Exiled

  Exiled

  Arc of Radiance: Book IV

  ***

  Blake Arthur Peel

  EXILED

  Arc of Radiance: Book IV

  Blake Arthur Peel

  Copyright © 2018 by Blake Arthur Peel. All rights reserved.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission from the author.

  https://blakearthurpeel.com

  Cover art by Rob Erto

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Arc of Radiance

  Author’s Note on Editing

  Prologue | King Aethelgar

  Chapter One | Zara

  Chapter Two | Owyn

  Chapter Three | Zara

  Chapter Four | Owyn

  Chapter Five | Zara

  Chapter Six | Owyn

  Chapter Seven | Zara

  Chapter Eight | Owyn

  Chapter Nine | Zara

  Chapter Ten | Owyn

  Chapter Eleven | Zara

  Chapter Twelve | Owyn

  Chapter Thirteen | Zara

  Chapter Fourteen | Talon

  Chapter Fifteen | Owyn

  Chapter Sixteen | Zara

  Chapter Seventeen | Owyn

  Chapter Eighteen | Zara

  Chapter Nineteen | Owyn

  Chapter Twenty | Zara

  Chapter Twenty-One | Owyn

  Chapter Twenty-Two | Zara

  Chapter Twenty-Three | Owyn

  Chapter Twenty-Four | Elias

  Chapter Twenty-Five | Zara

  Epilogue | The Prophet

  Preorder “Prince of Darkness” | Arc of Radiance Book 5

  About the Author

  For Mom,

  Thanks for teaching me that reading can be fun.

  Arc of Radiance

  Ranger's Oath – June 1st, 2018

  Bringers of Doom – August 1st, 2018

  War Echoes – September 15th, 2018

  Exiled – November 1st, 2018

  Prince of Darkness – December 1st, 2018

  Legion of Light – Subscribers only

  For more information about upcoming releases, please join my newsletter.

  Author’s Note on Editing

  This is an independently published novel. While it has gone through multiple revisions and several rounds of editing, there still may be some mistakes within these pages. Oftentimes, indie publishing is an iterative process, and it takes an army of editors, beta readers and even customers to perfect the story.

  Please – if you find any mistakes (spelling, grammatical or otherwise), let me know and I will make corrections. You can email them to contact@blakearthurpeel.com.

  Thanks, and enjoy the book!

  -Blake

  Map

  Prologue

  King Aethelgar

  "Welcome back, your majesty," the chamberlain says, pushing open the door to my chambers with a low, sweeping bow. "Your rooms are prepared the way you prefer. Should you need anything, my associates and I will be right outside."

  I stride past the bald little man without so much as a second glance. Blithering idiot, I think, struggling to keep my temper in check. As though I need instruction on how to interact with servants in my own palace.

  Stepping inside the sitting room, I pause, waiting for the doors to close behind me.

  When they do, my anger finally gets the better of me.

  I let out a furious yell, stepping over to one of my many reading nooks and picking up a wooden chair. It is of fine craftsmanship, with intricate carvings inlaid with scrimshaw and gold leaf, and could easily feed an entire village for a week if it were sold at a pittance. This, I smash against the wall, causing it to break in several different places that clatter to the stone floor.

  The fury explodes out of me, having been subdued for over an hour. It boils my blood and makes me scream again, a long series of oaths and curses flooding from my mouth that half of the bloody palace can no doubt hear.

  Tearing down a bookshelf, I turn and pick up a piece of priceless pottery, hurling it across the room and shattering it against the far wall.

  The news had been detailed but brief, a hastily scrawled letter informing me and my closest associates that the plot to overtake Dunmar City had failed. The army had been routed and captured, the Nightingales victorious in their hidden mountain home. My most trusted general, Marius Mohr, has been taken prisoner – but worst of all, I have been made vulnerable to the rival houses of Tarsynium.

  I had taken a gamble in sending that army, and it backfired spectacularly.

  Working my way around the lavishly furnished room, I destroy liberally, venting my frustrations on anything I can get my hands on. Painted glass shatters and wood splinters, turning my sitting room into a terrible fury-induced mess. The sculleries will have their work cut out for them, cleaning up after this outburst.

  Finally, when I run out of steam, I come to a stop, breathing heavily in the middle of what now looks like a warzone.

  “I’ll kill them all,” I whisper to myself vehemently, my hands literally shaking with uncontrollable hatred. “I vow before the Light and the Hells themselves that each and every one of them will die before all of this is over.”

  Several minutes pass as I attempt to wrest control of my anger. It’s been months since I’ve last had an outburst – that time I had beaten a serving girl nearly to death. But this... this was my doing. My advisors, everyone, urged me to wait, to bide my time before striking out against the Nightingales. I had been so certain, so obsessed with putting an end to the rebels once and for all, but the invasion had failed.

  I have failed.

  Taking the crown from off my head, I toss it onto a nearby couch and run a hand through my hair. I can finally feel the heat starting to leave my blood, replaced by a cold, calculating desire for vengeance. I can sense the vultures already circling, I think, walking over to one of my armchairs and sitting down heavily. Lords Rupert and Eddington will look for any chance to weaken my position. I cannot lose the support of Acacia... that would cripple the capitol.

  The gears in my mind begin to turn, thinking through every scenario from impending to extremely unlikely. All the while the anger remains, lurking in the back of my thoughts like a hissing serpent, biding its time.

  No servants come to check on me. They heard the screaming. They know not to bother me when I am in one of my moods.

  Soon my thoughts turn to the delegation I had sent, and I begin to think about what could have gone wrong. “Raloes is probably dead,” I mutter aloud, fiddling with one of the gem-studded rings on my finger. “Ambitious sod... he deserves what he got. And those youths....” A young mage girl and a pair of ranger apprentices – I had thought that their loyalties would lie with the crown. But the rangers, who were supposed to be loyal subjects, came to the aid of the Nightingales! They must have conspired with Elias to bring about this treachery.

  I curse under my breath. A grave miscalculation on my part. In all likelihood, those brats kept Xander Thel from coming to justice.

  The hatred begins to bubble anew, and I am forced to turn my thoughts away, lest I begin destroying more of my palace in a fit of rage. Again, I run my hand through my hair, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. Destruction of my personal property will not change the facts. I need to start being productive if I am going to fix this debacle.

  Suddenly, an idea begins to
form in my mind, shedding light on the darkness of my blackened mood. My lips curl up in a small smile, hope starting to return to my disposition, and I sit up straighter, decided on my next course of action.

  “Chamberlain!” I call a moment later, looking toward the double doors.

  Within seconds, one of them cracks open and the bald serving man pokes his head in. He looks nervous. “Yes, your majesty?”

  “Bring in Leila Olson,” I snap. “And some quills and parchment. I have work to do, and time is of the essence.”

  “At once, majesty.” He ducks back out as quickly as he had arrived.

  I sit impatiently, stroking my beard as I continue formulating the plan in my head. I can deal with the political fallout of this disaster. It’ll be difficult, but Light take me I can do it. However, something still needs to be done about the wolves within my own kingdom.

  A quarter of an hour passes and my patience starts wearing thin. I begin tapping my foot on the tile, chewing my lip in agitation. Finally, the doors open, revealing a tall woman in a stately dress, her grey hair pulled up into a bun and her mouth drawn into a straight line on her wrinkled face. Behind her, the chamberlain approaches, a sheaf of parchment and a quill clutched in his hands.

  My head stewardess approaches but does not bow, her pale blue eyes sweeping around the destroyed room and her austere expression twisting into one of distaste. “Your grace,” she says cordially, meeting my gaze.

  I stand and snatch the parchment from the chamberlain’s grasp. “Leave us,” I say, pointing to the door.

  The servant leaves without saying a word, scampering off and closing the door behind him.

  “You seem... agitated,” she observes, following me as I make my way over to a nearby table.

  I grunt in reply. “You’ve heard the reports?”

  She nods. “I have.”

  “Then you know what’s at stake.” I lay out the parchment on the table and uncork the jar of ink, dipping the quill and beginning to draw a rough approximation of Tarsynium. Drawing helps me focus my mind. “We’ll need to act fast if we are to keep the Court of Nobles from grabbing power.”

  “And how,” she asks, watching as I work with the quill, “do you suggest that we act? Our influence has been severely limited in court because of this defeat.”

  I smile grimly as I mark the spot of Dunmar City on the map. Dear, blunt Leila. Whatever would I do without you? Leila is one of my closest confidants, and in addition to serving as Head Stewardess of the palace, she currently serves as the master of my spy network. She’s one of the few people in the world who can get away with speaking to me so bluntly.

  “Here,” I say, pointing to the spot on the map. “Our enemies lick their wounds. They are no doubt wondering what their next move should be now that they’ve been exposed.” I proceed to draw an X on the parchment equidistant between Tarsys and Dunmar City. “Here,” I continue, glancing up at her, “we will propose to meet on neutral ground.”

  She arches an eyebrow at me, skeptical. “You think that they would agree to meet with you after you so brazenly attacked them?”

  I smile wickedly at her. “We shall propose a truce.”

  “A truce?”

  “Yes,” I reply, the plan finally coming full circle within my mind. “The demons shall once again be our excuse. Everything we know about the Nightingales indicates that Thel fears them. With a little prodding, I’m confident they will be willing to come to the table once again.”

  She does not appear convinced. “What makes you so sure?”

  “They managed to beat back our army,” I explain, “and it cost them dearly. They nearly lost everything. Not to mention the fact that Mohr’s army was only a fraction of the soldiers we possess. They are outmatched, bloodied, and we now know the location of their secret city. The demons only help us in making them more desperate for peace.”

  Leila looks troubled. “And what of the reports of demons, your majesty? More and more reports are coming in of monsters roaming the kingdom.”

  I wave my hand dismissively. “Bah,” I reply, looking back down at the makeshift map. “Rumor mongering. The peasants make things out to be much worse than they are. You know as well as I do what our contacts in the Conclave say. The mages believe they are close to fixing whatever is wrong with the Arc of Radiance. The demons provide us with an opportunity, nothing more.”

  Still, Leila does not appear satisfied by my answer, but she does not object. Instead, she leans forward over the table and points to the little black X. “So, we lure the Nightingales to this location under the guise of peace. Then what?”

  “That,” I reply, stroking my beard, “is why you are here, my esteemed spymaster. To help me exact vengeance and consolidate my power.”

  She stares at the map for a moment, furrowing her brow in thought, then stands up straight, walking over to the window on the far side of the room. Outside, the late autumn sun shines in a cloudless sky, illuminating the city that is the very center of civilization.

  My city.

  “The answer, to me, seems rather obvious,” she says at length, looking over her shoulder at me.

  “Please,” I reply dryly. “Enlighten me.”

  She turns, reaching to her side, and pulls out a slender dagger from a hidden pocket in her dress. The thin blade gleams with a wicked edge, and if I don’t miss my guess, also carries a layer of poison capable of killing with only the slightest cut. “We need to cut the head off the snake,” she says softly, examining the knife in her hand.

  I nod, having come to a similar conclusion myself. Damn, I love this woman, I think, smiling to myself as I watch her from across the room. If only she was a few years younger. What a queen she would have made.

  “My thoughts exactly,” I reply, clasping my hands behind my back. “Now... where to begin?”

  Chapter One

  Zara

  A cold wind blows through the Ironback Mountains, swirling flurries of snowflakes as it comes down from off the peaks. Slate-grey clouds cling to the mountains like heavy blankets of vapor, blotting out the pale light of the sun and promising snowstorms in the coming days. It paints a rather bleak picture, the looming threat of winter, making the hidden mountain vale feel more forbidding than safe, a haven for storms and not suitable for man to make his home.

  I pull my robes more tightly around myself and shiver, breath puffing out as mist in front of my face.

  "Winter will be here soon," I mutter quietly to myself. "If it hasn't arrived already."

  Tearing my eyes away from the lofty mountains, I gaze at the prison camp arrayed in front of me, a dismal assortment of tents and smoldering firepits. Soldiers, those who had not been able to flee with the bulk of the king's army, huddle by those fires in an attempt to keep warm, their postures bent in the defeated way that accompanies prisoners of war. The camp itself is surrounded by a picket wall of sharpened spears and watch towers, upon which Nightingale archers, and even a few rangers, stand guard, keeping wary eyes on their charges.

  I stand on one such tower, shifting uncomfortably as another gust of wind causes my robes to whip about me.

  Below, a pair of Nightingale soldiers lead a man from one of the crowds of prisoners toward me. His blue robes are tattered and he holds a rough-spun blanket around his shoulders to ward off the chill. The soldiers shove him forward roughly when they reach the base of the tower, and he looks up at me pleadingly, his wizened face covered in stubble and his eyes bearing dark circles.

  "Hello, Jesrick," I say, lifting my voice so that it will carry over the howling winds. "What is it this time?"

  The disgraced mage shoots a hateful look at the soldiers behind him, then peers up at me. "Seeker Dennell – thank you for agreeing to see me again. I only ask for a moment of your time."

  "Let me guess... you want me to once again consider your proposal?"

  He grimaces, then nods. "These living conditions are appalling, unbecoming of one of my station. You've lived in the Concl
ave, you understand."

  I have difficulty finding any sympathy for the man. "You should have thought of that before becoming a lackey to King Aethelgar. By taking part in the siege, you betrayed your loyalty to the High Magus."

  "Not exactly," he replies indignantly, rubbing his hands together to keep warm. "The king of Tarsynium asked and I answered the call. Some would call that being a patriot."

  "And what of the gold he offered to buy your discretion?" I retort. "General Mohr was quick to inform us of the sum you received. Do patriots accept bribes like common mercenaries?"

  I can see him start to become angry, red flushing his cheeks as he struggles to remain calm. "Be that as it may," Jesrick says through gritted teeth, "I am still a member of the Conclave – a mage of the rank of Evoker. You and I are on the same side, even if circumstances placed us on opposite sides of the battlefield before."

  "I'm sorry, Jesrick," I reply, though in truth I don't feel sorry for him at all. "I'm afraid my answer is the same as it was before. Even if I wanted to release you from your imprisonment, the decision is not mine to make. You are a prisoner of the Nightingales. I am but a mage visiting Dunmar City."

  "But that's just it!" He exclaims, taking a step toward the tower. The guards behind him tense, their hands going to their swords. "As a mage, your authority is supreme!"

  "That's where you went wrong in the first place, Magus," I reply coldly, turning my back on him. "We mustn't use our power to put ourselves above that which is right."

  I depart, going down the creaking wooden steps of the watch tower as Jesrick shouts behind me. "No, Magus Dennell, please! Consider my words! I can be your ally!" As the soldiers grab him, his tone becomes more vehement. "You're nothing but a spoiled child! You'll regret this when I get out of here! Mark my words!"

  His ravings fade as I begin making my way away from the prison camp, towards the looming mountain of Dunmar City. The great double doors of stone, still broken from the siege, gape wide open, revealing the glowing lights of civilization within.