The Onyx Throne - Book One

“I am from a land called Awenor,” she began. “It’s over the Skybreaker Peaks to the west of Iletish. It is a beautiful country with lush verdant forests, sweeping plains, and mighty rivers.”

She looked at him as if expecting a comment, but Mitchell didn’t say anything.

“These are things I had intended to tell you that night in your city before we were attacked by Ivaran’s men. I had hoped to convince you to come with me willingly. But I was interrupted. If I had not brought you here, you likely would have been killed anyway. Milandris probably would have sent others. I thought taking you with me was the best way to save your life.”

“But why? Who am I to you? Who am I to Milandris?”

“We will get to that,” she said. “There are other things you need to know first. I will try to shorten it as much as I can.”

Mitchell let out a frustrated sigh and waved for her to continue. “Fine.”

“Awenor is a land that has known peace for nearly a thousand years. It is protected by a magical bond that is sealed with each ruler making invasion a formidable task for any encroaching army. The armies of Iletish tried in the early days of the kingdom and it was a disaster. Since then, the kingdom has been allowed to flourish without the threat of rampaging armies that plague other lands.

“At the heart of Awenor lies an elemental, a spirit of nature. Not divine, but not fully mortal, either. Her name is Awen. The purpose of a nature elemental is to guide and shelter the land. But their power is also their curse. Elementals like Awen live in massive crystal geodes deep in the ground. They are tied to it and cannot leave. The crystals in such a geode are powerful magical artifacts that are sought after by every magic user in the seven kingdoms. In the past, there were others, but Awen is the last on this continent.”

“What happened to the others?” Mitchell asked.

“They were hunted, killed, and their geodes harvested. It was the greed and short-sightedness of the mortal races that led to their deaths. They have limited abilities to protect themselves. They are powerful, but it’s not that kind of power. They can be killed. However, Awen found a way to help ensure her survival.

“The first monarch of Awenor was named Lorivast. The histories say he was part of a group of adventurers exploring the forgotten lands west of the Skybreaker Peaks when he was separated from his party during a violent storm and fell into a hole in the earth. While he was deep underground, wounded and dying, with no hope of rescue, Awen came to him. She healed him, they became friends, and a deal was struck. Awen would bond with him, in turn giving him some of her powers, and he would become her protector. Awen knew that now that men were once again crossing the Skybreaker Peaks, more would come. Some would want to hunt for her and kill her as they had killed her sisters. With the help of Lorivast, who was already an accomplished arcanist, she might survive.

“With her guidance, he built a kingdom. With an elemental to nurture the land, crops grow faster, and diseases and plagues are less frequent. Droughts are less severe as Awen can bring up water from deep within the earth to keep the plants alive. But, perhaps even more importantly, was the harvesting of gemstones. That is the true source of Awenor’s wealth and power.”

“Why’s that?”

“We can discuss that later. For now, just know that, through the sale of those gemstones, Lorivast was able to finance his kingdom. As he neared death, it was revealed that the bond was not passed down from parent to child. Not just anyone could accept the bond. A special person had to be found. Awen taught the ritual to Lorivast and he chose a select group of his most trusted mages and arcanists to perform the ritual so that Awen would not be without a protector.”

Allora paused to take a breath and a drink of water before continuing.

“Thus, the line of succession has remained unbroken for over eight hundred years. The second monarch, a woman named Saran, founded the Onyx Knights, of which I am one. Maybe the last one.”

She stopped at that and Mitchell saw her swallow down some emotion.

“It is our sacred duty not just to protect the monarch, but, perhaps more importantly, to perform the ritual to find the new monarch after the old one’s death. Without a monarch at the head of government to direct forces and guide the commanders in battle, Awenor is at risk of an invasion that would likely end in Awen’s death. Until two years ago, we were safe under this system.”

Mitchell had to admit, it was a compelling story. He could see the emotion and passion on Allora’s face as she told it. Whatever wounds she’d experienced before they’d met were still there. Mitchell looked at the others. If Revos was paying attention, he hid it well. He had pushed out a little depression in the sand and appeared to be napping. Lethelin was sitting cross-legged in the corner of the tent staring at the sand in front of her with a scowl on her beautiful face.

“The last monarch, a half-elf named Baylor, had become…,” Allora’s voice trailed off as she tried to choose her words, “Inattentive in the last decade of his reign. As he became overly fond of alcohol and his dalliances with the men and women around him, he began to neglect matters of state. More and more of the burdens of running a thriving and diverse kingdom were pushed off on the Knights and other functionaries. Things went unnoticed. Corruption began to spread, and law and order started to break down at the fringes. Our enemies began to take notice. Piracy along the coast increased, and there were more and more incursions into the border regions. There was civil unrest in some places as people grew angry at the lack of response from Baylor and his court. Then, two years ago, Milandris struck.”

Allora’s eyes went distant.

“His soldiers were everywhere all at once. They must have been lying in wait for their signal for months. Guardsmen, serving staff, stable boys, it seemed there were knives in every direction. We had no warning. I do not know how he did it, but it was a masterstroke. In a single night the Onyx Knights were wiped out, Baylor assassinated, and over eight hundred years of peace undone. My parents, my friends, and everyone I have ever loved were killed in just a few hours. All gone. ”

Allora shuddered as she fought to contain the emotion and Mitchell couldn’t help but feel for her, even with everything that had happened. He wasn’t quite sure what to say. He had never been good at offering sympathies. Saying you were sorry just didn’t seem to cut it.

“But you survived?”

Allora sniffed and nodded, wiping a tear away from her tanned cheek. She took a deep breath and looked to be trying to center herself to continue.

“I grew up in the palace and knew its secret passages inside and out. I fled and made my way out of the city. The Onyx Knights were tasked with finding the next monarch but I did not know the ritual. I had the heart stone but no clue what to do with it.

“The heart stone?” Mitchell asked.

She opened her clenched hand and resting in the palm was a small black stone, about the size of a strawberry. Once Mitchell saw it he felt something tug at his consciousness. He felt the urge to reach out to it but he remained still.

“The heart stone is a piece of Awen. It serves as both a link to her and a key to the throne of Awenor. The monarch takes it into his or herself and it allows their body to handle the power transfer from Awen to them. It is what allows Awen to work directly with a monarch in the governing and defense of Awenor. The true bond only comes when you join with Awenor. This,” Allora indicated the stone in her palm, “allows the monarch’s body to accept the magical gifts she can bestow. Without it, any potential monarch would not survive the bonding.”

Mitchell’s eyes never left the stone. He thought he could see a soft flickering light in the depths of its polished black surface.

“It took me a year to find someone that could teach me the ritual.” Allora continued. “Imagine my surprise when the spell led me to another world. To your world. It led me to you, Mitchell Allen. It selected you as the next monarch of Awenor.”

Mitchell pulled his gaze away from the heart stone and looked into her violet eyes. He’d guessed where this was going. If this Milandris was after the throne and he was in the way, then killing him was logical. It was crazy, but it made a kind of sense once he accepted that this wasn’t a fevered dream, that he’d been taken to another world, another universe, with magic and monsters and gorgeous elf women with purple eyes.

But it was also a world where six-foot-five demon men fed bodies to giant lizards and beautiful women flayed open the cheeks of their enemies like they were deboning a fish. Where people kept you in tiny cages for hours on end and carted you through a desert to be executed for things you hadn’t done. It was a place of madness. At least, compared to where he came from.

The silence stretched as Mitchell weighed his response. Allora set the stone down on the sand between them and waited. The silence stretched on for such an uncomfortably long time that Mitchell saw Revos crack open on of his terrifying golden snake eyes and look at him.

Mitchell looked back down at the black void of the heart stone. He felt it pull at him. And there was definitely an inner glow.

Finally, he spoke.

“Allora, I feel truly sorry for what happened to you. It sounds horrible, but I don’t belong here. I want you to send me home. Back to my world and my people.”

Allora blinked. Revos actually lifted his head up and stared at him in disbelief, but Mitchell didn’t take his eyes off Allora.

“What?”

“This fight is not my fight. I don’t have any magic, I don’t speak the language, I don’t know the culture, I can’t use a sword, and I sure as hell can’t save a kingdom of strangers from a man who was able to kill the last king and undo eight hundred years of peace in a single night. Your spell was wrong. I’m not your guy.”

Allora stared at him, mouth agape. “But… No. The spell is not wrong. It has never been wrong.”

“I don’t know what to tell you.”

She grabbed the heart stone from the sand and clutched it hard.

“You are the one the spell chose! You will take up the heart stone, bond with Awen, and rescue our–your–kingdom. You are the next monarch!”

Her voice had taken on a heated intensity as if she were reciting a sacred mantra that had been repeated a thousand times.

“No, I’m not.” His voice was firm now. “I’m Mitchell Allen, born in Portland, Oregon USA, Earth, the Solar System, the Milky Way, the Universe. I do data analytics for a cosmetics company. I drive a Nissan, I like old movies and sometimes I get a little too drunk and cry at Thai cell phone commercials and Whitney Houston songs. But I’m not your next monarch.”

She stood up suddenly, looking down at him. “You are. You must save Awenor!”

He didn’t like her towering over him and so he stood up as well.

“You need to send me back,” he said. “Find someone else.”

“The spell chose you!”

“Well, the spell chose wrong. I’m no one’s savior. I’m just a guy.”

A series of emotions passed over her face so quickly that Mitchell had trouble cataloging them. The one she settled on was clear enough, though. Scorn.

“You are a coward,” she almost spat the words. Her voice dripped with venom. “Perhaps the magic has been corrupted if it selected one such as you!”

Mitchell almost took a step back from the pure spite in her voice, but he held his ground.

“It’s a poor craftsman that blames their tools,” he retorted. “Maybe the problem is you!”

Before Mitchell could blink her blade was at his throat. He could feel the tip of the weapon resting just beneath his Adam’s apple. Her eyes were cauldrons of purple fire as she glared at him. He held absolutely still and knew that one wrong move and she would run him through. Her body vibrated but her sword arm was perfectly still. He swallowed and felt the tip prick his skin.

Mitchell’s eyes flicked to Revos and Lethelin, but they merely watched. Lethelin had a look of astonishment on her face, and her own hand was clutched around the handle of one of her knives as if she expected violence. Revos managed to look both alert and laconic at the same time.

“Allora…” Mitchell said softly bringing his hands up. “I’m sorry. But you need to send me home.”

“I…” But she choked off whatever she was about to say. A look of pain and loss replaced the anger then, and a single tear rolled down her cheek.

She withdrew her blade suddenly and Mitchell staggered back a step. He rubbed at the spot where it had pricked him and his fingers came away with a small smear of blood. When he looked back at her she was staring at him, incomprehension clear on her face. Then something seemed to go out of her. Her shoulders slumped and her fingers around the sword’s pommel went slack. It dropped to the ground, followed by the heart stone. Without another word, she turned and left the shelter of the tent.

Mitchell felt like the world's biggest asshole but he pushed the feeling down. He held tight to his anger at being ripped away from his life and his home. This was not his fight. These were not his people. He didn’t belong here. He resisted the urge to pick up the stone. He wanted to go home.