The Lords of Valdeon Read Free

Captain," Julian commanded, boarding the hovering dinghy. "We don't have much time."
    Leaning hard upon the throttle, Julian sent the craft bolting forward. Crystal engines blossomed brilliant white. Vessel and rope ripped out of the hands of his human crew. Flying recklessly toward shore, the craft bounced precariously above the waves. Not far now. He sailed faster as his own demons gave chase. Julian reversed the engines when the hull drew near rock. They whined in angry fits of metal. He leapt out of the dinghy and onto the rocky beach. Discarded, the small boat drifted slowly toward the tree line.
    A long shadow fell across the ground before a small break in the trees. He scrambled over wet rock and driftwood to the spot. Dignity be damned. The shadow brushed at his hand for a moment, and then fell away. Julian mastered his revulsion at the intimacy of the touch. No affection dwelled in the shadow's frozen caress, only a hunger to devour. He forced his eyes downward and scraped moss from the weather-worn stone with the toe of his boot. They’d found the ancient road leading to Sea Point Outpost. His father would be there, hiding like the animal he’d become.
    He pushed through the overgrowth as the shadow retreated into the bog. Following its dark blemish upon moss and stone, he forced his way into the inhospitable barrier. The stench of things long dead assaulted his nostrils, making his eyes water. Muggy heat hung about the dead branches. Julian rubbed a strong-smelling balm under his nose. Fresh air was a stranger in North Marsh.
    Tearing, scratching, and gnawing at his body, the land fought back until it revealed the secret it had hidden so well. He glared up at the ruined fortress, its skeletal remains stretching helplessly toward the ocean it once guarded. The Jalora Legion had abandoned this stronghold long ago, along with the continent of Andara’s northwest coastline. Now it was nothing more than a rotting corpse slowly fading away into the bogs.
    Much like a painful birthing, he pushed through the tangle of limbs and growth to stand upon the dried path. Someone had cleaned off the stone and cut away nature's fingers, leaving an island of rubble. He sneered, absently stroking the talisman upon his finger. It was unlike his clever quarry to be cornered with no means of escape.
    "I’ve found you, Leo!" Julian’s shout echoed among the stones. "I can feel the Jalora’s life force pulsing within your Lion Ring. You have nowhere left to hide from my power as long as it is upon your finger."
    Dark eyes flecked with fiery amber pierced through Julian from a small gap within the stone wall. Nearly eight hundred years had passed since the Jalora had first put the Lion Ring upon Mikel D'Antoiné's finger. Countless Lions had kept Mikel's oath to protect the people of Andara by bearing the ring. Leo was as blindly dedicated to upholding his ancestor's promise as any of those who had come before him.
    "The Jalora will never allow you to bear its sacred talisman," Leo called out through the stone. "Take that thing of evil off your own finger, my son. It will see all that is good in Andara destroyed."
    "You remain the Jalora’s puppet to the end." Julian spat upon the ground. "By its word you have abandoned the people of Valdeon, neglecting your duties as their king. Now civil war threatens our homeland. A strong leader must take your place."
    "Tell this man to come face us then, bastard prince!" Another voice called to his left. "For it shan't be you."
    "Brave words. You may well call me a bastard from the safety of those walls. Come face me directly and we'll see how loudly you can bark!"
    Movement from the trees forced Julian to master his temper. His hold upon his unstable allies weakened as he lost concentration. The defenders of this ruined fortress had seen his terrifying army easily take their last stronghold, an abandoned abbey in the middle of a Ghent meadow. They were purposely goading him. Were they so