The Trinity of Heroes
By Jared Mason Jr. and Justin Mason
Book One of the I Will Protect You Saga
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Check out all books by Jared Mason Jr. and Justin Mason:
I Will Protect You Series:
I Will Protect You Volume 1: The Trinity of Heroes
Tokyo Lightning Series:
Tokyo Lightning Volume 1: Chained Lightning
Tokyo Lightning Volume 2: Z-No More
A Quest of Dragons Series:
A Quest of Dragons Volume 1: The Book of Dragon
Copyright 2013 by Jared Mason Jr. and Justin Mason. All rights reserved.
Cover Art and Map copyright 2013 by Isaiah Noll.
All characters and names in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or unauthorized use of the material or artwork contained herein is prohibited.
For everyone who ever wondered if their dreams could come true, they can!
Jerreth Sanctus looked out over the endless sea of rotting, reanimated corpses that marched toward Knights Runn castle. Although the army was miles away, the stench was so overpowering that he gagged, even though he tried to smother his nose with his arm. The warning bells of the North Tower and the screams and shouts and battle cries of his Knight Guard brethren echoed behind him. Jerreth did not want to die cowering as his city and his castle were overrun by the dead.
The army moved slowly, ravenously, commanded by a force of such unrelenting evil and malice that even the sunlight from the heavens above darkened around it. The army’s shadow spread out and swallowed the lands as its soldiers moved in mindless unison toward their next destination: the city of Haile.
Jerreth unsheathed his longsword and kissed its blade as he reverently whispered a prayer to Sora for her guidance and protection. He felt a comfort in his blade that no man could provide him, its honed edge an extension of the justice he would commence. But even a sense of justice didn’t encourage him on this day; even his unwavering devotion to defend his homeland couldn’t quell the uneasiness in his stomach.
The lands turned black as the army moved over them like a disease, like a plague stripping the forests and lakes of their beauty and tranquility and peacefulness. The faint rumble of a million feet, the quiet gnashing of countless bones, the rising melody of inhuman horrors grew gradually louder as it approached.
“Men, today may be the last for our great city, but by Sora’s grace, we won’t go down without a fight!” a tall, grey-haired man bellowed to the legions of Hailian Knights that stood at the castle gates. His polished plate mail armor gleamed brightly and his sword and shield glinted in the sunlight, radiating poise, morale, confidence, hope.
“Master Grey, our situation is dire. Their army, it grows larger by the minute. Their warriors, they are summoned from under the earth itself. We’ll never survive the siege. We are sure to be overrun. I know we’ll sacrifice our defensive position, but if we are going to die, then let us at least take the fight to them!” Jerreth urged.
“Ah, Captain Jerreth, I can’t agree more. I can see that me training has paid off immensely for ye. Men, prepare yerselves for war! Let these unholy bastards taste yer blades! Flint, Jerreth, Marcus, we will lead the charge!”
Their warhorses raced across the open fields and valleys of Forme, followed by the legions of Knights. As they approached the lumbering army the sights and smells disturbed even these most steadfast of warriors. Skeletons of all heights draped with rotting, decaying flesh marched forward. Their eyes glowed the color of night, a dark purple so intense and haunting it seared souls. Some wielded bones, others swords, and still others nothing at all. These shambling beasts were not the only members of the army. Four legged beasts haphazardly limped forward on broken claws and shattered limbs. Their gums and cheeks had eroded away and their mouths of shattered, cracked teeth showed through permanent smiles. And the giants. Made of bones and dirt and skulls these beasts towered many stories high, wielding huge whip-like chains of carcasses as their weapons.
But the stink, the unholy smell of death, the putrid taste of demise could not have been greater had the Knights been buried in the furthest depths of hell itself. It was as if the earth itself was decaying, rotting away beneath their very feet and rising up again to consume itself.
And there, in the middle of the army, Jerreth could see its leader. He rose in the air, standing taller than all but the mightiest of his creations. His strides were long, purposeful, deliberate. A helm of gold and jewels sat atop his head. He was a king, but of no living subjects. He wore a fine, golden robe and carried a massive staff with a razor-sharp blade on each end. He summoned and chanted and controlled. He raised the staff in the air and plunged it hard into the dirt. Darkness spread out over the green plains, like venom coursing through a bloodstream.
And then the earth cracked and parted, and from underneath it bony hands reached through, followed by arms, then by shoulders and heads and torsos and legs. And the walking dead of every creed and religion and belief fell in line with the rest of his army, mindlessly marching, and consuming, and overtaking.
It was a mesmerizing sight, the sea of the undead, as it flowed over the lands like a tidal wave of death, gathering more and more momentum as it headed toward its destination. But like hidden boulders beneath the water of a shallow reef, the legions of Hailian Knights were gathering to meet that wave. And break it.
The four Knights paused, gathered their resolve, raised their right arms in the air, and readied the legions.
“In Sora’s name, what evil is this!?” Flint gasped, as he looked into the unending ranks of skeletons and reanimated corpses.
“Charrrrrge!” Jerreth roared. He kicked his horse’s flanks and began to gallop toward the army.
The legions of Hailian Knights, surging with morale, yelled in unison and raced headfirst into hell itself.
- The History of the Great War, Volume 1, Chapter 1 as recorded by Markan Codex.
Table of Contents:
Chapter 1: Prologue
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:
Chapter 20:
Chapter 21:
Chapter 22:
Chapter 23:
Chapter 24:
Chapter 25:
Chapter 26:
Chapter 27:
Chapter 28:
Chapter 29:
Chapter 30:
Chapter 31:
Chapter 32:
Chapter 33:
Chapter 34:
Chapter 35:
Chapter 36:
Chapter 37:
Chapter 38:
Chapter 39:
Chapter 40:
Chapter 41:
Chapter 42:
Chapter 43:
Chapter 44
:
Chapter 45:
Chapter 46:
Chapter 47:
Chapter 48:
Chapter 49:
Chapter 50:
Chapter 51:
Chapter 52:
Chapter 53:
Chapter 54:
Chapter 55:
Chapter 56:
Chapter 57: Epilogue
Acknowledgments:
Afterword:
About The Authors:
Chapter 1: Prologue
Are we but pawns in a game between good and evil? Is it possible that the stakes be our very souls?
- Philosopher Phillanomis, Early Writings
The hustle and bustle of the city of Haile, Forme’s capital, during its busiest times paled in comparison to the good times to be had at the Silver Shield Pub, tucked into the center of Haile’s sprawling marketplace. Nestled amongst homes and barracks like a wizened farmer in an unruly potato patch, the pub was distinguishable by four large chimneys denoting a place of warmth and brotherhood. In addition to its chimneys, the pub was adorned with a gigantic emblem over its front door of a kite shield with swords crossed at the top. The shield stood as a proud beacon throughout Haile, denoting a place for all to come and feel welcome. A cloaked traveler, wearing his hood to hide his face, pushed open the large oak door to the Silver Shield. The powerfully invasive smell of hops immediately stung at the man’s nose, welcoming him with a foretaste of the local brew as he entered. Behind the bar, a young, silver-haired, man dressed in a brown robe poured brews freely for his patrons as he looked up to greet the new customer.
The cloaked man approached the counter. “Whatever you’ve got that’s strong, bartender,” he said; his voice was deep, brooding.
“Here you go, friend, welcome to the Silver Shield! I’m Galvan Gabrielle and I hope you find your stay to be to your liking,” the bartender said courteously. He poured a stout and set it down in front of the man.
“Thank you, sir. I am supposed to be meeting a woman here…about this high.” He motioned with his hand to about shoulder height, but kept his head lowered as though he were trying to avoid unnecessary eye contact with the bartender.
The bartender’s attention floated past the man to a partially concealed table in the back of the crowded bar. “You mean ‘Sunny’ back there? I call her that because she has the brightest hair I have ever seen!” the bartender exclaimed, making reference to the woman’s golden blonde hair; hair which even now seemed to illuminate her gloomy corner booth.
The hooded man sighed. “Yes, barkeep, that would be her.” He placed several cryn on the counter and began to walk away.
The bartender tossed a last, earnest attempt at hospitality across the table growing between them, “You have no enemies here, sir. Why don’t you take off your cloak and relax?”
“I have enemies everywhere I go, barkeep, even here. I prefer to keep to myself.”
“Suit yourself; let me know if you need anything else,” the bartender answered, trying to mask his growing uneasiness toward his new patron.
The mysterious hooded man started slowly walking toward the back of the bar. As he approached the corner booth, a beautiful woman stood up and moved toward him, her golden hair now shining as light from the nearby candles illuminated her slender figure.
“My dear, you are more beautiful every time I see you,” the man said insincerely, reaching out a hand to take hers momentarily. “How do you do it? How do you maintain your beauty whilst I can barely manage to maintain my form?” His hand was scarred, scratched, bruised, and old with the stories of a long life. When their hands met, his felt cold to hers and hers warm to his.
“You know how I do it, and yet, you refuse to do so for yourself. If you really wanted to learn, I would happily show you the way,” was all she replied as the two exchanged short, disingenuous pleasantries and sat down. Her azure eyes glistened in the candlelight as she glanced at her hooded guest. Between them sat a chess board filled with pieces ready for battle. Mirror-polished black porcelain pieces cast razor sharp shadows from the man’s side of the board, squaring off against the woman’s elegantly flowing white crystalline pieces. The two settled into their game with the ease of a long-rehearsed rivalry; though they had played each other many times, the outcome was never certain. They were like two master Knights sparring for the hundredth time, both so well trained in combat and accustomed to the other’s peculiarities that not even the most adept warrior could foresee a victor.
Chapter 2:
“I am a Knight of Haile. I am strong. I am a force for justice. When evil enters my lands I stand up to it and lay down my life for my people. I serve the light of Sora and seek to spread it throughout the lands. Where evil breeds I seek to vanquish darkness with my longsword that acts as a torch to dispel the shadows. I am Honor. I am Courage. I am Loyalty. I am a Knight of Haile.”
- Hailian Knight’s Oath
Lawrence stepped outside, softly closing a worn, splintered door behind him. He didn’t want to wake his mother this early. The sunlight peaked over the horizon, casting morning shadows about. His dark brown, rough-cut, shoulder-length hair danced in the brisk spring breeze. He slowly descended the creaky wooden steps to a dew speckled front lawn below. He turned around and looked back at his house, wondering if he was making the correct choice. He had wanted to be a Knight with every fiber of his being since he was old enough to remember thinking. He had resolved, as soon as he was sixteen years old, that he would sign up to become a Knight Guard Recruit. He would train, day in and day out, with all of his efforts; so that when he turned eighteen he could be sworn in as a Knight of Haile. He would follow in the footsteps of his father, the fabled Jerreth Sanctus.
Jerreth Sanctus had been the captain of the Hailian Knight Guard and struck a killing blow against Necromancer Ghast in the Great War. Ghast’s death had all but ended the war, as his army quickly fell apart without their commander. Jerreth was viewed as a savior of not only Haile, but of all Veronicia as well. His allure became mythic, his greatness as a Knight the stuff of legends. For seventeen more years, Jerreth would serve as Knight Guard Captain, taking the Knights to new levels of accolades. The Knight Guard, under his leadership, prospered and advanced its stature throughout the lands.
There was no greater honor in all of Haile than to be a member of the Knight Guard, a sworn protector of the citizens and lands of Forme and all of Veronicia. The pay was the best of any job in the city, the citizens welcomed Knights with open arms, and the stories of their adventures were passed down for generations. Mayor Flint Pyre of Haile had even commissioned the Hall of Heroes to be built in the barracks. The portraits and statues of the greatest Knights in history lived on forever inside those revered walls.
But things had changed so much in the last three years. When Lawrence was only thirteen, his father had vanished. No word, no trace, no explanation. Lawrence never understood why or for what reason his father had not returned home from his duties that evening. At first it hadn’t even bothered him because Jerreth often had to travel to accomplish missions. But weeks turned to months, which stretched to a year. Lawrence’s life took a drastic turn. He rarely saw Benni and Razzius, his best friends, needing instead to stay home and care for his mother, Elizabeth, who had fallen ill from heartbreak and stress. They heard the rumors everywhere they went, that Jerreth had deserted the Knight Guard, had turned his back on the city he had sworn to protect. For three long, monotonous years Lawrence had been a caretaker, devoting himself to helping Elizabeth survive.
Lawrence and his mother had become desperately poor. Jerreth had made good money as a member of the Hailian Knights, but with no income to support them now, and Elizabeth’s failing health, she and Lawrence survived on necessities only. A makeshift garden of fruits and vegetables provided them essential nutrients in their meals; many nights they had nothing else. The house badly needed repairs. Lawrence attempted to do the upkeep himself, but he had to learn as he went. Experience was a crue
l teacher. Harsh winters battered the thatched roof, and spring thaws flooded the cellar. The floorboards in the kitchen were warped and bowed. Mold flourished inside the wood frame of the house, its spores constantly tormenting Elizabeth in her susceptible condition.
Lawrence often thought about relinquishing his dream, trying to bury it in a deep recess of his mind. He could get any job, anywhere, and make some money, enough to get by. But his mother prodded him, urged him to never give up on becoming a Knight. It bothered Lawrence that she insisted that he follow in the footsteps of the man who had deserted them. It was only just a few years ago that Jerreth Sanctus had been revered throughout the city as a hero. But now…
Lawrence thought about his father’s legacy as he walked down the cobblestone streets that meandered through Haile. This thought plagued his mind more than any other. He wanted to be a Knight so badly, but why? Should he even want to be a Knight? He knew that he could make good money, no doubt, and provide a better life for his mother, but would he even make it through the training? Would he let his mother down?
Suddenly, Lawrence stumbled over a dip in the road. He gathered himself and noticed how uncommonly busy the streets were this early in the morning. It was the first day of spring, and he could sense the promise of the rebirth of life that the cold winter had taken. This was the day when all who wished it, and were old enough, could sign up for the Knight Guard. Lawrence had heard the stories, the legends of how difficult the Knight Guard training could be. Only the strongest, most loyal, and most dedicated recruits survived and were knighted two years later, when they were eighteen, at the Advent of Knighthood ceremony. Each Knight Guard Recruit would be assigned as a squire to train one on one with an established Knight of Haile. The squire’s accomplishments would be recorded in a log and their master would have to display that log at the ceremony to confirm that the recruit had indeed done the required instruction. Some trainees would stick it out for a few weeks, others for a few months, but rarely did more than fifteen or twenty squires become anointed as Knights at the ceremony.
The Trinity of Heroes (I Will Protect You Book 1) Page 1
