Archer of the Lake (Silver Crown Chronicles #1)

Prologue

“Take an army with you.”

“Where am I going to get an army?” Feraan asked.  Lividia, the Mistress of the Chthonic Order, leaned back in her chair.  Sharp fingernails drummed metronomically on the table. Feraan calmly noted the woman’s expression of impatience.  Humans were always impatient, but he supposed they had a right to be because their lives were so short.  But Feraan did not understand the Mistress painting her lips blood red, just as he did not understand why she insisted on branding her followers with tattoos on their shoulder blades. For an order that prided itself on secrecy, membership markings did not make much sense to him.

“You are the Wandering Elf.  You are famous for solving such problems,” Lividia pointed out, arching a dark eyebrow.  Feraan thought her dark hair and bright red lips made her skin look shockingly pale, which only made her look like a blood drinker.

“My problems never required an army.”

Lividia looked down the long table at the other officers of the order.  Her eyes fell on Lycaon, head of the Dirus Clan of werewolves.  “I hear there is no shortage of mercenaries in Haradrop.”

Lycaon returned Lividia’s gaze with a cold glare but said nothing.  Feraan asked, “Does the order plan to fund these mercenaries for me?”

“The Dirus Clan would not need funding.  They would only be repaying what is rightly owed to us.  Would you not agree, Lycaon?”

Lycaon did not answer Lividia and instead turned his attention to Feraan. “My family will always assist you with whatever you need, old friend.”

Feraan’s mouth twitched into a half-smile for Lycaon.

“Good,” Lividia said, rising.  “Take the werewolves to the east and destroy whatever stands in your path.”

“The east?” Feraan repeated. “There’s only one thing in the east—”

“We are well aware of your race and heritage, Feraan,” Lividia interrupted.  “It shows well enough in your pointed ears and the bare skin on your back where you did not take the tattoo.”  Lividia went to inspect a map tacked to the wall, tapping her fingers on the forest of his youth.

“Surely the Order has better things to do than send me on missions filled with mindless destruction.  What is the point of all this?”

“Those are your orders, elf.  You will do well to follow them.”

“I make a point to not follow orders blindly.”

“These orders do not come from me,” Lividia said, turning to show him a condescending smile.

“Then who gave these orders?”

“They came from me,” rumbled a voice from the shadows of the Chthonic Hall.  The figure stepped into view, and Feraan had no difficulty recognizing the half-naked female with blank, white eyes that had no iris or pupil.  Each step she took sounded like the rolling of distant thunder. It made everyone in the room but Lividia nervous.

“You are the Blind Seer,” he said.

She smiled though her face looked past him.  “Feraan Auvrearaheal.  You do not trust me though I can bring only absolute truth.”

Feraan looked to Mistress Lividia, having difficulty keeping his face smooth.  “You take counsel from the Seer?”

“Sibylla sought me out.  The future has told her something disturbing.”

“Sibylla? I did not realize you were personally familiar with the Traitor of the World,” Feraan hissed.  Lividia faltered.

The Blind Seer pointed two fingers at him.  “Calm yourself, Wandering Elf.  You must keep focus now.  There is a great evil brewing in your forest.  Confront it, destroy it, and bring the one responsible to justice.”

“What evil?  Who is responsible?” he asked.

“It kills your people as we speak.  I cannot see who causes this.  They are cloaked by a great energy.  Be cautious, Wanderer.”

Feraan checked himself, and his hand went to the hilt of the sword sheathed at his waist.  “There’s more to this than you’re letting on.”

She smiled.  “There will be consequences, Wanderer.  You will save your people from their own destruction, and they will hate you for it.  Attempts will be made against your life, but if want your life to continue, you must defeat this great evil.  Do not leave until you have secured the one responsible.  There will be a lake, and your life’s worth will be tested there.”

“Are you threatening me?” Feraan asked, stepping closer with his hand tight around his sword.

“I am not threatening you.  I only recount the truth shown to me.”

“What is your payment for telling us this?  What does Mistress Lividia owe you for such valuable information?”

“Mistress Lividia owes me nothing, but I want your sword, Wanderer.  I will have it one day,” she promised.

Feraan only scoffed, turning his back to take his leave of the Chthonic Hall.  The Blind Seer called him back before he reached the doors.

“Aren’t you curious about your father, Wanderer?”

Feraan froze.  “I do not care to pay that price.”

80 Years Later

In a hollow mountain, a desert princeling with an insatiable need for vengeance approached the Blind Seer.  Though she could not see him, the oracle knew the exact hour of his visit and was prepared for his questions.

“He has slighted me,” was his explanation.

“He has slighted many.  You are not the first and you certainly will not be the last.’

“Perhaps not, but I will be the one to defeat him.”

The oracle tilted her head curiously.  “Do you seek to kill him?”

“No, I do not.  I wish to torture him.  His demise will be his eternal agony, a scar that I will leave him with,” the princeling said. She turned her head the other way.

“But?” she prompted, luring him.

“But he has cursed me.  I cannot see him unless he decides to reveal himself to me.”  The oracle knew this already.

“I cannot lift the curse for you.  That is beyond my abilities.”

“Then how am I to exact my revenge if I cannot even see him?”

“Draw him out and have him come to you.  Take something precious.”

The princeling paused at this.  “Do as he did to me?”

The oracle slowly nodded.  Eager, the princeling began pacing.

“Is there something he loves so dearly, he could not bear to be parted from it?”

The question, when asked, brought forth an image to the oracle, a vision of fierce beauty.

“Is there?” he asked impatiently.

“No,” she answered, smirking.  “But there will be someone.”