Legacy of Light Read online

  Legacy of Light

  The series

  Michelle Bryan

  M. Lynn

  Contents

  Map of Dreach

  A War For Magic

  A War For Truth

  A War For Love

  Memory of War

  About M. Lynn

  About Michelle Bryan

  Glossary

  Legacy of Light © 2020 Michelle Bryan and Michelle Lynn

  Cover by Maria Spada

  * * *

  All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

  To everyone who loves Davi as much as we do. We’re sorry for what we do to him.

  The realms of Dreach-Sciene and Dreach-Dhoun, once known simply as Dreach.

  A War For Magic

  Prologue

  Feet pounded across the marble as the young messenger ran as fast as his legs would take him. The home of the King of Dreach-Sciene stretched out in front of him, a symbol of forgotten prosperity in a dying world. His damp boots slid to a halt with a loud screech as a young boy cut in front of him.

  “Excuse me, Your Highness,” the Messenger said, bowing as the boy nodded his head solemnly and continued on his way.

  Once the little prince was out of sight, the Messenger took off faster than before. He had an urgent need to see the King. It’d been five years since anyone had news of this magnitude and he didn’t know what it meant.

  Silk tapestries adorned the stone walls, giving the palace halls an air of importance. They were important, he supposed, for only someone with immense power could regain what the kingdom had lost. Their only hope was the King.

  The Messenger stopped outside of an ornate mahogany door. The carvings were elaborate, beautiful representations of the kingdom’s three realms – majestic trees for Aldorwood, lavish iron armor for Isenore, and a ship for the Isle of Sona - a replica of what had once been the most powerful kingdom in the southern hemisphere. He studied the images as he calmed his frantic breathing, knowing he had to control himself in the presence of the King.

  For the first time, he realized there should have been guards standing watch at the door. Turning his head left then right, he couldn’t see them. Unable to wait any longer, he grasped the metal knocker and pounded it against the door once, then twice. Nothing happened, so he did it again.

  Thinking the King was out, his shoulders sagged. What was he to do? The matter was urgent, important.

  Just as he was about to give up, the door swung open and the Messenger stood face to face with two guards in full armor. The silence stretched for what felt like an eternity.

  Finally, the Messenger cleared his throat. “I need to speak with the King.”

  The soldier on the left eyed him up and down. “The King meets with his people every day at noon.”

  He was about to slide the door shut when the Messenger stuck his foot out. “I come from the village on a matter of importance.”

  “Let the young man in,” a voice called from inside.

  Quick to obey, the soldiers grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him in before shutting the door behind them.

  The King sat at a long, rectangular table covered with unrolled scrolls of parchment. A handful of other men surrounded him.

  King Marcus Renauld was a large man, both in stature and in personality. His gaze, though not harsh, had a way of making people squirm. He was intense, but there was not a more respected man in all the kingdom.

  “Speak your business.” The King inclined his head to the Messenger who promptly bowed.

  “Your Majesty,” he began. “I’ve come on an important matter of utmost secrecy.” He looked around at the gathered men and the King followed his gaze.

  “Leave us.” The King’s tone was not to be argued with. Chairs scraped against the floor as they were abruptly slid back and abandoned. The door shut with a definitive slam that echoed off the vaulted ceilings. Only the two guards remained. “They can be trusted.”

  The Messenger swallowed hard, giving a single nod of his head.

  “There’s a rumor among the people of something, or more like someone, I think you’d be very interested in.”

  “I’m listening.” The King leaned forward and folded his hands together on the table.

  “There’s talk of a seer in the village.”

  The King shot to his feet, his chair clattering to the ground behind him. “Are you certain?”

  “I believe it to be so, Sire. My source is one to be trusted.”

  “How is this possible?” He stepped back from the table and began to pace. “It’s been five years. The war took every last bit of magic. I was there. I saw it happen.”

  The Messenger shifted from one foot to the other uncomfortably. He knew what this could mean, but was happy it was now in the King’s able hands. The King stopped moving and fixed him with another of his scrutinizing looks.

  “You know where this person is?”

  “Yes, Sire.”

  “You will take me there.” He turned to his guards. “Have someone fetch me my coat and ready me a horse.”

  “Your Majesty,” one of the guards stepped forward. “Surely you’ll take the carriage.”

  “A man on a horse can disappear in a way a man in a carriage cannot.” He rubbed at the graying whiskers on his chin absently. “No, I don’t think it would be a good idea to be seen tonight.” He reached up and removed the golden circlet from atop his head, setting it on the table.

  The guard who had yet to speak stepped close to the King and whispered, “Are you sure you trust this man?”

  “Trust is only necessary when you can afford to do without that which is offered.” He placed a hand on the guard’s shoulder. “You may come if it makes you feel better, but the armor stays here.”

  A short time later, the four men sat atop their horses, cantering down the path from the castle. A rain drizzled down, dampening everything in their way. The night was cold, despite the summer month, making the Messenger pull his cloak tighter around his shoulders as his icy fingers went numb on the reins. He glanced behind him where the King seemed unaffected by the weather, only determined.

  The path led them through a dense part of the forest surrounding the castle. Trees loomed over them, a web of shadows in the dark. Insects and frogs inundated the air with their nighttime song, joining the steady drumming of their horse’s hooves.

  By the time they’d reached the village, mud had splattered up the flanks of their large beasts and onto the men who rode them. The rhythm of their travels changed as forest paths gave way to cobblestone streets.

  They slowed to a walk so as not to attract attention. The Messenger led them past row upon row of squalid houses, the fruit of poverty evident in their wretchedness. They took a turn at the end of the road, into an alleyway where they found the entrance to a non-descript tavern. A wooden sign above the door proclaimed it as The Hunter’s Inn. The rowdy noises from inside grew louder as they got closer. The Messenger pulled his horse to a stop and motioned for t
hem to do the same.

  “The woman you are seeking is being housed by the matron of this establishment,” he said. “Her name is Lorelai. I have fulfilled my mission.” He bowed his head. “With your leave, Sire.”

  The King didn’t remove his gaze from the door before him as he waved the Messenger away and dismounted. “Stay with the horses,” he told his guards.

  “You shouldn’t go in alone,” one of them responded.

  “I need to know.” The King, having been desperate for answers for five years now, stepped forward just as the door opened, spilling golden candlelight onto the street.

  He left his guards behind and walked forward, at once both apprehensive and excited. He knew what this would mean if it were true. A plump older woman held the door for him but showed no recognition in her eyes.

  “Are you daft, man?” She narrowed her tiny eyes. “The cold is gettin’ in.”

  The King swallowed the natural urge to chastise her for speaking to him in such a manner. Tonight, he wasn’t the king. He didn’t look at her as he scooted by into a room lined with long tables where men and women alike sat behind large mugs of ale.

  He unclasped his soggy cloak, letting the warmth of the nearby fire dry him for a moment. His eyes scanned the groups of people, but not one of them gave him a second glance. Too involved in their own transgressions.

  A woman brushed up against his back. “What can I get you, sir?” she purred. He shifted away from her ample bosom and kept his eyes trained on hers. She stood still, seemingly unable to look away.

  “I need to speak with your mistress.” He kept his voice low and even, knowing she’d do what he asked.

  “Right away.” She flitted away as he stayed rooted to his spot by the fire.

  A moment later, a different woman appeared. This one was older, carrying herself as if she was once a thing of beauty. She still had an attractiveness about her, but her hair was streaked with gray and rouge no longer covered up the deficiencies on her face.

  King Marcus Renauld was not a cruel man, but his shrewdness allowed him to see a lot about a person the moment they appeared.

  “How can I help you?” There was no melodic quality to her voice as he’d come to enjoy in most women. Instead, it was rough, gravelly. This was a woman who’d seen many of the harsher realities of life. To his utter dismay, that could describe most of the people in his kingdom since the war.

  “I’ve been told to seek a woman named Lorelai.” The King straightened himself to his full height and towered over the woman in front of him. To her credit, she didn’t flinch. Her hands flew to her hips in defiance.

  “There ain’t no one here by that name.”

  The King leaned down and looked her directly in the eye. Her pupils dilated as she blinked rapidly. “I don’t believe you,” he growled.

  They were still staring at each other as another woman approached. “It’s okay.” She put a hand on the older lady’s shoulder and the woman instantly relaxed. “I’ve been waiting for him.”

  The King turned to find a young girl, not yet into adulthood. Ash-white hair hung all the way to her waist and icy blue eyes regarded him with a maturity beyond her years. She was as tall as the other woman but thin and willowy.

  “Your Majesty.” She dipped into a curtsy.

  The King grabbed her arm and pulled her up, looking around to make sure no one else took notice of her display. “But you’re only a girl,” he muttered, more to himself than to her.

  “I’m sixteen,” she responded, yanking her arm out of his grasp and squaring her shoulders. Her voice was like a song, holding every note the older woman’s lacked. She turned to the other woman who now stood with a bewildered look on her face. “I told you the King would find me.” She turned on her heel and marched towards a door at the other end of the room.

  The King didn’t know if this girl thought him being here was a good thing or a disaster, but he followed her anyway. He knew there’d be raised eyebrows as he followed her into the private room, but as long as none of them knew who he was, it was okay.

  He soon found himself alone with his could-be seer. She looked young and fragile, not how she should look if touched by magic.

  A single bed stood along the back wall with a table and two chairs in the center. Other than those essentials, the room was sparse.

  Lorelai waited for the King to sit as was customary and then took the space across from him.

  “I’d ask for refreshments,” she began. “But, something tells me you don’t want to be interrupted.”

  “Seer’s intuition?” he asked hopefully.

  “Common sense.” Her soft laugh echoed throughout the room.

  The King couldn’t remember the last time someone laughed at him. He grimaced, impatient to get on with it.

  “Ask me your questions,” she said finally.

  “You saw I would come?” he asked.

  “I did.”

  “So, it’s true.”

  “I’m sure I’d be able to tell you if I knew what it was.” She held in her laugh this time.

  “You see things.”

  “I have eyes, yes.”

  “That is not what I mean.” He drummed his fingers on the table in agitation. The girl was playing with him.

  “You must speak plainly, Sire.”

  “You can see the future.” It sounded crazy coming out of his mouth in light of the world they were living in – the one without magic.

  “That is not how it works exactly. I can see what certain people are capable of and the paths open before them. Sometimes I can see an event will occur, but I don’t know who will be involved.”

  The King leaned in eagerly. “How is this possible?” he asked. “Magic was taken from these lands when we lost the war.”

  “I have no magic, Sire.” Surprise laced her words. “Before the war, people obtained their magic from the earth, it was a gift. The sight is different. It’s who I am. A part of me. It was not given and therefore can’t be taken away. Seers have remained true, but have been forced into hiding by those who are desperate for their perceived magic.”

  With just a few words, the hope he’d placed on her was gone. He was no closer to regaining their magic than he was five years ago when it was stolen.

  “Don’t fret, you haven’t come in vain for I’ve seen something that will aid you in the future.”

  “Speak,” he commanded.

  She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply. “There will come a time when a noble man will rise and only he will have the power to defeat the darkness.”

  “We will win? We will defeat Dreach-Dhoun?”

  “An outcome no one knows.” She opened her eyes. “He may succeed in his mission or he may fail.”

  “A noble man will rise,” he whispered. “Trystan, my son. He’s the one, yes? Of course, he is. It couldn’t be anyone but the prince.”

  She stood up and moved towards the door. “I can’t say, Sire. All I know is his destiny intertwines greatly with Dreach-Sciene’s survival.”

  Her words did nothing to damper the spark of hope growing in his heart as she led him back through the tavern. He’d always known his son was different, special somehow. She opened the door to the cold night. The rain was coming down more heavily now.

  “Ah,” she said, stepping outside, seemingly unaware of her quickly dampening hair. “Davion.” Her voice had taken on a sweet, almost motherly fashion.

  The boy she was talking to currently had one arm in the tight grip of one of the King’s guards.

  “Caught this boy trying to steal from the saddle bags, Sire,” the guard said, thrusting the kid forward.

  He couldn’t have been any older than Trystan’s five years, but here he was on a night like this in the streets.

  “I was just wanting something to eat, Sir,” the boy cried softly.

  “Let him go at once,” Lorelai commanded of the guard, stomping her feet. She hit a puddle, splashing muddy water up onto her dress.

&n
bsp; The King nodded to his guard who released the boy. He ran directly into Lorelai’s arms. “I was looking for you, Davion,” she cooed. “I wanted you to meet my new friend.” She eyed the King warily and then spun the boy around to face him. “This is the king, Davi, isn’t that grand?”

  To the boy’s credit, he fumbled through a bow.

  “He’s going to take you with him,” she said.

  “What are you going on about, girl?” the King asked.

  Lorelai left Davi by the side of the building and stepped closer so only the King could hear her. “I don’t understand it. I’ve known Davi for over a year. He’s an orphan living on the streets and his future is unknown to me. What I’ve seen is he’s important. Whenever I see images of your son, it’s Davion by his side. He will be his greatest protector and most loyal friend.”

  The King didn’t know what to say. He trusted what this girl said to be true. He had no choice.

  Turning to his guards, he shouted, “The boy comes with us.”

  His gaze reverted back to the girl. “Thank you. You have given me hope. I may be able to restore life back to my kingdom.”

  “Be careful, my king. It is a fool that believes everything pertains to one’s self.” Lorelai fixed the King with her piercing gaze. When she looked at him, it was as if she saw all, knew all. Nothing could be hidden, nothing protected.

  The King handed Davion up to one of his guards and mounted his own horse with more questions than he’d had before.

  It seemed to take them longer to get back, but as soon as they reached the castle, the servants took their horses and ushered them inside to get warm. The King handed off his sopping coat. If he hurried, he could still make it to his children’s rooms before they drifted off.