The Lords of Valdeon

by C. R. Richards

  The Lords of Valdeon

  Heart of the Warrior - Book One

  By

  C. R. Richards

  Copyright © 2015 C.R. Richards

  All rights reserved.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this ebook with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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  Dedication

  For my group of loyal supporters. Thank you for your encouragement. Your gentle pressure has prodded me into finishing this story as it was meant to be told. The wait is finally over!

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  People, Places, Things

  About The Author

  Other Books by C.R. Richards

  Prologue

  Blood and bone. Mikel D'Antoiné's fields were buried in the remains of the dead. He shifted his bare feet, trying to find firm footing upon the blood-soaked ground. Pain radiated from the many gaping wounds that made tracks along his bare torso. Dark, sweat-drenched strands fell across his swollen eyes. A hand made steady with grim resolve wiped them away.

  Eight Valdeonian men stood with him in the remains of their smoldering village. Farmers all, they were the last of those able and willing to stand in defense of their people. Desperation kills fear. Anger breeds courage.

  A lone shack protecting what was left of their women and children stood behind them. Screams of the helpless shook the thin walls. Mikel's wife and son were among the first to perish. Their bodies remained in a pile at the center of the battlefield with the other dead, befouled and dishonored by men from distant shores. Returning from his labors among the crops, he and the other men of the village had been too late to save them. Flesh eaters had already claimed most of their people before the farmers had pushed them back. Those innocents left trembling behind thin walls would not be taken with this new surge of violence. Mikel would see his life drain away first.

  In the distance, the murderers from foreign shores waded through the dead. They were rough men, unkempt and savage. Mercenaries. Their armor was thick and their swords strong. Covered in the blood of the innocent, they kicked away the bodies of women and children. Cold hatred filled Mikel's heart as his eyes took in their leering faces. A hundred strong, they had no fear of the nine men who stood against them.

  Thunder crashed in the depths of the sky as a great light burned through the din. Mikel shielded his eyes against its searing beam. He staggered helplessly as the ground threatened to break apart beneath his feet. Panic and cries to an unknown god rose behind him from the shack. The men standing with him made no protest. They were all ready to die, whether it be by the hand of an army or the land that kept them.

  Then the great light faded, leaving a band of pale warriors standing at the edge of the battlefield. Dressed in brilliant white, their pale skin and hair glistened in the light of their power. Cold faces remained indifferent, betrayed only by the burning blue of their eyes. Each hard glare was fixed upon the murderous invaders. Cautious hope rose within Mikel's heart. The mercenaries knew these pale warriors, and they were afraid. Whimpered cries bubbled from flesh-stained lips. A few mutterings for mercy drifted across the muddy fields. Still, the pale warriors showed no emotion and no inclinations for mercy.

  "Protect the Innocent. Punish the Guilty." A voice — neither male nor female — resonated from the very Erthe and sky.

  Brandishing twin swords, the strange men and women moved as one. Perfect features remained emotionless as they penetrated the mercenary battle lines. Mikel stood frozen with the rest, watching as their unstoppable blades carved a deadly gap between the killers and the villagers.

  His attention was not captured entirely. A large ball of brilliant energy floated beyond the swinging swords and pale heads. Was it the same power commanding the pale warriors? Or was this another unknown threat? Leaving the warriors to their battle, he followed.

  Chaos. Avarice. They radiated from a cluster of trees well behind the bloodshed. Mikel spotted something moving beneath the branches. Bulbous head atop a shriveled body, the creature gnashed its long teeth in warning at the ball of energy. It hissed like a feral cat and turned to flee. A bolt of power struck the ground before the creature's feet, halting its escape. The hideous thing hissed again with bared teeth.

  "Did you think I wouldn't know you've broken our treaty, Sarcion?"

  It was the same voice he'd heard commanding the pale warriors. Curious, Mikel kneeled down behind undistinguishable charred rubble. The stink of death was greatest here, though he could see no blood. Taking great care to remain hidden, he listened and watched. These strange creatures were clearly enemies. They'd chosen his village as a battlefield, and he wanted to know why.

  The energy ball began to pulse. Light formed arms, legs, and a small torso. No distinguishable features appeared on its glowing head. Though it was a short being — roughly the size of a small child — Mikel strained against the power hidden within its body. He examined the two beings locked in their own battle of wills. They seemed to be made from the same ilk, though one was beautiful and the other ugly.

  "You intrude, Jalora. Andara is neutral territory, ripe and ready for the plucking!" The Sarcion's teeth snapped in warning. "I have won this land. It is mine."

  Moving with the tremendous speed its ethereal body allowed, the Jalora grabbed its twin by the throat and squeezed. The creature's form was thoroughly revealed in the light of the Jalora's glow. Encrusted with scabbed sores and dried blood, its sickly green skin peeled under the light. Flaccid lids drooped over large dark orbs. Hatred swirled in their depths. Mikel hadn't considered the notion of good or evil. Tending crops and raising a family consumed his time. If evil did exist, surely the Sarcion was its host. Growling, the disgusting evil squirmed in the Jalora's grasp.

  "We divided this world evenly, agreeing undeveloped lands such as these would remain untouched. They are inhabited by simple farmers, not warriors." The Jalora released its evil twin. "I claim this
land for my own. Andara is under my protection now. Leave and never return or there will be war between us, my sibling. Never forget how much I would welcome such a challenge."

  "Do your followers know of the blood lust in your burning heart?" The Sarcion asked, spitting venomous drool to the ground .

  Moving its clawed fingers within the space between them, the Sarcion formed a malicious sneer upon its malformed face. Their competition for Andara wasn't over. Mikel had seen the same stubborn look in the eyes of a wild boar roaming outside the village. The beast wouldn't retreat from their dogs. It had greedily charged into their fields for an easy meal rather than going elsewhere. Mikel and his friends had killed the boar, but it hadn't been easy. Ridding Valdeon of the Sarcion wouldn't be easy either.

  "Andara is rightly mine. I will have it. Your puppets may have destroyed my warriors, but there are always those hungry for power. We will meet again, Jalora. You will have the war you crave."

  The Sarcion bounded into the trees, leaving putrid fumes in its wake. An explosion of green and black filled the forest with a thick haze. Stepping into its foggy belly, the hideous thing of evil disappeared. The Jalora waved its hand. Haze made way for sunlight and a steady breeze, but the damage had been done. Leaves wilted upon dying branches. Undergrowth withered and died within a moment's haggard breath. Mikel clutched at the ashes of his village. How would he stand against such a creature when it returned?

  Mikel stood away from the rubble, keeping his eyes upon the Jalora's back. This being of light and energy could easily destroy him. Common sense told him to strike while the being was distracted. Instinct told him to stay his hand. These warriors and their god-like master cared nothing for the people of his village. He must act on their behalf. There was no one else. Trusting his instinct, Mikel stood at his full height and waited as the Jalora turned slowly toward him.

  "What manner of being are you? Why have you come among us?"

  "The world is bigger than the borders of your farm, Mikel D'Antoiné. Valdeon is one of many nations upon this continent. I intend to protect all of Andara from evil creatures such as these. Will you and your men follow me? Will you be servants of the light?"

  Others had joined them along the tree line. Mikel's brother, Malcolm, and their faithful men formed a half circle at his back. The deep cut down his younger brother's left cheek would be a constant reminder to be wary of strangers. They held their weapons at the ready. Their eyes too had seen enough violence and death this day. Trust would not be easily given.

  White light glistened about them, finally stopping to circle the Jalora. The pale warriors held their weapons at elegant angles, ready to strike Mikel down if he made a move toward their master. Not one drop of blood or muck stained their uniforms. One hundred men cut down in less time than it took to walk his fields. He felt no pity for them.

  "These angels you have brought with you have great power. Will you give these powers to us as well?"

  "You asked what I was, child. I was born when the old world ended. Its destruction came without warning, striking from the heavens. The cataclysmic attack tilted the world on its side. Human life disappeared from the planet's surface. Everything civilization had created was gone in a matter of moments. Concrete and steel gave way to forest. Technology faded with the civilization, which once worshiped its flickering idols." The Jalora paused for a moment as it relived the memories. "I was created from the energy of emotions bonded to the land. Love. Hatred. Their intensity could not be erased. Not entirely. I am all that remains of the light from those long dead."

  "And the other being? The ugly creature? What of it?"

  "There cannot be light without darkness. My twin embodies all things evil."

  Extending its hand, the Jalora showed him a large, oval crystal resting within its palm. Tiny tentacles protruding from the crystal's surface wiggled in anticipation as they stretched out toward Mikel. Swirling its finger around the oval, the Jalora formed a silver band. The tentacles stopped moving as the crystal darkened in sleep. Then the head of a great beast rose to the surface, floating on a sea of black stone.

  "Behold. This Heart of the Warrior Ring will mark you as my servant. I give this Lion Ring to you, Mikel, as a symbol of our covenant. Known as 'The King of Beasts,' it will mark you as my voice on Andara." The Jalora tilted its bulbous head. "I see fond memories of a child's trip to the zoo. Yes. I had liked these strange and wonderful animals. Perhaps I will bring them back to Andara?"

  "You speak of things I don't understand. Tell me. If I wear this ring of yours, will you swear to protect my people?" Mikel asked, bringing the strange conversation back to firm reality.

  "My wisdom will always be available to you and your descendents. I promise to protect Andara from evil as long as you and your heirs bear the Lion Ring. Know this. I decide who shall be worthy among your line to bear this symbol of our covenant. Guard it well, for if this ring falls into the hands of evil, more than Valdeon will suffer. Lose or dishonor the Lion Ring and my power will fade from the land along with my protection."

  Mikel clenched his left fist as he stared down upon the lion's head within the stone. He was willing to sacrifice his life for those innocent souls shivering behind the thin walls of the shack. This being was asking for much more. It was asking for the future of his family line. His eyes drifted to the dying leaves the Sarcion had left behind. So be it. His heirs would serve like their sire before them.

  "I will wear this ring of yours and serve you for the sake of my people."

  "And those faithful to you? Will they also serve me?"

  Malcolm stepped toward Mikel, resting a hand upon his shoulder. "I will stand with you, my brother. You will not bear this oath alone."

  The others joined the two D'Antoiné brothers, their eyes staring unabashedly at the Jalora. Each of them nodded their acceptance. They were all brave men, pulled together by desperate need.

  "Very well. I name you the Sacred Guard. Great power will be yours. Fulfill your eternal duty to protect our covenant."

  Warm energy ran along Mikel's skin as the Jalora brought the Lion Ring closer. The middle finger of his left hand grew hot, aching to touch the ring's silver band. Need, urgent and insistent, grew within his heart. The pull of the ring was strong. Would he lose himself and all he had been if he put this band upon his finger? Mikel's heart grew grim. No. He had nothing left to lose. Duty to his people was the only spark of meaning he had left.

  "Never let this ring fall into the hands of evil, my Lion. It is the key to summoning my power. If evil should take this ring, your borrowed magic could be turned against the very people it was meant to serve."

  "You have my promise. This ring will not leave the Lion's hand while breath still flows from our bodies."

  Mikel kneeled down and stretched out his left hand. The Jalora thrust the ring onto his middle finger. Hungry feelers bit into his flesh. He swallowed a scream as tiny teeth burrowed and chewed. Searching for a stronghold, the feelers at last struck bone. Tiny tentacles latched tightly into the marrow. Other tentacles opened, sucking Mikel's blood into its stony belly. Its mortal host threw back his head, unleashing a mighty roar.

  "Mikel! Your eyes burn with fire. Amber flecks form within the brown."

  Malcolm clutched at Mikel's hand as he fell to the ground. Heat burned within his body as the Jalora's power filled him. Pain overwhelmed his senses threatening to send him into unconsciousness. Words came to him as from a great distance. Still, his brother held firm to his hand.

  "You are the Lion's Right-Hand, second only to him." The Jalora's voice echoed in the mist. "Mark those amber eyes well, Malcolm D'Antoiné. They are unique to the Lion. This is the mark I give the rightful heir of the king. Guard your Lion well. The lives of a great many depend upon him."

  Chapter One

  Obsession was a demon, driving men with the whip of blind ambition. Julian D'Antoiné felt the sting of its whip as his ship fought against the perpetual downpour. A great hound's muzzle — e
ncased forever in bronze — snapped at the frigid air from under the bowsprit. Its distorted reflection upon the water was a herald, an ill omen of death.

  The forgotten land ahead, as if in retaliation for the impending violence, threw all its ill will against them. Brutal wind sent daggers of rain pounding into the solar sails of the air schooner. Rough currents pushed against the ship's descending hull, but the vessel held its steady course toward shore. Julian ignored the wet striking his face. All his focus and will remained fixed upon the prey trapped somewhere within the thick coastal bog. The object of obsession was, at long last, cornered in the most desolate part of Andara.

  He smoothed at the ring gripping his finger. It shivered with anticipation. Mentor and friend, the Sarcion had shown him many things. His greatest ally had once belonged to a nation of great people whose magic had been called "technology." Much of what it told him brought only confusion, but its promise of power he understood well. Bitter rivalry between the Sarcion and its eternal enemy, the Jalora, fueled an infinite match. Julian and his fellow mortals were but pawns in their endless game. He accepted the diminutive role and was being richly rewarded for his part.

  "My lord prince." Captain Nunez's scarred face leaned in close, his voice fighting against the winds. "We've received the signal from shore. They've found it."

  A single lantern light flashed from the thick trees crowding the rocky shore. Its message came in steady pulses. The hand holding the lantern was insistent, urgent and hungry. Julian's grip upon these new soldiers was a tentative hold at best. Obedience in exchange for the promise of freshly slaughtered human flesh. The creature would obey his commands until the driving hunger overpowered its will. The scent of blood drove them into frenzy, but their need mustn't be satiated yet. His own need was greater.

  "Get me to shore, Captain," Julian commanded, boarding the hovering dinghy. "We don't have much time."

  Leaning hard upon the throttle, Julian sent the craft bolting forward. Crystal engines blossomed brilliant white. Vessel and rope ripped out of the hands of his human crew. Flying recklessly toward shore, the craft bounced precariously above the waves. Not far now. He sailed faster as his own demons gave chase. Julian reversed the engines when the hull drew near rock. They whined in angry fits of metal. He leapt out of the dinghy and onto the rocky beach. Discarded, the small boat drifted slowly toward the tree line.