Journey of Darkness Read online

  Journey of Darkness

  Dragon of Eriden Book 2

  Samantha Jacobey

  Lavish Publishing, LLC ~ Midland

  Copyright

  This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  JOURNEY OF DARKNESS. Copyright 2018 ©

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of Lavish Publishing, LLC.

  First Edition

  Dragon of Eriden Book 2

  2018 Lavish Publishing, LLC

  All Rights Reserved

  Published in the United States by Lavish Publishing, LLC, Midland, TX

  Cover Design by: Alexcia Productions

  Cover Images: Lavish Publishing, LLC

  ebook Edition

  ISBN-13: 978-1-944985-58-5

  ISBN-10: 1-944985-58-1

  www.LavishPublishing.com

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Peace in the Valley

  Eyes Opened

  Unfettered

  Long Goodbyes

  Circle of Friends

  Matter of Survival

  Foreboding Forest

  Haunted Passage

  A Lesser Man

  Desert Moon

  The Desert of Peaswan

  March of the Dead

  Oasis of Whitefair

  Hiding Places

  Any Price

  Wizard’s Bounty

  Day Traders

  Flight of Fancy

  The Great Escape

  Blood of the Wicked

  Dragon’s Breath

  Love’s Treasure

  Ruins of Abolia

  New Abolia

  Watcher in the Woods

  Frost in the Air

  Dragon’s Lair

  Trolls in the Trees

  A Price to Pay

  No Long Goodbyes

  Wedding Trolls

  Maps of Eriden & The Rim of Mortals

  Characters by Race

  About the Author

  Prologue

  “Explain yourself!” Gwirwen bellowed, his ghost white body tense with rage. Squaring off at the younger male, he waited.

  Pardodan and Vaudien had returned to the cliffs ahead of Lamwen, professing his demise at the hands of the satyrs, making his return awkward at best. A group of dragons were gathered in a circle, surrounding them to witness the interrogation and to hear what their witness had to say.

  The morning sun still some hours away, a fire burned in the center of their gathering, lit to hold the darkness at bay. It added shadows to the proceedings, which danced eerily off the colored scales and wings of those in attendance.

  Standing on the rocks of Adiarwen, the captain of his king’s guard appeared sedate; a tribute to his level-headedness and mental fortitude. His body ached, but he showed no sign of his fatigue, no outward hint at the pain he suffered.

  Below them, the waves were calm as they lapped against the rocks, and the night seemed to be at peace around them. Listening to the rhythm of the surf, Lamwen considered his response, unhurried by the king’s angry rant.

  When he had left the glen, he had been determined to make it home despite the extent of his injuries. His green scales sleek against his slim form were streaked with gashes and blood, and yet he had been called before the council as soon as he had returned rather than sent to be mended by the elves.

  Treated as a prisoner, like a traitor among them, he felt the tension in the air. He desired to share what he had learned, but the king’s reception had given him cause to be less than forthcoming. Unsure as to the source of the sudden distrust, he refused to let it break him.

  Their captain had been among the most trusted in their company, so such a hasty turn had seemed unlikely. His eyes narrowed, he wondered if they had lost faith in him over this series of events, this altercation with Esterbrook. Or had something else brought his fall from grace?

  The captain had earned his rank by guile. Strength and cunning were his weapons as surely as claws and flame. Whatever had the latest king squirming, Lamwen would discover the truth and remain careful of what he revealed in the same. Holding the pause, he waited, ready to answer what had been asked when he had decided to do so.

  Curling his torn wing tightly to prevent further loss of his precious plasma, he lowered his head. “Are they not our allies?” he finally breathed.

  “By the narrowest of margins,” Gwirwen growled, his burning eyes shaded as he studied his captain intently through narrow slits. “And what of the humans?” Pacing, the large white dragon swished his tail, sweeping the earth and scattering the rocks deliberately in angst.

  “They are with the nymphs,” Lamwen declared evenly. “I was bound, nose to tail, and at their mercy. They inspected me after I was taken. Three males and a female from what I saw.”

  “A female,” Ziewen huffed, flames dancing between her teeth. Seated in the circle of the council, she squirmed, and the light of the fire glistened on her orange scales as she fidgeted. “What sort of female?”

  “The average sort, I would ponder,” Lamwen replied with a hint of sass, his head tilting and illuminating the sharp tips of his massive horns. “Mortals are one and the same I should suppose.” He did not like being questioned by the dragoness, and her being the king’s mate was cause to appreciate it even less.

  “Yes, but this one. Had she any features you can describe?” their queen insisted, her words clipped as her passion rose. “Do not hesitate in your reply,” she insisted with a huff of dark smoke.

  “You mean the flaxen mess atop her head and the paleness of her flesh?” Lamwen replied evenly, toying with her as he recalled the mortal who had stood bravely before him and prevented his murder. He could picture every element of her fearless form, but why should the council be concerned with her so? Until he knew more of their reasoning, he would hold the details as tightly as he was able.

  Standing, Ziewen gasped, “Gwirwen, you do not think she –”

  “Be silent, my mate,” the Supreme Dragon cut her off. “I am certain this female is of no consequence.”

  “No consequence!” she spewed. “If she is the one and has found a way –”

  “I said be silent!” Gwirwen shouted. Glancing around at the others, only a handful knew the specifics of the night he had overthrown Ziradon, the prisoner who would stand watch for eternity atop their great cliffs.

  Considering his course of action, the king paced in a large circle, then turned to his previously trusted captain, doubt rumbling in his gut. “Why did they free you? Do the nymphs wish to hold true to their word?”

  “I believe they wish us to think so,” Lamwen agreed. Having seen their weapons, he knew they were armed to stand against the dragons. His wing ached, and he longed to visit the elves for his treatment, if his benefactor could be satisfied before he could no longer make the journey. “But the mortal female had a hand in the persuasion,” he admitted in a subdued tone.

  “Did she,” Gwirwen replied with a twisted grin. “How so?”

  “The human males desired my blood, but she prevented them from slitting my throat with their swords.” He pictured the you
ng woman who had placed her small hand on the tip of his bound nose. “My lord,” he pushed, “I do not believe this girl to be unkind. She preserved my life and presented herself before me without fear.”

  Ziewen snorted a small puff of smoke, twitching as she listened. Cutting his eyes over at his mate, the king silently implored her obedience on the matter. Aloud, he prodded, “And?”

  “And, I believe she is a wielder of magic,” he added quietly, curious if the knowledge would seal Amicia’s fate.

  “A wielder of magic,” Gwirwen repeated, returning to his idle pacing. A few hundred yards away, his predecessor slumbered in his stone prison. Pausing his step to glare in his direction, he scowled, then commanded, “We must know more of this mortal of the rim who is gifted with such talent, and yet we do not wish to endanger our peace with the glen. You will follow her, Lamwen.”

  “My lord,” Vaudien intervened, displeased with the choice. Stepping out of the shadows, he groveled, “Perhaps I should be the one to tend this task.”

  “No,” his master replied, leaning back on his haunches and stretching to tower above him. “She has shown weakness in his favor. Should the time come, he might use that against her. For now, you will not harm any of the new mortals. Follow them and watch their actions. Report any that should be of particular interest,” he instructed. “Especially if they should choose to leave the shelter of the meadows.”

  “Yes, my lord,” Lamwen agreed. “I shall lie in wait for them. As soon as the elves have made me whole again.”

  Gwirwen glared at him, the source of his injuries requiring further investigation as well. “The satyrs have been armed,” he observed.

  “Yes, my lord,” Lamwen growled, growing weary of their game. He needed to be gone, to fly to the sanctuary of the mountains, and the sooner the better.

  Pausing again, their king sat and stared at him. “Were there any other creatures who could have been the source of their new weapons?”

  “No, my lord. I only saw the humans there among them, and they could not have provided such devices,” he testified, hoping to hurry his departure.

  “Yes, then any news of the nymph’s dealings with others should be shared as well,” Gwirwen tacked on. “We shall need to know who our enemies are, as no friend to us would have done such a thing.”

  “Of course, my lord,” the captain agreed, his wing clenched firmly against his body growing stiff. “May I go now?”

  “You may go,” his majesty agreed, turning to face his wife, unable to deal with her until the others had gone.

  Leaping into the air, Lamwen left the council to their quarrel, as he felt certain the discussion was far from ended. Gwirwen was a secretive ruler, hiding what his servants attended from one another; even the council was often kept unenlightened. A poor way to run a kingdom, he surmised as he fought his exhaustion and flew to the mountainside that protected the city of Jerranyth.

  There, he would be shown to one of their magnificent gardens, where the elven nurses would tend to his wounds. They were brilliant healers, and it was their station within the kingdom to shield the lives of the dragons who protected the whole of the land.

  As his massive wings carried him over the stretches of water and land, he thought about the interrogation and the questions that had been asked. His curiosity over the female had been piqued the moment she spoke to him as no mortal of the rim would or could. He had chosen to keep that bit of information to himself, certain any response would be designed to hide the truth.

  Whoever this girl proved to be, she had the king’s mate frightened and the king himself anxious. Those two reasons alone were enough to warrant further investigation, and Gwirwen had unwittingly granted him permission to do exactly that.

  Peace in the Valley

  Amicia wiped at the sweat dripping from her brow with her bare arm. Bent over a rock, she pounded Rey’s shirt with the side of her fist, then gave it a rinse in the clear flowing water of the brook that ran through their part of the woods. Twisting it, she removed the excess water and held it up, bright sunlight shining on it through the leafy limbs of the trees above her.

  “That should do it,” she mumbled happily, adding the garment to the pile of the morning’s wash.

  Giving them a fold into a tight bundle, she hoisted the wet lump to her shoulder, where she carried them across to the edge of a meadow. Looping around their shelter to the north side, she dropped the load on their long table, wiping at her perspiration as she inspected their latest home. Sturdier than the one they had occupied at Riran, it still did not qualify as a proper cabin, but it would do.

  A line of twisted vines and bark ran from the corner of it to a tree about ten feet away and back again to create two levels. It served as her clothesline, and she draped all of the men’s shirts across it, spreading them to dry in the breeze.

  Tearing around the corner, a satyr ran past, with a bare chested Bally and Animir in close pursuit. “You boys!” she hollered, laughing quietly when they disappeared through the large trees that shaded their cottage and yard.

  Hearing her call, Animir pivoted to return and watch her work, while his best friend continued the chase without him. Catching a branch from the tree next to him, he leaned against it, his mind drifting over the days and weeks he had spent in her company.

  Animir had met the girl as part of a group of mortals that were taken in by the elves of Jerranyth a few months prior. He had helped them to escape from Lady Cilithrand, queen of the city, earning himself a banishment from the land that had been his home. Not that I minded, he thought with a smile. He would do it again if the need arose, as he had come to love the humans as his family. He would be hard pressed if he ever had to leave them, or when the time came that they would leave him.

  Appreciating her long hair that had been pulled up against the warmth of the day, he continued the memory, playing it through to the night the satyrs had taken down a dragon over in the next field. The following morning, it was gone; freed on the say so of Queen Preivia, who ruled the glen. Piers had been furious, but Amicia had calmed him, and the two women had come to an agreement. Or rather, the queen had insisted, and Amicia had given in. The group was allocated to a corner of a meadow adjacent to the one that held the sacred rings, and there they had built what they commonly referred to as home.

  Leaving the play to the others, Animir exited the line of trees, approaching the girl cautiously. “Would you need a hand this day, Lady Amicia?”

  “I wish you’d quit calling me that,” she muttered loudly, shaking out Piers’s top and adding it to the stretch of line. “I’m not a noble woman, here or anywhere.”

  “You will always be a princess to me,” he grinned, edging closer.

  Her frown crinkling her forehead, she recalled that they often referred to her as such. Princess. They used the term to mock her, she felt sure, after Lady Cilithrand’s manipulative offer. Glancing at him, she could see the ripple of muscle across his chest. Pointing at his pale skin, she teased, “At least you’re getting a bit of color while I tend the wash.”

  “And I appreciate your generosity. It is beneath you to serve us,” he insisted, closer still.

  “Rubbish,” she replied, turning and walking briskly away, knowing full well one of them must mind the necessities, and it might as well be her. “Shall we have another lesson this afternoon?” she called over her shoulder when she had put a fair distance between them. She sensed his attraction to her, and it bothered her, just as Rey’s notions put her on edge. She seemed to be gaining in admirers but never the one she longed to attract.

  “Yes, my lady,” he replied with a small bow. “I will arrange the targets for us as the sun passes midday.” Leaving her to her work, he returned to his search for Bally and the satyr, so that their play might continue until then.

  “Very well,” she agreed with a hidden smile, watching as their former crewman entered her line of sight at that particular moment.

  Reynard carried his designated pail
and followed the path their goats kept to most of the time. They had discovered the creatures lived in small herds scattered across the glen, and he had demonstrated his abilities to create creamy delights using their milk soon after their arrival. He would gather some of their warm lactation and ferment it into a delicious cheese, which they all enjoyed.

  At least I’m not completely alone in caring for the group, she concluded with a satisfied smirk.

  Leaving Rey to his chore, Amicia ducked into their cottage and tackled the beds that lined the walls. Shaking out the blankets, she freshened each one in turn. They had constructed a mattress from dried grass for each of them, two on the left wall for Animir and Bally, two on the right wall for Rey and Piers, and those on the back side for Ami and Oldrilin, when the siren wasn’t with the nymphs.

  Ami’s end had also been given a curtain, which afforded her a certain degree of privacy in their shared quarters. Not so much as a second room would have done, but enough she felt content in their efforts to respect her as the woman of the house.

  In the center of their cabin, a small basin had been dug in the dirt floor and lined with smooth stone. It housed a smoldering fire, which they stoked for cooking on the sturdy frame that hung over it. They could have also used it for warmth, but being on the southern tip of the continent, it was unlikely that would ever be necessary. Like Riran, Esterbrook enjoyed perpetually warm weather, and being off the shore, even more so.

  In the front corners of the room stood other requirements. On the right, at the foot of Reynard’s bed, Piers had added a small table with two chairs. On the left, a permanent closet for her chamber pot had been installed with thatch walls to separate it from the main room. The Mate had claimed it was for all of them, but she had seldom seen anyone else use it, as the men used an outhouse built in the woods at the end of their meadow. Lifting the pot, she carried it out for the daily dumping and cleaning that kept it fresh.

  Returning it a few minutes later, she sat on a bench with the long table before her. She always chose the same seat closest to the cabin door on her right so she could see all that happened out in the meadow. The others respected her choice and never took her seat from her.