by Aaron Hodges
Warbringer
Descendants of the Fall Book I
Aaron Hodges
Contents
Foreword
About the Author
Also by Aaron Hodges
The Kingdoms of Humanity
1. The Warrior
2. The Warrior
3. The Archivist
4. The Archivist
5. The Recruit
6. The Warrior
7. The Recruit
8. The Archivist
9. The Warrior
10. The Recruit
11. The Archivist
12. The Warrior
13. The Archivist
14. The Recruit
15. The Warrior
16. The Archivist
17. The Recruit
18. The Warrior
19. The Recruit
20. The Archivist
21. The Warrior
22. The Recruit
23. The Warrior
24. The Recruit
25. The Archivist
26. The Recruit
27. The Warrior
28. The Recruit
29. The Archivist
30. The Recruit
31. The Archivist
32. The Recruit
33. The Warrior
34. The Archivist
35. The Recruit
Note from the Author
I. The Evolution Gene
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
II. The Sword of Light
Chapter 1
Edited by Genevieve Lerner
Proofread by Sara Houston
Illustration by Eva Urbanikova
Map by Michael Hodges
Copyright © March 2020 Aaron Hodges.
First Edition. All rights reserved.
ISBN-13:
Aaron Hodges was born in 1989 in the small town of Whakatane, New Zealand. He studied for five years at the University of Auckland, completing a Bachelor of Science in Biology and Geography, and a Master of Environmental Engineering. After working as an environmental consultant for two years, he grew tired of the 9 to 5 and decided to quit his job to travel the world. During his travels he picked up the old draft of a novel he once wrote in High School—titled ‘The Sword of Light’—and began to rewrite the story. Six months later he published his first novel—Stormwielder.
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Also by Aaron Hodges
Descendants of the Fall
Book 1: Warbringer
Book 2: Wrath of the Forgotten
The Evolution Gene
Book 1: The Genome Project
Book 2: The Pursuit of Truth
Book 3: The Way the World Ends
THE THREE NATIONS
The Sword of Light Trilogy
Book 1: Stormwielder
Book 2: Firestorm
Book 3: Soul Blade
Legend of the Gods
Book 1: Oathbreaker
Book 2: Shield of Winter
Book 3: Dawn of War
The Knights of Alana
Book 1: Daughter of Fate
Book 2: Queen of Vengeance
Book 3: Crown of Chaos
THE KINGDOMS OF HUMANITY
1
The Warrior
Romaine shivered as a breeze shook the treetops and somehow found its way through a gap in his clothing. He pulled the cloak tighter around his shoulders, eager to keep the winter cold at bay. The soft thump of falling snow came from nearby and he chuckled as two of his companions flinched. Settling himself more comfortably in the saddle, he flicked the lieutenant a glance.
“Want me to check it out?” Romaine asked, voice serious but the hint of a smile betraying his mirth.
The lieutenant scowled, though Romaine noticed the man loosened his sword in its scabbard before urging his mount onwards. Shaking his head, he let the lieutenant take the lead. The four other scouts fell in behind Romaine, nervous eyes on the dense forest to either side of the deer trail.
They were right to be nervous. Ten miles south of the Illmoor River, they were deep in no man’s land, far from the paved roads and walled cities of the northern nations. This was Calafe, a land of seemingly endless forest and great plateaus of tussock, of rugged hills and racing streams, with only the occasional settlement to prove the existence of humanity. This was his country, his home.
Or at least, it had been, until the Tangata.
Another tremor slid down his spine, though this time it had nothing to do with the cold. For ten years he’d fought to halt the Tangatan advance, ten long, brutal years of war. He’d been a simple woodsman once, but everything had changed with the destruction of their southern fortress, the Castle of Agzor. For a century it had barred the Tangata from the kingdoms of man, but with its battlements broken, its citadel cast down...nothing could halt the enemy advance.
And so those ten years of battle had proven futile. Just a few short months past, the last of Calafe’s territory had been lost. The allied armies had fought for every patch of earth, but in the end it had not been enough. The tide of the Tangata could not be stopped.
It had pained Romaine to leave behind his nation. Most of the Calafe army had already fallen by then, and yet more of his fellows had chosen to remain with the rearguard. They had been overwhelmed before the ships could return for them. Injured aboard one of the vessels, Romaine had been forced to watch as his comrades perished.
Thankfully, the enemy had not yet sought to strike across the Illmoor river. Some said they would remain in the south, but Romaine knew it was only a matter of time before they came. After all, people had once said the same of the Agzor Fortress, that it would stand forever against the beasts.
Romaine’s horse was struggling now, the snowdrifts growing deeper as they tracked their way eastward into the foothills of the Mountains of the Gods. Ahead, the lieutenant started to curse. Grimacing, Romaine edged his gelding alongside his superior.
“We’d best turn back,” he grunted. He didn’t bother with any honorifics—he rode with the Flumeerens, but he was not one of them. “If we press hard through the afternoon, we might make the crossing before nightfall.”
The lieutenant flicked Romaine an irritated glance. He was a young man, still in his mid-twenties, the son of some minor noble. Romaine could almost see the gears turning behind his eyes. Reaching the river before dark meant shelter over their heads and a hot meal for the night. But if they abandoned their path and missed some enemy movement…
“A little further,” the lieutenant replied finally. “We’ll turn around if the way becomes impassable.”
Romaine responded with a grunt. Pressing his horse forward, he continued along the trail, eyes on the way ahead. The storm had come upon them unexpectedly in the night, howling through the fir trees like a beast unleashed and burying the world in white.
They should have turned back then, but the lieutenant was new, still earning his stripes. Their orders had been to spend three days scouting for signs of the enemy. This being only their second, Romaine should have guessed the lieutenant would be hesitant to return. No doubt he feared the failure would be a black mark against his name.
It was an infuriating thought—evidence that the Flumeeren did not truly understand what came for them. They and the dregs of Perfugia might have fought alongside Calafe this last decade, but it had never been their land at risk, never their families, their very way of life.
That was about to change.
For if they could not stop the enemy at the Illmoor, Flumeer would be the next to fall.
Returning his
thoughts to the present, Romaine scanned the path ahead. The snow had thinned again and the horses were making better progress. At least the fresh snow made Romaine’s task easier; not even the Tangata could move in these conditions without leaving tracks—
Romaine pulled sharply on his reins, bringing his horse to a stop. Beside him, the lieutenant cursed, but Romaine didn’t spare the man a glance. His eyes were on the trees, scanning the upper branches, the shadows beneath the broad trunks, seeking sign, however small, of an ambush. The wind had fallen off now, and he saw no movement. He let out a sigh as the others began to murmur. Breath fogged before his face as he returned his gaze to the trail.
Two sets of bootprints led away from them in the snow.
“What is it?” the lieutenant asked sharply as he got his horse under control. He had not noticed the tracks.
“Tangata,” Romaine replied.
The word cut through the whispers like a knife. Silence fell like a blanket over the six riders. The men looked to Romaine, faces as white as the snow all around them. Romaine might have laughed, if not for the racing of his own heart. Unlike the others though, it was not from fear.
This land had been abandoned months ago. There was no one left, not of his people, at least. It meant the general’s fears were true. The Tangata were moving north.
Kicking his horse forward, he followed the prints for several yards. In places the strides were separated by as much as six feet—no doubt now, their owners were Tangata.
“We should bring word to the general,” the lieutenant’s voice carried from back down the trail. He and the other scouts had not followed Romaine.
A smile touched the Calafe warrior’s cheeks. “Word of what? A single scouting pair?”
“Our orders were to return if we found sign of the enemy.”
“Sign of an enemy army,” Romaine corrected. “Do you really want to be known as the lieutenant who turned tail and ran at the first sight of the enemy?”
“There are two of them,” the lieutenant hissed. He edged his horse forward, hands fiddling nervously with his reins. “What do you propose we do?”
Romaine stifled a sigh. The man was right to be afraid—if they’d been on foot, two Tangata would be more than their match. But mounted and with the element of surprise, there was a better than even chance of victory.
“We’re downwind of them,” Romaine replied finally. “If there’s only two, they’re no threat to the frontier. But if they’re part of a larger force…General Curtis needs to know.”
The lieutenant stared at Romaine for a long moment, the muscles of his jaw stretched taut as he contemplated the suggestion. Like before, Romaine could see he was weighing his options. But Romaine’s last words about the general were too tempting to resist. The officer who brought such vital information would not soon be forgotten.
“Very well,” the lieutenant said, nodding quickly. “Take the lead, Calafe.”
Romaine grimaced at the man’s cowardice, but held his tongue. He had what he wanted—a chance to follow the creatures, maybe even catch them. The thought of them loose in his land filled him with fury. No, unlike the greenhorns riding behind him, Romaine did not fear the Tangata.
He loathed them.
“You should ready your lances,” Romaine said, and gave a grim smile when the lieutenant’s eyes widened. “Just in case.”
It was almost too much for the man. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed, but to reverse his command now would be a show of cowardice.
“Cadet Flagers, ready the lances.”
At the rear of the party, the Perfugian recruit dismounted clumsily and started unclipping the long package strapped to the packhorse. Safe on their island nation, the Sovereigns of Perfugia wasted little energy worrying over the Tangata. Unlike the treacherous King of Gemaho, they still honoured the ancient pact each kingdom had signed when the Tangata first appeared. Each month they sent their obligated hundred recruits to fight on the frontlines. Unfortunately, those they sent were generally…useless.
A sharp clack sounded as the skins holding the lances together suddenly came undone, sending the weapons tumbling to the ground. Muttered curses followed as Flagers dropped to his knees and tried to pick them back up.
“Godsdamnit,” the lieutenant swore as he swung from his saddle and strode to where the recruit crouched. “You trying to get us all killed, Flagers?”
“Sorry, sorry!” Arms clutched around the lances, Flagers stared up at the lieutenant with terror in his eyes.
He was barely a boy, really, untrained and unprepared for the horrors that waited out here. Pity touched Romaine, but he quickly pushed it aside. Against the Tangata, there was no room for weakness, no space for compassion. He’d learned that ten years ago, when the truce had first been broken. He would not repeat the same mistake now.
Instead, he watched in silence as the lieutenant snatched the steel-tipped lances from the Perfugian’s hands and handed them out amongst the scouts. Romaine only reached over his shoulder, lifting the giant twin-bladed axe from its sheath and settling it on the pommel of his saddle. Calafe warriors did not learn the lance.
As the men settled their weapons, Romaine cast a practiced glance over his companions. Despite their inexperience, they were well trained other than the Perfugian. They would not back down from a fight if it came to it. Turning to the lieutenant, he offered a nod, before starting off once more.
The bootprints had emerged from the surrounding trees, but even the Tangata apparently preferred a trail over the untamed forest in these parts, for they kept to the animal track for the next few miles. The sun grew higher as their party crossed frozen streams and occasional open meadows, all the while watching for the slightest hint of the enemy. Despite Romaine’s earlier reservations, the snow cleared and they made good progress. With the trail beginning to loop northward, they might still make the Illmoor that night.
If they did not encounter the Tangata first.
Romaine kept his eyes on the trees as he rode. Despite what he’d said to the others, he wasn’t altogether sure the Tangata did not know they were in the forest. They were inhuman creatures, capable of terrible violence. With so little known about them, it paid to be cautious whenever they were close. He glanced back at the bootprints, noticing how they’d grown close together. It suggested the creatures were travelling slowly…
…the prints changed again.
A curse slipped from Romaine’s lips as he pulled his horse to a stop. Ahead, a third set of prints joined the trail. Blood pounded in Romaine’s ears as he tightened his fist around the hilt of his axe. Three Tangata was too many, even on horseback. Just one of the demonic creatures was a match for three men.
They had just become outnumbered.
Murmurs came from the men as Romaine edged his horse forward, examining the fresh bootprints. Then a frown touched his face. There was something unusual about the new set of tracks. He dismounted and knelt for a closer look. They had emerged from the forest to the east, the same as the others, but their owner was smaller by several boot sizes. And now that he was close…Romaine realised that the Tangata tracks overlaid the third pair.
The Tangata had not met with this new individual; they had come later.
His eyes travelled ahead and he saw the stride of the Tangata grow longer. They had started running, in pursuit. Could the third set of tracks belong to a Calafe, one of his own? It didn’t seem possible that anyone could have survived out here, alone for months with naught but the Tangata. And yet…
Romaine stood suddenly and raced back to his horse. The lieutenant opened his mouth to ask a question, but Romaine was already swinging himself into the saddle. The tracks were recent, their edges still hard instead of crumbling. If they were quick, they might just reach them in time.
“Romaine…” the lieutenant began, but Romaine silenced the man with a glare.
“Whoever left the third pair of bootprints, they’re no friend of the Tangata,” he hisse
d.
Then Romaine kicked his horse into a gallop, leaving the lieutenant and his scouts with no choice but to follow.
2
The Warrior
Romaine ducked as a snow-covered branch flashed for his face. A second later a muffled curse told him another of the scouts had not been so lucky. Without slowing, he glanced back and was reassured that five riders still followed.
Facing the trail once more, he studied the bootprints as they sped past. The snow was thinning now, the trail sloping back down towards the lowlands. Trees flickered past either side of him, but the forest was changing, the dense mountain firs giving way to cedar and maple. The trail split and re-joined around clumps of brush.
Romaine urged his gelding on, coaxing another ounce of speed from the beast. Without the prints to follow, they would struggle to track their quarry. He had to catch them before the last of the snow vanished. Behind, the cries of his comrades chased after him as they tried to keep pace, but this was not their land, not their fellow citizen standing alone against the Tangata, and they were losing ground.
