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Ghost of the Erlyn

©2018-2020 CJ AARON

This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. Any reproduction or unauthorized use of the material or artwork contained herein is prohibited without the express written permission of the authors.

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Aethon Books is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the publisher.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead is coincidental.

All rights reserved.

Contents

ALSO IN SERIES

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

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Epilogue

FROM THE PUBLISHER

ALSO IN SERIES

About the Author

ALSO IN SERIES

A TRIBUTE AT THE GATES

FULCRUM OF LIGHT

GHOSTS OF THE ERYLN

Prologue

The heavy oaken door closed with a thundering boom. The reverberations echoed around the great hall, paying homage to the finality of the act. Lord Eligar sunk into his cushioned chair with a profound sense of relief that the day had at long last reached its close. He leaned back, crossing his right leg over his left, his fingers closing longingly around the stem of the newly filled goblet of wine. He lifted the glass to his nose, gently swirling the deep red liquid; closing his eyes, savoring the complex aromas that flooded his senses.

Fay Eligar routinely made himself available to hear the complaints and petitions of those who lived on the lands that fell under the dominion of House Eligar. It was a habit instilled in him since his youth, an inheritance from his father's rule.

The great hall was a spacious chamber; its high vaulted ceilings supported by thick columns, evenly spaced along both walls. Light shone through the narrow, stained glass windows. Their vibrant colors danced along the walls and floor as they caught the rays of the setting sun.

A large, beautifully carved, wooden desk dominated the front left corner of the hall. It had been his home for the balance of the day. To his left, on a raised dais at the end of the room rested a massive, ornately carved and decorated throne.

He wrinkled his nose unintentionally at the sight.

He hated that chair.

Hated looking down on those who sought him out for whatever reason. It wasn’t the petitioners he despised—it was the groveling and disconnect that it created. His father had imparted him with a valuable lesson before his untimely passing.

Look someone in the eyes on their level and you’re bound to hear truth with much less delay.

He could still hear the booming voice of his father resound through the hall. His mood had blanched as the day grew late. Lord Eligar looked with trepidation at the disarrayed stack of parchment to his right, yet it was the small missive lying face down on the desk in front of him that caused his consternation. The day’s requests had been mild if not boring in their tedium. As was the new norm over the previous moons, however, reports of mild aggression at their borders had increased steadily.

With a sigh, he flipped over the parchment in front of him. Though his eyes had catalogued every word already, he carefully scanned the brief document.

Dearest Lord Eligar,

The Honorable King Lunek the Third again wishes to express his deepest condolences at the loss of your tribute and soldiers. He hopes you now understand the importance of leaving the transport of the tributes from their unmolested security of The Stocks in the hands of the prescribed guards. The Harvest is to be a joyous occasion for the Blessing of the King is not a gift bestowed without due care and the utmost reverence. He fears that the sanctity of the event has been forever marred by your selfish acts.

After careful consideration, in light of recent events, however, your petition to attend the upcoming Deliverance has been denied.

As to the matter of your accusations regarding the hostilities at your borders, the King has found them baseless. The insinuations that either House Sarnac or the Royal House are involved are meritless and an insult to their honor. Complaints of this nature will no longer be tolerated and will cease immediately.

Furthermore, the King maintains that it is your family’s continued reluctance to house larger contingents of Royal Troops in your cities that is the root cause of the hostilities plaguing your unfortified borders. It is his sincerest hope that you reconsider these requests for the safety of the citizens of Damaris residing under the protection of your House.

Lord Eligar tossed the missive to the side, sending it spinning off the edge of the table. His exclusion from the Deliverance was neither unexpected nor unwelcome. In truth, he had no interest in participating. The request was merely an added effort

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