The Trahiad Page 14

  Darthyn’s grin grew. “Elizabeth, I told you the first day we met her in Paigon Square,” he said.

  You mean when I stole the ring?

  “There’s something about her. I’d like Wayd to meet her. That’s all. Just meet her,” Darthyn said.

  Elizabeth opened her mouth to argue, but then shut it and stared at Elisa.

  The gaze was penetrating. As if Elizabeth was reading her soul. Elisa couldn’t help but shift her feet uncomfortably.

  After a moment, Elizabeth nodded. “Very well. I agree with the second condition.”

  Elisa’s mouth dropped open. She thought they were kidding, but the deadpan look on both of their faces said otherwise.

  “Well? Do you agree to my judgements? You’ll meet my conditions?” Darthyn asked.

  “Are you being serious?” Elisa asked, hoping that they weren’t.

  Darthyn nodded. “As High Judge of Alderidon and with Elizabeth and Damon as my witnesses, I offer these conditions as punishment for the act of being caught stealing.”

  Elisa shook her head with disbelief. “I have to find a different job, and take your son out on a date?”

  Darthyn blushed. “Well, it sounds a little strange having you say it that way, but… well… yes,” he finished with a smile.

  Elisa thought about it. There was no way she would ever leave the Trahiad. Wyatt was right. She had potential there, and it was proven by the fact she was already a Sword. At this pace, she’d become the next Pen, just like Racin had told her. Imagine being second in command of the most powerful organization in Ardonor…

  And she had zero desire to meet Darthyn’s son. She felt loyalty to Darthyn and Elizabeth—not their son. And she had heard that Wayd was a spoiled little brat. I don’t want to meet him…

  How do I get out of this?

  She racked her brains, trying to figure out a solution. She risked looking at Darthyn and Elizabeth and saw them staring intently at her. They weren’t going to budge. Damon looked like he thought the gallows was a better solution.

  Think! How do I get out of this!

  “Well?” Darthyn asked.

  “Hurry, it’s late,” Elizabeth added.

  Elisa thought about just agreeing so she could be on her way, but it wasn’t that simple. She knew that if she agreed to the conditions, she would have to honor them, so she didn’t want to make this decision lightly.

  “What is the holdup?” Darthyn asked.

  “You’re asking me to forsake the only home I’ve ever had,” Elisa finally said, exasperated.

  Darthyn smiled softly, Elizabeth gave a knowing look.

  “I just found it,” Elisa continued. “In Paigon Square a year ago, that’s what enabled me to join the Trahiad. The past year is the first year in my life I haven’t had to look over my shoulder. They protect me. They are my home. You are asking me to abandon it.”

  “A home isn’t necessarily a destination,” Darthyn said. “A home is a place you will work to make a better place. With people you want to live with. I understand that you’ve found that in the Trahiad, and I know how convincing those in the Trahiad can be.”

  Elisa looked up at him and saw a warm look in Darthyn’s eyes. Racin… Darthyn is talking about Racin.

  “But you have to wonder—is being a thief at this young age worth a life that is bound to end up behind bars? Or worse?” Darthyn asked.

  Elisa started to get defensive, but stopped as she listened to his words.

  “If you can find similar people that you want to share your life with, but with a cause that is just, and that helps people through legal means, wouldn’t you rather live that life?” Darthyn continued. “Racin Poe and the Trahiad are a noble cause, but they accomplish it in the wrong way. Why steal, when you can accomplish the same goals within the bounds of the law? Do you know why Racin steals instead?”

  “Why?” Elisa asked, her world suddenly spinning.

  “Because it’s faster. It can drive results faster. Think on it,” Darthyn continued. “To get what we need to become a better civilization up here requires alignment with many functions and people. It requires a network to support and pass just laws that enable people to have what they need to live successful lives. If we went Racin’s route, sure, we could just take what we need. It’s much faster. But is it lasting? No—because the values Racin professes he lives by comes at the expense of others. Our values, though it takes longer to enact, come at the expense of no one. You have to ask yourself, do you want to be involved with a secret organization that forces you to hide from the majority and only help the few who are within your walls? Or do you want to stand for something bigger and help the entire world?”

  Elisa pondered what Darthyn had said. She had never thought about it that way before. She had always viewed her set of circumstances in isolation and was looking for any way out of it. The Trahiad was that way, and it was a straightforward way. But Darthyn was right. The Trahiad only helped themselves, or those they deemed worth helping.

  “It’s a lot to think about on one night,” Darthyn said. “And I realize it’s a life changing decision.”

  “But think on it,” Elizabeth added. “You are on a path right now that will end in sorrow, as it has for Racin Poe, and as it will for any who follow him. Is that worth it?” she asked.

  The affection she heard in both Darthyn and Elizabeth’s voices as they talked about Racin surprised Elisa. They still cared for him. She looked in their eyes and realized that what they spoke was truth.

  “It’s a decision that you must make for yourself, and one that we hope you won’t make lightly,” Elizabeth continued.

  Elisa nodded.

  “So,” Darthyn continued. “Let me amend my conditions. I’ll give you a month to decide on your chosen profession. One month from now, will you promise me you’ll return and let me know what you decide? If you’ll make a difference in the world? Or to continue with only your chosen few?”

  Elisa couldn’t stop herself from nodding. She was afraid of the choice she would make. What is Wyatt going to think?

  “And then the second condition,” Darthyn said.

  “Do I really have to?” Elisa asked, not able to hide her annoyance.

  “Oh for sure,” Darthyn said with a smile. “Our son, Waydsyn Scot, gets home in a few days. You need to promise me you’ll meet him, at least once. Come to the reception dinner! You could be my guest!”

  Elisa rolled her eyes, and Elizabeth laughed.

  “They have more in common than they’ll ever admit,” Damon said with a smirk.

  Darthyn laughed. “That they do, and that’s the reason I want them to meet. I think you’ll be good for each other,” Darthyn said. “I just have a feeling about it.”

  Then he grew serious. “Do you agree to my conditions? My judgement?”

  “I do,” Elisa answered. Then she was shocked when Darthyn moved forward and embraced her, followed shortly after by Elizabeth. Even Damon smiled at her.

  As they escorted her out of the Scot’s palace, she couldn’t help but think about all that had happened. It upset her she still had the ring in her pocket, but she didn’t feel guilt anymore. After all, Darthyn had given it to her despite her protests. But more than the ring, she felt like she had grown even closer to the Scots.

  But mostly what was on her mind was a simple question.

  Am I really going to walk away from the Trahiad to pursue a better dream?

  The End of The Trahiad

  A Novel of The Drahiad Chronicles Prologues

  You can read more about Elisa, Wyatt, Damon, Darthyn, and Elizabeth in Cataclysm, the final book of The Drahiad Chronicles Prologues

  Turn the page for the prologue to Cataclysm!

  Excerpt from Cataclysm

  Mysteries in the Dark

  After banishing them for what we hoped was all eternity, and watching the portal close off behind them, I couldn’t help but wonder if someday I would see them march back through, their brilliant red armor cat
ching the light of day, and knowing all too well that they had returned to finish what they had begun…total domination…

  Shadows flickered across the open book as he delicately turned a thin, aged page, the words coming alive as the candlelight caught their darkened ink. He glanced at the words scrawled across the brittle parchment, and although the words were chiseled into his memory, he still read it aloud.

  “A cup of blood, the red knight adorn, the key to both, the white dragon reborn. The red knight lives, the red knight dies, but the return of the red, herein the blood lies.”

  He felt the familiar frustration begin to develop within his conscious, anger stirring over the complexity of the riddle. He wondered if he would ever solve it. Glancing at the entire tome, he thought of the several hundred riddles he had already solved. Some of those had been difficult as well so deep down he knew he could solve this one, but he had been telling himself the same thing daily for the better part of a decade.

  He read the words again, this time in a soft whisper, hoping that perhaps if he changed the inflection of his voice that it would be key to solving the riddle. “A cup of blood,” he began, but then stopped. That was the last piece he needed to solve. What was the cup of blood? Was it related to the end of the riddle, where herein the blood lies? Was it the blood of the dragon? The Rahiad? The Vahiad? Was it human blood? Bloodheim blood? The questions continued to inundate his mind, questions he had asked more than a thousand times, but still questions without answers.

  Feeling the anger beginning to boil within, he abruptly stood up, carefully set the ancient tome on the weathered maplewood table, and stretched his arms above his head. The library was dark at this time of night. The only light was emanating from his lone candle, which was casting eerie shadows on the overstuffed shelves filled with tomes, books, manuscripts, and scrolls.

  The candlelight caught his eye and for a moment he wished it would extinguish. After all, the Dark Lord found comfort in darkness.

  He noticed that the wick of the candle had about a quarter left—not that he was surprised. This was the routine of his life. Every night, he would come to the abandoned library, alone, with the sole intent of solving this remaining riddle.

  For a moment he felt his mind drift to when he first came across his treasured tome. Buried in the labyrinthine library, he accidentally stumbled upon it when searching for something else entirely, but as soon as his eyes connected with the abysmal black leather cover, he felt it calling to him. He remembered clearly the first time his fingers had touched its cover. He had felt the innate power of the book immediately permeate his outstretched hands, and as he read the first riddle, he had felt the magic of it encapsulate his mind and soul. The Book of Dragons. The lone manuscript that wrote the truth of their heritage and prophesied the way to return the rightful rulers of Ardonor.

  It was only a short time after his discovery of the tome that the dreams began. He felt a tingle form at the bottom of his spine and slowly begin to rise, filling his body with a sense of wonderment and fear as he remembered that first encounter.

  A tall figure had appeared in his room, covered in a brilliant crimson red robe with a hood that covered an elongated head. He watched as the figure approached and could feel a power emanate from the being as it walked to his bedside. He tried grasping for air—realizing that he was holding his breath—but the power to control his body was paralyzed by the presence of the visitor.

  The hooded figure stopped at his bedside and pulled back the crimson hood that concealed the person’s face. He recognized the person immediately—though he had never met him. The figure was Lord Soren.

  The stories had said that Lord Soren was a powerful elf that stood over twelve feet tall. That he had ashen skin comprised of scales and that he possessed crimson eyes that had the power to paralyze just by looking. Beholding the Lord of the Bloodheim now, he knew the only exaggeration was the height.

  A soft breeze caused the flame of the candle to shift violently, momentarily forcing the room into darkness before reigniting. He was grateful for the disruption in his thoughts. He didn’t like to remember what happened next. The vow he had made; the turning point in his life.

  The Dark Lord sat back down in his wooden chair and touched the tome once again, feeling its power seep into his body. “If I’m to serve the Bloodheim, why is this riddle impossible to decipher!” he said in disgust.

  “Riddles? Morgar loves riddles,” a voice spoke from the dark.

  He stood up quickly, a draestl dagger appearing in one hand as he summoned the feeling of rage within his bosom. He felt his senses enhance, the somewhat dark room brightening as his eyes adjusted, and he turned around so he could smell and sense the source of the voice. Then his mind registered the words that were said, and he relaxed, recognizing the voice and the name.

  “Morgar,” he said calmly as he sheathed his dagger and sat back down. “Come out from behind those shelves. You shouldn’t be here, or be observing me.”

  He watched as a foot stepped around the bookshelf. Instead of seeing a shoe, he saw five gnarled toes, some with unkempt claws protruding from the end, others with human nails. The foot was covered in small scales that were hardened armor. Then the second foot stepped out, this one covered in a shoe, and he knew a human foot could be found within.

  “Dark Lord,” the creature slithered as he stepped out from his hiding place, a forked tongue flicking in and out of his mouth.

  The Dark Lord looked at the creature Morgar. The feet were only an omen of what the entire creature was. One leg was naked and covered with thick black scales and chiseled muscles. The other leg had what appeared to be the remnants of a pant leg covering an equally muscled human leg. When he glanced at the torso he saw a powerful abdomen and oversized chest fully covered by black scales. He watched as the creature breathed in and was amazed that the scales didn’t rip since it was so tight against the rippling muscles.

  Next he saw two arms carefully positioned by Morgar’s side, his right arm covered in black scales that lead to a massive hand with jagged claws. His left arm was completely human and wielded a draestl sword, the blade stained red.

  Morgar’s shoulders were broader than any human, several feet wide and a half-foot deep. Along the top of the shoulders spikes ripped through the black scales, and protruding from the back of the shoulders were two half-mooned wings.

  He glanced into Morgar’s eyes. The eyes and left side of his body were the last remnants that even hinted that Morgar had once been a human. A massive snout that had torn through his mouth overwhelmed the rest of this face. Instead of seeing pearly white teeth when the creature spoke, there were gray triangular teeth interlocked with one another to form rows of incisors, capable of cutting through bone.

  “Dark Lord,” the creature slithered. “Morgar is here to serve. Please do not punish Morgar. Morgar is but a humble servant.”

  Annoyed that Morgar had come unannounced, and more annoyed that it was in the library, the Dark Lord allowed the thought of killing Morgar to cross his mind. After all, Morgar was merely an experiment gone wrong. He was intended to be a perfect hybrid. Gaining the strength and mind of a dragon, but maintaining the form of a human. But instead of a perfect hybrid, they had produced a half turned monster—one he called a dragonling.

  “You shouldn’t have come unannounced,” he repeated. “Especially during my studies.”

  “Apologies, Dark Lord, please, have mercy. Morgar will make it up to you. Morgar always does.”

  The Dark Lord nodded. Yes, Morgar, you always do. Morgar had quickly proven himself to be his most dependable and trusted asset.

  “I will let it pass,” he told the monster, “but only if you leave me at once!”

  Morgar obediently turned, but then stopped and turned back. “Dark Lord, Morgar has one question.”

  For a moment, the Dark Lord felt his adrenaline rise at being disobeyed, but then he saw the curious look in Morgar’s human eyes. As if Morgar knew something.<
br />
  “What is it, Morgar?” he asked. “Make it quick!”

  “You always stare at the book, yes, Morgar watches you, though Morgar knows Morgar shouldn’t. But every night Morgar sees you do this. Morgar wonders why?”

  The Dark Lord’s curiosity was peaked. Morgar was perceptive; he had proven that much in his service. Could he discover an answer to my riddle? He immediately discarded the thought, knowing that it was only his hope of solving the riddle manifesting itself.

  “It’s a riddle,” he still found himself answering.

  Morgar jumped up as his wings began to beat excitedly.

  “Oh, tell Morgar, Dark Lord! Please tell. Morgar loves riddles, and is very good at solving riddles. He is the best there is at riddles. Oh yes, please tell!”

  “I have been studying this riddle for years, Morgar, it is complicated,” the Dark Lord replied. But again, he couldn’t help but wonder if having someone else look at it would result in finding something he was missing.

  “Morgar great at riddles, Dark Lord. Please tell.”

  “That is enough. Now leave me be,” the Dark Lord commanded. My frustration is having me depend on a half human dragonling—how desperate am I?

  “Dark Lord, please! Morgar will solve riddle. Morgar knows riddles.”

  “I said enough!” the Dark Lord demanded, his glowering eyes communicating his displeasure. He stood up quickly, and felt a surge of emotion develop within his core.

  Morgar cowered back, raising his arms as shields as he groveled on the floor.

  As the Dark Lord stepped forward, he could feel his senses enhance and felt the power begin to course through his body as it generated deep in his core. He looked at the dragon and focused his emotions into one feeling, causing the power to grow. His body began to fill with rage as the emotion built, his senses growing stronger and more powerful as he channeled. I will not be disobeyed again!