Warlord of the Forgotten Age

by Charles E Yallowitz

  Legends of Windemere:

  Warlord

  of

  the

  Forgotten

  Age

  Copyright 2017 © by Charles Yallowitz

  Kindle Edition

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except where permitted by law. Reviewers may quote brief excerpts in connection with a review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Cover Design & Illustration by Jason Pedersen

  Legends of Windemere

  Beginning of a Hero

  Prodigy of Rainbow Tower

  Allure of the Gypsies

  Family of the Tri-Rune

  The Compass Key

  Curse of the Dark Wind

  Sleeper of the Wildwood Fugue

  The Merchant of Nevra Coil

  The Mercenary Prince

  Tribe of the Snow Tiger

  Charms of the Feykin

  The Spirit Well

  Ritual of the Lost Lamb

  Path of the Traitors

  Dedication

  To everyone who has entered Windemere

  And left their mark upon its soul

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  From the Author

  Prologue

  The gigantic eye stares at Nyder Fortune as he stands atop his personal workshop’s railing and thumbs through a colorful notebook. Wiping his hand on his dull yellow shirt, the gnome leaves a smear of glitter that reflects in the glassy pupil before him. He repeatedly scratches his bald head and taps his foot in a steady rhythm that helps him focus. A small explosion breaks his concentration enough that part of his nimble mind strays from his important task. Looking down, Nyder sees that a fire has broken out on the lower level and the demonic workers are scrambling to stop the flames from spreading. To the gnome’s frustration, the creatures only succeed in making the accident worse and the inferno becomes hot enough to threaten the building’s supports. An uncomfortable void overtakes the inventor’s mind until he reaches up to grab a dangling box and flips a switch. With an echoing gurgle, the ground floor is flooded with a thick foam that washes one of the demons out of the factory and off a nearby cliff. Smoke and guttural groans drift to the ceiling as Nyder goes back to his notebook, the other half of his mind nearly done with the translation. Snapping his fingers, he pulls a pink potion off his belt and drains the entire bottle in one long gulp. As his mild aura is gradually augmented by his master’s gift, the inventor attempts the incantation created by one of his ancestors. Following the instructions perfectly, he holds out his free hand to gather a rainbow energy that congeals into the form of a smooth cube.

  Frowning at the wrong shape, Nyder lets the spell fail and returns to a battered table covered in papers. Tossing the notebook into the pile, he lets his magic dissolve into a mist that makes his bulbous nose twitch. He can already feel the potion’s effects wearing off, which helps calm his nerves that have become strained from the unnatural enhancement. Unrolling a randomly chosen plan, Nyder leans back in his chair and puts his feet on a case that rattles with the sound of clinking bottles. A tired sigh slips from his lips as he examines one of his oldest Weapon Dragon designs and thinks of how his family’s constructs have been wiped out. He grabs a pen to write a few notes in regards to reviving the deadly creatures, but knows that it will be impossible unless he gets his hands on enough supplies. The banging of hammers and hiss of distant sparks act as a relaxing symphony as the gnome finds himself starting to fall asleep. His dark red eyes are about to close when he hears footsteps on the metal floor behind him and he settles for a long, silent yawn.

  “My magical talents and weak aura are why I focused more on inventing,” Nyder says without turning around. Pulling a wand from his pocket, the gnome waves it over his head to create a trio of butterflies that fly through the wall. “That was supposed to be a swarm, but I couldn’t muster enough power. This wand was the test my grandmother gave me when I was five and I failed. To make up for my shortcomings, I created a device that released fifty butterfly golems, which replicated by eating rust. They’re still around here and keep the factory clean, but they don’t breed very quickly these days.”

  “Are you failing me on the eve of my victory?” Baron Kernaghan asks, taking a seat across from the inventor. The immortal’s black hair shimmers, the ones in his beard appearing to quiver with his brewing anger. “The champions are preparing to march on us, so I need your creation to be done within two days. Last thing I want is for my plans to be undone and for them to have full control over events. It is too late in the game for me to leave anything up to chance, especially since Cessia has never been a friend of mine.”

  “You seem on edge and irritable, which is never a good sign for those around you,” the gnome bravely replies. Rocking forward, he retrieves the notebook and thumbs through in search of more information. “I never said I was failing, but it isn’t as easy as I originally thought. At the risk of earning your wrath, I’m not Yola, Stephen, or Trinity. For the love of Voran the Inventor God, I’m not even Tyler when it comes to this stuff. Still, I promise to get this creation done in time. All the pieces are made and the demons will start putting them together within the next few hours. I only need to figure out this last part. Please relax, master, and trust me. Have I ever missed a deadline?”

  The Baron fixes his dark blue tunic’s ruffled cuff and straightens the garment while considering the question. “You have always come through for me, so I apologize. After centuries of controlling everything, the uncertainty is getting to me. One can run a battle through his head a million times and still be caught by surprise. I would be a fool to ignore the possibility of losing no matter how ridiculous it sounds. After all, these champions have proven to be strong enough to defeat all of my agents and cleanse their power centers.”

  “You did break Luke Callindor though.”

  “Possibly. One can never underestimate the resilience of that lineage.”

  “True, but they would have already started their journey if he was well.”

  “Nyx has a new kingdom, which is a distraction.”

  “If that’s the case then she may not be as big a threat as you feared.”

  “Thank you for attempting to make my paranoia appear foolish.”

  Nyder politely nods his head before cursing and angrily tossing the notebook across his workshop. Hopping to his feet, the gnome pulls out a long piece of paper and begins drawing a design to replace the spell that he accepts is beyond his abilities. He can feel the Baron watching his every move, but does not let the attention get to him. Being a master at his craft, it takes him five minutes to finish the preliminary sketch and get a general idea of what he wants the invention to do. Checking the main device’s design, he makes adjustments to make sure the new piece will work
with the completed parts and not force him back to the planning stage. Writing a list of supplies, he whistles for a pair of long-winged demons to glide down from the rafters. The faster creature snatches the paper from Nyder’s raised hand and soars out the front door with its partner only a few inches behind. Once outside, the pair increase their speed to the point where they burst into the distance and leave an echoing boom in their wake.

  “I see you are making excellent use out of those Kulbra Demons,” the Baron states while getting to his feet. Drawing a rapier from behind his back, the warlord looks down the blade to make sure it is straight and clean. “Do not go too far with this creation, Lord Fortune. I want your beast to capture our enemies instead of killing them. They still hold the Compass Key, which is one of the final pieces to my freedom. Such a childish trick that Gabriel has played on us all with that wrinkle. The champions need the Compass Key to reach me while I need it to escape this curse. It is as if my old friend wanted us to avoid the final confrontation when that is the only way the prophecy can end. Neither me nor my enemies wish to dance this deadly waltz for eternity.”

  “I’m not exactly clear on how this works,” Nyder admits as he pours himself a glass of purple wine. Offering a goblet to his master, he is surprised at the quick refusal. “Why can’t we kill the champions and bring the Compass Key here? You only need the artifact and not those holding it, especially since they succeeded in purifying the temples. That means the Compass Key is fully charged, right?”

  “This is where we always tend to differ on how things should be done,” the smiling immortal says, putting away his weapon. Walking through the table like a ghost, he puts a gloved hand on the gnome’s shoulder and maintains a tight grip. “Imagine me arriving in my new kingdom and telling the rest of Windemere that the champions are dead. Do you think they will believe me even if I show them proof? Anyone can fake severed heads and my power is too much for any mortal to pierce such illusions. My kingdom would be plagued by an unbreakable doubt. Those who are close to my enemies would spread rumors about their survival in order to undermine my authority. Even the belief that a new hero would arrive is enough to create dissidence and spark a revolution. It is wiser to defeat the champions in battle where everyone can see them die with their own eyes. Besides, there may be more to their journey here than either of us are aware of. Gabriel is not out of tricks yet.”

  Knowing not to press the conversation any more, the gnome bows to his master and finishes his drink. “This is why I follow you and not the other way around. My mind prefers quick solutions and I don’t always take future factors into account. If I thought more like you then I wouldn’t have been redesigning the Weapon Dragons so often.”

  “You did that because you enjoyed the thrill of creation, my good friend. Like your father, you are not a talented liar,” the Baron replies with a smirk. Feeling the tension drain from his muscles, he places a glass circlet on the table and taps it until he feels it is the right size. “Please put this on before facing the champions. It will protect you from Dariana’s powers by deflecting her telepathy to someone else. To be honest, I hope that they avoid your factory and you remain in the shadows. Yet, I feel that you will be forced to face the champions before my battle. Know that I will not punish you for retreating because I do not want you to die. My kingdom needs wise and loyal men like you, Lord Fortune, so take care of yourself.”

  “I’ll watch out for voids and run at the first blank moment,” the inventor promises before putting on the warm relic. A shudder runs up his spine at the gentle sensation of an invisible cloth draping itself over his head. “Do you want me to send a report to the castle once the construct is done? I know you can scry, but I don’t want you to waste any power. It’s very important that you be at full strength when the champions arrive.”

  “Thank you for your concern, but I will be somewhere that you cannot reach.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “To the place where Gabriel believed I would remain for eternity.”

  Delivering a punch to the open air, the Baron creates a crimson portal that is fringed with white mist. A wave of heat and the stench of demons wafts through the opening, forcing Nyder to cover his nose. The faint image of a statue-filled ballroom can be seen within the gateway’s shifting core, which hungrily stretches towards the Baron. Waving away the ephemeral tendrils that reach for him, the immortal calmly crosses into the Chaos Void and returns to his former prison. With a startling shriek, the portal implodes and only a tiny spark falls to the floor. Nyder backs away as the ember sputters and fades away, leaving him with the vision of an ancient castle that is dripping blood from every stone.

  *****

  The holy island of Ambervale continues to shake from surges of magic that roll across the discolored sky. Whispers of mortals are drowned out by the shouting deities, who can be found in every corner of the quivering landscape. Those with wings try to stay above the chaos, but find themselves driven back to the ground by a cacophony of screams that take on the form of powerful gales. Shaken by the mental anguish of their distant followers, the gods and goddesses are helpless against the effects of the crumbling curse. Two factions have taken over the amphitheater to argue at the top of their lungs about the Baron’s possible return. The debate repeatedly comes to blows until one of the more level-headed immortals steps in to stop the fight. Those who are focused on healing and have managed to retain their senses have split into small groups, which are spread throughout Ambervale. Combining their power, the kind-hearted deities do their best to cushion mortal-kind from the horrifying memories that are starting to return. It is a difficult task due to the ear-wrenching bickering that threatens to tear the entire island to pieces.

  “And these are the most powerful beings on Windemere,” Gabriel mutters from the shoreline. Sitting on a rock, the black-haired deity watches two goddesses have a brief shoving match in the sky until they break down into tears. “They are nothing more than helpless children who cower in the face of evil. Even my dear wife was momentarily caught up in the surge of madness. Before I convinced Odigar to send Yola after that chaos elf, Ambrosine was trying to strangle Durag for keeping the sun away from Shayd. Once I got her hands of him, she stripped of her dress and turned it into a serpent that attempted to finish the job. Do you know how embarrassed I am by all of this?”

  “I warned you that the curse’s breaking could affect us as well,” Zaria replies as she watches the horizon. Her red hair flares around her body and reminds her companion of an exploding fireball. “The two of us have been the only ones working on the prophecy since the very beginning, which is why a shiver is all we felt. The others stayed in denial, which caused part of their psyches to fall under the curse. So, while they remember Arthuru and everything he did, the true weight of his actions are only starting to return now. Give them a day or two to get the panic out of their system.”

  “Every moment counts, so I would prefer that you help those who I need,” the Destiny God says while transforming his platemail into more comfortable clothing. Rolling up his sleeve, he watches as a network of scars appears on his flesh and vanishes. “The past is trying to catch up to me, but I refuse to let it do so. Regaining control takes slightly more effort than blinking, so our brethren have no excuse for their outbursts. All they need is a gentle push, which you are better suited for that than me.”

  As if snapping out of a trance, Zaria lets her hair fall and rubs her ivory eyes. “The champions will not be leaving until things with Luke Callindor have been settled, so there is no need to rush things. I know you are impatient, Gabriel, but the situation is more delicate than ever. Our people must accept the anguish on their own just as our chosen must regain the will to fight. I know you want to send Uli and myself to push events forward, but that would be a mistake. You have been so good and strong for the last year that I would hate to see you stumble now.”

  “Are you saying that for my sake or his?”

  “For both of
you.”

  “I will consider your wisdom until the morning.”

  “Thank you for listening.”

  A bolt of lightning strikes the ocean and creates a steaming geyser that hides the battling gods from view. Gabriel sighs and waves his hand to freeze the water, locking the unseen combatants in place until he can no longer taste their fear. Another explosion happens overhead and several deities emerge from the light green clouds, their bodies stuck in a ball of crystalline magic. Unkempt mane waving in the wind, Ram the War God appears to carry the complaining gods and goddesses back to the amphitheater. He tosses his restrained brethren to the ground and snorts before returning to his throne where a basket of carrots is waiting for him. Noticing the frozen geyser, the horse-headed immortal grows to a massive size in order to swing an axe and cut the ice away from the ocean. The piece floats back to Ambervale and lands in the middle of a twisting garden where it steadily melts.

  “At least the old nag is better and trying to keep things in some order,” Gabriel retorts as he floats to an upper cliff. Whistling a happy tune, he creates a bushel of apples next to Ram’s throne and nods to the appreciative War God. “Arthuru has returned to Vir’s Castle, which means he knows the end is coming. The champions need to move before he becomes impatient and loses interest in a public fight. If they wait too long, he will consider them cowards and have Nyder Fortune send something to steal the Compass Key. Then, he would only need to tear down all of the curse pieces and victory will be his. Not a single drop of blood will be shed until he is already free.”

  “You give your old enemy and master too little credit,” Zaria points out, her hands weaving in the air. A net springs from her nails to cover Ambervale and prevent the terrified inhabitants from leaving for the mortal lands. “He has waited this long for a great battle, so I doubt he will do anything to put it at risk. Arthuru is very stubborn when it comes to his plans. Yes, he can adjust in the face of changes, but that is not what is happening here. As odd as it is for me to say and you to hear, trust him to wait for the champions to follow their path.”