by M. Gregg Roe
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Books by the author
Dedication
The Guardian
Andoran’s Realm
Prologue
[ 1 ] – The Researcher
[ 2 ] – The Succubus
[ 3 ] – The Warrior
[ 4 ] – The Guardian
[ 5 ] – New Home
[ 6 ] – Problem Child
[ 7 ] – Problem Sister
[ 8 ] – Stone Blocks
[ 9 ] – Gray Potions
[ 10 ] – The Summoning
[ 11 ] – Odd Couples
[ 12 ] – Many Secrets
[ 13 ] – Priestess Rosalind
[ 14 ] – Parenting Issues
[ 15 ] – Middle Ground
[ 16 ] – Side Effects
[ 17 ] – Partial Success
[ 18 ] – Aliva's Concerns
[ 19 ] – Starting Over
[ 20 ] – Rescue Attempt
[ 21 ] – Communication Issues
[ 22 ] – Youthful Romance
[ 23 ] – Strategic Planning
[ 24 ] – Going Outside
[ 25 ] – Defending Herself
[ 26 ] – Tragic Past
[ 27 ] – Together Again
[ 28 ] – Family Ties
[ 29 ] – Career Paths
[ 30 ] – Fate's Servant
[ 31 ] – Bad Blood
[ 32 ] – Her Future
[ 33 ] – A Celebration
[ 34 ] – The Festival
[ 35 ] – His Redemption
[ 36 ] – Castle Conundrum
[ 37 ] – Combat Training
[ 38 ] – Visiting Tritown
[ 39 ] – Final Block
[ 40 ] – Grand Opening
[ 41 ] – Strange Invaders
[ 42 ] – Castle's End
[ 43 ] – Researcher Coda
[ 44 ] – Guardian Coda
[ 45 ] – Warrior Coda
[ 46 ] – Succubus Coda
Epilogue
Preview of "Chaos Plague"
Acknowledgements
Index of Names
About the Author
IMPOSSIBLE CASTLE
GUARDIAN OF THE REALM - BOOK ONE
M. Gregg Roe
IMPOSSIBLE CASTLE
Independently Published by M. Gregg Roe
Copyright © 2021 M. Gregg Roe
All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be
reproduced in any form without permission from the
publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.
Cover by M. Gregg Roe
ASIN: B094ZCHRM8
July 2021
Books by M. Gregg Roe:
ANDORAN'S REALM
Audrey of Farmerton
The Witch’s City
The Guild War
Andoran’s Legacy
GUARDIAN OF THE REALM
Impossible Castle
Chaos Plague
Magic Fades
Short Story Collection
Adventure Awaits!
— For Brian Chevrier —
The Guardian
We waited, for some twenty years
To find a hero for the land.
A duty not for volunteers,
A job of great demand.
Behold the Guardian, my friend!
Her heart is pure, her mind serene.
Behold the one chosen to fend
Against perils unforeseen.
— Siljan av Sabrina, Priestess of Kyran
Prologue
Floating high above the treetops, the Guardian of Andoran’s Realm shook her right fist at the leaden sky. “Since when do dragons explode?” she demanded (not that she was expecting an answer). She grimaced as a blob of thick, warm liquid struck the top of her head, wetting her hair and scalp. Another large drop struck her left shoulder, instantly soaking through the thin fabric. None of the chunks of gore had flown far enough to reach her, but it was raining dragon blood over a wide area.
“I just bought this blouse," she complained as the more drops struck her. "And it wasn't cheap.” It was hard enough to remove normal bloodstains from clothing, but dragon blood was the worst. (Blood damaged some types of fabric beyond repair.) In the past she had sometimes just given up and resorted to dyeing the stained garments a dark color to hide the stains. That was probably the fate that awaited the stylish, cream-colored blouse now disfigured with ugly dark blotches. The navy blue pants would probably be fine, but not her expensive brassiere. Even her leather shoes might be ruined, and they were only two months old. “Stupid dragon,” she muttered as she tried to add up the cost of her ruined apparel.
All she had been trying to do was steer the dragon away from the village, not blow the creature to bits. Even a small amount of damage to a dragon’s wings impaired its ability to fly. Cut off a wing, and it wouldn’t be able to fly at all. In reality, potent magic was what gave such large and heavy creatures the power of flight, not wings. But that was just the way it worked. Of course, she wouldn’t have been flying either without employing magic. No human could.
Normally her aim was excellent, but the dragon’s unexpected course change had caused her magical attack to strike its long neck instead of the left wing. The explosion of violet flame that followed had been kind of pretty, but the sound… She wouldn’t be forgetting that anytime soon. Talk about disgusting.
She really hoped that the inhabitants of the village below (whose name she had neglected to ask) had heeded her warning and fled their homes. From what she could see, falling chunks of dragon had holed several of the thatch roofs. But what was a little roof damage when you had just been saved from being eaten by a dragon? They could even eat the dragon meat, provided they cooked it thoroughly.
This dragon’s scales were bright yellow—a color that she had never encountered before or even heard of. (The professional dragon-slayer she lived near would undoubtedly be interested.) All dragons had some kind of breath weapon, like fire or acid or lightning. Maybe this one breathed out something that was easily combustible. That might explain it. Or maybe she had used a little too much power. (She did get carried away sometimes.) Well, it was too late now. The dragon was most definitely dead.
When the disgusting precipitation finally ended, she used her sleeves to wipe her face before beginning her descent. Spotting an old man in shabby clothing entering a clearing, she called out, “Is everyone okay?” He gaped at her and then fled into the trees. “I’m not a threat,” she said sadly, coming to a stop well above the ground. But what did she expect? The villagers probably had no experience with magic. A woman flying around shouting out warnings about a dragon would definitely have frightened her back when she had been an uneducated peasant living in a small village.
She scrunched up her nose as she descended further. The stench alone might keep the villagers away for a while. (The blood, surprisingly, didn’t smell that bad.) After landing next to what looked like a piece of a hind leg, she used her dagger to remove one of the vibrantly colored scales. It would join her collection of scales from other dragons she had killed—or helped kill, in some cases. She kept them in a desk drawer, because few people knew she possessed the kind of power that she had just demonstrated.
Returning to the air, she ascended until she was well above the tallest trees. Then she followed the wide stream that ran next to the village and powered the mill. It eventually led her to what she was looking for: a small lake. Once out over the center, she descended until she was fully immersed. The dark blood immediately turned the nearby water murky. After rin
sing the blood from her hair, she scrubbed vigorously at the stained areas on her blouse. (She could breathe just fine underwater, so there was no hurry.) Finally satisfied, she exited the water and invoked a power that instantly dried her off as she ascended. She smiled as she saw that the blood had washed out better than she had expected. Her blouse might actually be salvageable with a little more cleaning. Hurray!
She was just about to return home when an alert appeared in front of her, complete with a helpful map. It didn’t take her long to spot the yellow dot in the distance. A second yellow dragon was approaching, and she really should have expected it. It was probably the other one’s mate. And that made her wonder if there were immature yellow dragons somewhere in the vicinity. They might also be a threat, but she had no idea where to even begin searching for them. Dragons were smart enough to not just fly directly from their lair to their intended target. Those little yellow explosions-waiting-to-happen could be anywhere.
This time, she did it right. After rendering herself invisible, she flew high into the air and picked a spot to wait that was well away from the village. When the dragon was directly below her, she fired a powerful Emeraldine Lance directly at its neck. With a lovely burst of violet flame, and the same horrific sound, the dragon exploded. Not a single drop of blood reached her, sparing her clothing any additional insult.
Satisfied with her morning’s work, the Guardian of Andoran’s Realm took one more look around before heading home. There was laundry to be done.
[ 1 ]
The Researcher
Once again, Ferikellan found himself face to face with his nemesis. The Gray Forest stood as a monument to Andoran, a spell-caster of such might and so long-lived that many regarded him as a god. Measuring about ten miles across, the band of colorless woods demarcated a roughly ellipsoidal region now known as Andoran’s Realm, effectively isolating the interior from the rest of the continent. The hubris of it! To make such a vast swath of land into one’s own private domain. It was offensive.
From the very first, he had despised the unnatural terrain. Out of that had grown a resolve to defeat the Gray Forest, to unmake it and restore normalcy. For what magic could pervert, surely magic could restore. Years of toil had gone into crafting the spell he was about to cast. Each previous attempt had failed, but that was of no moment. Failure was a teacher, albeit a cruel one.
Standing atop a small mound just outside the sharply defined boundary, Ferikellan faced his foe and commenced the assault. The words he chanted were meaningless, a simple mnemonic to create the correct frame of mind. He smiled as the enchantment took form, drawing energy from his not inconsiderable magical reserve. A sharp gesture of his right hand completed the casting, unleashing his will.
When the first tinge of color appeared in the thick undergrowth, he cackled with glee. “It worked!” he exclaimed, clapping his long-fingered hands together so hard it stung. The long-awaited success had erased his fatigue in an instant.
“Sure did,” Vurk said, standing to Ferikellan’s right and grinning. The gworn gave him four thumbs-up and then turned his attention back to the Gray Forest.
Realizing that he too should be monitoring the results of his spell, Ferikellan studied the area of effect, an apparently perfect circle ten yards across that reached to within two yards of the boundary. The shades of green and brown were vivid now, contrasting eerily with their colorless surrounding. Why there were even some red wildflowers visible, practically glowing in the bright morning sunshine. How lovely!
He was preparing to dash across into the transformed area when Vurk grabbed him from behind. “It’s going gray again,” the gworn hissed.
After mumbling a curse, Ferikellan relaxed, causing the gworn to release his grip. The color was fading, and far sooner than he had hoped. Still, the feat had been proven possible. That was what truly mattered. The Gray Forest was not invulnerable.
What he had accomplished this morning would certainly make him famous (and hopefully wealthy, as well). For a few precious minutes, a portion of the Gray Forest had returned to normal woods. Even though brief, it had been a magnificent victory.
“Are you gonna try again?” Vurk asked, once again alongside. “Maybe it’ll be easier the second time.”
That was possible, but the high-order spell had drained most of Ferikellan’s magical reserves. He turned to face his long-time assistant and shook his head firmly. “We will return home and celebrate.”
“Whatever you say, boss.” After checking his surroundings, Vurk led the way along the narrow trail that led east through normal forest.
Mindful of his pointed ears, Ferikellan pulled his hat down firmly as he followed along the narrow track. Elves possessed superior night vision but were easily dazzled by bright light, hence the hat’s broad brim.
Compared to the average human, Ferikellan was short, skinny, and frail. But he felt that the longer elf lifespan more than made up for any physical shortcomings. He had devoted nearly half of his seventy years to studying the Gray Forest and could easily live another seven or eight decades. It was plenty of time to build upon his success, expanding the spell’s area of effect and increasing its potency until the alteration was permanent.
“I knew you’d succeed eventually,” Vurk called back as they skirted some prickly bushes peppered with plump yellow berries that were bright in the dappled sunlight. (They looked tasty, but Ferikellan knew from experience that they were far too tart for his delicate palate.) The gworn’s tone of voice made his statement sound more like an insult. But that was typical of his kind, a species not native to Andoran’s Realm or seemingly anywhere. Gworn were a mystery, one that Ferikellan intended to investigate someday.
Standing slightly taller than Ferikellan, and with a stockier build, Vurk’s distinguishing features were his all-blue coloration and the additional set of slightly shorter arms below the expected ones. The gworn’s skin was cerulean, his hair and beard navy, and his eyes azure. Even the whites of his eyes were a pale blue. Blue was also the only color of clothing that Ferikellan had ever seen Vurk wear, and usually a dark shade. The gworn’s ears were not unlike those of a human, and really so was the shape of his face.
Gworn were only ever found in the service of people involved in some type of research. They would just turn up one day, much as Vurk had nearly two decades earlier. Knowing that the gworn’s brusk offer of assistance was an honor, Ferikellan had promptly accepted. It was a sign that the gworn had recognized him as a researcher of note.
In his role as assistant, Vurk was lazy, insolent, and complained constantly about being overworked. Despite that, he always did as he was told and did it well. The gworn was a perfect assistant in that respect, not to mention being a superb cook. He also served as a bodyguard, which is why his blue leather belt was currently home to an assortment of wicked-looking knives.
As they continued on their way, Ferikellan’s exhilaration waned. The Gray Forest had existed for over a thousand years. Completely dismantling such a massive enchantment might take longer than his remaining lifespan. Should it prove necessary, he would recruit and train others to continue the crusade after his passing. One way or another, the abomination would meet its end. And everyone would remember him as the one responsible.
To those without knowledge, the Gray Forest appeared as a mere oddity, not an unimaginable danger. But any living creature that dared to enter from outside would soon suffer a relentless onslaught. From the smallest insect to the largest creature, the forest’s denizens would work together to slay the intruder. Even the most timid animal would attack as if possessed. Armor and weapons could provide some protection, but not magic. Neither enchanted items nor spells functioned inside.
Plants and inanimate objects were treated differently, assimilated rather than assaulted. Toss a colorful bloom into the forest, and within hours it would be as monotonously gray as its surroundings. Trees and bushes straddled the boundary, but fewer than one might expect.
Ferikellan’s he
art lightened as he dutifully followed his assistant. Even if only briefly, his spell had overcome the Gray Forest’s powerful magic resistance. If that wasn’t cause for celebration, then he didn’t know what was.
Ferikellan paused as he was about to take a second celebratory sip from the simple wooden goblet. A figure had suddenly appeared in the sunlit meadow that his bedroom window overlooked. Wide-eyed, he watched what looked like a human female glance around, hesitate briefly, then stride purposefully toward the back of the house. Suddenly worried she might spot him, he stepped out of view with his heart racing and knees weak.
On a small table nearby sat a glass container full of dark liquid. Crafted at a grape winery associated with a temple, the expensive bottle of “Kyran’s Choice” was an indulgence he had been saving for a special occasion. But the flavorful liquid had lost all appeal.
“Was she invisible?” he muttered to himself as he put the goblet down carefully. But he had noticed no disturbance in the tall grass. And why cancel her invisibility spell there? No, she had simply materialized at that spot, which meant… His heart clenched in his chest. “An Eye of Andoran?” he whispered. “They are all supposed to be dead, but it must be. She knows what I did. What to do? What to do?”
One mystery of Andoran’s Realm was how Andoran had restricted other spell-casters from employing teleportation magic inside. Only he and his chosen servants possessed that capability, that alone granting them immense power. Eyes of Andoran were female spell-casters imbued with both additional capabilities and long lifespans. Andoran was definitely deceased, but it appeared that at least one of his loathsome servants remained. How she had been alerted was a mystery, but it couldn’t possibly be a coincidence.
