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eBook Category: Erotica/Dark Fantasy
eBook Description: When the Warlock, Daigon, appears at their gates with his demands, Rhiannon expects her uncle to cut him down where he stands. The castle's defenders can not win against the dark forces he wields, however. They are powerless to prevent their princess, Rhiannon, from falling into the hands of the warlock who has raised an army of the dead to aid him in his quest for vengeance. Rating: Contains graphic violence, adult language, and explicit sexual content.

eBook Publisher: New Concepts Publishing, Published: 2005
Fictionwise Release Date: August 2005

67 Reader Ratings: Great Good OK Poor

Available eBook Formats [MultiFormat - What's this?]: Adobe Acrobat (PDF) [785 KB], eReader (PDB) [163 KB], Palm Doc (PDB) [147 KB], Rocket/REB1100 (RB) [130 KB], Microsoft Reader (LIT) [136 KB] - PocketPC 1.0+ Compatible, Franklin eBookMan (FUB) [181 KB], hiebook (KML) [371 KB], Sony Reader (LRF) [189 KB], iSilo (PDB) [121 KB], Mobipocket (PRC) [150 KB], Kindle Compatible (MOBI) [183 KB], OEBFF Format (IMP) [192 KB]
Words: 46521
Reading time: 132-186 min.
Microsoft Reader (LIT) Format: Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud ENABLED
Adobe Acrobat (PDF) Format:  Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud DISABLED
All Other formats: Printing DISABLED, Read-aloud DISABLED
ISBN: 1-58608-599-9

An alarm was sounded as soon as the lookout spotted the flutter of a battle flag at the distant end of the wide fields that surrounded the principle fortification of Aradan. Even as the first soldiers crested the rise, the gates of Aradan Castle were swiftly closed and locked down tight with the great timber braces that took ten men to fit them in place. All along the walls, the men at arms checked their weapons and then waited in rigid tension, staring hard into the distance, watching as the small dots on the distant horizon slowly began to resolve themselves into men garbed in gleaming armor and battle horses decked out in the trappings of war. In the keep below the walls men at arms who had been loitering in the keep, cleaning weaponry and armor, practicing their craft, or whiling away their free time gambling their meager pay, froze at the sound of the warning horn and the sudden activity on the walls for a handful of minutes. Abruptly, they sprang into action themselves, racing to the armory to don leather armor and gather swords and long bows and quivers full of arrows. King Gerard had never been a popular king and they knew he had many more enemies than friends or allies among his neighbors.

Still, relief flooded the hearts of many as they took up their battle positions along the walls and stared out toward the threat approaching their keep. The army that marched forward with such discipline and precision--if it deserved such an exalted name--was a small one. They made up nearly thrice that number and had the added advantage of position.

Puzzlement began to take the place of their uneasiness as the army advanced purposefully, still displaying battle readiness, still flying the colors of war. None recognized the crest on the tabard of the man who led the army, but he wore the gold and purple of a king.

Their confusion intensified as the army halted at a signal from their leader before they'd covered much more than half the distance between the castle and the rise where they had first appeared. Expecting a messenger to break away and ride forward with their demands, a murmur of surprise rippled through the waiting troops as the leader himself left his army and came forward. Without any sign of wariness or hesitation, he spurred his great black horse with his spurs and closed the distance, bringing his restive mount to a halt only when he when he reached the outer rim of the moat, when he was so close that many of those on the wall above him could see his face clearly.

A dark cape, lined in scarlet, fluttered in the wind that coursed around him, outlining the proportions of a man of surprising stature and build. Long hair, darker still than the cape and gleaming with bluish highlights flowed with the cape almost taunting them with the fact that he was so bold he saw no need for helmet, or even to bind the mass to prevent an opponent from grabbing a fistful for leverage to lob his head from his shoulders.

Beyond that, the purple and gold tabard of royalty he flaunted was worn over nothing more substantial than a quilted vest. A wicked looking sword hung by his side that was clearly a weapon and not merely there for ornamentation, but, in his sword hand he held the staff of a conjurer, a dabbler in the black arts, which would make it impossible for him to draw the sword with any speed if he found it necessary.

He was either a fool or a madman to come so close. A good marksman could have pierced his heart from twice the distance. As close as he had come, it would take no great shot to slay him where he stood.

Oddly enough, that thought comforted none. There was grim determination on the man's face, but no sign of fear, and intelligence gleamed in his strangely piercing eyes. He was an enigma that made them uneasy in an indefinable way for such obvious fearlessness indicated he had reason to believe there was nothing to fear.

To rout their uneasiness, some of the men voiced taunts and jeers, but he remained maddeningly cool and undaunted, taunting them by his very presence and attitude.

Silencing them, the captain of the guard, Bryon, placed a foot on the low edge of the wall and leaned over just as brazenly to call down to the intruder, drawing chuckles of admiration from his men. "What business brings you to Aradan leading an--army?" the captain demanded sharply, emphasizing his contempt for the threat the army represented by his hesitation in honoring them with that distinction.

The stranger studied him for a full minute before he spoke. "My business is with the man who calls himself King of Aradan. I will discuss it with him and none other."

A murmur of both surprise and outrage rippled through the men at arms at the brazen demand. Their captain lifted an arm to silence them, however, and they desisted almost at once, waiting to see what their captain would have to say to this arrogant lunatic.

"Commoners do not summon kings," the captain spat contemptuously.

The man's eyes narrowed. "Nor question their commands," he responded coldly.

The captain was taken aback for several moments. "Off with you before I have you shot as a spy, lack-wit."

The man said nothing, merely waited.

"Suit yourself. Kill him," the captain commanded, nodding to the nearest archer and turning back to watch the slaughter with amusement.

An arrow was loosed. It shot true, so fast it was little more than a blur as the missile spanned the short distance. Three feet from the mounted rider, the arrow shattered, dropping to the ground. Several of the men who'd witness it gasped and crossed themselves. The captain frowned angrily, nodded to the two archers on either side of him. Two bolts were notched. Two bolts launched and both shattered a full arm's length from the target.

The stranger smiled grimly.

Unnerved and furious now, the captain commanded his archers to fire. A hundred arrows flew from the walls, peppering the ground around the rider, bouncing off something none could see, shattering--but not a single arrow touched him.

"What trickery is this?" the captain demanded, disbelieving, trying without absolute success to hide the fear that had begun to worm its way around his confidence.

The captain's words were cut off abruptly and the men around him whirled to look at him, certain a stray arrow from the waiting army had caught their commander. Instead they saw him clawing at his throat, as if invisible hands had closed around it in a vise hold.

"Bring me the man who calls himself king of Aradan!" commanded a voice so powerful that seasoned warriors trembled and new recruits went weak in the knees.