Wyvern's Call: Rise of the Summer God, #3

By Summer H Hanford

In the wake of battle, from beneath the shadow of Truth, a new evil rises to sweep across the land.

 

Hounded by her enemies, hunted from the sky, Aldera battles to survive. But she is not without recourse or allies, if she can triumph over her doubts to see them.

 

Kylem struggles to navigate the mores of being a duke's son and of his tenuous place at the side of his king. Can he meld past allegiances and deceits with his newfound determination to be a true and loyal subject? The day draws near when the price of his secrets may be his life.

 

The battle of the gods intensifies, rising up to consume our heroes.

 

Wyvern's Call is the thrilling third book in the Rise of the Summer God fantasy series. If you like dark magic, strong female leads and heroic struggles, then you'll love Summer H Hanford's epic tale.

 

Buy Wyvern's Call to join the adventure today!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Summer Hanford
• Release date: Mar 18, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201734954

Book preview

Subjugation

Jim Landwehr

Where does one find asylum from the pursuit

by the ruthless who seek to do no good deeds

but only to wound, maim and lay to rest?

How long must we shoulder our fear

and the burdens of the unknown

which lurks in the hills and hollows

lying in wait to bring us to ruin or

subjugate those who differ from their own?

Neither in darkness nor light are we free

our minds consumed by thoughts

of an oppressor with cares for none

who seeks nothing less than dominion.

TABLE of CONTENTS

Section One – The Scattering

Subjugation

Chapter I

Chapter II

Chapter III

Chapter IV

Chapter V

Section Two – Trials

Chapter VI

Chapter VII

Chapter VIII

Chapter IX

Chapter X

Section Three – Black Wings

Chapter XI

Chapter XII

Chapter XIII

Chapter XIV

Chapter XV

Section Four – Betrayal

Chapter XVI

Chapter XVII

Chapter XVIII

Chapter XIX

Chapter XX

Section Five – Reckoning

Chapter XXI

Chapter XXII

Chapter XXIII

Chapter XXIV

Chapter XXV

Chapter XXVI

Thank You for Reading

About the Author

Acknowledgements

Copyright

Section One – The Scattering

I

Kylem strode through Greykeep beside his father, Duke Onurrun of the Keng, worried for what purpose the king had requested them. Having recently been on the wrong side of an uprising aimed at seizing King Illast’s throne, monarchical attention sparked a fear Kylem couldn’t shake.

He was a worthy subject. He knew he was. He’d been duped into the role he’d played in the attempted usurpation. That, combined with his arguably innocent sixteen years, had kept his head on his shoulders...for now. Intent was often not as weighty as deed, and being sixteen was not a very grand excuse for how easily he’d been misled.

As they wound their way through Greykeep, Kylem soon lost all notion of compass points in the twists and turns of the corridors, for which he blamed the citadel. Built mostly inside the craggy spires of the Greyrange but also clinging to their surface like lichen, Greykeep knew no parallel in the realm. Not as a feat of architecture nor in strategic importance, for the keep safeguarded the only roadway through the range which divided one side of Cendoria from the other.

Their goal was the hollowed out heart of the keep, where the first lords of Greypass had hewn their central hall. That buttressed chamber anchored the citadel and stood only partially below ground, with corridors and stairwells branching off in a chaotic conglomeration of passageways that followed the dips and rises of the mountaintops more than any lines of reason. Often, arriving at a destination meant taking a passage in the opposite direction before climbing or descending and doubling back. Always, the weight of the mountain pressed down.

They rounded a corner to the sight of the great hall’s entrance and Onurrun nodded to the guards outside the open double doors. They bowed as Kylem and his father strode between them and into the heart of Greykeep. Kylem pushed a hand through shoulder length brown hair, annoyed that he’d once again reached the great hall, where the king held court, without being certain how he’d arrived there, only the presence of his father guiding him. Squaring his shoulders and lifting his chin, he strode down the central carpet at Onurrun’s side.

A long line of stained glass windows paraded down both sides of the hall under the buttressed ceiling, casting a kaleidoscope of multi-colored light on the gathered throng of nobles. Kylem detested the way nobles flocked to the king, currying his favor. As much as Kylem wished to be in King Illast’s good graces, he would never while his days away loitering in this hall, accomplishing nothing, simply to be in nearness to his liege. Stride matched to his father’s, Kylem schooled his features lest the throng read his antipathy.

The denizens of Greykeep kept the lower half of the grand hall polished to a dull glimmer. The windowed upper half, formed of the large blocks cleaved from the mountain to hollow out the lower, remained roughhewn and dull. Banners of the elite of Greypass hung between the slender windows, and their heraldry seemed to glare at Kylem as he and his father made their way to the throne. There, the grey on grey banner of the ruling duke graced the wall behind the low dais, yet Duke Lavar of Greypass did not sit on his throne. King Illast, ruler of all Cendoria, did.

The king’s customary seat stood far to the south and west in the Liparius Citadel, but he held court in Greypass while he dealt with the perpetuators of the recent uprising in the east. Greypass, poised as it was, created the natural point of pause on any journey between the eastern and western halves of the kingdom.

Halting at the foot of the throne, Kylem’s father dropped to one knee and bowed his head to await King Illast’s pleasure. Kylem followed suit, daring to cast his gaze from side to side to ascertain if extra guards filled the room. Kylem didn’t think King Illast would go back on his word not to take his head, but the king had been interviewing the dissenting parties of the uprising for days, deciding what punishments to mete out. Kylem had no way to know what tales his one-time fellow conspirators might use to poison Illast’s ear.

Rise, Duke Onurrun, Lord Kylem, King Illast said, the neutrality of his tone revealing nothing. I thank you for your speedy adherence to my summons. Come, it is my desire that we go apart, that I may take your counsel.

Yes, Your Majesty, Kylem’s father said, rising from his bow.

Kylem rose as well, aware of the disappointment that rippled through the attending nobles like a breeze crossing the grassy plains. Their disquiet held little animosity, though. Kylem’s father was a well-respected man.

The king descended and they followed him to a heavy oak door set into the wall behind the throne, which a guard opened, and into Duke Lavar’s private study. Kylem wondered from where Lavar of Greypass conducted his affairs today. Normally, his formidable and dour presence stood stoically at the left shoulder of the young king.

The guard, who would move away and into sight of the assemblage the moment the door closed, shut out the daylight in the great hall. Without that illumination, the study seemed suddenly dark, even though a fortune in candles flickered on sconces and in the many-pronged holders standing on every surface. Carved into the base of the peak that soared behind the throne, Duke Lavar’s study was impervious to espionage. A more secure room didn’t exist in the whole of the kingdom.

King Illast pulled out one of the chairs at the large table that dominated the room and sat. He removed the filigreed golden circlet he wore and tossed it lightly onto the cushion of the seat beside him. Kylem and his father stood, waiting.

Please sit, Onurrun, Kylem. The king gestured to the other chairs. Don’t hover like that. You’re two of the only people in the realm I feel I can behave normally with, and it’s only by good fortune Duke Lavar isn’t here to maintain a proper aspect of rigidity.

Sir Onurrun pulled out a chair. Thank you, sire.

Kylem sat as well. He didn’t reciprocate the ease King Illast claimed to feel, though the king’s informality bolstered his confidence.

Leaning back in his chair now that so many eyes no longer studied him, King Illast appeared weary. As well he might, for he’d endured many hard days of travel through the autumn and into the cold of winter, working his way to Greypass to win through to the Westland and proclaim himself, all the while being chased by usurpers intent on his demise. His handsome countenance still reflected those long hours of hardship, but his thick brown hair was neatly trimmed, his face shaven, and his hazel eyes keen.

Sir Onurrun, too, studied the king. If I may ask, sire, where is Duke Lavar this day?

Vexed with me, King Illast replied with a wry smile. He and I are in disagreement as to the proper fate of his traitorous kin.

You wish them dead, then? Concern touched Sir Onurrun’s tone, but daring that question was the nearest he would come to criticizing the king.

Quite the opposite. I wish them alive. At the least, two of them. Duke Lavar’s brother Conlen, I’m afraid, cannot keep his head. He knew of the plot to take my life and did nothing. He may even have aided it, although information on that is not abundant.

But you would spare Lavar’s lady wife and the boy? Sir Onurrun sounded pleased.

Kylem looked between the two, trying to decide what he would do, were the decision his. He agreed that Duke Lavar’s younger brother must die. The man had knowingly betrayed King Illast, and also lain with Duke Lavar’s duchess and got her with child. Nor was Lord Conlen the only one to blame. Lavar’s duchess, Gelia, had both furthered the treason against King Illast and instigated the cuckolding of the duke. Were Lord Conlen guilty, Duchess Gelia was equally so.

King Illast frowned. Would it make me appear weak, think you, to spare them? You know the temperament of the east better than I, Onurrun. My western lords decry the beheading of a woman, even one as guilty as the duchess, but I know the east can be a more brutal place.

It is true, Eastlanders are of a less tender ilk, but I know of no great outcry for her head. Rather, there is amusement that a man as high and stern as Lavar finds himself in so delicate a position.

The king nodded. I suspect much of Lavar’s bloodlust stems from humiliation rather than a desire for justice, though he cannot see this. The king sat in silent thought for a moment. I believe the best course is to strip her of her title and confine her for the remainder of her days. She shall have three rooms and two servants, and nothing more. From what I have garnered of the lady, trading her standing as Lady of Greypass for a life of imprisonment, however luxurious, shall be a greater penalty even than death, and one which better serves my reputation as a ruler.

You are wise, sire, but what of Lavar’s desire to remarry?

That I shall leave to the Agians when they wake. They accepted the vows of union on behalf of their goddess. Only they can release Lavar from them.

Kylem leaned back in his chair, wondering why King Illast had sent for him, rather than only for his father.

Lines of thought still creased the king’s brow. As for the boy, I deem him to have no knowledge of his mother’s plots, but Lavar wants his head to purge his disgrace, and Lavar is a strong ally to me.

The boy is the only heir to Greypass, bastard birth or no, Kylem’s father said. If you have him put to death, you risk turbulence in the realm. This vaunted hall is a prize for which many men would give their lives.

Kylem wished they wouldn’t call the heir to Greypass, only a year his junior, a boy. Lavar’s heir, Lord Gelvar, would be sixteen come spring, as Kylem was until that time. Kylem had suffered through battle, betrayal and a broken heart. He was as much a man as his father or the king.

I have thought of the turmoil removing the boy might cause, King Illast said, his tone resigned. The gods know I don’t wish to promote war. But if Lavar were to bear another son, or if his youngest brother, Felwin, would marry and produce a child, the boy would become more of a liability than an asset. He grimaced. No legitimate heir to Greypass would want a bastard lurking about, greedy for his title.

Lavar will bear no son, Sir Onurrun said, ignoring the king’s allusion to his bastard cousin’s attempt to take his throne. If he could, he should have done so long ago. That, I think, is the crux of his shame. As for Lord Felwin, to my knowledge, and I know Felwin passing well, no hopes of matrimony or children lie that way.

King Illast could order Lord Felwin to marry, Kylem said.

Surprise to hear Kylem speak slashed across Sir Onurrun’s face. Kylem pushed down a surge of annoyance. The king hadn’t asked him there for his silence. Kylem could offer good counsel. He’d briefly worn a crown. He’d dictated the fates of other men.

He’d bedded a woman.

As always, thoughts of Pana brought him up short. Kylem hated thinking about her, but he thought about her all the time. She was so beautiful. So soft. He yearned for the feel of her body against his, but she was gone and he hated her. All the time she’d shared his bed, she’d been a spy. And not just any spy, but a raven witch. A cursed raven witch in his very bed.

Kylem drew in a deep breath, trying to shake his anger. His departed mother and his sister were both raven women, and neither was an evil witch like the stories said. He conjured images of his mother and his older sister Aldera, who even now lay wounded beyond measure and in need of their prayers, and thought about how much he loved them. He tried to use that love to banish all the years he’d lived away from them, surrounded by tales of the evil of raven women. An evil Pana had proven in full.

Then we agree the best course is banishment? King Illast said.

Chagrinned, Kylem realized he’d lost track of the conversation. Hoping the two men with whom he sat hadn’t noticed, he quickly inserted, Yes, but banishment where?

I could take him to the Keng, sire. Mold him into a man worthy of a dukedom.

King Illast shook his head. Lavar is a devout man. He has already beseeched that if I insist on letting the boy live, he go to the Temple of Truth, where the priests can watch over him, body, mind and soul. That, at least, I should grant. Especially as I must dispatch a contingent regardless, to return the Keng’s treasonous priest to Tumpne’s temple to face judgment there.

Sir Onurrun frowned. He did not bear the close relationship with Lord Tumpne, god of the autumn moon and Harbinger of Truth, enjoyed by most men. I do not like the idea of giving the boy to the Truthseekers to mold. His gaze flicked to Kylem and away.

Kylem frowned, aware that his father believed he’d been raised wrong while under the care of the late usurper Norstum. Evil as Kylem now knew Norstum to be, he’d learned much from the man, and most of it good, and the same could be said for the followers of Tumpne. Yes, some were corrupt, but by and large, the Truthseekers shepherded the souls of Cendoria and brought honesty and honor to their nation. Even if Sir Onurrun, having married a raven witch, condemned them.

King Illast dismissed Sir Onurrun’s concern with a wave. Enrolled as a novice, the lad will be safe enough, and should I ever require him, he’ll be close at hand. If I never do, if Lord Felwin does produce an heir or you are wrong about Lavar’s inability to, Duchess Gelia’s bastard can be encouraged to remain in the priesthood.

Yes, sire.

Kylem knew his father well enough to realize Sir Onurrun’s neutral tone hid displeasure. It saddened him that Sir Onurrun had been so poisoned against Tumpne, God of Truth. That his father couldn’t see what nearly all of Cendoria did, the goddess of the raven women, ruler of the winter moon, nearly choked life from the land each winter. Kylem was the only one in their small family that the raven goddess hadn’t been able to corrupt. Traitor though he was, Norstum had given Kylem the gift of proper faith.

Now, Kylem, King Illast said, turning to him.

Kylem straightened in his chair. Sire?

I am of two minds on this Sequi fellow and his brother. I understand you promised the sellswords a place in the Keng in exchange for their help in overthrowing my enemies, but your sister and I suffered at their hands. I feel some retribution is due.

Worry raced through Kylem. The one-eyed Sequi, leader of the sellswords, had been his only true ally. Without him, Caison and their men, Kylem’s life would surely have been forfeit.

He swallowed, marshaling his words. Your Majesty, I gave my word of honor. Was their treatment of you truly so cruel? I find Sequi to be far nobler than his visage implies.

Their treatment of me was better than one might expect, but your sister endured considerable suffering at their hands. King Illast cast Sir Onurrun a sour look. I would have counted that rope they used to bind her powers a fair compensation for some of their crimes.

I apologize for ordering it burned, Sir Onurrun said. Forgive me for assuming that you would want something which caused so much pain destroyed.

The rope was blessed by a god, Onurrun. The fate of such an artifact should have been my decision.

Kylem resisted the urge to touch the amulet he wore tucked under his shirt. Norstum’s amulet, said to stave off the power of the raven goddess and her minions. If Illast knew that Kylem had such a talisman, would he demand it?

Sir Onurrun broke off matching glares with the king to look down. Yes, sire. As I have said, I am sorry I overstepped when I ordered the artifact destroyed.

King Illast cleared his throat. Yes, well, we’re not here to rehash the fate of a bit of twine. We’re here to decide the fate of Commander Sequi and his sellswords.

And I would add my urging to my son’s. While Sequi’s honor may not be a knight’s code, he holds to it. He is an honest man, and I would have him as a commander at my keep.

The king’s visage hardened again. That I cannot allow. If permitted to retreat to the Keng, the sellswords may never again bear arms. Especially Sequi and Caison, should I let them live.

Kylem leaned forward. Please, sire, consider that they have never been anything but loyal to whomever they swore to serve. Now they serve the Keng, a more inspiring master by far than some to which they have stayed steadfast before. They’ve lived seven years there. It is to their homes and their families that they now pledge themselves.

King Illast’s lips curled at the edges. Yes, seven years. Though it pains me to admit it, I respect my late cousin’s patience. When Norstum set out for the Keng, my tour of the Eastland was eminent. I was to go with my mother’s brother, not mine, as a young and inexperienced king. Only chance delayed the journey for so long. Pain darkened the king’s eyes. And now I understand why Norstum insisted I must ride straight to the Keng, to begin my tour there and make my way back west. He wished me as far from aid as possible. He shook his head, as if to throw off his grimness, and continued, Still, I take your point, that Sequi and his men have had much time to come to love the home Norstum foisted on them.

The king’s hands rested on the table, lightly clasped. While his cool hazel eyes studied Kylem, he idly turned the signet ring on his finger. The gleaming yellow diamond of the raven’s eye there caught the candlelight, flickering. Kylem wondered if rumor spoke true in claiming that the ring allowed King Illast to know if a man lied. Not that it mattered, for Kylem spoke the truth. Sequi and Caison were honest men.

I shall uphold your vow to them, King Illast finally said.

Kylem sank back in relief. Thank you, sire.

But there are conditions. King Illast turned to Sir Onurrun. None of the sellswords in their troop shall ever again bear arms, including Sequi and his brother. Any who do not wish to stay, or will not give up their arms, must be immediately escorted to Ebonshor and given passage on the first ship bound for anywhere beyond our coasts. I will not have them lingering in my kingdom. If they are faithful and committed to the life of peace you say they desire, they will give up their arms. If not, they will leave under pain of death.

Yes, sire. Sir Onurrun bowed his head.

It saddened Kylem to find King Illast so distrustful of the sellswords. Sequi and his men had fought and died in the battle Kylem had waged to secure the Eastland for his king. Without the sellswords, Illast would be raising an army at this moment so that he might march on the Eastland to take it back, not sitting calmly in Greypass, agonizing over whether or not to behead Duke Lavar’s treacherous harlot of a wife.

But Kylem held his tongue. In view of his king’s dislike of the sellswords, it was enough that King Illast would uphold Kylem’s vow and let them remain free, and alive. He only hoped Sequi, Caison and the others could be convinced that settling down in the Keng and giving up their arms was the best way forward. Somehow, Kylem didn’t think they would care for the idea.

Now to our tour of the Eastland, King Illast said, his tone and expression convivial once more. "When will Duke Tonor be fit