Legacy

by Philip C. Quaintrell

  “From what I hear,” Kalian said, “You’re the one being hailed as a hero. ‘The hero of Shandar’ is a title I’ve heard more than once.”

  Roland shrugged. “Being a hero isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Turns out, there’s no actual reward for saving the galaxy. Plus, everyone knows my face now, so hunting bad guys just became a lot harder.”

  Kalian could see that the bounty hunter was feeling awkward saying his goodbyes. “Just be here when I get back,” he said to Roland. “Teaching you to fly is going to be hilarious.”

  Roland laughed, back in his element. “I’ll be ruling the Conclave before you make it back, kid.”

  As one, Kalian, Li’ara and the Gomar began their journey across the desert. Of course, Roland had one last thing to say.

  “Hey, Red!” he shouted. “When you get bored of him, I’ll always have a bunk waiting for you on the Rackham!”

  Li’ara smiled and gave the bounty hunter the finger. “I’m going to miss him…” she said quietly.

  Kalian laughed as they waved their last goodbyes before entering the cool air of the ship. Upon their arrival on the bridge, a circular console dominating the centre of the room came to life. A holographic map filled the space with the entire galaxy, laying it bare before them.

  Vox pointed at a cluster of stars on the far side of the galaxy. “I want to go here!”

  Ariah pointed at another cluster. “We should go here!”

  Garrion shook his head. “The data files say there are carbon-based life forms over here. Let’s see what they’re like.”

  With no direction, everyone turned to Kalian, who had his arm comfortably around Li’ara’s shoulders. “Let’s get lost…”

  Author Notes

  And so it ends. This was the first story I found rattling around inside my head, way back in 2013. I had grown tired of reading books that appeared to follow the same formula and delivered exactly what you expected them to. As a lover of stories, this was quite a hard thing to get my head around. As frustrating as it was, I could see only way of finding the stories I craved and, if you’ve gotten this far, you can see the results of that journey.

  At the end of the day, writing books that I want to read is all I can do. It’s what makes me happy and I would encourage everyone to try and write something, anything that can be squeezed from your imagination. The Terran Cycle was my first foray into the depths of my imagination, and though I would say I’ve found my roots in the fantasy genre, there is still a goodly portion of my brain devoted to outer-space.

  I’ve certainly found a form of closure in bringing this story to an end. It feels like a long time since I first sat down and wrote the prologue to Intrinsic, especially since I have written a completely different trilogy (Echoes of Fate) in the middle of this series. Still, it always feels comfortable settling back into Kalian’s head, my first creation. It’s a strange feeling to know that a person created inside my mind is now in the minds of people I’ve never met. Oh dear. I appear to slipping into the philosophical realm. Back to the notes…

  I originally planned all four in the series while working on a vascular ward in Leicester Royal Infirmary. In fact, some of the notes in front of me right now are on printed paper from the hospital. This form of planning is a writing process I no longer implore. Every chapter in the Terran Cycle could be found summed up in a brief paragraph or two in my notes, outlining every scene. This is certainly a good idea if you’re just starting out and you want to make sure your story is going somewhere. It’s easy to start writing your novel and then stop part way through because you have no idea where it’s going. After I realised I could start and finish a full-length book, I was able to start the Echoes of Fate series with very few outlines, focusing mainly on character profiles and places.

  I can only hope that you can see the difference, specifically the improvements, in my writing as you’ve progressed through the entire series. Between Intrinsic and Legacy, I wrote five other books, so there really should be signs of growth. Growing as a writer wasn’t something I particularly thought about until I started Rise of the Ranger, as before this my focus had been entirely on the story. I see now that writing a good story is only part of what makes an author an author.

  I’m sure many writers will agree that when you finish your project, the only thing you want to do is put it out there and move on to the next thing. Such is the nature of an over-active imagination. I understand now the importance of the editing process, marketing, formatting, and generally investing in good equipment and software in making a book. This can be something of a slog, but it makes the end product something you can be proud of. Before starting Legacy, I upgraded everything I used to format and edit my books and went through the previous three Terran novels from cover-to-cover before re-publishing them. They’re still not the best received books out there, but I’m proud of the story I’ve told and the new versions I’ve republished alongside this one.

  I hope you’ve enjoyed this series. At present, I have no future plans for this universe or the characters within, but like I said, there’s still a goodly portion of my imagination devoted to sci-fi. Perhaps one day, I’ll come back and see what Roland North is up to or discover the wonders of the galaxy alongside Kalian and the Gomar.

  If you keep up with me on Facebook, Philip C. Quaintrell, I’ll keep you updated on any future projects as well as the audio releases from Podium Publishings. If you get a chance, I would appreciate any review you might leave online. Every one helps to get the word out, something we self-publishers rely on.

  Until the next time…

  Echoes of fate : Rise of the Ranger

  Read on for prologue

  Prologue

  The sound of men dying in battle wasn’t unknown to Asher. In the past, he had remained hidden, while his father and brothers had fought against rival clans in the Wild Moores. The boy had heard the sound of their weapons clash and the noises men made when they died, but he had never heard the sounds that drifted through the open window now, carried in the wake of a hundred war horns, for when the elves went into battle, it could not be called a conflict or a skirmish, as it was with the human tribes, but was in fact given another name that was new to Asher.

  The elves called it a war...

  The cries of the two armies were drowned out by the ominous beating of heavy wings that thundered overhead, delivering death by the hundreds across the battlefield below, their fiery breath igniting the sky. The battle outside had spread, breaching Elethiah’s great walls and drawing ever closer, the clash of steel against steel echoing through its stone corridors.

  Asher dared to steal a glance over the window’s wooden ledge, only to be terrified by the hulking shadow that flew across the moon, eclipsing its glow with bat-like wings. The boy quickly ducked, hugging the cold stone and scrambling for the safety of the large wooden table in the centre of the room. His nine-year-old body was too gangly for his young mind to control, and he barely registered the pain as his head bumped into the table leg. Asher’s heart pounded in his chest at the sound of a roar no man could rightfully stand against. The great flying beasts went by another name that was new to the young boy, and the word felt strange in his mouth. The elves called them dragons!

  The door to his right burst open in a splintering of wood, accompanied by the familiar song of swords colliding with incredible speed. From his sheltered vantage, Asher could only see a pair of armoured legs stagger into the room, crashing into the table, as another pair of legs followed him in, clad in a flowing white dress that danced around their foe. The laboured breaths of a man and a woman were matched by the slash and parry of their swords. The armoured legs jumped on to the table as metal scraped against the smooth wood, knocking over Asher’s glass and the jug of water, before finally landing on the other side. Water washed over the parchments covering the table and poured over the edge, splashing the boy’s hands and face.

  The white dress dashed over the table, making no sound at all. Some
thing softer than a sword struck the armoured man and sent him stumbling into a bookshelf. The white dress dropped to the floor once more and met its attacker with a flurry of swords and sparks.

  The conflict came to a swift end as one of the swords hit the floor with a loud clatter, and hot red blood spattered against the stone. The armoured feet faltered, until a pair of knees fell to the floor, under the crumpling body of a dark-haired elf. Blood rushed from his throat and mixed with the water, slithering ever closer to where the boy knelt. Asher gasped, trying to crawl backward as the blood moved like a snake towards him.

  “Asher!” The white dress wrinkled as the beautiful face of a blonde elf appeared under the table top. Her fair features were marred with concern at the sight of him. Droplets of blood streaked across her cheeks and golden hair, though it did nothing to reduce her beauty.

  With one strong hand, she pulled him out from under the table, careful not to drag him through the blood. She steadied him by the shoulders and quickly checked him over for any injuries, her soft hands gliding over his skin.

  “I’m fine.” Asher gently reached for her hands and pushed them away.

  The boy was always ashamed of his ragged human appearance in the company of such magnificent creatures. His dirty clothes and unwashed skin made him stand out even more than usual next to her perfect complexion and exquisite clothes.

  “We need to find your father and brother. You need to get back to the Wild Moores as fast as possible, you will be safer there.”

  That statement alone was proof of their dire situation. If the Moores were safer than Elethiah, he hated to imagine what was going on beyond this room.

  “I don’t want to leave you, Nalana...” Asher looked into her crystal blue eyes and knew she would insist.

  Nalana was the mother he’d never had and cared for him in a way his father and the rest of his clan never could. She had spent years teaching him the elven language, and countless days devoted to helping him read and write. He was the first of many Outlanders the elves planned to take in and teach to be civilised. After just four years of her tutelage, Asher knew he was already smarter than most of his clan, if not the strongest.

  “There’s no time, young one. You remember what I told you, about Valanis?”

  Of course he remembered. Valanis was the tyrannical elf, set on ravaging the whole of Illian like a hungry plague of locusts. His name seemed to strike fear into the hearts of every elf in Elethiah. Asher’s father had told him to leave elvish troubles to elves, but Elethiah stood on the edge of the Wild Moores, and it seemed Valanis had brought his madness to the Outlanders’ home too.

  “His army attacks without fear of death. I don’t know how long our forces and the dragons can keep them at bay. The eastern wall is already breached and they are swarming the city.” Nalana nodded to the dead body behind him. “I will get you as far as the kitchens; do you remember the door I showed you, our secret door?” He nodded absently, looking past her to the sound of fighting. “Take your family through there and run as fast as you can. Are you ready?”

  Nalana took his hand and picked up her curved blade off the table. Asher had never seen her wield a sword before. It was hard to fathom that someone so delicate and gentle could be so deadly. The boy couldn't take his eyes off the sword and its unique shine, as the Outlander had never seen a sword as ornate and well-crafted as this. His own people could do no better than blunt axes and weak spears. The flat of the blade was engraved with runes he had yet to learn, and he once again felt the hunger for knowledge that Nalana had awoken in him.

  They made their way through the halls and adjoining rooms as quickly and quietly as they could, Asher by comparison to Nalana sounding like a team of Centaurs. When eventually the choice of direction arose, left or right, Nalana hesitated. Asher had just enough fear to extinguish his excitement at the path the elf chose. They soon passed under a large wooden arch that led into Elethiah’s grand library, a forbidden place. The race of men was not granted access to the ancient tomes of the elves, for fear of the books being mishandled.

  It was everything he imagined and more as the room opened up into a tall oval shape, covered in wall-to-wall books and walkways connected by spiral staircases. Every corner was illuminated by a soft glow, emanating from yellow orbs that floated between the shelves. The orbs were a simple creation for any elf with a basic understanding of magic - it was an understanding Asher was decades away from grasping. Long tables of red-brown wood filled the space between the archway and the double doors on the other side. Asher knew that the library offered a shortcut through the main palace and had always hated taking the longer route to reach Nalana’s teaching room.

  Without warning, the doors were violently thrust open as four elves in dark armour and shadowy cloaks strode into the room.

  Nalana pushed Asher back, putting herself instinctively in front of him while raising her sword. “Stay back, Asher.”

  He did as he was told and clung to the wooden arch at his back.

  Nalana calmly walked around the long table and closed the gap between her and the dark elves. Their movements were hard for Asher to keep track of as they advanced on her with great speed, each of their swords angled to remove a limb. Nalana’s grace and precision were unparalleled by the dark elves, and she deflected two of the strikes whilst narrowly dodging the others. Metal rang against metal in every direction as the fighters danced across the table top. Nalana looked a true warrior, using her hands and feet to push the dark elves back, whilst knocking a short-haired elf off the table with a strong backhand from her sword.

  “Nalana!” Nalana’s younger brother, Elym, charged into the library with his dark hair flowing out behind him.

  Elym deftly flipped on to the table and charged in with his double-ended spear. Nalana cut down the tallest of their attackers, removing his head and the hand of another elf in one blow. Elym took the advantage and impaled the one-handed elf with his spear, twisting his own body to avoid the blade of the third attacker. Asher watched as the back-handed dark elf rose from the floor, ready to swipe Nalana’s legs out. The Outlander reacted without thinking, to protect his teacher, and pulled a leather-bound book off the nearest shelf and threw it into the dark elf’s face. The surprise blow was all Nalana needed to drop to one knee and drive her blade straight down into the elf’s head, burying it deep into his body.

  Elym’s sudden cry of pain pierced the library, as his blood splattered against the wood. Nalana spun on the ball of her foot and whipped her sword across the final dark elf’s chest, slicing through the armour and splitting his ribcage. Nalana paid him no heed as he toppled off the table, instead rushing to the aid of her brother. Asher had met Elym several times over the years, but the young elf had never quite agreed with teaching the wild humans, who had arrived from lands unknown to the elves.

  Asher ran to the table, making a wide circle around the dead elves. Nalana held Elym in her arms as blood slowly poured from a gash across his gut. He groaned in pain and clung tightly to his sister.

  “I have seen worse little brother...”

  “We don’t have time.” Elym’s words came through gritted teeth. “I came from the Hall of Life.” The young Elf reached into his tunic and tugged at the silver chain around his neck. He presented Nalana with a rugged, black crystal the size of his little finger. “Valanis is here. They’re preparing to cast the Amber spell...” He placed the crystal in the palm of her hand. “He’s already killed the King and Lady Syla. We need to keep it safe, Nalana.”

  She remained silent; staring at the necklace with an expression Asher couldn’t read. Elym’s pain-filled cry brought her out of the reverie soon enough. Nalana looked from her brother to Asher, gripping the crystal until her knuckles whitened.

  “Asher...” Nalana called him closer. “I will stay with Elym. You need to find your family and make for the Wild Moores. Stop for nothing.” Nalana rested her brother’s head on her knee and quickly looped the necklace over Asher’s head.
“Take this and hide it deep in the forest. I will come for you when the battle is over.” Asher stared at the crystal sitting in the middle of his chest before Nalana tucked it into his ragged top. “Run Asher!”

  With a lasting look at the siblings, he ran for the door.

  Asher made for the kitchens, calling his father and brother as he did. Fighting had broken out across the palace, forcing him to search for new ways through the stone corridors.

  “Asher!” His father’s voice echoed down the hall. Typically, they were already hiding around the kitchens, always looking for food to take back to the Moores. “Where have you been? We were about to leave without you!”

  Such were the ways of his people. You either help the clan or you get left behind.

  His older brother looked truly scared, clearly having witnessed the elves in combat or one of the winged beasts that swarmed above the city. Asher’s father was sweating, no doubt fearful for his own survival while being slowed by his sons.

  “This way, follow me!” Asher led them through the kitchens and down into an old tunnel, long abandoned in favour of newer refurbishments.

  His brother and father ran on ahead, while Asher closed the kitchen hatch behind them. Their splashing was easy to follow once Asher jumped off the last rung. At the end of the tunnel was an old wooden door that allowed for a small grid of moonlight to illuminate the wet ground and moss-covered walls.

  “He’ll never make it!” His brother’s voice echoed through the tunnel as the pair ran full pelt through the doorway.

  Their doubt in Asher’s ability to survive only spurred him on to run faster.

  Both his father and brother ran into the Moonlit Plains, heading straight for the Wild Moores as if the dragons themselves were at their heels - neither looked back to check on Asher.