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War of Darkness: Legends of Oblivion, #3
War of Darkness: Legends of Oblivion, #3
War of Darkness: Legends of Oblivion, #3
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War of Darkness: Legends of Oblivion, #3

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In the climactic finale of The Legends of Oblivion trilogy, Gillespie stands at a crossroads of vengeance and redemption. Haunted by a deep-seated loathing for dragons, he's poised to expose their hidden malevolence to the world. Yet, an inner conflict rages within him: can he rescue his closest friend from a fate worse than death — becoming a dragon forever?

 

Mere, with a heart full of determination and a destiny she cannot deny, embarks on a perilous quest. Her mission? To shield her kin from the Warlock's impending doom. But as she journeys with unfamiliar allies, she finds herself inexplicably drawn to the enigmatic warrior, Gillespie. Succumbing to forbidden passion was never part of the prophecy.

 

Dive into a tale of forbidden love, ancient prophecies, and destinies intertwined. "War of Darkness" promises heart-pounding action, tantalizing romance, and spellbinding magic. Choose your side, for darkness looms and legends will rise.

LanguageEnglish
Release dateAug 9, 2018
ISBN9781386372622
War of Darkness: Legends of Oblivion, #3
Author

Andrea R. Cooper

Andrea R. Cooper is an author of fantasy, paranormal romance, and historical romance with a touch of magic. Her Legends of Oblivion series won the Up Author Approved Award and Moonrise's Best Fantasy Romance. Andrea lives with her husband and three kids in Texas where she casts fictional characters into mystical worlds. She practices fighting with plastic swords with her son and daughter or conjuring up dinner with her wizard husband who is the love of her life. She believes in the power of change and counting each moment as a blessing. But most importantly, she believes in love. Sign up for her newsletter for new releases, contests, and more: http://eepurl.com/brJAl5 Follow her on Twitter:  "https://twitter.com/AndreaRCooper Like her Facebook page: http://on.fb.me/1QpGDfU www.andreaRcooper.com

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    War of Darkness - Andrea R. Cooper

    Chapter One

    Mere tasted the chance of death in the air, vile like putrid meat, spoiled milk, and mixed with an electric charge. A storm. Or rather a spell storm, one that would devour life. She had heard of such curses before; when the wizards had battled the Warloc but that had been centuries ago.

    It had to be a water-mage who cast something so powerful. Depending on its intent, it could poison the rivers and oceans or rain acid and melt the flesh of any living being it touched. The black clouds rolled closer, darkening the sun. She stood on the edge of a cliff as the waves churned and crashed against the dark basalt rocks below. Wind whipped her robe and hair, tugging her closer to the ocean. Lightning, the color of decayed green, streaked across the sky.

    She turned and dashed towards the temple, in hopes that she wouldn’t be too late to sound the warning bell.

    Perhaps if everyone waited out the storm in the temple, they’d be safe, but she doubted anything would be safe from the raging oceans once they started. Though, the temple’s coral columns and obsidian walls were strong, and the protections of the ancients might be able to shield them from this evil coming. She prayed that was the case.

    How would this storm affect her friends, the Marelynes, in the ocean and rivers? She had to let them know as well. Her hope was they’d be safe in the depths of the ocean and lakes. But the villagers, if they ventured outside, they would perish. She ran faster, despite the sand biting into her ankles.

    The trace of death in her mouth soured the morning floral smells from the hibiscus, along with the tickly sensation of the grass as she climbed the hill toward home. It was early dawn, and with the darkness, many would remain asleep.

    At the top of the hill, the temple came into sight. The guards in the watchtower at the top of the column carved from white coral stared down at her unaware that danger was on her heels.

    Raindrops splattered against her back. She forced her legs forward faster. Behind her, lightning struck and her breath hitched as the scent of charred grass and decay filled her nostrils.

    Nearly tripping on the slick obsidian steps leading into the temple, she caught herself and dashed inside. She forced the coral temple doors open, but inside the foyer was empty. Her bare feet slapped against the black tile. Thunder rumbled outside. Anyone who heard it would think it was a normal storm. But Mere knew the truth; she felt it in her bones, in her blood.

    She couldn’t count on people remaining inside, soon they would rouse and begin their morning duties. The village fishermen casting their nets.

    Her feet stung from her run across the stone temple floor, but she skidded forward to the bells. Two hung side by side, one a low soothing pitch for prayers and meals, the other high and keening to warn of a storm.

    After she rang the bell, she would use her sea conch to alert Vina about the storm. Her friend would warn the other Marelynes.

    Then Mere, along with the other water-mages, would use their magic to shield the island and the ocean. It could cost them their lives to use that much power. Although her magic revolved around water, she would not be able to scatter this storm.

    She grasped the rope and after untying it, yanked with all her strength. The bell pealed against the thunder and distant screams. Death rode this storm. And she had to warn everyone before it was too late.

    Chapter Two

    Gillespie thought the Elvin’s damn prophecies might never cease from throwing him and the others in mental spirals. Crammed inside the hut with the others, he stirred the fire’s embers. Since they returned from the Forgotten Lands, where the dead roam, he shared Captain Del’mir’s hut with Nivel and Landon. The Captain lent them their hut while they stayed with their eldest daughter and her family.

    Now he just needed to bide his time before he left, especially after recently defeating the Warloc and his progeny. He owed the men this much for fighting alongside him, but he longed to go home to Fafirnon and forget everything. Forget that he had served a Dragon, Landon, who was also his Prince.

    Hatred boiled inside him.

    Yet, Landon had been his friend, and that was the only reason he hadn’t killed him when he saw him transform into that hideous black creature.

    Nivel plopped down in the middle of the floor beside the fire pit. The tips of his pointed Elvin ears turning red from the heat. Last year, Nivel and Brock rescued Gillespie from prison and he was forever grateful to them. He owed them a debt he repaid by following them on this accursed journey.

    Celeste, who had also been in the same prison as Gillespie but in the tower, entered the tent squeezed Gillespie’s shoulder, and he feigned a smile. She took a spot across from Gillespie tucking a blanket across her legs. The nights here were cold and the days warm. He stirred the fire with a stick and threw on another log. Embers caught and flames flickered back to life, chewing hungrily on the wood.

    With a cough, Brock entered the hut. He and Celeste had been inseparable since they met. He an Elvin cursed to touch no one save her. She a witch with the power to heal.

    Gillespie leaned back and studied the group. Nivel looked older since their battle with the Warloc than when he had first met him.

    Outside, thunder boomed. Despite the rain that pelted the straw roof, no drops mudded the dirt floor.

    Along the walls of their borrowed hut hung colored blankets of red and silver.

    Gillespie sharpened his sword.

    Even after the Warloc and his progeny’s destruction, fragments of their magic lingered. Pulsed. So, are the prophecies mistaken that we’ve won? Celeste’s blond hair now reached her shoulders in waves instead of shorn one-inch spikes from when she was imprisoned.

    Not sure, Nivel answered. The gods, both light and dark, gave the prophecies to the witches. I was given some, but the Warloc, others.

    Did you search the Bramad palace after we defeated him the first time? Brock asked.

    Aye, for months. He shook his head. But the Warloc must have given them to his progeny—doubt he’d have destroyed the only hint to his immortality.

    Whose side were these witches on? Brock glared at Nivel. They wrote the damn things, they should have given you all of the divinations.

    Nivel chuckled. And sway the future without any hope to the Warloc?

    But he’s evil—was evil. Why would they help him? Celeste chimed in. She rested her hand on Brock’s knee.

    Who can judge the future? Nivel added a bunch of twigs to the fire. To the Warloc, we are the ones who will destroy the world.

    What do you mean? Celeste leaned forward.

    Many of the prophecies, say one of us will destroy the world. Nivel raked a hand through his hair.

    A chill raced through Gillespie. What if all of this was for naught? What if they were the ones to blame for the disastrous future? After all, they were now aligned with dragons, but the creatures couldn’t be trusted. The dragons said with the return of Landon, their treasure, peace would fill their sky lands. But Gillespie had seen the destruction two of them caused in his village fighting over the scent of their treasure. It would take years to rebuild. But the lives lost and charred in his home village would never be replaced: Friends. Cousins. His mother.

    He would never forget the smell. The scent of burning hair—pungent smell like the burning of a rotten skunk. Gillespie and the remaining villagers battled the flames with whatever they found and even bare hands as their loved ones screamed.

    Even though the others trusted this new alliance, Gillespie did not. The dragons must pay for what they did and never cause harm again.

    According to the witch who gave me the set of prophecies, there are at least three forks in the path. Nivel held up three fingers.

    Gillespie frowned. Would the riddles never cease?

    Three paths, two lead to destruction, only one leads to redemption. Nivel counted each off on his fingers.

    Whose redemption? Our own or the Warloc’s? Celeste’s azure eyes rested on Gillespie and glanced away, unable to hold her gaze with his hatred for dragons racing through his head.

    Excellent observation. Nivel winked. We can only assume our own.

    And what of the cost? Gillespie laid his sword down across his folded legs. How do we even know everything is finished now?

    We can only guess, Nivel replied. We sail tomorrow, once this storm passes.

    "And we must return Landon to his kingdom of dragons." Gillespie felt his face cloud over at the word dragons.

    Aye, and I must check on my human kingdom of Fafniron as well as my dragons.

    Gillespie couldn’t look Landon in the eye. Landon wasn’t human. He was a dragon. Master Ad’yra, the elder dragon, warned that shifting into a dragon too much or for too long could destroy his humanity.

    Deep in thoughts, Gillespie startled when Mirhana entered and sat beside Landon. Even though she looked human and didn’t have the severely pointed ears as did Nivel and Brock, she was Elvin. She loved Landon—a dragon, and her brother Brock loved a human. Was he the only dragon-hater in the room?

    Thunder clapped as though breaking the sky apart. Celeste flinched.

    It’s only a storm. Brock patted her hand.

    Nay. Her body shook slightly as if something pained her. Tis magic, powerful magic.

    Icy fingers raced down Gillespie’s spine. Even Celeste paled.

    A bell pealed in the distance as though answering the thunder as it rolled through them.

    Something familiar and evil. Nivel frowned. We must leave as soon as the storm lightens if it ever does.

    Brock? Celeste turned toward him. I think part of the Warloc or his progeny is still alive.

    Gillespie’s skin tingled at Celeste’s words. But both the Warloc and his protégé were destroyed at Beltane.

    I know, but this enchantment. It feels familiar, like the hint of his wickedness is in the air. Celeste rubbed her arms. A stench.

    And Nivel lives, Landon pointed out. Didn’t the Warloc say with his death, Nivel will also die?

    Thunder crashed outside the hut again, but this time was like one of the gods smote the ground with a mallet. Gillespie frowned and checked that his sword was clear of its scabbard. Would they ever be free of the Warloc and his schemes?

    Screams rent the air. The stench of burning wood and flesh mingled with rain filled the air he leaped up. It reminded Gillespie of when dragons had fought over his village and killed so many including his mother. Gillespie’s heart slammed against his chest.

    He dashed out of the hut. Outside Gillespie searched the skies, but only found black clouds tinged with a sickly green that didn’t look natural. An olive-green like the underside of an ogre. Gillespie swallowed the lump forming in his throat. This had bad magic etched all over it.

    What’s happening? Nivel asked behind him.

    I don’t know, but it’s not good.

    Nearby, two men dragged a third between them. Help us. The captain said you have a healer staying here with you.

    Aye. Gillespie held the hut door open for them.

    Nivel frowned and Gillespie followed his line of view to the man’s blackened legs trailing through the sand to the hut. Inside, everyone gathered around the three newcomers. Gillespie stayed by the hut’s door, his hand stayed on his sword hilt. No one would catch him unready.

    What happened? Celeste moved forward, tucking her blond hair behind her ear.

    He was in the hut when the blackish-lime lightning struck, one of the men said.

    The injured man groaned, his melted legs full of blisters as they laid him next to Celeste.

    His wife and daughter are piles of burning flesh and bones.

    Gillespie bit back bile. Just like little Caleb. Before the dragon attack, he was a chubby toddler. After, he still had a smile that lit up his eyes, but instead of making Gillespie laugh back as he had before, it made him weep.

    Will you heal him? the other man asked glancing at Celeste.

    Gillespie recognized him from the ship when they sailed to Cape Seyechell. He was one of the many who refused to look Brock in the eye and adapted the sailor’s nickname of Cursed for Brock. No doubt he believed Brock conjured this storm.

    But Brock had no magic. Only his curse to drain someone with his touch of their kajh. Jeslyn, the assassin the Warloc’s progeny hired to kill them had been Brock’s last victim. At least she was immortal now. As long as the Warloc remained dead, body and kajh or life-essence, then she would never fear her human mortality.

    Although, according to the Warloc, he and Nivel were magically bonded. If Nivel still lived, then did the Warloc as well?

    But now, with Celeste’s words ringing in Gillespie’s head and his own nagging doubts earlier, he wondered if they had done enough. What if the Warloc lived? And there was still the issue of the dragons.

    Celeste held her dagger and wove her free hand over the injured man. When the thunder boomed again, Gillespie’s bones vibrated.

    Sweat bedded across Celeste’s forehead. By all accounts, her healings were instantaneous. So, why did this one take so long?

    True, half the man’s legs were blackened bone. But she should heal him enough to recover; only it meant he’d never have legs again. There were limits to power—her power. She could not mend something missing, either flesh or spirit.

    The crackle of lightning sizzled in the air. With a flash, Celeste thrust her dagger overhead and brought forth her protective garnet glow over the small hut.

    Strike after strike, the lightning bounced off her barrier. What was happening?

    Mirhana, Celeste whispered. I cannot heal him.

    Brock’s sister scooted forward and waved her hands over the sleeping man. Then, in a hiss, she backed up and then scrabbled for her bow and quiver of arrows.

    What’s wrong? Landon asked. And Gillespie tightened his grip on his sword hilt.

    Instead of replying, she notched an arrow. The two men who brought the injured dove in between her arrow and the body.

    What are you doing? Gillespie stepped forward.

    Move. Mirhana pulled back on the bowstring. Her black hair hung halfway over her face.

    Is she mad? one of the men asked holding up his hands in surrender.

    The injured man groaned.

    "If you wish to live, move away now or become like him." Mirhana didn’t twitch but kept her arrow and eye trained on the burnt man.

    Did she mean burnt and blackened like this man’s injury? Was it contagious? Gillespie glanced from the injured man to the men trying to protect him; neither showed any signs of infection.

    The two men glanced at them. One reached down to help the groaning man sit up when the injured man’s teeth clamped down on the man's hand. He howled in pain.

    With a curse, Gillespie drew his sword. The man was alive a moment ago, how could he become undead from a storm? I thought we were done with these creatures.

    The other fellow bound away but the undead man clung his victim’s leg while the man tried to kick him off and break free.

    Apparently not. Mirhana released her arrow and it lodged into the biting man’s shoulder.

    Without the use of his legs, the undead man collapsed to the floor. Gillespie stood over the frothing man and chopped off his head with one swing of his sword.

    The man clutched his bitten hand.

    He will change too since the bite is infected. Mirhana notched another arrow.

    What’s going on here? Captain Del’mir bellowed entering the hut. I give you my home, and you murder my men?

    He was undead, Mirhana said, never taking her eyes off the bitten man.

    He was injured. The captain shook his head. Not in his right mind, he needed healing, not butchery.

    The thundering and lightning charged the air around them. Gillespie glanced at the man beside him, his eyes wild as he held his bleeding hand, while Mirhana watched him with her arrow notched and ready.

    Then he launched upon his fellow comrade. Gillespie and Brock tried to yank his arms away, but within seconds, his victim bled in streams from his eyes and ears. Gillespie scrambled backward.

    Sooner than the victim could draw in a breath to scream, he was dead.

    Just like when Brock’s curse drains people of their kajh—life essence.

    Celeste. Brock yanked Celeste behind him, as the man twisted toward her.

    Before Brock could leap in front of Celeste, the man already had her in his grasp. At first, Gillespie did not worry as Brock’s touch couldn’t harm Celeste. She was the only person he could touch and not kill.

    Her protective shield around the hut flickered like a candlelight at the end of the wick. The garnet jewel in her dagger darkened to an onyx.

    Gillespie rushed into the man, knocking him off balance. When Brock’s hand touched the man’s arm to kill him, nothing happened. Brock’s eyebrows rose and his mouth opened in alarm. Why didn’t it work?

    The man grinned a little too broadly, watching both of them. Have you come to play?

    Gillespie pushed the man off of Celeste, while Brock rose and stood by her side.

    Are you hurt? Brock brushed his fingers across her face.

    Instead of leaning into his hand, she screamed. A golden charge surged between them, like when pulling apart a wool blanket on a cold winter’s night.

    Gillespie yanked her from Brock’s grasp as Brock fell to his knees.

    Do you not like my game? The man continued to laugh as he stood, his skin a pale green color like a corpse about to decompose.

    How? What have you done? Brock looked like he wanted to gut the laughing man.

    Something had happened that caused his curse to open on Celeste when it never had before.

    The true ruler of these lands will return. We breed monstrosities like you, merged with the powers of the undead. The man laughed sending a chill of terror through Gillespie.

    I don’t understand. Celeste fell back against Gillespie’s chest.

    Each person this creature kills becomes a deadwalker. The man’s voice changed cadence as though someone spoke through him. And each undead can make a creature like this one, between worlds undead and dead. The storm brings this to all the living things it touches.

    Kavith? Brock whispered the Warloc’s progeny’s name.

    Aye. Even now, my power in the storm sails for the coast. My army will rise even unto the depths of your Elvin kingdoms.

    Gillespie unsheathed his sword and with one swipe, removed the man’s head. It rolled with his laugh frozen on his face to the other side of the tent.

    If Kavith spoke the truth, others were already infected. And now that Celeste could not use her magic to sate Brock, his curse would starve. Eventually, his curse would feed even without him touching anyone. None of them would be safe around him.

    Chapter Three

    Mere’s bones ached . The storm had passed and now devastation greeted the water-mages. Three who lived among the villagers had died, two more became infected from deadwalkers. The Warloc had raised corpses from the dead to do his bidding as undead servants and their bite or scratch, if it drew blood, turned the living into the dead as well. Several huts now smoked from the flames of the lightning. Thankfully, the water-mages used the clean rain from the temple to put out the fire. Then, the warriors dispatched to kill the undead.

    It could have been worse. Jamin clasped her shoulder. If you hadn’t sounded the warning, we would have been caught unaware. Hundreds would have died rather than—

    She should have done more. Her legs shook and she collapsed onto the temple floor. Its smooth black stone used to comfort her but now reminded her of the darkness churning in the storm and the color of burnt skin. Even now, despite the ocean breeze and incense, the stench of rotting flesh coated her tongue.

    A couple of the eldest mages had died inside the temple while the storm batted against their protective shield over the island. It was too powerful for them. For all of them. Without their combined power, the whole island would have fallen.

    Even the cost of one life means we failed. She buried her head in her hands.

    Who would do this? Who would gather death magic and leash it inside a storm to ravage the land? The Oracle. She had to speak with her. The Oracle interpreted the will of the gods to the water-mages and Marelynes.

    When she rose, Jamin grasped her elbow. Where are you going? You must stay here until the warriors say it is safe.

    I won’t stay here and do nothing. She tilted her chin higher to look into his dark eyes. They had grown up together, here in the temple. All children who had the spark of water magic trained here. Their parents gave them to the temple priest and priestesses as thanksgiving to the gods. Here, they were sheltered from the world and disease.

    Her own family, two years after bringing her here had succumbed to the plague. Was that their payment for their faith? She shook her head. Doubt had tried to trip her before, but one of the mages had shown her that with life comes death and then rebirth. But no rebirth had come from her family’s death, nor would any come of this.

    We’ve done all we can.

    I’m going to the Oracle. I can’t wait to see if something else is coming, or wonder why this came here. She snatched her arm from his grasp.

    We must pray and ask the gods for guidance. Let the warriors handle this. He ran a hand through his dark hair making it disheveled. It will be contained. Your faith is being tested, don’t—

    The gods have never responded to me. Why would they now? She turned away from him. I’ll go to their mouthpiece and I will not leave until she gives me answers.

    Outside, the destruction smacked into her. Huts smoldered and black smoke that clawed at the sky. She detoured around broken, blacken boats scattering the shore, toward the sea. Palm tree fronds and whole trees littered the sand. She covered her mouth from the stench of burnt bodies and charred remains of things she couldn’t identify.

    Mere waded through the waves. Dragons once ruled the skies, the Marelynes the ocean, and Ogres the bellows of the world.

    But the Oracle ruled between the realms in an underwater cave that took the lives of the best swimmers before they could reach her. It was believed those who perished had the blessings of neither the gods nor fate to attempt the journey. Even the Marelynes had difficulty reaching the Oracle, for she was said to be part of the volcano that built their island. Her cave was full of lava and air that singed Marelyne scales. Or so Mere had been told.

    The ancients say the Oracle had been the only one for thousands of years. Maybe more.

    The water-mages were descendants of the Marelynes with their fish tails and the wizards. Mere’s ancestry not only allowed her to swim fast and on little air, but to use magic as long as water was involved. Kilger was home to mages and Marelynes alike. If a child was not born with the water-mage skills, they had two choices: become

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