Prophecy's Daughter Read online

  ALSO BY RICHARD PHILLIPS

  The Endarian Prophecy

  Mark of Fire

  Prophecy’s Daughter

  Curse of the Chosen (forthcoming)

  The Rho Agenda

  The Second Ship

  Immune

  Wormhole

  The Rho Agenda Inception

  Once Dead

  Dead Wrong

  Dead Shift

  The Rho Agenda Assimilation

  The Kasari Nexus

  The Altreian Enigma

  The Meridian Ascent

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Text copyright © 2018 by Richard Phillips

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by 47North, Seattle

  www.apub.com

  Amazon, the Amazon logo, and 47North are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

  ISBN-13: 9781542047234

  ISBN-10: 1542047234

  Cover design by Shasti O’Leary Soudant

  I dedicate this novel to my wife and lifelong best friend, Carol.

  CONTENTS

  MAP

  PART I

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  PART II

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  32

  PART III

  33

  34

  35

  36

  37

  38

  39

  40

  41

  42

  43

  44

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  PART I

  The daughter of Endarian queen and human lord shall seek out the wielder of last hope.

  And Death shall ride alongside her.

  —From the Scroll of Landrel

  1

  Hannington Castle

  Year of Record (YOR) 413, Late Winter

  Blalock was gone. In his place stood Kragan, clothed in the mighty flesh of Kaleal. Young King Gilbert had needed weeks to adjust to the transformation from the horribly scarred Blalock into this seven-foot-tall body with the bronze skin, golden eyes, slitted pupils, and fanged mouth of the strangely seductive primordial. In truth, Gilbert still quailed in terror at the sight of Kragan. But of all who dwelled within Hannington Castle, only the king was allowed by Kragan to see his true form. All others still beheld the magic wielder with the left side of his face melted off, a mind trick hardly worthy of being called a spell.

  Now King Gilbert stood atop Hannington Castle’s battlements at Kragan’s side, staring in horror at the army of vorgs and brigands that rampaged through the city beyond.

  When Gilbert spoke, Kragan heard a tremor in his voice.

  “The vorgs have their siege engines ready. Why have they not yet attacked my castle? Do they not know how few soldiers we have within?”

  “They are waiting for me to act.”

  King Gilbert turned to look up at Kragan, his face a mask of wonder and hope. “Do they fear you that much? Will it be enough to turn away this horde?”

  Kragan felt his lips curl to reveal the large canines within his mouth. “Turn away?” Kragan said, feeling the anticipation that arose within the mind of the primordial whose body he shared. “Now why, my king, would I want to do that, when they have marched all the way from Lagoth in answer to my summons?”

  For several seconds, confusion clouded the pale eyes of the nineteen-year-old monarch until a spreading panic wiped the look from his face. Turning back toward the battlements, Kragan leapt atop the nearest parapet, reaching downward toward the castle’s barred gate, and spoke the name of an earth elemental he favored, grabbing control of it with his mind. “Dalg.”

  With a rumble, the ground beneath the fortifications that supported the heavy gateway acquired the consistency of quicksand. A shudder ran along the wall as a section of the battlements collapsed upon itself, crushing soldiers and sending forth a great plume of flying dirt and debris. As if on command, Kragan’s army surged across the detritus into Hannington Castle’s stunned defenders.

  When Kragan turned back toward the king, he saw that Gilbert had fled. That was just fine. Soon there would be no place for Tal’s ruler to hide.

  Kragan strode through the smoldering castle’s ruins and up the steps leading to the top of the breached outer wall, pausing there to gaze out over the inferno below Hannington Castle. Smoke rose from fires that raged through Hannington, whipping the superheated air over the wall in a whirling tussle with the cold of the fading winter. Faint screams mingled with the moan of the wind and the yells of the vorgs and brigands who rampaged through the city.

  “If I may interrupt, my lord?”

  The she-vorg commander’s voice brought Kragan to attention.

  “Yes, Charna?”

  “We found King Gilbert. He was hiding in a closet beneath the stairs as the palace burned around him. He awaits your arrival.”

  “Good.”

  Kragan glanced out over the city once more. “He hasn’t got much of a kingdom anymore, has he?”

  “We still have the estates of his lordlings to deal with,” she said, “and their holds are scattered across the kingdom.”

  Kragan accompanied Charna down the stairs to where two vorgs held the terrified monarch. Seeing his royal blue tunic torn and blackened, tears tracing sooty trails down his face, Kragan thought Gilbert more closely resembled a chimney sweep than a king.

  “Spare my life, and I’ll grant you anything.”

  Kragan snorted in disgust. “Witless fool. Look around you. Everything you had, I’ve already taken.”

  He reached out and placed a hand on the king’s pale face. “Still, I suppose I owe you some favor. Had it not been for your foolishness in agreeing to send the bulk of your army in pursuit of one rebel lord, victory would have been more troublesome.”

  Relief washed Gilbert’s face as he breathed out a sigh of relief. “Thank you. I will not forget this.”

  “I’m sure you won’t,” Kragan said.

  As he turned to walk away, he signaled to the she-vorg commander. “Charna, King Gilbert is yours to do with as you will.”

  Charna’s snarls mingled with Gilbert’s screams. Both sounds were cut off as Kragan once again called on Dalg, stepping through the solid rock of the palace wall.

  2

  Endless Valley

  YOR 414, Early Spring

  At five-foot-eight, with her long brown hair swirling around her suntanned face, Carol sat atop her horse and gazed out through her brown eyes over the rolling hills to the east, which climbed toward the mountains the caravan had left behind. She stood in her stirrups to stretch her slender body, thankful for the warmth her buckskin pants, wool shirt, and riding boots provided. She was happy for the arrival of the spring equinox
and, with it, the start of a new year. The year that had just ended had filled her with heartache. This being the season of her birth in year of record 390, it held special meaning for her.

  The early-morning breeze that swept down from the mountains was cool, but not the cold, biting breeze that had been a hallmark of the high mountain pass to the east, where High Lord Rafel and his legion had been forced to stop for the winter. She breathed in deeply. Her sensitive nose detected the faint twang of evergreen trees, a smell she had grown to love. The crunching of wagon wheels on rocky ground and the snorts of horses mingled with the yells of drivers and the crack of whips.

  Carol was happy to be leaving their winter camp at Mud Flats and the high pass that had left her with such bitter memories. In the months since Hawthorne had died, she had tried to throw off her depression and get on with her life, but there seemed to be holes in her very being. And she no longer had access to her magic.

  She realized that the physical scar inflicted when the fire elemental Jaa’dra had branded her left shoulder was the least of the damage done to her. The battle between herself and the combined wills of Blalock and Jaa’dra had inflicted far deeper mental wounds. Hawthorne had said that an elemental only placed its personal mark on a wielder at the moment of possession. As far as her mentor had known, only she alone had ever been branded thus and yet retained control of her mind. Nonetheless, the mental trauma had taken its toll.

  She felt as if she were a soldier who, upon returning from the battlefield, suffered the lingering side effects of war. The memory of the event invaded her dreams and her attempts at deep meditation; it was something she had not yet been able to drive from her head.

  Her brother Alan had tried to rejuvenate her spirits, but even his devilish grin and sharp wit provided only temporary relief. Worse, she knew what she needed to do to work through the problem, but could not force herself to act.

  Carol felt that if she could bring herself to face her fears and break through the mental barrier that blocked her from her magical studies, she could set about achieving the potential that Hawthorne had worked so hard to bring to fruition. He had said that her true talent lay in her strength of will and ability to channel the psychic power necessary to control the most powerful of elementals, as evidenced by her encounter with the Lord of the Third Deep. She had contested with Kaleal and emerged from the Ritual of Terrors victorious. Yet despite this knowledge, she could not take the desired action. No amount of cursing and self-criticism helped.

  She looked back down the long line of wagons that stretched behind her to the south. A week ago, the caravan had entered a wide valley and turned north to follow the trail. The length of the wagon train as seen from her current vantage point caused Carol to catch her breath. Of the hundreds of wagons that had started the journey, they had only lost thirty-two, the result of accidents along the way. The most serious had been an avalanche that had destroyed eight wagons. Counting Hawthorne, of the four-thousand-plus people who had started this journey, they had lost 223 along the way, including their only surgeon. Sixteen of these had perished from illness as the caravan wintered in Mud Flats.

  A flood of memories assailed her.

  Tal’s paranoid young king, Gilbert, had feared her father’s popularity among the kingdom’s people and ordered Rafel’s assassination. Learning of this and knowing that even if the assassin failed, the king would gather an army capable of defeating his legion, her father had marched his soldiers, along with civilians who volunteered to accompany them, out of Tal. Their flight had taken them across the Borderland Range through the Mogev Desert and into the Glacier Mountains, where the might of the winter had trapped them. Along the way, she had received word of the death of the man she loved, Arn Tomas Ericson, who had come to be known as Blade.

  Carol had worked through her depression and sorrow by immersing herself in her magical training. She had enjoyed such success that Hawthorne had been surprised and impressed with her ability to command multiple elementals simultaneously. But a winter storm called forth by Blalock had claimed Hawthorne’s life, leaving her with one more hole in her heart.

  Her thoughts shifted to the only home she had ever known. Once again she stood at her window in her father’s castle, looking out over the scenic town below Rafel’s Keep. Carol wondered what had become of the town the fortress had protected. She hoped that those who had chosen to remain behind had managed to survive. A sudden urge to reach out with her mind to see her old home swept over her, followed immediately by a wave of fear that left her shaking.

  “Are you all right?” Alan’s voice caused her to glance around.

  Carol jumped. “Gods! You startled me.”

  “You look a little pale,” Alan said as he pulled his chestnut warhorse up beside her dapple-gray mare. “You sure you’re okay?”

  “I’m fine. I was just wondering how those we left behind are faring.”

  “They made their choice. Anyway, I rode over to tell you that the rangers have found a location that they think would be ideal to make our new home. Derek and Jaradin rode in raving about a hidden valley they found a week’s ride northeast of here. Derek swears it’s the loveliest spot he’s ever seen.”

  “Gods! What did Father say?”

  “That’s what I came to tell you. I talked him into sending an advance party to the valley to verify it suits our needs. Father won’t leave the wagons, and he doesn’t trust my judgment. That’s why I proposed you go along.”

  Carol almost yelled for joy. Finally something she could do to contribute. “Who’s going with us?”

  “Derek Scot is leading five rangers, and we’ll have a platoon of thirty soldiers. And Derek’s bear, of course.”

  “Nothing new about that. He takes the little fellow everywhere he goes,” Carol said.

  “Little? That thing’s as big as a horse. I’ve never seen anything grow so quickly. Derek swears it can follow a trail better than any dog. And I thought bears hibernated through the winter.”

  “Not if they’re getting the kind of stimulation that Lonesome is getting,” said Carol.

  “Guess which platoon is going.”

  “No idea.”

  “Gaar is sending Hanibal’s unit to escort us.”

  “Sounds like Father and Gaar are betting that we’ll like what we see,” Carol said. “For Gaar to be sending the platoon his son commands sure says something.”

  Alan scowled. “Yeah. It says he doesn’t trust either one of us.”

  “Can’t you let go of your rivalry with Captain Hanibal and just accept the good in this?”

  “I’m not the one with the problem,” said Alan.

  Carol knew that was not the whole truth even if Alan believed it. Since he had been sixteen, Alan had beaten Hanibal in contests of physical prowess even though the battle master’s son was four years Alan’s senior. But Alan resented that Hanibal had risen through the ranks to a position of leadership that High Lord Rafel denied his only son.

  Alan trained and worked with an unmatched ferocity that had given him his imposing form and the coordination to match. Unfortunately, his wildness in battle worked against him getting a significant leadership role, an area where the more strategic Hanibal excelled.

  Carol knew that Rafel was disappointed in Alan, hating to admit this reality to herself. And every time Alan lost control of himself and succumbed to battle rage, his behavior only heightened their father’s disapproval.

  Alan pointed toward the north end of the caravan, where a group of riders was assembling. “We’ll be forming up by the lead wagon in an hour. Better get started packing your bag,” he said, then wheeled his horse around and galloped off down the line of wagons.

  She stood up in the stirrups to get a better view of the group of horsemen toward which Alan rode. They were distant enough that seeing smaller details was difficult, but it was impossible to miss the large black bear that stayed very close to one of the horsemen.

  Returning to her wagon, she packed her t
hings, tied the pack behind her saddle, and leapt astride. She nudged Storm with her heels, and the mare moved smoothly into a gallop that swept Carol along the line of wagons. The wind whipped through her hair and made her eyes water. She pulled to a stop beside Derek.

  The ranger glanced over at her. “Glad to see that you’re getting your spunk back.”

  “Was I that bad?”

  “You’ve been pretty mopey.”

  “I think I just needed something to look forward to.”

  Derek turned toward Hanibal. “Sir, we’re ready to move.”

  The captain rose up in his stirrups, speaking the command in a booming voice. “Standard formation! Scouts out!”

  The soldiers formed in a double file, with Hanibal out to one side. Derek raised both arms, pointing forward and out, sending his rangers well ahead and to the sides of the column. Carol and Alan fell in beside Derek, forward of the main group of soldiers.

  Carol felt wonderful doing something of importance again. She had not realized how much she had wanted to find a new home. And even though she knew better than to allow her hopes to sweep her away, their long journey appeared to be nearing its end.

  For two days, the small band had moved rapidly up through the foothills to the northeast, toward the same mountain range they had crossed to get here. As they traveled, the vegetation changed with the elevation, juniper yielding to pine. But none of this prepared Carol for the sight she now beheld. Evergreen trees with trunks as thick as a wagon’s width rose upward to brush the sky. She stared up through the branches that shaded the ground, an early twilight descending. As she moved deeper into the grove, Carol was struck by the feeling that some god had shrunk the entire group down to the size of ants. Looking back, she saw some of the soldiers craning their necks as if trying to etch the magnificent sight into their minds forever.

  Only Lonesome seemed unaffected. The bear cub loped ahead to claw open a rotten limb and fish out grubs before Derek’s horse passed him by. Then he moved on once again.

  “I had no idea that it would be this gorgeous,” Carol exclaimed.

  Derek turned his head. “True magnificence is yet to come.”

  Carol tried and failed to keep the eagerness out of her voice. “How much farther?”