The Warlord and The Bard

The Kingdom and Empire: a thousand worlds across the galaxy called the Heart, linked by magic-driven Gates.

A Goddess who isn't content to just sit back and watch.

DarkFire: Crown Prince and Heir Presumptive. Warlord. Battle mage. Bearer of the Sword of Souls, and Speaker for its Voices. Black of hair and eye, and heart as well, if the rumors are true. Dangerous. Driven. Extremely drunk as he looks down on the crowded ballroom floor at the Summer Ball. Wondering if his plan to catch those behind the botched spell will work. Wondering how the plan can possibly work since it relies on Niallan. Wondering if he will ever be free of the damned prophecy.

Jerril: A flame-haired commoner just arrived on the Throne World. The Empire's new High Bard, a man with a Goddess-granted Gift of music. His first performance is later this evening. In the meantime, he leans against a pillar and looks up at the man on the balcony in Imperial black and silver. Wonders why the Warlord is so very drunk, and how he could possibly know that. Wonders if the Warlord had really just looked at him and then pretended not to. Wonders what in the Nine Hells is going on.

The Warlord and the Bard are about to meet. The Kingdom and Empire will never be the same.

57,464 words of story