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Authors: Karen Azinger
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cobra’s
lethal strike. Bryce railed against his prison, desperate to warn the queen,
all to no avail. Crouched in his gray prison, he’d felt their stares cross...and
then the blinding flash of light beat against the Mordant, invoking his rage.
Hope and fear crashed against Bryce like two competing tidal waves. When the
waves calmed, hope bled away while the Mordant’s rage remained, annealed to a
cold, malevolent hate. The queen had somehow repulsed the Mordant's mental
assault, but she seemed oblivious to the threat standing before her. Smothering
his rage, the Mordant took a seat across the checkered board. The two played
chess like civilized people...but the queen knew not what type of vile monster
she battled. The oldest harlequin, an emissary of Darkness, a thousand years of
evil hidden beneath youth's stolen facade...played chess. Within his prison,
Bryce shuddered, barely able to watch. He could not imagine what terrible fate
awaited the queen.
Later, Bryce
considered all he'd learned. The Mordant's every move dripped with malevolent
purpose. Moon-turns ago, he'd planted assassins within the queen's court, one
assassin hidden as a jester, death hidden beneath jovial deceit. But the
Kiralynn Order had also entered the game. By spying through the keyhole, Bryce
knew that a brother monk had come to the queen’s court, proof of her
importance, yet the monk had died, murdered by the assassin’s foul poison. Plots
within plots, Darkness foiled the Light...but where one monk had failed,
another would take his place...even if that one was trapped within the gray
prison of the Mordant's mind.
Bryce had to
try. He had to give meaning to this terrible imprisonment.
And then the
gods lent a hand.
The death of the
monk brought an unexpected boon. The monk's malachite coin sat on the table
nearest the bed. The Mordant kept it close, intending to bond with it, but
Bryce knew it would never serve the harlequin, for somehow, while the Mordant
fondled the malachite coin, the magic of the focus found its way to his prison.
Piercing the gray haze, it formed a bond with Bryce. A coin from ancient
Azreal, his mind dazzled with the implications. Like an ancient curse that
had finally found its mark, the coin had come to the Mordant’s hand. Bryce felt
it on the bedside table, calling to him, so close but yet so far. He yearned to
hold it in his hand, to unleash the magic within. He knew not what it did, but
it gave him hope.
But before he
could wield it, Bryce needed to gain control of his hand.
Tendrils of
thought slipped through his prison. Bryce focused on the Mordant's right hand.
He willed his hand to move, like trying to flex a rusty gauntlet. Straining
against his bonds, he fought to work his will…but nothing happened. Remembering
his time onboard the ship, he sought to rethread the connections between his
mind and his flesh. Refusing to be defeated, he kept at it…and felt the
smallest finger twitch. Elation thrummed through him.
Sunlight pierced
the windows and the Mordant stirred.
Bryce retreated
to his prison, dampening his emotions. The coin had come to him for a reason .
Perhaps the Lords of Light had finally heard his pleas. He’d bide his time and
keep watch and find a way to make a difference.
10
Liandra
For the second
time, the queen met the prince across the chessboard. Liandra vowed this game
would be different. Not only did she intend to win, but this time she’d drill
him with questions, seeking to unearth his intentions, his motives, his plans.
Before this game finished, she'd peer behind his youthful face and courtly
manners to discern his true nature.
The prince
entered her solar with a confident smile. Clad in a sumptuous robe of dark
purple, his fingers glittered with jeweled rings, a blunt reminder of Ur's
formidable wealth. His face was so youthful, the queen guessed his age at
twenty-two, a young man just entering his prime, yet every aspect of his
bearing screamed of royal privilege.
lethal strike. Bryce railed against his prison, desperate to warn the queen,
all to no avail. Crouched in his gray prison, he’d felt their stares cross...and
then the blinding flash of light beat against the Mordant, invoking his rage.
Hope and fear crashed against Bryce like two competing tidal waves. When the
waves calmed, hope bled away while the Mordant’s rage remained, annealed to a
cold, malevolent hate. The queen had somehow repulsed the Mordant's mental
assault, but she seemed oblivious to the threat standing before her. Smothering
his rage, the Mordant took a seat across the checkered board. The two played
chess like civilized people...but the queen knew not what type of vile monster
she battled. The oldest harlequin, an emissary of Darkness, a thousand years of
evil hidden beneath youth's stolen facade...played chess. Within his prison,
Bryce shuddered, barely able to watch. He could not imagine what terrible fate
awaited the queen.
Later, Bryce
considered all he'd learned. The Mordant's every move dripped with malevolent
purpose. Moon-turns ago, he'd planted assassins within the queen's court, one
assassin hidden as a jester, death hidden beneath jovial deceit. But the
Kiralynn Order had also entered the game. By spying through the keyhole, Bryce
knew that a brother monk had come to the queen’s court, proof of her
importance, yet the monk had died, murdered by the assassin’s foul poison. Plots
within plots, Darkness foiled the Light...but where one monk had failed,
another would take his place...even if that one was trapped within the gray
prison of the Mordant's mind.
Bryce had to
try. He had to give meaning to this terrible imprisonment.
And then the
gods lent a hand.
The death of the
monk brought an unexpected boon. The monk's malachite coin sat on the table
nearest the bed. The Mordant kept it close, intending to bond with it, but
Bryce knew it would never serve the harlequin, for somehow, while the Mordant
fondled the malachite coin, the magic of the focus found its way to his prison.
Piercing the gray haze, it formed a bond with Bryce. A coin from ancient
Azreal, his mind dazzled with the implications. Like an ancient curse that
had finally found its mark, the coin had come to the Mordant’s hand. Bryce felt
it on the bedside table, calling to him, so close but yet so far. He yearned to
hold it in his hand, to unleash the magic within. He knew not what it did, but
it gave him hope.
But before he
could wield it, Bryce needed to gain control of his hand.
Tendrils of
thought slipped through his prison. Bryce focused on the Mordant's right hand.
He willed his hand to move, like trying to flex a rusty gauntlet. Straining
against his bonds, he fought to work his will…but nothing happened. Remembering
his time onboard the ship, he sought to rethread the connections between his
mind and his flesh. Refusing to be defeated, he kept at it…and felt the
smallest finger twitch. Elation thrummed through him.
Sunlight pierced
the windows and the Mordant stirred.
Bryce retreated
to his prison, dampening his emotions. The coin had come to him for a reason .
Perhaps the Lords of Light had finally heard his pleas. He’d bide his time and
keep watch and find a way to make a difference.
10
Liandra
For the second
time, the queen met the prince across the chessboard. Liandra vowed this game
would be different. Not only did she intend to win, but this time she’d drill
him with questions, seeking to unearth his intentions, his motives, his plans.
Before this game finished, she'd peer behind his youthful face and courtly
manners to discern his true nature.
The prince
entered her solar with a confident smile. Clad in a sumptuous robe of dark
purple, his fingers glittered with jeweled rings, a blunt reminder of Ur's
formidable wealth. His face was so youthful, the queen guessed his age at
twenty-two, a young man just entering his prime, yet every aspect of his
bearing screamed of royal privilege.
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