Heart of the Shadow King (Bride of the Shadow King Book 3) by Sylvia Mercedes

Author:Sylvia Mercedes [Mercedes, Sylvia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: FireWyrm Books
Published: 2023-09-29T18:30:00+00:00

22

MAYLIN

Many turns of the cycle passed after my coming to Mythanar as I honed my powers, aided by the priests and priestesses of the Deeper Dark. I labored so long and so hard, I began to forget my former life as an anchoress. That life was dreary, full of pain and loneliness. Not worth remembering. In this world I had strength, purpose.

My powers grew beyond the limits of what the priests could teach me, yet I had not begun to test the fullness of my strength. Who knew the gods had been so generous in their gifting? I pushed myself harder, farther, deeper, never forgetting the danger lurking beneath my feet. Over time my awareness of the dragon grew until I began to feel it. To feel her. Her pain, her torment. Even in sleep she suffered, and when she stirred . . . well, the stirrings were not so frequent as they are now. But they were devastating. And I wondered, even as you are wondering, how one such as me could hope to put an end to both her suffering and the peril which held the entire Under Realm in its grip.

It wasn’t until I discovered the secrets of va-jor that I began to see the way. At that time, it was little more than a theory whispered about among priests and priestesses. Thus, I had no teacher. But I learned, nonetheless.

I practiced on animals first: cave devils and bats and even the ghost spiders which dwell in the deeper caverns. The king—Gaur—was pleased with my efforts. He saw the potential of va-jor as I did and urged me to do more, to extend myself further. Such simple creatures are easy enough to wrap in stone. Hardly an accomplishment. To compare such things to the vast soul of a dragon? Laughable!

So, Gaur brought me a man.

He was a criminal. A murderer, convicted of killing his brother to take his wife and property. The inside of his mind was a dark, twisted, rage-filled place. He deserved death. And yet, I wondered if he deserved the fate I gave him.

Gaur offered me no choice. In the end, I sent him into va-jor.

After that a group of twelve rebels was brought to me. I gave them the same mercy: va-jor in place of the drur’s ax. The priests often reminded me in those days that stone is the natural trolde state, that these men and women might one day, in some distant millennium, be reborn as better versions of themselves. But I still remember their faces . . . the fear in their eyes the moment before . . .

Ah, but what is the use of such memories? It matters little. My powers increased, and so too did Gaur’s challenges. Once he gathered fifty convicts from across three cities and brought them to me. When he urged me to perform the va-jor, I told him I could not. I simply could not give enough of my own blood to power such a working.

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