Suzerain of the Beast (Vision Dream Series Book 3), page 1
Table of Contents
Title
Copyright and Dedication
Lord Bazzleron's Map
Adilia's Map
Traydreal's Map
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Chapter 80
Chapter 81
Chapter 82
Chapter 83
Chapter 84
Chapter 85
Chapter 86
About the Author
What do you think?
Flight of the Vessel
Daughters of Thine Lesser Evil
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Part Three
Suzerain of the Beast
by Robert Clifton Storey Jr
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Part Three
Suzerain of the Beast
a novel by Robert Clifton Storey Jr
:: Vision Dream Series of books ::
Part One: Flight of the Vessel
Part Two: Daughters of Thine Lesser Evil
Part Three: Suzerain of the Beast
Dedicated to my family and friends for all their love and support.
Visit the Vision Dream Series websites and give them your support!
www.visiondreamseries.com
www.facebook.com/VisionDreamSeries
www.twitter.com/RobertCStoreyJr
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Copyright © Robert Clifton Storey Jr 2014
Maps designed by Robert Clifton Storey Jr 2014
Cover Art by Nick Deligaris
ISBN: 978-0-9885548-3-2
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❖ CHAPTER 1 ❖
ANGELTERRA LAY UPON her back on a narrow cot, heavy blankets and fat quilts piled high upon her by the well-meaning Skybriel. She stared deep into the thick blackness that filled her tent. She was so weary after their long ride. And for days during her travels, she had longed for the comfort of some kind of proper bed. Though the night air around her was chilly, she felt warm, and yes, even cozy. Because this night was so utterly devoid of light, she could not be completely sure if her eyes were wide open or tightly closed. And there were no sounds outside her tent to help her know if she was awake or asleep, for it seemed that when the night is truly chilly nothing wished to venture out of whatever nest or burrow or den or even pile of quilts a creature found itself nestled into against the cold. After a time, her cot felt like a giant ebony cloud of softness which levitated and then began to float gently out of her tent, and slowly out of the encampment altogether. She drifted in and out of unconsciousness, until she finally found herself back at the docks of Relendale….
“Your Highness! Your Highness, you have returned!” came the shrill cry from a small hooded figure which literally flew up the gangplank and wrapped its arms around her. “Oh, I thought you were…I thought they had…”
“It be all right, Skybriel!” replied Angelterra, as she stroked her young lady-in-waiting’s long blonde hair. “They tried, but they failed.”
“Your princess has a…magic touch when comes to dealing with her enemies,” said a voice behind her. She turned to see Traydreal standing there.
“Who is he?” asked Skybriel, suspiciously.
“A…friend,” replied Angelterra, and she could feel her face smiling. “This is the Wizard Traydreal from Prelandidar.”
“Formerly from Prelandidar,” Traydreal corrected her. “I doubt, Your Highness, I shall ever see that land again.”
Skybriel curtsied politely to Traydreal, “It is well to meet you, Wizard Traydreal.”
“Just call me, Traydreal. I am not much for titles,” replied the wizard.
“Yes, Traydreal,” said Skybriel. “Your Highness, Snowball is here. He waits for you at the inn. I am told we leave in morning for the encampment. Prince Dareldin has already gone ahead to your uncle’s castle.”
“Perhaps Wizard Traydreal will accompany us to the encampment,” said Angelterra, hoping he would not choose to set off on some lonely trek.
“The Constable is on the docks awaiting us, Your Highness,” said Skybriel.
“Wonderful,” said Traydreal. “I cannot wait to show him the virtues of my new bone dragon staff.”
“Behave thyself, Wizard,” teased Angelterra with a smile, remembering the last time the wizard from Prelandidar and the constable met.
There on the dock she saw Chasladwinia reunited with her father, the Head Steward, Cardawin. Both Chassy and her father were thanking Jeela for getting the little girl safely home. Chassy held Jeela’s arm like she would never let her go….
Angelterra stirred from her pleasant dream, still feeling a smile on her face. She adjusted herself a bit, then burrowed even deeper into her mountain of soft quilts. Quickly, her eyes became heavy, and she surrendered once again to the seductive call of sleep…
Two horrible commanders, one an ugly, leather-faced creature and the other a man oddly familiar to her, scowled as they watched a great battle unfold before them. Fires burned all around them, making it look like a scene from the Underhell, home of the demons who dwell below the hellpits. Screams of agony and growls of victory pierced through the clammer of steel-upon-steel. The commanders barked their orders in some unintelligible language and a cavalry of leather-faced creatures riding upon the backs of lizard beasts charged headlong into the fray. To her right, Angelterra caught glimpses of Constable Jerrandal valiantly fighting alongside his men against this new enemy, but the next instant, he was cut down by an enemy blade and swept away along with the rest of his men. On her left, she watched helplessly as Traydreal employed his bone dragon staff to rain attacks of magic upon the approaching wave of creatures, but it was not enough. He too was swept away in the onslaught. The whole world became shrouded in darkness and filled with a choking-red smoke, as the evil hoard marched onward to cover everything like a cloud of locusts. Then above her, she heard a booming, sarcastic laugh. She glanced skyward into a ceiling of churning black clouds where she saw the glowing-red, twisted face of Shutharja, glaring down at her. He rode upon the back of a giant monster made of liquid fire. One of the monster’s great burning talons reached down for her. She tried to scream as its talon ripped deep into her flesh like a burning steel….
The princess sat straight up in her cot. Her heart was pounding hard in her chest, and the sound of it was almost deafening in her ears. She realized that she was panting and gasping for air. Her throat was raw and sore, as if she had been screaming for hours. Angelterra looked around her, but it was still too dark in the tent for her to see much of anything. She tried to remain still for a moment. She listened. Everything was silent just as before. No horrible sounds of battle, no charge by the enemy. Then her ears picked up a slight rustling near her. And then a soft sigh. Skybriel shifted in her cot. Somehow the sound of her youngest lady-in-waiting calmed Angelterra’s nerves and her breathing slowed.
It was just a dream. Nothing more, Angelterra reassured herself.
But that thought did not fully comfort the princess, for she knew firsthand the awesome power some dreams can have. Again she nestled herself deep within her blankets and quilts, determined that her nightmare would not rob her of her much-longed-for sleep. She needed to concentrate on something pleasant. As she shifted onto her side she felt her pouch tucked away there as it always was. She missed her Concera, her twin of First Magic. Angelterra was not sure how long she and Concera had been bound to one another. To wherever Concera had been transported within the realm of First Magic, the princess knew that Traydreal’s twin of First Magic, Getwin, would be there to take good care of her Concera…just as Traydreal had taken good care of Angelterra… Now that was a pleasant thought for her to meditate upon….
Up and up, Angelterra climbed upon a stairway of pure white. All around her was white. She was wrapped in its brilliance. It made her feel safe and protected. The princess looked up, and there at the top of the stairs stood someone. This someone was waiting for her. The hood of this person’s cloak was pulled over his or her head so that Angelterra could not tell who it was. When the princess reached the top step, the hooded figure held open its arms in welcome.
“I miss you, too, my dear bonded one of the flesh,” said the person.
Angelterra’s heart leapt for joy. It was her Concera.
The figure pulled back its hood to reveal a face, a face that Angelterra saw every time the princess looked in a mirror. It always unnerved Angelterra on how utterly exact a copy was her Concera. Her First Magic wore Angelterra’s face, stood with the princess’s own body, and even exhibited all of the princess’s personal mannerisms.
“Will you return with me?” asked the princess.
“I cannot return to your world for a while longer,” was her twin of First Magic’s reply.
“But I will have no real magic for the coming fight,” lamented Angelterra.
“Those of the flesh still have some magic within themselves,” Concera assured her. “I will still try to extend some of myself to you, what you call magic, whenever you are in peril.”
“Will it be enough?” Angelterra heard herself ask.
“It will have to suffice as you continue,” replied Concera.
“Continue?”
“Remember who you are…the Vessel of the Heavenly Father,” Concera reminded her. “You cannot rest through the winter as your people will do. You must continue with His quest. You must find the rest of the tears…and find them soon. Remember, you will be under His watchful eye, so be strong against the evil that stains your world.”
“I will try.”
But as Angelterra turned to descend back down the white staircase she felt Concera’s hand upon her shoulder. Her doppelgänger held out a hand and in Concera’s palm was a silver necklace. The silver charm upon the necklace was the figure of a small lizard.
“Give this necklace to the one known as Nermindar. He will know its meaning.”
Angelterra opened her eyes. Everything in her tent was now barely illuminated by the weak, pale-gray light of early morning.
It will be dawn soon, she thought. And I miss thee, Concera!
The princess realized that she was now clutching a tiny item in her right hand. Opening her palm, she found a delicate silver necklace with a lizard charm upon it. She did not know who this Nermindar was, but she would keep this necklace safe until she could deliver it to him.
❖ ❖ ❖
Hrezluukar stood leaning forward over a short stone wall and looked down upon the crowd filling the spartan, but imposing, Theater of the Gathered. The theater was a sunken circular stone amphitheater which was lined with short benches of granite. The center arena usually hosted battles of sport or the occasional execution, but on this hot day, it was overflowing with some Trozkur of the lower status and a few teens who wished not to sit with their parents, but mostly Trozkur who had just reached adulthood. Hrezluukar studied the crowd as he absently stroked his chin and grinned with his now sparkling-white jagged teeth. His teeth were newly whitened by the teeth healer he had seen in a soft-skins village in Venordaladia. Because Trozkurs towered over the soft-skins, Hrezluukar was issued a Venordaladian short-sleeved leather armor jacket, the kind used by the wolf-like Verka soldiers. The hot desert sun felt empowering upon the tough, gray, bark-like skin of his arms. Today’s gathering was much larger than he expected, and he loved it. All the restless young adults had shown up in great numbers from all the corners of this desert kingdom, just as promised. Seated on massive black stone benches were the members of the Junta of Elders. Once all proud warriors in their day, they were now old, feeble, and fat. Like old women huddling around a village well, the elders nowadays enjoyed sitting around their council hut and bickering the whole day long.
Doing nothing, planning nothing, killing nothing.
He had grown to hate them all…even the king, a Trozkur he once worshipped.
These doting old fools kept up the cowering ways set forth by the First Junta of Elders of the Desert Tribes, which formed after the calamity known as the Great Slaughter, the total defeat and systematic butchering of the Mountain Trozkurs by the soft-skins of old. That spineless, ancient junta abandoned the Trozkur ways of glory, refusing to Blood War anymore, and then it codified its cowardly ways, tying the hands of all the successive juntas, leading to this degrading, peaceful existence.
But as for this day?
Well, this was to be a new day, a new piece of glorious history! A day for the next generation of Desert Trozkur to rise up from their ways of shame and take their place as the masters of the world, and punish the kingdoms of the soft-skins for what they had done to their mountain brothers.
The Soft-skins!
He should hate them, but he had to admire them for their ferocity and brutality in being able to nearly wipe away the Trozkurs from the face of all the lands and drive the remaining to hide away their lives in this hell in the desert.
Below him in the center area and even on the granite seats, The Gathered were becoming loud and impatient as a spokesman for the Elders and the king droned on and on with trivial announcements. Most just wanted to get out of the blazing desert sun, which beat down upon them relentlessly from the roofless theater. If the people had been forced to gather like this for nothing more than to talk about meetings and rules, they were already ready to go back to their homes and back to their little, mundane, safe lives. Hrezluukar knew that he could now give them so much more than that…he could give them greatness! A greatness that all Trozkurs deserved. And if the elders would not listen to him, would not follow him, then he would have to take matters into his own hands.
I. Am. Ready!
The deep-throated horn of a Konza beast blasted three times. The signal announced that the king of the Trozkurs now approached.
The tall stone doors at the entrance to the Theater of the Gathered slowly swung inward and in marched ten large Trozkur guards in silly, thin ceremonial armor. Hrezluukar grunted his disapproval of the guards wearing such phony costumes and not the real armor of war. The guards surrounded a squat, rotund figure wearing a bronze crown that flashed in the hot afternoon sun. The Gathered in the seats ringing the theater shouted and stamped their feet in greeting of their king, the living symbol of the Desert Trozkur Nation, a nation born by blood and brutality long, long ago. But the young who outnumbered the seated and who were forced to stand packed together in the center area grumbled at the sight of their sovereign. Hrezluukar watched as the tiny royal procession pushed its way through the center of the crowd of young strong Trozkur as quickly as it could and up to the black stone seating area of the Council of Elders. The bloated elders greeted their round king with disgusting civility. Someone then escorted the king to the highest of the black stone chairs that lined the front of the Theater, the Throne of Trozkur. Once the most feared seat in the world, the throne, covered in pillows and brilliant orange fabric, was now just a chair of comfort for the lazy old king. Before he sat down, the king raised his hands for silence. It took a while, but finally the ruckus of the crowd quieted down.
