The Eight Walls of Rogar: An Epic Fantasy Adventure Series! (The Lost Kingdoms of Laotswend Trilogy--Book One) by William Woodward
Authors: William Woodward
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pressed her cheek against his, her tears flowing warm and salty down his face. He reveled in her embrace. He had never had someone cling to him the way she did now. She was so soft and warm, heart beating next to his, body trembling with unspent emotion. He tried to give her what strength he had, if such a thing were possible, imagining it flowing into her, enveloping her. He wished he could stay like this forever, holding her close in his arms, sure that the world could crumble to dust without him even noticing.
The sound of Jade licking her food bowl clean interrupted his reverie. Andaris looked up and saw her peering at them from where she was curled beside the glowing coals of the fire. Something about her expression unsettled him. Was it jealousy he now saw gleaming in those green eyes? Weird dog , he thought, remembering Shamilla’s words: Spooky if you ask me. I think I’d prefer it if she’d just act like a normal dog, as is proper. Deciding to ignore her, he again closed his eyes and began to lightly stroke Trilla’s hair. She shuddered in his arms, her grip tightening.
“It’s all right,” he said, holding her close. “You’re safe.”
The King
King Laris sat in a plain stone throne atop his dais, as he did most mornings, so bored and weary that his mind was beginning to drift. His grandfather’s throne had been much more elaborate. Made of solid gold and covered with animal carvings, it had been a thing of great splendor. The eagle engraved into the chair’s back had been crafted with such realism that it had seemed, especially when viewed from the floor below, ready to burst forth and fly away.
Laris had never liked that eagle, what with its ruby eyes and silver feathers. It had been far too extravagant to suit him. He had lived with it for decades out of respect for his grandfather, until one bright spring day about fifteen years ago he’d worked up the gumption to have it removed, replacing it with a throne more suitable to his personality. Truth be told, he’d never cared much for any of the pomp and pageantry that accompanied his position. Why even now, at the respectable age of seventy-two, he wasn’t entirely at peace in his role as king. Battle was where he felt most at ease, wielding his sword against tyranny and evil. In battle he’d been an artist, but somewhere along the way, as all men must, he had grown old.
Laris shifted in his high seat, wondering how many eyebrows would raise if he started to use a pillow to sit upon. A decade ago he would have laughed at the absurdity of such a notion, but today….
His people needed him to be strong. He had to be strong. He was grateful he at least still looked the part. A mane of thick hair grew to the middle of his back, silver rather than gray, a neatly trimmed beard emphasizing his already prominent jaw line. His shoulders were not as broad as they had once been, though still broader than most.
Yes, he looked impressive enough. He just wished he didn’t feel so god-awful. Some whispered it was the disappearance of his daughter that had taken such a toll. Only Laris knew how true the rumors were. He blamed himself for her absence, fearing every day he would hear of her death. The reality of the situation ate away at him like a cancer, sapping him of strength. If only she would return to him, he could forgive her anything. Why had he been so inflexible? He would give everything he possessed just to see her again. There had been no laughter in his life since she went away.
Laris knew the security of his kingdom was very much in jeopardy. The Lost One and his minions were massing a loathsome army. If his daughter did not return soon, there might be nothing left for her to return to. He knew how selfish he was being. She was probably safer wherever she was, and yet he longed to see her again, to embrace her once more before he died.
For more than
The sound of Jade licking her food bowl clean interrupted his reverie. Andaris looked up and saw her peering at them from where she was curled beside the glowing coals of the fire. Something about her expression unsettled him. Was it jealousy he now saw gleaming in those green eyes? Weird dog , he thought, remembering Shamilla’s words: Spooky if you ask me. I think I’d prefer it if she’d just act like a normal dog, as is proper. Deciding to ignore her, he again closed his eyes and began to lightly stroke Trilla’s hair. She shuddered in his arms, her grip tightening.
“It’s all right,” he said, holding her close. “You’re safe.”
The King
King Laris sat in a plain stone throne atop his dais, as he did most mornings, so bored and weary that his mind was beginning to drift. His grandfather’s throne had been much more elaborate. Made of solid gold and covered with animal carvings, it had been a thing of great splendor. The eagle engraved into the chair’s back had been crafted with such realism that it had seemed, especially when viewed from the floor below, ready to burst forth and fly away.
Laris had never liked that eagle, what with its ruby eyes and silver feathers. It had been far too extravagant to suit him. He had lived with it for decades out of respect for his grandfather, until one bright spring day about fifteen years ago he’d worked up the gumption to have it removed, replacing it with a throne more suitable to his personality. Truth be told, he’d never cared much for any of the pomp and pageantry that accompanied his position. Why even now, at the respectable age of seventy-two, he wasn’t entirely at peace in his role as king. Battle was where he felt most at ease, wielding his sword against tyranny and evil. In battle he’d been an artist, but somewhere along the way, as all men must, he had grown old.
Laris shifted in his high seat, wondering how many eyebrows would raise if he started to use a pillow to sit upon. A decade ago he would have laughed at the absurdity of such a notion, but today….
His people needed him to be strong. He had to be strong. He was grateful he at least still looked the part. A mane of thick hair grew to the middle of his back, silver rather than gray, a neatly trimmed beard emphasizing his already prominent jaw line. His shoulders were not as broad as they had once been, though still broader than most.
Yes, he looked impressive enough. He just wished he didn’t feel so god-awful. Some whispered it was the disappearance of his daughter that had taken such a toll. Only Laris knew how true the rumors were. He blamed himself for her absence, fearing every day he would hear of her death. The reality of the situation ate away at him like a cancer, sapping him of strength. If only she would return to him, he could forgive her anything. Why had he been so inflexible? He would give everything he possessed just to see her again. There had been no laughter in his life since she went away.
Laris knew the security of his kingdom was very much in jeopardy. The Lost One and his minions were massing a loathsome army. If his daughter did not return soon, there might be nothing left for her to return to. He knew how selfish he was being. She was probably safer wherever she was, and yet he longed to see her again, to embrace her once more before he died.
For more than
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