"What is it?" she snapped.
"We have news," he said, "from Ebenstadt."
"Go on."
"There has been a great battle, east of the city," he reported. "The Army of the Church has been defeated, exactly as you predicted."
A ghost of a smile flickered across her face. "It would appear that our Cunar Master, Talivardas, has been much more successful than we had hoped. How did he accomplish such a thing?"
"You can ask him yourself if you like. He's here, paying his respects."
Marakhova's eyes roamed the crowd, focusing on the dark grey mantle of Master Talivardas.
"Fetch him," she commanded. "I would have words."
Malvar bowed, then turned, making his way through the crowd.
Marakhova returned her gaze to the window. Malvar was a trusted ally, she reminded herself, and such allies would be scarce in the coming power struggle. She must remember to curb her temper.
"Grand Mistress," came a deep voice.
"Master Talivardas," she said, turning her head. "I hear things have gone well."
He bowed, a rather formal action easily noticed by those in the room. "They have," he said.
"And what are the losses?"
"The order has lost close to seven hundred knights, including more than two hundred initiates. The strength of the Temple Knights of Saint Cunar is now greatly diminished."
"This is excellent news. Is your own position safe?"
"Indeed it is, Grand Mistress. I took pains to pass the blame onto the grand master himself. He shall be hard-pressed to explain his actions. I have also sown the seeds of discontent within the rest of the order's hierarchy. I have no doubt that a review of the events leading up to the campaign will result in the election of a new grand master."
"I take it you are ready to take up this mantle, should it be offered?"
"I am indeed, Grand Mistress."
"Then it seems our plans are nearing fruition," said Marakhova.
Talivardas cast a glance at the gathering. "And this? Will it change things?"
"This is merely an interruption," she replied. "A distraction that should be sorted by spring. You, on the other hand, must return to the task at hand. I wouldn't want your absence to be noted."
"My magic will have me back before they know I'm gone."
She was about to dismiss him but noticed the indecision on his face. "Something is bothering you," she said. "Out with it."
"I heard rumours in Ebenstadt," he said.
"What kind of rumours?"
"There are reports that the renegade, Natalia, was spotted within the city limits."
Marakhova moved closer, lowering her voice. "Go on."
"Nikolai had her in custody, but then she escaped. He asked for extra troops to hunt her down, but the army had already begun assembling. There was little I could do."
"It is an irritation, to be sure," she said, "but understandable under the circumstances. Why bring this to me now?"
"Before he tracked her down, he told me something, something I think would be of interest to you. It seems she was carrying a child."
Marakhova's eyes went wide. "A child, you say? Are you sure?"
"Nikolai was adamant."
"Where is he now?"
"Unfortunately, his body was found the next day, along with those of his men. I'm afraid she slipped through his grasp. Why? Is it important?"
"Important?" said Marakhova. "Natalia is a powerful mage, one of the most powerful we have ever produced. If what we have heard is true, she has taken up with a relatively potent Fire Mage. We have waited generations for this. That child is the future of this family!"
<<<<>>>>
If you enjoyed this book, please share your favourite parts! These positive reviews encourage other potential readers to give the series a try and help the book to populate when others are searching for a new fantasy series. And the best part is, each review I receive inspires me to write more in the World of Eiddenwerthe and beyond. Thank you!
Review Flames Today
If you liked Flames, then Temple Knight, the first book of the Power Ascending series, is a great book to add to your to be read pile!
Servant of the Crown - Prologue
Heir to the Crown: Book One
Walpole Street
Summer 953 MC*
(*Mercerian Calendar)
THE sun was hot, and for what felt like the tenth time that morning, he removed his helmet to wipe the sweat from his brow, absently flinging the moisture from his hand. He cursed the heat yet again as the stink of the slums curled around his nostrils, causing him to gag. Even as he stood, someone emptied a chamber bucket from a second-storey window, the contents splattering to the ground. The waiting was agonizing, particularly with his old leg wound throbbing painfully. The men stood with their backs to him, waiting for the mob to appear, while beside him, the captain, Lord Walters, sat upon his steed surveying the street, as if it held some hidden secret. The line of men stretched across the road from the tavern on the right, to the general goods store on the left. The shopkeepers had already barricaded their doors by the time the troops had taken up their station, fearful of the coming bloodshed.
It had been a harsh winter, and the last harvest had been one of the worst in years. The city was starving, and the poorer sections of town had risen up in protest. This morning, word had come from the Palace ordering the troops to prevent any rioting from making its way into the more prosperous areas of the capital, Wincaster.
The soldiers stood with weapons drawn, relaxed but alert. Sergeant Matheson wiped the sweat from his forehead again. It was far too hot. Tempers would flare; there would be trouble, he could feel it in his bones.
The captain, tired of watching the street, looked down at his sergeant.
"Sergeant Matheson!" he yelled in an overly loud voice.
The sergeant looked up at the lord and noticed he was nervous; the man’s eyes shifted back and forth.
