Queen of the Pale

  Queen of the Pale

  Published by Jade Fantasy

  Copyright © 2020 Sarah Hawke

  Cover Art by Dennis Fröhlich

  Edited by Sean L.

  Maps created with Inkarnate software

  This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this novel are either fictitious or used fictitiously.

  All rights reserved.

  The Duchy of Torisval

  The Kingdom of Darenthi

  Dedication

  I want to offer a special thanks to all my wonderful supporters on Patreon, especially Joseph, Lamar, Timothy, Alcofribas, David, Alan, Paul, Commissar Hecht, Joe, Michael M., Michael B., Dumblindeaf, Manoxis, Lionel, and Sean. Because of your help, all of my books will finally have unique covers!

  1

  Homecoming

  The Faceless golem looked out across the castle’s outer bailey with a cold, unfeeling gaze that made it seem more like an empty suit of armor than an unstoppable force of destruction. The moonsilver plating was as jet black as the day it had been painted, though it was so warped and dented from countless battles that it would have been virtually useless to any normal soldier. The golem itself didn’t care, naturally, given that there was no body to protect beneath the cracked rivets and torn underpadding. The hapless sorcerer who had been fused into the armor had probably rotted away decades ago.

  “Impressive, isn’t it?”

  Rohen Velis turned his head to see a tall soldier descending the steps from the old, battered walls of Whitefeather Hold. The fur cloak resting atop the man’s pauldrons was even more dusted with snow than his short brown hair.

  “The Chol wouldn’t be much of a threat if we had been allowed to keep making them,” Major Nathaniel Thorne went on. “Even the civil war would have played out quite differently. If His Majesty had possessed five or six more of these when he laid siege to this castle, the fighting would have been over in a matter of hours.”

  Thorne’s dark eyes shifted to Rohen as his lips curled into a bitter sneer. “Tell me, Templar: how many more loyal Darenthi soldiers do you think would still be alive if the traitors had been crushed so quickly?”

  Rohen refused to give the other man the satisfaction of a response. He remained still in front of the inert golem as if he were appraising a statue, though that didn’t stop Thorne from snorting and stepping closer.

  “Then again, imagine if the Tel Bator clergy had actually commanded the faithful to fight for their rightful king,” the man said. “How many lives do you think that would have saved?”

  Rohen still didn’t take the bait. Thorne had clearly come here looking to pick a fight, but it simply wasn’t worth it. Not yet, anyway.

  “I suppose their inaction did save one life,” Thorne sneered. “It’s convenient for you that putting on that armor can absolve all a man’s sins overnight. Some might say it’s a mockery of justice that a traitor who butchered the king’s soldiers right here in this courtyard gets to pretend like nothing happened. The families of the crippled and the dead were never afforded that luxury.”

  Rohen reflexively glanced down at the heraldry embroidered into the front of his brigandine coat. The symbol—a griffon clutching a flaming sword on top of a circular shield—was plainly visible despite the patches of snow. The Guardian’s Shield was supposed to be a beacon of hope and courage in the face of darkness, and his Templar were the kingdom’s first and last defense against the demonic horrors of the Pale.

  They were also the only reason Rohen was still alive, whether he deserved to be or not.

  “I’m here to fight the Chol, not a war that ended a long time ago,” Rohen said, turning away. “Perhaps you should focus on the real enemy and not the ones you’ve already defeated.”

  He started to walk across the courtyard toward the main keep, but Thorne grabbed Rohen’s arm so hard it hurt even through the padding of his gambeson.

  “I know exactly who my enemies are, pale-blood,” Thorne hissed. “Just because the Lord Protector took pity on you doesn’t mean you deserve to be here. General Galavir won the last war without the help of the Templar, and he can win this one without them, too.”

  Rohen shook his arm out of the man’s grip and resisted the urge to punch him right in the face. As much as the young Templar would have enjoyed watching Thorne pick his bloody teeth out of the snow, Rohen knew he couldn’t afford to lose his temper. Not now, not with the dark history of this place looming over him.

  After all, Thorne was right: Rohen was a traitor. He had killed loyal Darenthi soldiers; he had stood at the side of the Usurper King all the way to the bitter end.

  And most damning of all, he would do it all again, given the chance.

  “We’re here because King Thedric requested our presence,” Rohen said. “If you have a problem with that, perhaps you should take it up with His Majesty.”

  Thorne’s eyes narrowed until they were little more than amber slits. “His Majesty should rely on loyal defenders of the crown, not pale-blooded mongrels who spit on the memory of the fallen.”

  Rohen still didn’t flinch. He had heard far worse during his years at the orphanage, and he was long past the point of trying to hide his pointed ears or his emerald eyes. Most of his fellow Templar didn’t care that his mother was an elf, nor did his friends…not that he had many.

  “I don’t have time for this,” Rohen said. “And you don’t, either. The army is waiting for you outside.”

  “The army is my concern, not yours,” Thorne said. “You should be with the artificer making sure she behaves herself. General Galavir expects her to be gagged and down on her knees whenever she’s not working, do you understand?”

  “Handling the sorceress is our concern, not yours,” Rohen replied snidely.

  He had the satisfaction of seeing the other man’s cheek twitch. “The Keepers never should have brought that abomination here,” Thorne growled. “She could lead the Chol right to us.”

  “Since you’re so confident you’ll defeat the horde, I don’t see why that’s a problem. Besides, His Majesty wants her to enchant as many arrows as she can before we attack the horde directly. I’m sure your soldiers will appreciate having better equipment.”

  “If she steps out of line even once—”

  “She won’t,” Rohen said. “Sehris will be ready, you don’t need to worry.”

  Thorne’s eyes flicked to the Faceless golem and back. “I certainly hope so, for her sake,” he said. “Perhaps you should consider showing her this faithful guardian just to ensure she understands the price of disobedience.”

  With that, Thorne turned and strode off through the open gate. Rohen waited until the other man was out of sight before he let out a long, heavy sigh. He had been dreading this trip ever since he had received his orders, and it had absolutely nothing to do with the horde of bloodthirsty Chol gathering to the west. The Godcursed elves were the most terrifying creatures he had ever seen, but the thought of battling a rapacious swarm of monsters was still far less harrowing than standing here amidst the ruins of his past.

  “Shit,” Rohen hissed, glancing around the mostly empty courtyard. The last battalion of the Pact Army was camped just outside the wall less than fifty yards away, but otherwise there were only a handful of soldiers left in the Hold. He found the quiet deeply unsettling, mostly because the last time he had been here, there had been almost ten thousand other Whitefeather loyalists standing alongside him.

  Now most of them were dead. Just like he should have been.

  Setting his jaw in stone, Rohen tossed one last look at the towering Faceless golem before he strode across the courtyard to find the others. Zin and Sehris should have been waiting for him just past the stables. If everything we
nt as planned, his friends would be leaving soon; they were supposed to ride with the army to the fishing village of Dorelas while Rohen and Lord Protector Kraythe attended the “Restoration Banquet” inside the main keep tonight.

  In other words, I get to spend an entire evening listening to ankle-biting tharns beg High King Thedric for land that shouldn’t even belong to them. Fighting the Chol is sounding better and better every minute…

  Rohen had just buried the thought when he rounded the stables and saw his friends waiting by the stairs leading up to the main keep. Adrien “Zin” Zinath was standing upright, a bowl of steaming porridge cradled in his leather gauntlets. The metal buckles of his brigandine glinted in the afternoon sunlight, though his Keeper heraldry—the “Eye of the Watcher,” a single disembodied eye wreathed in flame—was almost completely concealed behind a layer of snow. Having just turned twenty-one, Zin was almost a full year older than Rohen, though his complete inability to grow facial hair of any kind made him look quite a bit younger. He was also a full head shorter despite having a bulkier frame.

  Zin stood over a kneeling woman covered by a purple cloak that marked her as a sorceress from the Galespire. Her hood was tightly drawn to block out the cold and conceal her face, though several long, lustrous locks of black hair peeked out and spilled across her chest. Up on the stairs just behind her, two of the High King’s personal guards appeared to be bickering with Zin.

  “…would you bring a fucking sorceress here?” one of the guards was complaining. “I thought they were all locked in your bloody tower?”

  “She’s no threat to anyone, don’t worry,” Zin insisted with an unmistakable air of forced politeness. He flashed the two men on the stairs a stiff but practiced smile as a fresh gust of bitter cold wind whipped through the bailey. “And she will be leaving with the rest of the army soon.”

  The guards finished descending the stairs, their eyes still locked on the kneeling woman. And to no one’s surprise, their grimy, stubble-pocked faces went rigid when they finally got a glimpse beneath her hood.

  “By the Watcher,” the second guard gasped. “Is that a—”

  “A dark elf, yes,” Zin said tiredly. “But there’s nothing to worry about. She’s here to fight, and she knows her place.”

  The guards kept their distance as if they didn’t quite believe him. Rohen couldn’t completely blame them for being wary. The mere sight of a dark elf was enough to freeze the blood of most humans, and dark elf females were infamous for their cruelty and sadism.

  These men couldn’t possibly know that this particular woman was one of the kindest, gentlest people they would ever meet. Tall and slender, with steely gray skin, luminescent violet eyes, and a long mane of black hair, Sehris was the only one of her kind ever taken in by the Keepers—or any faction of the Tel Bator, for that matter. She had a particularly strong connection to the Aether, even for an elf, and her natural penchant for artifice and defensive magic eclipsed most veteran channelers twice her age.

  Not that anyone would suspect the extent of her power in her current condition. From the moment they had left the Galespire, Sehris had been shackled like a murderer on her way to the gallows. One set of bindings locked her ankles together so tightly she could barely walk, and another kept her slender wrists pinned behind her back. Her mouth had also been stuffed by a leather gag, which seemed especially unnecessary given that she was down on her knees in the packed snow. And even if she did misbehave, Zin or any other Keeper could trigger her Brand. The vatari crystal dust tattooed into her flesh could completely incapacitate her at a moment’s notice.

  The entire concept made Rohen sick to his stomach, though it wasn’t as if Zin ever planned to use it on her. Still, the fact that he could disable her should have been more than enough to make General Galavir and his soldiers comfortable without all these further degradations. Sehris wasn’t a typical power-hungry sorceress; she was a sweet girl with a sweeter smile who didn’t deserve to be treated like a living weapon.

  “I can’t believe you let this abomination out of her cage,” the first guard said, shaking his head. “I thought His Majesty summoned you here to help us!”

  “He did,” Zin replied tiredly. “The smiths at Rimewreath fortress have a few thousand arrowheads waiting for her to enchant, and there are plenty of wounded men who could use a real healer.”

  The guards didn’t seem the least bit convinced, though frankly their opinion was irrelevant. They wouldn’t be anywhere near the front lines of the coming battle with the Chol. Sehris was about to take a greater risk than they ever would.

  “Well, at least this one has pretty eyes,” the second guard said with a lascivious chuckle. “Looks good on her knees, too. I bet you had all kinds of fun with her on the way here, eh?”

  Zin’s hand balled into a fist, and Rohen was a little surprised that his friend didn’t walk over and knock this idiot’s teeth out. He normally had about half Rohen’s restraint.

  “I am a Tel Bator Keeper,” he said coldly. “It is my sacred duty to watch over her.”

  “Uh huh,” the first guard said with a snort. He inched closer to the kneeling dark elf and eyed her up and down. Sehris was an attractive woman by any standard, but her cloak was so bulky it was hardly flattering. Still, that didn’t stop the men from leering down at her like a couple of lecherous drunks.

  “I’ve heard the rumors about what really goes in that tower of yours,” the first guard said. “You Keepers are lucky bastards—the rest of us have to buy our slaves from the Crell.”

  The men shared a hearty chuckle before they finally turned and sauntered across the bailey to continue their patrol. Rohen glared at their backs until they vanished from sight.

  “Idiots,” Zin growled. “Do you think the Lord Protector would be upset if we locked them in the privy?”

  “Probably,” Rohen said. “But it might be worth the demotion.”

  Zin grumbled in disgust. “Here, hold this while I get her bloody gag off.”

  Rohen frowned as he took the bowl. “You sure you don’t want to wait until you’re on the road?”

  “You think it will be easier for her to eat on the back of a horse with her hands tied up? We’ll have to push hard to reach Dorelas before midnight.” Zin scoffed. “I still think it’s a waste for us to leave in the middle of the day when we could just wait until morning.”

  “It will save the army a day of travel. If the Chol decide to attack sooner rather than later, Rimewreath could use the extra soldiers.”

  “I doubt a few hundred local militiamen will make a difference,” Zin muttered. “Besides, if we stayed here, Sehris and I could get a real meal. You get to sit around sipping wine while we’re freezing our asses off.”

  Rohen grunted softly as he glanced around the courtyard again, more thankful than ever that the Hold was mostly empty. As long as he kept himself busy, he couldn’t hear the screams from the last battle echoing off the walls. And as long as he didn’t close his eyes, he couldn’t see all the fire and death and blood surrounding him…

  For centuries this castle had been the seat of power for the Duchy of Torisval—for all of Darenthi, if one went back far enough—but it had been left to rot in the wake of the civil war. All of that was about to change soon, though, assuming the Pact Army could defeat the Chol as easily as everyone expected. Ten thousand men from all corners of Darenthi were already waiting at Rimewreath fortress to the west. Once the last battalion arrived, the army would march north to crush the horde. High King Thedric just wanted a final feast with the surviving local tharns—specifically, the ones who had provided him with these final reinforcements—to thank them for aiding in the war effort.

  If everything went as planned, Rohen and the Lord Protector would help the king entertain his guests, and then tomorrow they would catch up with the army, deliver Sehris to Rimewreath, and ultimately lead the Pact Army into battle. After all, the entire purpose of the Lord Protector and his Templar was to guard the realm against e
vil, and there was nothing more wicked than the Godcursed elves called the Chol.

  “Major Thorne is making final preparations outside,” Rohen said, turning back to Sehris as Zin fiddled with the straps of her gag. “The soldiers will probably be so terrified of you that they’ll give you a wide berth.”

  Sehris smiled as best she could with the gag in her mouth, and when Zin finally removed it, she gasped and licked at her frost-chapped lips. “I will hiss wicked dark elf curses at them whenever they get too close,” she said in her husky, heavily accented voice. “In the end, they will all learn to fear me!”

  “Uh huh,” Zin muttered. “Then you’ll start apologizing and offer to bake them cookies.”

  “That’s not such a bad idea,” she said with a wry smile. “You don’t have to worry about me, Ro. I don’t care what they call me.”

  “I do,” Rohen murmured. Sehris wasn’t technically his responsibility, given that Zin was the Keeper here, but if they had been inside, Rohen still would have relaxed her restraints. Here in public, however, he simply didn’t have the luxury of treating her like the lifelong friend she was. Neither of them did.

  “You already have enough to worry about,” Sehris said, shuffling her knees in the snow. Even with the wool stockings sheathing her long legs, she had to be getting cold by now. “You’re the one who has to have dinner with the High King and all his sycophants.”

  “Don’t remind me,” Rohen muttered, trading the bowl for the gag.

  “He’ll live, don’t worry,” Zin said. “I’d much rather put up with a bunch of spoiled tharns than try to ride west through this mess of a storm. Maiden’s mercy, the wind up here is unbearable.”

  “Everything up here is unbearable,” Rohen said, pulling his blue-gold cloak more tightly around his own brigandine. “The wind, the cold, the food, the locals…”