The Guardians of the Deepest Light, Vol 1

by Cory Mccoy

  “Well we'll have an army of wards this time.”

  “Trained by the Lord Commander and Roley to boot.” Mongaka said, grinning wryly as he looked up. “My people will fight twice as hard to match you.”

  “The only men in this world that Karath fears is Le Ronea and the Lord Master.” Roley told them, “He may fear the idea of those spoken of in prophesy, but he's had over a century and a half to learn how to kill your kind. Do not underestimate him or any of the powerful magi. They know no honor.”

  “But they've also forgotten the might of the Felinra.” Mongaka said slamming his fist against a rock. “With the Guardian's might and our science, we will wash aside their parlor tricks and we will march side by side to liberate all the people of this world. Never again will any creature be a slave.”

  Chapter Nine

  Contradicting Accounts

  “You've committed atrocities upon my peaceful people Almuric.” The Grand Chief KenKota snarled. “You've stolen from us and raped our lands.”

  “Five years to this day.” Almuric whispered, bending down inches from KenKota's tanned, mud smeared face. “I offered you this island. You refused me, what would you have me do?”

  “Assume your false title.” KenKota replied, backing away. “Almuric the Just. Candova, he who was brought peace to the seven islands. I ask you now, is this what you call peace? You've destroyed the homes of many with your lust. Are these crystals worth the lives they litter on the way side?”

  “Silence!” Condova bellowed, his massive frame intimidating and menacing, even while his armor sparkled and many saw him as their savior-king. “No one king rules the new lands, not I nor you. You have the right to dissent and I have graciously agreed to meet you in battle.”

  “Name the stakes, my king.” Sneered KenKota, sure of his victory over the massive red headed warrior from the rolling plains of the old world.

  “Everything.” Candova growled, his deep voice rumbling through the crowd as he yelled.

  “So be it.” KenKota replied, he had not expected this. Why would the High King of all the new lands risk everything in a battle to the death over the smallest of his tributaries?

  “For the honor of Agmoria and the Elder races who preside over it.” Candova said, snatching his great mace from his squire, a massive man himself. Although he was considerably less bearded.

  With that Candova leapt forward, swiftly closing the distance. KenKota let out a primal scream, his incredible red-veined crystal burned brightly. Nightmarish screams pierced the air as he called the Rekota Falcons from their nests. The massive birds of preys feverishly flapped their wings, all aiming toward the High King.

  Without warning, he stopped and slammed his mace headfirst into the ground. Thirty massive obsidian birds ripped from the distant cliffs. The flew swiftly, their larger wings quickly gaining on the living birds. With a sickening screech, primal from KenKota's birds and violently echoing from Candova's golems, the birds slammed upon each other mid air.

  Bled sprayed through the air as the thirty golems began to overpower the fifty something great-birds. KenKota saw his advantage slipping and drew his bow. As he trained his poisoned arrows upon the High-King's throat he summoned forth twenty sand adders, their long powerful scales ripping up through the sand.

  Candova was startled, caught off guard by an adversary more powerful than he had anticipated. As the adder's snapped forth at him, he swung his mighty club, smashing skull after skull before clenching his gauntleted hand into a tight fist and a stone hydra burst forth sending the snakes back away from him.

  “I underestimated you.” Almuric said as the hydra fought the remaining snakes, neither side gaining an advantage as the deadly fangs broke through the rock throats of his hydra. “You've asked me many times to think of your people.”

  “Yet you never did, we were never equal to the 'civilized' peoples.” He cried, flinging his small wand around, still battling the hydra. In the distance a thundering of hoofs charged through the forest. They were not yet close enough to take advantage of.

  “I will not ask you again Chief KenKota.” Almuric bellowed, running forward smashing the faces of the snakes as his hydra killed the last two. “Join the council and give your people a voice or die.”

  “I would choose an eternity of nothingness over allowing you to violate my lands.” he replied, his herd of gargantuan boars, each taller than an elephant stormed forth ripping down the trees that led to the clearing they fought in. Hundreds of war-boars, ready to rip Condova into pieces at KenKota's command.

  “So be it.” Candova said, without the slightest glance toward the boars thundering toward him, shaking the earth.

  “You're a fool Almuric.” The confident chief told him as his pigs came close, ready to kill the overconfident king.

  “Perhaps I was.” Candova replied, the sense of sadness and honestly echoing through his soft reply. Only a handful even heard him. “Perhaps I always will be.”

  Candova looked on as the boars thundered toward him, ready to meet his fate. He was ready, but knew his time had not yet come. His eyes met KenKota's. In an instant KenKota had realized his mistake, but was powerless against it.

  The earth around them erupted, the pigs fell hundreds of feet down, along with many bystanders. Only KenKota and Candova were left standing within a hundred foot circle. There was now a gaping hole around them where the innocent had stood watching their battle. The displaced earth rose thousands of feet into the air forming the face of a great demonic face. It paused for a brief moment before crashing down violently upon KenKota, destroying any hope his people had ever known.

  “I will never forgive myself, old friend” Almuric said to himself as he formed an enormous eagle to carry him away from the pure hell he had created on that field. He had just killed the closest thing to an equal he would ever know.

  Rage. Death. Vengeance.

  Everyone must die, the boy's mind screamed as he clawed his way back to the surface. He clawed at the sand and palm tree roots like a mad-man would sink his fingernails into his own face. After hours, which seemed like years, the boy pulled himself onto solid ground.

  So very tired. He faded, his mind melting as his body gave way. The hours bled into eternity before the boy finally awoke. His dark skin aflame with the heat of the sun. This had once been a clearing, but now there was nothing but a mesa in a horizon of darkness around it. Only one soul had survived the destruction wrought by the two most ambitious sorcerer’s on the planet.

  He crawled forward, his instincts taking him to the center of this new plateau. He kept grabbing, scratching, desperately pulling forward. He had never known such pain or thirst. Finally he reached the center, his long fingernails scratching some new, unfamliar surface. His mind gave way, the bou was lost to the world. He was dead for all purposes.

  After a few days a distant gull had made it's way from the deltas of a wide river. It flew high over the plateau, unsure of what it was seeing. Somehow it knew to dip low toward the dieing figure and drop it's huge beak full of water.

  And so it did. As did the the rest of it's distant relatives. Eventually the water pooled by the boy, and it's soft splashes woke him.

  He struggled to open his eyes, panicking as he hallucinated. Surely there wasn't a flying squirrel trying to force him to drink water from a broken coconut. Yet, that is exactly what it was. And so this boy regained his strength in what would someday become the Island of Exile. Except that in his time there were no benevolent friends, only heat and deadly pests snapping at criminal's heals.

  After many weeks, the boy had learned to manipulate his animal friends. He had found a dark red, bloody looking crystal the size of his fist. Somehow, when he held this rock, he could force the stupid rodents to obey him. In time he could command any animal and he left the island on the crest of a death-hawk.

  Twenty years passed and no one had ever wondered
what happened to this miscreant. Twenty years he wandered the wilderness, conquering beast after beast. Eventually he could command a hydra to fight a mammoth and neither would question his dominance. He owned these inferior creatures. Occasionally he would encounter his own kind. He couldn’t manipulate them so he made his beasts kill them.

  The boy was exceedingly clever, he followed the animals and found the game trails. He knew he could command a hydra, the beasts from hell. In his mind, he could control any dumb beast.

  One day, he would have a dragon. One that had power flowing from the eyes, as the dark paint of his people's memory bled from his.

 

  Chapter Ten

  The Lost Lords of the Shining Isles.

  “The Sixteen Lords of the Shining Isles, lost to time.” The mountainous man spoke, commanding the respect of all who sat in his enormous banquet hall. Most stood well over ten feet tall, the children larger than most of their honored guests. The Lord's table ran the length of the hall, with an enormous fireplace directly behind the head of the table and the man who was speaking. It was the largest, seating one hundred and fifty men of the Isles. On either side lay two smaller tables, which sat seventy five each. The great doors of the hall stood more than sixty feet high, somehow seeming miniscule when one looked toward the arched roof. Even the deposed giants, who had resided in this ancient city, had not claimed to craft the ageless buildings. “Decsendants of the old tribes, who long ago conquered the lands of Agmoria. Our ancestors ruled it in relative peace for many millenia, before even the noble Felinra gained sentience. Even when they rightfully expelled the elder races from their lands, we welcomed the disgraced to start anew in ours. It was a grave mistake to open our shores and we have paid the price. Our clans were pressed back to once again rule over the Shining Isles and these Isles alone. Tell us, why have you come to these humble Isles Master Le Ronea?”

  “I would hardly call your people humble, my lord.” Le Ronea said, rising from his seat. He was dwarfed, yet still commanded as much respect as the man who had introduced him. “Our relationship with the Felinra and the Shining Isles has proved to be a fruitful one. We share many goals and have built a great alliance. As you all know, the Guardian's serve one purpose. For over seven hundred years we have been a symbol of hope and justice throughout the Agmorian Empire.”

  “Indeed,” A man as large as the host, but considerably older and drunker roared. “Karath still wets himself when he thinks about yer blade!”

  “You flatter me,” Le Ronea continued. “To have earned the respect of Lord Bralcond the Belligerent is no small feat.”

  “Ha, I dont respect ye.” He laughed, sloshing back his mug. “But I do admire the scar ye left the little twit with.”

  “He seems to have left you with one of your own.” A much younger man said. He wasn't as large, but he looked seasoned and arrogant. His long red beard flowing onto his chest.

  “A coward's move boy!” Balcrond roared, jumping to his feet and slamming his mug so hard into the young lord's face that he crashed to the ground. “Lest ye forget, many of us were there and many never left.”

  “Including your father.” Candova MacTieran said, his words reminding the two to return to their seats. He was stern and spoke little, much like his uncle Almuric. “You may continue Master Le Ronea.”

  “The Lords of the Shining Isles, sixteen armies strong.” Le Ronea went on. “Your people are as valiant and fearless as any in this world. Your forefathers conquered the mighty giants and made peace with the majestic dragons. On opposite sides of the world, two very different armies are massing. Their conflict will decide the future of all of our people.”

  “You're asking us to march to war with your Guardian's then?” Marik, the young lord who had spoken out of place, asked.

  “No, nothing so simple.” He explained, a hooded figure that stood more than a foot taller rose beside him. “The core of the Guardian's grows too old and the wards number too few. We could not hope to take Agmoria alone.”

  “We do not possess a host large enough to take those lands either, my friend.” MacTeiran said.

  “Surely ye don't mean to propose that the cats fight with us?” Balcrond laughed. “They care nothing for those lands. Smart beasts they are.”

  “You are right, we care naught for Agmoria,” The cloaked figure said, none had noticed that he had removed the hood until now. He was a powerful looking smoky gray felinra. His voice gravelly from age and hardship. “My people want little to do with the affairs of the elder races, we do not easily forget the countless years we spent enslaved. Once more we stand in the shadow of a tyrant aiming to own our kind, as if we were domesticated companions.”

  “And who is this?” Balcrond chuckled, now well past drunk and amused with much. “Are you the Grand Marshall of the Furry Fiends?”

  “Indeed I am, Lord Balcrond.” He said, the words drawing attention to the thin platinum band around his head. “I am Nalko, War Speaker of the Felinra High Council and I intend to expand our paltry alliance past the trade routes we share. At this very moment the Felinra Legions prepare to cross the great ocean for the first time in the history of our people. Karath has instigated a heinous crime upon us and we intend to repay him. If we were to launch this attack in league with the Guardian's and you Sixteen Lords of the Shining Isles, we could crush his faltering empire.”

  “The magi would have no qualms destroying an armada.” Lord Drierk the Bold said slamming his mug down. Echoes of doubt and dissent met his louder cries of valor and pride.

  “They can not sink that which does not sail upon the waters.” Nalko continued, unfaltering. “We have many thousand scores of air ships, nearly ready for battle and weapons the magi will have no hope against.”

  Nalko tried to continue, but the cries of both sides had now drown him out. The hundreds in the hall began arguing fiercely, some started shoving which devolved into brawls.

  “You will be seated.” MacTeiran roared, slamming his uncle's mace upon the table. Wood flew from the impact, a great crack snapped open, over twenty feet long. His command was met with total silence, as the embarrassed Lords and dignitaries made their way back to their seats. “If any of you are foolish enough to throw even one more blow, know this, you will be held solely responsible for the lack of ale at every banquet left under my rule.”

  “By the gods,” Balcrond gasped, completely serious. “Ye'll all have hell to pay if he makes good on that threat.”

  “Nalko, War Speaker of the Felinra High Council, I can not give you my pledge.” Candova Macteiran, told him solemly. “Surely, you know that the Shining Isles are ruled by consensus. Such consensus can entail a lengthy process and many hundred casks of the finest ale.”

  “Not if ye twits keep swatting at each other like blind cyclopses.” Balcrond muttered gloomily, much to the amusement of those close enough to hear him.

  “Of course, my lord.” Nalko said bowing gracefully. “I am at your disposal until such a decision can be made.”

  “As am I,” Le Ronea told him. “I'm sure my talents can be of use.”

  “The war council will convene one week from today. Send messengers at first light.” MacTiernan said, pulling his mace from the table. “For now, we make merry and enjoy this feast. No one leaves until Balcrond is too drunk to stand and too belligerent to accept that he can't.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Whom Do the Ghosts Fear?

  For six days the three companions had trudged through the dense rain forests of the continent's inner rim. The canopy above was so thick that the sunlight simply illuminated the leaves and vines above them. The sun dared not sneak through.

  There were many paths through the underbrush. Some made by Felinra consorts, others were game-trails. The trouble was telling the difference before you attracted the attention of a predator. Each night they made their camp within the cave-like roots of the great tre
es. It provided a great deal of safety, but twice they had stumbled into an animal's den.

  The animals of the great jungle varied widely in both species and temperament. The large and terrifying creatures were a little easier to avoid. This was a land where evolution had simultaneously stopped and leapt forward. Great birds of prey flew high above the canopy, searching the tree tops for food. Without warning they would rocket down, bursting through the tree cover and blinding anything unlucky enough to be lingering in the upper brances.

  Curiously enough, a once herbivorous lizard of massive size learned to take such opportunities to hunt in packs and massacre the shocked ground dwelling creatures. The clever animal, with its six legs and spiny back would watch the shadows and time their attacks in sequence with the Canopy Falcons. The ferocity of their combined attacks is so great that the ageless trees shuddered from the blows.