"I believe you are one of the Prophesied. One of the Chosen,” said Dornton.
Chapter 3 — The Shadow Mark. Mark of the Shadow — Book 1 of the Phantom Lord Saga.
Welcome to MARK OF THE SHADOW, an epic fantasy novel written by Oliver Evensen and Taryn Brewer. If you’re new here, you can start at the beginning, start right here, or get caught up with the Table of Contents.
⬅️ Previous Chapter | Table of Contents | Next Chapter ➡️
Subscribe for FREE to get access to the first 10 chapters of the novel, OR…
BECOME a Paid Subscriber / Story Guardian to read the entire novel before it’s published (chapters published weekly on Fridays):
Ned trailed the young mage through the corridors of the Castle, fully aware of their destination—the High Tower. This tower was once a bustling hub for mages until King Richard ascended to the throne and imposed strict regulations on magic. Now, in Quillendell, anyone wishing to practice magic had to endure a rigorous process to obtain a special chit signed by the King and the Court Mage.
Ned found it hard to believe the young girl in front of him possessed such a chit. She couldn’t be what, more than twelve? Maybe thirteen? He supposed she must have gotten it through Dornton somehow, though until this point, he hadn’t been aware that any other mages were in the Castle aside from the Court Mage himself.
They ascended the winding stairs of the tower cloister, with Ned’s apprehension growing with each step. His encounters with Dornton had been fleeting, always at castle events and invariably in the presence of the King. The mage had always exuded an air of austerity, matched by a lack of patience and a glib tongue that rivaled even King Richard’s. Even Caius, who had been the King’s Champion for nearly two years, had minimal interaction with the Mage. So why did Dornton want to see him now?
They reached the tower door, which lacked both handle and hinges. The girl pressed her hand against the sturdy oak wood, causing the door to swing open and leaving Ned bewildered. She entered without a word, and Ned followed closely behind, gaping at the scene before him. The highly vaulted room was covered ceiling to floor with shelves that brimmed over with books and scrolls. Luminous potions were held behind glass windows, clearly not safe to touch. Collections of bones, stones and other unusual items were scattered about the room. Under the only visible, high stained glass window was an aquatic habitat, where an otter lay snoozing underneath a sunbeam. Despite the room’s apparent lack of maneuvering space, its interior was far larger than should have been possible. A marvel that Ned attributed to some kind of magical feat performed by Dornton.
“By Inari,” he breathed.
The door closed behind him. He jumped, startled at the sound.
“Welcome, Champion. Ned, isn’t it?”
Ned looked around for the voice, his eyes scanning the dimly lit room filled with towering bookshelves. He finally spotted the source at the top of a high stair. There, Dornton was perched precariously, methodically pulling books from one of the many shelves that lined the walls. The mage descended the stairs gracefully, his robes flowing behind him and a thoughtful expression on his face. The air was thick with the scent of old parchment and the faint glow of enchanted potions cast flickering shadows around the room.
“Have a seat,” he said, gesturing to a chair that Nyra was currently removing a stack of books from. Ned sat down. The mage whispered a spell, pulling a chair from across the room, sitting himself down across from Ned. The young girl went and stood dutifully behind him. Seated, the mage seemed less intimidating. His braided beard was streaked with gray, though his hair still retained hints of blonde peeking from under the wide brim of his conical hat. His lofty, violet robes concealed the mage’s frail arms, but not hands. Crow’s feet framed his piercing blue eyes, which now held Ned’s gaze in their grasp.
“You may wonder why I’ve summoned you today. I’ll get straight to the point,” said Dornton. “The Shadow Mark of the Phantom Lord.”
Ned’s stomach twisted at the mention of the title.
“You have more questions about what I saw, then?” asked Ned.
“No,” said the mage. “What you said earlier confirmed suspicions that I’ve had for quite some time. Undoubtedly, you know of the Prophecies?”
Ned’s mind darted back to a time, long ago when he sat on earthen pews back in his home village, surrounded by familiar faces and the scent of damp earth. The head Priest droned on and on about returns and the eventual oncoming of darkness, his deep voice echoing through the small, candle-lit chapel. But that had been so long ago, in a place where time had stood still and the worries of the world had been distant and insignificant.
“Somewhat,” he said. “I’m sorry. I’m not very religious.”
“Then allow me to reeducate you, on a very particular prophecy,” said Dornton. “The one known as the Mark of the Shadow. It is said when the Shadow Mark is made, it is a sign that the Phantom Lord will return and wreak darkness and blood upon the earth. Sound familiar?”
“I guess but–you don’t think…it can’t be the same Mark, can it? That would mean a lot of things–the destruction of Quillendell, the Phantom Lord’s return, the Chosen–“
“Ah! So you know more than you let on,” said Dornton. “That is precisely correct. I believe the Shadow Mark created in Eradad is exactly the one from the Prophecy.”
Ned slumped back in his chair, horror rising in him.
“But if it’s the Shadow Mark–that means–that means–“ he choked hoarsely. “The Phantom Lord is coming.”
To the devout, the Phantom Lord was a manifestation of pure evil. For the wary, he was a feared enemy, not one to be trifled with or underestimated. But in more recent years, the Phantom Lord was considered little more than a fairy tale villain. Ned had to admit, he fell into the latter category for most of his life. However, after witnessing the Shadow Mark and the Ragelings spawning from it, a childhood terror gripped him, making everything feel strikingly real.
“If–if that’s true,” said Ned. “Then I ought to go back to the King. Convince–“
Dornton shook his head.
“Oh, there’s no point,” said Dornton. “The King is pretending it’s little more than religious fantasy, though he undoubtedly recognizes the signs you describe. It’s his duty as King to be well versed in the lore of the Phantom Lord. He knows as well as I that only a true Shadow Mark formed from the dark affinity could act as a gate for teleportation. But, he will deny it, to our ruin, I’m afraid.”
Dornton tapped his desk. Startled, the young mage Nyra sprang to her feet, eyes wide with anticipation. She swiftly retrieved several scrolls from her satchel, her hands trembling slightly as she passed them to her master. Dornton meticulously unraveled one of the scrolls, his eyes narrowing as he examined the intricate symbols and diagrams etched in the old tongue on the parchment.
“I summoned you here today because I believe you are one of the Prophesied. One of the Chosen.”
Ned laughed. It started as a low rumble in his belly, and burst into a loud, harsh guffaw–tinged with bitterness.
“Think you’re wrong there, mate,” said Ned. “If anyone was to be Chosen, it would have been Caius.”
“A good champion, yes,” said Dornton. “But not one of the Chosen.”
Dornton pressed his hand against the scroll he was holding to smooth it out. He read—
“And the second, shall come, greatness thrust upon his brow, encircled by enemies, bearing sorrow born of treachery. Trained in the sword, but the sword he shall not wield…” recited Dornton, letting the scroll roll itself up. “If I read you everything that identifies you as Chosen, we would be here for days. Ultimately, it boils down to this–Caius’ murder left you as successor, and as one of the Prophesied Chosen.”
Ned froze.
“You believe it was murder, too?”
“Yes, unfortunately, someone appears to be advancing the Phantom Lord’s agenda in Quilendell. After your battle at Munher, I took it upon myself to investigate the Champion's body,” said Dornton. The tips of his fingers glowed as he put them together–as he pulled his glowing fingers apart, the image of a slender blade appeared in his hand. “Judging by his wound, the blade would have resembled something like this.”
“Looks like a ceremonial blade, the kind the King gives as gifts to foreign diplomats,” said Ned. “But…it—it doesn’t add up. Who would…?”
Dornton leaned back in his chair. “It could be anyone. Diplomats from all the territories of Elyora and Inkholme are here for the Otter Festival. Any one of them could have given the blade to one of your men and paid them off. Scavs would not bear such a blade. I must conclude that it was murder.”
“Then why haven’t yeh said anything?” said Ned. “Dammit.”
“As much as I want to bring a murderer to justice, this knowledge is best kept close to the vest. We don’t know who to trust, and should the Phantom Lord’s followers discover we are onto them, they may act prematurely before we are prepared to confront them,” said Dornton. “I acknowledge the gravity of your loss, but Quillendell is not the only realm at risk. All of Elyora will succumb to the Phantom Lord’s dominion unless we unite the Chosen to vanquish him.”
Phantom Lord be damned, was on the tip of Ned’s tongue just as Dornton’s assistant began to speak.
“I’m sorry you lost your friend,” said Nyra. “But as Chosen, it’s our duty to save the Kingdom. If the chosen are not united, the Phantom Lord will either kill us, enslave us, or worse.”
“Ah yes,” said Dornton. “And may I introduce you to Nyra Bouchier. My assistant, and another of the Chosen, or of the Four.”
“Her?” said Ned. “That’s a child, Dornton.”
“I am fifteen,” said Nyra, her voice a little high. “I’ll be sixteen next month.”
“Her age is irrelevant,” said Dornton. “She is Chosen, according to prophecy, just like you. She is also a highly adept mage and scholar. Both skill sets will help you in your quest when the time comes.”
“Quest?” asked Ned, but Dornton’s hand waved away the question.
“A topic for another day. We have more pressing matters. The third Chosen is your new acquaintance, Ivel.”
“Ivel?” Ned said. “The last time I saw him, his mind seemed a bit off. You were there, remember? I don’t believe he’s guilty of murdering those innocents, but how am I expected to defeat the Phantom Lord with a madman and a little girl? And what of the fourth chosen? Let me guess, a member of the kitchen staff?”
Ned couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed with all this information. He had always thought of himself as just a simple warrior, fighting for his kingdom and protecting those he cared about. But now, he was being told that he was one of the Prophesied Chosen, destined to defeat the Phantom Lord and save Elyora. Damn you, Caius. Ned thought. Why did you have to go and get yourself killed? Ned gazed at Nyra, who appeared so young and innocent. What chance did this delicate, pretty girl have against the forces of dark magic?
“I understand your skepticism, but do not underestimate the ancient prophecies,” Dornton said. “The three of you are chosen, and I am confident that I will soon identify the fourth. But one thing is certain — we must save Ivel from the executioner’s axe.”
“At least, we can agree on that,” said Ned. “But what exactly did you have in mind?
For the first time since the start of their meeting, Dornton exhibited hesitation, his usual confident demeanor giving way to a moment of uncertainty as he glanced around the room as if looking for a hidden listener.
“I have... formulated a plan to save Ivel,” continued Dornton. “The Otter Festival is coming to a swift conclusion with the upcoming Feast Day. During the feast, the King will perform the customary ceremony and performance where they reenact the last acts of the Legendary Heroes, and unveiling of the Otter.” Dornton paused, pointing to the otter perched in its aquatic habitat above. “However, after the unveiling, the King wishes to make an example of Ivel by presenting him as a villain–his majesty hasn’t yet decided if he wants to present him as a dark mage or as the heretic Brahm–'' Ned could hear the clear contempt for King Richard in the statement. “And plans on executing the man himself with an axe.”
Do it himself? Ned thought. He supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised. Ned was well aware of what King Richard did to his enemies. The man’s recent slothfulness had almost made Ned forget that the King remained a dangerous threat.
Almost.
“Now, obviously, Elyora will be doomed if we allow the King to cut off the head of the Third Chosen,” said Dornton. “And Ivel is under heavy lock and key. Breaking him out will be next to impossible. Therefore, our only option is to stage a coup.”
“A coup?” Ned exclaimed. “You can’t be serious. Have you forgotten what happened to the last people who attempted a coup against the King? They’re all dead, and their children are now indentured servants in this very castle. King Richard may be unscrupulous and slothful, but he’s no idiot. He will have spies and guards all over the place, especially during the feast.”
Dornton’s expression turned grave. “I am well aware of the risks, but we have no other choice. If we do nothing, Ivel will be executed and our chances of defeating the Phantom Lord will diminish greatly.”
“Why don’t I simply march down to the dungeons and free him myself? No one would dare stop me. I am the Champion of Quilendell after all.”
“You underestimate the King,” Dornton said. “He despises you as much as he did Caius, and would gladly take any excuse to have your head lopped off as well.”
Ned sat, frozen. Betray his king? But if he didn’t, he risked letting an innocent man be killed—Chosen or not. And if he did this, what then? He and the men that followed would be branded as traitors, then likely executed if caught. Where would they go after? Inkholme? Flee the country? And his duty–it felt like betraying Caius. But would it be? After what Podostroma had said, the King himself could have been behind the assassination. But if he wasn’t, Ned risked losing out and solving the murder. But–if others died because of his indecision, could he really live with himself?
“I can see in your eyes that you understand what needs to be done. Fear not; we possess something those fellows from Inkholme lacked: the support of one of the King’s most trusted advisors.”
“And who exactly is that?” Ned said.
“Me,” Gamaliel announced, stepping into the tower chamber with an air of confidence. Ned had been so engrossed in his conversation with Dornton, he hadn’t noticed Nyra had left her seat to open the door for the old Scav Butcher.
Ned sprang to his feet, Caius’s warning reverberating in his mind: Trust no one. But how far could he truly go alone? Eventually, he would have to trust someone.
Gamaliel was dressed in a more casual attire than usual, a dark tunic and trousers; however, he still donned the same black and gold hues associated with his station as the Court Executioner, a small emblem of his rank pinned to his chest. His presence commanded attention, and the room fell silent as he made his way through the cluttered space with ease, each step measured and deliberate.
The weight of uncertainty bore heavily on Ned. Doubts about Gamaliel’s potential role in Caius’s death lingered, and the memory of the battle at Munher Ridge unsettled him. Now, with each passing moment, the feeling of being ensnared in a web of deceit and danger grew stronger.
“Forgive me, son,” Gamaliel said, his voice putting him at ease. “But we had to be sure that you were on our side before I revealed my involvement, but I can see it in your eyes. King Richard is a bloody fool, and I have long been dissatisfied and disappointed with his rule. I have stood by him for all these years and I can do so no longer. You should know that some time ago, the King subtly requested that I get rid of Caius. After I declined, he must have found someone else to carry out the deed.”
Ned sat down, contemplating Podostroma’s words once more. Gamaliel’s words lended her theory even more credibility. Perhaps King Richard had indeed orchestrated Caius’s death, and this coup could be his chance to see justice. The stark realization sent a shiver down his spine, and the very thought of it made him feel nauseous. Certainly, Richard could have arranged for the note from General Stone. Everything seemed to fit, yet uncertainty still lingered over him.
“Tell me your plan,” Ned said. “I need to know exactly what I’m getting myself into.”
Gamaliel looked to Dornton who nodded in agreement.
“With a party of trusted soldiers, I will stop the ceremony right after the Otter Unveiling,” Gamaliel said. “Nyra and Dornton will constrain any resisting members of the Council, and buy you enough time to free Ivel. Once he’s freed, the four of you will depart Quilendell immediately. I’ll seal the doors to the main hall for a few hours, giving you time to make your escape. So, what do you say, kid? Will you join us?”
Ned glanced at Dornton, Nyra, and Gamaliel. The young mage’s eyes were filled with nervous apprehension, darting around as if seeking reassurance, while Dornton’s gaze conveyed a clear message: you know what you need to do. Gamaliel, ever the stoic warrior, tightened his grip on his sword, ready for whatever lay ahead.
“Dammit,” he swore. “Fine, I’ll do it.”
“Splendid,” Dornton said, leaning back in his chair. “I’ll leave the details for the two of you to sort out. Ned, be wary with whom you trust with this assignment, and don’t divulge more information than strictly necessary. Nyra and I will begin our preparations and stay in contact. Gamaliel, I have a few more matters to discuss with you. Perhaps you can catch up with Ned later?”
Gamaliel nodded, and Ned knew a dismissal when he heard one. Rising from his chair, he made his way to the hingeless door. Nyra opened it for him, and it closed silently behind him, leaving him standing at the top of the stairs, alone.
He put his hand on the hilt of Havashal, allowing himself a long exhale. He turned his face skyward and whispered a brief prayer to Inari. Whatever happened now, his path was set.
And wherever it went, he would follow it to the end.
I hope you enjoyed this chapter of MARK OF THE SHADOW! If you did, please like and share this publication with your friends and family!
I’d also love to hear your thoughts! Drop me a comment below — Don’t be shy! Let your voice be heard
Ready for the next chapter? To continue the story, you can select the next chapter below or return to a previous chapter. You can also get caught up with the Table of Contents or click here to see the chapter release schedule!