The Antlered Queen

The Antlered Queen

A.K. Stanfield

THE LORDS AND LADIES BELOW

Book 1

Published at Smashwords

Copyright October 2016

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Table of Contents

Chapter One: The Summons

Chapter Two: Syrilla

Chapter Three: The Contemplation

Chapter Four: The House of Wind

Chapter Five: The Earth-Mother

Chapter Six: The Lords and Ladies Below

Chapter Seven: Ancient Secrets

Chapter Eight: The Beastly Brotherhood

Chapter Nine: The Frost Moth

Chapter Ten: The Bee Keeper

Chapter Eleven: The Antlered Queen

Chapter Twelve: Ashareena

Chapter Thirteen: ‘Lady Venom’

Chapter Fourteen: The Circle of Ore

Chapter Fifteen: Ghosts

Chapter Sixteen: Mist Falls

Chapter Seventeen: Apiathropy

Chapter Eighteen: Massacre

Chapter Nineteen: Bondage

Chapter Twenty: The Skull Scepter

Chapter Twenty-one: The Gnelf

Chapter Twenty-two: The Storm Brother

Chapter Twenty-three: The Fall

Chapter Twenty-four: The Rebirth

Chapter Twenty-five: The Bitter Elf

Chapter Twenty-six: Mage-silver

Chapter Twenty-seven: Honey

Glossary

Ag-Nir’s map of the Triple Peaks valley

About A.K Stanfield

Contact A.K. Stanfield

Other Works by A.K. Stanfield

Chapter One: The Summons

Ashareena felt a depth of cold coat her empty stomach. She was the one the goblins foolishly called the Antlered Queen, though her two curving horns looked nothing like antlers. She had finally been summoned. For more than a year and a half she had been locked in the highest tower Maladanik could find. The view had been spectacular, with all the ruins of Alosia spread below. Ashareena had been so lonely that she had spent her time creating stories about the city used to be and its inhabitants…and the rest of her time in fear and hunger. Not even her impling, Xanfang, had attempted to penetrate the tower’s wards to visit her and risk Maladanik’s wrath, and it was bound to her by mighty spells. Sometimes when clouds would pass beneath her balcony she wished to jump on them and fly far away from her father’s tyranny. Once Ashareena had even grown so distraught she had tried to jump, but some spell kept her hands nailed to the golden railing and her feet to the marble floor.

Every day she had dreaded the inevitable summons. And every night she had been terrorized by the possibility of execution.

Or worse.

She feared being tortured until finally being devoured by the demon. Maladanik, the brutal conqueror of Alosia, would eventually add her bones to the collection ringing his throne.

But the summons had never come.

She had made a mistake on her last mission, and Maladanik did not tolerate dissent or failure from anyone.

Even though he was her father...he would slay her if the mood struck.

Outside, the night passed toward dawn. The tiny second moon, the Runner, raced low across the sky in an endless marathon. The Runner passed overhead six times a day, three passes in the morning and three at night. Most nights were cold so high in the tower. And though it was high summer, Alosia was far enough north that the chill never truly left her bones once the sun set. Having been born Above, she could see in the sunlight, though Alosia stayed shadowed and dreary and not a welcome sight to imprisoned eyes.

She had gone so long without speech with another creature that the Antlered Queen feared she was half-mad. After five months alone, she had begun talking to herself, just to hear a voice. The conversations were brief and sporadic at first, but they had changed as the months had grown toward a year, becoming longer and more frequent. Talking to herself was merely speech, not companionship. She missed her impling. She often wished it would visit her, but tiny Xanfang was terrified of Maladanik and had avoided all contact since her punishment began.

To make sure she was still a real creature and not just a disembodied consciousness, she often spent hours staring in the polished silver mirror hanging on one of the marble pillars. The mirror had originally been set closer to goblin-height, so she had been forced to place it high enough she could use it. The Antlered Queen was tall and towered over goblins. Her eyes were set about seven feet above the ground, but the twin horns curving out of her forehead added another two feet. Her features resembled those of an elf, but her hide was mottled purple and rough to the touch. Her hair was as black as Below.

The Antlered Queen had always heard rumors and whispers among the goblins that her mother had been an elf. However, it was forbidden to speak on the subject of her birth. None of her father’s minions would tell her anything in mortal fear of Maladanik’s anger. She would always quickly push the thoughts of her mother and elves away—it wasn’t wise to dwell on such things in his city.

She had not been fed since displeasing her father. Those five hundred days had been the hungriest she had ever experienced. Her skin felt tight on the bones in her face. Though she possibly had some elf blood, and it was mixed with whatever demon or monstrous beast that was Maladanik, she would not live forever. Her father enjoyed her privation and suffering. She couldn’t go much longer trapped in the tower.

She would die…and if she survived she feared her spirit would soon be broken…or her mind destroyed…

She sometimes suspected Maladanik could read her thoughts. The Antlered Queen would try to hide deeper inside her mind, hoping to find a safe space. If he ever discovered her deepest secret, she would be doomed.

Ashareena…Maladanik’s daughter…the Antlered Queen…she wanted to escape the rot and ruin of Alosia and never return.

Such thoughts were treason…such thoughts meant death.

A knock outside her cell door startled her. Was Maladanik reading her already?

Her heart pounded as she hurried to the door blocking the stairs and locking away her freedom. She bent down and peeked through the hole.

Murzod, so thin and pale!

Her heart sped faster! Murzod was a soul-drinker, eager to steal the life-forces of whatever unfortunate creature crossed his path. Murzod was also the personal slave to her father. Once a gnome wizard, he had been transformed into something else…something cursed…during the fall of the city. A sea of sinister powers had been raging then.

Now…because of whatever had happened to him…Murzod was neither alive nor dead. Maladanik liked the fact that the gnome knew more of the city’s secrets than any other creature and the fact the demon-lord could abuse the servant endlessly without fear of killing it.

A key clicked in the lock and the door creaked open.

Was it the dreaded summons?

Murzod strode silently into her elegant prison. The Antlered Queen stared forward so her eyes searched beyond him, over his withered body that was once a gnome…she made sure not to look down or lingering on his face. The Antlered Queen never tried to make eye contact. It was rumored he could control the weak. She feared finding out if she was weak, too. To her out-of-focus gaze, he was merely a much-smaller blur—a figure in black cloth possessed burning eyes—that seemed to float below her focus. He reached up and grabbed her hand with a grip of iron ice. Look at me! he commanded, pointing at his face with his other fist.

She needed to save her strength to confront her father. She could not wear herself out now. The Antlered Queen lowered her gaze to meet Murzod’s malicious stare. His white and leathery face was unchanged. His evil flames that served as his eyes stared up at her. It is time. Our terrible and awesome ruler, Maladanik, has finally summoned you.

She nodded.

The soul-drinker smiled. No fangs marred his features. He drank the soul straight from victims’ mouths. Ashareena had seen him consume a victim, creating a slave…it had looked as if he had sucked a smoky or ethereal substance from the captured elf. Murzod had left just enough of the unfortunate creature’s soul to create a new slave to serve him. She did not want to share that poor elf’s fate.

No witty remarks? Has he finally broken the Antlered Queen? Murzod laughed, finding joy in her pain. Kneel, he whispered cruelly.

The Antlered Queen refused, shaking her head. All her hatred for him over the centuries boiled up. No! I am still Maladanik’s daughter.

Murzod poured blue lightning into her chest from the tips of his gray fingers. She dropped to her knees, twitching in pain. Ashareena gazed at him, feeling hungry and defeated.

That look will get you eaten, he whispered. "Not that I care. But he despises the weak. Your spirit is all that has kept you alive so long. You make him laugh."

Ashareena stared at the soul-drinker dumbfounded. Never had she imagined the demon had anything but hatred and scorn for her.

Was Murzod toying with her?

Or was it more dangerous that her father had her in his thoughts at all?

Don’t look so startled! ‘The Antlered Queen?’ he mocked. The Antlered Fool! You have much to learn if you are to keep your bones out of the pit!

That angered her. Despite the endless hunger, fear, and cold, the ember of her spirit rekindled at the taunting words.

The soul-drinker must have seen something in her gaze, for he nodded approvingly. Yes, that is more like it. There may be a chance for you yet!

Murzod stepped back and stared at her, from the tips of her horns to where her knees dug into the stone of the floor. While he does respect strength, he wanted you to suffer. This will not do! The soul-drinker slapped her so hard her hair was knocked out of place—the goblin bones she had used to style it flew to the floor and bounced off a pillar. No! You must look like you have suffered more! He rained blows of ice upon her face and body. His dead hands beat a staccato rhythm on her flesh. She endured, knowing her father would do much worse.

It was soon over. Her emaciated face was bruised. Her pale lips were cracked and bloody. She ached from the lightning…and from his chill touch. Her hair was no longer neat: the long strands tangled in all directions or clotted black near the scalp.

And my clothes? She wiped her lip on her forearm as he turned away.

Rip them if you like. The soul-drinker laughed. I do not know what he has in store for you—I just wanted to make sure I hurt you once more before he kills you!

Never had she hated Murzod more, and she had hated the undead tormenter her entire life.

Ah, what spirit. How I would love to drink your soul! Laughing, he slapped her once more, putting another mark on her left cheek. He turned serious. Follow me! he snarled. It is time.

For five hundred days she had wanted out of her tower cell, but now that it was time to actually leave, she could think of a thousand things to do: clean the rooms in her cell that took up the entire top of the tower, mend her clothes, and compose more stories about how the city used to be before the monsters burst out of a chasm dug from Below. But she did not have any more time for such things.

She had to face the summons.

Without a word, she rose and followed the soul-drinker. She could still feel where he had beaten her...the cold burn of Murzod’s touch would pain her for a while. The door of her cell closed on its own as she followed him down the winding tower stairs. For a long time they descended in silence. The air warmed, growing humid and thick. Finally, the stairs ended.

They exited the tower, and she breathed in deeply but immediately coughed out the stink of the destroyed city…moldering corpses, rot, slime, offal, dung, and pools of toxins and poisons. Maladanik had made the city in a charnel house on a grand scale.

Ashareena followed Murzod along the ruined broadways and boulevards. The beautiful marbles were stained with soot and slime. Once the city had been beautiful, but three hundred years of Maladanik’s rule had ruined Alosia. Now it was a frightful mess. Soon they passed the avenue leading to the Great Pit where the Second Eruption had begun so long ago. A great gaping chasm descended into a network of tunnels that burrowed down hundreds of leagues to where the Lords and Ladies lurked in the darkness. Maladanik used the chasm when he sent emissaries Below on diplomatic missions. He would often send gold, food, and slaves deep to their evil realm far beneath the surface.

Ashareena did not believe Maladanik was truly loyal to the Lords and Ladies Below. She believed he sent gifts to keep their suspicions low, so he could continue to rule Alosia with little interference. She had no proof but believed it to be true.

It was true that he had served the Shadow Council faithfully. Maladanik had led their armies to victory in the Second Eruption. When those Below had erupted for a third time, he had assisted, leading his forces east to engage the new Order that arisen to protect the other surface-dwellers. His army had kept the Order busy while the Third Eruption cracked open in great rifts in the steamy jungles south of Jhurdu. His monstrous army had kept the knights and rangers trapped in the Midlands and unable to send help. His horde had helped secure a victory, but he had been injured in the process by a wizard’s spell. The wound still troubled him and he had not left his throne room since. Maladanik had helped the Lords Below yet again when the demon had expended tens of thousands of his monsters during the Fourth Eruption, but he had stayed in Alosia during that campaign, sending Ashareena to lead the horde in his absence.

Not far from the Great Pit, they entered the enormous building Maladanik used as his lair. The soul-drinker led her up a wide staircase. After they entered, she walked carefully down a hallway with vaulted ceilings, a step behind Murzod. Some doors were open, others locked. The muffled sound of hammers, moans, and screams came from different rooms. Some of the walls were defaced, covered in crude drawings and curses in the goblin tongue.

Ashareena heard whispers as they walked through the ruined hallways—goblins, ohgras, and monstrous misshapen beasts and humanoids. Whispers hinted that Maladanik was preparing to assist the Lords Below in a Fifth Eruption. Other soft voices argued that he meant to attack the elves. That caused more disagreement: some believed he would attack the alliance of elves to the east and destroy them. Others thought it more likely he would try to drive the elves from the enchanted forest to the north of the wastes…forcing them to flee to the Legacy, their magical floating isle in the western seas.

Murzod led her past a hallway clean and empty of all creatures, looking as pristine as the day of the Second Eruption. Bright lights glowed from runes and strange marks on a towering set of double wooden doors at its end. They were surrounded by giant roots or limbs of a tree, crossed and twined like a knot. She could hear the door sizzle and crackle, as if alive. It was rumored to be the door to the Vaults. For three hundred years her father had not been able to open it. All of the treasures and magic of Alosia were said to be locked safely behind the glowing wards. Some thought the vaults were filled with weapons, spells, and riches. Others thought it a magical doorway to the Legacy far to the west, floating safe above the seas.

Ashareena knew Maladanik wanted to open the Vaults more than anything. He constantly mused on what treasures were locked away. Some goblins whispered that he had gone mad over the centuries having such wealth and power so close yet beyond his grasp. However, all who whispered such things soon added their bones to the pit ringing his throne.

The hallways grew filthier as they left the entrance to the locked magical doors behind. Tapestries hung on some walls, tattered, ripped, and stained. Snakes twined about some of the stone columns as if they were trees. Bats clung to the ceiling.

They were getting close to the throne room.

A stinking corridor led off to her left. The walls dripped with moisture. The passage had once led to the Great Chapel of the Sky Father. Maladanik had found other uses for it, though. He had forced his slaves to labor until a titanic cauldron hung over a great pit of flame. He used the cauldron for several great labors. In it he had forged his wicked sword enchanted with curses and the remains of his enemies’ weapons. Each of the Appointed had been stripped of their magical blades and wands and other weapons before he had devoured them, saving their skulls. The skulls, too, had been converted to other uses—he had used them to create his great Skull Scepter, using the cauldron in the last stages of its creation. And sometimes Maladanik soaked in a boiling bath of oil to soothe his ancient bones.

The entrance hall to his chambers lay ahead of them. Ohgra guards moved pikes like saplings aside as she and Murzod approached the door to the throne room. The hulking creatures were even taller than Ashareena. A ridge of horned spikes ran from the top of their heads down their spines and tails. The doors magically opened…and the air grew warmer, hot beyond summer’s touch. The soul-drinker stopped and turned toward her. He gazed evilly up into her eyes. May I never see you again in this world! he laughed and walked away.

Hoping his words to be true, she walked carefully inside. No more could she delay the summons. The great hall was shadowed except for the light of a few stars streaming in from scattered holes in the arched roof. Pillars rose in the shadows, and she sensed the presence of more servants hidden in the chamber. Fires burned in braziers set around the room.

Before the Second Eruption, the council hall for the Appointed—where they would debate and govern—was open, airy, and welcoming. Its design was elegant. An enormous dome overhead covered tiered seats circling a marbled floor enclosing a dais and a pool. The water was for the mer—the faithful aquatics who were treated as equals in Alosia. On the oval dais the Appointed would debate and vote.

Now what had once been the floor and the mer pool was a stinking pile of bones and rot. Gold, gems, and jewelry lay in heaps on the tiered seats behind the dais. Once a great table for the Appointed sat in the center, but now a great metal throne dominated the dais. Four sets of double-doors had once allowed access to the great hall, one on each side wall. The western doorway that Maladanik had used to break into the room was collapsed, ruined centuries ago. He had destroyed two other doors as well, so now the only entrance and exit was the eastern doorway.

Once the chamber had been full of light and joy.

Now it was home to a monster.

Approach, slave! His voice was cruel. He did not speak too loudly, letting his near-whisper carry constant threats. If he raised his voice, death was almost inevitable. Ashareena walked with her head down, careful to try to shield her thoughts, except anger and defiance. She had taken Murzod’s words to heart, for good or ill. It was a risk but one she felt necessary.

When she could see the pit of bones, she stopped, knelt, and closed her eyes. Master, how may I serve thee?

Rise…let me look at you.

She stood and lifted her chin. She took a breath and opened her eyes. Maladanik sat on his hulking throne of steel, stone, and fire. He was twice her height, a nightmare of crimson scaled flesh. Long horns rose from his forehead, straight and sharp unlike her curved ones. Ridges of horns ran down both sides of his face, ringing his face like a mane of bone. Intricate golden loops threaded with gems wound around his skull and horns. A great patch of white, dead-looking skin covered his left side, over his ribs—that was where the wizard had injured him so long ago. His barbed and snaky tail whipped lazily as he lounged on his throne. Bones competed with treasure and dung in heaps about him. Flies swarmed black in the air.

At his feet, a bruised and bloodied elf lay bound and helpless. A star had been carved in the elf’s forehead by one of Maladanik’s claws. She did not like the sight. Whenever she felt numb to torture and death, she would encounter more evil and learn once again she was not completely dead inside.

The sight of the elf disturbed her greatly. The thing that had angered her father in the first place was when she had shown pity to a handsome male elf. The sight of an elf always reminded her of her mixed lineage, of the mother she had never known. She did not need to think about her mother’s people, not this close to Maladanik. She could not risk his reading her thoughts. She cleared her mind and tried to meet his gaze.

He stood. His great bulk crushed the life out of the tortured elf. Then he used his clawed foot to toss the corpse into the air. He caught the body in his great jaws, chomping loudly and swallowing. He coughed loudly and then spat bones and offal at a nearby pile.

I need you to perform a task for me…it is of…greatest importance! His voice was louder now, deep and sinister, echoing