The Fractured Heartstone
By Ian Thornburrow-Dobson
This book is dedicated to the many people who gave me the inspiration and imagination to complete and to those who took the time to read it. I thank you all.
This work is dedicated to my father, the man who inspires me the most and has set the finest example that I can only attempt to emulate. I would also like to dedicate it to my sister, the one person I look up to most.
Glossary
Characters
Ydari Astaugh – Id-are-ee Ass-tor
Raelynne – Ray-Lin
Teobrin – Tay-oh-brin
Lothram – Loth-ram
Kael – Cay-ull
Idrahil – Id-ra-hill
Trelech – Trell-eck
Barleck – Bar-leck
Zoirech – Zoy-reck
Tuirech – Too-your-eck
Elhara – El-are-ah
Feraal – Fer-arll
Arlydd – Are-lid
Adaryn – Add-are-in
Kalythyll – Kall-ith-ill
Gryliaar – grill-ee-are
Londorff – Lon-dorf
Telvia – Tell-vee-ah
Farandir – Far-an-dear
Fazhrae – Fazz-ray
Daingal – Dain-gal
Vedile – Ved-isle
Katharlis – Cath-are-liss
Zarifis – Zah-if-iss
Kythrol – Kith-roll
Zyffhal – Ziff-hal
Aisureth – Eye-sir-eth
Kingdoms
Ythelia – Ith-eel-ee-are
Tirgaal – Tear-garl
Ljarthaal – Lee-are-tharl
Ciphearyn – Siff-air-in
Akanthir – Ack-anth-ear
Badenfaal – Bar-den-farl
Yfthal – Ifft-hal
Ikazaah – Ick-ah-zah
Volenrud – Vol-un-rood
Jarvuuk – Yar-vook
Volfgar – Volf-gah
Dierzel – Deer-zel
Cities and Landmarks
Maleardhus – Mal-ear-dus
Kalvinth – Kal-vinth
Arnanburg – Are-nan-burg
Mal Ithir – Mal-ith-ear
Avalor – Av-are-law
Ravellem – Rav-ell-um
Brenningate – Brenn-inn-gate
Nordras – Nor-dras
Mavellick – Mav-ell-ick
Falsteim – Fal-steim
Villedt – Vill-et
Ilvastus – Ill-vas-tus
Melethynne – Mel-ith-in
Belegraad – Bell-ah-grard
Vedalia – Ved-ale-ia
Gods
Areus – As-ray-us
Elhaer – Ell-hare
Cayrothe – Kay-roth
Aximar – Axe-im-are
Neapra – Knee-prah
Althanir – Alth-ann-ear
Prologue
-The emergence of the Efealtor Gods and the creation of the world. Adapted from the Tirgaal Chronicle-
Long ago, when the world was in its infancy, the land was cracked and scarred, the lifeblood of the Earth flowed freely and its molten touch scorched and blistered everything in its destructive path. Some races claim the Gods of Efealtor, who lent their namesake to the continent, engaged in a bitter war with the Dragons of old. They embodied the evil and malice which the Gods sought to banish, which resulted in a war that burnt the heavens to asunder, imprisoning the Gods to this one realm; forever to roam this land.
Mighty Azreus, the Father of the Gods, led the charge for sanity and order. He was born at the heart of a mountain, and his will blasted through the rock and freed him from this confinement. Azreus’ emergence shook Dragon-kind to their core. His fearsome sword had been wrought from the very bedrock of the Earth and was said to be made of the blackest Obsidian and was so sharp he could rip the sky asunder.
The most resplendent of the Efealtor was Aximar who donned tight fitting bronze armour. He was the most handsome of his kin; his fiery mane and chiselled jaw setting him apart. Aximar’s domain was the sky and the heavens beyond and in one terrific battle he clashed with the fearsome serpent Gragore. Their battle lasted for decades and, finally, Aximar smote Gragore, casting his defeated form into the void between worlds. Despite his victory, Aximar had been blinded in one eye. The deity plucked it from its socket and threw it into the sky where it grew impossibly large and shone with the brilliance of countless gems. Thus, the sun was born.
There were other brings amongst the pantheon of the Elder Folk who fought alongside Azreus. The Twinned divinities of Elhaer and Cayrothe who embodied the power of nature and death. Elhaer clothed herself with the woods and trees she brought into existence; fashioning herself a cloak of leaves and donning the armour that was forged in the heart of the sun, bestowing upon her some of Aximar’s talents. Fair Elhaer reigned over and governed the laws of nature, nurturing life in all its forms. Her brother was the polar opposite of Elhaer in every way. Cayrothe ruled the underworld and ferried the souls of the dead into the ethereal paradise inhabited by the Gods. He wrapped himself in the cloak of night, giving him the form of a ghostly apparition.
The final God to be given life by Azreus was perhaps the most mysterious. Azreus’ youngest daughter was named Neapra, and she constantly confounded the wishes of her father and siblings; instead choosing a life of blissful solitude. While the war with the Dragons raged on in her absence, she turned to intellectual pursuits. Neapra learned all she could of the world she was born into and always one irrefutable fact presented itself, even without her fully realising it. She had a distaste for violence, but she possessed a deep well of anger that she could unleash in one terrifying and ferocious onslaught.
The endless war between the beloved creators and the sickness of Dragon-kind lasted for decades until, at last, all the Efealtor had created lay in ruins. Finally, Neapra returned to her family’s side and saw what had become of the Earth and skies, and she wept bitterly. Her tears flowed freely, and she ascended into the heavens where rage consumed her. For ten years, the land was filled with this torrential downpour until the oceans were born and seethed with their Mistress’ anger. This one simple act drowned the last of the beastly lizards, ending the struggle of her brethren. After the triumph of the Efealtor, Neapra withdrew to the depths of her oceans, and there she remained in solitude.
After the defeat of the winged serpents, the land was at last able to heal. Through Azreus’ guidance and tender care, the world that the race of men now know began to take shape. The volcanoes that spewed their poison were sealed beneath miles of rock and became snow-capped mountains. The Gods of the Efealtor went their separate ways and, in the peace that followed in the aftermath of the bitter war, they used their will to create a land teeming with life. Aximar shaped the birds in the sky and the beasts in the field whilst Neapra ruled over her underwater domain, giving life to the creatures of the oceans and rivers. Azreus meanwhile used his own image to create the race of men but gifted them with exceptional knowledge; enabling them to think and reason.
As the land took shape, so too did the seasons. The twinned deities of Elhaer and Cayrothe gave voice and purpose to the everlasting cycle of life and death, achieving balance and harmony. With each new spring thenceforth, it was Elhaer’s loving embrace that bestowed the blessings of the Gods on the world while Cayrothe’s cold touch brought on the chill of winter. Finally, after centuries of loving care, Azreus and his kin retreated into the darkness to rest in eternal slumber, safe in the knowledge that the race of men would care for their creation and would flourish knowing that one day, when the need of men was most dire, the Efealtor would rise once more and usher in a new golden age.
***
-The
discovery of the Heartstone and the final days of the Dragon God:
Althanir. Adapted from the Efealean Saga-
Dawn broke on the horizon and the golden hues of first morning’s light shone its brilliance onto the slumbering land. The various peoples in the towns and villages nearby were still sleeping soundly in their beds while the world began to wake, all apart from a grizzled looking man and his cohorts as they stood about him to watch the morning’s reverie. His face was pocked with battle scars and his grim demeanour spoke of a dark purpose. He nodded at his counterparts on either side of him and they shared more than the morning in this moment for they had seen the underbelly of the world; tasted the power that worked its way into men’s souls and corrupted them utterly and they all hungered for its sweet nectar once more.
The sun now lingered in the sky over them, casting its rays into their faces as they walked with grim purpose. In front of them a vast snow-capped mountain rose like a behemoth and its welcoming snarl did little to deter them. Their minds, now intent on the task at hand, urged them on with a fervour few men would even entertain let alone allow it to consume them so completely. The biting frost nipped at their heels and spurred them on, either forward to continue their quest or to remain here in the cold, lest the ice take them and entomb them forever in the heart of the earth. The warrior in the midst of this horde stepped forward, standing a full head taller than his compatriots that clustered around him. He was clad in tight-fitting leather armour and he clasped a sword in his right hand, notched and aged from battle and the many souls it had claimed. He opened his mouth to speak; the very intonation of his voice was enough to sway the hearts of men to absolute loyalty.
“Brothers, we have come here across the breadth of Efealtor to take in many sights and wonders on this day. Before us stands the ancient mountain of Rathgir, which legend tells us is the heart of the power of the winged serpents and their God Althanir. At the centre of their world is the gem that many have looked upon but none have ever wielded for it is jealously guarded by those creatures that gaze down upon the world. Today, this changes. We shall cement our future; our legacy; and the world shall tremble in the wake of our footsteps.” The grizzled veteran of many wars paused in his diatribe while the answering glares of his companions hung on his every word. “You all know me as Radgard, scourge of the West. My sword has tasted blood and claimed the souls of hundreds of our enemies. On the name of this and my reputation I vow to you that we stake our claim on the Heartstone and none, be it man or these winged beasts, shall block our ascent to power and riches untold.”
The men gathered around Radgard threw up their arms in assent, their answering war cry filling the silent air. Radgard smirked in response, his grim demeanour taking on an even darker cast as he returned his gaze to the mountain-top and the prize that lay at its summit. Many of Radgard’s men began to take in every detail around them as they began readying themselves for the challenges ahead. Every nuance became more pronounced; the frost that clung to the grass; the mournful cry of gulls away to the west and the ominous shapes of dragons in the skies above them. The leader of the brigand horde marched on and the men at his heel closed ranks behind him as they began their march toward the mountain and their destiny.
On the mountain summit a cool spring trickled and babbled gleefully, it being the only sound that could be heard. At the centre sat a pedestal on which a brilliant gem of many hues sat. At different times of the day, the gem would take on different colours as if the stone itself could express its feelings to those who looked upon it. In the morning light it had taken on a reddish cast and the many assembled dragons glared at it, wondering what this meant for this was the first time they had seen such a sight. Eight dragons stood around the magnificent jewel and they waited patiently. Each of the winged serpents looked different from their brethren with distinct markings upon their bodies. Behind the great host, a crest of rocks rose up behind them as if a throne had been carved into the rock face. On the left-hand side sat a dragon with great horns that grew from its skull and its belly was a dull green. Across from him sat a dragon whose wings were far larger than those around it, save for one, and thick scales enclosed its body.
This was an uncommon sight in Efealtor for rarely had there been such an assemblage of each dragon race and now each of them looked to the greatest of their number. The creature at the front of this gathering stepped forward and it stood much larger than the rest. With a flap of his vast wings, he garnered the attention of the rest. An ominous feeling of dread silenced the great host. At the centre of the gathering, the gem hummed musically as if it were intonating its desires to the assembled dragons and they all listened intently to its song as if trying to divine some deeper meaning from it. Abruptly this stillness was interrupted as the booming voice of this dragon echoed around this sacred place.
“My kin, we are gathered here for we face the gravest of threats,” intoned Althanir. The rocks around the great creatures rattled in response as if in awe of the power of their God. “The sanctity of the Heartstone is threatened by mortals who wish to claim it for themselves. They do not know the power which I have channelled into it nor the wonders that spring from it. As such, their hearts are blackened from the light of good. Their wills are corrupted and are in contention to the peace we have crafted and moulded with our wisdom. Therefore, I sought this counsel with you, the Dragon Lords of all Efealtor.”
A contemplative silence filled the void in the wake of the Great Dragon’s words and it was some time before it was joined by one of the host gathered here. A winged serpent with a purplish hue across its body stretched her wings and bowed respectfully. An answering nod from Althanir unburdened her tongue and she opened her mouth to speak. “Lord of lords, we know of your power and divinity, but these usurpers do not. Perhaps if you were willing to show them the error of their ways, they would tarry from this path?”
“Aisureth, your wisdom is known to us but, I fear this may not be an option,” Althanir replied. “We have laboured for millennia to spread our counsel and wisdom with the races of men and they all learned and grew in our embrace of this land. But this new sickness is of their creation and it is the temptation of power that drives them on,” boomed Althanir. He paused for a moment to collect his thoughts. “The last century has seen much change and the war that they have waged against one another, washing the continent in the blood and life that we breathed into their fragile bodies. But I fear the Age of Dragons is waning and we must do all in our power to protect it.”
“How close are the humans from discovering this place?” asked Aisureth, her courage in front of Althanir humbling her brethren into merely listening to this exchange of words.
“They have fought their war for many years, the Crystal War as it has become known to them to find this most sacred of places. We have watched as the races of man loyal to our cause have been cut down and our kin died in their fellowship. Word from the field of battle brings me tidings that our seclusion here will be broken in mere days,” responded Althanir, to the shock of the dragons around him. This announcement silenced even Aisureth as they all looked upon the Heartstone with growing anxiety. “I do know not when they will come but they are close.”
The gathering of Dragons suddenly grew impatient and a collective roar blasted the summit. Through the din Althanir’s voice resounded, deafening the noise of his brethren and they fell silent just as quickly. In spite of this, every dragon, save for Aisureth, appeared edgy and angry at the mere thought of outsiders attempting to take the Heartstone for themselves.
“What then, shall we do Host of Hosts?” Aisureth asked gingerly.
“We will do what we must my brethren for the sake of all!” declared the Dragon God. Althanir’s kin remained still, awaiting the word that would send them forth and wreak havoc upon their enemies. “We will bathe them in our fire!”
Chapter One
It was night and snowflakes drifted in the cool air. A cold snap still lingered and reminded th
e inhabitants of Maleardhus that the last tendrils of winter had not yet departed. A figure stood just inside the huge city gates that marked the primary entrance to the city. He leaned against the wall of a rundown inn and he watched intently as drunken revellers staggered past, already having spent too much of the night drinking and doing little else. The figure donned a traveller’s cloak with tightfitting leather armour and a breastplate. He had striking features with blue eyes that seemed to unnervingly pierce through the veil of lies that he was accustomed to dealing with. He had short black hair and a sharp chiselled jawline which was covered with a thick stubble. A faint scar stretched along his forehead and had darkened from age but still spoke of the danger he encountered on an uncommonly frequent basis.
The door to the inn suddenly clattered open noisily and the din from inside drifted out into the street. A figure stumbled out and fell to his knees, retching violently whilst a group of men followed soon after. Unseen in the shadows, the figure waited patiently as he took an interest in the newcomer currently spewing their dinner onto the faded cobblestones while his cohorts merely laughed at the display. Their childish guffaws broke the relative peace of the night as they helped their friend back to his feet, half throwing him onto a chair before brusquely slapping him to get his attention. The four men continued in this task for a few moments unmolested before the figure stepped out of the darkness, sighing half-heartedly as he approached the group. His dull footfalls drew their attention and they turned on the spot. One of the more enterprising of the group immediately withdrew a dagger and held it up to the dark defensively before lowering it after a few seconds.
“Of all the things that could have happened, this is not how I pictured this confrontation going down,” the approaching form said dryly. He paused in his steps for a few moments before continuing. “When I heard the murder of a wealthy tradesman had happened a few streets over I was expecting more of a chase. What I find however is that the suspect is a drunken fool and he went out with his idiot friends for a celebration. I was expecting someone with a little more brainpower.”
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