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  As it arrived into the world, it began to lurch and shake, and the bulbous sacks vomited forth its young. Creatures in various states of development were expelled from the mountainous form, falling to the earth below. Some were fully formed, and scuttled to their feet, joining the others that rode atop the queen. Others were half-formed, barely beyond the larvae stage, and died stillborn on the ravaged earth. Hundreds of creatures emerged from the queen as it expelled the entirety of its brood.

  In the face of utter horror and madness, Ferran did the only thing he could. He stepped forward. In his hands, he gripped the spear and chain. On his face, he felt the black tattoo of the Order like it was a living thing that burned and moved in the presence of an ancient enemy. Mireia began her chant once more, and the clear, pure beauty of her song was a reminder that there was so much in this world worth fighting for. Worth saving.

  Warden Aker was on his other side. “Cadell will be jealous he was not here for this.”

  Ferran gave a final look to Mireia. She did not cease her singing, but she raised the lantern before her and in the shining light, she met his eyes. Then Ferran advanced toward the towering mound.

  The flood of offspring crawled toward him. The more mature and fully formed creatures shot out their spidery threads. There were so many in the air that Ferran could not stop them all, and he began to feel the stings of them entering his flesh. As they did, he felt the pressure of something dark and utterly alien in his mind, but his defiance roared up inside him like a wild animal, and he swung his spear, severing the threads. Still more shot out from the wave of creatures before him, locking him down. Around him, the others were caught as well.

  And then over the nightmare chorus of the keening things and the disgusting viscous movements of the queen, he heard a roaring sound approaching. Trying to clear the threads away, Ferran looked back and saw a line of torches coming from the village. The people of Groveland Down were marching, and at the lead was the village headsman and his young daughter.

  The crowd of villagers charged bravely into the cemetery, into the face of the horror that had risen from within their village. They fought with torches and with whatever weapons they could find at hand, swinging at the terrible creatures around them and pushing hard toward Ferran and the others to try and free them.

  The first of the villagers managed to reach Ferran, cutting the threads that stuck into his body and driving back the creatures nearest him. One of the creatures leaped upon a man from the village, vicious fangs tearing at his throat as it bore him to the ground. Enraged, Ferran stabbed the creature with his spear. The righteous anger at the brave man’s death allowed him to cut through the darkness in his mind.

  The obscene lump of the queen shook, and the thousand mouths on its terrible body shrieked and gibbered. The brood of shokrul shifted toward the villagers. As more and more diverted away, Ferran felt the pressure ease off his mind, and he began to move more freely. He cut with the blade of his spear, tearing away at the threads.

  As he freed Mireia, she raised her lantern high over her head and her chanting rose in strength and volume. There was a fury to her voice now that Ferran had never heard before, and the light from her lantern flared like a sun in the gathering dark.

  Riffolk and the warden lashed out at the creatures around them, joining with the villagers. The scuttling forms of the spider-like things dove into the crowd, biting with their horrid fangs and striking out with their legs. Their spidery threads were everywhere, but the people of the village overwhelmed them, never giving them a chance to secure domination over their victims.

  Ferran ignored the creatures and made directly for the queen, running across the broken ground. The myriad of human faces that shifted and appeared in the body of the queen watched him and screamed out. With a savage cry of rage and joy, he leaped into the air, bringing the spear down before him.

  He landed on its grotesque body, driving his weapon down into the swollen, putrid flesh, and a thousand mouths shrieked in pain. The other creatures fighting in the graveyard turned and answered the horrific, despairing cry. Ferran raised the spear again and again, driving it into the creature till the flesh beneath him gave way, allowing him to slip inside.

  With a shuddering convulsion that shook the very earth itself, the shokrul queen, a creature from the ancient time of legends, died screaming. All around, the twisted creatures that were its offspring, collapsed, sharing the death of their monstrous creator. In the fading aftermath of the creature’s death shriek, the only sound to be heard above the panting of the exhausted humans was the powerful song of Mireia.

  And then Ferran, acolyte of the Order of Talan, stepped from the wreckage of its corpse with a cry of triumph that matched her song.

  Epilogue

  They burned the bodies of the fallen villagers. Orange flames from the pyres lit up the night, defying the encroaching darkness through the long hours until dawn. Pyres had been set on the scarred and torn earth that had once been the town cemetery, where the fallen queen had melted away into nothingness, in the hope that the purity of the flames might scour the taint of the creature from the ground. Ferran knew that for the villagers, the relief of their victory was tempered with the keen edge of loss and the hollow feeling that the world was no longer as simple and safe as it had seemed.

  As dawn rose on a new day, Ferran stood with Mireia, watching the light from the fires mingling with the rising sun. Riffolk and Warden Aker stood apart, talking quietly. Ferran held the broken pieces of one of the wooden icons gripped tightly in his hands.

  From the crowd of villagers, two figures emerged and made their way over to where the group was standing apart. Ferran could make out Hamond, the village headsman, and his young daughter.

  Hamond was filthy from the fighting, but he carried himself tall before the two acolytes. His daughter looked up at him, soot covering her small face, and then she squeezed his hand. She smiled up at Ferran and Mireia and the dirt on her face looked for just a moment like the tattoos on Ferran’s own. She waved once before walking back toward the crowd.

  Hamond gazed after her, his eyes wet. “Over enough time, those things… they would have taken the entire village?” he asked quietly.

  Mireia nodded her head. “Yes. They would have replaced people one by one, and no one would have been any wiser until it was too late.”

  The headsman turned toward her. Dark circles under his eyes gave his face a sunken, haunted expression, and the grief over what had befallen his village was evident in the set of his jaw. “The world is not as I thought it to be.”

  “No,” Mireia said. “No, it is not.”

  Ferran held up the broken wooden board. “That is why we must know about the man that brought these to the village,” he said grimly. “This was no hoax designed to cheat people out of simple coin. This was malicious. He offered this village up to the forces of the Dark.”

  Hamond did not take his eyes off the symbols. “He came from the East,” he said. “That much I remember.” He looked back down the hill at the pyres still burning. “I seek your forgiveness, acolytes. And I must seek my daughter’s as well. I heard her stories, her fears. I ignored them.” Tears began to well up in the man’s eyes. “I was afraid to make the same mistake my father did. He listened too much and did not do enough.” He wiped his hand over his eyes. “So I chose not to listen at all,” he said bitterly.

  “No,” Ferran said. “You did listen, and when the time came, you acted. In doing so, you saved not only your village, but our lives as well.”

  “I did not want to believe these nightmares truly existed,” Hamond said, his voice now just a whisper. “When my daughter began to see things, I did not believe her. She has always been… different, and that has made her life difficult here.” He met Ferran’s eyes, then looked to Mireia and seemed to regain a measure of strength. “I don’t know if her life would be easier in your Order. I don’t know if I will be able to let her go. But perhaps there is something to be said for
not facing difficulties alone.” Then, he nodded a final time and went to rejoin his people.

  The warden walked over. “I must get word to the other wardens, so that they may be on the lookout for these strange markings in their own areas,” he said without preamble. “Then I will work my way through my ward to report and remove any that I find.”

  Ferran pointed out toward the rising sun. “Hamond said that the charlatan had come from the East. Mireia and I will begin our search there. Whatever sinister purpose this man is working toward he has had years ahead of us to put it in place. I don’t intend to allow any more time to pass before we stop it.”

  Riffolk stepped forward. “Hil’s family lives east of here. He was my friend. I would like to tell them myself of what happened to their son.”

  “We would pay our respects as well,” Ferran said.

  Mireia agreed. “Of course. Travel with us until we reach Hil’s home, Riffolk.”

  Riffolk gave them a half-smile, and for the first time since Hil’s death, a touch of the boldness that Ferran had seen yesterday on the road was there on the man’s face. “It may be a bit further than that,” he said. He moved his cloak aside and beneath was the gold crowned-eye emblem that Warden Aker had worn.

  The warden crossed his arms over his chest. “Riffolk no longer serves the Lord of Greenhope March. He is my agent now, charged with investigating this matter.”

  Ferran glanced back at Riffolk. “There will be worse to come than what we faced here.”

  Riffolk nodded, wringing his hands. “Mireia said every day was a blessing. A blessing earned by the ones who came before us,” he said. “I want to earn it as well.”

  Mireia and Ferran exchanged a look before Mireia nodded at Riffolk. “Okay,” she said with a smile and then turned back to Ferran. “East?” she asked.

  Ferran looked at her eyes, deep and green, and finally nodded. “East,” he said, and together the three of them headed out toward the road.

  Follow the continuing stories of Ferran in Book 2, Skinshaper.

  Coming Soon.

  Acknowledgments

  Mark: A huge thank you to my dad, Dan Gelineau, my brother Dave, my wife Tiffany, and my son Bryce for their love and devotion. And to my mom, Pam Gelineau, who I miss every day.

  Joe: To Irene, Emma, and Kate. Thank you. You guys make me a better everything.

  A massive thanks to the team that helped put it all together:

  Jason, TJ, and Alexandre.

  And also to our friends and beta readers:

  Jason, Dave G, Emily, Maria, and Kevin.

  Author’s Note

  Echoes of the Ascended, Books 1

  Thank you so much for reading Rend the Dark.

  Mark and I met more than twenty-five years ago, and inspired by all the great fantasy authors of our childhood, we wanted, more than anything, to tell our stories as well. To share them with others. With you.

  It has been a long journey to finally get here. It hasn’t been easy, but nothing worthwhile ever is.

  We’ve got many more stories to tell in Aedaron. Our mission is to get one new story out to you every month.

  Different characters. Different stories. But our same love for the world, characters, drama, and action that matter most to us.

  We hope you’ll come along for the ride.

  – Check us out at gelineauandking.com

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  Or send us your best wishes via astral projection. Whatever your medium, we accept love in all its forms.

  Hope to see you again soon.

  Mark & Joe

  v1.0

  Previews

  Act 1

  A Messy Little Murder

  The slow lapping of the Prion River mingled with the creaking wood symphony of the water wheel beside the dock. Moonlight tinted the heavy fog as the last hours of night became the first hours of morning. The heavy mist lay upon the woman’s corpse, fat drops of dew sitting on the blood and making it shine.

  Alys bent over the body, her hands on her hips as she studied the dead woman’s face. Young. Roughed up. She may have been pretty once, but it was impossible to tell now. Old bruises and new mixed with dried blood to create a mask over the girl’s features.

  Alys turned to the man standing against the wooden wall of the pier and shrugged. “What do you want me to say?”

  The man finished speaking to a pair of city guards and waited until the two men clanked away in their armored breastplates and shiny helms. His light hair, always cropped close and crisply perfect, shone briefly in the glow from the torches the guards carried. Alys caught just a glimpse of those familiar blue eyes before the light from the torches faded away.

  He pulled his long coat closer about him against the chill of the morning. The black fabric and gray striping of a royal magistrate made him stand out.

  She corrected her thoughts. Stand out even more.

  “I want you to tell me what happened,” he said.

  She laughed, adjusting the large-bladed scythe that she carried across her back. “What happened? Someone killed her, Magistrate Inspector Daxton Ellis,” Alys said, punctuating every syllable of the man’s title with a clipped enunciation.

  He gave her a long, hard stare. “Nothing is ever easy with you, is it, Alys?”

  “It’s part of my charm,” she said, moving over to the wall beside him. As she drew closer, she studied his face – the subtle play of muscles around his eyes, the set of his mouth. He was always easy to read. “You know who she is.” It was not a question.

  He hesitated at first, then said, “She’s Lydia Ashdown.”

  “Old name,” she said.

  “Old everything.”

  Alys shrugged. “Doesn’t mean much down here in Lowside. You’re sure it’s her?”

  The inspector gave her a slow nod. “She’s been missing for three months now. The parents held out hope that she had just had a rebellious jaunt out to the marches to visit friends or relatives.” He shook his head. “Still, the magistrates were given her description. We knew there was a chance we’d find her like this, but there was always hope. At least until tonight.”

  Alys flicked her tongue against her teeth in silent annoyance. “That doesn’t answer my question, Dax. How do you know this is her?”

  “When she was younger, she was playing and fell into the hearth,” he said. “It left her with a burn scar between her…” He cleared his throat. “Over her heart area.”

  Alys laughed. “So you tore open this poor girl’s bodice for your salacious gaze? Why Dax, you cad!”

  “The mark is distinctive. It looks like a sparrow.”

  “A sparrow?” Alys said in disbelief, kneeling down and opening up the corpse’s shirt. Underneath the clothing, on the stiff, waxy flesh was a brownish red mark. It sat between her breasts, just over her heart. To Alys’s surprise, it actually did look quite a bit like a sparrow in flight. “Amazing. Highside even has prettier scars than we do.”

  “This is hardly a laughing matter, Alys. The Ashdowns are true blooded. They have a direct line to the First Ascended. And their daughter is dead. In Lowside.”

  “Ah,” Alys said. “And there it is. I was wondering what had prompted the chief magistrate to assign you here, dear Dax. Now, I know. You true bloods stick together, right? They brought you in to tidy things up and make sure the Ashdown family is confident that a person of the correct breeding and background is investigating the death of their poor child.”

  His eyes narrowed. “I thought we weren’t making this personal?” he remarked, an edge in his voice. “Wasn’t that one of the rules?” He paused and shook his head. “I’m not here to tidy anything up. I am here for justice. To find who is responsible. It does not matter to me in the slightest how true hers or anyone’s blood may be. You should know that most of all.” He looked at her and in his eyes was that f
amiliar look of resolution, but also a bit of challenge as well.

  That was new.

  Silently, she cursed him. As ever, he knew all the right buttons to push. And he was right. Those were the rules. Keep it business. Alys presented a charming smile to him. “A noble endeavor, Dax. And one I would be glad to assist you with, but you know that nothing is free, Magistrate Inspector. Especially down here in Lowside.”

  “The city will pay for your assistance. Discretely, of course.”

  “I don’t need coin. I can steal whatever coin I want.” He remained quiet at that, and she chuckled. “Oh come now, Daxton. Surely it hasn’t been so long you can’t remember what a girl really wants?”

  “I can’t do it. You know I can’t.” But even as he spoke, Alys saw his eyes move back to the body before them.

  The way his attention kept returning to the corpse, the way his breath came a little faster as she was about to move away. This was a serious case. A Highside victim, old family nobility, found in Prionside. Dax was out of his element here and he knew it.

  “What do you want to know?” he said at last.

  Alys moved in closer and whispered in his ear. “The appointment for Justicar of the Second District is coming. I want to know who’s going to get the nod for that post and what leverage the appointers have on them.”

  Dax spun away. “You’re out of your damned mind.”

  “Oh, unclench. You know I will be discreet, Dax. I always am.”

  “It hasn’t been fully decided yet,” Dax said through tight lips.

  Alys waggled a finger in front of him. “Stop trying to avoid it. This is no small endeavor you are asking me to join you on. And knowing who’s getting tapped should just about cover it. The Second District Justicar is the law in Lowside.” She paused and smiled at him. “Well, the king’s law, anyway.”

  He did not smile back. If anything, his frown seemed to intensify. “It’s not you that I don’t trust, Alys. It’s who you’ll sell the information to.”