Note: This book is edited continously.
Book 3 of the Chainbreaker Series.
This is an original story written by me, L. E. Pearson. Recently, my stories have been unlawfully distributed on a side called Novel2u.
If you see this story on any other site than Inkitt, Lutionary, or Wattpad, please let me know.
If you have not yet read Part 1, The Grey Ones, and Part 2, The Red Sun, I highly recommend it. This is a continuation and not a stand-alone creation. The events that take place in this book is highly contextualised by the previous instalments of the series.
You can find The Grey Ones and The Red Sun on my profile.
* * *
Never before had the Vasaath felt such burning hatred, such palpable fury. He’d had her in his grasp, so close, and then she disappeared into the thick fog.
He had sent his men after the boat, but the vessel had simply vanished. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her pale face in the moonlight as the veil parted on the waters. She looked straight at him, her silver eyes gleaming like stars. He had called out for her, roared her name, but she had been devoured by the mists as if she’d never been there at all.
It was all because the Duke of Ravensgate had let her out of her confinement and told her that he was coming for her. Such a fool. Such a cowardly, ignorant, embarrassing fool. He thought he could trade his life for Juniper—his Juniper—as if she was a commodity. On top of it all, the Duke’s useless security made it possible for her to flee.
No, indeed. The Vasaath had never felt such burning hatred, not even for Duke Arlington.
“Please, my lord!” cried Duke Payne as he trembled on his knees. “I beg you! Don’t kill me! I took good care of the girl, I promise!”
The Vasaath was not humoured. He glared at the man down his nose as he circled him in the throne room. “How many men did you say guarded her?”
“One, sir,” whimpered the man. “But it was a most competent man, or so I thought! Sir Callahan of Blackmoor, a Knighted Brother!”
The Vasaath narrowed his eyes, feeling the hairs stand on the back of his neck in fury. “The Black Moors of Westbridge, I assume,” he rumbled.
“Yes—yes!” said the Duke. “H-he was Dukesguard for Duke Cornwall! I thought he would be trustworthy! A champion of the Norn!”
With a roar, the Vasaath grabbed the man by his hair and hauled him to his feet. “What idiot leaves the daughter of the Duke of Westbridge’s murderer with a Dukesguard from Westbridge?”
Duke Payne wailed in pain and fear. “Forgive me, my lord! Please!”
The Vasaath inspected the man’s weary face and growled, “You are a pathetic excuse of a Lord. Why would I let you live?”
“Yes! I am worthless!” cried the man. “I am nothing but a maggot! But I could serve you well, I swear! Please, let me live, for the sake of my unborn son!”
Disgusted, the Vasaath dropped the man back to the floor. “Your wife has already submitted. In truth, that young bride of yours seemed rather relieved to be released from your clutches. As for your daughters, if you even care, they were more than happy to bow down to us. You are all alone, Payne.”
The Duke crawled to the Vasaath’s boots and bowed while he shuddered with cries. “Please, my lord—please!”
Sighing deeply, the Vasaath gazed down. “Very well. Stand up.”
The man ceased his sobs and stood on trembling legs. Looking up at the Vasaath with hopeful eyes, he wailed, “Thank you, Great Lord! Thank you!”
The Vasaath narrowed his eyes, bared his teeth, and wrapped his hand around the man’s throat as he lifted him up into the air. It nearly reached all the way around and it took barely any effort at all to crush the man’s windpipe.
Holding him for a moment more, his face turned blue quite quickly as his eyes reddened. Small, desperate huffs of air escaped the man, but he was already gone. When the Vasaath finally dropped him, the old man was dead.
He rolled his shoulders, exhaled deeply, and looked around at his men. None of them seemed surprised or shocked, but the ohkas that had submitted all looked rather greenish.
“Sir,” said Madeth and stepped forwards. “What do we do now?”
“Garrison a thousand men in the city,” said the Vasaath. “Send another thousand to take Eastshore. The rest of us return to Noxborough. The Equinox is almost upon us—if Kasethen returns, we’ll start establishing the Kasenon all over Nornest. If he doesn’t, we march on Illyria.”
* * *
War is on the horizon. Juniper is fleeing for her life, and the Vasaath is marching for his. They know what fate lies ahead of them; for either of them to survive, the other has to die.
Lady Juniper begins another journey, but while she fights for her life, her heart is left on that riverbank, wrapped in mist. She must find the strength within to go on, or she will have to return to what she knows will be the death of her.
The Vasaath’s heart is broken, and in his grief, he begins to doubt. Shadows grow larger, whispers are spread amongst his soldiers, pushing the Warlord to the precipice. One step awry, and he might fall.
It is a tumultuous time to be alive; the Darkness that sweeps across the Edredian World is one that has never been seen before, and nigh is the time for everyone to make a stand.
THE GOLDEN WAR follows where THE RED SUN left off—Nornest is all but conquered, the Golden Emperor has imprisoned the Kas emissary, and Juniper has slid between the Vasaath’s fingers. When push comes to a shove, who wins and who dies?
This book contains depictions of violence and gore, sexual references, and mentions of abuse. Reader discresion is advised.
Rights and disclaimer:
This book is solely published on Inkitt under the pen name of L. E. Pearson (@LEPearson). If you have seen this book on another site, please inform me of this. First published: 2021.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Copyright © 2022 by L. E. Pearson
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced, distributed, transmitted, or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.