The Halo Of Vakh (BOOK 1)

WHEN THE NIGHT COMES CALLING

The screams rang in Lysander's ears. He had left with chaos trailing his footsteps and returned with pandemonium welcoming him. He still remembered each and every hallway, aglow with the light of a thousand torches, mounted in bronze and silver brackets. He had run through those hallways, with his nursemaids chasing after him, calling his name out in exasperated tones, not raising their trilling voices lest it be considered rude. He had taken Aquila and Ametha with him, the three of them cackling their way through the servants and men of the court, hiding for hours at a time in the gardens till his father climbed and peeked over the pale brick wall lined with irises and smile at them.

It had all crumbled to ashes.

He appeared where once the stables had been. They had burned down. The stone structure had been razed to the ground later so that now he stood peeking from between two large carts loaded to the brim. The ruckus in the courtyard had abated and left a battalion of guards spread across the place. A few stablehands stumbled through the mess of arrows, retrieving the shafts and tending to the few people who had been unfortunate enough to face the wrath of the missiles.

He swore under his breath. He had taken too long to return. He had to find Andrew and the others. He would not lose another friend on these grounds of his bloodied history. The council would be gathering. If anyone had been caught, they'd be brought before Harfen for the declaration of their sentence. He had to get into the council chambers without alerting any of the Draeked Masters to his presence.

He melted into time again and emerged on the attendee's hallway, a long narrow hallway overlooking the wide councilroom. The hallway had not been made use of since before the time of his father, and it seemed the legacy had continued with his uncle on the throne. He crept forward, towards the railing and moved himself behind a pillar.

The long stone table mounted with wood stood in the place it had been in since Kingsgate Castle had been constructed centuries ago, strong and unwavering. His father had said it was a mark of the strength and unwavering morals of the men of Falargimea's Court. It was the men of that very resilient table who had conspired for the throne.

He had returned, to the burnt ruins one deep dark night searching for any trace of what had caused the fire. The court had concluded it was the lightning that had struck his parent's bed chambers and the fire had spread too rapidly to be controlled. He had found the traces of Draedech, veiled clues that all hinted at Opal Fire. It was all he needed to know that his father had been betrayed. He had been nine and he had run back into the forest not knowing who to trust.

Nineteen years later, he stood with the whispers of regicide breezing all over Falargimea and a council that would support Harfen Parr's tyranny to the very last. All for pieces of land and masses of gold in their treasuries.

Lysander shrank into the shadows when two guards pushed open the heavy doors. He clenched his teeth at the auburn head supporting the crown. Harfen Parr strode through the doorway in a flourish of a navy coat, sword glinting in his belt. One hand rested on the pommel. Faske rushed in after him, followed by four other aged councillors.

"How does Toluer fare?" Harfen said putting an arm on the back of one of the high velvet seats. "Is the injury grievous?" His eyes swept over the men.

"Master Brane says he shall make a full recovery within the week, Sire," a councillor said lowering his head, his brows as fat as caterpillars coming into sharp contrast against his face at the movement. "Master Cadar's immediate action prevented grave harm to Master Toluer. Toluer rests in the physician's quarters as we talk, Sire."

"What becomes of Lysander and the Bones woman?"

Lysander straightened, ears held sharp to attention.