The Key of Creation: Book 01 - Rise of the Destroyer

by M. D. Bushnell

  Rise of the Destroyer

  The Key of Creation Series

  Book I

  By

  M. D. Bushnell & A. R. Voss

  Copyright © 2011 by Michael D. Bushnell and Ali Vossoughi

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof

  may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever

  without the express written permission of the publisher

  except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Printed in the United States of America

  First Printing, 2013

  ISBN -10: 1481816489

  ISBN-13: 978-1481816489

  This is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places and incidents are products of the authors’ imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Cover Art by Buffy Kaufman

  www.buffykaufmanart.com

  Visit Key of Creation and Rise of the Destroyer for more info. at:

  www.KeyOfCreation.com

  This book is dedicated to my lovely wife, Carrie, without whom I would not be me.

  A.R. Voss

  I dedicate this book to my mother Kathryn, to whom I owe everything I am. Her love and support have seen me through the worst of times; a debt I could never fully repay. I can’t say it enough…I love you mom!

  M.D. Bushnell

  Table of Contents

  Rise of the Destroyer

  Map

  Prologue

  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

  Glossary

  Acknowledgement

  Prologue

  The brilliant rays of the setting sun cast long, deepening shadows across the snow covered peaks of the Kalligros Mountains. Gloom nestled among the towers and spires of the sprawling city that lay at the foot of these sleeping stone behemoths. Cloaked in lengthening fingers of darkness, it was difficult to say where the great city of Kishen ended, and the protective mountain range began.

  Serving as the capital city of the country of Illyria, Kishen was the northern border of the known world. No one in living memory had ventured beyond the imposing snowcapped peaks to the north; they were impassable. The location and height of these monolithic northern guardians kept the tallest of them shrouded in eternal winter.

  To the south of Kishen lay a vast expanse of fields and tundra prairie. Tall blades of grass swayed to and fro in an undulating dance driven by the persistent cold wind that howled down from the surrounding peaks. A hint of spring was in the air, but this far north the iron grip of winter still clung tenaciously to the land.

  Late afternoon melted into evening as the expanding darkness slowly displaced the dying light of day. The plains leading up to the city were quiet, except for the whistle of the icy northern wind and the lonely cry of a birdcall.

  A sudden thundering of hooves on the long dusty stretch of road leading up to the city broke the peace of the early evening. A small group of riders, tack and armor jangling as they rode, slowed to a walk as they approached the massive front gates of the city.

  One man rode ahead of the group and handed a folded parchment to the head guard at the gate, while the others brought their tired mounts to a halt. The guard strained to read the orders in the failing light. Apparently satisfied, he handed the parchment back to the rider with a nod.

  “The Gathering is in the Great Hall,” the guard said, waving them on.

  The lead rider simply nodded and folded the parchment, tucking it back into an inner pocket. Grabbing his reins, he nudged his horse through the gate without a word, followed closely by his mounted companions.

  The guard trudged back to the small guardhouse with a mumbled curse, stamping his feet for warmth in the cold night air. He paused when he noticed a tall, lanky fellow leaping out of the path of the trotting horses. Recognizing the clumsy fellow as his friend Warren, he rushed over to help.

  “Have you gone mad? What in the All Father’s forsaken world are you doing?”

  With a sheepish grin, Warren accepted the helping hand. “Yes Dathan, you’ve told me before. But this time, it wasn’t my fault. Those horses came out of nowhere!”

  Warren stood and brushed futilely at the mud on his trousers, and shook his head. “Honestly! Not my fault!”

  Dathan pointed a finger at Warren and said in a mock scolding tone, “If you had been trampled by those bloody horses, it wouldn’t matter whose bloody fault it was, would it?”

  Warren’s face broke into a lop-sided grin. “I know, I should be more careful.”

  Dathan sighed and mumbled a curse. “What are you doing here anyway?”

  Warren dry brushed his hands together in a vain attempt to clean the mud. “I’m looking for Prince Garrick. He was due at the Great Hall for the Gathering, but he’s late as usual. With the untimely death of King Hermanus in Asturia and the upcoming Tournament of theirs, this Gathering is especially important. King Zabalan implored him to be prompt this once, but of course Garrick has disappeared and as usual I’m supposed to find him. This time I think there is going to be trouble.”

  “I can’t imagine Prince Garrick in any real trouble,” Dathan shook his head. “And I don’t think he’d bloody care if he was.”

  “I agree, but I still have to find him. Have you seen him?”

  Dathan shook his head. “Nothing but a bunch of bloody nobles has come through here.”

  The arrival of replacement guards for the shift change interrupted their conversation. Dathan spoke briefly with one, and then turned back to Warren. “Thank the All Father, I can finally go home. What are you gonna bloody do?”

  Warren sighed. “It seems my lot in life is to trail along behind Garrick. I’m not sure if he does it on purpose, but he seems to thoroughly enjoy tormenting me. I don’t know, perhaps I should check back at the Gathering.”

  “Good luck, my clumsy friend,” Dathan replied with a smirk.

  Warren waved goodbye and turned back up the main thoroughfare towards the Grand Hall, located in the Royal Quarter. There was one more place he could check on this side of town. Since it was on his way back, Warren decided to make a quick stop at the White Horse Inn.

  Warren pulled his cloak tighter against the cold. Small dust clouds swirled around his feet as the shadow of darkness slowly blanketed the mountain city. His stomach growled reminding him he had not eaten since breakfast. Hopefully, Warren thought, Garrick would already be at the Gathering. He could then enjoy some dinner and forget about this troublesome business.

  Partway down the road Warren heard the telltale sounds of another group of riders approaching the gate. Armor and weapons jangled in an unusual harmony with the neigh of tired horses. It seemed odd to him that nobles would still be arriving at this late hour, but with attendees arriving from as far away as Asturia, perhaps it was not so strange after all.

  A dull thud from the direction of the gate drew his attention, but in the pervasive gloom of the shadow of the mountain, he could no longer see that far. He paused to listen, but the ambient clamor
of the city disguised any further sound from that direction.

  Cursing the distraction as a waste of time, he reluctantly resumed his search for the wayward prince.

  Warren continued on through the deepening gloom. In the growing darkness, the buildings to either side of him floated by like lurking apparitions. The sporadic twinkle of oil lamps and torches were eyes leering at him from the dark. Despite his warm cloak, he shivered in the cold night air. Glancing about nervously, he quickened his pace.

  Approaching the White Horse Inn, Warren was inundated by a cacophony of sound and bright light emanating from the sordid establishment. Prince Garrick had been known to surreptitiously visit this place on occasion when he was in the mood for something a little ‘less than formal’, as the prince liked to put it.

  Prince Garrick was a tall, muscular man and the son of the king; these were qualities that made him a favorite with women. That said, the prince had few discernible duties or responsibilities, other than the occasional palace function or ceremony that required the presence of the royal family. With plenty of free time, he often caroused with one or more of the beautiful ladies of the city, when he wasn’t training with the sword. Sometimes his companion might be of the noble class and suitable for the only son of the king, but it was not unusual for Garrick to be found in the company of less reputable women. The prince would claim that love was blind to the boundaries of class, but Warren was not completely clear on his definition of love.

  Pausing in the middle of the road, Warren considered whether a search in the inn would be worth the time. The prince had not been here recently, but had visited on a few occasions in the past in order to take a break from the rigors of doing nothing all day.

  With a sigh, Warren decided to take the time and reluctantly started towards the clamor and lights of the bustling White Horse Inn.

  Warren was lost in thought when he suddenly heard the pounding of hooves galloping from the direction of the gate. With the lead horse nearly on top of him, he dove at the last moment, barely avoiding being trampled once more. Rolling awkwardly, he struggled to his feet and gaped as the last of the horsemen thundered past. His heart pounding, Warren saw only indistinct looming shadows of very large men in heavy, tenebrous armor. The looming figures were framed by the darker outlines of weapons: large swords, cudgels and axes were slung over shoulders and suspended from belts.

  “That was close,” Warren thought out loud. “This time was definitely not my fault. Those horses came out of nowhere!”

  A hasty search of the inn proved fruitless, much as he had predicted it would. Bracing himself against the cold night air, Warren shambled out of the boisterous tavern and back onto the dusty road. With his hands in his pockets and a dejected look on his face, he kicked a stray stone in the road while debating on his next course of action.

  He could not take the time to search every inn and tavern in the city. The Gathering would be over long before he was finished, and there was no guarantee of finding Prince Garrick in any case. He had already searched many of the normal haunts of the prince, without success. Getting your hands on the prince often felt like trying to grasp sand. The harder you squeezed, the more he simply slipped through your fingers.

  Without productive recourse, Warren decided to return to the Great Hall in the hope that Garrick had finally arrived. After all, the prince seemed to thoroughly enjoy doing what Warren least expected.

  “I certainly don’t expect him to be at the Great Hall, so that’s where he must be!” Warren said to the night air with a grin and an optimistic chuckle. As soon as the words left his mouth however, he knew it for a lie. His smile slowly faded.

  Warren finally arrived back at the Great Hall, expecting to find the din of nobles drinking and laughing, and the general clamor of frivolity. Instead, he was surprised to hear an unusual commotion.

  Moving closer, he could clearly hear men shouting, and the raucous sounds of an intense scuffle. Approaching the entrance, Warren saw the last of the dark hulking soldiers who had nearly run him down, entering through the large wooden doors.

  An icy northern wind gusted past and tugged at his cloak, before sweeping past him and into the Great Hall. The flames of torches set in ornate wall sconces flickered and sputtered in the determined gust. The result was madly dancing shadows that alternately cloaked and revealed the carnage taking place within.

  The once majestic Great Hall was in shambles. Wooden benches had been tipped over, mugs of ale had been spilled, and utter chaos reigned.

  The armored soldiers adeptly swung axe and sword at terrified nobles who ran about screaming and begging for their lives. The savage brutes paid no mind to the pleading of the nobles and military leaders as they methodically chopped and hacked apart those gathered in the hall.

  Two guards in city colors were near the door fighting desperately to protect the king. An enormous man in dark, blood-splattered armor hacked into the back of one with a cruel axe. The remaining guard was brutally beheaded shortly thereafter, putting a quick end to the hopeless fight.

  King Zabalan stood frozen in place as a fountain of blood splattered onto the front of his robes. His face was a mixture of fear and disgust. Before the king could move, two enemy soldiers in bloody, dented armor grabbed and restrained him.

  From his hiding place outside, Warren saw a dark figure appear out of the shadows and slowly approach the king. In the erratic, flickering torchlight the hunched man in robes of black appeared to levitate towards the king. Warren was startled to see what seemed to be a cloud of living shadow swirling around the dark-robed figure. Black as darkest night, the undulating shadow caressed and slithered about his body like a vaporous snake.

  Blinking and rubbing his eyes in disbelief, Warren watched as the hunched man—ensconced in his ebon cloak of shadow—came face to face with the blood-soaked and terrified king. He was not close enough to overhear what was said, but from the look on the face of the king, it was not a pleasant conversation.

  After a tense moment the man in black gestured at the king, and the viperous cloud of shadow began to stretch out towards its prey. The tendrils of darkness reached the king and wrapped around him, swirling faster and tighter around his body until he was completely enshrouded.

  Once his entire body was covered, the black cocoon slowed its revolving until it stopped and hovered like a lifeless black thundercloud. Gradually, fingers of living shadow began to pull away from the mass and floated back to coalesce and enshroud the robed man once more.

  In moments, all that remained where King Zabalan had stood was a dark wet stain on the cold stone floor. A heavy silence fell over the Great Hall as the last noble fell to the ground in a splash of blood.

  Warren felt sick from the sight of the carnage, and unconsciously stumbled forward. Without thinking, he reached out to grab one of the large wooden doors for support. With his weight on it, the door creaked inward, causing a rusty hinge to squeak loudly. At the sudden grating sound, the man of shadow and those close to the entrance whirled towards him.

  Warren stood alone in the doorway with his heart pounding in his chest. He was now the sole object of attention of a room full of murderers. Frozen for a moment in sheer terror, his gaze fell upon the face of the mysterious killer still mantled in his cloak of swirling black shadow.

  Illuminated only by the flickering light of the sputtering torches, the angry, but familiar face staring back at him was that of King Zabalan.

  Chapter 1

  Bird song filled the air and a mild breeze flitted through the forest, dancing brightly among the trees. The warming rays of the sun streamed down softly through the branches overhead. The trees lining the road were heavy with new buds, and the smell of spring was in the air. Life in the surrounding forest exalted in the warmth and promise of the new season.

  Aldrick inhaled deeply, enjoying the scent of the clean air. Winters here in Asturia were not nearly as severe as those in the northern kingdom of Illyria, but they were harsh enough that
spring was a welcome change. The road on which Aldrick and his family traveled was muddy from the spring thaw and the hooves of their horses occasionally squelched as they splashed along.

  Aldrick ducked under a low hanging branch and glanced over at his wife Jelénna, as she navigated her brown gelding around a large puddle. Jelénna, in her stout yet pretty woolen riding dress, rounded the irksome puddle and brought her horse parallel with his. She returned his smile when she caught his gaze.

  His heart swelled upon seeing that special smile she had always reserved just for him. That smile had been one of the reasons he had fallen in love with her. Aldrick was often amazed that after all this time, he still loved his wife just as much as the day he had married her, if not more.