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Eternity's Redemption

Eternity's Redemption

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Eternity's Redemption

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Feb 8, 2014


Wrenched from the jaws of death by Eternity’s Reach, Lincoln Maxwell is living on borrowed time. His life will soon end by the hand of the warlord he was chosen to destroy. He must now decide, with what time is left, whether he wishes to let Idalore burn for its sins or lead its broken into a final, bloody conflict. With the land’s most powerful beings, the Elexar, stepping onto the field, Lincoln and Eternity will seek forgiveness, strength and redemption.
Feb 8, 2014

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Eternity's Redemption - Mitch Rowland

Eternity’s Redemption

Part II: The Sword of Eternity Series

Mitch Rowland

The Sword of Eternity Series

Eternity’s Reach

Eternity’s Redemption

Copyright ©2014 Mitch Rowland


Those who I acknowledged in Eternity’s Reach deserve just as much credit for Eternity’s Redemption. But I reserve this space for just one thank you. Every novel deserves its fans. Every writer needs to be pushed. And every son hopes to hear ‘well done’.  This book is for you, Dad.

The measure of a man lies not in his lengthy accomplishments, but in his decisions when he is faced with the certain, indisputable knowledge that he is going to die.

-From the journal of Alden Grandia.



Every sorcerer has but one gift. It is transferred infrequently through birth and can manifest as anything from unparalleled physical strength to lightning at ones fingertips. With this gift comes an enhanced connection with the terrain of Idalore and the world beyond. Any sorcerer can engage this connection, with the proper discipline, and convene with the Fallen Deity; Genowa. Though the being is but an echo of its former divinity, it affords some degree of knowledge and an enhanced sight each sorcerer can use to identify life-forms at great distances. This ability is limited by the physical strength of the sorcerer and Corvus had long since stretched those limits beyond what was previously thought possible.

The city of Grandia was little more than a hollow carcass, rotting in the sun as it spread out below him. His army, the Oni Ko-bun, had taken up residence in their temporary stronghold, but nothing disgusted the Black Sorcerer more than languishing in the location of his greatest miscalculation.

The Sword of Eternity. He hadn’t expected the fabled weapon would so brazenly choose a new hero at the prospect of its destruction. The man in question hadn’t proved to be a problem; however his warning message to the residents of Grandia had created, in one swift strike, a counter force that Corvus couldn’t consciously walk away from. The Resistance, as they had come to call themselves, was still scurrying around the ruins of Idalore in search of survivors, food, and any way to wound the Oni Ko-bun army. Their efforts were fruitless, but he couldn’t risk a force of any size attacking him from behind as he marched on the rest of the world.

Tearing his eyes from the city he so detested, Corvus descended the stairs of Castle Grandia, passing scorched paintings and darkened blood splatters.

He headed into the royal gardens; a section of the castle grounds where the former king, Markkeen Walderon, had tended to a personal flower patch. To think of someone as traitorous and corrupt as Walderon pruning roses was laughable, if not downright absurd. The garden had begun to wilt around the edges, the once vibrant crimson, violet and golden colors now faded as if covered in a thin layer of ash. The center of the patch, however, made the edges appear flourishing by comparison. In a near perfect circle, every plant had wilted, dried and crumbled to dust. Even the soil had lost its nourishing color, leaving behind a grey crater.

As Corvus regarded the plot, he sensed someone approach from behind.

Lord Corvus, A voice said in the fractured accent of his warriors.

He turned to see his second commander, Licia, standing at attention with a crumpled roll of parchment in her hand. She wore the sleek armor of the Oni Ko-bun that hugged closely to her frame, though it was blood-red in color to denote her rank. The traditional, skull-like helmet was gone, exposing her darkened skin and midnight hair. Numerous scars obscured what most men would have considered an attractive face.

There is word from Commander Makkar,

Corvus’s eyes narrowed as he extended his hand. When she offered her own, to pass off the report, he reached forward and snatched up her wrist, holding her in place.

I have my trusted messengers so that none but my eyes see these reports. How did you come by it? He said, silently invoking his gift.

Licia’s eyes glanced down at her metal bracer which was rapidly heating under his fingers.

The messenger… he said this was urgent. He exhausted his horse, and his legs, to get here. I did not think he could make it to the castle.

Corvus’s grip tightened and her bracer began to glow orange. He could see the sweat beading on her forehead, despite her resolve not to show any discomfort.

Then let his heart rupture from the effort as he falls before my feet. Under no circumstances are you to receive or deliver reports from your brother! He squeezed harder, bending the metal until the glowing heat burned her skin. She cringed, trying to pull away, but he held her there. Do you understand me?

Yes, Lord Corvus, I understand.

Corvus released her, taking the parchment and letting her stumble into the grass. The life you knew in Adenia is over and attempts to salvage it are unwise. You should be thankful that you are part of this cleansing fire and not in its path.

I am thankful, she added as she cradled her burnt wrist.

Be gone, he said with a wave of his hand.

As she scrambled to leave, Corvus broke the seal on the parchment and glanced over Makkar’s report. It was written in the hasty scrawl of a man who still struggled with the language of his warlord.

"Lord Corvus,

Nahm’zin encampment attacked. Not Anna Schedar and her Resistance. One disguised as Oni Ko-bun warrior. Killed thirty and released many more slaves. Identity not known; war hammer left behind bearing the name ‘Redeemer’. Searching surrounding cities; Guichard, Huguelin and Reginald. Will locate and behead. By your fire, this world shall be cleansed.


Corvus incinerated the scroll. He disliked leaving a portion of his army on the beaches of the Nahm’zin Lake for this very reason. There was no way to impose his rule from a distance and now they had begun taking slaves. Corvus rarely took prisoners for they were a strain on supplies and only served to place resentful daggers behind his back at all times.

The encampment had to stay, as an escape route from Idalore, but it was clear his soldiers had grown sluggish in his absence. Corvus resolved to pay the camp a return visit; one that would be swift and bloody. Still, the news was inopportune. The Resistance was scattered; he didn’t need some headstrong warrior rallying them together under a banner of false hope.

Turning his attention back to the lifeless garden, Corvus stepped inside and knelt until his hand touched the barren soil. In his mind, he reached out to Genowa’s spirit until he heard its whispers, echoed in a thousand different languages. As he closed his eyes, his sorcerer’s vision overtook his senses, displaying the world around him in deep blue and black shadows. Only life forms gave off any light, visible through the castle walls and beyond.

Concentrating harder, Corvus’s fingers dug into the dirt, as if gripping the hilt of the world so that he might crush his enemies with it. He extended his sight further out onto the Leink Plains and to the Boundian Mountains, searching for the light of the living; searching for the right constellations in hiding that identified the resistance outposts. Though he had a new foe, this Redeemer, his task was unchanged. Everyone must burn.



Lincoln Maxwell skidded to a halt when he hit the line of trees, hastily throwing his back against the nearest trunk. His heart hammered and his leg throbbed as he struggled to stifle the sound of his labored breaths. The image of the encampment was burned into his mind; tripled perimeter security, blazing signal fires and a fully armored populace. The Oni Ko-bun had been whipped into shape. No longer were they a drunken mob on a beach, but a preparing army, like storm clouds rolling through the sky. Even now, he could still hear the distant hammers forging weapons and clashes of steel as soldiers sparred.

Peeking around the tree, Lincoln scanned the horizon. There was no sign of his pursuers, but he couldn’t relax yet. After catching his breath, he ran deeper into the thicket. The trees gradually rose taller into the sky, suggesting that he had located the easternmost edge of Feethal Forest. He was nowhere near his former training grounds, but the massive overgrowth was wonderfully easy to get lost in.

As he went, he scraped his feet heavily along the dirt and snapped low hanging branches with an outstretched arm. When he was satisfied with his distance, he came to a stop and gingerly turned southward. His progress slowed to a crawl, his steps more cautious and his movements calculated so as to avoid the tree limbs. When he reemerged from cover, he heard voices.

Ducking behind another trunk, Lincoln shot glances at the soldiers approaching the forest several hundred feet away. They wore sleek, coal-black armor and moved with surprising speed. They stopped just shy of the shade and reassessed their surroundings, forcing Lincoln to slip behind the tree once more. He could only make out bits and pieces of what they were saying. The most prominent phrase was Ralik dian fo. He knew very little of their language, but he was fairly certain it translated to Over this way. Either that or Never this foot, which wasn’t nearly as helpful.

They remained standing before the forest for a long while, each echoed word sending another wave of adrenaline through Lincoln’s veins. Several times he thought the voices were getting closer, but he didn’t dare risk his position.

The seconds crawled by, eroding his confidence and the hopes of getting out of this alive. The sun was still high in the sky, making it difficult for him to make any sort of escape over the grassy fields of the Leink Plains.

His hand hovered over the sword sheathed at his belt. The impressive animal fang, with a crude handle strapped to it, was more than enough to take down his pursuers. He shook briefly at the thought of it, remembering the lives that had ended by his hand. So many… so quickly...

Lincoln gripped the handle and steadied his breaths. He would do what was necessary. Leaning slightly over the tree, he peered back out. The area was clear; they had followed the trail.

Seizing the opportunity, Lincoln sprang into the clearing, running low to the ground. The stains in his clothes might have provided some level of camouflage, but anyone with half a brain could tell he was a man crouching and not a portly gort.

He continued in this manner until his back ached and his legs burned. Sweat poured down his neck and the long blades of grass made him itch all over. Yet still, he kept moving forward until a small hill came into his field of vision.

Breathing a sigh of relief, he swung around behind it and collapsed onto the grass next to a blonde-haired woman in a brown robe.

What took you so long? She asked.

Lincoln scowled at her as he tried to catch his breath. I didn’t realize it was a race. You sound just like Mr. Guilden.


Nobody. How is it looking down there?

Several stayed behind to look it over, she said, indicating the commotion in the distance.

Lincoln squinted at the Oni Ko-bun patrol group as it picked through the remains of his false camp site. To any onlookers it was pretty convincing. A crude burlap tent, a spent fire and several rotten apples tossed about. But Lincoln was proudest of the papers that littered the ground. They were authentic sketches he had drawn of the Oni Ko-bun armor and maps of their encampment on the Nahm’zin lake. He had made them in preparation for a daring rescue mission to save a woman named Niralyn. It was that very same mission, carried out just a week prior, that was now putting everyone in Reginald in imminent danger.

They’re shouting at each other, his companion said.

Lincoln watched her as she focused on the distant figures. She looked like a hawk circling a mouse hundreds of feet below.

Do you think they know it’s a fake?

She didn’t respond, instead leaning forward on the hill as if she could hear their conversation. Sheera had always struck Lincoln as a bit odd. A disciple of the Three Magi, She seemed like little more than a healer when he first met her. But after bringing him back from near death, christening him ‘Redeemer’ and helping him infiltrate the Oni Ko-bun, he had long since learned not to question her abilities.

They’re moving! She said suddenly.

Lincoln squinted hard, trying to make out the tiny shapes. They were indeed moving, some remounting horses, as they headed west after their companions who were already in the forest. Even though he knew they couldn’t see him, Lincoln flattened himself against the grass and held his breath. Several long moments of silence passed until he felt satisfied that they were following the false trail. And, when they were out of sight, he rolled onto his back and exhaled.

Remind me to kiss Paneth when we get back to Reginald.

Her plan was quite effective, Sheera replied, still staring at the horizon.

That’s an understatement. She just saved our asses from an invasion, one that I would have caused.

It is only a temporary setback. Once they lose the trail, they will return and Reginald is still vulnerable.

Way to kill the mood; I was actually starting to feel relieved for a minute there.

I did not mean to belittle the accomplishment, Redeemer. The caravan has more than enough time to plan a new path of retreat.

Lincoln felt a lump in his throat. Escape was still their only option; seeking asylum elsewhere and leaving Idalore to smolder.

Lincoln was not from Idalore; he was an American from a place called Earth where he had spent most of his life in anonymity. A dead end job, a mountain of debt, and a laughable love life had led him to attempt suicide. Never before would he have imagined that doing so would land him here, in a world where sorcery was a family trait, English was known as Darius, and squirrels burrowed into the dirt like power drills. Yet, despite his foreign status, he had formed a bond with this place. And that was why Sheera’s statement struck him as, somehow, wrong. How could he just leave Idalore? How could they?

The trip back to Reginald was largely silent. Now that the imminent threat had been dealt with, Lincoln felt antsy, as if he had forgotten to do something incredibly important. When they passed through the entry gate to the city, Sheera broke away from him to continue her healing duties at the cathedral.

Lincoln, without any immediate concerns, found his legs wandering. He didn’t want to return to the small cottage Rago had offered to him, nor did he want to bother Finn and Niralyn, who had become somewhat reclusive in the library since reuniting. He couldn’t really blame them. Finn had been reluctant to leave her side, even when he was just going to a different room. In a world where Corvus was still alive, there was really no way to tell how long he could hold onto a loved one.

Eventually, Lincoln found himself standing before the Delope Tavern, Rago’s temporary council headquarters. The admiral was nowhere to be found, but he was pleased to see Paneth sitting at one of the dingy tables. She was a stocky woman, with silvery hair and strong frown lines, who served as one of three council members. All of them were relics of Idalore’s past; people of power and station who vied for control of Rago’s band of refugees. Paneth had looked abrasive at first, but had warmed up to him after his victory. Vincent seemed overjoyed every time he was in Lincoln’s presence, and Dorrick was just a dick. At the moment, Paneth was speaking in hushed tones to a young woman sitting across from her.

Redeemer, back already? Paneth said as she stood to greet him.

Lincoln strode up to her and pulled her into a hug, deciding, in that moment, that a kiss might be inappropriate.

Thank you for your help; the scouting party is heading away.

Paneth patted him awkwardly on the back. It was a small contribution, compared to your efforts.

Lincoln pulled away. I was ready to collapse after I brought the prisoners back. If it hadn’t been for your speed and discretion, Reginald might have been wiped out.

Then it seems we have the common goal of Idalore’s survival, as does our friend here, Paneth said as she gestured at her companion.

It is good to see you again, the younger woman said as she stood up. Her long dark hair was pulled away from her oval face and rested in a low pony tail on her neck. Lincoln felt he should recognize her but it wasn’t until he looked into her arresting blue eyes that the memory came to him.


She looked different now that she had an opportunity to bathe and dress in proper attire, but her eyes showed the same strength he had seen in the slave tent. She was the first captive to stand up and help him during the rescue mission. Had it not been for her, the entire night could have been derailed.

I should probably be thanking you too, Lincoln went on. I don’t think I could have gotten that first group moving if you hadn’t stepped up.

A smile creased her lips. Many of us wish to stand; we need only a small push. As quickly as her good natured expression appeared, it was gone. Her eyes frequently darted about the tavern, similar to how Niralyn had looked just after being rescued, as if it was all an illusion. Paneth said there isn’t much hope for the slaves remaining in the camp.

Lincoln shot a scowl at the councilwoman. Rago had said the same thing. Both of them were right, but it still irked him. No… but I still believe something can be done.

Tanin’s eyes refocused on him. Does the Redeemer have a new plan?

Not so much a plan as a desire. I know that their general’s death would be a victory, but that’s as far as I got. Throwing the Oni Ko-bun off of Reginald has taken up most of my time. Lincoln neglected to mention that his workload was self imposed. He saw the faces of the people he had killed every time he closed his eyes and, because of it, he hadn’t slept well since he got back.

Tanin nodded. I heard talk while I was there. After a while, some of us learned bits and pieces of their language, and when the camp was at its most organized, they spoke Darius. I believe, at one time, Makkar was an honorable man. Perhaps all of them were, but the Black Sorcerer corrupted their people. He brought magic to a place that never knew its existence. He ruled them and shaped them into a weapon to fulfill his own vendettas.

Lincoln had formed a similar conclusion about the Oni Ko-bun, though Tanin obviously had more time to compile her thoughts on the matter.

It is tragic, to see a civilization twisted by a madman. But in the end we can only be judged by our actions. And when a man in dark armor tears a young woman away from her parents in the dead of night, he must be shamed. When he murders her friends and family, he must be sentenced. And when he defiles her in chains, he must be destroyed.

Lincoln felt the hairs rise on his arms. He knew little of what had befallen the men and women imprisoned by the Oni Ko-bun, but Tanin had confirmed his fears. Both she and Niralyn reflected a sense of paranoia and dread, dispelled only by a bloodlust to see these soldiers dead. It was a constant reminder of Corvus’s influence. The Black Sorcerer had started the fire, and now it was spreading in his absence.

I’m so sorry…

Do not feel sympathy; feel rage, for the Oni Ko-bun knows no other emotion. Whatever you decide to do, Redeemer, know that you have my eternal support.

The conviction in Tanin’s voice was startling, but not unwarranted. He saw more and more of the slaves in Reginald these days, as their wounds healed, and all of them had a similar look about them. It was like watching a snake, coiled for too long, as it desperately hoped for something, anything, to wander by. Many of us wish to stand; we need only a small push.

Since the rescue, Lincoln had been so focused on redirecting the army’s attention, and assassinating their leader, that he had ignored the larger problem. The Oni Ko-bun army was like a bee hive dropped onto Idalore. They were angry and restless, but they lacked direction, making them indiscriminately dangerous. Even if he managed to kill Makkar, they would still be a bloodthirsty cloud of stingers. It was at that moment that he realized he couldn’t just kill their general. The entire force had to be wiped out and it had to be done immediately, before the Black Sorcerer had a chance to return and give them a target. A target like the Redeemer, who had just poked the hive with a stick.



Lincoln left the tavern and turned eastward towards the docks. After he had voiced his thoughts about winning a war against the Oni Ko-bun, Paneth had suggested he see Vincent. The scholar would likely know more about Idalore’s military history and Lincoln agreed.

His legs were tired, from carrying out his elaborate diversion, so he took his time walking the streets of Reginald. The city was a seafaring settlement, using the Nahm’zin lake as a natural defense as well as a source of food. Its architecture was Asian in nature, or at least, that was the closest Lincoln could describe given its builders had no knowledge Asia even existed. It had also been heavily renovated since Rago’s caravan had taken up residence, making it a beacon of hope for everyone affected by Corvus.

Lincoln reached the docks as the sun was nearing the horizon behind him, casting long shadows over the water. He found Vincent sitting at the edge of one of the structures, fishing with his son Erik by his side.

Redeemer! Vincent said with a smile. Come, sit with us and stick your feet in the water.

Erik muttered only a brief hello as he picked at a knot in his fishing line.

I was wondering if you could help me, Lincoln said, removing his crude leather boots and throwing his feet over the edge of the dock. The liquid eased the muscles in his feet and slipped pleasantly between his toes. A sudden urge to jump in the lake rose in his stomach, as he was reminded of his zen-like baths in the Recar River, though he resisted the urge.

Of course, anything you need, Vincent said, taking a seat beside his son.

Paneth said you were a scholar before all this shit hit the fan… I mean before Corvus attacked. I was wondering if you studied anything about warfare.

Vincent raised an eyebrow, his countenance darkening. I’ve studied a great deal of battles in this world’s history and it is a grim topic of conversation. However, you’ve certainly earned the right to ask anything you wish.

Lincoln nodded. I’m just wondering if there were any battles in the past where a very small number of people defeated a large army.

Vincent sighed, his eyes momentarily focusing on the horizon. There are many such accounts.

When Vincent didn’t continue, Lincoln asked what he thought was already an assumed question. And does it say how they did it?

Vincent’s eyes turned back to Lincoln. Oh yes. Alden Grandia defeated the forces of the Southern Kingdoms using the tangled maze that is the Feethal Forest. Daneth IronBurner pushed back the Rorgen forces on the Sardak Flats with the aid of a violent tempest. And, of course, The Black Sorcerer crippled Idalore by using stealth, speed and superior soldiers.

Lincoln wasn’t expecting the last example. Corvus may have been evil but, the day he took Grandia, he had pulled off a tactical miracle. Though he had a considerably larger army at his disposal, he hadn’t needed it to break through the city’s defenses. It made Lincoln all the more aware of what he was up against.

Are there any other examples?

Vincent pursed his lips. I understand your intentions, Redeemer, but to attack the Oni Ko-bun is folly.

But you just said it’s been done before.

Yes, but with more capable warriors and an advantage that only the gods could provide. Vincent leaned towards Lincoln and spoke softly so his son couldn’t hear. They would slaughter us.

Lincoln glanced at Erik, who had finally untangled his line and was casting it out into the shimmering waters. Who’s to say we couldn’t find some similar advantage?

Vincent momentarily went silent before motioning for Lincoln to follow him. The two of them stood and left Erik at the water’s edge while they proceeded down the dock. When they were out of ear shot, Vincent’s eyes bore into Lincoln.

I believe you have gotten the wrong impression of this caravan. Rago is gathering the last survivors of Idalore with the intention of bringing them to safety. The restoration of this city is to honor what once was, not create a future. You speak of ending the Oni Ko-bun but there is no point; Corvus has already won. I implore you to turn from this line of thinking. You accomplished a very heroic deed by rescuing those slaves, but leave it at that. We will be traveling away from Reginald in time and Idalore will fade into memory.

Lincoln raised an eyebrow. He had crossed some invisible line with Vincent, which no doubt started when he got drunk at Erik’s Bil-Raman. The scholar still acknowledged his accomplishments, but Lincoln now felt like a side show that had overstayed its welcome. Unlike Paneth, the alliance with Vincent had clearly weakened.

Maybe it was because of this that Lincoln found himself angry with the man. To suggest that Corvus had already won was not only an insult to what the Sword of Eternity had been fighting for, but to the survivors who still wished to retake Idalore.

You’re wrong, Lincoln said, surprised by the force behind his words. Everyone thought Finn was crazy for thinking his wife could be saved. He held Vincent’s gaze and stepped closer. I’m just one man and I accomplished it. Imagine what all of us could do if we were working together.

You will never gain their support for such a suicide mission, Vincent scoffed.

Yeah, well I know a thing or two about suicide, and you don’t speak for everyone, Lincoln said as he turned and walked away.

Vincent made no move to follow him but, as Lincoln glanced at Erik, still sitting on the edge of the dock, the two of them made eye contact. The boy quickly looked away, as if ashamed for looking at the Redeemer. Lincoln silently wondered what Erik thought of all this. Despite becoming a man, he hadn’t said much of anything. Surely he had an opinion about what was happening around him. At the moment, Lincoln didn’t have time to dwell on it. Though he hated Vincent’s attitude towards the problem, he knew he was right; to defeat the Oni Ko-bun, they would need a significant tactical advantage. Since Reginald’s visiting scholar was going to be uncooperative, his only option was to hit the books again.


Lincoln returned to his cottage only briefly to sleep. He would have proceeded directly to the library had it not been so late, or he could keep his eyes open, but even the Redeemer couldn’t fight the fatigue forever. The next morning he forced himself out of bed early, the sun barely touching the shingled rooftops, and wolfed down a few strips of dried meat to wake up his sore muscles.

Finn and Niralyn were slower to rise, only stirring when they heard him thumping around between the stacks. By the time they dressed and began their work restoring the tomes, Lincoln had already overrun a table with new drawings and maps. Though, as he worked, he struggled to recall important details like guard placement, supply locations and number of ships offshore. Without that critical information, he wasn’t any closer to taking out a well trained army, ten thousand strong.

Rubbing his temples, Lincoln began writing a series of possible solutions on a sheet of parchment, no matter how absurd they seemed. Most of his scribbles involved explosives, which he didn’t know how to make, wildfires, which he couldn’t spread, or starvation, which he didn’t have time for. With flimsy ideas like this, he couldn’t blame Vincent for not wanting to help. Without an army of equal size or training, they didn’t stand much of a chance.

Lincoln glanced again at his surroundings. Finn was across from him, at another table, his green eyes assessing the damage on a large, red leather book. The scribe looked considerably better than when Lincoln first met him. His dark hair had been tamed, his beard shaved and, since his wife’s return, his face beamed with warmth. Though, he still shot glances at her every few minutes, as if his watchful gaze was the only thing keeping her tethered to Reginald.

Niralyn also looked healthier. The wounds on her arms had been cleaned and bandaged while those on her face had scabbed over. Her blonde hair, after being washed, had upgraded from a mottled grey to a waterfall of shining gold. Though she didn’t smile as much as Finn, Lincoln could see the way her expression would soften each time she gazed at her husband. She still talked very little, and jumped at loud noises, but she was making progress away from the nightmare she had endured.

Focus, Lincoln told himself. You got Niralyn back; you won. Now get back to work!

Lincoln returned his attention to the stack of books on his table. Despite all his years of proofreading at Warbler Insurance, he wasn’t gaining much wisdom from Idalore’s histories. It didn’t help that so few of the books were written in Darius. Of the four he had found, one was a traveler’s cookbook, which had a useful recipe for roasted Feetonnal seeds. Two were Reginald law records and the last was a brief history of the Southern Kingdoms. Finn had offered to translate more, but Lincoln didn’t think they had that much time.

He picked out a book from his newest stack. The text on the cover was little more than indecipherable runes, delicate in their

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