Shameless Book Promotion!!!

     Starting this week I will be posting a few chapters twice a week of my novel Ascent of the Holy Blade. I had originally done something like this when the book went to print, but I had used wattpad as the platform. This had turned out to be a bad thing as it required people to make an account to read the chapters. So readers took the plunge but others lost interest. So with out further adieu here are chapters 1 through 3.

Foreword

  

There are many worlds to our galaxy.  Some are alien and strange like the swirling gas

giant Jupiter or the fiery Mercury, but there are also worlds similar to our own precious Earth. 

They may mirror our modern advancements and loss of religious foundations, or there may yet be

worlds that found faith, whether for good or evil, was enough to guide their societies.

This is the tale of one such world called Allura.  A primitive world where might was

judged by the strength of sword arm and faith in the gods created miracles, not modern day

science.  Good and noble kings ruled the land by day and evil ruthless creatures terrorized the

night. 

Nestled away in the northwest corner of Allura’s largest continent was the kingdom of

Avolund where the battle between good and evil has been fought in an endless cycle for thousands

of years.  Separated from the aid of neighbors by the vast Mol’ Tan Desert to the south, the stormy

and unforgiving Forlorn Sea to the east, the ancient and foreboding Blood Forest to the north, and

the towering Blackstone Mountains on the west, Avolund has yet managed to stand firm in its

battered glory.

During this time, the goodly Knights of Everwatch, a religious order of knights and

clergymen devoted to the Savior, and the gorthins, a race of evil bat-wolf humanoids in service

to the demon Ahmah, have fought a holy war with one another.  Now sixty years since their near 

genocide at the hands of the knights, the scattered gorthin clans have licked their wounds and

patiently gathered to wage another war with the ultimate goal of freeing their demonic god from

his abyssal prison.

Prologue

  

Ages past when the world of Allura was still in its infancy, a celestial being of infinite

Power, stumbled across the young planet during its endless wanderings of the cosmos.  Moved by

the natural beauty of Allura, but lamenting the lack of sentient life available, the being created four

beautiful and perfect children to live on the planet.

Charging his children with the care of the planet, the being then resumed his wanderings

for many years, but thoughts of Allura and his children tempted the Creator, as he came to be

called by his children, to return and see how they had fared.

When the Creator first returned to Allura he found his eldest sons, Solnu and Tolnu

working the vast and fertile plains.  Aiding the gods was the race of man that the twins had created

in the image of the Creator in homage to their father.  The Creator was pleased with his sons’

creations and the reverence the men showed his sons.  The men gathered fruits and nuts from

trees and harvested wheat from the rolling fields that Solnu and Tolnu had planted.  Often the

women and children foraged the nearby forests for mushrooms and berries, but they always made

an offering of their choice harvests to the twins which they worshiped as the Lords of Light.

To acknowledge the twin's work, the Creator gave the Lords of Light and their people his

blessing before moving on in search of his daughter.  He found the reclusive Trealyn in the

deep heart of Allura’s largest forest surrounded by a court of woodland creatures.

The nature goddess was busy creating a second race of servants as her first creations, the

fey and graceful elves, had already dispersed to tend Allura's forests. The Creator watched in

fascination as his daughter drew upon the raw, primal energies of Allura and blended it with her

own life-force to form a bestial biped.                        

Sensing Trealyn’s satisfaction with her new guardians through the bond he shared with all

of his children, the Creator wasn’t sure he shared his daughter’s approval.  The lupine creatures

growled and snarled at one another as they stalked the grove, tentatively sniffing the air and

snapping at anything that came to close to them.  But trusting in his daughter, the Creator gave

Trealyn’s creations his reluctant blessing and eagerly left the hidden grove in search of his

youngest son.

            He found Ozra deep in the molten bowels of Allura tending the fiery heart of the planet. 

Here Ozra’s minions, the stout dwarves fresh from their birth out of Allura’s molten core, caring

for the structural needs of the ever shifting and settling planet’s crust.  Through a vast network of

tunnels and caverns they scurried to fix fissures in one place or shoring up massive earthen   

columns that kept Allura’s surface from collapsing on its molten heart. Again the Creator was

pleased with his child’s work and gave his blessing to the industrious dwarves.

            Retreating to the heavens, the Creator watched in satisfaction while his children and their

creations tended Allura.

            Many years passed and Allura blossomed with the gods’ attentions, and the planet virtually

glowed with its healthy abundance of flora and fauna.  A second entity was drawn through the

cosmos to Allura and its thriving life-force.  Unlike the Creator this being’s core was filled with

sharp edged hate and rolling chaos that ached with the desire to obliterate the peaceful and

harmonious planet.

            Out of envy at the Creator’s beautiful children, the Dark Master as he became to be called,

created his own twisted sons whose nightmarish appearance matched the demonic desires of the

entity’s black heart.  The demon lords spread across Allura like a blight, eager to do the Dark

Master’s bidding.

            Their first attempts at dominating Allura and its inhabitants failed as the four siblings saw

through the demons' schemes to their evil intent.  With a patience that lasted decades the demon

lords lured men, elves, and the gorthins into their dark army with lust-filled temptations and

dark promises.

            When the Dark Master deemed his sons and their light devouring armies were finally ready

to confront and destroy the siblings, he declared war on Allura and its protectors.  The two forces

fought across the surface of Allura, rending the planet’s earthly skin and painting the horizon with

the primitive dance of smoke and fire.  The combatants churned the once lush and fertile soil into

gray mud tinted crimson with the spilt blood of the fallen.

            The siblings and their followers were beginning to succumb to the vastly superior numbers

of demons and their traitorous converts, and had been forced to a northern, stormy bluff

overlooking the rolling Forlorn Sea.  Sensing that they were about to be overwhelmed, Tolnu bid

his brothers and sister farewell and then the Lord of Light moved to stand between the two armies. 

Closing his eyes, bowing his head, and placing his hands together in a beseeching manner, Tolnu

began to gather the vast power his father had given him.

            “Loving Creator, let my sacrifice show the love my siblings and I have for Allura and its

inhabitants.  Take my life-force and use it to bind these foul demons to a place where they can

cause little harm to the people of this world. This I ask in your name gentle Father. Amen.”

            The god slowly lifted his head while spreading his arms wide. Though his words had

been softly spoken, they were carried in all directions so even the soldiers in the back of the

encroaching horde could hear as though they stood before him.

            Tolnu’s head snapped back while golden light infused with the power of compassion, love,

and self-sacrifice blazed from his eyes and fingertips.  In a voice that resonated with the power of

the Creator, the Lord of Light addressed the armies of Light and Dark.

            “Demons!  The time of your darkness has acted as a poisonous blight on Allura, but that

now comes to an end!  I banish you to the Infernal Realms where your false promises and perverse

atrocities can no longer harm the innocent!  In the name of my father, the Creator, I command you

to be GONE!”

            With the last syllable of his last word echoing across the now silent battleground, Tolnu,

Lord of Light, dispersed in a blinding flash of colors.  When the gathered armies were finally able

to regain their sight, Tolnu along with the demon lords were nowhere to be seen.

            The armies of light, angry at the loss of one of their gods, pursued the broken remnants

of the demon lords’ armies till they scattered to the most remote and harshest climates on the

planet.  All except Tolnu’s followers, as one they took a knee and vowed to honor their god’s

sacrifice by keeping watch against the demons' return and the vile machinations of their minions,

and so the Order of Everwatch was formed.

            The loss of their brother and the betrayal of their creations wounded Solnu and Trealyn

deeply.  The remaining Lord of Light became impassioned with the destruction of evil and with his

remaining army swore to scourge Allura free of any remaining demon lords and their tainted

influences.  Heartbroken at the loss of her gorthins, Trealyn and her elves retired to the forests to

tend to the healing of Allura and its natural wonders.  Horrified at what the ravages of war had

done to the planet, the nature goddess along with the Oaklem elves swore to never involve

themselves in warfare unless Allura itself was in danger.

            Long after the battle was over and the gods and their followers had dispersed to follow

their own agendas, Ozra stood somberly at the spot where he had lost his brother.  Bushy, coal-

black eyebrows furrowed in thought while a heavily calloused hand absently stroked his belt

length beard.  After many long moments he addressed his steadfast dwarves who had waited

patiently like the stone they had come from for their god to speak.

            “I fear my brother is blinded by hatred at the loss of his twin and in his pursuit of the

annihilation of the demons and their ilk, may become as dangerous as that which he seeks to

destroy.  So we, my sensible dwarves, will become the balance.  We will abstain from all sides. 

We keep Allura’s core solid.  We will sell our goods to those in need and I, Ozra, Lord of the

Scales, shall step in when one side becomes too powerful to assist in regaining a balance.  For their

must always be good and evil as there will always be night and day.”  Ozra’s deep voice rumbled

like boulders sliding down a mountain as he addressed his creations.

            For many eons the cycle was repeated.  Light defeating the darkness.  Darkness

overcoming the light, and Ozra doing whatever was necessary to balance the imbalance.  But

something in recent times has happened that could overcome all the Lord of the Scales's work and

bathe Allura in red and black.                                     

 Chapter 1

  

            The great beast lurked on his obsidian throne, leathery wings fluttering in agitation while

dagger long talons thrummed a rhythm of impatience as he stared balefully around the macabre

landscape of his dark realm.  Everywhere purple and green mist, a constant in the Infernal Realms,

swirled throughout the vast cavern.  Flowing over the mountainous piles of skeletal remains of the

beast’s past victims, undulating around the six onyx pillars striped with crimson veins that pulsated

with arcane power and marked the boundaries of the beast’s seat of power.  Yet even the mindless

mist had the sensibilities to stay clear of the tempestuous entity stewing on the dark throne.

            Ahmah, second in command of the Dark Master’s demonic horde and who noticed the

passage of time in eons, was well aware of how much time had passed since the seductive

whispers had caressed the fabric of the Infernal Realms.  Word had spread through the realm like

wildfire of a weakening in the barrier that separated the lush, ripe plane of mortals and the Infernal

Realm.  The shield had been placed by Him and His followers in the early days of this world to

prevent Ahmah and his demon brethren from devouring the weaker races after their insidious

desire for those beings flesh and more importantly their souls had been discovered. 

            Every few years the shield would weaken and create a spot where with the right ritual it

would be possible to create a gateway into the realm of mortals. Like the rest of his kind, Ahmah

was fervently seeking the anomaly to exploit its vulnerability and cross over to join his followers

and reap chaos and death across the face of Allura.

            Unfortunately the search was taking longer than the demon lord had expected despite the

efforts of his normally efficient minions.  Hours had turned into days, days into weeks and still no

word from his scouts.  In frustration the mighty demon tightened his taloned fist, shattering the

polished skull goblet he held, and showering himself with bone chips and a thick liquid that

resembled fresh blood.

            “Damn!”  Ahmah cursed, shaking his hand to remove remnants of the goblet and its liquid

content from his raven scaled hide.  The goblet had been made from the skull of a rival who

had thought to usurp the powerful Ahmah and replace him as the Blood God, deity of the gorthins. 

But the upstart had proven incredibly inept and with little effort and perhaps more show of arcane

power than necessary, Ahmah had defeated the cretin and magically altered the lesser demon's

skull to serve as a chalice.  The chalice doubly served as a warning to those who sought to replace

him and as a reminder to not grow so complacent with himself that he forgets the treachery of his 

brethren.

            Mulling over the loss of his trophy, Ahmah failed to see a part of the shadows separate

itself from the side of the cavern and glide stealthily towards him.   Rez Nak waited patiently for

his master to acknowledge his presence as the shadow stalker had seen firsthand the fate of those

that interrupted the Blood God’s silent reverie.  Besides it gave the lesser demon time to fantasize

about the rewards his master would heap on him once he delivered his report.

            Thoughts of delectable mortal souls for his own carnal pleasures lured the demon’s

attention from his master and down the dark tunnel of his twisted imagination that had Rez Nak

hissing with anticipation.  Unfortunately for the scout, Ahmah had chosen that moment to

acknowledge his servant, and when the shadow stalker failed to answer the Blood God’s query he

was oblivious to the danger that now loomed mere feet from him.

            “Rez Nak!  The anomaly, have you found it?”  Ahmah’s booming voice crackled with

arcane energy, fueled by his impatience and anger.  “Or do I need to flay strips of your flesh from

your worthless hide and feed it to the Koarouc beetles to stir your memory!”  The Blood God’s

fists slammed onto the armrests of his throne with a thunderclap that snapped the shadow stalker

from his fantasies.

            Koarouc beetles, the carrion scavengers of the Infernal Realms, were one of the few things

that could frighten the shadow stalker.  Rez Nak, himself had used the voracious insects as a

means of torture to get reluctant individuals to divulge their secrets.  The vile beetles paralyzed

their prey with their bite while slowly feeding off of the poor victim.  With a shudder the minion

gave his report to the eagerly waiting Blood God.

            “Masster, I have found the anomaly,” Rez Nak hissed as he kept his wraithlike head bowed. 

“It iss very ssmall and wass difficult to locate.”

            “Have any of the others found it?  Were you discovered or followed?”  Ahamah asked

anxiously and released the breath he had been holding when Rez Nak shook his wispy, horned

head.

           

            “No my masster, and a falsse trail that I left will make ssure that none other than the mighty

Blood God will.”  The shadow stalker finished with a bow.

            “The Bloodmoon will rise in one lunar cycle and my powers will be at their peak.  With the

aid of my mortal servants, the gorthins, I will be able to tear open the weakening, allowing myself

and my followers access to the mortal realm where we will make all bow to me, Ahmah the Blood

God!”  The mighty demon thrust his taloned arms towards the vaulted ceiling and loosed a

primordial roar that shook even the magically enchanted chamber.

            “And you, my loyal Rez Nak, will be the first to follow me through the barrier, and free to

have as many mortals as you may capture for your own desires.”  Ahmah grinned evilly at the

shadow stalker.  The flame blue eyes of the scout showed no emotion, but its wide reptilian mouth

split wide into a matching grin that displayed several rows of needle-like teeth.

Chapter 2

  

            Dark green waves of the Forlorn Sea crashed against the jagged shoreline as the last

crimson rays of daylight danced across their surface.  High upon the rugged cliff walls stood the

Knights of Everwatch monastery, its granite walls casting off a silent nobility.  It had been many

hours since evening mass and the monastery was quiet except for the occasional page running here

and there to deliver a message.

            At the heart of the monastery stood the Temple of Everwatch the most holy of places for

the knights and monks who lived there.  In his personal chambers in the upper levels of the temple

Father Joseph sat filling out his daily journal before retiring for the night.  Sipping slowly at his

steaming cup of Jartan tea, the priest finished his last entry and closed the worn leather journal. 

Setting his tea down, Father Joseph rose from his chair and stretched his aged shoulders to remove

the stiffness writing had brought to them.

“I’m glad I had Adam put a few more blankets on my bed,” muttered the elderly priest.

“These chilly winter nights don’t agree with me.”

Removing his slippers at the edge of the bed he then burrowed deep into the blankets. 

Once getting comfortable Father Joseph clasped his hands together in prayer.

“Blessed Savior, thank you for all the gifts you have given this day.  You have blessed us

more than we deserve.  I’m your humble servant, guide me with your wisdom and help me to do

your will.  Give me the strength to carry your light into this world and to be ever watchful, ever

vigilant.  Forever in your name we watch, amen.”

Closing his eyes, Father Joseph fell into a deep sleep.  Hours later he awoke with a start,

sensing that something was amiss.

“Who’s there?”  he demanded.  No one answered, his chambers were dark and quiet.  “It

must have been a mouse,” he told himself.  “I’ll have Adam place some traps in the morning.” 

Yawning, he closed his eyes and lay back down.

Suddenly the room flashed with an intense blue light.  Father Joseph bolted upright, nearly

falling out of bed.  “What in the name of the Savior?” whispered the priest.

The light began to condense into the glowing outline of winged man. 

The archangel Narizz stood calmly in the center of the room.  His white robes glowed with

the light of heaven.  He stood a head taller than Father Joseph with shoulder length hair the color

of midnight that framed a broad face with brown-black eyes that gave a kind yet stern visage. 

From his belt hung a golden broadsword and an oval shaped silver shield hung from his left arm

while his right hand firmly gripped a bronze-tipped spear.  On his back ivory wings rested at ease

as he surveyed Father Joseph from the center of the room.

“Father Joseph,” a powerful baritone voice rumbled from the angelic being.  “The Savior

has need of you and your monastery.  I have been sent to show you your mission and to bestow a

gift.”

“Take my hand father, our time grows short.”  Father Joseph, who had been paralyzed with

awe at the appearance of the archangel, jumped quickly from his bed and took Narizz’s hand. 

Instantly he felt as safe and secure as a child against his mother’s bosom.

Objects in the room began to meld together and reform into fir trees.  The bedroom’s

timber ceiling was replaced with the vastness of the night sky and snow carpeted the forest floor

instead of the plush Ozolon rugs.

“Where are we?”  Wondered Father Joseph out loud.

“We are at the ruins of the Gorthin Empire, deep in the heart of the Blood Forest.  Ahead of

us is a clearing with a temple dedicated to the gorthin’s demon-god, Ahmah.  That is what you

have been brought to see,” answered the archangel.  “Go forth and behold the beginning of a great

evil.”

Father Joseph took a tentative step forward and then looked back at Narizz.

“What will I see?”  He asked fearfully.

“Go forth and fear not for the Savior is with you.”  Narizz responded as he pointed towards

the clearing.

Father Joseph crept slowly through the fir trees until he saw a faint light filtering through

the trees.  Pushing aside a branch revealed a large clearing with the ruins of the Gorthin Empire

littering the area.  The faint sound of chanting could be heard coming from the largest of the ruins.

“Go forth father, nothing here can harm one of the Savior’s children,” Narizz coaxed from

behind.

Father Joseph steeled his resolve and placed one foot and then the other into the clearing. 

When nothing rushed from the shadows to confront him, he strode confidently towards the ruin

that the chanting was issuing from.  Stopping in front of the temple’s dilapidated entrance, Father

Joseph could clearly hear the chanting coming from within but could not understand the guttural

language of the words.  Examining the archaic symbols etched into the temple’s doorway

confirmed his fears.

“A temple to the demon Ahmah,” he stated in disgust.  “Savior watch over me.  You can

smell the putrid evil that has permeated these walls.”  He said to himself.

Stepping into the temple, a chill seemed to seep into the priest’s robes, gripping his heart in

an icy vise.  The chanting grew louder as Father Joseph made his way deeper into the unholy

temple.  Following the sound of chanting through the labyrinth of corridors, Father Joseph at last

arrived at a pitted stone doorway and discovered its source.

A grizzled, ancient gorthin shaman was chanting over an ominous looking alter covered in

cryptic symbols depicting the Blood God.  Cautiously studying the antechamber, Father Joseph

observed the gorthin.  It was a creature straight out of his nightmares, larger than a human with

gray and white fur covering its lupine body.  The wolf shaped head swayed in ecstasy while its

canine muzzle chanted ritualistic verses to its deity.  The shaman, reaching a crescendo in its

chanting, raised its lanky arms to the ceiling revealing a human female bound to the alter. Sky

blue eyes were wide with fear and bulged like a steer about to be butchered while her young,

shapely body, clothed only in symbols written in blood, strained and fought against her bindings to

no avail.  Tears streaked a once beautiful face that was now twisted in horror and fear.  Her own

hoarse screams mixed eerily with the shaman’s rough voice to make a perverse melody.

Pulling a bone-handled dagger from its belt, the gorthin raised the knife above its heads and

plunged the blade deep into the woman’s chest.  As her blood soaked into the black stone of the

alter, the symbols began to glow a faint red.

“Come forth Ahmah and show me your will!”  The shaman rasped.

Slowly a ghostly shape began to materialize above the demonic alter.  The apparition grew

more solid as the alter continued to absorb the girl’s blood.  From the dull red mist a set of

massive leathery wings emerged and were followed by the gargantuan body of Ahmah, the Blood

God.  Sharp canine teeth gnashed together in hideous bovine face as cold reptilian eyes scanned

the room hungrily.  Its body was covered in cords of thick twisted muscle and layered with raven

black scales that seemed to swallow the already meager light from the room.

Father Joseph began to tremble as the demon’s eyes, blazing with the very fires of

damnation seemed to burn into his very soul.  Turning to flee, he felt a firm hand place itself on his

shoulder.

“Keep hold your faith father, for the beast cannot hurt you.  Ahmah is here in spirit not in

body.  He has not been freed from his place in the Infernal Realms yet.”  Narizz reassured Father

Joseph.  “Watch and remember what evil you see her for it will aid you and your order in the days

to come, but fear not.”

The shaman called out to the demon, “Ahmah!  It is I, Greytooth, your humble servant.  I

have heeded your call and brought forth your spirit.  What is it that you require of me, master?”

“Greytooth,” a voice like the chill of a tomb responded, “It is time for the gorthin to reclaim

their homeland and bring me to the mortal plane.”

“How do we do this my master?”  Questioned the vile shaman.

“After our defeat by the knights some sixty years ago they took and hid a powerful artifact

in the northern foothills of the Blackstone Mountains in a settlement named Stoneheart. At the

center of this village is a large heart shaped stone.  The Ancient Ones hollowed out the stone and

used it to hold their religious ceremonies and inside is the Chalice of Conjuring.  Fill it with the

blood of innocent children, drink it slowly calling my name with each sip.  This will open a portal

between your realm and the Infernal Realms.  But it must be done by the Bloodmoon.”  The demon

instructed.

Prostrating himself before his god, Greytooth replied, “It will be as you wish my master.”

“By the love of the Savior, no,” a disbelieving Father Joseph whispered.

“It is by that love the Savior has for his children that you have been allowed this glimpse

into your enemy’s plans.”  The archangel’s rich voice soothed.  “You are to send a knight to the

settlement of Stoneheart.  Once there he will find the one chosen to wield Heaven’s Justice.” 

Narizz’s voice faded with his body and in its place hung an ornate broadsword.

As Father Joseph moved closer to the sword he could feel the purity and holiness emanate

from the blessed weapon.  The hilt and cross guard were carved from a golden metal in the

likeness of an angel with outstretched wings.  The three foot adamantium blade shone with an

inner light.

Reaching for the hilt, the elderly priest felt a calmness flow through his body which was

followed by a brilliant flash of light. Instantly Father Joseph was transported back to his bedroom

and surrounded by familiar sights and sounds.

Pulling the chord that would sound a bell in his man-servant Adam’s room, Father Joseph

went to his desk to pen a letter for Sir Olan explaining his mission to the Blackstone Mountains. 

Shortly there was a knock on the door and a bedraggled Adam entered the chamber.

“You rang, Father Joseph?”  Adam asked with worry.

           

“Yes my son. I need you to fetch Sir Olan.  Tell him I need to speak with him and that it’s a

matter of great urgency. Then go to the stables and have his mount readied with enough supplies

to get him to the village of Stoneheart.  Now go!”  Father Joseph commanded.

With Adam on his way the father rubbed his arthritic fingers through his thinning white

hair.  He was aching and weary and the battle had just begun.

  

Chapter 3

            The hunter waited patiently amid the branches of an ancient oak as his prey moved ever

closer.  The scent of the young human’s sweat and the warmth he emitted through the layers of

clothing he wore against the cold stirred the beast’s belly.  As the blood-lust grew to an

uncontrollable fervor the gorthin let out an unearthly wail and launched itself high into evening

sky on powerful hind legs.  The creature spread its massive bat-like wings blotting out the light of

the freshly risen moon and casting its fearsome shadow across the snow covered ground.

            The human dropped the bundle of firewood that he had been collecting as the bone chilling

screech tore through the brisk night air.  Spinning around he locked gazes with the loathsome

monster and was frozen in place with fear.  The gorthin let loose with a primordial roar of triumph

at the sight of its helpless victim.  Folding its wings behind its body, the beast dove with talons

outstretched and its razor sharp fangs revealed in a vicious snarl.

            The young man, freed from his paralysis by the image of death hurtling towards him, ran

like a spooked rabbit.  Fear and adrenaline driving his legs faster and faster as he pounded his way

through the drifting snow.  His heart drummed in his ears as at any moment he expected to feel

those cruel talons tear into his fleeing form.  Tripping over a buried rock he fell face first into the

snow.  That rock saved his life as he felt the wind from the diving beast pass over his prone body. 

A howl of frustration escaped the gorthin’s mouth as it banked hard skyward to avoid a large snow-

shrouded tree.

            A calm overcame him then.  He knew that he could not reach the village before the

monster would overtake him.  The fear drained way and replaced with a fierce anger.  Yesterday

had been his eighteenth birthday and he had passed into manhood according to village custom, but

he had ran like a child at the first sign of danger.  Squaring his shoulders, Galen Stoutheart drew

the longbow his father had given him the day before and notched an arrow.  Powerful muscles

drew back the great bow while gray-green eyes, that shone with a focus beyond his years, sighted

down the shaft at the beast’s broad chest.    Galen let loose but he had not allowed for the beast’s

speed and the arrow tore through one of the gorthin’s leathery wings, but fortunately disabling it. 

The gorthin crashed heavily into a grove of young saplings, splintering many of them and impaling

itself.

            Galen got a good look at the monster as it withdrew itself from the grove.  It was covered

with coal black fur and walked erect like a man except it stood two heads taller than the tallest man

in the village.  The head was a cross between a wolf and a man.  Fangs the size of a man’s thumb

gnashed together in pain as it pulled a large stake like splinter from its side.  A trail of blood lay

behind the beast as it trudged its way towards the young man, its right arm hung uselessly at its

side.  Galen drew the bow again.  This time his aim was true and the arrow sank up to the fletching

in the monster’s chest.  Taking one final step the monster collapsed onto the snow.  Blood flowed

from the wound at an unnatural rate and form a crimson pool in a sea of white.

           

            Galen knew that he had to hurry, the scent of blood would attract wolves to the area.  He

wanted to take the beast’s corpse back to the elder’s to identify.  But it was to heavy and awkward

to carry.  He looked around thoughtfully and when he saw the splintered grove an idea came to

mind.

            After gathering two saplings twice the beast’s length, Galen shaved the bark off in long

strips using his hand ax and tied them first to one pole and then the other creating a cradle for the

beast’s body.  He then used the remaining strips to fashion a harness to aid with pulling the

stretcher.

            Not far off a wolf howled and was answered by two more.  Each one in a different direction

than the others.  Ice formed in Galen’s gut, he had to move fast.  Stepping towards the gorthin’s

inert body he slipped in the bloody snow and landed flat on his back.  He carefully regained his

footing, but was covered in the beast’s blood.

            “Jester’s Luck!”  Galen spat.  “This will attract the wolves for sure.”  He hurriedly rolled

the carcass onto the sling.  It was much lighter than its great size would have indicated.

            “Must be light from all the blood loss,” mused Galen.

            “Savior, please let this work,” He prayed as he slid between the poles and placed the

harness across his broad back.  Digging deep into the snow with his feet for a good grip, Galen

pushed off with all his might and nearly fell over with the ease at which the stretcher slid through

the snow.  The howls came again, much closer this time.  Picking up his pace, the young

woodsman was confident he would make the village safely.

            A short while later the youngest Stoutheart could see the lights from the village and felt

renewed strength flow into his tired limbs. 

           

            “Home sweet home.”  He thought out loud, “Won’t Father be surprised when he sees what

I have.”  Sparing a glance at the monster strapped to his impromptu sling, Galen shook his head in

amazement at what he had accomplished. 

.

            A low growl brought Galen’s attention to the trees on the trail side and cut his thoughts

short.  Up ahead two large mountain wolves stepped onto the trail.  Tucked tails and lowered ears

gave away the malicious intentions.  The outlook for Galen looked bleak.  He could probably get

an arrow into one but the other wolf would be upon him before he could notch the second arrow. 

He looked behind to see if escape would be possible but two more wolves had moved out from the

underbrush.

            “Great.  Just great,” Galen muttered as he shrugged free from the harness and pulled his

hand ax from his belt.  “Who’s first?”  He said waving the weapon menacingly.

            The wolves slowly began to circle the young man.  A large silver-gray wolf with a white

stripe down his back lunged for Galen’s throat.  Sidestepping the attack, Galen countered with a

mighty swing at the passing wolf’s neck.  The wolf was too fast and the ax struck a glancing blow

to its hind leg.  The wolf landed hard with a yelp of pain, but it recovered quickly.  Sensing that this

prey may not be the easy kill they thought, the wolves attacked simultaneously. 

            Galen thought he was done for when a rider on a white warhorse charged from the tree line

commanding him to duck.  Instinctively doing what he was told, Galen heard rather saw the two

crossbow quarrels as they whistled over his head and into two of the wolves killing them both. 

Galen looked up to see a knight place two light crossbows into holsters on his saddle and draw a

gleaming longsword from a scabbard on his hip.

            The gray wolf snapped and snarled at the knight while his partner slunk around behind the

warhorse.  The crafty wolf gathered his paws beneath him and sprang at the exposed flanks.  The

wolf realized his mistake as the trained warhorse shifted its weight forward and kicked out with

both hind legs.  The double kick connected solidly and sent the wolf flying several feet through the

air, slamming it into a tree trunk.  Its broken body fell limply to the forest floor.

            The last wolf lost interest in the fight after seeing its companions so easily defeated by the

hawk-nosed knight and his powerful mount.  He slowly backed away and then turned tail and fled

off into the night.

            Galen stood in awe of the great warrior who had just saved his life.  The knight was a man

of great stature and girth.  Galen, who was one of the largest people in the village, felt small next

to the armored giant.  The knight wore full plate mail that was simply adorned but shone brilliantly

in the full moon’s light.  His helm was also plain and shone brightly, a grill obscured the man’s

face and from the top sprouted a golden plume.  A large triangular shield stood ready on the

knight’s left arm, on it was the blue field and golden eye that marked him as a Knight of

Everwatch.  The knight replaced his blade and spun the horse around to get a better view of

Galen’s cargo.  He examined the corpse for a minute before turning to face the nervous Galen. 

            “Did you kill this monster, son?”  Questioned the knight.

            “Yes sir,” stammered Galen in fear worried that killing the creature might be some kind of

crime he blurted out.  “It was in self-defense.  The monster attacked me first and I shot and killed it

with my bow.”

            “What is your name young man?” Asked the knight after intently studying Galen for a

moment.

           

            “Galen, sir.”  Replied Galen quickly.  “Am I in trouble for slaying the beast?  Is it protected

by the king or the Knights of Everwatch?”

            “No to both lad,” said the knight as he chuckled softly.  “The gorthins are no friend to the

king and are bitter enemies to the Knights of Everwatch.”

           

            “A gorthin?  I’ve never heard of such a creatures,” stated Galen as he looked with a mixture

of horror and wonder at the monster lying in the sling.  Anything that was an enemy of the virtuous

knights sent a chill down his spine.

            “Now is not the time for questions,” proclaimed the knight.  “The wolves will return soon

and in greater numbers.  Where were you headed?”

            “The village of Stoneheart,” responded Galen as he fearfully looked around the trail side

for wolves.  “I was taking the gorthin’s body back to the elders to identify.”

            “Good fortune for the both of us, I’m headed there also.  If you would guide me there we

can attach the sling to Blade’s saddle and make better time than you would dragging the cradle all

the way to the village.”  Stated the knight.

            There was a long haunting howl from a little way off in the forest.  It was shortly repeated

by the eerie howls of several approaching wolves.  Not wasting any more time, Galen lifted the

harness up to the knight who promptly hooked it over the pommel of his saddle.

            “Now, you take the lead Galen and keep your eyes open for trouble.  We’ll be at your

village in no time!”  The knight said cheerfully as he patted Galen on the shoulder.

`           Pulling an arrow from his quiver Galen notched it and headed off down the trail towards

where the village of Stoneheart lay.  Not knowing why but suddenly Galen was very confident that

he and this strange warrior who had saved his life would soon drag their strange cargo before the

council.

            It had only been an hour since Galen and the knight had brought the gorthin’s corpse back

to the village, but word had quickly and soon the entire village had gathered to catch a glimpse of

the gorthin.  After much berating by the council and more likely due to Turek's, the thick armed

blacksmith, baleful glare they crowd finally dispersed. Galen’s father and the rest council had then

went behind closed doors at the village meeting hall.  He could hear the elder’s voices but could

not make their words through the stout wooden doors. 

            They had ordered Galen to wait outside until they called for him.  As he sat there on one of

the long, plain benches that lined the outside of the hall he absentmindedly plucked at his bow

string as he thought back to his arrival.  Something had seemed out of place but he hadn’t given it

a second thought during all the excitement.

            When they had entered the fringe of the village the knight had ordered Galen to gather the

council and for them to meet him at the village hall.  Galen had quickly took off and in no time had

told the member’s the knight’s message.  As the elder’s arrived at the hall each one had shown

either fear or shock at the sight of the dead gorthin’s corpse.  All except one.  Galen’s father had

examined the gorthin from head to toe and then gave the knight a slight nod of his head which the

knight had returned.  Galen was sure that no one else had caught it but him.  Then the knight and

his father had stepped to the side and had a quiet, but brief conversation among themselves.  They

had clasped forearms, something that was done by brothers in arms, and then Galen’s father, Orin,

lead the knight into the meeting hall.  Quickly the remaining members followed and shut the stout

oak doors, but not before Turek had ordered Galen to stay at the door until called for.

            “That’s it!”  Thought Galen to himself.  “They know one another, but how?”  He wondered. 

            Galen had spent his entire life in Stoneheart and had assumed so had his family.  Could

there be a secret that his father had not told him, after all when Orin would tell him bedtime stories

of heroic battles and hideous monsters he would at times seem to get a faraway look in his eyes. 

Yes, that had to be it, and the sword that hung over the fireplace was a perfect match to the one the

stranger had used against the wolves. Father had said it was a relic of the past, could it have been

his past?  As Galen sat on the bench and wondered about his father’s mysterious secret, the council

was discussing the news that the knight had brought and which was now backed by the gorthin’s

body.

            Deep in thought, Galen did not hear the doors open and Turek walk up to him.  The huge

blacksmith had to repeat Galen’s name twice and gently the young man shake to break his deep

reverie.  A feeling of excitement and nervousness swept over Galen as followed Turek into the gray

stone building, he hoped that the origin of the beast and his father’s secrets would soon be

revealed. 

            “Come forward and tell us of your encounter with the gorthin, Galen.”  Commanded Old

Man Morik.  He was the oldest man in the village having seen eighty turns of the seasons and was

still as sharp as a man half his age.  All the villagers respected his wisdom and why he sat as the

unspoken leader of all town meetings.

            Galen looked to his father for support and Orin gave a nod of encouragement.  Galen

squared his shoulders and strode confidently forward to stand before Morik and the rest of the

council who sat at the end of the hall on a raised platform and began to recite the night’s adventure.

            As he finished up his tale with the knight bursting from the underbrush and saving his life,

Morik rubbed his wrinkled brow with gnarled fingers as he seemed to be contemplating over some

inner turmoil. 

            A few moments passed and then Morik cleared his throat loudly to quiet down the

conversations that had sprouted up during the lull.  The hall quieted quickly and Morik addressed

Galen directly.

            “What do you know of gorthins, Galen?”  He asked in his hoarse aged voice.

            “Not very much sir.  Just what little this knight has told me and from my encounter with the

winged beast,” Galen replied wondering where Morik was leading him.

            “I will give you a brief history of our encounters with the gorthins my boy,” Morik began. 

“It was over sixty years ago that agents of the Knights of Everwatch got wind of a pact between

the Gorthin Empire and the black hearted Nabukian.”

            “We don’t know what the Nabukians got in the exchange, probably more slaves to sacrifice

to their demon-god, Nabuk, but we do know that the Nabukian mages created an artifact called the

Chalice of Conjuring and that was what the gorthins were to receive.  The chalice when combined

with the blood of innocents would open a doorway between our world and the Infernal Realms

allowing Ahmah, who the gorthins worship as the Blood God, to physically enter our world.”

            “The knights intercepted the Nabukian agents before they could rendezvous with the

gorthins and hid the chalice away in some remote place.  The gorthins sent their winged scouts to

scour the land but to no avail.  Eager to please Ahmah, they mustered a large army of warriors and

invaded Avolund, wiping out anything in their path of destruction, but they were defeated and

chased, broken, into the Blackstone Mountains by the knighthood.”

            “The blessed Savior has once again given us a look into our enemies mind and to see that

Ahmah is mustering the gorthins to once again seek out the chalice.  That is how this good knight

happened upon you in the wilderness Galen.  He is an emissary from Father Joseph, the secular

leader of the knights, who after a visit from the archangel Narizz, sent Sir Olan to warn us of the

impending invasion.”

            Morik paused for a moment to let his words sink.  He then finished in a very somber voice,

“The chalice, Galen, is hidden here in our village.  The gorthins will attack us in force and will

stop at nothing to complete Ahmah’s desires.”

            The council chamber became as silent as a grave with the announcement of the chalice’s

location for none but the elder and one other knew of its existence.  The stillness was broken as the

council members began to all talk at once.  Turek shouted out in anger, daring the gorthins to

attack with much bravado while Burek the shepherd and Durian the miller fretted about their

family’s safety outside of the town’s limits, but before things could get out of hand Galen’s father

rose from his seat and addressed them in his strong confident voice.

            “My friends!”  Orin shouted to quiet the room.  “Sir Olan and I have been discussing the

defense of the town.  Our village is surrounded by fields for at least two leagues in all directions

which means that the gorthins will not be able to take us by surprise and will have to face a rain of

arrows fired from the deadliest longbows in the kingdom.  If they make it across the field the

invaders will have to breach the ten foot stone wall that encases Stoneheart.  Those monsters will

not make it into our village!”

            As Orin spoke his passionate words and the fire of fierce determination that shown in his

eyes brought hope and courage to his fellow council members.  One by one their eyes hardened

and they sat straighter in their chairs.  Many nodded in agreement as Orin spoke of the town’s

defenses. Of adding a spiked trench around the town wall, increasing the watch, and gathering the

militia.

            When the council broke and each member went about his appointed tasks there was a

mixture of hope and anger in their squared jaws and shoulders.  Monsters from their darkest

nightmares were coming to their homes to slaughter or use their families to please the demon

Ahmah.  Although known more for their easy-going countenance, the men of Stoneheart could turn

into competent and ferocious warriors when their home and families are threatened. 

            Many peddlers and merchants spoke of the rugged northern-frontier settlers being more

akin to the untamed animals that haunted the wilds of the north than to the more civilized people in

the populated lands to the south.  Often a caravan guard who became too free with his hands or

tongue towards the town’s woman-folk would later tell his fellow caravan guards around the

campfire that the northmen were like tamed wolves.  Everything was fine one moment, the

villagers would be admiring his master’s wares and bartering their own goods while he tried to

make friendly with some local girl.  Then it was as if they could sense the young woman’s

discomfort and they would surround him, fingering their belt knives or patting worn cudgels into

their tough, leathery palms as they encircled the poor guard.  Not a one would speak but the guard

got the silent warning from the blazing eyes of the townsmen and grudgingly slink off out of sight. 

His friends would make jests at the poor guard’s expense, all except for the ones who had

experienced the wrath of the frontiersmen who nodded their heads in sympathy.

            Galen stood mesmerized by his father’s actions.  He had never seen his father take an active

role in the councils before.  The normally quiet woodsman rarely said more than a word or two and

that was only if his opinion was asked.  But Orin had quickly transformed into a potent and

charismatic leader who had just given the village hope.

            “Galen!” Barked Orin.  “Gather your things.  It’s time to head home, there is much you need

to learn and the time grows short.”

            His thoughts broken, Galen shrugged into his heavy winter cloak, and hurriedly slung his

quiver and longbow over his shoulders as he chased after his departing father and Sir Olan. 

Falling in behind his father and the knight, he tried to eavesdrop on their conversation, but they

seemed to be discussing events around the kingdom.  Disappointed they were not talking about the

gorthins or the knights Galen fell back into his own thoughts.

            The night had brought many new things into Galen’s quiet life.  He had nearly been killed

by a monster from legend and a pack of wolves, but instead he had single-handedly defeated the

gorthin and had been saved from the wolves by a heroic Knight of Everwatch.  He wondered what

his father had to tell him that was more important than the events of the night.  Studying the two

men walking in front of him, Galen began to notice some similarities.

            Sir Olan had shed his metal armor and replaced it with a brown leather jerkin and a

blue cloak with a silver cross representing the Savior’s pose as he vanquished mankind’s foes,

embroidered on the right breast.  His broadsword rested easily at his hip in a worn but well-tended

scabbard.  The hilt was a work of art, blue and white leather crisscrossed the grip while the tips of

the golden hilt curved slightly towards the blade.  On the silvery pommel was engraved a crown

made of thorns.  Something about the sword tickled at the back of Galen’s memory.  The memory

slipped away like sand falling through his fingers so he turned his attention to his father.

            Orin was wearing his normal clothes, black leather boots, tan woolen breeches and a green

leather hunting tunic.  But he now wore a hunter green cloak trimmed in brown instead of his old

gray cloak and replacing his favorite walking staff a sword hung comfortably at his side.  It’s

scabbard wasn’t as worn as Sir Olan’s but the sword was made of the same bright metal and where

blue and white leather covered Sir Olan’s hilt, Orin’s was wrapped in green and burgundy leather. 

The crosspieces were the same but on Orin’s pommel there was an engraving of the Savior, his

arms thrown wide as when he released his power to create the Infernal Realms.

            Galen stopped dead in his tracks and his mouth hung open as he stared, dumbfounded, at

his father.  He recognized his father’s cloak and sword as the markings of the famed Rangers of

Everwatch.  The rangers were knights who chose to protect the borders of the kingdom, but more

importantly to watch over the Savior’s scattered flock.  Some of Allura’s greatest heroes were

rangers and his father was one of the fabled warriors.  Excitement freed Galen’s feet as he rushed

ahead of his father and confronted Orin.

            “You...you’re a ran...ranger,” stammered Galen.  “But how?  Why didn’t you tell me?  Does

Mother know?  Have you ever fought...”

            Orin smiled and held up a hand to quiet Galen’s rambling.  “Patience son, all your

questions will be answered and more, but first take Olan’s horse to our barn and tell your mother

that we will be having company for supper.  Now off with you.”

            Galen hesitated for a moment before taking the reins to the white charger and rushing

home.  He knew his father well and if Orin said to have patience then he would have to wait for his

answers.

     I hope you have enjoyed the tale so far, more to come later in the week.

Happy Reading

-EW-