The Ajoiner Realm (Defenders of Radiance Book 1) Read online

  THE AJOINER REALM

  DEFENDERS OF RADIANCE

  REBEKAH CARROLL

  Copyright © 2020 Dragon Lily Publications

  All rights reserved.

  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.

  Table of Contents

  Maps

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter 1 1

  Chapter 2 10

  Chapter 3 18

  Chapter 4 26

  Chapter 5 36

  Chapter 6 43

  Chapter 7 56

  Chapter 8 62

  Chapter 9 70

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Acknowledgements31

  Index33

  Author Biography

  Illustrations

  Kellnox 32

  Labyrinth 108

  Dwgoon 115

  Drevic 189

  Character Sketches 239-243

  Chapter Point of View Emblems:

  Dedication

  To my brother, Kyle, without whom Defenders of Radiance wouldn’t exist. Distance and responsibilities may keep us from sitting on the floor between our rooms until three in the morning now, but I will forever be grateful for all the late-night laughs and plotting sessions we had.

  It was always worth the trouble we got into.

  Prologue

  In an ancient time when the first realm was young, those who sought greater knowledge were hailed as kings. After witnessing a grievous murder, one of these researchers discovered a new application for magic, and it consumed him. The technique partially stripped energy from magical beings rendering them temporarily paralyzed. At first, the discovery was praised as a peacekeeping marvel, but for the researcher it wasn’t enough. He sought more. After all, removing energy availed him nothing.

  In secret, he continued his work until he discovered the means to absorb the displaced magic. However, the advanced technique was brutal. It killed the target and gifted the power to the caster.

  The heinous discovery launched the realm into war.

  With defeat on his doorstep, the researcher conducted one last experiment. The creation of his own realm.

  The Darkness Realm.

  He stole the minds of the inhabitants, bending them to his will. But, by the time he was ready to return to battle, the war had ended. Even with the strength of a new world, he could not risk another attack.

  So he waited.

  He gathered his wretched armies and planted his spies. Then, when the time was right, he attacked. All would be consumed by shadow. And he, Senkaar, Lord of Darkness, would finally bend the flow of magic to his will.

  1

  W arren stood on the battle-scarred streets of Fortitude, wiping blood from his sword. He stared at the blade in his hand. The pommel no longer glimmered, the leather grip was worn and stained. The blade scratched by war. How many more years would he spend like this?

  He had little time to rest before a shriek echoed a few streets away. His muscles coiled. The western district again.

  Warren charged through the alleyway toward the commotion. Following a wet trail of blood and broken cobblestone, he tracked the outburst to a decrepit home near the edge of the city. Half a plank of oak swung from the hinges of the obliterated door. Drawing his blade, Warren shouldered into the house.

  Four creatures in the center of the room stood over a dead woman. They were the same type of beasts he had slain in the streets only minutes earlier: drevics. The monstrosities had two sets of dark horns protruding from their eye sockets and four arms. They were nearly translucent, exposing dark veins along their bodies, loosely protected by barbaric black armor. Their arms and lipless mouths were perpetually stained with blood.

  “Hey!” Warren shouted.

  They swiveled, licking their teeth.

  The closest launched itself at him, the muscles of its four arms bulging, but Warren’s blade cleaved through both the hardened armor and flesh of the creature with little effort. Shrieking, the others swarmed Warren; their veins visibly pulsed through their translucent flesh.

  With three more strokes, Warren easily felled the beasts—as if plowing dandelions. He sliced his blade through the air, sending a chunk of black ooze flying before properly cleaning the blade and sheathing it.

  Warren knelt next to the dead woman and sighed. Her dark brown eyes stared unseeing at the ceiling, her blood staining the burlap rug. Out of respect for the dead, he closed her eyelids. Emptiness tore him apart. He closed his eyes, unable to stand the sight of yet another loss. What am I fighting for? Against an innumerable host of evil, what could one man do?

  A rustling came from behind a door, Warren’s steel blue eyes flew open. In one swift motion, he drew his blade and rose to his feet, his armor rubbing together as he advanced closer to the closet. The thin door hung on worn iron hinges. He flung it open.

  A child, no more than six years old, cowered in the back corner of the pantry, squealing in fear.

  “Please don’t hurt me!”

  Her eyes and hair were as dark as the dead woman’s. Her daughter. Sheathing his blade, he crouched in front of her. At least he’d saved one life, but she’d grow up without a mother because he hadn’t killed the drevics in time.

  Warren cleared his throat. “What’s your name?”

  “I-i-sabel,” the girl stammered between sniffles.

  “My name is Warren.”

  She hadn’t shifted her gaze from the ground since he’d opened the door. Warren noticed the toy in her hand.

  “That’s a pretty doll.”

  “Daddy got her for me.” She looked at the doll before holding it out for him to see.

  Warren raised his eyebrows, surprised by her trust. She pushed it closer to him, waiting for him to take it. He couldn’t resist Isabel’s show of trust, and he soon cradled the doll.

  The pink gown slid between his fingers like rose petals. He studied the doll’s porcelain face. It must have come from the city of Methril. He smiled softly. Even with war enclosing the continent, someone had found a way to make a little girl happy.

  “Where is your father, Isabel?” Warren handed the doll back.

  Isabel stared at the doll. A slight pout pushed her lower lip upward. “Mommy says he’s gone. Do you know when he’s comin’ back?”

  It was Warren’s turn to look at the ground. Another war orphan.

  “Is Mommy sleepin’?” she asked, peeking around him.

  He shifted so she couldn’t see, his mouth parted, unable to think of what to say. He was relieved the girl hadn’t seen what had happened, but he still needed to deal with her homelessness. What was he supposed to tell her? She obviously didn’t understand the concept of death. Warren rubbed the back of his neck.

  “Warren?”

  He hesitated. Her round eyes gleamed at him, and for the first time in a long time, h
e saw hope. Warren blinked.

  Had he really forgotten what it looked like to hope? He had. How had he forgotten something so important? That’s why I’m fighting. As long as someone still has hope, even if Isabel was the only one who dared to hope, he had to fight.

  He dropped to his hands to his side. “Yes, your mommy’s sleeping.”

  “Oh,” she said as Warren stood.

  “Don’t leave me!” the girl squealed, attaching herself to Warren’s leg.

  Warren knew he couldn’t leave her, but he couldn’t have her slowing him either. It wasn't that he didn’t care, but that more people might end up like Isabel’s mother if something distracted him.

  From the open doorway, Warren saw the pink streaks of sunset deepening to purple as the sun descended below the horizon.

  Looking again at the body on the ground, Warren made his choice and lifted the girl to his chest. He would take her to the one safe place left, then return to bury her mother in the morning, if the kellnox didn’t find her first. Warren shuddered, thinking of the twisted forms that used to be people.

  As he marched to the last standing tower near the center of the city, Warren passed several dead drevics. Black blood drained through the cracks in the cobblestone like a network of tiny polluted canals. Isabel whimpered at the sight of the monsters and clutched tighter to Warren’s neck. He patted her on the back.

  Guilt pricked his heart. She shouldn’t have lost her parents at such a young age. He should have been faster. Warren pushed the thought from his mind. He couldn’t bring them back.

  The last of his city guards had died in a gruesome skirmish a month ago. Every noble house in the city evacuated not long after —taking all their food, weapons, and soldiers with them, abandoning their manors to the civilians who couldn’t escape in fine carriages. Depression soaked through Warren’s soul. He had tried to convince the nobles to stay.

  Every city on the continent was destroyed or on the verge of collapse. A number of the royal families planned to sail across the Ancient Sea. Warren doubted they had made it to the coastline. Leaving was foolish. Their best chance of survival was in the city, but no amount of pleading could change their minds. Warren was Fortitude’s last defender, and he was failing.

  Warren tugged open the dense oak door of the tower and kicked it shut behind him before he started up the long, spiral staircase to the highest room. With only enough space for a bed, table, and a dusty cabinet, civilians sleeping in the tower had never been an option.

  “You’ll be safe here.” Warren set the girl down.

  “I’m hungry.”

  Warren smiled wanly. “Me too.”

  He returned to the base of the tower to find the door open. His heart thudded. Something rustled in the storage room. He closed his gauntleted hand around the grip of his sword and stepped into the storage room. A disheveled figure bent over a food barrel, spilling grain on the ground as he ate.

  Warren cleared his throat.

  The man nearly jumped out of his skin, which wouldn’t have been hard, considering how loosely it hung from his body.

  “You need to leave,” Warren said.

  “Hungry,” he said, voice raspy.

  “You have your rations.” The man stared at the ground.

  “You can take what’s in your hands with you.”

  It wasn’t much, and the man had already drooled on it, anyway.

  The man lifted his head, then slipped past Warren and back into the streets.

  Warren locked the door and scooped the grain into a couple of bowls for him and Isabel, then returned to the top of the tower where Isabel sat on the edge of the bed, swinging her feet above the floor and playing with her doll. She giggled as she looked at Warren, but didn’t explain what she found humorous. Warren took a pitcher of water from the table and poured a small amount into each bowl. He mixed the soft grain and water, making a paste. It didn’t have much taste, but it would fill their bellies.

  The sun disappeared below the horizon. Warren blocked the image of the kellnox from his mind and pulled a chair from under the table for Isabel. She balanced on her toes to reach the edge of the seat. Warren smiled. What was it like to be innocent of so much? When he was a child, he was forced to see what the world really was.

  “Warren?” Isabel said, calling him from his thoughts.

  “Hm?” He walked to the other side of the table where he had set his bowl.

  “Are you an angel?”

  “What?” Warren choked, surprised at the implication.

  “An angel. Mommy told me they have wings and white hair. Where are your wings?” she asked after swallowing a spoonful of grain meal.

  “No, I’m not…” Warren rubbed the back of his neck.

  “But your hair is white.”

  He was thirty-two and had had gray hair since he was nine. It had been a long time since he’d looked at his reflection, but he didn’t think it had turned white just yet.

  “My father had hair like mine,” Warren replied, still rubbing his neck.

  “Was he an angel?”

  “No, he was a captain of the guard.”

  Warren had never known his parents, but he gave one of the older guards a shock when he had arrived in Fortitude years ago. Brooker thought he was seeing a ghost until Warren explained that he was Daniel’s son. Everything he knew about his father had come from the stories Brooker told him.

  “Oh.” A slight scowl touched her brow.

  While they finished their meal, Isabel peppered him with trivial questions.

  Once they finished, Warren removed his armor for the night and tucked Isabel into the only bed, then sat in the window seat. He leaned with his back against the wall and let one leg dangle over the edge into the night air.

  Even blanketed by darkness, it pained him to see the city riddled with broken buildings. Kellnox cries woke in the distance. Warren had grown accustomed to the raspy screams tearing at his ears years ago.

  A few minutes after the first kellnox cried, Warren heard the first human shriek. A civilian had died. More screams followed. He clenched his fists and forced himself to dismiss the chilling wails. Those screams—the begging, terrified human screams—still stabbed his ears. At first, he had tried fighting through the night. For years he’d tried. But time and time again, it had proved fruitless. All he ever gained were scars.

  Directly below him, a kellnox shrieked. Even with the hundred foot distance, he still reached for his sword.

  “I’m scared.”

  Warren flinched at the voice behind him and turned to see Isabel standing a few feet from the bed.

  “Isabel—”

  Another howl ripped through the night. Isabel ran to his leg.

  “There’s monsters!”

  “It’s okay. They can’t get you.” Warren patted her head.

  Isabel looked up at him, brown hair falling over her face, still terrified.

  He left his sword by the window.

  “Come on, back to bed.” He allowed her to climb into his open arms, then took her back to the bed.

  He brought the blanket up to her chin.

  Another shriek rang, scaring Isabel under the covers.

  “It’s okay. The monsters can’t get you.”

  “Really?” Isabel peeked out from under the blanket.

  “You’re safe here.”

  Huge brown eyes stared back at him, but another howl made tears well. Isabel squirmed her way under his arm.

  “It’s okay. See, you’re safe.”

  “Are they ever gonna go away?” Her tiny hands clenched his shirt.

  Warren looked down at Isabel. So much desperate hope filled her eyes.

  “One day.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. I have some friends looking for a way to get rid of the monsters,” Warren explained, hoping against all hope that they were still alive.

  “Oh.” She nodded.

  He didn’t tell her they’d been searching for nearly a decade now, or
that he hadn’t received a single report from them in three years. Warren shook his head; they had to destroy the Darkness.

  “All right, you need to go back to bed,” Warren said, fixing the sheets again.

  Isabel’s lip trembled, but she allowed Warren to lay her head on the pillow. As he rose from the mattress, Isabel clung to his pinky.

  Warren didn’t know much about children, but he stayed on the edge of the bed between Isabel and the window and softly whistled a lullaby.

  Isabel’s fingers gradually slid off his hand, and within minutes, she returned to sleep.

  Warren returned to the windowsill and stared into the darkness. A drawn-out cry rang louder than the others, and yet, Warren shrugged it off. He had to stay disconnected; he had to live to protect the city. He honestly didn’t know if his attempt at freezing his emotions helped or made it harder. With no hope of change, he feared his motivation to protect the people would eventually grow cold, like a coal outside of a fire pit.

  He looked back to Isabel. He’d almost stopped caring until he found her. Maybe it was foolish, but he refused to give up as long as she was still alive. Had this happened seven years ago, he would have sent her to Hilltop Orphanage for safety. He grew up there, or more accurately, had been trained there. He chuckled a bit at the memory. Those were better days. Warren rested his head against the wall and dreamed of the day when he wouldn’t have to be on guard every second. Then he opened his eyes. That future remained a long way away.

  The night carried on, slowly shifting in time, each hour marking a new phase. Occasionally, a cool breeze tugged on the leg he hung outside, but he didn’t heed the wind’s plea for attention. He didn’t heed much of anything. The screams diminished as the kellnox killed poorly hidden people. And, eventually, the sky shed its dark skin, revealing hues of orange on the horizon.

  Even with the sun rising and the air warming, cold depression seeped through Warren. Now the devastation wreaked upon the city appeared. New bodies lay in the streets and new bruises on building walls—the after effect from the spread of the Darkness.