lopping his enemy’s head from its dying body.
Only the Grand Master can assault his brother with impunity, Dagan thought, and who was there amongst the Brothers who would dare gainsay him?
Miserable, cold, and shuddering from the slime running down his raised arms, Dagan groaned. There would be no rescue from this situation unless he agreed to Hagan’s terms and that was something he could not do.
For Jameela’s sake, he dared not accept her to wife.
But why not, Dagan? His inner voice cried out.
“The Law!” Dagan shouted. “The Conclave’s damnable law!”
The threat of tears stung Dagan’s eyes and he flung his head from side to side to keep them at bay. What good were tears against the might of the Conclave?
Memories slipped unbidden into his mind there in the darkness and though he tried with all his might, he could not keep those brutal memories from invading. They were always there, lurking in the shadows, waiting to spring upon him when he knew a brief moment or two of happiness. They were forever popping up to remind him of his hateful past and the man who had robbed him of his manhood.
* * * * *
Tristan Kiel was the seventh Grand Master to ascend the gilded throne of Akhkharu. The seventh son of a seventh daughter as well as the seventh son of a seventh son he inherited the mystical powers of his mother and father and was sent to train as a Mage at the Monastery of Akhkharu when he was four years old, a situation unheard of until then. While he was at the Monastery, his uncles—including the Grand Master at that time—his father, and all six of his brothers before him were slain in the Great War at Menini. At the tender age of eight and too young to have fought in the war, Tristan had, by default, become the new Grand Master. He took to the authority of his position with a vengeance that startled his enemies and worried his supporters.
At twelve, he took his first woman. At fourteen, he killed his first man in hand-to-hand combat. By sixteen, he began actively seeking a woman for his chosen.
“She must be a virgin, the seventh daughter of a seventh daughter and her beauty must be unequaled!” he demanded of his Chancellor. “I will pay a kingly ransom for such a lady!”
Though his generals feared the task was impossible, they sent emissaries throughout the nine kingdoms, searching for a girl who fit the Grand Master’s desire. In the miniscule principality of Kabal, they found what they were seeking.
Invernise Bejhena was fourteen years old, a nun at the priory in Kabal. It was her Prioress, the head of her Order, who sent word to the emissary that the woman he sought was housed there.
“The monies from the ransom will do much good for the Sisters,” the Prioress was heard to chortle.
Despite the heavy scarlet robe that covered her from neck to toe, the wimple over her head to hide the glorious blonde hair, around the neck to hide that swan-like beauty, and over her shell-like ears, her exotic beauty stunned the emissary. One look into her warm blue eyes—the color of the summer sky—took the man’s breath away.
Though the young girl screamed and fought, she was taken against her will to Lalssu Keep and there she was trapped in a loveless marriage with a man she despised.
“Give me a son and I will let you go back to your precious nunnery,” Tristan vowed.
It was said Invernise wished the demons upon Tristan Kiel and prayed nightly that his soul burn forever in the Pit. When—after four miserable years as the Grand Master’s Lady-wife—she discovered she was with child, she thought the end was in sight. She would thrust the son of the fiend from her body then leave Lalssu Keep forever.
She did not count on loving the babes that came from her womb or having a great desire to protect the second born from his father’s insane wrath.
“Twins!” Tristan shouted with displeasure. “I asked for one son, not two! What will I do with the other?”
The Bishops of the Order
Only the Grand Master can assault his brother with impunity, Dagan thought, and who was there amongst the Brothers who would dare gainsay him?
Miserable, cold, and shuddering from the slime running down his raised arms, Dagan groaned. There would be no rescue from this situation unless he agreed to Hagan’s terms and that was something he could not do.
For Jameela’s sake, he dared not accept her to wife.
But why not, Dagan? His inner voice cried out.
“The Law!” Dagan shouted. “The Conclave’s damnable law!”
The threat of tears stung Dagan’s eyes and he flung his head from side to side to keep them at bay. What good were tears against the might of the Conclave?
Memories slipped unbidden into his mind there in the darkness and though he tried with all his might, he could not keep those brutal memories from invading. They were always there, lurking in the shadows, waiting to spring upon him when he knew a brief moment or two of happiness. They were forever popping up to remind him of his hateful past and the man who had robbed him of his manhood.
* * * * *
Tristan Kiel was the seventh Grand Master to ascend the gilded throne of Akhkharu. The seventh son of a seventh daughter as well as the seventh son of a seventh son he inherited the mystical powers of his mother and father and was sent to train as a Mage at the Monastery of Akhkharu when he was four years old, a situation unheard of until then. While he was at the Monastery, his uncles—including the Grand Master at that time—his father, and all six of his brothers before him were slain in the Great War at Menini. At the tender age of eight and too young to have fought in the war, Tristan had, by default, become the new Grand Master. He took to the authority of his position with a vengeance that startled his enemies and worried his supporters.
At twelve, he took his first woman. At fourteen, he killed his first man in hand-to-hand combat. By sixteen, he began actively seeking a woman for his chosen.
“She must be a virgin, the seventh daughter of a seventh daughter and her beauty must be unequaled!” he demanded of his Chancellor. “I will pay a kingly ransom for such a lady!”
Though his generals feared the task was impossible, they sent emissaries throughout the nine kingdoms, searching for a girl who fit the Grand Master’s desire. In the miniscule principality of Kabal, they found what they were seeking.
Invernise Bejhena was fourteen years old, a nun at the priory in Kabal. It was her Prioress, the head of her Order, who sent word to the emissary that the woman he sought was housed there.
“The monies from the ransom will do much good for the Sisters,” the Prioress was heard to chortle.
Despite the heavy scarlet robe that covered her from neck to toe, the wimple over her head to hide the glorious blonde hair, around the neck to hide that swan-like beauty, and over her shell-like ears, her exotic beauty stunned the emissary. One look into her warm blue eyes—the color of the summer sky—took the man’s breath away.
Though the young girl screamed and fought, she was taken against her will to Lalssu Keep and there she was trapped in a loveless marriage with a man she despised.
“Give me a son and I will let you go back to your precious nunnery,” Tristan vowed.
It was said Invernise wished the demons upon Tristan Kiel and prayed nightly that his soul burn forever in the Pit. When—after four miserable years as the Grand Master’s Lady-wife—she discovered she was with child, she thought the end was in sight. She would thrust the son of the fiend from her body then leave Lalssu Keep forever.
She did not count on loving the babes that came from her womb or having a great desire to protect the second born from his father’s insane wrath.
“Twins!” Tristan shouted with displeasure. “I asked for one son, not two! What will I do with the other?”
The Bishops of the Order
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