Haven: Revenge of the Viper Read online

  Haven: Revenge of the Viper

  Copyright © 2014 by D.C. Akers

  All Rights Reserved

  Cover design by Roy Migabon

  Book design by D.C. Akers

  Formatting by Maureen Cutajar

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

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  www.dc-akers.com

  ISBN-13: 978-0-9845871-2-4 (pbk)

  Acknowledgements

  No one walks alone on the journey of life; therefore, I would like to thank those who joined me, and walked beside me, and helped me along the way continually urging me to write.

  Perhaps somehow this book and its pages will be seen as “thanks” to all of you who have helped make this dream possible.

  Much of what I have learned over the years has come as the result of being a father to two wonderful children, Myranda and Sarah, who, in their own ways, inspired me and subconsciously contributed a tremendous amount to the content of this book. A little bit of each of them will be found here weaving in and out of the pages—thanks kids!

  I would also like to thank a group of individuals with amazing talent. They have dedicated endless hours of their time, knowledge, ideas, and numerous tips—all of which culminated in the completion of this book. So to Clare Gilbert, Krista Bohr, Terri May, and Skip Morris, thank you for everything and most of all, thank you for your friendship.

  Always,

  D.C. Akers

  Table of Contents

  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

  Other Books by D.C. Akers

  “A lie is but a whisper of the treachery yet to come.”

  —Sinister Bones

  Chapter 1

  The two cloaked men entered the hallway, their staffs in hand, eyes narrowed, and faces taut with worry. They acknowledged one another with a slight tilt of the head as they rounded a corner of the dimly lit corridor.

  “Any word?” asked Vallen, the younger of the two.

  “No, nothing,” replied Demetrius.

  Large ivory sconces burned with a low flame, casting elongated shadows across the red marble floor and down the center of the stone corridor. The two men marched in unison, their knee-high black boots echoing as they struck the ground and their long emerald-colored cloaks snapping at their feet.

  “Was she on assignment?” asked Vallen, his gray eyes gleaming between flickers of light. He stood six feet tall and his features were rugged. He had high cheek bones, a thin nose, and a pronounced jaw line that swept back into his long brown hair. Demetrius, on the other hand, was much older but just as tall. His gray hair was short and unkempt. His facial features were softer than Vallen’s with a kind familiarity about them.

  Vallen, a Keeper for the last ten years, had not worked with Demetrius often; most of what he knew of Demetrius came from stories. Demetrius was a legend amongst the Keepers, known for his wisdom and power of the elements. He was a battle-hardened veteran and war hero. But like most heroes, that title had come with a price, one of personal loss and great tragedy. If Demetrius Lore was worried then the situation was definitely grim. Something had gone wrong. Terribly wrong.

  “Demetrius?”

  Demetrius turned and looked at Vallen for the first time since entering the hallway. Demetrius wore a blank expression.

  “I’m sorry, what did you say?” he asked, rounding the next corner.

  Two Centurions stood at their post mid-way down the corridor. They nodded as the two Keepers passed them. Draped in long, cobalt blue cloaks and silver armor, the Centurions were more than just soldiers; they were Majesty guards. Their elegant silver armor hung in layers, like thin overlapping leaves from their shoulders down to their arms. The Majesty Crest was centered on their breast plates, which were made of larger bands of silver metal wrapped vertically around their chest, down their torso, thighs, and calves. Their helmets featured large Falcon wings riveted to the front as well as nose and full cheek guards.

  Each Centurion held a long silver staff with an exquisitely decorated pommel made of crushed sapphire and silver. The pommel was forged in the shape of the Majesty Crest.

  Vallen and Demetrius approached the end of the corridor, which was dark except for the dim light from the two large caldrons that flanked the entrance to the Majesty chambers.

  “I was asking if she was on assignment for the Majesty,” Vallen said again. But Demetrius still did not answer. His solemn glare was one of confusion and emptiness. Finally, as they made their way down the massive staircase into the main hall, Demetrius answered.

  “I know as much as you,” he said abruptly. “I was in Bayville when I received the scroll. I was told it was urgent, that it regarded Holly, and to return to the Majesty at once.”

  So that’s it, Vallen thought. Demetrius is worried about Holly. He nodded in agreement; he had received the same scroll. But for him, there was one difference—it was not personal.

  The large hallway came to an end, opening into a grand room filled with statues of wild horses, ancient weapons, and a large ornate table made of bronze that stood in the center of the room. A centerpiece of five flickering purple flames hovered inches above the table and a perimeter of blue torches attached to magnificent stone pillars served as ambient light. Their glow illuminated the walls of the chamber, revealing elaborate rectangular carvings of white marble floating twenty feet above the ground. Inscribed on the carvings were the names of fallen soldiers who had given their lives protecting Haven’s freedom.

  The crest of the Majesty was magnificently carved on the center of the gray slate floor. It was a cobalt blue star with small black spheres outlined in silver between each point. Inside each sphere was the symbol for one of the Estates: a raven representing the Vampires, a mace for the Orcs, an arrow and shield for the Elves, and a crescent moon with three stars for the Witches. The fifth was the new addition to the Estates—a pair of crossed swords representing the Goblin race. The crest was encompassed in a thin silver band of unity.

  The two men hurried into the chamber, discreetly proceeded to the back of the room and waited for the summit to begin. The Orcs and Elvin delegates were already seated, as were the Witches and Vampires.

  Atamar von Bogdan, the Minister of Justice, stood in the center of the room with Bellisoria Vontella, the Witch High Priestess. Atamar was dressed in long black robes with sleeves that hung past his palms. His body was thin and gangly, and his bald head was oddly shaped, li
ke a large egg. He had a long hooked nose and chestnut-colored eyes. The man resembled a large vulture more than a Minister of anything.

  It didn’t help matters that Atamar stood next to the lovely Bellisoria either. With her long, flowing black hair and creamy olive skin, she was a striking woman. Her beauty was timeless—no one outside Haven would have ever guessed that she was well over six hundred years old.

  Bellisoria gazed politely around the room, nodding to acknowledge the other delegates. Her eyes, the color of honey, were mesmerizing, and her thick, full lips occasionally gave way to a kind smile that demanded attention.

  Vallen scrutinized Atamar from the back of the room. Something was not right about the Minister, he surmised. Atamar’s eyes shifted from side to side and he was fidgeting as he stood before the Majesty. His normal swagger and military bearing were all but gone. Bellisoria, on the other hand, stood poised, her demeanor as calm and collected as always. She was considered royalty by most, a queen by some, and the leader of the Majesty by all.

  She was dressed in an elegant, slim-fitted, v-neck satin gown covered in lavender lace. A chapel-length train and covered buttons completed the elegant ensemble. A pendant of diamonds and amethyst hung from a silver chain around her neck. The glimmering pendant was fashioned in the shape of an eye, the symbol of her coven. An ornate silver sheath concealing her wand hung on a thin silver chain draped around her waist.

  The Great Hall of the Majesty continued to bluster with its usual conversations of problems and situations that affected its leaders. Whispers of negotiations and commerce fluttered around the table like usual until a single voice rang out, silencing the Majesty leaders.

  “Where are they?” asked one of the three Vampires.

  Vallen recognized the vampire as Kellen Doru, the prelate for Lord Valteen. Like all vampires, Kellen’s eyes were a light violet that glowed luminescent against his pale pallid skin.

  “The Goblins, where are they?”

  Kellen was tall and extremely menacing. His slick black hair lay flat across his forehead and swayed down the length of his long, thin neck. Like all the other vampires, he wore a long, black traveling cloak that draped loosely over one shoulder, covering most of his flat black armor and silver daggers.

  The remaining Vampires sat quietly, their angelic faces motionless but stern. Vallen recognized Alexandria Roahand, the Vampire Priestess, who sat to the right of Kellen. She was known to be a proficient practitioner of black magic. Then there was Latrice Dramore, who stood towering behind them; he was a large, muscular Vampire known as a Warrior. Several of the Majesty looked around and nodded in obvious aggravation. No one cared for the Goblins and their greed, and no one despised them more than the Vampires, but Bellisoria had made it clear to the Majesty long ago that the Goblins could no longer be ignored. Their numbers were far too vast and were still growing. They had to be embraced now as an ally before the Goblins outnumbered them as their enemy.

  The commotion came to an end when two small, heavy-set Goblins came bounding into the chamber. Their burgundy cloaks and brown leather armor were tattered and pale compared to the glamour of the rest of the Majesty. The Goblins were bestial in appearance and grotesquely disfigured. Their brows were fully covered with thick black hair, and their mouths were filled with jagged, yellowed, crooked teeth.

  Several of the Majesty scoffed, pulling their cloaks closer to themselves in disgust at the sight of the newcomers. Even the Orcs, who were rather beastly themselves, looked appalled. It was quite apparent that the Goblins, with their beady yellow eyes and peasant-like qualities, were not welcome there, or anywhere else in Haven as far as everyone else was concerned.

  “Sorry, sorry, our apologies, did we miss anything?” Tryson, the Goblin Ambassador asked anxiously as he hopped up into his seat. He looked around the table at his counterparts and was met with solemn stares. “Please, everyone, please, let’s get started,” Atamar began.

  He looked over at Bellisoria, who gave him a faint smile. He stepped to one side and she walked gracefully to the front of the table, taking her place before the Realm of the Estates. Silence enveloped the room; all eyes were on their leader.

  “Thank you all for coming. It’s good to see each of you again.” She graciously smiled as her gaze traveled across the leaders gathered in front of her. Then she took in a deep breath and continued.

  “We have called this meeting to discuss a situation that has come to our attention, but before I turn things back over to the Minister of Justice, I would like to say a few words.” She paused. The silence in the room was deafening.

  “Sometimes in life it is important to remember the past so you can appreciate the present and plan for the future,” she continued. “As leaders of the Estates we have an obligation to our people to never forget where we came from and the sacrifices that were made to get us here.”

  Her tone was calm but firm. She looked over at Atamar. Sweat was beginning to pool on his large brow. She turned back to the leaders and continued.

  “Over six hundred years ago during the Great Witch Hunt on Earth, I escaped my captors and fled into the nearby forest. There, I happened upon a hidden cavern, and in that cavern I found a portal. I used this portal to reach Haven, which was uninhabited at the time. The planet was perfectly able to sustain life and was similar to Earth, so I brought forth the sisters of my coven.”

  The Witches of the North bowed their heads in gratitude as Bellisoria continued.

  “But I did not stop there. I, in turn, offered sanctuary for every human, non-human, dead and undead; a place to call home, a safe haven for the supernatural.”

  Orcs pounded the table, Elves raised their glasses, and Witches nodded in agreement, but the Vampires and Goblins sat motionless.

  “For many years it was just that—a haven, but like all worlds it had its secrets. The signs were ever so slight, but even in its infancy there was evil at its core. Over time the malice began to spread like a disease, infecting everything in its path.

  “Eventually, epic wars of the supernatural broke out. Battles of greed, power, and religion began to consume Haven, and I watched my planet transform into the very world from which I had escaped long ago. Desperate to fight back, to bring justice to my once peaceful world, I convinced four of the largest factions to meet in secret, and there we negotiated a truce.”

  Cheers rang out and the great hall was energized; Bellisoria had their attention now. She needed this alliance to be stronger than ever.

  “We agreed that it was in our best interest to work together before our world imploded. Together we stood a chance—divided we stood to lose everything,” she continued. “After days of negotiations, the Majesty was established, made up of the Four Estates of the Realm: Vampires, Witches, Orcs, and Elves. Recently the Goblins were added to the Estates with the signing of the new zone treaty.” She waved her hand in the direction of the Goblins who smirked in smug satisfaction.

  “The Majesty took its place as the governing authority in Haven’s political society. Since its establishment, many battles have been fought to protect our sacred way of life. We, the Majesty, now honor the sacrifices made by our comrades and loved ones with this alliance. Let us never forget the fallen who gave their lives so that we may have everything we want, but never want for anything we may need.” Bellisoria’s eyes narrowed. “Let nothing tear us apart.”

  The Majesty stood to their feet clapping and cheering; even the Vampires and Goblins were standing now. Bellisoria looked on with a strained smile, surveying the room. She knew that over the years life in Haven had changed; the once powerful alliances had become frayed and fragile. Hope had been replaced with despair, courage with fear, and honor with deception. Everyone had their own agenda now, and greed was the root cause. In these grave times Bellisoria trusted very few. With a handful of advisors and her most trusted Keeper Agents at her side, she bore the daunting task of seeing beyond the trickery and secret coalitions to bring peace back to the lands of Haven.


  Still smiling, she motioned for Atamar, who took her place in front of the large table, applauding her as she moved aside. After a few minutes when the room had quieted down and everyone had taken their seats again, Atamar cleared his throat and began.

  “First, I would like to thank each and every one of you for coming on such short notice, but I assure you, the matter we have to discuss is one of great importance and it affects us all. Let it be known that this information is of the highest secrecy, and under no circumstances can it be divulged to anyone beyond your senior cabinet members.”

  The Realm representatives looked around at one another and shifted uncomfortably in their chairs.

  “Let me repeat,” his tone was stern. “Under no circumstances can this information be divulged to anyone beyond your senior cabinet members.” Atamar took a moment to let his words linger in the air before speaking again.

  “As you well know, thirteen years ago we all fought in the Great War against Cyrus Kan, the Emperor of the Dark Lands. To our credit, we freed many captives from prison camps and destroyed several Viper breeding facilities. But that victory came with our share of losses. We all suffered great casualties in that war, and we lost a great leader in Rylan Dalcome.”

  Several of the members nodded in agreement. No one knew what had really happened to Rylan that day. He was separated from the other Keeper Agents in battle and was later found dead in a remote area of the prison camp. Some speculated that he died in battle fighting three Banshees single-handedly, some believed his death was a conspiracy the Majesty had covered up, but no one really knew what happened that day, not even Demetrius.

  Atamar raised his hands to gather the group’s attention once more before continuing.

  “With that said, it pains me to inform you that our battle did not end with the Great War as we had hoped.” Voices erupted in whispers around the room.

  “Less than three days ago, the Majesty received word that three of our Keeper Agents patrolling the Blackfoot mountains were attacked by—” The words stuck in his throat.