Dawn of Avarice

DAWN OF AVARICE TABITHA MIN THE SIEGE OF AECORATH BOOK ONE Dawn Of Avarice Copyright © 2023 by Tabitha Min. All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of thsi book without the permission of the publisher or author is unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the publisher or author. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organiza- tions, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The Ritter House Publishing name and logo are trademarks of Ritter House Publishing LLC www.tabithamin.com Book and Cover design by Designer Eve A. Hard eBook ISBN: 979-8-9877812-0-3 Paperback ISBN: 979-8-9877812-1-0 Hardcover ISBN: 979-8-9877812-2-7 First Edition: March 2023 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 For Matthew, my fortress. And for our children, our beautiful legacy. Table of Contents PROLOGUE CHAPTER 1 CHAPTER 2 CHAPTER 3 CHAPTER 4 CHAPTER 5 CHAPTER 6 CHAPTER 7 CHAPTER 8 CHAPTER 9 CHAPTER 10 CHAPTER 11 CHAPTER 12 CHAPTER 13 CHAPTER 14 CHAPTER 15 CHAPTER 16 CHAPTER 17 CHAPTER 18 CHAPTER 19 CHAPTER 20 CHAPTER 21 CHAPTER 22 ABOUT THE AUTHOR ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS PROLOGUE KINGDOM OF MISTELFELD AS THEY LIFTED THE BODY onto the pyre, all she could seem to feel for the man was indifference. The queen's stoic expression left little room for anyone present to guess how she had felt for the man whom she had been married to for the past fifty years. She stood tall against the bitter wind which ushered in the coming winter. And the fur which lined her emerald-green cloak gently kissed the sides of her aging face. Her silver hair hung heavily over her back in a single braid, paying tribute to the long life which she had lived, a life wrought with turmoil. As the ritual began, she curled her arms even tighter into her body, wrapping herself deeper within her cloak. Gorhan, the seer had arrived to preside over the ceremony and entreat the gods on his behalf. It was rare for the seer to make an appearance unless the gods demanded it or perhaps his empty pockets. And her husband was certainly not known for his frugality, among other things. So, it was no surprise that Gorhan would oblige such an occasion. The old man had covered his body with deep blue inscriptions and symbols of the old language. Like clay, the paint had begun to crack and fade against the open air. But for his eyes and for his mouth, fresh black tar seemed to drip and run together down toward his throat in one continuous stream. He shook and rattled the bones of animals he had long since sacrificed and lifted his hollow eyes toward the heavens where he uttered words unknown to those around him. The dark skies above them gave further credence to the man’s abilities as he trembled and shouted toward the churning clouds. He is rather convincing… she thought to herself. After he lowered his slender arms, the local priests ushered in the two women whom the king prized most. They wrestled and screamed with their hands bound, pleading for their lives as they were each strapped down on either side of the ashen body whose eyes had been stitched shut. The drums then began to pound as a torch was lit. Gorhan then unsheathed his dagger and swiftly plunged it into the king’s chest, wrenching and splitting the bones apart until he could finally reach his hand inside. Their screams grew louder along with the beating drums as he dug deeper, twisting and cutting until the king’s heart was lifted into the air. He continued to chant as the dark blood spilled over and between his fingers while they squeezed tighter and tighter around the engorged organ. He then smeared his blood drenched hand across the women’s faces and replaced the heart into its former place. The women cried as they helplessly fought to pull their faces away from his hand which painted their soft porcelain skin. They struggled tirelessly until their voices were drowned into silence by the gurgling blood which filled their mouths as he drew his knife across their throats. They each grew quiet as the life left their bodies, leaving only their tear-filled eyes to watch it drift away from them. Blood dripped and rolled further down into the pyre and the seer grabbed the torch from the priest’s hand, thrusting it into the pile of wood set beneath them. The queen sighed in relief, as if by some means, her husband would find a way to cheat his death and return to her, fulfilling the dream she’d had the night before. But finally, she could see the man wasting away beneath the flame which engulfed him. She was finally rid of the bastard, and his whores. It took everything she had to keep herself from smiling, until something suddenly caught her eye. A dark figure emerged on the ridge line just beyond the valley, looking down toward the funeral where they stood. She focused harder until she could make out the silhouette of a man seated atop his horse, watching the proceedings from afar. As time passed, she watched as the figure remained stoic in the distance, only watching, perhaps even waiting. Until finally, just as suddenly as he appeared, the rider was gone once more. She watched as the man disappeared behind the billowing black smoke and out of sight. She waited a moment longer, and with her eyes still fixed on the ridge, she signaled for her servant, who approached her and lowered his head with reverence. She