The Apostate Prince (Godswar Chronicles Book 2) Read online

  The Apostate Prince

  CJ Perry

  Art of the Arcane

  Charlotte, NC

  Copyright © 2017 by CJ Perry.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the address below.

  CJ Perry/Art of the Arcane

  Stoney Trace Dr

  Mint Hill, NC 28227

  www.artofthearcane.com

  The Apostate Prince/CJ Perry -- 1st ed.

  Contents

  A Dark Prince

  A Family Dinner

  Light in the Darkness

  That Knight

  The Sword of Light

  Children’s Garden

  Brothers in Red

  Family Fires

  Visions of Traitors and Lies

  Pawns, Queens, and Kings

  Dark Inquisition

  No Middle Ground

  Now or Never

  Illusions of Grandeur

  Pillars of Faith

  Deetra’s Confession

  Fleeing the Sanctum

  Clearing the Way for A Prince

  Bloomers

  Calling the Pack

  Last Words

  Dedicated to my wife Jessica who believed in me even when I didn’t.

  “First things first

  I'ma say all the words inside my head

  I'm fired up and tired of the way that things have been, oh ooh

  The way that things have been, oh ooh

  Second thing

  Second, don't you tell me what you think that I can be

  I'm the one at the sail, I'm the master of my sea, oh ooh

  The master of my sea, oh ooh

  I was broken from a young age

  Taking my soul into the masses

  Write down my poems for the few

  That looked at me took to me, shook to me, feeling me

  Singing from heart ache from the pain

  Take up my message from the veins

  Speaking my lesson from the brain

  Seeing the beauty through the”

  Pain.

  ―Believer, by Imagine Dragons

  Chapter one

  A Dark Prince

  Justin’s mother must have called the storm. It had come in so fast his ears popped. He ducked under the jawbone of the dragon skeleton as he made his way across the stone floor to a stack of crates. Thunder rattled the thin mullioned windows high in the walls of the sweltering Freedom Hall. He stopped to glare at the barred double-doors and pushed a sweaty strand of thick black hair off his forehead. On mid-summer afternoons like this one, without the doors or windows open, the great hall turned into a sauna.

  The lack of amenities in his mother’s Empire made him miss Drokin, capital of the Gnomish Guild-State where he’d apprenticed for four years under an Archmage. No self-filling tubs or convenient light orbs here, just a lot of drudge work. Thankfully, by tomorrow evening he would have a new apprentice to pass it off to.

  He straightened his sweat-damp crimson robes with a sigh and bent to examine the last dragon tooth lying in its bed of hay. His mother had forbidden him to use light orbs, so he had only an oil lamp chandelier sputtering high above the dragon’s head to illuminate the room.

  Justin picked up the tooth and gestured with it. “It won’t do for the son of the High Priestess of the Dark Temple to carry around a glowing testimonial to the God of Light,” he mimicked aloud to the empty room, remembering the casual indifference on his mother’s face. Never mind the year it had taken him to master the creation of such artifacts. Or the fact that they had nothing to do with the God of Light. Magic did not come from gods. If every new magical trinket he created would have a religious significance forced upon it, bringing magic to the Empire would take generations. But his mother rarely – if ever – listened to his entirely practical arguments.

  Thunder rolled again, culminating in a boom that shook the entire keep. Justin’s mother must have called the storm. It had come in so fast his ears popped. He ducked under the jawbone of the dragon skeleton as he made his way across the stone floor to a stack of crates. Thunder rattled the thin mullioned windows high in the walls of the sweltering Freedom Hall. He stopped to glare at the barred double-doors and pushed a sweaty strand of thick black hair off his forehead. On mid-summer afternoons like this one, without the doors or windows open, the great hall turned into a sauna.

  The lack of amenities in his mother’s Empire made him miss Drokin, capital of the Gnomish Guild-State where he’d apprenticed for four years under an Archmage. No self-filling tubs or convenient light orbs here, just a lot of drudge work. Thankfully, by tomorrow evening he would have a new apprentice to pass it off to.

  He straightened his sweat-damp crimson robes with a sigh and bent to examine the last dragon tooth lying in its bed of hay. His mother had forbidden him to use light orbs, so he had only an oil lamp chandelier sputtering high above the dragon’s head to illuminate the room.

  Justin picked up the tooth and gestured with it. “It won’t do for the son of the High Priestess of the Dark Temple to carry around a glowing testimonial to the God of Light,” he mimicked aloud to the empty room, remembering the casual indifference on his mother’s face. Never mind the year it had taken him to master the creation of such artifacts. Or the fact that they had nothing to do with the God of Light. Magic did not come from gods. If every new magical trinket he created would have a religious significance forced upon it, bringing magic to the Empire would take generations. But his mother rarely – if ever – listened to his entirely practical arguments.

  Thunder rolled again, culminating in a boom that shook the entire keep. The fact that his mother had summoned a storm could mean something was amiss, but it could also mean she needed to water the fields or flush the sewers, so he continued working. The city had legions of Red Knights at its disposal, as well as the militia and his mother, who could wipe out a small army on her own. If she needed him, she knew where to find him.

  He climbed the ladder and inserted the tooth into its socket, holding it in place as he fished two lodestones out of a hidden pocket in his robe. He held the stones apart in one hand, He spoke speaking the final words of the spell. The lodestones joined together with a click, and the magic fused the tooth to the jawbone. The magnets disintegrated on contact and the spell vanished from his memory.

  Justin tested his dentistry by wiggling the tooth. Satisfied, he descended the ladder. In two days, the anniversary celebration of the Battle of Hornstall would begin. Justin leaned to the side with one arm over his head, stretching the knot in his back with a groan. He had finished just in time; his muscles could not take much more. Justin’s master once told him human backs were too long for real work. At almost seven feet tall, Justin agreed - he preferred his books.

  He surveyed the room with a grimace. The escaped hay from the crates was scattered around the room. Old plates and half-empty wine goblets littered the oak tables. It took him twenty days to assemble the skeleton and never once did it occurred to him to clean up. The Empress wanted the monument to remain secret so he was the only one with access to the hall.

  Justin backed away to get the full effect, trying to ignore his mess. The dragon’s horned skull hung down menacingly, with its neck arched and mouth wide
in a silent roar at the grand entrance. Supported by a single stone pillar, it was posed in mid-flight so as not to obstruct use of the room. The wing bones spread the width of the hall, delicate tips touching the stone wall near the ceiling. The tail curled high above the table, in front of the room’s single tapestry along the wall. It reminded him to change out the flag with his mother’s new heraldry. The current flag was navy blue, displaying the five red stars of the Night Goddess’ Ouroboros constellation. The only addition was a dragon to the center of the circle of stars. It was a small but important distinction, important enough to warrant all this anyway.

  He finished hanging the new tapestry and leaned against the arched double doors of the grand entrance with a heavy sigh. All the clutter came back into focus and brought anxiety along with it. He had not memorized any spells to aid the cleanup. The two illusions he planned to use were all he had left. He planned on an illusory storm to fill the rafters above, complete with flashes of lightning and gentle breezes.

  “Justin!” Ayla’s voice shouted from the other side of the steel-banded doors.

  Justin leaped away from the entrance, heart racing. The mess. Freedom Hall, as part of the keep, also served as the Temple. If his mother saw the hall in this condition, she might finally make good on her threat to throw him in the dungeon. She yelled again, closer this time and with a distinct note of panic.

  “Open the door!”

  The twelve-foot crossbar that held the main doors closed measured as thick around as Justin’s waist. He squatted, lifting the massive beam onto his shoulder. The heavy door creaked open, and his mother slid in behind him. Panting, she swiped the wet hair out of her face that had come loose from her braid. Her night-blue scale mail dripped water on the granite floor. Ayla turned back towards the cracked door. She bowed her head and cupped her hands under her chin, praying. The thunder rolled one last time, and the rain slowed to a drizzle.

  “You called the storm?”

  She nodded, out of breath. “For lightning. But it didn’t affect her.”

  “Who?”

  His mother searched the ward through the crack in the door. “The Guardian.”

  The only guardians of Hornstall were the red knights, but those all swore fealty to his mother and the Night Goddess. They would never betray, nor were they impervious to lightning. Justin fought the weight and took a short, shuffling step to keep the bar balanced.

  “Close the door. I have to put this back.”

  “Wait! Deetra was right behind me.”

  “Tell her to get in here.” His voice shook with the strain.

  Armored footsteps rang on the cobblestone road outside and a second figure entered the hall. Deetra pushed the door closed behind her and moved away from it, breathless and holding her halved glaive in both hands. She stared at the door, the visor of her ruby helm cut in half, revealing one eye and a deep cut in her cheek. Her armor had been cut clean through in at least a dozen places.

  His mother leaned into the hall, looking behind Deetra expectantly. “Where are the rest of the knights?”

  “Dead,” Deetra spat, still gasping for air.

  “All eight?”

  “Every one of them.”

  Justin almost dropped the beam. Not a single Red Knight had fallen in battle in almost ten years. Their armor was a gift from the Dark Queen Herself, given upon taking the Oath of Fealty. It was considered indestructible.

  “How?” Justin asked struggling to hold the beam on his shoulder.

  “A Guardian of Light showed up at our front gate and declared the city under siege. Her sword… it’s like nothing I’ve ever seen.”

  Justin stepped forward to replace the beam but the doors burst open a third time and slammed into his arm. He let the beam drop with a boom that rattled the chandelier. He turned to face the latest intruder, chest and shoulders puffed up, ready for whatever horror made Deetra and his mother run for the castle.

  The Guardian - a knight clad in silvery armor - stepped in from the wet cobblestone street, streaked with blood from helm to sabatons. The knight promptly took a step back, visor pointed up at the open mouth of the dragon skull suspended behind Justin.

  Deetra stood next to him, on the balls of her feet, broken weapon at the ready. But she hesitated. Justin had never seen his stepmother hesitate in the face of danger. The Empress stood behind them, whispering a prayer.

  Justin asked the only question that came to mind. “Who are you?”

  His mother answered by screaming from behind him. “She’s the daughter of a back-stabber! Traitor-spawn!”

  Justin looked over his shoulder in confusion. His mother’s face was twisted with hatred. The Guardians of Light all died after the formation of the Empire.

  The silver knight turned to Deetra and growled a taunt through the visor. “Hiding on holy ground? Truly, you are a great knight.”

  Deetra pointed at the blade at the knight’s side. “I’ll come out when you put down that sword.”

  Justin’s eyes widened as they landed on the weapon, which beamed with its own light. The hilt was the body of a dragon, with wings as the weapon’s crossguard. The dragon’s mouth grasped the three-foot-long blade. He resisted the temptation to Detect it for magic; the answer was obvious. Aside from being wickedly beautiful, divine magic poured off it, calling to him.

  “Justin!”

  He tore his gaze away from the sword and looked down to see Deetra’s red-gauntleted hand squeezing his arm, pulling him back as he leaned forward. When had that happened?

  Justin straightened and signaled them to move back before stepping forward to put himself between the silver knight and his mothers. “They’re not coming out, and you aren’t going to step foot on holy ground. Since we seem to be at an impasse, let’s talk.”

  The knight looked up at the dragon skeleton again, then back to him, lingering on his red robes. The helm prevented Justin from reading the knight’s gaze, but the body language seemed almost hesitant. Strange. The Red Wizards of Drokin were a bit rare, sure. But outside of his mother’s Empire, they were known as impartial arbitrators, disciplined and driven by facts and logic. It was what had drawn him to the vocation in the first place.

  He tried again. “You’ve seen our faces. Let us see yours.”

  The knight stood in the doorway for another moment before lifting the helmet off. Vivid flame-colored curls tumbled down to frame flawless creamy skin, and Justin’s heart skipped a beat. Eyes the color of fresh spring grass gave him a cold, uncertain look. For one breathless, eternal moment he imagined crossing the room, sweeping this feisty, gorgeous woman off her feet and carrying her far, far away. Her eyes would warm as she looked at him, she’d thank him for rescuing her and they would-

  “Stand aside, wizard,” she demanded with a wave of her gleaming sword, breaking his ill-timed reverie.

  Justin blinked and reality rushed back into focus. What in the Nine Hells was he thinking? This woman was an enemy, one powerful enough to have made the Empress and the General of the Empire run for holy ground. His mother and Deetra never ran - not from anyone or anything.

  “I’m sorry, I can’t do that. Surrender now, and I will see to it that you are returned home.” He glanced quickly over his shoulder. “Alive.”

  His mother gasped behind him. “You have no right to -”

  Justin interrupted her with clenched teeth. “Empress. Let me handle this.”

  She came up alongside him and glared at the green-eyed knight from just out of the sword’s reach, daring her to enter the temple. “I was your age when I killed my first minotaur to avenge my mother. I slit the beast’s throat and drowned him in his own blood - the morning after he raped me.”

  The overwhelming dread and shame that inevitably accompanied any thought or mention of his paternity washed over him. His mother had told him the story of his father once, upon request. It had been more than enough. Before his mother and Deetra led the revolution that broke the curse of the God of Light, the minotaurs
had used human women as breeding stock.

  His mother continued, voice rising with the pain of memory. “Do you know that you’re avenging a man who betrayed his people to serve half-beast slavers?”

  People began to gather in the rain-slick street. As Empress, his mother could not afford to lose face. The standoff could not last much longer. He put a hand on her shoulder.

  “Mom, please. Let me -”

  She shrugged his hand away. The silver knight white-knuckled the grip of her sword as his mother continued. His mother wanted the Guardian to enter and attack. The hallowed ground of the temple would cut the Guardian off from her God, weakening her. The Empress baited the Guardian again.

  “He stabbed a man through the back.”

  Anger flashed across the knight’s expression. She took a step towards the temple and the sword hummed, its pearlescent light intensifying.

  Justin barred his mother’s path with his arm. “Mom. St-”

  Deetra stepped forward on Justin’s other side. “But not before plotting the death of hundreds of innocent people at Hillside. Your father was a monster.”

  Dylan. The Guardian’s father was Dylan, the man who had attempted to burn Justin’s mother at the stake. Had he succeeded, the people of the Empire would still be in chains. The people remembered well the atrocities he committed in the name of the God of Light.

  The knight swallowed before she spoke. “I know my father fell from the Light.” The sword burned brighter as she replaced the helmet on her head and lowered the visor. “But my Lord spared him from the Abyss, and now he is my light in dark places like this.”

  She stepped over the threshold and the already glowing sword flared to life. The crowd outside gasped. His mother and Deetra took a reflexive step back, shielding their eyes. The light shone into the darkness of the sanctuary, creating a brilliant swirl and eddy amidst the shadows of the room. A fine hum vibrated the chandelier high above and rattled the windows in their sills.