Symphony for the Wicked: Chronicles of Eldhjarta, #2

By Devon Van De Zandt

"Please don't kill me while I sleep," I plead, making a mental note to always consider the possibility of nocturnal homicide. 

 

In this thrilling continuation, the cat-and-mouse game intensifies between the cunning thief, Armand, his magical sidekick Sebutsa, and the relentless imperial rangers. Emotions surge—some find solace in blissful isolation, while others barely survive the tumult.

Now, the narrative takes a dark turn as it grants a voice to the malevolent forces at play. Delve behind the scenes to witness the emergence of sinister schemes that threaten the realm's stability, revealing their origins and ominous progress.

Amidst this chaos, new heroes emerge. An enigmatic Paladin breaks free from the strictures of his Order, allying with an unconventional muscle-bound magician. Their paths intertwine with those of others, weaving a complex tapestry of alliances and conflicts.

As the empire teeters on the brink, the question remains: Will it reclaim its former glory, or will justice and order be forever shattered by the forces of chaos?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Devon Van De Zandt
• Release date: May 20, 2024
• ISBN: 9789527602010

Book preview

Symphony for the Wicked

Chronicles of Eldhjarta - Book II

Devon Van De Zandt

Copyright © [2024] by [Devon Van De Zandt]

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred.

Book Cover by [Timothy Stripe]

Illustrations by [Timothy Stripe]

Contents

Map of the Realm

1.Nils

2.Pilgrim

3.Orken

4.Alyssum

5.The Voidling

6.Eolan

7.Tyra

8.Orken

9.Alyssum

10.Nils

11.Sebutsa

12.Pilgrim

13.Orken

14.Eolan

15.Ayana

16.Alyssum

17.Nils

18.Orken

19.Eolan

20.The Spokesperson

21.Tyra

22.Pilgrim

23.Eolan

24.Orken

25.Ayana

26.Sebutsa

27.Orken

28.Armand

29.Orken

30.Alyssum

31.Tyra

32.Torsten

33.Alyssum

34.Orken

35.Ekranos

36.Eolan

37.Orken

38.Armand

39.Orken

40.Alyssum

41.Orken

42.Nils

43.Eolan

44.Armand

45.Scatus

46.Tyra

47.Orken

48.Tyra

49.Nils

50.Tyra

51.Orken

52.Roland

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Chapter 1

Nils

On the 13th day of the first moon of 1612, somewhere in Southern Eldhjarta.

Sergeant Nils Archeon had relentlessly shadowed the ranger women, learning a great deal about them, but this new development was something he hadn’t anticipated.

At the same time, the Covenant ‘ambassadors’ shadowed the women. Nils knew the Covenant assassins, well; they were adept and well-trained. However, tailing was second nature to Nils; it was his very essence, his whole life.

Nils and the Covenant spies witnessed the women share an intimate moment, and he couldn’t help but smirk. General Kolostes’s suspicions had been spot on. Nils was well aware that such a relationship was forbidden in the army and was looked upon with disdain by the Covenant of the Light. To them, this relationship was heretical, warranting severe punishment that could include burning or other cruel methods.

Personally, Nils cared little about their relationship. Let all flowers bloom until it’s time for them to wither and die, he said aloud, reciting one of his father’s favorite sayings.

Nils knew that under no circumstances could the Covenant leaders be allowed to know of the women’s relationship. If they harmed the girl, General Kolostes would undoubtedly burn their churches to the ground. ‘Better be proactive,’ he thought.

Nils edged closer, straining to overhear the Covenant ambassadors.

We have what we need. Should we dispatch them straight away? one of the Covenant assassins queried his comrades.

I wouldn’t recommend that, Nils announced, stepping out from the shadows.

The assassins reacted instantaneously, their faces painted with shock as they sprang into action, forming a circle around Nils, their training clear in their fluid movements. But Nils appeared entirely uninterested, standing with a relaxed posture. Let’s keep it quiet, shall we? I wouldn’t want to disturb their moment, he remarked, his voice laced with amusement.

One assassin whispered something to another before he replied, You cannot stop us from our duty. Her voice trembled slightly.

Nils sighed, rolling his eyes at their ridiculous claims of duty before addressing them again. Oh please, he said with feigned boredom, Your ‘duty’ is nothing more than suppressing love between others! Who are you to judge what people do in their free time? He looked at them disdainfully, as if they were little more than fools for following such a misguided cause. I won’t let you harm these women, he warned firmly.

One assassin, a man with a short, stubby beard and eyes ablaze with fanatic wrath, hissed through gritted teeth, Infidels, dirt stains. We shall cleanse them all from this realm! Brothers, to arms!

Despite their well-coordinated movements, Nils remained unfazed. The circle of assassins tightened around him, their shadows melding into a single dark ring under the dim light of the twilight. The stubby-bearded man assumed a stance, revealing his weapon of choice—two gleaming short swords, their blades catching the light in a menacing dance.

Nils recognized the stance and couldn’t help but let out a chuckle. The Pilgrim’s signature move, isn’t it? he taunted, his eyes gleaming with amusement. The mention of their leader seemed to unsettle the assassins for a moment, but they quickly regained their composure, readying themselves for the attack.

The air grew thick with tension as time seemed to slow, each assassin poised to strike, waiting for the right moment to unleash their deadly dance upon Nils.

The first attack came swiftly. One assassin lunged, aiming to unbalance Nils. But Nils was ready. He deftly stepped aside, evading the feint. Almost simultaneously, another attacker aimed for his midsection. Nils heard the approach and spun around, avoiding the blade. This maneuver positioned him right beside another assailant. With a swift movement, Nils struck upwards, his blade piercing the man’s jaw and exiting through the top of his head.

The remaining assassins recoiled in shock at the sheer speed and ruthlessness with which Nils had dispatched one of their own. The stubby-bearded man’s eyes widened in disbelief, but he quickly recovered and let out a guttural yell, charging at Nils with both swords swinging.

Nils dodged the first slash, ducking just in time as the blade swished perilously close to his ear. The metallic tang of cold steel sliced through the air. The second blade, glinting menacingly in the dim light, came in rapid succession, its sharp edge aiming straight for his heart. But Nils sidestepped gracefully, using the momentum of the stubby-bearded man’s own reckless charge to unbalance him.

In a fluid motion, Nils lifted his foot, bending it heel-first towards the man barreling past. The hidden blade at Nils’s boot heel gleamed briefly before finding its mark. It pierced the assailant’s lungs with a sickening thud. The man, eyes wide with shock and pain, dropped to the ground, unable to continue the fight. He lay there, desperately gasping for air as blood gurgled in his lungs, each breath a futile struggle against the inevitable.

As the third assassin, eyes narrowed and filled with lethal intent, lunged towards Nils, a wicked dagger in hand aimed directly at his ribs. Nils was already two steps ahead. He had expected this very move. With a deft flick of his wrist, Nils parried the stab with his own blade.

In a swift, seamless motion, Nils swept his leg out, targeting the attacker’s knees with precision. The assassin’s legs buckled, losing their grip on the ground, sending him crashing to the ground with a heavy thud. Nils wasted no time. He closed in with deadly intent. With a swift, decisive stab straight to the heart, he ended the assassin’s life, the finality of the act punctuated by the silence that followed.

With three assailants remaining, they reached an unspoken agreement, attacking Nils in unison from different angles. The flurry of blades and deadly intent seemed to create a shimmering dance of death around Nils. But his senses, sharpened from years of relentless training, picked up every nuance, every whisper of iron against the wind.

In a breathtaking display of skill and agility, Nils weaved in and out of their strikes, countering when opportunity arose and disarming when least expected. In what felt like mere brief moments, the ground was littered with fallen Covenant assassins.

Panting slightly from the exertion, Nils cleaned his blades in one of their robes, then sheathed them. Looking at the destruction he had wrought, his thoughts went back to his father. A wry smile graced his lips. Father always said to make every move count, he stated.

Nils couldn’t help but think of his father, who he knew was working for the Covenant, leading their cadre of assassins. These very same men, who he had just dispatched. Heh, Pops needs to train them better, I guess.

Nils chuckled to himself, recalling his father’s call at the Covenant. The Pilgrim, he mused. What a nickname…but, well, it’s an improvement over ‘Silent Gunnar.’

His own profession mirrored his father’s, on whom he still kept tabs from time to time.Nils recalled a conversation with his father, his mentor, in the dim light of their hidden study.

Remember, Nils, we are a family of assassins and spies. We work for the rich and powerful, weaving intricate webs of secrecy, his father had said, his voice a low rumble in the quiet room.

Nils had leaned forward, captivated. Our ultimate goal? What is it again?

His father’s eyes gleamed with ambition. To uncover the secrets of the Khalen-hunters, especially their invisibility. Imagine, Nils, with that power, we would become the perfect assassins. We could set the course of this empire single-handedly.

Nils remembered feeling a rare emotion stir within him, a feeling akin to excitement. In our business of shadows and death, his father had continued, ambition is a flame that never dies. If there is one thing I want you to remember is: aim high, never cease opportunity to gain power.

That conversation had shaped Nils’s path, setting him on a journey filled with danger and intrigue, in pursuit of a power that could change everything.

Chapter 2

Pilgrim

On the 13th day of the first moon of 1612, near the capital Rhy’leoh, in Southern Eldhjarta.

Guided by visions from the Gray Man—a mysterious figure who had begun visiting him regularly in his dreams—The Pilgrim was led to three individuals posing a significant threat to the world’s equilibrium. Tonight, he would perform his first service for the Gray Man, intending to fulfill his promise faithfully.

His visions led him to a hunt that began when he came across an elderly woman in a small, secluded village near Rhy’leoh. She was on the brink of death, having recently suffered a massive stroke that paralyzed half of her body. Yet, against all odds, she had survived, and her story piqued The Pilgrim’s interest.

The Pilgrim had arrived in the village late at night, shrouded in shadows, as he cautiously approached the frail woman.

Who goes there? the woman said.

Keen senses, The Pilgrim stated and stepped into the light next to the woman.

The woman looked at The Pilgrim intently, observing his burned face and the mask he wore. Are you the harbinger of death? she asked, without fear in her voice.

No, I am not, The Pilgrim stated. He was serving a different entity altogether, so it was not a lie in his view. I am here to hear your story, if you may.

The woman stared at the roof, and without any further prompting, she began to narrate a miracle that had happened to her.

The Pilgrim leaned in and listened intently.

I died! I was done for… the elder woman started, then I saw Him!

Saw who?

God! And no, it was not the Light, nor a bearded man in white robes. It was the most beautiful thing ever, her eyes wet as she recalled the vivid sight, a giant shining ball, floating in the vast emptiness, and it shone with this calmness, this innocence… I felt safe in His vicinity.

The woman grabbed The Pilgrim’s hand with an iron-tight grip. You should not serve the false one! she said, staring at him with a mad glint in her eyes.

With calculated swiftness, The Pilgrim raised his blade, plunging it deep into the woman’s chest and piercing her heart with cruel precision. A sense of satisfaction filled him as he watched the light fade from the woman’s eyes, replaced by a haunting emptiness that sent shivers down his spine. Her life force, once vibrant and full, dissipated into the air, leaving behind nothing but a mere vessel devoid of vitality.

This act—extinguishing burgeoning flames before they could consume all—resonated deeply within him. His purpose, his very raison d’être, was to eliminate those corrupted by this malevolent entity that the woman had referred to as ‘God’.

The Gray Man was pleased as he witnessed this atrocity. His master’s whispered commands echoed in The Pilgrim’s mind. Well done, my servant. Eliminate all the carriers, his master intoned, the sound reverberating within his mind. Prevent the spread of their corrupted gospel and halt the growth of the insidious entity within them.

Standing there with the lifeless body of the elderly woman at his feet, The Pilgrim felt an unwavering sense of duty to his cause. He believed it was his destiny to be the harbinger of their annihilation, to eradicate their existence.

His vision had been clear—a being encapsulating the very essence of their mighty foe. This being, carrying the undiluted, tainted blood of the malevolence they aimed to vanquish, had to be extinguished when its time drew near.

Until then, he would pursue the prophets who served as the evil’s heralds, ensuring their downfall.

Chapter 3

Orken

On the 13th day of the first moon of 1612, somewhere in Southern Eldhjarta.

Swift and graceful, despite her towering stature, a giant woman ascended the hill, drawn by the distant sound of minor skirmishes.

Each step produced a muffled thud as her feet hit the ground, the soft crunch of grass buckling under her weight. The wind caught the frayed hem of her robe, filling the air with the scent of moss and damp soil. Upon reaching the plateau at the hill’s summit, she took in the scene below. In the ravine, a ragtag group of men surrounded a single individual.

What a bunch of milk-livered cowards, she mused, observing the chaotic scene.

The noise of improvised weapons clashing filled the air, accompanied by guttural cries and grunts. A mix of sweat and dirt hung heavily in the air, creating an earthy, pungent smell amid the turmoil. The ravine, chosen as their battleground, seemed to offer an advantage to their target.

In a futile effort, the bandits hurled stones at their quarry. Despite their numbers, their aim was off, with several rocks hitting their own ranks.

Hey, assholes. What’s this all about? Picking on one guy? she shouted to the group below, her voice echoing off the ravine walls.

Some of the mob looked up and immediately noticed the approaching giant. With the sun at her back, her massive shadow was impossible to ignore. Those at the rear of the mob, who had previously been focused on the man in the ravine, turned their attention uphill. They waved their crude weapons and shouted incomprehensible slurs as they advanced toward the giant woman.

She locked eyes with the advancing mob, her head appeared almost too small atop her enormous body. Her owl-like gaze, magnified by round goggles and underscored by the wild nest of hair in her ponytail, might have been comical if not for the intensity in her eyes, which gave the attackers pause.

A shout from behind the attackers snapped the mob out of their trance. With a clear murderous intent, they continued their advance.

Then she did something unexpected.

She discarded her garments atop the hill. The simple gray robe of a friar, torn at the sleeves, was cast aside to reveal an intimidating physique.

The giant woman was a towering behemoth with tanned, glistening skin that accentuated her bulging muscles, ready to burst at the seams. Veins snaked like vines across her frame, while visible muscle fibers twitched with every movement.

She shifted her stance, extending her outer leg forward and placing her hands behind her back. Flexing her muscles, she declared solemnly, Immediate Muscle Cramps!

As the giant woman flexed her muscles, the air seemed to ripple with energy, and a faint hum resonated in the very marrow of the onlookers. Her triceps tightened, triggering a remarkable phenomenon.

Every member of the attacking mob froze in their tracks, trembling and unable to move anything but their eyes. They stood in place, horrified and drenched in sweat.

The giant woman relaxed and donned her robe as she descended the hill, approaching the area where she had witnessed the assault. Upon reaching the bottom of the ravine, she approached the target of the mob—a man of average stature, adorned in shining white and gold armor.

‘Oh, so pretty and shiny,’ she thought, observing how the man wielded intricate short swords. However, his somewhat plain helmet seemed out of sync with his majestic attire.

Suddenly, realization dawned on her, and her eyes widened. She took a step back, her mouth agape. A Paladin? Here, in a behind God’s bottom? she muttered to herself, grappling with the implications of her discovery.

The alleged Paladin, his armor gleaming in the sunlight, kept his swords trained on the giant woman and demanded an explanation. You—large woman! Identify yourself, he commanded, his voice echoing in the open space. Who are you, and what magic do you wield? Are you a dark mage?

Excuse me! I am not a dark mage! the woman replied, clearly upset and taken aback. They are a vulgar bunch, abusing the elements for personal gain!

After a moment of silent confrontation, she composed herself and continued in a calm voice. I’m Orken, daughter of Stronghand, from the Bay of Roaches, she declared, pride resonating in her voice. My magic? I call it muscle magic! We’re pretty proud of it back home. She punctuated her words with a gentle, sideways double-bicep pose, showcasing her muscular form.

Pleased to meet you, Lady Orken from the Bay. I apologize for upsetting you. I’ve never encountered magic like yours before, but who am I to judge the potent abilities of others? And I sense no evil in your aura. The Paladin lowered his swords. You had your chance to harm me; you’re either a friend or the world’s worst enemy. He seemed to hesitate. Did you just strip yourself over there?

Of course, one simply cannot use muscle magic if all the sources of the magic are covered, silly, Orken stated matter-of-factly. And what may I call you? she asked curiously.

I no longer have a name, as I’ve been cast out of my Order. So, call me whatever you please, the Paladin confessed, glancing at her chest quickly before gesturing toward the immobilized mob. How long will they remain in this state?

Did you just sneak a peek at my tits? Orken asked, her brows knitting.

Umm, sorry, I might have, but it’s not like I can avoid it… they’re kinda massive… the Paladin stammered.

Orken stared at him with intensity in her eyes, then burst into laughter. Just jesting with you, dear fellow, she said, her hearty laughter causing her chest to jiggle. The Paladin, embarrassed, tried to divert his gaze, staring at the nearby treetops instead.

Erhm, so those, the Paladin began, indicating the ragtag mob of attackers, What did you do? Why are they pissing themselves? he continued, observing the terrified bandits. And how long are they going to be like that?

Hah, they’re mostly like that because of the agonizing muscle cramps, Orken laughed. They’ll be released when I deem it appropriate, Mr. Shiny, she added, noticing the Paladin staring at her in silence, his head tilted.

Feeling the need to clarify, she said, I’ll call you Mr. Shiny, courtesy of your radiant armor, her eyes twinkling playfully.

Shiny, eh? I’ll accept that. But first, give me a moment, said Shiny, rushing toward the paralyzed mob.

Adopting a more serious tone, Orken said, We should create some distance before I release them. Fortunately, they were all susceptible; the cramp spell never works on individuals with strong wills.

She watched as the Paladin, whom she called Shiny, approached the immobilized leader of the bandits, his swords gleaming in the sunlight. Shiny’s movements were deliberate, his eyes intently fixed on his target. Yet, in those eyes, there was no hint of bloodlust, only a calm determination.

You led them to this, Shiny said, his voice resonant but not angry. I see no honor in slaughtering those who merely followed your orders.

The leader’s eyes widened, fear flickering within, but he could not respond, paralyzed by Orken’s spell.

With a swift, deliberate motion, Shiny decapitated the leader. Justice is served, he declared, cleaning his sword with a rag. The followers are misguided, not evil. They need not die today.

Orken eyed Shiny with confusion, as if silently asking for an explanation.

That man was beyond redemption; his aura was abhorrent, Shiny stated calmly.

Orken couldn’t fathom what she had just witnessed. ‘Could stress have gotten to even a mighty Paladin like Shiny?’ she wondered, though deep down, she had her doubts.

She realized that this man, now known as Shiny, possessed the skills to easily dispatch the amateur bandits. Yet, he had chosen not to provoke a massacre, opting instead to neutralize their leader when the opportunity arose.

Reflecting on the Order of the Paladins, known throughout the land for their legendary deeds, Orken asked, Hey, Mr. Shiny. Are the stories I’ve heard true?

What stories? Shiny responded, his shining brown eyes peering through his helmet’s visor.

You know, the ones about dealing with dark mages, holding back evil, rescuing princesses and baker’s daughters, then bedding them in a frenzy of gratitude?

Well… I might have been in a different division, Shiny replied evasively, and Orken sensed he was hiding something.

My brother joined their ranks a few years back. His name’s Jakoben, a massive bald guy. Hard to miss. Ever met him?

Erm, no, sorry. Like I said, I might have been in a different division, stationed at a distant outpost, Shiny answered, his tone suggesting he’d rather not continue the topic.

Ah, well. Those thugs were probably after your shiny armor. I doubt there’s anyone in the realm who wouldn’t want a closer look. I’ve heard it’s even tougher than anything the Deephold dwarves can craft! Orken exclaimed, holding back her curiosity about what Shiny had mentioned regarding seeing auras. Hey, Shiny, Mr. Paladin man. How about joining me?

Shiny hesitated at first. Well… I don’t know.

Oh, come on now, you might dress fancy, but do you really want to be decapitating all the bandits from here to Humeria that come after you? And safety in numbers, right?

You have a point. Where are you headed? Shiny admitted.

I’m hungry. Let’s camp in the woods, away from these stinky lads, she gestured toward the attackers. Need to resupply tomorrow. Ran out of dried meat and honey. Sound good?

Lead the way, ma’am, Shiny replied.

Ma’am, my ass, I’m 21! she laughed heartily, her whole body jiggling. Let’s get moving. She patted Shiny on the shoulder and turned away, with Shiny obediently following her.

As they moved away from the attack site, Orken snapped her fingers, freeing the bandits from their enchantment. Some fell to the ground, weeping like hungry infants, while others scavenged their fallen leader for valuables before limping or crawling away on stiff legs.

So, Orken, you’ve piqued my curiosity. What’s this muscle magic of yours, and how does it work? Shiny asked as they set out for the nearest village, unaware that it would be his last question for the rest of their journey.

Orken’s eyes sparkled. Damn, I’ve been waiting for someone to ask that! Let me tell you all about it, starting with my village.

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Unbeknownst to them, a sinister, cloud-like entity hovered menacingly overhead. It had writhing tentacles and countless ink-black eyes shrouded in mystery. Drifting silently with eerie grace, it defied gravity, its gaze fixed unwaveringly on Orken and Shiny. It seemed to dissect their intentions with each movement they made.

In a sudden, violent burst, the entity split in half, reducing the size of the original. After a brief moment, as the split half adapted to its new state, it turned and rushed away at incomprehensible speed towards the north, toward Z’ahatum, the Darkhome.

The remaining half stayed put, flowing silently and continuing to follow the trail of the unlikely companions below.

Chapter 4

Alyssum

On the 14th day of the first moon of 1612, somewhere in Southern Eldhjarta.

As the first light of morning gently caressed the sleeping forms of Alyssum and Iliandra, it slowly stirred Alyssum from her slumber. She blinked her eyes open and felt the warmth of Iliandra’s head resting upon her chest.

A sly smile curved her lips as the memories of the previous night flooded her mind. It had felt like an ethereal dream, into a realm of shared passion and desire, yet it had been undeniably real.

Alyssum’s gaze lingered on the peaceful visage of Iliandra, finding solace in the beauty that lay beside her. All their stress was gone, and they had built a world of their own where nothing else existed.

Iliandra opened her eyes, and as she looked at Alyssum, they both smiled. They knew each other well, and that was clear. Let’s stay here for a while. Her voice carrying a hint of longing.

Alyssum nodded, her heart in agreement with the sentiment. They embraced once more, their fingers tracing delicate patterns upon each other’s skin, their bodies intertwining in a dance of desire and tenderness. Alyssum toyed with one of the braids tied tightly at the back of Iliandra’s head.

The sun began its ascent on the horizon, casting a golden glow upon their entangled forms.

As the first light of morning gently caressed the sleeping forms of Alyssum and Iliandra, it stirred Alyssum awake. She blinked her eyes open and felt the warmth of Iliandra’s head resting on her chest.

The taste of the previous night still lingered on her lips; a sly smile, born from those memories, curled her mouth. It had felt like an ethereal dream, a realm of shared passion and desire, yet it was undeniably real.

Alyssum’s gaze lingered on the peaceful visage of Iliandra, finding solace in the beauty lying beside her. Their stress had evaporated, leaving behind a world of their own where nothing else mattered.

Iliandra opened her eyes and met Alyssum’s gaze; both smiled. They knew each other well, that much was clear. Let’s stay here for a while, Iliandra’s voice carried a hint of longing.

Alyssum nodded, her heart swelling in harmony with Iliandra’s words. They remained in that comforting embrace, lying as if each had found a missing piece within the other. Slowly, the sun rose, painting them in golden hues as it climbed the horizon.

As the world around them stirred to life, a mutual understanding passed between them. They had roles to play, duties that demanded their attention, responsibilities they could not ignore. Reluctantly, they disentangled themselves and faced the awaiting reality, each strengthened by the intimate moment they had shared.

They exchanged a glance and realized that their relationship would face many challenges. Alyssum, a career soldier, understood the implications of their union within the rigid hierarchy of the imperial army. Their love was against the rules and could jeopardize their reputations.

Discussing their future, each contemplated the gravity of their choices. Iliandra broke the tense atmosphere with her characteristic blend of lightness and resolve. What if one of us had the option to step away from soldiering?

Alyssum pondered Iliandra’s words,