Ancients

by Riley Keene

  Her friends looked at each other, and then around the room, as though expecting some other threat to come at them.

  “So, I only understood about half of that,” Ermolt said at last, breaking the stunned silence. “But it was the half I needed to hear. We need to go slay dragons and become heroes. When do we leave?”

  Athala turned to Elise. “I didn’t understand as much of that as I would like to, either. What are we doing? What is the Age of Mortals?”

  Elise shook her head. Everything was happening so fast. This morning she was destined to die, and now she was fated to bring about the renaissance of humanity in a time dominated by the power of Gods.

  When she did speak, Elise began with a sigh. “All I know is that I couldn’t keep track of the two of you on a trip through the marketplace.” She smirked and ruffled Athala’s hair, loosening more of it from the elastic that kept it in place. “Now I need to keep the both of you on task for an epic quest across Neuges?” She sighed dramatically, laughed, and shook her head. “The things I do for my faith.”

  Thank You

  There’s not much that can be said, but thank you.

  Writing Ancients has been a rollercoaster—pure fun spiked with periods of “what did I get myself into?!”. We’re so glad you decided to join us on this journey and hope you enjoyed the book.

  If you liked Ancients and are hungry to see what happens to our heroes, then sign up for my mailing list! You get a FREE, full-length prequel for signing up, as well as all of the news, freebies, and random other bits you can handle.

  Since you’re done with Ancients, we’d like to shamelessly ask you to leave a review on the site you bought the book. All it takes is a moment of time, and it would greatly help us know what you liked or didn’t like.

  Ultimately though, we just wanted to say that you.

  - Riley S. Keene

  PS: Keep reading.

  About Riley

  My name is Riley S. Keene and I’m a fantasy author.

  Well, okay. That’s kinda a lie.

  Riley S. Keene is actually the pseudonym for a husband-and-wife writing duo, also known as Robert and Kristen. They live in the Pacific Northwest and enjoy the rainstorms, lack of sunlight, and excess oxygen that come with living in that part of the US.

  Robert is a Pacific Northwest native who has a degree in Applied Mathematics and Computational Sciences. He has a love for video games and a dislike for pretty much everything else. Robert is in charge of writing the first draft for all of our books.

  Kristen was born and raised in a town outside of Philadelphia. She has a degree in Multimedia Design and works full-time as a marketer for a Seattle engineering firm. She loves gloomy weather, good books, food made from animals, and spending time with Robert. Kristen is in charge of outlining and editing for all of our books.

  Our ultimate goal as an author duo is to write entertaining fantasy novels that are inclusive but not preachy. We strive to include as many cultures, settings, and characters as we can without relying on stereotypes or tropes. Doing so requires a lot of research and hard work – and we’re the first to admit that it’s never as in-depth as we would like. So we encourage you – if you find something in our books that doesn’t represent a lifestyle, culture, or setting correctly, please use the contact form and send us a message. We’d be happy to be educated. It’s kind of our thing.

  Coming March 2018

  Meanwhile...

  Erik tried to ignore the throbbing in the side of his head as he stood guard at the large stone door. Detlev had given him a terrible knock to the skull, and Erik had been trying to hide how slow he had been to recover for fear of being sent home without pay. It was made all the worse by being dragged along with Ingmar on this distasteful personal errand. But he feared the Deputy Warden more than he feared for his health, even if it had taken all night.

  Ingmar had taken most of those he’d recruited from the prison into the room beyond the door, leaving only Erik and Berit at the entrance. Not that they were alone, as he would have liked to have someone to talk to to pass the time. The Deputy Warden’s mysterious companion had brought soldiers of his own, and insisted on leaving them outside as well to stand guard. As afraid of the Deputy Warden Erik was, Ingmar himself seemed to be more afraid of his companion. And after seeing his soldiers at work on their way in, he could see why.

  At long last, the door opened, but only Ingmar’s companion emerged. He adjusted his robe as he closed the door behind himself, reaching up to push his hair back out of his eyes.

  “Total loss,” he declared with a sharp shake of his head. To Erik, it seemed like he was thinking to himself, but speaking aloud for the benefit of those around him. He gestured at one of his soldiers. “Come. We’re abandoning this one. Lead us out.”

  “What about Ingmar?” Erik asked. “And everyone else?”

  The man turned and squared his shoulders, staring Erik down with dark eyes. There was no fear or anger in those eyes, even though the man was obviously running from whatever had happened in the room beyond. Instead there was patience. Kren and kren of patience. To Erik it seemed like this man would wait all day for a thing he wanted, and what he wanted right now was to leave. And leave without question.

  After an uncomfortable moment under that silent glare, Erik turned away. He could feel himself growing more and more self-conscious as he knew everyone in the hallway was staring at him. He was a fool to have said anything. He should have just kept his mouth shut. Erik would never have talked back to Ingmar, and Ingmar had been terrified of this guy. What was he thinking?

  “Right then. Lead us out,” the robed figure said, finally breaking the silence. His men turned and began down the hallway and up the ancient stairway that eventually would lead back into the Temple of Ydia. “With us, if you please,” he added, gesturing back at Erik and Berit without turning around. “It would be a waste of your time to wait for Ingmar to return.”

  There was something about his bearing that made disobeying seem unwise. Berit moved to follow first, but Erik was not far behind.

  The ancient hallways were carved of light gray stone, worn down by time. In places, the stone cracked and buckled, with dribbles of water running down the walls, darkening them with mildew growth. It was several minutes before they passed the first body on the stairs.

  It sickened Erik to see them all over again. The temple guards who had been subdued by the robed man’s soldiers were strewn across the stairs. A number of Conscripts had met them at the Temple’s door and led them in, but when they had encountered the temple guards, their escort of Conscripts had scattered and the soldiers got them the rest of the way to the ancient stone door. Now on the return trip, the soldiers kicked the bodies out of the way, keeping a clear path for their leader as they ascended.

  It was a long trip up through the hallways, and the stone changed three times before it became the more familiar cut blocks of white stone that made up the temple itself. As they arrived back at the spot where their Conscript guides had left them, another group of Conscripts awaited them. They were not the Conscripts that guided them originally, and they drew weapons as soon as they were in sight.

  “Clear a path,” the robed figure said with a gesture and his soldiers charged.

  The Conscripts had training and discipline, but they didn’t have as much organization as the soldiers. As the two lines met, it became obvious that such a thing made all the difference. While the soldiers acted like a unit, the Conscripts fought as individuals, like they were sparring in a line instead of fighting for their lives. They didn’t stand a chance.

  “Typical Ydian philosophy,” the robed man said with a chuckle. “Quantity over quality. Pathetic.”

  Erik stared in horror at the conscripts being butchered, and his discomfort only grew as the robed man’s chuckled at the sight. The man acted as though he were at the theater, not as if he were watching men and women slaughtered. As a prison guard, Erik was no stranger to violence, but he still ha
d to focus on his breathing to avoid vomiting until the soldiers cut their way out of the Temple entirely, through a side door and into the warm noontime air.

  Once they were outside of the temple, the robed man took the lead, striding purposefully across the Temple grounds and to the city. He held his head high and his manner rang with that of nobility. Where he walked, he commanded attention. The few people picnicking out on the temple grass kept their eyes on him as he led his group into the streets of Khule. No one seemed to notice the blood on his soldiers.

  In the streets of Khule, his soldiers took the lead again, and the robed figure fell back to address Erik and Berit as they made their way through the streets and alleys back toward Auernheim.

  “My people and I will be leaving Khule soon,” the robbed man said as they walked. He didn’t look at either Erik or Berit, but instead kept his eyes forward. “If you feel inclined to show me loyalty, you can accompany us.”

  “What do you want?” Erik found himself asking in spite of himself.

  “Your employer is likely breathing his last right now, if he’s not already dead,” he said casually as if remarking on the weather. “He left a number of responsibilities behind. Least of which is a young girl.”

  “His daughter,” Berit said, nodding. An empty pit opened wide in Erik’s belly.

  “Yes,” the man said, his lips turning up in a sneer. The group stopped walking forward and the hooded man turned to face the two prison guards. “Fetch her and bring her to me. I don’t care if she’s willing, and I don’t care about the opinions of anyone watching over her. Bring her to me and show me your loyalty.” He smiled and the smile was genuine, almost fatherly. “I reward loyalty.”

  “You want us to kidnap an innocent girl?” Erik asked, stepping back from the man. “Not only that, a sick girl?”

  “Will that be a problem?” The robed man stepped forward to tower over him. He wasn’t actually taller than Erik, but his bearing made him seem far more imposing.

  “Yes,” Erik said. His tone was uncertain, but he puffed out his chest and squared his shoulders. He felt, rather than saw, the soldiers closing in around him, but he didn’t care. If Ingmar was truly dead, which something told him he was, Erik wasn’t going to kidnap the man’s daughter on behalf of the person who abandoned him to die. “It’s not right. I won’t have any part of it.”

  “To say that I’m sorry to hear that would imply that I thought you had value.” The man shrugged, one hand rising in a simple gesture. “So I won’t say it.”

  Erik felt an impact against his back, and a painfully uncomfortable ripping sensation through his chest.

  He looked down at the tip of a blade sticking out of the front of his padded armor. His blood glistened along the blade.

  With widened eyes he looked up and saw that the robed man was turning towards Berit, who looked on aghast, but wasn’t preparing to fight back.

  Erik opened his mouth to tell Berit to run. Or maybe to keep away from Ketterlyn. But all that happened was a thin stream of blood leaked from his lips and splattered down onto the sword.

  The weapon was removed from his body and Erik staggered before he fell to the ground.

  Voices dissipated to a distant whisper, then finally to silence.

  The world faded away.