Not long ago, there was a rich land ruled by an assembly of three known as a Triarch. Always there were three. One had a claim of blood. One was chosen by the people of the land. And one was selected by the other two. But all had to prove themselves worthy. All had to prove victorious, both standing alone and standing together, in a contest devised by a king who feared that his realm would pass to an unworthy heir.
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“You’re almost there. Keep going!”
Sola heeded her leader’s words and resisted looking behind her as she charged down the hallway of the castle’s central tower. She ignored the flashes of reddish light that illuminated the hallway behind her. She felt the claws of the dayhawk on her shoulder dig in tighter, just as her boots had dug into his flanks when she had been riding atop him. He flapped his sun-yellow wings, but thankfully did not cry out. The potion that protected Sola from the dayhawk’s strident call had worn off only moments ago. She nearly blacked out when he screamed at the guards that confronted them when they landed on the bridge that led into the tower.
Those guards should have been distracted away. Too much had gone wrong once they had reached the central tower of the castle. If she didn’t know any better, Sola would have wondered if their enemy had been warned. But she did know better. Their enemy was just that daunting. Continue reading