Storm Raiders: Age Of Magic - A Kurtherian Gambit Series (Storms Of Magic Book 1)
Page 1
CONTENTS
Dedication
Legal
Map
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
Epilogue
Author Notes - PT Hylton
Author Notes - Michael Anderle
Social Links
Series List
DEDICATION
From PT
To Kim
From Michael
To Family, Friends and
Those Who Love
To Read.
May We All Enjoy Grace
To Live The Life We Are
Called.
Storm Raiders Team
Beta Editor / Readers
Jonathan Benecke
Andy Piper
Kim Hylton
JIT Beta Readers
Kimberly Boyer
Kelly ODonnell
Keith Verret
Erika Daily
Alex Wilson
John Findlay
Ginger Sparkman
Erika Daly
James Caplan
Paul Westman
Mike Pendergrass
Melissa OHanlon
John Raisor
Joshua Ahles
Thomas Ogden
Mickey Cocker
If I missed anyone, please let me know!
Editors
Candy Crum
STORM RAIDERS (this book) is a work of fiction.
All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Sometimes both.
This book Copyright © 2017 PT Hylton, Michael T. Anderle, CM Raymond, LE Barbant
Cover Design Cover Design by Damonza https://damonza.com/
Cover copyright © LMBPN Publishing
LMBPN Publishing supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture.
The distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact info@kurtherianbooks.com. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.
LMBPN Publishing
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Las Vegas, NV 89109
First US edition, June 2017
The Kurtherian Gambit (and what happens within / characters / situations / worlds) are copyright © 2017 by Michael T. Anderle.
Prologue
The future is not what we expected.
After our greatest heroes left Earth to carry their justice to the stars, war broke out between those who remained behind. Eventually, the alien technology that once enhanced a select few began to change, infecting the blood of all humans, bringing about an Age of Madness.
But that mutation allowed the survivors to access powers beyond their imaginations...
As society began to rebuild, those who could tame the powers within started calling it by another name.
Magic.
Years passed, and the true history of our world turned to legend. Strange societies formed, each with their own myths and methods to control the power.
But new abilities has led to new evil...and the need for new heroes.
Welcome to the Age of Magic.
CHAPTER ONE
Abbey rarely went looking for a fight, but fights often came looking for her.
Her father’s blacksmith shop was quiet that morning. She worked the bellows, stoking the fire hot enough to soften the iron so he could hammer it into shape. They silently performed their tasks, with the efficiency of a team that had been working together for many years. Abbey could instinctively tell what her father needed of her, and she did it before he even had a chance to ask.
The bell in the front of the shop chimed as the door opened. Abbey and her father exchanged an annoyed glance—being interrupted at the forge was a pet peeve for both of them, even if it was a paying customer. He took off his gloves and apron, setting them carefully on the workbench, then he sauntered to the front of the shop. Abbey stayed at the bellows so she could tend to the fire, but she had a good angle to see and hear what was going on up front. Her nose wrinkled in annoyance when she saw who it was: Lawrence and his son Olaf.
Lawrence put his hands on the counter and leaned forward, glaring at Abbey’s father. “Morning, Benjamin. I assume it’s ready?”
Benjamin grabbed a long object wrapped in oilcloth and set it down in front of Lawrence. “Indeed, it is. Made to your exact specifications.”
Lawrence unrolled the cloth, his long, knobby fingers working with surprising deftness. Olaf excitedly peered over his father’s shoulder. Soon, the iron sword inside the cloth was exposed. It gleamed in the light as Lawrence picked it up and inspected it. He let out a displeased grumble.
Abbey shook her head. She’d checked the sword herself the night before, and she knew it was perfect. It was well balanced, beautifully decorated with the symbols Lawrence had requested, and sharp enough that a man could shave with it. Granted, it wasn’t quite the equal of her father’s sword, which hung behind the counter, but few swords were.
But this was the city of Holdgate. Grumbling about the product was an expected part of the negotiation process. As was what came next.
“I suppose it will do.” Lawrence’s voice dripped with reluctance as if he was granting Benjamin a favor in accepting this subpar weapon. He reached for the coin purse at his belt. “Twenty iron, then?”
Now Benjamin grimaced. He hated these games, Abbey knew, but after sixteen years in Holdgate, he’d learned to accept them as necessary to doing business here. “Lawrence, you know the agreed upon price was forty.”
“Was it?” He made a show of inspecting the weapon again. “Perhaps for a well-made blade. But this…” His voice trailed off. He clearly couldn’t think of any specific complaint.
Abbey wondered what would happen next. Often the customer would demand negotiation by combat at this stage, but a single glance at the two men on either side of the counter revealed that would not be a smart move on Lawrence’s part. Thick muscles stood out on her father’s arms, and his experience with swords went far beyond making them.
Lawrence, on the other hand, looked like he’d have trouble battling a stiff wind. Like most men in Holdgate, he was a few inches taller than Benjamin, but he didn’t have the usual stocky build of most Holdgatesmen. Abbey knew Benjamin would break Lawrence in half if it came to
combat.
Lawrence didn’t take his eyes off the blade when he spoke again. “The sword is a gift to Olaf for his eighteenth birthday. I’ll tell you what. He’ll fight you for the blade. If you win, we’ll pay the ridiculous fee you quoted. But if he wins, twenty is the price.”
From where Abbey stood, she could see Olaf grinning dumbly at Benjamin. Unlike his father, Olaf was sturdy Holdgate stock. He was a few inches taller than Lawrence and nearly as well-muscled as Benjamin. He’d have no shortage of offers of employment on the stormships in the coming months, Abbey knew.
Benjamin looked the kid over. “I don’t think so.”
Lawrence cackled in surprise. “I never thought I’d see the day Benjamin of Arcadia was afraid to face a Holdgate whelp. Getting old, are you?”
Abbey gripped the bellows to keep herself from marching over there and teaching Lawrence some manners.
The hint of a smile played on Benjamin’s lips. “Perhaps I am. Young Olaf deserves a real challenge. He doesn’t want to fight an old man like me.”
Lawrence set the sword down on the oilcloth. “Excellent. We’ll be taking it for twenty iron, then.”
“Sure. But you’ll have to earn it at that price. You can have it for twenty if Olaf can defeat my daughter.”
Now, it was Abbey’s turn to smile.
****
Abbey marched to the front of the shop, a dull-edged practice sword in each hand.
Olaf scoffed when he saw them. “Practice swords? Is the girl afraid to face me in real combat?”
“The girl is not,” Abbey said.
Benjamin held up a hand. “I won’t have bloodshed in here. It’s practice swords or full price.”
Olaf looked questioningly at his father.
Lawrence shook his head, as if disgusted. “Do as they ask, son. They’re southerners. They don’t understand our ways.”
Abbey ignored the comment. Even though she’d lived in Holdgate since she was three years old, she heard similar statements all the time. Her father had come from the city of Arcadia and set up shop here after his wife’s death, a young Abbey in tow. The topic of why Benjamin would have left the wealthy city of Arcadia and chosen a life in the harsh climate of the Kaldfell peninsula was fiercely debated in town. Benjamin wasn’t forthcoming with answers, even with Abbey. All he ever told her was that it was too painful to stay in Arcadia after Abbey’s mother died. He’d needed a change.
So, Abbey had grown up here in Holdgate, an outsider from the time she was three. She’d spent most of her life in this blacksmith shop, playing with swords like other kids might play with blocks. Her father had schooled her himself, drilling her on reading and mathematics as they worked the iron together. Holdgate’s educational system seemed to be focused on throwing axes and navigating by the stars, and Benjamin said he wanted a daughter who could read.
Now, she was nineteen. Many of the girls her age were married, but Abbey still worked in her father’s shop. She still loved making weapons as much as she had when she was a child. Perhaps she’d open her own shop someday. Until then, she was content to be near the weapons she loved.
Abbey held out both swords to Olaf, offering him his pick. He looked at them for a few moments like they were a particularly challenging riddle before finally grabbing one.
Though she hadn’t spent a lot of time with other children, she’d seen Olaf around enough to know he was a bully. He was big, even by Holdgate standards. While his beard still had a wispy, boyish look, the rest of him was fully developed. His arms were as big around as Abbey’s legs.
Abbey stood six inches shorter. Her slight frame hid her lean but strong muscles. Her black hair was pulled back with a ribbon as it always was when she worked in the shop.
She took ten paces back and turned to face Olaf. She raised her sword and held it at the ready.
“You’ll fight until we signal it’s over,” Benjamin said.
“Yes,” Lawrence agreed. “Keep going until Benjamin signals his surrender, Olaf.”
Olaf held up his sword and smiled at her. “I’m going to enjoy tussling with you. Maybe we can do a bit more of it later. When our fathers aren’t around. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
Abbey wanted to laugh at the way he held his sword. He gripped it tightly in his ham-like fist as if it were a snake trying to wiggle free. There was no finesse in his stance, either. Clearly, he was used to winning battles with sheer strength. “Somehow, I think I’m going to be the only one who enjoys this. Call the start, Father?”
Benjamin crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall behind him. He wore the easy expression of a man preparing to watch something amusing. “Begin.”
The instant the word left Benjamin’s lips, Olaf charged.
He held his sword two-handed, raised over his head. It might as well have been a club.
Abbey’s instinct was to rush to meet him, but she remembered her father’s most frequent instruction: Patience. It was something he reminded her of nearly every day in her sword practice.
She’d been sparring against her father for more than a decade, so she was no stranger to facing bigger and stronger opponents. She’d learned to use her smaller size as an advantage. Your opponents will underestimate you, her father had often reminded her. Don’t let them see what you can really do until it’s too late for them to stop you.
So, she waited with sword raised as Olaf charged. Then, when he was almost to her, she made her move. She thrust her practice sword forward, driving it into Olaf’s stomach. The air rushed out of him in an audible oof. She then spun out of the way as his momentum sent him careening past. The young man stumbled to a stop, dangerously close to the forge and put his hands on his knees as he tried to regain his breath.
Abbey could have gone after him and finished it then and there, but she was having too much fun. “Are you enjoying tussling with me?” she asked sweetly.
Benjamin laughed.
Lawrence threw his hands up in the air. “What’s wrong with you, boy? Get after her!”
Olaf slowly rose to a standing position. There was fury in his eyes now. “Gladly, Father.” He moved toward Abbey again, more slowly this time, his sword held in front of him.
Abbey jabbed her sword forward, testing his defenses, but he batted it away. It looked like he was done underestimating her. He fired back with a surprisingly quick thrust. Abbey parried, but the deflected sword still managed to whack her upper arm.
Shit! If these had been real swords, she’d have blood pouring out of her arm right now. As it was, she’d have a nice bruise on that spot tomorrow.
Enough messing around. It was time to end this.
Abbey swung her sword in a wildly obvious attack. When Olaf took the bait and raised his sword to block, she pulled back, and thrust her sword under his defenses, again jabbing him in the stomach. He managed to keep his feet, but she had him off balance. All she had to do was keep attacking.
The time for finesse was over. She let loose a barrage of blows, hitting him in the arms, the chest, the stomach. He managed to block some of them, but he was desperately off balance, so she easily knocked his blade aside again and again.
“Enough!” Lawrence called. “The price is forty. We’ll pay forty!”
Abbey immediately stopped her assault. She held out a hand to Olaf. “You all right?”
He looked at her hand like it was covered in shit. “Like I’d shake hands with a piece of Arcadian filth.” He threw down the practice sword and stormed out of the shop.
After Lawrence had paid and left with his sword, Abbey allowed herself to rub the spot on her arm where Olaf had struck her. “That went well.”
Benjamin stroked his short beard. “Not bad. Your defense was a bit sloppy. If you’d been fighting a skilled swordsman, you might have been in trouble.”
Abbey picked up the other practice sword off the floor. “Perhaps you’d care to test me?”
Benjamin laughed. “After what I just saw you do to Olaf? No than
ks. The boy is going to be sore for a month.” He picked up his apron off the workbench and put it on. “We’ve got a lot more work to do before the festival tonight. Let’s get to it.”
CHAPTER TWO
“This is a day you’ll long remember, boy.” The old man gripped the staff lodged into the notch in the fore section of the small boat.
Dustin muttered a semi-polite response that he hoped wouldn’t encourage any more conversation. In truth, looking at this man made him sad. Maybe the old guy had been a Master Storm Caller once, but those days were long past. Now, his eyes were dyed a permanent pale blue-green, and he barely seemed able to conjure enough wind to fill this pathetic craft’s tiny sail. Once, he’d conjured fog, and storms, and lightning to battle Barskall Warriors. Now, he was consigned to ferrying young apprentices out to Testing Rock.
Dustin looked away from the old man. He couldn’t afford to be distracted right now.
In a few short hours, he’d be a full-fledged Storm Caller. He’d trade in his skinny little apprentice’s staff for a thick, twisted staff carved from old wood. He’d earn his place on a stormship. If all went well, he’d soon be going into battle, defending the world from the Barskall. But first, he had to pass the test.
“Ah, there she is.” The old man pointed a crooked finger at a rock jutting from the sea a few hundred yards ahead. “Many men have been made on that rock. Many have been broken, too.”
“It’ll take more than a rock and a few waves to break me.” Dustin figured if the old man wasn’t going to shut up, he might as well talk to him. Maybe it would help quell his unexpected nerves. “The rock’s what? Half a mile from shore? I’ve been swimming farther than that since before I was ten.”
The old man shot him a stern look over his shoulder. “Underestimate the sea at your peril. She’s a fickle mistress.”
Dustin stifled a laugh. Despite the nerves, he was confident in his chances. He’d stand on the Testing Rock while a Storm Caller brought on choppy waves. All he had to do was calm the sea and swim to shore. If he made it back alive, he’d pass the test.