Shards of Law

L. E. Dereksen

Description

Scattered across time, three lives will shape the fate of the Realms:

• Haunted by the bloodless creatures of the desert, Ishvandu of Shyandar must overcome his worst enemy—himself—to become the Guardian he’s always longed to be.


• Ashkynas, last of the Al’kah, has committed the unthinkable. Now, fleeing his own betrayal, tormented by the power he carries, he must wield destruction to save everything.


• In the forests of the north, young Hyranna Elduna stumbles upon a centuries-old secret—a deadly force that may be the key to the world’s fate.

In an epic narrative that spans centuries, one of these must rise to restore the Laws of Creation, or become themselves the heralds of ruin.

From emerging author, L. E. Dereksen, comes a thrilling new fantasy, the first of a five-book series that melds realism with the heroic journey on a grand, immersive scale.

Sujets

• Fantastique
• Epic Fantasy
• Realism
• Epic
• High fantasy
• Fiction
• Fantasy

Informations

• Publié par: Sky Step Publishing
• Date de parution: 26 décembre 2018
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781999499617
• Langue: English

Extrait

Shards of Law
Book One of the Avanir Chronicles


L. E. Dereksen
Copyright © 2018 by L. E. Dereksen
All rights reserved.
Cover illustration by Rob Joseph © 2021
Cover design by Darrell Dyck © 2021
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, events, or locations is entirely coincidental.
ISBN 978-1-9994996-0-0 (paperback)
ISBN 978-1-9994996-2-4 (hardcover)
ISBN 978-1-9994996-1-7 (e-book)
Published by Sky Step Publishing
Author’s website: ledereksen.com
For mom:
You showed me how to live.
Contents



Prologue

I. Desert

II. Forest

III. Shadow

IV. Aktyr

V. Outcast

VI. Journey

VII. Oath

Epilogue


To be Continued . . .

Glossary of Names

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Prologue
Year 798 after the fall of Kayr

T he Guardian was old.
He slouched against the black stone, waiting, waiting. It was all he ever did these days. Sitting and peering into the dust, one leg stretched out in front of him. It was not a very Guardian-like posture, but his feet hurt, and the night was long.
He grunted and shivered, pulling his threadbare cloak tighter. It had been red, once. It had been finely made. Now it was tattered, faded, and full of holes. His hair had thinned to a single grey braid, lying limp on the back of his neck. His skin was furrowed with lines. Becoming dust, all dust—except for the sword. His keshu was the last of its kind in Shyandar. Sand-blasted rebels had stolen the rest. Gone. Corrupted by Shatayeth Undying, enemy of the people. Now vanished into the desert to die.
How long until he vanished as well? The shadows would come for him—now, tomorrow, the next night, or in ten long years, if he didn’t starve to death first. The shadows, or Shatayeth himself. The wind groaned across the barrenness, whisking sand from one end of the cracked and empty lakebed to the other. He imagined it happening like that. One moment—gone. Nothing. No more Ishtar. No more Guardians. The end. Easy. Then only sand would wait. Then only shadows. And who would welcome the waters then?
“Ishtar,” said a voice . . .
The old man leapt to his feet.
“Ab’Adani Al’kah! Forgive me! I was resting my—”
“No, no. You do well,” said the figure, though he hung back. His gaunt form was bent, his fingers tense against the edge of his robes. Something was wrong .
“Sal’ah Al’kah?”
The man took a sharp breath, as if pained. He turned to face the dry lakebed of the Avanir. “You are faithful.”
Ishtar grunted. “I am old, sal’ah Al’kah.”
“Are you?” He blinked up at the brilliant ache of the sky. “Stars are old. Sand is old. This rock is old. But you, Ishtar ab’Shatara, are not old . You are . . . faithful. You guard the Avanir. Still. Always.”
“It will return.”
“Will it?”
Ishtar glanced at him in surprise. The man was thin and worn, as they all were. He was dressed in tattered robes, as they all were. But there was a strange energy to him this night. Something restless.
“Seven years,” the Al’kah continued, clenching his hands. “Seven years since the water dried up, and no Guardian has seen a drop in three. Still, you wait.” He craned his neck. The stone Avanir towered over them, a huge hulking blackness with weird and twisted arms, its crown lost in the shadows above their head.
A shudder passed through the Al’kah. “No,” he said.
“No, sal’ah Al’kah?” Ishtar frowned.
“No, no. It’s not our place to doubt. We have a duty. Each of us.” He spoke with fervent intensity. “And you have done yours, my friend. When the rebels attacked, you resisted. When the Guardians fled, you stayed. You remained at my side, through . . . through all of it.”
“I swore an oath, ab’Adani Al’kah. I am a Guardian of Shyandar.”
“Yes.” The man paused, then edged nearer. “Ishtar, let me see your keshu.”
Ishtar hesitated. “My keshu?”
“Yes. Would you deny your lord?”
“Never!” Ishtar drew the blade, and its soft light leapt into the space between them. How long had it been? Six months? Seven, since the last attack—since the shadows had taken Lalysha and Ebrynu? A Guardian did not draw without need, but neither could he refuse the Al’kah, his ruler.
The Al’kah reached out, hands open to receive the blade.
“This is our hope, Ishtar,” he said, a tremor in his voice. “We must be strong. New life will return. Do . . . do you believe it?”
Ishtar nodded. “The water will come. If not in my life, then in another’s.”
“I’m glad you think so.” He paused and swallowed. “You do well, Ishtar. You are faithful.”
“Thank you, sal’ah Al’kah.”
“You are faithful.”
Ishtar frowned. “So are you, my lord Al’kah. Is . . . is something wrong?”
“Something? No.” He tightened his hands around the blade. “ All things. If there is no water, who will be Chosen? And if there are no Chosen, who will stop the Breaking of the world? Who, Ishtar ab’Shatara? Who? ”
Ishtar struggled to hide his alarm. “The Great Tree knows. She will send the water. She must.”
“And if she cannot?”
Ishtar said nothing. A darkness crept through him, the one that had always been there, always, beneath his dedication, beneath the waiting and the long hours of supposed hope. He pushed it away. He was too old for those thoughts. He had made his choice, long ago.
“We broke the cycle,” the Al’kah continued. “We failed. Not the Tree, not the Avanir. Us .”
“There is always hope.”
“Yes.” The man nodded fiercely, as if trying to convince himself. “Yes, there is. Only I wish . . . I wish . . .”
Ishtar frowned. Something moved in the shadows. Something on his right, circling from behind the Avanir, the huge black pillar. He held up a hand for silence, listening, straining to hear.
“Who goes there?”
No answer.
Ishtar reached for his keshu. It was not there, of course. He had given it to the Al’kah. He opened his hand, gesturing for the man to hurry and hand it back. The shadows. The shadows had come!
The figure stepped nearer, and everything in Ishtar tightened. No. Not the shadows. It was a man, robed and swathed like an outrider. Two glittering black eyes.
“Stop!” Ishtar ordered. “Name yourself. Why have you dared to approach the Avanir?”
The man did not stop. His feet were bare against the sand. Bare as they padded forward, circling, drawing nearer. The black eyes regarded him from beneath the wrappings. Assessed him.
“Al’kah, my sword,” Ishtar said, feeling a flutter of panic. “Hurry.” He glanced over his shoulder, still waiting—waiting to feel the smooth grip—and an instant later, he felt the blade drive into his chest.
Ishtar’s eyes flew open. The keshu slid easily, up through his ribs, into his heart, punching out his back. A thin spray of blood spattered the rock behind him. The rock he had guarded, watched over, stood by, waiting, waiting . . .
“Al’kah?” he gasped.
Ashkynas ab’Adani Al’kah, last ruler of Shyandar, trembled as their eyes met. “You are faithful,” he said. “To death, you are faithful.”
The Guardian felt a vague, distant pain. He became slowly aware of it, the pressure building inside of him, squeezing against his lungs, gathering and growing.
“I don’t . . .” he spoke thickly. “I don’t . . . understand.”
“I wish there were some other way. Any way. But we are dying, Ishtar ab’Shatara, and this is our hope. Our last hope. Our very last.” The Al’kah pressed a hand to the Guardian’s face. “You will be for many. I swear to you,” his voice caught, “your sacrifice will not be in vain.”
Ishtar’s eyes swam towards the swathed figure, the stranger, watched as he pulled the wrappings away, as his face emerged from the shadows.
“You! ” Ishtar choked. Blood flowed hot down his back, bubbling into his throat, soaking his thin robes, pooling and dripping into the cracked and hungry earth. So much. So much. His eyes clouded. No! He had to warn the Al’kah. He had to . . .
“Do not . . .” he gasped. “Do not . . .”
The Al’kah stepped back, yanked out the sword, and Ishtar crumpled to the dust. He was unable to move, to cry out, though the pain built and built. The air throbbed. Something was reaching out of the pillar—burning against his mind. A force without substance. A terrifying power.
Not the Avanir. No! Not our good, our hope . . . Not it too!
It clung to him, sucking him out like a husk. Ishtar felt the mawing emptiness, the swirl of hunger and need, reaching, reaching. The end. The ruin of all things, come at last.
“It’s working,” said the Al’kah, face chiselled in horror.
The other man stepped past him. Bare feet. He walked to the edge of the slithering dark pool. “Faithful,” said the voice: cold, measureless, and without pity. “Are you faithful?” He crouched. His fingers dipped into the blood and he paused, waiting for an answer.
Ishtar nodded, even as his vision swam, as painful stars mixed with shadow.
“Always.”
“Good,” said the man. “Then it’s time you were put to some use.”
Desert
Ishvandu ab’Admundi

Year 455 after the fall of Kayr
THREE HUNDRED AND FORTY-THREE YEARS AGO
The desert calls to me.
We are an island, shrouded by emptiness. Dust, sky, dust—I have seen it, beyond the walls. I have seen the world turned in on itself, until the furthest limits of what I knew became the centre. I have stood in the empty world. I, alone, until I was the world. The whole terrifying world.
But for the shadows . . .
I do not speak of the shadows.
Chapter One

I t was a bad idea. I knew it from the first, what Koryn was doing, baiting me like a digger rat. Only it didn’t seem to matter just then, in the moment. You think I’d have learned by now the moment’s a backstabbing little cheat.
I glanced around the stable yard. There we