have a mind left when I’m finished.” He paused. “I don’t know if I want to do that to my nephew.” His voice was perfectly modulated between sorrow for the King and worry for the prince.

On the floor, surrounded on all sides by the Council, the Prince moaned.

“Do it,” one of the men snapped, his face pale as he faced the gory scene. “I want to know who did this to our King.” The others, not as vocal now that the stink of blood and excrement was thick in their throats, nodded their assent. Terrin knelt beside Teluride, careful not to kneel in the blood, and the Council moved away.

“No! Don’t hurt him!” Someone new pushed through the crowd in the doorway, and Terrin frowned when he saw who it was.

“Alban, step back,” he snapped. “This is none of your affair.”

“Teluride didn’t kill his father,” Alban retorted. “He couldn’t have!”

“Perhaps the Prince’s sickness has transferred to you?” Terrin asked, his voice still calm, but there was an undercurrent to it now, warning Alban from continuing in that vein. “You’ve been ill, too, Alban…”

“I’m not sick.” Alban’s face showed otherwise, for it was dreadfully pale, and his eyes burned with what looked like fever. Only Terrin knew it was not, but he wasn’t intending to enlighten anyone. He needed his son; needed the power he carried. The fever in his eyes was a spell, nothing more, but no one else knew that.

“Alban, we found him here with the dagger in his hand,” Terrin said gently, as if talking to a child. “I’m not one to accuse out of line, but the evidence damns him.” His gaze promised punishment later if Alban kept interfering.

“My father…” the Prince whispered from the floor.

“Your father is dead, Teluride,” Terrin purred, facing the Prince again. “Did you kill him?”

“Dead?” the Prince blinked dazed eyes, and tried to focus. “Dead?”

“Stabbed to death,” Terrin said, almost conversationally. “Killed. By you?”

“No… I… heard…” Teluride struggled to sit up, but the Council held him down. “My father is dead?” He couldn’t seem to grasp that little fact.

“He said no,” one of the Council members said with a hint of relief. “He said no.”

“Did you expect him to confess?” Terrin asked sharply, then immediately softened his tone. “Teluride, did you kill you father?”

“He’s dead?” Teluride asked, nearly lucid now. “My father is dead?”

“Did you kill your father?” Terrin pressed, and backed his words with power this time. Teluride jerked on the floor, muscles spasming. He made a wordless sound of protest as Terrin focused more power into the question, but could not seem to speak. “Did you kill your father?” Terrin asked again.

Alban stepped into the crowd surrounding the prince. “You’re killing him!” He tried to stop the tremors that ran through Teluride’s body, but the spasms only grew in strength. Terrin’s eyes gleamed.

“I warned you that asking him this might damage him in some way,” he said. “I can’t do a thing about the…”

Teluride’s eyes widened, and he stiffened on the floor. His spine arced, bowing until it seemed his back would break, and the muscles along his arms and neck stood out in stark relief.

“You’re killing him!” Alban said again, aghast. The Council members struggled to keep Teluride immobile, not wanting their prince to hurt himself any more than he already had.

“Go back to your rooms, Alban,” Terrin growled, dropping all pretense of civility. “I’ll deal with you later.” Alban hesitated, obviously torn, but he could not disobey a direct order. He started to speak, wilted when Terrin glared, and staggered out of the room. The people clogging the doorway melted away as he passed by.

“Hold him still,” Terrin ordered, and produced a small bottle from an inside pocket. “If I can get him to drink this, the convulsions should stop.”

Teluride’s eyes were still wide; his spine still bent at an unnatural angle. Terrin forced open his mouth, ignoring the damage he inflicted, and poured the milky liquid down the prince’s throat. Predictably, he choked, but Terrin held his mouth closed until he swallowed the drug. Its effect was almost immediate. Teluride’s whole body relaxed, and his eyes slipped shut.

“What should we do with him?” one of the Council members asked in the ensuing silence. Terrin pretended to think. Quite honestly, he wouldn’t mind seeing Teluride hang for his father’s murder, but hanging was a common man’s death. Nobility would be sealed alive in a cell, or forgotten somewhere down in the dungeons. Or executed. He almost smiled at the prospect.

“Post a guard on him, but leave him in his rooms,” he finally said. “We have to get a confession before anything can be done, and it’s still possible he might be innocent.”

“We saw the dagger in his hands,” one of the Council members said darkly. “If he is innocent…”

Which he is, Terrin’s mind supplied, but he didn’t say a word. For his plan to bear fruit, Teluride had to be guilty. Teluride was the sacrifice for Terrin’s quest for his brother’s throne.

“Just make certain he doesn’t start convulsing again,” Terrin reminded them, and stood. “I’ll prepare more medicine, just in case he does.”

“Where will you be, Lord Terrin?” The Council stared up at him, already looking to him for answers. This had been too easy by far.

“I’ll be in my chambers,” he said. “Call my name, and I will come if you need me.” He swept out, past the bloody form of his brother, past the gawking peasantry and Lords in the doorway, and past the deserted hall to go to his son’s rooms.

Alban had nearly destroyed his plans by showing up when he did. If the Council found out that Terrin himself had killed the King, his plan would be ruined. If they found out Teluride’s sickness was Terrin’s doing, they would try their best to have him killed, but they would fail.

Terrin would make sure they would fail.

 

***

 

Alban staggered down the corridor leading to his rooms, unable to resist his father’s order. He hated leaving Teluride alone with them; hated seeing his only friend helpless on the bloody carpet, but he couldn’t fight the spell.

Now that he had his mind back, he knew it was a spell. He didn’t remember much from the past month or two; his memories seemed to be shrouded in a darkness he couldn’t pierce. He wasn’t sure he wanted to pierce it.

He didn’t notice the figure hiding in the shadows by his door until it spoke his name, but the spell still forced him forward, and he could do nothing but obey.

“Alban!” He recognized the figure now; recognized the cloaked form of his father’s vampire, but couldn’t reply until he’d stepped inside his room. He drew in a choked breath to cleanse the smell of blood from his throat, and sank to his knees as the compulsion deserted him.

“Alban?” A rustle behind him announced the presence of the vampire. “Where is Teluride? What is going on?”

“The King is dead,” Alban whispered, winded without knowing why. He hadn’t run all the way to his rooms, after all, but he felt strangely weak. Was the weakness part of the spell? Now that he had his mind back, would the spell still hold him?

“You’re not free, are you?” the vampire asked, hovering in the doorway. “You’re not free.” Alban heard him turn to go, and turned himself, one hand out to prevent him from leaving.

“Don’t go. Please.” He felt like a fool for begging, but the vampire was the only one who could tell him what had happened. “I need to know…”

“You need to know nothing,” Terrin growled from the doorway. He pushed past the vampire, and Alban tried to get out of his way. “How did you break free?”

“I’m not free,” Alban snarled in helpless frustration. “I can do nothing like this. Let me go!”

“Nothing? You say nearly ruining my plans is nothing?” Terrin grinned at his son, showing even white teeth. “I will not let you go. Ever.”

Still kneeling on the floor, Alban stared up at his father in dismay. “Why?” He couldn’t think of anything else to say.

Terrin smiled again, but his teeth remained hidden behind thin, pale lips. “You have power I need,” he said simply. “And you are my son.”

“And Teluride?” Alban asked, feeling despair well up in his chest. “What about Teluride?”

“He merely got in the way,” Terrin replied. “Stay here. I don’t want to see you set foot outside your rooms until I am crowned King. Do you understand?”

King? Alban tried to argue, but his mouth would only form two words. “I understand,” he whispered, and bowed his head, defeated.

Terrin turned towards the vampire, and the cloaked form shrank back. “And I don’t want to see you anywhere near the prince. Do you understand?”

“I understand,” the vampire whispered. “You won’t see me anywhere near the Prince.” Terrin stopped in front of him, searching his shadows for any sign of deceit, but the vampire’s head was bowed, his posture submissive. Terrin pushed him inside.

“Until I am King,” he said. “Remember that.” He wasn’t looking at Alban, but Alban answered anyway.

“Until you are King.”

The sound of the key in the lock echoed in Alban’s head like a sentence of death. He collapsed, falling forward onto the dusty floor, and heard the vampire’s soft voice break the silence.

“Do you truly wish to know what he made you do?” he asked, invisible in the darkness.

Alban raised his head. He had to work to find his voice, it seemed to have vanished along with his will to move.

“Yes,” he finally whispered. “Please.”

“You won’t enjoy it,” the vampire warned.

Alban waited a moment to see if he would elaborate, and then sighed. “I know.”

 

---

 

Chapter 2

 

“My Queen? Have your heard the news?”

“Tell me how I could have heard the news, Mirror.”

“You seem to know everything…”

“And don’t try my patience. Not today.”

“No, of course not, my Lady Skade. My Queen. I…”

“Your news, Mirror.”

“The King of Leysan is dead.”

“What?”

“The King of Leysan, King Valdis, is dead. His son has been accused of the murder.”

“What did you say?”

“The King…”

“I heard you, Mirror, it was just a figure of speech. Valdis is dead?”

“Stabbed.”

“And the Prince…”

“Accused of his murder.”

“You’re not a parrot; quit acting like one. And Terrin?”

“Terrin?”

“The King’s brother, fool. Terrin. The wizard. The bane of my existence.”

“He’s…he’s next in line for the throne, my Queen.”

“Damn.”

“I knew you wouldn’t like the news.”

“I never told you to only tell me good news, Mirror. What about Terrin’s son? Alban? Isn’t that his name?”

“Yes, My Queen.”

“And stop this ‘my Queen’ crap. I’m not going to break you…not unless you really make me mad. What is my name, Mirror?”

“Skade, your Majesty.”

“What did I… Oh, never mind. What about Alban?”

“Shouldn’t you ask me ‘what about the Prince?'”

“Shouldn’t you have told me ‘what about the prince?'”

“The rumor says he is dying. He’s been ill, evidently, and he started to have convulsions…”

“Why is he being accused of his father’s murder?”

“According to Terrin, he was found with the dagger in his hand.”

“Of course.”

“Of course?”

“I don’t have to explain everything to you, do I?”

“No, My Lady.”

“I like ‘my lady’ much better. Find me information about Terrin’s son. And make sure the Prince isn’t going to die.”

“Yes, my Qu…my Lady.”

“And hurry!”

 

***

 

“He put you under a spell,” the vampire said, his voice echoing in the darkness. “A spell you couldn’t break.”

“I figured that much out,” Alban admitted, and tried to rise. He made it to his feet, and stood there, swaying. “Is there a light in here?”

“You won’t want a light,” the vampire said. “Walk straight ahead. There’s a chair beside your bed.”

“Why won’t I want a light?” Alban asked.

“You won’t.”

He heard the vampire move a chair and sit down with a sigh. Silence seeped into his ears and stopped up his throat until the only sound he could hear was the beating of his own heart. He closed his eyes in the darkness, stumbled forward, and almost fell across his bed.

“Sit down,” the vampire ordered, and Alban sat. “You were under a spell.” His voice sounded tired, as if speaking took strength he couldn’t afford to give.

“I know,” Alban whispered, “but what did he make me do?” He could almost see in the dark now; the light seeping under the door had enough strength for him to make out shadowy objects around his room. He saw the vampire, a darker shadow, in one corner, slumped in a wooden chair. He glanced behind him at the bed, and saw another shadow–a body-sized shadow–on the far end. His breath caught in his throat.

“Is this why I don’t want a light on?” he croaked. He stood and started to back away from what looked like a body on his bed. But if this person was dead, where was the smell of decay?

“She’s not dead, Alban,” the vampire whispered. “Merely under a spell of your own making.”

Alban stared back at him. “But I’m not a wizard!” he protested, trying to understand. “How can that be?”

The vampire sighed. “You have power,” he said. “Power enough to make your father happy.”

“I’m not a wizard,” Alban said again, and turned away from the bed.

“You could be,” the vampire insisted. “You could be more powerful than Terrin.” Alban shook his head. “You could!”

“Who is she?” Alban asked, changing the subject. “And how do I break the spell?”

“Terrin gave her to you for sport,” the vampire whispered. Alban winced. “He told you to do what you wished with her…”

“What did I do?” He couldn’t even dredge up anger anymore; the only emotion lodged in his chest was a sick sense of dread.

“Break the spell and find out,” the vampire suggested. Alban turned back to the bed.

He didn’t have a chance to try to break the spell. The body on the bed rose, a dagger flashed, and he found it at his throat before he could react.

“Release me!” The dagger pricking his throat prevented his reply, so he took a step backwards, away from its sharp point. “Damn you!”

Alban cleared his throat. “How?” he asked, well away from the bed now. She stayed where she was, crouched low, waiting for him to return. Couldn’t she escape from the bed? What kind of spell had he cast? How had he cast it?

She stared at him for a moment, confused by his question, then inexplicably began to laugh. Alban looked towards the vampire for help, but the shadow in the corner didn’t even raise his head.

“You cannot free me?” she asked, still laughing. Her voice had an odd accent, one Alban hadn’t heard before. “You cast a spell you do not know how to break?”

“I’m not a wizard,” Alban said, for the third time. “I…” She laughed again.

“If you’re not a wizard, then I’m not a woman,” she snapped. “Free me, son of Terrin. Free me, and I swear I won’t kill you.”

“He doesn’t know how,” the vampire whispered, rousing from his stupor. “He isn’t trained.”

“For someone not trained, he cast a powerful spell,” the girl said. “Light a lamp, spawn of Terrin. Use your magic. I’ve seen you do it before.”

“I don’t know how!” He shouted the vampire’s words, and the girl’s laughter died on her lips. In the silence, Alban bowed his head, staring at the floor again. “I am not a wizard.”

“He isn’t trained?” the girl’s question was aimed at the vampire, but she regarded Alban like a species of new insect. Alban kept his head lowered, feeling both helpless and hopeless. He couldn’t fight his father; he couldn’t free the girl. And no matter what the vampire said, he wasn’t a wizard.

“No.” The vampire’s voice cracked on that one word, and Alban slowly raised his head to stare at him.

“Are you…”

“Don’t you dare ask him if he’s okay,” the girl snapped. “Don’t you realize what you did to him?”

Alban’s gaze swiveled back to her. “Did to him?” he asked, his throat almost too dry to force the words out. “What did I do to him?” She grew very still again, staring at him with that same peculiar expression.

“You don’t remember.” It wasn’t a question, but Alban answered it anyway.

“No. All I remember…” He frowned and closed his eyes, trying to remember, but the darkness still shrouded the last two months. His last clear thought was being summoned to Terrin’s rooms late one night. Everything else…everything else was covered with darkness.

“You…” the girl began, but this time, the vampire interrupted.

“Don’t tell him!” the vampire nearly shouted, pushing his body out of the chair. “Don’t tell him…”

“Tell me what?” Alban asked, feeling the cold lump of dread settle deep into his chest. “What did I do to you?”

The vampire sank back into his chair so quickly that Alban thought he’d fallen. He took a step forward, and one pale hand rose up out of the depths of darkness to stop him. “Stay back.”

“What did I do?” Alban asked again, the anguish plain in his voice. The vampire did not reply, but the girl did.

“You hurt him very badly,” she said, her voice soft. “Badly enough that I thought he might die…”

“I’m not going to die,” the vampire whispered. “Not yet.”

“And vampires are notoriously difficult to kill,” the girl continued, as if he hadn’t spoken.

Alban stared at her. “Who are you?” He finally asked. She laughed at him again, but her laugh didn’t have the grating edge of before.

“You never bothered to ask me my name before,” she said. “I’ll tell you my name when you free me, son of Terrin.”

“I can’t,” Alban’s voice carried the depth of his defeat very clearly, and he turned away from her, towards the threshold he could not cross. She sighed.

“You can!” she insisted. “Look at me.” He didn’t turn. “Look at me!”

“I’m sorry,” Alban whispered, still turned away. “I’m sorry I can’t let you go.”

“If I could escape from this damn spell of yours, I’d kill you myself!” the girl growled. “Come here. Now. Before I really get mad.”

Alban turned and walked to his bed, his eyes still on the ground. He stopped within arm’s reach of the girl, but she made no move to touch him.

“Free her,” the vampire whispered from his chair. Alban turned on him, eyes flashing, his anger finally bubbling to the surface.

“I can’t!” he shouted. “I’m not…” The girl grabbed his arm and pulled him towards the bed. Her dagger flashed again, and Alban found himself helpless with the dagger at his throat.

“Free me,” she hissed in his ear.

He closed his eyes. “Kill me.”

She released him in disgust and turned to the vampire. “What is wrong with him?” she asked, and aimed a kick in his direction. “He casts the spell, then says he isn’t a wizard…” She spoke as if Alban wasn’t there, and he almost preferred it that way. All he wanted to do was curl up in some dark corner and wait for his father to return. He slid down the side of the bed and sat there, head bowed, letting the conversation flow around him.

“He’s under a spell,” the vampire whispered, shifting in his chair. “And he hasn’t been trained.”

“Can you free me?” the girl asked.

The vampire sighed. “I could…once.”

“But now?”

“Now I can do nothing,” the vampire whispered. “Alban saw to that.” He stared at Alban’s hunched form for a moment. “He can free you. You only have to show him how.”

The girl laughed. Alban felt her eyes on him, but he didn’t look up. He wasn’t sure if he could. “I am no wizard,” she finally said, her voice soft. “How did he trap you, Alban?” This was the first time she had spoken his name, and he noticed enough to raise his head.

“I met my father for the first time two years ago,” he whispered. “I thought…I thought he came back to be with me, to help King Valdis…I was a fool to trust him with anything.”

“You didn’t know,” the vampire whispered.

“But you did!” Alban’s eyes flashed. “Why didn’t you tell me? I would have believed you.”

“My counsel would have been suspect,” the vampire whispered. “I am Terrin’s, after all. I have no free will.”

“What did I do to you?” Alban asked brokenly.

“What do vampires drink?” the girl asked softly, staring at the vampire, ignoring his whispered protest.

“Blood,” Alban said.

“What kind of blood?” the girl asked.

The vampire rose unsteadily to his feet. “Don’t tell him, damn you. Don’t tell him!” The girl ignored him.

“Human?” Alban whispered, staring at the vampire.

“Vampires can only drink human blood,” the girl said. “Everything else is poison to them. And you took his last resource away from him, and made that poison, too.”

Alban stared at the vampire in horror. “I…” He tried to think of something; some platitude to say, but his mind was a yawning blank of blackness. “I…” He turned anguished eyes to the girl. “What did I do to you?”

She actually smiled at him. “You captured me after I had dismissed you as harmless. Other than that and this spell, you’ve done nothing.” But Alban sensed something in her voice that told him she wasn’t exactly telling the truth. He started to speak, but the vampire interrupted.

“It doesn’t matter, Alban,” he whispered. “What matters is that you learn enough to break your own spells. I can survive until then.”

“And every time you drink, you die a little more,” the girl snapped.

“Am I really a wizard?” Alban asked, looking up at him. “Could I break the spell I’m under? Could I help Teluride?”

“Teluride?” the girl asked. “What’s wrong with Teluride?”

“King Valdis is dead,” Alban whispered, still staring at the vampire. “Teluride stands accused of his murder.”

“But…”

“He is innocent,” the vampire whispered to Alban.

“Then who killed the King?” the girl asked.

Alban knew the answer, even though he didn’t want to speak his suspicions aloud.

“Terrin,” the vampire said, saving him. “And yes, Alban, you are a wizard, albeit untrained. You could break the spell you’re under, and the one you placed on Kyne.”

“And the one I placed on you?” Alban asked before realizing the vampire had spoken the girl’s name. “Your name is Kyne?” She ignored him; her eyes were riveted on the vampire’s dark form.

“You know my name.” It wasn’t a question, but the vampire answered it anyway.

“I do.”

“And do you know why I am here?” she asked, her voice as cold as ice.

The vampire shrugged as best as he could. “I could guess,” he whispered.

“And do you know who I am?” Kyne asked.

“Yes.”

She seemed very dangerous suddenly, and Alban started to move away from the bed. Kyne noticed and grabbed his arm. She smiled down at him tightly, and he saw her clearly for the first time. Was there more light in the room? Had Terrin returned? He shot a panicky glance at the door, but it remained dark and silent. Only the space around Kyne and himself was lighter, but he couldn’t tell where the light was coming from.

He stared up at her. Her black hair was cut short and spiky; her skin pale, but not sickly…not like his own. Her eyes were still dark, so he couldn’t tell their exact color, but he thought they might be green. Her appearance was a marked difference to his own dirty brown hair and hazel eyes. Alban felt like a small, drab mouse beside her.

“Light?” she murmured, and looked down at him again. “Ah.” She released him and settled back on her heels. “I rest my case.”

“What?” Alban asked, then realized where the light came from. His hands were glowing–only enough to show him small details of his dusty room–but they were glowing. He moved them in front of his face, and green light swept through the air. “How is this happening?” he asked, glancing at the vampire for an answer.

He never heard the answer. The light winked out suddenly, and the darkness returned tenfold, pressing down on him from all sides. He felt his heart stutter, then stop. He tried to take a breath, tried to breathe, but his throat was locked and barred against oxygen. He tried to stand; to somehow move out of the darkness, but his legs would not obey him. He choked. He tried to scream.

And he felt as if someone sucked his very soul out of his body. He spiraled downward into darkness, with the sound of his own silent screams echoing in his ears.