The Chronicles of Illyra

Book One: A Faint Glow

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Prologue: Krysdainell

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The last of the summer wind reclined itself in the marshes outside of Lektor. Peeking over the

distant mountains, the sun stretched its venomous rays between the decrepit towers and sagging barns

that littered the city. Awake and impatient, Krysdainell sat atop her dun stallion and peered at the rigid

armies staggered in the canyon below. The creatures shifted as the sun rose in the sky, and bore down on

them like a whip lash. It illuminated their dull faces and teased in their thinning hair. She gazed down

the lines of rigid soldiers, but they all looked the same to her: all ragged and blank. They had no

ambitions, since it was impossible for them to leave this crumbling city. As she looked upon them,

Krysdainell sneered. They were weak, pathetic, nearly all of them peasants. Their eyes were downcast

and humble, and they didn’t flinch to wipe dirt and sweat off their brows. They were not worthy of her;

their mere presence reminded her of that every morning when she inspected them after exercises. But

they would be obedient and there were many of them.

Of course, she thought with a disappointed frown, they would not last. They were not a powerful

army, despite their numbers. Many of them had been weak in life. There were many farmers, country

soldiers, some women even. The children, Krysdainell had put her foot down about. The children would

make her look foolish, and they would only serve as fodder to be killed while the archers drew their

arrows. Chances were that most of the undead would be killed in the invasion. Naturally, she wouldn’t

know for sure until she saw them in actual combat, but if they were lost in battle, well then, they would be
the first of hundreds of thousands. Krysdainell felt no remorse for them. After all, it wasn’t a sin to kill

the dead.

A fly buzzed in her ear and she swatted at it. She wiped the insect blood on her breeches and

sneered. All the life in Lektor was vermin. It was why this was the perfect place to begin, nobody wanted

to be here, and those who were here had no other choice. It was the perfect hiding place. She smiled,

parting her red lips to show vicious teeth, like a wolf about to dive in for the kill. The time was so close.

She could feel it crawling over her skin, and the excitement prickled her as goosebumps rose on her arms.

Krysdainell lifted her shining steel helmet off her head and tucked it under her arms. Soon, very soon, she

would have horns to decorate that helmet.

“Milady?”

Krysdainell turned sharply to her left, where silent as Death, her commander-at-arms had

appeared. “What do you want, Kellan!?” she screeched. The undead moved silently, and her heart always

jumped when one seemed to appear out of nowhere. Kellan bowed low and clutched his rusting helmet

into his chest. Krysdainell gagged as the burning smell of rot swarmed her and she lifted a clean

handkerchief to her nose to filter the nauseating odor until she could become more accustomed to it.

Kellan straightened and looked at her with his dead white eyes.

“The army of the undead await your orders.”

Krysdainell nodded and tucked her handkerchief away so it didn’t seem like she was implying

Kellan reeked of rot, even though he did. It was important not to offend the undead, lest they change their

minds about helping her. They were the unfortunate ones whose souls were stronger than their bodies

and thus sustained animation, even while sanity and intellect faltered. Those whose brains still

functioned properly remembered who they had once been before they woke in their graves, and they

resented the reminder of who they had become. Kellan, for example, had once been a loyal officer of the

king of Maisrepore. He was killed in combat, as was evident by the gaping hole in the left side of his chest

which he attempted to hide under a loose beige tunic. He had been given a hero’s burial. Krysdainell

remembered it clearly, for it had only been a few years ago. The morning after his burial, Kellan appeared

at his post, the same way he would every morning. He had no recollection of dying, as was the case with

most of the undead. But how the queen had hollered to see him standing guard in front of the throne

room that morning! The screams easily could have echoed up to the northern territories. It was the king’s
duty to deport the man south to Lektor, which he did, employing his strongest men to clasp Kellan in

chains and through him in the back of a prison wagon.

It was, she supposed, to her benefit that the king had treated his once loyal subject so

dishonorably. Her uncle was usually docile and peaceful, but he had no stomach for the dead. The way he

treated Kellan led his heart to grow cold, and now, he was her loyal officer. And it would be he, only a step

behind her, who would lead the undead army into the unaware arms of Palmara.

“Tell them to adjourn, for today,” Krysdainell decided. The sun had by this time pulled itself

entirely from its nest behind the mountains and was resting comfortably in the blue sky. Today was not

the day to march. In a fortnight, perhaps they would be ready to travel to the capital. They were still slow

and insolent. But before they could go to Palmara, she had a very important job to do.

“Come with me to Headquarters, Kellan,” she ordered once the undead began to shuffle back to

their caves and hovels. “Bring your five strongest men.” She pulled on her stallions reins and tapped her

heels against him. He walked in a circle around Kellan as she glared down at him behind her sharp green

eyes. “I will be awaiting you with great impatience.”

He bowed his head curtly, not daring for a moment to meet her hostile gaze. She kicked her horse

and said “He-yah!” and the stallion took off due north, where in an abandoned brick market building, she

would reveal the first delicate step to her plan to her small human squadron and the strongest of the

undead.

...

Kellan arrived hidden under heavy a black cloak that kept his sensitive skin from being exposed to

the sun. Five burly men tumbled into the shade of the building behind him, and he secured the door.

Krysdainell set down her quill when they entered. “Sit,” she ordered, and waved her hands at the various

unsteady wooden chairs. The undead looked at each other awkwardly for a moment then settled

themselves into various chairs. Kellan chose to stand, but he lowered his hood so Krysdainell could see

the frustration etched on the lines of his face. She swallowed an agitated sigh, prepared for what was

about to come. Soon, she would not have to deal with Kellan’s insolence, but until she had proven herself
to him, and to everyone, she would tolerate accusations. She planted her hands on her hips. “What,

Kellan? Speak.”

“With all due respect, Milady,” Kellan bowed his head respectfully, “by your command, I rouse my

army just after moonrise every night and force them to practice maneuvers until the sun rises.”

“It is essential, officer, that your man are ready for anything.”

“I understand, Milady. But we’ve waited months for a command. We don’t know what we are

training for, or when we are to march. Some of the men are becoming restless.”

One of the undead soldiers present grunted and spat at the ground close to Krysdainell’s feet. The

saliva was mingled with maggots and slithered just inches away from her boot. One of her own men stood

and began to unsheathe his sword, but she held up her hand. “That won’t be necessary, Gant,” she told

him. She stepped on top of the wriggling maggots. They crunched beneath her feet. From the table, she

picked up one of her twin katanas and swung it at the man. Its blade pierced both his cheeks, where

maggots came crawling out. She wiped the clear liquid from the tip of her blade and set it back on the

table.

“Officer,” she addressed Kellan smoothly, never letting her gaze leave the humiliated soldier. “I

have reasons for what I do.”

The insolent soldier broke the gaze between himself and Krysdainell, looking dejected and

embarrassed. She stepped back to the map she had been drawing on before Kellan and his men had

entered. “Send that one away, Kellan. He is of no use to me until he learns to respect his betters.”

Krysdainell didn’t lift her head, but she saw the soldier rise and storm out of the building,

slamming the heavy wooden door behind him so the rusted iron hinges screamed. She waved to Kellan

and said, “Come.”

He moved to her side, the odor of his rotting skin washing over her like punch in the face. She

swallowed her bile and pointed to the map. “This is Gnik Eht Evac Fo. Are you familiar with it?”

“Only legends, Milady.”

Krysdainell nodded. Few humans of Maisrepore were unfamiliar with the name of the dragon’s

lair. As children they were all spoon fed the stories of the majestic dragon king and his glorious lair. He

was said to be the wisest most generous king of all the land, and even the human and Elvin kings referred
to him on subjects of the greatest importance. Even as a child, Krysdainell thought the whole thing was

hogwash.

“You must understand that this is top secret. None but those present in this room must know

about it.”

“Of course, Milady.”

“I require your solemn oath. Your men, too.”

“I give it, wholeheartedly.”

“And them?” Krysdainell waved her arms to the four lumps that Kellan was courageous enough to

call his best soldiers. Each of them nodded in turn, but for the most part, they seemed entirely

disinterested.

When all had agreed to secrecy, Krysdainell smiled deviously, and her heart was overjoyed. The

end of all things was at hand. “If you are all agreed to secrecy, then you will all travel with me to Gnik Eht

Evac Fo. We leave upon the next hour.” She turned to her own men, standing loyally behind her. “Ready

my things, and your own.” Then she turned to Kellan. “You and your men may go. Meet me at the North

Gate of the city in an hour’s time.”

Kellan dismissed his soldiers and they quietly left the building. He own me followed, making

towards the tents where the human slept outside of the dank scent of the marshes and the dead.

Krysdainell had returned to her map and was double-checking her desired route before she realized that

Kellan was still standing over her. She looked up at him through strands of her own curly black hair and

narrowed her eyes. “Was there something more you wanted, officer?” she hissed.

“Only,” Kellan began, then he hesitated. “Milady, why are we going to Gnik Eth Evac Fo?”

Krysdainell grinned so that the corners of her mouth stretched all the way to her ears. “You fool!”

she laughed. “Isn’t it obvious? I’m going to kill Troglodytes. I’m going to kill the dragon king.”