RISING WONDER: Demons, Devils & Dark Gods brings together seventeen tales from independently published authors who range from veteran USA Today Bestsellers to debut storytellers.

Within these pages you will confront evil entities across unique fantasy settings, some tragic and others heroic. Space-fairing dark elves bent on galactic dominion tighten their grip on Losarys, a relic is forged from the gods of Chaos, and an initiate dreamwalker confronts a demon upon the dreamscape of Kalda.

Men will fall from grace, twisted to become demons or descend to the depths of dark goodhood. Planes of reality are bridged in serious and comedic tales of classic demonology.

Cursed beings and denizen creatures of the netherworld make their appearance, flipping well-know tropes on their heads.

And the God of Orvu breaks free of his prison in the depths of Tardalim in the preparation for the return of his evil Master.

RISING WONDER aims to showcase divers and unique voices in the fantasy and science fiction genres.

This anthology includes:

– Garden of the Gods

– The Dice of Chaos

– A Pupil’s Mistake

– Throne of Bone

– Tavish

– Of Ashes and Fire

– Sparky the Redcap

– Bargaining with a Fae Queen

– The Darkness of Immortal Souls

– Living Dead Beauty

– Beast of Bone

– The Thespian Demon of the Abyss

– Of Gods and Plagues

– Adventures in Demon Sitting

– Toddler’s Best Friend

– Blessings of Blood

– Heleron’s Awakening

I

Daon’s breath was labored and every muscle screamed from strain. Pressing forward through the pain, he adjusted Parvin’s heavy body on his back, ensuring that he would not slide off and fall to the ground. He looked ahead at the path and could see where it crossed the final hill which would open up to the valley he so desperately sought. He took a deep breath before every step, pushing himself little by little up the hill. Sweat streamed down his face, the salt stinging his eyes. Blinking, he forced hot sweat-mixed tears to drip down his face. Daon kept a firm grip on Parvin’s right arm and leg trying his best not to hurt his friend. Parvin stirred, his head shifted to the side, and he groaned.

“Just hold on a little longer, Parvin. We’re almost home.”

It was unclear if his friend understood his words. Parvin’s groans continued which motivated Daon to press forward with additional haste. When he reached the top of the hill, Daon paused to catch his breath. A mid afternoon sun, partially shrouded in clouds, cast beams of light upon the city of Mitrikhat. Nestled at the base of the valley, the city looked like it was being cradled between two mountains. Each of the large red granite stones of the walls shone brilliantly where the rays of sunlight struck them. The large River Hetri snaked through the land, the king’s road running beside it. Smaller clusters of homes dotted the landscape and near the river, Daon could see an inn. The large three story building was taller than any save for the watchtowers, and the red swollow-tail flags that adorned the rooftops fluttered in the wind. It made Daon feel as though the banners were waving to him, beckoning him closer.

The road leading down into the valley was as empty as the road behind. No carts or men were there who could help. In the distant fields, Daon saw people working, tending their flocks or reaping the ripe golden wheat. He was desperate to call out to them, plead for some sort of aid, but he knew they would not be able to hear him. Daon searched out the nearest guard tower which sat at the base of the hill below. The tower was flying the banner of Mitrikhat, the red and purple colors of Shoera vibrant in the late afternoon light. Perhaps the guards would see him when they got closer. Looking down at the road, Daon took solace in the fact that he would now be moving downhill. A small mercy from the Gods, but not one he would overlook. Muttering a small prayer of thanks under his breath, Daon adjusted his grip on Parvin, then proceeded down towards Mitrikhat.

An hour of pain later, Daon was halfway down the hillside. He could see movement from the guard tower and several distant figures rushing out. Each wore bronze breastplates and plume topped helmets. Their brown capes hung loosely from clasps on their shoulders and reached down to their knees. Daon watched them as they got into their chariots and heard the wheels as they moved atop the hard-packed dirt road.

Unable to take another step, Daon knelt down and placed Parvin on the wild grass which grew beside the road. His friend’s face was still bloody, the gash on his cheek and neck swollen with pus. Parvin’s auburn hair was matted with blood and a fig sized lump had formed over his right ear. He was still breathing, but Parvin’s chest rose and fell in irregular patterns. When Daon placed a hand on Parvin’s shoulder, his friend grunted.

“Help is coming. We will get your wounds dressed and get warm food in your belly.”

Once again, Daon was uncertain if his friend even heard his words. While he waited, Daon clasped Parvin’s hand which twitched every minute. No matter what, he was determined to be there for his friend; even unto death. Keeping one eye on the road, he watched as the chariots approached. Their haste surprised and relieved him. Still, with every passing moment, his worry increased until his heart was pounding in his chest. The chariot wheels squealed loud as they slowed and finally halted a dozen paces away. Two Shoeran guards leapt out of each of the three chariots, their swords and spears at the ready.

“Please, help us!” Daon’s voice was strained and cracked.

One of the soldiers, who was short with wide shoulders, stepped forward and approached them several steps in front of his companions. Daon saw that the short soldier’s hands and face were scarred, the lines well healed and tanned over. The man approached warily, his hand on the pommel of his sword. Daon reached down under his bloodstained shirt and produced a silver medallion set with a large ruby.

The soldier’s eyes went wide and he turned around to wave at the others. “Soldiers, get these men onto the chariots.”

Everyone lowered their weapons and two soldiers rushed to Parvin’s side. Daon was reluctant to let them help, but they were careful as they lifted his friend’s body off the grass and carried him over to the closest of the three chariots. As he watched them tend to Parvin, Daon let out a deep breath and relaxed his shoulders.

“What is your name, soldier?” The short man asked.

“Daon, Lieutenant of the Fourth Western Legion.”

“I am Mendell, Captain of the Southern Watch.”

Mendell reached down and offered Daon his hand. Clasping it, Daon was pulled to his feet and felt a sharp pain in his right calf. The sitting had caused his muscles to cramp which made the first few steps difficult. Mendell helped him over to the second chariot and gripping the edge, Daon kept himself erect as Mendell reached for the reins. They pulled out in front and the other two chariots followed. The speed was exhilarating as they rushed down the hill. Wind whipped through Daons long black hair, causing it to flip around behind them. Bright beams of sunlight struck his face as the sun reached the far eastern mountains. Only minutes of daylight remained and as they entered the shadow of the valley, Daon felt chill.

One of the chariots pulled off the road and allowed the other to pass, and then headed towards the guard tower. Both Daon’s chariot and the one carrying Parvin turned right and started down the main road which ran along the River Hetri. All those who walked the road moved out of their way long before needed which meant they did not have to slow their journey. As the sun finally set and the sky turned a deep purple, the chariot arrived at the inn which Daon had seen from atop the hill. Before the chariot had come to a stop, Daon leapt off the back and with wobbly legs, landed on the cobblestone courtyard.

A matronly woman with gray hair sat on the porch of the inn. The slapping of Daon’s sandals drew her attention and she looked up at him. Her face shifted from shock to concern as she set down her embroidery and got to her feet. Before he could say anything the woman rushed inside the inn, the door banging loudly as she flung it open and called out to those within. Moments later, two large men emerged, their aprons dusty with flour and their beards tied with small chords.

Turning around, Daon watched as Mendell helped the other soldier lift Parvin’s body from the second chariot. His friend’s skin looked sickly pale, the cut on his face had opened and both blood and pus were dribbling out onto his neck. A large hand gripped his shoulder and Daon turned to look at one of the burly men.

“Will you take my friend inside?” Daon’s voice cracked.

The innkeeper smiled and nodded. “We will take care of him.”

Relaxing, Daon shed a single tear of relief and watched as his friend was taken inside. The gray haired woman stood at the door for a moment, then walked over to Daon. Her smile was warm and reminded him of his own mother. While it did provide a measure of comfort, the feeling was joined with sorrow. Still, Daon found himself smiling back at her.

“Are you alright my dear?”

“Better now.” Daon reached to his belt and removed his purse. He emptied the contents onto his palm and held out the three silver coins to the woman. “This is all I have. Please, do what you can for him until I return.”

The woman smiled, reached down, and folded Daon’s fingers over the coins. “No dear. We do not accept coin from the king’s soldiers. Your friend will be looked after without cost.”

Daon’s throat tightened and he smiled. Placing the coins back into his purse, he tucked the small leather pouch back under his belt.

“Let me bring you some wine and bread.” Without another word, the woman left and disappeared inside the inn.

“Daon.”

Turning around, Daon looked at Mendell who had called to him from the Chariot. The other soldier already had the reins in his hand and looked ready to leave.

“Do you need any further assistance?”

“Yes. I have urgent news for the king. We are about to be invaded.”

Mendell’s eyes grew wide and he nodded. “Then I will take you to him.”

II

The streets of Mitrikhat were alive with laughter and music. People danced in the courtyards before the large red granite walls which surrounded the palace, their delight amplified by their inebriation. He was jealous of their happy and oblivious merrymaking. Daon felt his patience wearing thin as he waited before the gates while Mendell conversed with the palace guards. Each of the guards wore deep purple capes which were attached at the shoulders to silver breastplates by large golden disks. The four guards were young, their black hair curling past their shoulders, perfectly combed and oiled. These men hadn’t ever seen battle. This disappointed Daon and he felt a twinge in his stomach, the wine and bread he had consumed so hastily starting to turn sour. Clicking his tongue on the roof of his mouth, he let out a sigh and pressed his hand against his aching side.

Despite Daon’s physical exhaustion, his mind remained alert. As he waited for the approval to enter and deliver his message to the king, he found himself looking at the palace walls. Each of the large red granite blocks were a span tall and twice as wide. The blocks were stacked twelve high and the wall towered over the surrounding buildings. The large gatehouse protruded from the wall and along the top, Daon could see guards patrolling back and forth.

He remembered looking upon these walls as a child and how desperately he had wished to see what was within. If not for the dire news he had to deliver, Daon was certain he would have been excited. Now he was only anxious and growing more irritated by the moment. When he looked back at the king’s guard, he noticed that they had resumed laughing and chatting among themselves. Stifling a growl, Daon reminded himself that these were not men of war. They did not understand what was coming. It would be up to him to convey the danger to the king. Daon found himself muttering yet another prayer, asking Khither, the great truthspeaker, for aid.

A loud thunk sounded from the opposite side of the gate. Daon straightened up and folded his arms behind his back. The large portcullis began to lift, the chains clinking as the heavy grating was hoisted upward. Once the portcullis locked into place, the gate was pulled open, the hinges grinding. More guards, dressed in the same silver breastplates and purple capes stood on the other side, but another man was with them.

Tamalun stood tall, a red sauce stained the corners of his mouth and clung to the hairs of his mustache. His breastplate was made of gold, a large lion’s head embossed on the front. The hilt of the sword strapped to his side matched his breastplate and was decorated by emeralds. Daon instinctively bowed before the king’s Supreme Commander.

“What is the meaning of this interruption?” Tamalun asked, his voice deep and haughty. “Speak lad, and do so quickly.”

“I come from the front lines with a message for the king. The Aremorians have overwhelmed our forces and in days will be making their march towards this city. I came to warn the king to prepare for attack.”

Tamalun froze, his mouth open wide. “I see. What is your name, soldier?”

“Daon, Lieutenant of the Fourth Western Legion.” As he spoke, Daon lifted the ruby set medallion which hung from around his neck.

“So you are one of Kayvan’s men?”

“I was sir.”

“Quickly then. Come with me. I will escort you to the palace so we can present the matter to the king.”

Mendell remained where he was as Daon strode through the palace gate. Glancing over his shoulder, Daon nodded his thanks to the soldier and watched him retreat back down the ramp towards the city market below. Tamalun walked with long strides, leading them under the gatehouse and out into an open courtyard. The soft melodies coming from the harps and flutes matched the dancers upon the red stone ground. All who were in attendance were smiling and their laughter joined the music, creating an air of delight. While they took notice of Daon, they didn’t scoff nor mock his appearance. Instead, they would bow their heads to Tamalun as a sign of respect, then promptly turn their heads away to continue their conversations.

Both the men and women who danced about the courtyard were dressed in fine white cloth accented with sashes or shawls of deep vivid colors. Rich perfumes rose from burning brass pots of incense. The smoke drifted all around, creating a haze around the front steps of the palace. He felt his heart stir within him, a deep longing to join them in their festivities filling him. But he was angry as well, his heart growing heavy as he thought about his men who were suffering while those around him enjoyed such pleasures. He found himself glaring at the crowds of dancing nobles and when his eyes passed upon a woman in a dark crimson dress, he found she was staring at him. Daon glanced away, his heart fluttering as he turned his attention back to the palace.

Daon couldn’t help but be astonished at the splendor and beauty of the palace. Like the wall, each of the stones were large and smooth, the red granite catching the moonlight and torchlight in unique ways. It made the entire place feel alive and warm. Twenty cubits above the ground were large arched windows, silk curtains hanging from them. Daon could see more figures from within, their shadows cast upon the curtains by the inner torchlight.

Two guards stood on either side of the palace entrance. The doors were open and more laughter came from within. Both guards were not attentive, instead speaking with women who had gathered around them. Daon’s eyes narrowed but he said nothing, instead watching Tamalun to see how he would react. The Supreme Commander did nothing nor did he seem to take notice. Instead, Tamalun continued forward through the doors and into the large entryway. The long hallway ran down the center of the palace. Arched doorways lined either side and between them were marble statues of the kings. Each of the kings was depicted with perfect physique, a cloak draped over their shoulders and one arm.

The people within the palace were dressed similarly, though the jewels which hung around their necks and on their arms were much larger and impressive. Torches burned bright on the walls and the dancing people cast moving shadows which were accentuated by the flickers of the firelight. Daon felt uncomfortable as he walked through the groups, the salacious nature of the dancing seeming unfit for such public display. Several people bumped into him and giggled when they muttered their drunken apologies. As he stepped to the side to avoid another pair of dancers, Daon saw the woman in the crimson dress standing at the door. She was looking at him with a bemused smile and wide eyes. Once again, he turned away from her gaze and hurried to catch up to Tamalun.

At the end of the hall, they entered through another set of bronze doors which looked like they had been pieced together by a dozen square shields. At the center of each of the squares, there was a bronze hemisphere with a dull spike in the center. These doors were open and manned by four guards. They were a bit more attentive than those who had been standing at the entrance, but their cheeks were red from wine. Daon wondered if these guards were meant only for decoration. It shamed him to think that the men entrusted with the safety of the king would allow themselves to be drunk while on duty. What made him feel worse was how he longed to join them and forget his worries with a bit of strong drink. Growling, he gently shook his head and continued past them.

Once inside the throne room, Daon froze, his eyes scanning the pillars which lined the large circular room. Several hundred people were standing around in small groups, chatting and drinking. As the elegantly dressed people shifted around, Daon caught a glimpse of the golden throne on the far side. The throne was more like a bench with a large ornate backing that connected with the wall. Hanging above it was a circular window that showed the dark sky without. Lounging on pillows set around the throne were eight women. Each of the women wore matching deep purple dresses that had the sheen of fine silk. They also wore belts of gold and bands of silver around their necks. In the middle of them, laying upon the pillows rather than his throne, was King Achassus. His blood-red robes were tied with a golden belt that was fixed securely in the middle of his enormous belly. Long curling black hair fell down past his shoulders and several golden beads were woven into his braided beard. A servant leaned over and filled the king’s goblet which he immediately began to drink from.

“Please, do not speak to the king until he addresses you.” Tamalun said, taking Daon by the arm. “Afterwards, you will be allowed to speak freely. Do you understand?”

“Yes, of course.”

“It looks like the king has finished his wine. Let us hurry before he calls for another.”

The sea of dancing nobles parted for Tamalun and once they approached the throne, Daon saw someone move towards the king from the shadows of a pillar. The woman was dressed in black silks that hung past her feet and trailed on the ground behind her. Her face was curious and as Daon met her eyes, she smiled. A shiver ran down his spine and he couldn’t help but look down at the ground. His heart began pounding in his chest and his mouth felt terribly dry. As they stepped up to the base of the platform steps, Daon knelt and bowed before the king. Daon glanced up and saw that Tamalun bowed as well, but it was only a stiff nod. Before he could speak, the king cleared his throat to address them.

“What is the meaning of this interruption, Tamalun?” The king shifted his weight onto the side and he set his empty goblet down on the ground.

“I have come to present you Daon, he’s from—”

“Yes, yes. I have eyes. It’s clear from his medallion what he is. What is so urgent, soldier, that you interrupt my festivities?”

Daon froze, his mind frantically fighting to piece together the message he had been sent to deliver. The entire room went silent and as he glanced around, Daon found that every eye was on him. His eyes once again locked with the woman in the black dress who was now standing beside the throne. She nodded to Daon and motioned towards the king with a slender finger.

“You may speak lad,” Tamalun said, prodding Daon with his elbow.

“Your majesty. I was sent here to tell you that your son, our mighty Prince Kayvan, has been killed in battle. I was with him and with his dying words, he commanded me to come and warn you that Mitrikhat is about to be invaded. The Aremorian’s have already overtaken the city of Salmala and will soon begin their march to attack.”

Daon reached into his belt pouch and produced a medallion, much like his own, but one made from gold and set with three rubies. He stood, his head remaining bowed, and placed the medallion at the feet of the king.

King Achassus grabbed the medallion, rose from his pillows, and took a few steps back. He plopped down upon his throne, his head hanging low. The music stopped and hushed whispers began to fill the room. Daon felt his ears grow hot and he tried not to squirm under the scrutiny of so many eyes. All jovialness had faded from the king’s expression and when Daon looked to Tamalun, he saw that the Supreme Commander’s lips were turned down in a frown.

“Tell me, how did my son die?”

“They attacked us at night, moving like shadows. One of their warriors single handedly killed a hundred men before we could raise the alarm. Prince Kayvan led us valiantly into battle, but we were surrounded and forced to retreat. The Aremorians took the city of Salmala and chased us into the mountains. We managed to fight them off and for twenty-eight days we launched attacks on the city to reclaim it. Five days ago, we were fighting and Kayvan was wounded in battle. A fellow soldier and I managed to rescue him and carry him to safety. Within hours he came down with a burning fever. Before he succumbed to his wounds, Pince Kayvan commanded us to carry word to you of what happened.” Daon paused, took a deep breath, then added, “as I climbed over the mountain pass, I saw their army. The host was twelve thousand strong and growing. I fear that they will be upon us in days. Unless we prepare and gather together the other legions, they will overwhelm Mitrikhat and the city will fall.”

“What of the others in your legion?”

“Those who were not killed in battle have been captured.”

“You should have died with them.” King Achassus leaned forward in his throne and spat on Daon. The spittle struck him in the face. “Brave men do not flee from battle.”

“My king,” the woman in the black dress interjected. “He was only performing the orders your son gave him.”

“Mara, he was fleeing like a coward. How else could he be the sole survivor. He is but a single witness and I do not believe that any host of Aremorian’s can stand against us. If my son was so weak as to fail in his duty, then he deserved his fate. Dhusmir will judge his unworthy soul!” Achassus’s face twisted in a snarl that caused his upper lip to twitch. “Hand me your sword Tamalun. I will slay this dog so he can join my son in his failure.”

Tamalun drew his sword as he climbed the steps to the throne. Several of the women who had been lounging beside the king moved out of his way. King Achassus continued to glare at Daon and held his hand out, ready to take Tamalun’s sword. As he was about to take the weapon, Mara leaned forward and whispered something into the king’s ear.

The silence which filled the room made the sounds of cheer from without seem as out of place as song and dance during the death mourning rites. Daon’s gut was all twisted up and his fear made it feel like knives were being driven into his chest. Any moment, he expected the king to take Tamalun’s sword and kill him. Death was inevitable and Daon wished for this all to be over. His jaw clenched in regret, anger and frustration almost driving him to tears.

Mara took a step back and the king gave her a single nod. Turning his attention to Daon, King Achassus leaned back in his throne and waved his hands. “Guards, take this man and cast him outside the city. He shall be denied the honor of serving as a proper Shoeran soldier. Let him wander the rest of his days as an outcast and beggar for he shall never have a place among us again.”

Daon fell to his knees in disbelief, the invisible knife which had been cutting his heart turning to ice. To suffer death was an undesirable fate, but to be disgraced was worse. He did not resist when the guards took him by the shoulders and pulled him away from the throne. When they pulled the medallion off his neck, Daon couldn’t help but reach for it. The guards struck him in the side of the head and his world faded to black.