Prophecy of the Flame

by Lynn Hardy

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Copyright

  Prologue

  Glossary

  Character Glossary

  The Author

  Chapter 1

  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

  Book Two Preview

  Copyright and Credits

  Prophecy of the Flame – Book One

  Text and Illustrations Copyright © 2008 Lynn Hardy

  Original copyright of first written material

  Copyright © 2006 Lynn Hardy

  All rights reserved as permitted under the U.S. Copyright act of 1976, no part of this publication may be distributed or reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form by any means or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior permission of the Publisher.

  First Paperback Edition 2007 by Resilient Publishing

  Third Edition 2010 by

  Resilient Publishing

  P.O. Box 16043, Boise, Idaho 83715

  Resilient Publishing is an imprint of

  Borderline Publishing

  406 Broad

  Boise, ID 83705

  ISBN 978 0 615 17076 3

  All trademarks and copyrights mentioned in this work of fiction are the property of their original owners.

  Characters in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

  Cover by Yivgeni Matoussov

  Interior Illustrations by Yivgeni Matoussov and Sabbat Studios

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to my mother, Gloria, whose loving support enabled me to fulfill my ambition of sharing the worlds from my dreams through my writing. A special thanks to Mike Moriarty and all my first readers, whose invaluable support and input has helped me to grow as a writer.

  Prologue

  Kyle slows his steps as we approach the double-door entryway. After seven years of marriage, mine automatically follow suit. The signage next to the portal marks this as my destination. A yawn pries my jaws apart.

  I’m such a coward! I should’ve told him when that blasted alarm went off that I’d rather sleep in on my vacation. Now I’m stuck running around playing make-believe with a bunch of strangers. I push the thought away, refusing to rain on his parade so early in the morning. At least he tried to surprise me this year. How was he supposed to know that playing a videogame is completely different than role-playing. Kyle’s booked us here just for me. I’ll sleep in next weekend.

  “So are you going to go back to bed or what?”

  “You took so long getting ready, I had to rush through that buffet.” My ebony-headed husband shrugs. “I’ll head back there.”

  “They allow observers. And the rules say I’ll only have to stay in character during actual play time.”

  “Not a chance! They have a pretty good breakfast spread, and we’re getting free meals. I’ll meet up with you later.”

  I glance at my cell phone. “Crap, I’m going to miss roll call.” I brush his cheek with a quick peck and bound off for my first role-playing game.

  “Rebecca—I mean, Archmage Reba,” I inform the hotel attendant stationed at the door.

  He hands me a dark blue sash and marks off my name. “Better hurry. Instruction begins in a few minutes.” A jerk of his chin points the way to my new team members.

  “Hey, are you guys the Royal Blue?” I attempt to take refuge in my assigned group as every head turns with my entrance. Apparently there is a severe shortage of women who role-play.

  “Awesome, rad, man - we get a chick,” says a bleached blonde.

  “Damn! And who is this fine specimen?” A gangly black man whistles before rushing forward to stick out his hand. “I’m Eric.”

  My mind stumbles and my cheeks heat. It’s been so long since a man’s noticed me – We’d save a lot on the marriage counseling if Kyle could take some notes from these guys.

  An older gentleman in his mid-thirties begins gesturing around the circle. “I’m George. I work as an accountant, so I’ll take charge of our scores. Chad’s a med student, Darren is an architect, and as Eric failed to mention, he’s an engineer.”

  I nod in their direction. “I’m Rebecca. Just a part-time secretary, full-time housewife.”

  “What are your main character attributes? What skills do you have?” asks the tall, stocky man introduced as Darren.

  “My character is Archmage Reba.” I pull the wad of papers from my jeans pocket, searching for the form I filled out last night.

  George snags the paper from the middle of the bundle. I scramble to pick up leaflets he dislodged as he gives the others the lowdown on Reba.

  “Wow, full magic. You actually chose to be a powerful sorcerer?” His lips twist in a disdainful smirk. “You’re gonna be a lot of help. At least you have intuition along with mastering the staff and dagger: maybe you’ll be able to defend yourself.”

  “Attention!” The microphone squeals like a dying rabbit as the game master taps the bulbous top. “Attention, everyone. The gaming positions have been drawn. Your assigned times are posted on this board.” He gestures to the whiteboard behind him. “We don’t have time to go over every rule. You should be familiar with them already, but I’ll hit the main ones for any newbies.

  “Points will be deducted for all wounds taken, and points will be awarded for each defender wounded,” the game master drones on. “The group with the highest score at the end of the weekend will receive a complimentary stay at the Renaissance Hotel and Gaming World. One last note: there will be no battle magic used in the Renaissance Games.”

  My jaw hits the floor. No magic? I should’ve read the rules last night instead of making up all those spells.

  A surge of people press forward like lottery players holding winning tickets. George gives me a disgusted shake of his head before turning on his heel. He leaps toward the stage while the others continue to goggle at me as though I were the hottest thing since sliced bread.

  “My character is Jerik the dwarf.” Darren leans his head in the direction where George disappeared. “That is Allinon, an elf.”

  “Go figure.” Eric snorts. “A druid elf named Allinon. I’m Charles.” The more brown than black, balding man bows elegantly. “The Prince Charming.”

  I raise my eyebrows at the final member of our weekend crusader party. “Oh, sorry.” The bleached blond sticks out his hand. “I’m Jamison, a Healer.”

  “Cool,” I mumble as we shake.

  “They put us up first.” George’s lips twist in a sardonic smile. “Either a very good or a very bad omen.”

  “Well, thanks for narrowing it down for us, Twigs.” Eric gets a chuckle from everyone but George. “Excuse me?” The game master bows to our group. “Royal Blues?”

  “Yes, that’s us.” George steps in front of Darren and Eric.

  The robed man turns to me and bows again. “You must be Archmage Reba?” I nod and he continues. “This is for you.” Handing me a plain white envelope, he ducks his head again
and turns for the door.

  My teammates stare expectantly at the envelope. Catching the hint, I tear open the paper. My brow furrows at the cryptic lines.

  “Well,” George demands, “read it aloud, already.”

  “The road is long and the night is dark. Work together and live to see the sun rise again.” I shake my head. “Is this supposed to be some sort of clue?”

  “Must be.” Darren rubs his bare chin. “Didn’t get one of those the last time, but then we didn’t have a player who maxed out intuition either.”

  Another yawn stretches my mouth wide. “Can we get some coffee or something while we try and figure this all out?”

  “Sounds like a plan, man.” Eric gestures for me to lead the way.

  “Is the buffet the only place to get a cup of joe?” I ask.

  “They got a coffee shop on the second floor just around the corner.” The largest member of our party takes the lead, traipsing for the stairs while the rest of us amble after him.

  Bonnggggg… Bonngggg…

  The second alarm, tolling in the distance, leads to profound silence. I hear the whispered breaths of the four men accompanying me. Shock turns into comprehension. Darren unsheathes the tinfoil sword from its cardboard scabbard. Stretching out long legs, he takes the stairs three at a time, loping downward.

  The mousy-haired professional pauses long enough to shout over his shoulder, “Two gongs… attack at the front door!”

  The fanning stairway broadens. Ten-foot oak doors loom before us, barring the entrance. Huffing, our band of out-of-shape, would-be heroes, heaves a collective sigh of relief; the entryway is secure.

  I scan the foyer for possible enemies. The immense room contains a reception table and the robed game master who will record our progress. “Not even enough time to get to know each other and blasted bells go off!” George grouses, his eyes darting daggers at the game master.

  I grind my teeth as my hand snakes out to twitch his shirt. “You’re coming out of character in game time. Do you want to lose points for something like that?”

  George’s lips twist into a disdainful sneer.

  “Awesome, dude, we beat the invaders.” Chad’s warm smile encourages me to shrug off George’s attitude. “Should we wait or, like, go out to meet them?” Comprehension dawns: those blond streaks Chad sports are from hanging out at the beach with a longboard.

  We ease past the table with Chad, Darren, and Eric to one side and George on the other. I bring up the rear, hanging back. Cursing under my breath, I whisper, “Who made up these stupid rules? What good is being a mage if you can’t use battle spells?”

  A metallic squeal pierces the stillness as the front doors ease open. Bronze hockey masks hide the enemies’ identities, but their brown garments mark our foes as gremlins. They slide single file through the cracked entryway before splitting into two groups. The invaders charge our motley group of stunned heroes, shrieking like deranged cats.

  Eric shoves his way past Chad, knocking the bleached blond to his knees, as he slashes at the closest invader. Overeager to make his first score, Eric misses the intruder by a good six inches. While he struggles to recover from his vigorous swing, a gremlin scores a hit on his sword arm. Eric transfers the weapon in his left hand. The paladin swings ineffectively before diving for protection under the hearty oak desk in the center of the foyer. George joins him under the table after receiving a blow to his sword arm.

  Swarmed by a group of gremlins, Darren and Chad turn back to back. The duo manages to keep the enemy at bay, scoring some hits as they shield each other’s position.

  Jabbing at a pair of attackers with my staff, I focus on the gremlins determined to take my weapon. A solid slap pushes my elbow forward: a third attacker has ambushed me from behind. I drop my magician’s rod, knowing I cannot wield the staff one handed. Using the table as a prop, I kick like a mule, planting both feet in the chest of the invader, taking him down and out for the count. Six months at kick-boxing class are paying off…

  Seeing a mage without a staff, the other gremlins rush to score their first kill. I mount the table, taking flight like a startled gazelle. I pivot, kicking at the leader’s helmeted head. Knowing George and Eric are pinned under my position, I make my way around the table, striking out with a booted heel at each bronze mask. The drab antagonists take a step back.

  The game master scribbles furiously on his notepad while the gremlins huddle. Breaking apart with loud, fiendish gibbering, they dash up the stairs. I smile, long legs pounding the floor as I race after them with the other defenders in tow. If only Kyle could have seen that! I wish he had followed us here instead of going back for seconds at the breakfast buffet.

  Darren, uncharacteristically enthusiastic, interrupts my silent musing. “Now that was fun! I got two. What did you get?”

  “Two, maybe three. I think one might have been fatal—“

  Boonnnngg.

  The gong drowns out the rest of Chad’s recount.

  “One alarm!” Darren roars, “They’re attacking the dining hall!” Shrieks and peals of laughter echo as we dash into the entryway at the top of the fan-shaped stairway.

  Dashing into the Grand Buffet, I see my husband looking up from what is left of a breakfast that has lost its appeal. Eggs, sausage, toast, and chocolate milk—what could be finer? But not all mixed together! Karma’s a bitch. This is our anniversary. He should be with me, not binging at the buffet. A gremlin strikes out at the jumbled tray. A quick leap keeps the engineer from wearing the mess. Our crusading quintet dressed in white tops decorated with distinctive blue sashes races across the dining room. Kyle follows at a jog, anxious to see me in action.

  Making two quick turns, following the screams and shouts, we enter the left wing of the domestic quarters. I lope down the hallway, head swiveling from side to side. We skid to a halt. This corridor is a dead end with no gremlins in sight.

  “Crap!” I pace like a caged animal. “We’ve taken a wrong turn! Let’s backtrack. If they are still here, then they can’t be far.”

  Bong. Bong. Bong.

  “That’s the end of round one.” My brows draw down at being thwarted in my revenge. “Rebecca, wasn’t it?” I nod, trying to shake off my irritation. Darren smiles at my newbie enthusiasm. “They usually don’t expect you to kill them all. It’s time to see how we scored.” We do an about-face, making our way back to the foyer at a more sedate pace.

  “You’ve been here before?” Eric’s inquiry draws the attention of the entire group.

  “Yeah, I’m a real veteran,” Darren grunts.

  “How long do they give us to heal our party?” The needs of the patients are never far from Chad’s thoughts, even in a game of fantasy. “We could use the time to work out a game plan for the next round.”

  “They claim each campaign will be original.” The pudgy architect shrugs.

  “I bet the king is pissed. We made a real mess of breakfast. What will that take off our score?” George begins to mentally tally up the scores as he and Eric discuss their wounds and possible hits.

  I glance over my shoulder at Kyle. Sharing a smile with my husband, I try to portray a little of the optimism that comes so naturally to him. “I got one; wounded a couple of others. That should help make up for the points I lost for the injury to my arm.”

  “Well, I got at least that many.” George harrumphs, reaching for the scorecard lying on the reception table. Reading the results of the first round of live-action gaming pinned to the bulletin board, the number cruncher is fractionally disgruntled. “Seventy-two out of one hundred points? That friggin’ game master has his head screwed on backwards!”

  “With three out of five of us injured? We’re lucky they only docked us fifteen points for each hit.” A wide slash of white stretches across Eric’s ebony face. “Good thing two of our characters claim to be ambidextrous.”

  Glancing up, seeing Kyle striding my way, I hiss with frustration, “If they had let me use some of my spells, any o
f them, I would have had them contained in the foyer! Those Gremlins would’ve been no match for a force field or even a wide-ranged stun spell.”

  A thundering clamor fills the air around us. Startled, I lock eyes with the man whose ring graces my left hand. Hair on the back of my neck prickles. Goose bumps surge across my body as a white flash consumes the world around me.

  Chapter One

  Color seeps back into my vision. Inky blotches fade from the world around me. Amid the cloudy haze in my mind, a slow but startling realization of my surroundings penetrates my thoughts.

  Have my eyes recovered from the lightning strike? The room is darker. The tingling that set every hair on end hasn’t entirely left my body. My nerves are on a caffeine high: awake, alive, and sensitive beyond belief. Bewildered, I glance at the long pole grasped firmly in my right hand.

  A staff? I left mine leaning on the table…

  My eyes flutter and my brain bogs down like a sports car in a mud pit. Through the fog in my brain, I take in the walls around me. A real torch? The thing gives off more smoke than light.

  Faint, predawn beams slanting from narrow windows are the only other source of illumination. We are in a round chamber formed out of dark rock, not the granite wallpaper covering the hotel walls. What part of the Renaissance Resort is this… the dungeon?

  Baffled, I turn to the man standing next to me. “Eric? Your clothes… ?” My mouth hangs slack as my brain catches up. A deep knowing settles into my soul, warring with logic and reason. That can’t be Eric… Yet something inside me insists that it is. This is nuts!