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.
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-
