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  DAUGHTER OF MAGIC

  THE KINGDOM WAR II

  J.D. RUFFIN

  WWW.JDRUFFIN.COM

  A GIFT FROM THE AUTHOR

  Before you begin your journey, please accept a small token of appreciation from your author, JD Ruffin, for purchasing this book. Click here to join our community and receive a free eBook version of The Rise of Irina, compliments of yours truly.

  To all those who need a little magic in their lives in a time of darkness.

  1

  THORN

  High Chancellor Danai Thorn walked through the massive golden-bronze doors of the Temple of the One. At midnight, the Temple should have been deserted, but one lone supplicant rested on her knees, forehead reverently touching the cold, dusty stone floor.

  He loomed over the praying woman and barked, “Out, now! The Temple is closed.”

  The woman flinched back. “This holy place is never closed, and I am in prayer.”

  Anger flared in Thorn’s eyes. He thrust out his palm and called to his Gift. A ball of brilliant blue flame blazed to life above his palm. The woman fell back and scurried away before gaining her feet and hurrying out of the building, casting a frightened glance over her shoulder as she crossed the threshold.

  Silly, pious fool. If she only knew The One she actually worshiped . . .

  Thorn dismissed the flame and stalked the length of the Temple’s nave, taking in every corner of the grand hall. As the Kingdom’s principal temple for followers of the One, it served as a religious focal point, a place of peace and unity. Normally brightly lit, only a few candles still flickered, casting eerie globes that hid nearly as much as they revealed. Enormous colorful tapestries hung on the walls, depicting The One as an ambiguous ball of light comforting some commoner or healing the lame. Thorn’s favorite was viewed by many, even some priests, as a garish misrepresentation of their benevolent, loving god. It depicted troops locked in a bloody battle, the field littered with the dead and dying, and the familiar bright light of the One guiding their side to victory. Few knew that tapestry was older than the Temple, even older than the people’s false god.

  But Thorn knew.

  He climbed the few steps that led to the massive white marble altar, then walked around it toward the small chapel in the building’s eastern end. He knelt, lifted the ancient rug, and found the ring to the trap door. After a final check for witnesses, he descended into the catacombs where a millennium of the Kingdom’s monarchs lay interred. He summoned the blue flame again, giving the hallowed ground an otherworldly hue.

  The walls of the narrow hall were adorned with large golden plaques engraved with the names and honorifics of long-dead Kings and Queens. The marble walls, with their golden monikers, were smooth and well maintained, somehow humble in their simplicity. What an odd way to honor the most powerful rulers to ever live. No elaborate statue. No grand public display. Just cold, smooth stone. Thorn shook his head.

  The end of the corridor held a set of golden double doors, each etched with the flowing Phoenix symbol of magic, the majestic bird rising out of four pillars of flame. The fist-sized rubies that were the eyes of the Phoenix glowed, gaining brightness with each step Thorn took in their direction. He was startled when the rubies flared to brilliance. Thorn stood before the door and extinguished the flame hovering above his palm.

  “E vesh Irina,” he whispered, placing his palm to the breast of the Phoenix on the right door. Irina, take my life.

  The ruby eyes pulsed once, and Thorn heard a small click. He gripped the handles and pulled, the doors swinging easily on their ancient hinges. That always amazed him. Those things had to be over a thousand years old, yet they opened with no effort, no squeal of protest.

  What opened before him stole his breath. The large perfectly square room was brightly lit by dozens of braziers that never failed, flames dancing above their silvery bowls. A semicircular knee-high wall stretched nearly the width of the room, connecting on either side to taller sections that curved like waves across their rim. Ten water-filled paces spanned the area between the apex of the short wall and two steps of the next section, giving the impression of a quiet sea leading to its shore. The steps led to a dais containing a large block of polished blue-black marble that swirled and churned as Thorn watched. A sarcophagus of pure, unmarred gold rested atop the marble. The wealth of that golden coffin could purchase a kingdom, but no price could replace its value within.

  The carved artwork on the wall behind the golden coffin reminded Thorn of a massive headboard towering over its slumbering guest. It was divided into three distinct pieces, the left and right pieces of perfectly white marble arched inward, mimicking a profile view of two praying supplicants facing each other. In contrast, the center piece rose as a massive black marble tombstone, rising nearly to the ceiling. The color black barely described its surface. Thorn thought it was more like looking into some abyss, a void where no light could exist, calling out and luring onlookers to join in its eternal nothingness. Golden script etched in the inky black stone shimmered, as if freshly hewn, just as it had for a thousand years.

  Thorn crossed the lake, ascended its shore, and stood before the monolith. He was transfixed. He tried to shake his head free of the paralyzing lure as his skin crawled and he sensed the stone assessing his presence.

  Nothing moved. Nothing breathed. Nothing mattered but the stone.

  After an eternal moment of disquiet, tension evaporated from the room as quickly as it had captured him, and Thorn again stood before a simple monument. He reverently traced its glittering script with his fingers. The Prophecy had lived in his memory for most of his eleven centuries of life but seemed to gain power each time he stood in awe before its golden text.

  Seven Scattered as lands shattered.

  Bind the Heir. Make diamonds bleed.

  Speak the Words.

  E vesh Irina.

  2

  ISABEL

  Declan made it fifty paces before turning to watch Keelan and the team disappear into the woods.

  He looked down at the carefully drawn map of the surrounding mountains and was amazed at Atikus’s perfect recall. He’d included large boulders with unique shapes to use as landmarks, noting them in fine script on the edge of the page. Declan’s destination, a hidden magical gate that would transport him to the isle of Rea Utu, was shown as a small archway with odd lettering crawling up and down each side.

  He smiled, thinking of the old Mage. Atikus said he hadn’t visited the gate—or even the mountains—in over twenty years, yet he drew a better map than any Declan recalled seeing in the Rangers’ headquarters. Magic really was amazing.

  “What am I supposed to do when I get there?” he thought aloud.

  Atikus had described the tiny town of Rea Utu and its inhabitants, but he had given little guidance on how Declan was supposed to find The Keeper and his magical well. The Kingdom’s scouts were scouring the mountains for something, possibly laying the groundwork for an attack by the military camped outside of Huntcliff. Atikus admitted that no one knew if the Keeper could help but insisted that they had to try, and Declan was the only person alive who could make the journey.

  That was the strangest part, the part that made his old resentment rise to the surface. Declan, the one without a Gift, the one magic rejected, was the only one who could run off to a mystical island, meet with some high holy magic man, and save the world using his secret well of magic?

  Right. Ironic journey—check.

  “Can’t worry about any of that now. I’d better get started,” he said to himself, carefully folding the map and stuffing it in his coat pocket.

  As incredible as Atikus’s map was, it didn’t speak to distance well. Declan guessed the hike would take a day or tw
o, but he’d worn the green of the Rangers for a couple of years now and understood how challenging a trek through the mountains could be. He also understood the need to return quickly with help, but nothing good would happen if he was careless and found the bottom of a gully headfirst. He rechecked his pack and started hiking west.

  There were only a few hours of daylight before the sun slipped beyond the peaks, cloaking the forested slopes in darkness. Declan found a small clearing among a stand of pine and made camp for the night. Once his modest Ranger tent was tethered securely, he gathered some loose branches and made a fire. There was something about the smell of a fire when it was first lit that made him smile. A spark of creation? A light chasing darkness? He laughed at himself. Some philosopher! It just smelled good.

  He dug through his pack and settled on dried beef and apples. He was used to sparse Ranger fare, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t thinking about roasted meats dripping with fat and an ocean of peppery buttered vegetables. Oh, and ale. Can’t forget the ale! He took a sip of water from his skin and sighed as he crawled into his tent.

  He’d barely closed his eyes when he sensed a sudden movement outside. Without stirring, he opened his eyes enough to peek through the open flap. What he saw made his eyes pop open and a smile crease his face. He lifted his head to get a better view, careful to move slowly and avoid spooking his visitor.

  Standing on his pack not two paces away was a fuzzy baby owl, its head no taller than Declan’s hand was long. The feathers around its legs were a pale gold and puffed out to resemble some mummer’s funny pantaloons. Its head was covered in dark-gray plumes except for a splash of white that rose from its beak, between and over its eyes, to form little white brows. Declan couldn’t help chuckling at its massive eyes, black with bright golden rings, that never wavered in their piercing glare.

  As Declan leaned forward, the owl began hopping up and down on his pack, peeping urgently.

  “Hi there, little guy.”

  He sat up and faced the bird with his legs crossed. The peeping and hopping continued. An idea struck, and he reached down to where the last of dinner’s dried meat lay wrapped in a cloth and tore off a piece, slowly reaching it out toward the little owl. The hopping stopped. It swiveled its head to the right, then to the left, then back to the right. In a blink, it scurried toward him, snatched the meat out of his hand and ran back to its perch on his pack, where it began tearing and swallowing, occasionally looking up to make sure Declan remained in place.

  “Quick little guy, aren’t ya?” The wide grin still hadn’t left Declan’s face.

  The owl seemed to dislike something he said and stopped ripping long enough to peep a piece of its little mind in his direction before resuming its meal.

  Declan was stunned. “Uh, OK. So . . . what was that all about? You don’t like the meat?”

  The owl focused on dinner, barely looking up at the sound of Declan’s voice.

  “So that’s not it. Hmm. You’re not a little guy, are you?”

  The owl dropped the meat and hopped a few times. Blink, blink.

  Now Declan knew he was losing his mind in these woods.

  “Alright. Sorry about that . . . uh . . . miss.” Declan chuckled and watched the fascinating little creature devour the last bite.

  He settled back into his bedroll but maintained a clear view over his chest. The tiny owl hopped off the pack and edged a hair or two closer to Declan, then scurried back a step, as if testing whether he would react to her approach. She did this several times, each new attempt traveling a bit closer. Finally, when Declan thought she might run away into the safety of the forest, the golden blur darted from the pack and hopped onto Declan’s legs. He froze. She pecked and clawed and nuzzled, he assumed in a nesting ritual, then settled into place and began cleaning her feathers, ignoring him completely. After five minutes of preening, she nuzzled deeper into the crevice between his shins and closed her eyes, emitting a long whirring sound that reminded him of a cat’s satisfied purr before falling silent and still.

  This is going to be a strange trip, he thought.

  He couldn’t think of anything that wouldn’t disturb his new little friend, so he settled back against the tree and closed his eyes.

  * * *

  He woke the next morning to the pattering of the little owl on his chest. As his eyes adjusted to the light of the new day, he saw the undersized ball of fluff staring at him in what he could only describe as impatience.

  “Good morning, Miss Owl.”

  The bird hopped twice and blinked.

  “OK, OK. I’m getting up.” As he leaned forward, the owl hopped off his chest and scurried to his feet, resuming her stare.

  He couldn’t help but laugh. “Persistent little thing. I bet you‘re hungry. Let’s see if I have any more of that meat you liked so much.”

  He dug into his sack and held out another small piece, this time of dried pork, which she snatched from his fingers and ran to the other side of the fire to devour. While she ate, he made quick work of his own breakfast, then began breaking down the campsite. He rolled up his tent and noticed she had moved from her breakfast spot to the large root of a tree beside him and was watching him work. He smiled and continued his tasks.

  When the site was fully packed and the coals of the fire were wet and scattered, Declan looked around for anything he might’ve missed. The owl hopped to the edge of the clearing and bounded on top of his pack, watching his every move. Satisfied everything was in good order, he turned toward her.

  “Miss Owl, it’s been a pleasure, but I really need to get moving.”

  As he knelt to lift his pack, the owl scurried up his arm and into the hood of his outer cloak, peeping merrily. He craned his head to see what she was doing back there and laughed as she gently pecked his earlobe with her beak.

  “Where I’m going, you can’t follow, little one. But I suppose you can ride back there a while. It’ll be nice to have someone keep me company in these lonely woods.”

  She peeped twice and nuzzled his neck with her head before settling down into the deepest part of the hood and drifting off to sleep. The faint, satisfied whirring coming from his hood made him smile and shake his head again.

  The wind whipped through the trees, giving an already cool day a slight bite to the breeze. But the sun shone, and they made good progress down one mountain and up the next. Decan rechecked his map throughout the day, confident they were on the right track.

  They stopped a few times throughout the day to rest or eat. The owl dutifully waited until Declan fished more dried meat out of his bag, then peeped happily as she shredded it into bits she could swallow. Each time, when the bird finished her meal, she quickly hopped up Declan’s arm and back into the warmth of his hood.

  In the afternoon, Declan heard the sounds of approaching humans who didn’t seem too concerned about the noise of their passing. Cautious following the team’s encounter with Kingdom scouts, Declan found a hiding place among some fallen logs. He carefully removed his pack, setting it on the ground, and nocked his bow. The owl stirred, poking her fuzzy head out of his hood, but sensed his tension and remained quiet.

  Minutes passed before the source of the sounds became visible. Three men in the blue tunic of the Kingdom’s military stomped through leaves and over limbs with confident indifference. They were spaced fifty paces apart and walked casually through the trees, scanning ahead left, then right, then left again. Each carried a nocked crossbow that moved with their gaze. As careful as they seemed in their search pattern, they were utterly careless in the noise their passing created. Declan figured they were either inexperienced or overconfident.

  As the search line crossed where Declan was hiding, one of the men stopped. His head swiveled and he inhaled deeply. The others paused and looked back, watching their partner’s familiar routine. A moment later, he shook his head and signaled for the team to continue forward.

  Like most Rangers, Declan was highly skilled with his bow and was conf
ident he could take down two of the men before they could even fire a shot. He liked the idea of thinning the enemy’s ranks, but his mission was to reach the gate, not hunt scouts. So, he and the owl kept their heads down until several minutes after the uniformed men passed into the distance.

  “I’m afraid Atikus and Keelan were right. The Kingdom is up to a lot more than just guarding the woods. Scouts this far south of the pass could only mean that they’re testing our defenses before some kind of action. I’ve really got a bad feeling about all this.”

  A muffled peep sounded from inside his hood.

  Declan was cautious in his advance from that point forward, stopping periodically to listen and watch for others. He stepped carefully, avoiding debris that might make loud cracks or other sounds. It slowed their progress but seemed prudent after nearly running headlong into a team of scouts.

  As darkness fell on the second day, they came upon a huge rock formation that looked like a giant hand giving a thumbs up to the world. It looked natural enough, and the boulders were far too large and heavy for men to move, but Declan couldn’t shake the feeling that they were arranged in that formation somehow.

  He rechecked the map and his pulse quickened. This was the last major landmark Atikus had drawn before reaching the gate. He looked around the area for ten minutes, discovering a trail leading from the base of the rocks higher up the mountain. The trail hadn’t been used in a very long time, and its course was obscured by rocks, limbs, and leaves. The path ran nearly straight up the mountain rather than winding back and forth, making the ascent both physically challenging and dangerously steep.

  They were roughly halfway up the mountain when Declan felt the firmness of stone under his feet. He looked down to discover ancient steps mostly buried under years of debris. But there was no mistake; someone had built a stairway that matched the path on the map. As he looked closer at the first step, the baby owl hopped out of his hood and onto the path, peeping in rapid succession while hopping and flapping her wings. Declan looked and cocked his head, trying to interpret her strange reaction. She turned and scrambled up the path, peeping all the way.