Swamped with guilt over nearly every decision he’s ever made, Arch Lich Chander Daray spends all his time escaping into books and keeping too busy to think. The last thing he wants is to find his other half. In pursuit of freedom for their people Gavrael and Gedeon D’Vaire ask him for help and Chander is happy to oblige. After their leader is summoned to begin the process of bringing the sentinels into the Council of Sorcery and Shifters, Chander is horrified to find out that they are mates.
From the moment Lich Sentinel Alaric was resurrected, he has been spellbound to care for the sentinels. Hunger burns and exhaustion runs deep, but Alaric has no choice but to put his own needs aside. When he meets his mate, Alaric is helpless to do anything more than visit occasionally. Chander offers to seal their matebond in name only and Alaric jumps at the chance. His spell is discovered and Chander breaks him free but still wants nothing do with him. Will they ever find a way to come together or will life tear them apart?
Summary:
Months after his mate broke his heart, Lich Sentinel Alaric is doing his best to put the pieces back together. His sentinels now belong to the Council of Sorcery and Shifters but it means little as the necromancers are determined to fight their freedom every step of the way. Their leader, Arch Lich Chander Daray, is the one person Alaric avoids at all costs. Despite Chander’s decision to end their matebond, Alaric cannot stomach the idea of signing their separation papers.
Arch Lich Chander Daray has never been more miserable. His mate is gone and Chander believes he’s been betrayed in the worst way. Thinking that he’s at rock bottom, he couldn’t have guessed there was more pain to come. The elder council demand his title be revoked and when they offer a petition signed by thousands of necromancers, Chander feels he has no choice but to resign. Now that his time is his own, he decides to push his magic to its limits. Once his mission is complete, he finds himself face to face with Alaric. Things between them are over, but Chander cannot help but express the love he feels for him. It brings them both to a precipice. Does Alaric have it in his heart to forgive all that Chander has done? Can either one of them move past the accusations and grow to trust again? Are they even willing to try?
Summary:
Skeleton Lord Albrecht Daray spent nearly two thousand years trapped behind thick walls in a compound that tore away his memory. Now, the sentinels belong the Council of Sorcery and Shifters and Albrecht’s little more than a blackened set of bones struggling to find his place in this new world.
Venerable Knight Vann Ruarc was the third fallen knight resurrected and has served the Council faithfully all his life. But he’s hungered to find his mate and know more about the differences which separate him from his brethren.
When the pair meet they already know they must be patient if they want answers to the mysteries that surround them. And while Albrecht worries over the future, Vann is confident with perseverance they can find friendship and love. Together they will face the past and neither one of them could have ever guessed exactly where that road takes them.
Summary:
As the son of the Cwylld rulers, Cadlyr hates being part of the notoriously war hungry tribe since the moment he understood the revulsion they caused in others. So, he’s delighted when he arrives at his first elven gathering and meets his other half. Cadlyr can leave the Cwylld and enjoy a prosperous life. Observing the tradition of their people, they agree to be mated the following day. Only, instead of promising his life to Evlithar of the Valzadari, Cadlyr is told the young elf has died by his own hand. Devastated, Cadlyr promises not to forget him and rages internally that Evlithar failed to come to him with his troubles. If he had Evlithar would still be alive and Cadlyr could’ve escaped.
Two thousand years later, Cadlyr’s existence has changed. Now the last of the Cwylld he is determined to recreate the sullied name into something noble. He resides within a special sanctuary at the Draconis Court of D’Vaire and has never been happier. It takes time, but he is eventually convinced to return to the annual gathering of elves. Once there he can hardly believe his eyes. Cadlyr is sure he’s seeing a ghost until the elf runs from the room like the hounds of hell are at his feet. Could Evlithar possibly alive after all these centuries?
Rise of the Lich Sentinel #5
Prologue
36 AD
“Welcome to life, Lich Sentinel,” a kindly voice said.
“Have I a name?” the Lich Sentinel asked. The thoughts in his mind were hazy as he lay there. The resurrection spell was pummeling his brain with all the information he was required to learn.
“Alaric,” another voice, this one not as friendly, replied.
Alaric opened his eyes and found himself in a dim room with several sorcerers. His stomach roiled but he pulled his body into a sitting position.
“Have a care—you have just been resurrected,” the kind voice instructed. “I am called Le’Terrius, Lich Sentinel.” He pointed to a lad with copper hair. “This is my son, Carvallius.”
“He doesn’t need to know our names. He is not likely to ever see us again,” the frosty voice from earlier snapped. “Let us cast the spell on him and be gone from this cursed place.”
“You need not make my home sound unpleasant, Egidius,” a dark-haired necromancer remarked. “The Lich Sentinel will require some time to recover before we cast on him again.”
“Sigimund, you try my patience,” Egidius said. “I do not have time to waste. You lacked the power to create the Lich Sentinel on your own so I came without delay. It is the fault of Arch Lich Faustus and his horrid mate who created this mess. The wizards should not need to live in fear of these animals.”
“Surely you can see the sentinels are not animals,” Le’Terrius argued.
“You have ever been foolish, Le’Terrius,” Egidius accused. “Otherwise you would have not helped Faustus and Domitia summon forth these beasts to begin with.”
Lich Sentinel Alaric struggled to determine the import of their words, but he could only listen as he still feared his body would revolt and he did not wish to give into the pressing sickness.
“Let us not argue,” Sigimund requested.
“No, let us finish our work so I might leave,” Egidius said.
“Arch Wizard, he will need time,” Sigimund pleaded.
“I have none to give,” Arch Wizard Egidius retorted. “If you do not wish to get it over with now, then you will have to do it without my services.”
“Are you well, Lich Sentinel?” Le’Terrius asked.
“Well enough,” he answered, though it was far from the truth.
“His eyes are strange,” Carvallius observed as he peered at Alaric.
“We asked Fate as we resurrected him to create a leader of the sentinels,” Sigimund replied. “Obviously she would wish to mark him. I imagine that is why his eyes are the color of the poison on his blades.”
“There is a special place where you will dwell with your sentinels,” Le’Terrius explained. “It will react to your commands. An endless supply of parchment lies upon your desk. All you need to do is write down your wish, and the castle will respond to your request.”
“You must make sure he cannot leave the castle once he arrives,” Egidius said. “Otherwise he may return here and kill us all.”
“You need not fear sentinels, but it would not do for him to be able to leave,” Le’Terrius replied. “The others need him to see to their care.”
“I must agree with Egidius,” Sigimund threw in.
“He will not be able to leave without a necromancer to summon him, is that not true, Father?” Carvallius asked.
“That is likely the way of it, Son,” Le’Terrius answered.
Alaric did not trust this group of men; no matter what kindness he heard in the voice of Le’Terrius, they seemed to wish to trap him and all the men under his new command in a magical castle. He made the decision not to inform them of his ability to transport himself anywhere. Not being tied down by a necromancer meant no one could keep him in this fortress of theirs—although he cared not to return to the company of people like these.
“He cannot leave. What else needs be taken care of?” Egidius asked impatiently. “And what of the dark poison at the bottom of his daggers? All the others had only green.”
Alaric knew the black was a separate poison which could kill anyone resurrected like himself, but he would offer no explanation to these men.
“I was not privy to the entirety of the spell Domitia and Faustus used,” Le’Terrius said, though Alaric detected dishonesty in his voice. “I have no answer.”
“It could be more dangerous than the green,” Sigimund remarked.
“The green is deadly to us all. How can anything be more harrowing than that?” Carvallius asked.
“I have already given him the knowledge of casting a spell to burn the names of the sentinels into their daggers. It will be necessary to avoid a disaster such as the one Domitia orchestrated,” Le’Terrius explained.
“A disaster you have yet to explain fully to any of us, Le’Terrius,” Egidius accused.
“I have given all the knowledge I can impart,” Le’Terrius replied, though something in his tone gave Alaric the distinct impression the warlock was still lying. Sick as he may be, his abilities were still able to detect such flagrant dishonesty. “Now we must see to it the sentinels are not harmed. Your former Arch Liches were not high in popularity, Sigimund, but there may still be people who blame the sentinels for their deaths and wish for retribution.”
“I care not if they all die. They should not have been created from the start,” Sigimund shot back. “I know I was most happy when the sentinels were all sent to their castle. All I wish for is to be Faustus’s replacement as Arch Lich, and I have many people to sway.”
“I do wish you could both find a way to open your minds about this topic,” Le’Terrius argued.
“Get on with it,” Egidius demanded.
“Very well,” Sigimund said. “He has many men to watch over. I see no reason why we should not remove his desire for sleep or food. It will give him many more hours of the day to rule.”
Le’Terrius’s dark green eyes were pleading. “It will cause him pain to be deprived of nourishment.”
“I have no wish to starve nor crave the comfort of a bed,” Alaric stated. His body swayed as he continued to fight his stomach’s need to retch.
“Is there no way to silence him?” Egidius asked.
“You are punishing him needlessly,” Carvallius commented as if elated at the prospect.
“Le’Terrius, kindly teach your son manners,” Sigimund said.
“Do not tell me how to raise my son.”
“Enough,” Egidius demanded. “What else must we concern ourselves with?”
“He should not be distracted by thoughts other than those of what benefit the sentinels,” Sigimund suggested.
“Should you do that, he will be deprived of his own feelings and considerations,” Le’Terrius cried out.
“Not likely,” Egidius offered in a bored tone. “He will still feel them—they will just remain unexpressed.”
“Should he ever escape, he may wish us dead for casting such a spell upon him,” Carvallius added as he crossed his arms over his dark tunic.
“He will have no memory of this day,” Le’Terrius said. “I have made the castle so it dampens the memory. It seemed wise after all that transpired.”
“I have no wish to be deprived of my own desires,” Alaric stated.
“No one has any interest in what you wish,” Egidius responded without any heat in his voice. “Have we left out anything, or have we come to an agreement on all that need be cast upon the Lich Sentinel?”
“Just rest now, Lich Sentinel. We shall make this easy upon you,” Le’Terrius promised as he patted Alaric’s shoulder. Alaric had no wish for the warlock’s touch but as he had been the only voice in the room with any compassion, he chose not to shake off Le’Terrius’s hand.
Carvallius gave him a toothy grin. “You should likely lie down before you fall to the ground. Dark magic can be quite painful.”
“Do not cause him fear, Son.”
“Yes, Father.”
“But you should heed my son’s words,” Le’Terrius told Alaric. “You are too newly resurrected to have this spell cast upon you as it is.”
Alaric was given no choice but to lie down as Egidius pushed him back with a hand upon his chest. Weakness crept over him and he wished he had the strength to remove himself from the assembly of twisted sorcerers.
“The spell will be well disguised, will it not? Should he ever get out of the castle, I have no wish for anyone to know I have been part of this plot,” Egidius stated.
“That is why it takes the four of us to cast it,” Le’Terrius explained. “It will go undetected. Only a truly powerful group of casters would be able to even sense a spell is upon him at all. It is dark magic but not foul, so no mark will be left upon his skin.”
“It is as I have said before—he is the leader of his people. We simply seek to make him more dedicated to his task,” Sigimund said. “It will keep the sentinels from putting together any sort of revolt. I do not share your confidence that these men cannot be corrupt in heart or deed.”
“I would revolt should I be confined in such a place,” Carvallius declared.
“We shall summon them from time to time,” Sigimund argued. “Once to cement the bond from sentinel to necromancer, which will happen when they come of age. And there will be those who will need a sentinel to see to their defense should they be in danger. You need not make it seem like we are sending them off to a dungeon.”
“How many times must we go over this?” Egidius demanded. “Have I not expressed my wish to leave?”
Le’Terrius let out a sigh. “Very well, let us get on with it. Though I do wish to once again say I am against this plan of forcing him to forgo so much of himself.”
“What if he should meet his mate?” Carvallius asked.
“Foolish lad, how could he meet his mate when he will be stuck in a fortress no one can see?” Egidius asked in return. “There will be no mated sentinels.”
Alaric was not aware of what the word mate meant. It was not in his vocabulary, and he was not given time to ask questions. The quartet chanted and black smoke filled his eyes as magic invaded his body. His mind rebelled as the spell swept over him, but they were too strong and his own thoughts were now trapped beneath a veneer of thinking solely for the future of the sentinels. Rolling over as the men stepped away, Alaric’s belly emptied onto the floor as the teenage boy, Carvallius, laughed.
Flopping onto his back as his vision grew dim, he watched as the stone ceiling wavered. Power once again rippled over him as the warlock transported him to the sentinel fortress where he was destined to spend all of eternity. Though he was sick both physically and mentally, his new existence would not allow him to recover. He was forced to go from sentinel to sentinel and see to their needs while his own were screaming at him to rest. The sorcerers had sent him to a hell from which there was no escape.
Fall of the Arch Lich #6
Chapter 1
“How’s that?” Larissa asked Albrecht as he lifted his hood to cover his gleaming black skull.
“I can see,” he replied.
“Move around a bit,” Grand Warlock Dra’Kaedan D’Vaire said. “Let’s make sure it’s going to work even if you’re training.”
Lich Sentinel Alaric Daray watched as a lightning-fast Albrecht grabbed his daggers from his hips and did a series of moves around the large tailoring shop Larissa D’Vairedraconis used to supply the sentinels with uniforms and crazy pajamas.
“My sight is unaffected,” Skeleton Lord Albrecht stated when he was finished. Larissa and Dra’Kaedan had been working for the last few weeks to perfect the cloaks so the sentinels didn’t have to remove or pull them back to fully see the world around them. The Skeleton Seven, the group of men who assisted Alaric in ruling their people, included five skeletons. It made going out in public a nuisance as people stopped and stared at the sight of them.
Already uncomfortable around large crowds after spending centuries locked away at the compound, the skeletons were finding life amongst the Council of Sorcery and Shifters a trial. In the three months since they’d gained acceptance into the Council, they’d avoided traveling there with Alaric. Not that Alaric was excited about visiting himself. After all, there was always the chance he’d run into his mate.
Arch Lich Chander Daray of the Order of Necromancia had broken Alaric’s heart, and the sentinel leader was dealing with it the best way he could. It was difficult when there were more questions than answers. He didn’t know what he’d done to hurt Chander, to cause him to spew hateful words and call an end to what had been the start of something wonderful. Alaric loved Chander and had been convinced that even though his mate had been reluctant to start a relationship, someday he’d feel the same.
Instead, Alaric had been tossed out of their home and told his place was at the prison the necromancers had sent his people to a couple of thousand years before. It was, in some ways, still a shock to his system. But Alaric thought he was getting used to the idea of life without Chander. Unlike the first few weeks, he was now able to sleep at night and he ate meals. But he still lacked a desire to fully engage in the world around him.
All his anger had fizzled away, and now he was hollow inside. He had no clue how to change it and wasn’t sure he wanted to. A mate was supposed to be the most important thing in someone’s life. Alaric had embraced that, and he had considered himself privileged to have been given someone like Chander as the other half of his soul. Chander was smart, tough, and took his role as a leader seriously. Everything about him had intrigued Alaric from the start, and he had only grown more fascinated by the man when he’d gotten to know him better.
The only thing he had not liked about Chander was his penchant for thrashing himself over any conceived mistake. He was good at making himself suffer, and Alaric still wondered if that was the reason Chander banished him. Chander had cast him aside with all the care of a bomb going off and just like that, Alaric was changed forever. His heart had been carved out of his chest and he had no idea how to restore it.
The Order of the Fallen Knights had sent over Juris Knight Mitchell Brooks to deliver the final blow. Chander had used his own assigned Juris Knight to fill out official separation papers that would effectively terminate their relationship in the eyes of the Council. It was the best they could do; their blood had mixed and they were stuck together in that way for both of their immortal lives.
For three months Alaric had been staring at those damn papers, and he still couldn’t bring himself to sign them. Juris Knight Brooks was more than willing to send over Alaric’s demands and have his counterpart revise what Chander had drawn up but honestly, there was nothing about what the Arch Lich was requesting that offended Alaric. It was just that final step Alaric wasn’t able to deal with.
It was saying good-bye to Chander and all they’d built in those few fragile months they’d had together after the Arch Lich had been so gravely ill. Alaric knew it should have been easy to do that; their relationship had gone up in flames after one horrible fight. One that had begun while Alaric hadn’t been home and had been about as clear as mud. Chander had never explained why it was over, and Alaric wished he could use that as his excuse for not signing the document.
But the truth was, even if he knew why Chander had dumped him, he would probably be willing to forgive him. He would likely have apologized for whatever imagined slight had entered Chander’s fevered mind and agreed to start anew. It was not a welcome revelation—he didn’t want to be at the mercy of his heart, but he had no choice. Fate had given him Chander, and he simply wasn’t prepared to dissolve their matebond in the legal sense. Or in any regard.
“Hey, Alaric,” King Aleksander D’Vairedraconis said as he entered Larissa’s workshop. Alaric was grateful to see him; he needed to get out of his own head before he did something stupid like calling Chander and begging for a way to fix their relationship.
“How are you, Aleksander?”
“Annoyed,” he replied. “Unless, of course, you’re finally willing to let me write you a check.”
“You’re certainly not going to give the sentinels money,” Alaric replied. This had been an ongoing argument, and Alaric wasn’t going to budge.
“You have a huge complex to build to bring all of your men here from the compound,” Aleksander pointed out. “It could help.”
“The sentinels are very popular after my speech to the Council was shown on TV. People love us now. We have had plenty of financial support coming through for us,” Alaric insisted. “What we don’t have is land to build a complex so they have a place to live or the ability to bring our men here in the first place.”
“I know you want to be in Vegas, near Headquarters, so I don’t know what to tell you about land. You’ll find the right space, and the Council is trying to fix the problem of your men coming here.”
“Not fast enough for my taste,” Alaric responded. “Again, they’ve allowed the Order of Necromancia to roadblock the sentinels. Those elders have filed petition after petition to remove us from the Council and to thwart our demand that they summon the sentinels here.”
“I know, it’s awful,” Aleksander said. “And unpopular. I don’t know how they can think they’re going to win this.”
“I think the elders are enjoying the attention. They enjoy being a nuisance and having reporters following them around. The elders get to tell everyone how dangerous they believe we are and what a mistake it was for the Council to allow us to join. And that we belong to the Order of Necromancia and it’s best for everyone if we stay at the compound.”
“I can’t believe they won’t even summon them long enough to get Council identification cards,” Aleksander commented.
“And then they were surprised when we filed our own petition barring anyone from the Order of Necromancia in our office suite or any other land we might acquire.”
Aleksander’s lips turned up into a feral grin. “I bet it chapped their asses to see you guys accept the office space from the Order of the Fallen Knights which put you right next to the necromancers.”
“I nearly told the Reverent Knights I would prefer the Sentinel Brotherhood as far from the Order of Necromancia as possible,” Alaric replied. “But then I saw the space the Council could offer us. It was on the very outskirts of the Headquarters complex.”
“Your office name is awesome and yeah, I’m glad you guys decided to take the fallen knights’ offer, and I love the design you guys went with. It’s really striking.”
“I’m happy with the way it turned out. I’m glad you suggested I have your neighbors, the griffins, handle the construction. We don’t use it much yet, but when we are able to bring our men here that will change,” Alaric said. They had a stunning two-story complex, and he knew it would serve them well when they needed to be amongst the Council. For now, it mostly sat empty as the only trips they made from the compound were to the Draconis Court of D’Vaire. The Emperor wanted Alaric to attend more Council sessions, and he was willing to ease his way into spending his mornings in the Main Assembly Hall, but it meant seeing Chander every day. That would be both torture and pleasure.
“I think we’ve finally got the cloak perfected,” Dra’Kaedan announced as he sat at the table where Alaric and Aleksander were talking.
“I knew you could do it, Squirt,” Aleksander replied.
“I thought it would be easier,” Dra’Kaedan confessed. “Who knew skeletal and corporeal sentinel sight were so different?”
“Oh good, you’re still here,” Madeline D’Vairedraconis exclaimed as she dashed into the room. She was carrying a large box which she set down on the round table. “Alaric, would you mind gathering all of your Skeleton Seven over here?”
Alaric nodded. He motioned to Albrecht and when he got to his side, asked him to go and grab the rest of the ruling sentinels. They were outside training, something they loved to do. Albrecht returned a few minutes later with the four white skeletons and two non-skeletons who made up their group.
“Thanks, guys, this will only take a minute,” Madeline told them. “I’ve been making mating rings for all your crew at the compound which is why I’m only giving these to you now.” She flipped open the box and inside were eight rings.
“What are these for?” Skeleton Lord Cassius asked.
“Council leaders wear rings of rank,” Madeline explained as she picked up a thick silver ring that had what appeared to be a perfect replica of a sentinel’s dagger on the face of it. “This is yours, Alaric.”
“And you wonder why I won’t let you give us money,” Alaric said to Aleksander as he took the gorgeous ring from Madeline. “I know you aren’t going to let us pay for these any more than you will let us reimburse you for anything else you’ve done for us.”
Aleksander shrugged. “We’re happy to help.”
Alaric looked down at the ring Madeline handed him and saw his own weapon reproduced on it. There was even a green and black aura around it to signify the poisons. “Thank you, this is amazing.”
“I’m glad you like it,” she returned with a smile. “For the Skeleton Seven, I did your skulls.” Madeline handed out rings; there was a black one for Albrecht and four white ones for Brynnius, Cassius, Ducarius, and Eduard. For the two sentinels who called Court D’Vaire home, they had the blue-black which represented their king. Each man thanked her profusely as he put his jewelry on.
“The metal is enchanted like shifters so when you guys get your bodies back, it will stretch just like your uniforms,” Madeline explained. They hoped someday the skeletons would be corporeal but the truth was, no one knew for sure. The compound they called home used to drain their memory, so no one remembered their pasts. He’d broken that spell and now Alaric preferred to think it was only a matter of patience—one day, they’d all have intact recollection of their lives.
“These are stunning, but how do you know what Gavrael and Gedeon’s skulls look like? They’ve never been skeletons,” Cassius said.
“I think I can answer that,” Skeleton Lord Gedeon D’Vaire responded. “That’s why you sent us to the dentist, right? You wanted us to get those panoramic X-rays.”
Madeline smirked. “Yes, sorry I had to trick you, but I wanted these to be a surprise.”
“I do not see why we had to have a cleaning,” Gedeon’s mate, Gavrael complained.
“Even immortal sentinels get plaque,” Aleksander pointed out.
“I hate the dentist,” Gavrael replied. “Strange people hovering too close and sticking their fingers in your mouth.”
Alaric laughed. Sentinels weren’t big on touching, and Gavrael took that part of being one very seriously. He wished he could have seen the man’s face when he’d been at the dentist. His expression had probably been hilarious.
“It was worth it to get these cool-ass rings. Thanks again, Madeline,” Gedeon said. Alaric didn’t know anything about dentists, but the rings were stunning and he was, as always, grateful for everything the D’Vaires continued to do for them. They were amazing people and he was glad to count them as friends.
The First Sentinel #7
Chapter 1
16 AD
Le’Terrius listened with rapt attention to the Arch Liches as they explained in detail their plan to create a race of assassins. They would be called sentinels; there would be one to each necromancer, and their souls would be bound to allow the men to know in a mere instant if their sorcerer was in danger. It did not sound bad to Le’Terrius’s ears, but he didn’t agree with every aspect. Arch Lich-mate Domitia—he was learning—was a vain woman who wished to have the sentinels in rapture of her.
While her face and form were pleasing, she had a mate and therefore could only have the men worship her from afar. It seemed a ridiculous notion to Le’Terrius, and a plot began to form in his mind. They needed his assistance to generate more magical power and to recite the words—they had tried to cast the enchantment to create the sentinels alone and found themselves insensible and lying on the ground before it was complete. The pair of necromancers were willing to be generous with their coin, and so Le’Terrius would not refuse their unusual idea.
It might be useful for the Order of Necromancia to have a race of men dedicated to their protection. This type of magickind was not popular; their ability to raise the dead was unnatural to most. But Le’Terrius could not live with himself if he helped to summon forth sentinels who were falling over themselves to please a silly woman more in love with herself than even her own mate. Since Arch Lich-mate Domitia was adamant the race would be only men, Le’Terrius would request Fate only match them with someone of their own gender. In addition, he would blind them to the attractiveness of anyone besides their partner, so they would not aim to please her.
That would be a fine way to keep them from dancing to Domitia’s tune, he thought. Each man was set to serve a different necromancer; it would be a useless thing to have them chasing after her. His mind set, Le’Terrius feigned interest as the Arch Liches droned on. They had already written down the spell they wished to have cast and he was well able to read it. As an experienced sorcerer, he did not need the two to instruct him on each word. He might not understand every line, but since he was a warlock and used different languages than necromancers, he had anticipated some gap in knowledge. Le’Terrius was not about to waste time asking them for magic lessons.
“Are you agreed, Le’Terrius?” Arch Lich Faustus asked. His gray eyes were stern, and he did not seem a friendly sort.
“I will be happy to be of assistance.”
Domitia’s eyes, paler than her mate’s but of the same hue shared by all their race, lit up. “I knew a man of your intelligence would see the beauty of our plan. It shall be a fine gift to all necromancers.”
“They have agreed?”
“Le’Terrius, we rule our people,” Faustus said in an uncompromising voice. “We need not ask their permission.”
He could not imagine his own leaders, Grand Warlock T’Eirick and Grand Summoner Saura Leolinnia, carrying on in such a manner, but his race was ruled by a man and woman chosen by Fate. This pair was not. Le’Terrius wondered why Fate had never gifted the necromancers with a leader chosen by her. He hoped she did something to remedy the situation in the future, for he could not believe the Arch Liches were the best examples of their kind. “Very well. Shall we begin?”
With a swish of her long black gown, Domitia strolled over to a chaise and lay down upon it. Faustus had another chair for his use and once they were settled, they began to chant the words that would create a race of men beholden to the Order of Necromancia. Le’Terrius added his voice and threw in all his vast power behind the spell. The room darkened with the wealth of black magic that swirled inside it, and Le’Terrius could see thin silver strings begin to emerge from the necromancers. In the center of the room, a crystalline device took shape. The voices of the Arch Liches dropped off, and Le’Terrius knew they were no longer aware of their surroundings. Their energy had been depleted and was still heavy in the air along with his own.
He added the additional phrases he had crafted as a large gray ball rolled out of the mechanism that would forever bind a necromancer with a sentinel. It grew until it was a few inches taller than Le’Terrius. The gray orb became translucent, and Le’Terrius could see a man inside of it. As he continued to recite, the sphere vanished and the sentinel emerged. He was covered in a charcoal cloak, and the thin enchanted chain connecting him to the Arch Lich-mate disappeared moments after he materialized. She had been adamant the first assassin be her own, and it seemed their arduous work had been successful.
Behind the covered man, another round globe hit the floor and this one grew much larger than the previous one. Like the first sentinel, when he came into view he was hidden under a dark garment from head to toe. Le’Terrius was exhausted from all the sorcery which had escaped him, and he knew that he no longer needed to cast. The device was churning out sentinels who would materialize for a moment before being sent off to the necromancer they were meant to protect. There was an entire race being scared out of their wits by assassins popping into their lives.
“Welcome to life, gentlemen,” Le’Terrius said.
A deep, smoky voice, which belonged to the initial man responded, “Thank you, warlock.”
The device had been designed to give a name to each sentinel, so Le’Terrius asked, “By what name are you called?”
That same voice answered first, “I am Albrecht.”
“I am Arvandus,” the taller man replied.
“Your necromancers will sleep for some time. The spell was most powerful.”
“I sense their exhaustion,” Albrecht stated. “Yours as well.”
“I feel a strange connection to Albrecht,” Arvandus said before whipping off his head covering. He was a handsome blond man with friendly blue eyes.
“I sense something as well…though I have no knowledge of why I should feel it.” Albrecht’s unique voice sounded confused.
“You have both just been resurrected. No doubt you are feeling the sickness associated with that,” Le’Terrius replied.
“I have a sick feeling in my belly,” Arvandus remarked. “But that does not explain my connection to Albrecht.”
Le’Terrius could only blame the tired feeling in his bones for not having known at once the connection the two must share. “I believe you are mates.”
“I know not the meaning of that word,” Albrecht retorted, his tone full of suspicion.
“Fate gifts each magickind with a person who is the other half of their soul. No doubt, that feeling will grow stronger as your bodies recover from the resurrection,” Le’Terrius explained. “I will warn you—the news might not be welcome from the Arch Lich-mate. Protect it as a secret until you can be sure she will not react unpleasantly. It is not the way of magickind to come between mates, but I am not friendly enough with the Arch Liches to know if they follow that sacred rule. Have you any more questions? I must return to my home to rest.”
“I will await the Arch Lich for further inquiries,” Arvandus said. “Be well, warlock.”
“I wish the same for you,” Le’Terrius stated before casting the spell that would send him home. He did not know if he had done the right thing, but the coin was welcome. Le’Terrius could only hope the sentinels were not spurned by the people they were meant to serve. With a yawn, he headed for his bedchamber. The assassins were now the responsibility of the Order of Necromancia, their fate intertwined with the sorcerers. Not bothering to undress, Le’Terrius laid his head upon his pillow as soon as he got to his room. He would sleep well after his exhausting work.
∞∞∞
Arvandus lowered his body to the floor and propped his back against the stone wall. He watched as Albrecht did the same next to him. He was discovering he liked the feeling of being close to the other man.
“I do not like this feeling of unease inside.”
“I fear my body will expel my inner organs,” Arvandus replied. The sickness from the resurrection was intense, but it could not hide the joy bubbling in his veins from his apparent mate.
“It is most unpleasant,” Albrecht agreed.
“Do you believe the warlock’s words?” Arvandus asked. “That we are mates?”
“I cannot say. I will need more information on the matter.”
“You do feel a connection to me, do you not?”
“I do.”
Despite the roiling in his gut, Arvandus smiled. “Might I see your face?”
Albrecht tugged his hood back and Arvandus’s breath caught. The sentinel’s face was incredible. He had hair which was both red and blond that lay in deep waves. His eyes were a crisp green and framed by lashes so long, they near reached his eyebrows. Over the bridge of his nose and cheeks, a spray of soft brown freckles decorated his pale skin. His mouth was a nice shape with his bottom lip being slightly fuller than the top.
“I find your face very pleasing,” Arvandus told him.
“I like yours as well.” Arvandus could not help but notice the man had two deep creases in his cheeks which flashed when he spoke.
“I look forward to being well. I should like to train with my daggers.”
Albrecht nodded. “It is our duty.”
“You may be short of stature but are no doubt as deadly as I.”
“I am the first sentinel,” Albrecht stated in his rumbling voice. “Perhaps there was not enough magic gathered to give me great height.”
“I find the idea plausible.”
“I hope to find our necromancers are honorable.”
“They rule the Order of Necromancia,” Arvandus pointed out. “There is little doubt they will be admirable.”
“The sentinels do not have a ruler. We will have to look to the Arch Liches to guide us.”
“Our creation was their idea. They will not lead us astray.”
Albrecht pressed farther back against the stone wall. “I do not wish to retch.”
“I believe if you lay your head upon my lap, you would be most comfortable.”
Twisting a little to face him, Albrecht raised an eyebrow. “I sense a feeling inside that I wish for the touch of only you.”
“Sentinels do not welcome the touch of others. Therefore, I believe the warlock.”
“We shall have to explore this idea of mates,” Albrecht said. His words might not have conveyed his belief in the fact that they were meant for one another, but he did turn his body and lay his head upon Arvandus’s lap.
“Do not fear, Albrecht. I will not empty my innards upon you.” Arvandus lifted a hand and trailed it through the other sentinel’s hair.
“I shall take my blade and apply the black poison that will mar your skin if you do.”
A black poison on their daggers could cut a sentinel or any other soul lucky enough to be resurrected, but it was the green they would no doubt need the most. It was the poison deadly to anyone who was not summoned from the dead. That information had been imparted to his brain as he’d been brought to life. “Keep the green upon your dagger and rest easy.”
“I hope my necromancer does not sleep long. I have a great desire to get to know her,” Albrecht said after closing his eyes.
Arvandus continued to stroke the tresses of the other sentinel. “I am of the same mind.”
“Your hands upon me feel nice.”
“I am glad to know you, Albrecht.”
“And I you.”
Pressing his skull to the wall at his back, Arvandus let his lashes fall as he waited for his body to adjust to the life given to him by the two necromancers lying upon cushions. He had been called from the dead to serve as a soulbound assassin. Arvandus was incapable of shirking such a sacred duty, and he was eager to begin. A thrill raced over his skin at the thought of doing so with Albrecht at his side. Fate had been kind to give them a pair of necromancers to serve, and the future was bright indeed.
Disregarding Fate #8
Chapter 1
57 AD
Cadlyr was doing his best to adjust to the heavy weight of the beads in his hair. He had come of age the previous year and was attending his first elven gathering. The day before, his mother, Chieftess Taliya, had insisted one of the ladies in the tribe decorate his waist-length tresses so everyone would know he was the son of the chieftains. His parents had high hopes for him; they wished for him to meet his mate and add children to his family.
Chieftain Aniernan wanted a dynasty of great warrior elves to aid him in his many skirmishes. There were two things Cadlyr’s father seemed to enjoy most: criticizing him and battling. Not that Chieftain Aniernan personally fought—he preferred to send others to combat. As his only offspring, Cadlyr had thus far been spared war, but he knew it was only a temporary respite.
From Cadlyr’s point of view, being a Cwylld elf did not have any advantages. It was an endless cycle of soldiering and he wanted no part of it, but there was no way out. So he did his best to do what was expected of him—which was why he was donning his finest lavender tunic to join the rest of the people in celebrating the start of the entire event. Once he had his shirt on, Cadlyr tugged his long mane out of the collar.
“Cadlyr, you’ve tarried long enough. It’s time to join the festivities,” his father yelled from outside the tent.
“I know,” he muttered as he walked out to join his parents. He could smell the fires burning and heard not only the loud music but the raised voices of excited attendees. The trio made their way to where the food was set out on long tables.
“Go on, your mate is likely waiting for you,” his mother said as she pushed him with the flat of her hand. “Return when you’ve found her.”
Cadlyr had no idea how his parents could be so confident he would meet his other half. Elves had infinite lifespans—barring any injury to vital organs—and he was but nineteen years of age. It was presumptuous to assume Fate would gift him with his mate so young, but he did as he was told and began walking through the throngs of people. It was a sea of beautiful tunics and dresses in a rainbow of colors. Cadlyr found it a stunning display, but the way everyone reacted to him was most irritating.
The lavender at the ends of his blond hair as well as on his clothing told of his heritage, and his tribe’s warring was legendary. More than one community had been cut down at the end of a Cwylld sword, and it seemed most of the participants wished to give him a vast amount of room to walk. They backed away because they feared getting on the wrong side of him, which might ignite yet another battle. Cadlyr decided it was best to hold his head high and ignore them. He had done nothing to invite their trepidation and he would allow no one to begin a conflict on his behalf.
After heading for one of the tables laden with food, Cadlyr selected a piece of cheese. It was right after he bit into it that his life changed. A smell hit his nose—an unusual mix of the ocean and an earthy hint of heather. Like all unmated elves, Cadlyr lacked sexuality until, standing there at the gathering, his member roared to life. As his body went wild, Cadlyr glanced to his left and saw a stunning man staring at him. His exotic skin, the color of a summer sky, told Cadlyr he was from the Valzadari tribe as did his black hair and his deep blue eyes, which were wide in his elegant face. Unlike the Cwylld who wore mostly pale purple, the man was dressed in a tunic that was three shades of blue and accented with lilac.
“You’re my mate,” Cadlyr blurted out after swallowing the morsel in his mouth.
“I hadn’t expected to meet my mate. It’s my first gathering,” he said, his eyes lit with what Cadlyr hoped was happiness.
“It is mine as well. I’m pleased to meet you. I know you are Valzadari, but might I have your name?”
The man beamed. “I am Evlithar. I don’t know how to recognize the tribes. Will you tell me your name and from which one you hail?”
“I am Cadlyr of the Cwylld.”
“I have heard of your people,” Evlithar replied, and Cadlyr saw his smile falter. “You have a great many beads in your hair. You must have high status in your tribe.”
“I am the son of the chieftains. I know the Valzadari do not decorate their hair as do the Cwylld, but your clothing is not that of someone without status.”
“I have status though not as high as yours. My cousin is the chieftain.”
Cadlyr was thrilled to hear it. Elven tradition dictated that a newly mated pair joined the tribe with the highest status, but both he and Evlithar were related to their chieftains. Joy filled his heart—not only would he now have a companion in life, he could leave the Cwylld behind him. He would have no problem at all living with the Valzadari and since it was also a tradition to be mated within a day or two of meeting, he would never have to return to the village where he had been born. His stern parents would be a part of his past, and it was this lovely blue man who would be his future.
“Not so far below me,” Cadlyr said. “They will be holding many mating ceremonies on the morrow. Shall we join the other lucky elves who have met their other halves this day?”
“It will be expected when we announce we are mates to our families,” Evlithar replied.
“Yes, but you have not given me an answer to my query.”
“Fate has chosen us. I will find my cousin to alert him.”
“Must you go now?” Cadlyr asked. While he was anxious to see his ceremony planned, he hadn’t meant to run Evlithar off.
“There are preparations to be seen to. I wouldn’t have anything get in the way of our destiny.”
“Will your cousin make the arrangements, or shall I speak with my parents?”
“My cousin will be more than happy to see to it,” Evlithar replied. Cadlyr was elated to hear it. While his parents had anticipated him meeting his mate, they wouldn’t be pleased to find he was male and that there would be no children. At least he would not have to worry about them being upset when they found out he wished to leave. With no way to add anything to the tribe, they’d be delighted to see him go.
“Might I kiss you before you leave?”
Evlithar’s dark azure eyes darted around, but he nodded his head. Cadlyr took three steps so their bodies were close. Evlithar lifted his head, as he was nearly a foot shorter than him, and Cadlyr offered him a grin then pressed their mouths together. The Valzadari elf had soft lips and though Cadlyr would have liked to deepen the caress, they’d have time the following day after promising their eternal lives to each other. Cadlyr pulled away and studied the remarkable face in front of him before sending up his heartfelt gratitude to Fate.
“Thank you for the kiss. I will send word when my cousin has made the arrangements.”
“I can hardly wait, Evlithar. I look forward to our ceremony.”
“As do I,” he said. “Be well until I see you again, Cadlyr.”
“And to you.”
Cadlyr watched as Evlithar turned on his heel and walked away. He was blissful down to his bones. After losing Evlithar in the massive crowd, Cadlyr helped himself to a few more pieces of cheese then headed back to the tent. As he would have predicted, he found his parents dining inside; they had likely only ventured out long enough to procure their meal before returning.
“Father, I’ve exciting news,” he announced as soon as the flap closed behind him.
“Have you done as I asked and found your mate?”
“Yes, Father, I have.”
“You see, Taliya, perhaps our son does not lack worth after all.”
“We will need to make arrangements for your mating ceremony,” his mother said.
“No need. My mate is kin to his chieftain and has promised to take care of it. We are to be mated on the morrow.”
“Look there, Aniernan. The boy has even managed to find a mate of prestige.”
“Cadlyr, from which tribe does she hail?” his father asked.
“My mate is Valzadari. His name is Evlithar.”
“Aniernan, did the foolish lad just say his mate is a male?”
“Cadlyr, stop these foolish games. Tell your mother you didn’t make the mistake of acquiring a male mate.”
He lifted his chin. “I cannot for it would be a lie.”
“Stupid child, two men cannot have children. You have cost the Cwylld many future warriors,” Chieftain Aniernan said.
“He has always been a disappointment to us. It shouldn’t be a surprise he has managed to muddy this up as well. This is why I wanted no children of my own, but you insisted we needed to further our bloodline,” Chieftess Taliya complained.
“It is Fate you have a quarrel with,” Cadlyr replied. He was well used to his parents discussing him as a disgrace with no value, and their reaction was anticipated. Cadlyr could not care less; the following day he would be exchanging blood with Evlithar and leaving the Cwylld far behind.
“Do not speak that way to us. We gave you life, though you’ve never thanked us for it. The least you could’ve done was to do as we asked of you,” his father remarked.
“You told me to meet my mate and I have done so.”
“All your life, I’ve told you of the need for more Cwylld warriors. You cannot be a help to your tribe without offspring.”
“I care not. My plan is to leave the Cwylld and join the Valzadari. They don’t have a constant need to quarrel with every tribe who has the misfortune of meeting the two of you.”
“How dare you? I have given you every advantage, and yet you throw hateful words at us. You are no son of ours. The Cwylld will forget your existence when you go. We won’t allow them to speak of you,” Chieftain Aniernan shouted.
“Hateful child. The Valzadari will grow weary of your constant need to spew such insufferable speech and when they do, you will not have the Cwylld to return to,” his mother added. “Someday you’ll live to regret the way you’ve disregarded us and our orders. Leave us. You’ll need to find another place to rest your head this night. We’ll attend your ceremony as tradition dictates but after that, we need never speak again.”
“At least I won’t find myself with a sword in my belly ending what should’ve been an immortal life due to your need to constantly be at war.”
“Chieftess Taliya has told you to begone. You’ll heed her words until you say farewell to the Cwylld,” his father spat out.
Cadlyr did not bother to reply to the man he would not call father again. He whistled his way back to the food tables, so he could fill his belly. The exchange with the Cwylld chieftains had gone much the way he had expected. They had never shown him love or caring, and it would have been foolish to think they would start because he’d met his other half. He was thrilled Fate had found a way to ensure he wouldn’t have a child who would be lost in a battle with no purpose. Once Cadlyr found the tasty cheese he had sampled earlier, he concentrated on nothing but his burning desire to begin his life anew with Evlithar of the Valzadari.
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Jessamyn Kingley lives in Nevada where she begs the men in her head to tell her their amazing stories which she dutifully writes it all down in what has become a small mountain of notebooks. She falls in love with each couple and swears whatever book she wrote last is her absolute favorite.
Jessamyn is married and working toward remembering to start the dishwasher without being distracted by the scent of the magical detergent. For personal enjoyment, she aids in cat rescue while slashing and gashing her way through mobs in various MMORPGs. Caffeine is her very best friend and is only cast aside briefly for the sin better known as BBQ potato chips.
She loves to engage with readers at her website and facebook.
Rise of the Lich Sentinel #5
Fall of the Arch Lich #6
The First Sentinel #7
Disregarding Fate #8
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