The Pilgrim Stone

by J D Bowens

  Adventures in Amarant Vol I

  The Pilgrim Stone

  By J.D. Bowens

  Cover art by Jessica Dueck

  Copyright © 2019 J.D. Bowens.

  License Notes: 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 ebook and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it and purchase your own copy. The author is poor and really would appreciate your patronage. Payment may be accepted in the form of good deeds. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Books by J.D. Bowens

  Amarant Series

  Adventures in Amarant: Short Stories Collection Vol. I

  The Pilgrim Stone

  The Fires of War

  Through the Veil

  www.jdbowens.com

  For my brothers, Joseph, Justin, and Jeremiah without whom there would be no grand adventures

  Acknowledgements

  A successful author needs three things: persistence, a strong sense of self, and good friends who are willing to read, reread, and critique a manuscript several times until they are blue in the face. I am a fortunate man to have friends such as these.

  I must first thank my wife, who graciously put aside her own interests to review my outlines, chapters, and dialogue to further my own skill. An English teacher and writer herself, she provided some most valuable insight and encouragement that developed my style. Readers can thank her for this publication. Without my wife Sherry I doubt I would have ever invested the time in creating the world of Amarant.

  I also must thank Cassi and Ross, two long time friends who are both avid readers. Their expertise in the realm of fantasy in fiction helped to further my understanding of plot, pacing, continuity, and character development. They have helped me to make this book the best story it could be. Without them, I would never feel comfortable releasing this novel and the subsequent stories to the public. Their candor and sacrifice of time made me a more confident writer. Ross, I’m sorry I made you read this story twelve times.

  I must also thank Donna, who plunged into The Pilgrim Stone and made sure that my writing was not only consistent but provided valuable insight and reasoning for characters’ perspective and logic. Donna, I am sorry I made you read this story five times. Know that Ross had to read it twelve times.

  I would also like to thank Amanda, Mark, and Vania who reviewed my grammar, challenged the pacing of the story, and told me when my jokes were not funny.

  An author may write a book alone, but it is seldom published.

  Glossary

  A'muerla Thros

  "Walking trees" of the Valenforn

  Anidrack

  Citadel of mages located in the Southern Empire and home to the magical college of the same name

  Arcana magic

  Natural magic that exists throughout the continent of Amarant and is wielded by mages

  Arden

  The ancient god of life and light

  Brög

  A goblinoid race of warriors that dwell in the Darklands

  Divina magic

  Magic that can only come from the celestial realm of the gods. Magic is reserved only for the Children of the gods

  Duenmer College

  College for scholars in Grenloch

  Nemoth

  Ancient god of blood and shadows

  Northern Kingdom

  One of the human kingdoms composed of four dukedoms (Katistan, Cuthain, Grenloch, Maerstone) and ruled from the capital city, Denipoor.

  Quintetta

  A pantheon of gods commonly worshipped in the Northern Kingdom; considered false gods by the worshippers of Arden and Nemoth

  Southern Empire

  Another human realm governed by a unified empire overseen by the shaara.

  True Eye

  A rare gift among arcana mages; bestows supernatural magical gifts most mages do not possess

  Valenforn

  A forest realm of Amarant ruled by elves

  Veil

  The realm that exists between the mortal and the celestial realms believed to be the land of the dead

  Vol Vathura

  "Fall of the Gods" in Common and the day in which the Arden and Nemoth disappeared from the mortal realm

  Prologue: The Repository

  The lantern light painted nearby bookcases in a dim orange hue. Margaret Thagula, Dean of the School of Truth at the College of Anidrack, stood in the Repository before an iron door, the entrance to the Deep Vault. The translucent magical wards hung over it from floor to ceiling like several layers of brightly colored curtains. They sparkled in the lantern light like a rainbow: orange, red, gold and purple. Yet something was wrong.

  She brushed her blonde and grey locks behind her ear and opened her True Eye, a third eye in the center of her forehead. Her rare gift allowed her to see threads of magic invisible to most mages. It also let her see the essence of intent. Dark intentions were a shade of black and innocence, a shade of white.

  There it is, a crack in the wards. Someone is still trying to break into the Deep Vault. The crack was tiny, almost imperceptible. She had only discovered it two nights ago during her regular inspection of the wards. As one of the school’s deans, inspecting it was her responsibility. It was no surprise to her that the other deans had missed it. But who is responsible for this?

  The crack was made by a ward eating spell, a niche enchantment of arcana magic. Only someone well studied and gifted in enchantments would be able to cast such a spell. But at this rate, it would take months for the spell to eat through the wards. This person is begging to be caught.

  She looked around the Repository hoping to find a clue. At the far end of the enormous chamber walked the Keeper, a steel golem, patrolling the entrance. Bookcases bearing tomes of rare spells lined the walls. The smell of perfumed incense left a faint trail of smoke and a light flowery aroma that chased away the musty smell of time. The Repository was largely a museum of harmless antiques, but for some of the sentient objects, it was a prison.

  Margaret furrowed her brow in concentration. I should’ve seen this in my visions of the future unless someone is manipulating the threads of time. Her chest felt tight and constricted as she considered the implications. She took a breath and calmed herself.

  She expanded the vision of her True Eye. She had left a Tracer spell on the wards of the Deep Vault. With any luck, I will be able to follow this spell back to them. She spied the spell under the rainbow curtain of wards, a purple spider web wrapped around the crack. If the culprit has returned, there will be some sign of disturbance. Indeed, threads of the web were torn, and fingerprints of the same color glimmered on the walls and door like faded stars.

  She smiled; they had returned. The spell is too faint. I’ll never be able to see this on someone’s hands. It’s a good thing I sent for Altin. His True Eye’s vision is much stronger. He will solve this with little trouble. She touched the Tracer spell to enhance it.

  Margaret’s chest exploded in pain, and she struggled to breath. She collapsed to the ground as she clutched her chest. “Help - please.” Her voice was no more than a breathless whimper. The Keeper would never hear her. “My - heart.” She attempted to rise but only managed to prop herself on her arms. The stone was cold beneath her hands. Her body felt heavy, and everything seemed so far away. Her heart pounded like a war drum and her breath sporadic and shallow.

  A black shadow slipped from underneath the vault door. It was whisper thin and blacker than night. It swirled in the air her head, inches from her face. It twisted and
expanded until it was the vague shape of a dragon, wings spread and tail trailing beneath.

  What is this? It wasn’t another spell; she would have caught that. It was the essence of the spell.

  Margaret’s lungs and heart seized as she convulsed on the floor. She could not speak or scream, only whimper in pain. She tried to ignore the pain and focused on the spell and the shadow above her. What intention could be so evil that it’d appear as a dragon?

  Light flashed before her and stole her sight. Time stopped, and the pain fell away. Everything was still; her heart, her lungs, and even the shadow.

  A vision, now?

  When her sight returned, she was on the back of a great eagle soaring through the sky. Pink and orange rays of sun crested the horizon and parted the clouds around her. There was no pain here — no fear of death.

  Thunder rippled through the sky, and Margaret became aware of the countless great eagles that soared around her, dipping and rising in the sky. Their golden feathers shimmered in the gleaming sunlight as their cries echoed throughout. In the distance, was a boy riding a great eagle alone. He rose up higher and higher in the air following the sun and disappeared into the light with all the other eagles; only Margaret remained. The sun became the moon, and the sky became dark, dotted with distant constellations.

  A rush of wind and Margaret sensed something had fallen past her. She was filled with fright for a moment. Something was falling all around her. Is it the eagles? No, in the moonlight she could see that these were large reptilian monsters with talons the size of men. Dragons! Their hideous scales reflected by the moonlight as they fell motionless to the blackened earth below.

  She smiled. She recognized this vision. Her sight returned her to the Repository where she still lay on the floor, the shadow dragon hovering above. But she was fearless now. She knew that the dragon’s shadow belonged to the darkest evil, but her vision gave her assurance.

  This is fate. It’s all part of the threads of time. The last few verses of an old prophecy raced to her mind:

  From Amarant the gods departed

  But in the next age, they return.

  Nemoth’s children will wholehearted

  Bring new fire this world to burn.

  False gods, they shall crumble

  From their priests dragons will feed.

  Human souls, they will stumble

  When the Crimson Throne does bleed.

  But take heart on eagle wings

  As gryphons to the sky take flight.

  Hope in light that Arden brings

  And then courage find to fight.

  But never let the Pilgrim Stone

  Ever reach the Crimson Throne.

  Then the mortal realm is doomed

  And in darkness all consumed.

  Chapter 1

  Consus Edderick crashed through the thick forest foliage. Twigs and leaves crunched under his boots. Sunbeams illuminated his mad dash through the woods. His heart beat like a wardrum and competed with the sound of crushing brush beneath him.

  His older brother Kyran ran beside him, his bulky muscular frame destroying the shrubbery he ran through. Sweat and dirt covered his coffee colored skin, and though Consus knew he was scared, his were eyes fixed forward.

  “Are they still behind us?” Consus asked. His voice was a raspy bark.

  “I don’t want to stop and find out.”

  A thunderous battle cry erupted from the trees several paces behind him. Consus heard the menacing stomps of the barbarian horde that chased them. Don’t look, just keep running. Still, he dared to steal a glance over his shoulder.

  The large shadowy figures of the brögs charged after them like warhorses. Their horrific scarred gray hides were pale in the sunlight. Leaves and twigs were caught in their long black hair and the simple garb wrapped around their enormous muscles. Tusks jutted from the bottom of their jaw and horns on their foreheads.

  I shouldn’t have looked. Fear washed away the pain in his legs and pumped his body with adrenaline. He followed Kyran, ducking under trees, leaping through shrubs and running down a steep hill.

  “We’re almost there,” Kyran said. “There’s a stream up ahead and a tree that we passed by earlier. We can hide under the roots.”

  Consus said nothing, not wanting to waste his breath. He could hear water flowing just ahead of them. The trees parted and gave way to a wide stream walled by steep banks on either side. The scent of wet mud and decaying leaves filled his nostrils.

  Kyran pointed to a tree several paces away at the edge of the bank. It leaned away from the stream, half its roots standing in the air. The exposed dirt beneath it created an alcove in the stream slightly covered by low-hanging lateral roots. Kyran jumped into the stream, the water coming up mid-calf on his boots.

  Consus followed and cold water splashed onto his clothes. They waded over to the alcove and pressed themselves into the wall of the bank. He scrambled to arrange the tree’s roots and moss like a curtain to hide behind. He mimicked Kyran when he saw him rub the smelly mud on his clothes and skin, recalling what his brother had said earlier. Brögs can’t see as well as we do. They rely on sound and smell.

  He noticed that the forest had become silent. No birds chirped, no squirrels scampered through the branches, nothing. Soon there was the steady “thump thump” of the brögs as they approached the bank of the stream.

  He looked at Kyran. He was motionless and breathless. If he was not standing, Consus would think him dead. Bits of forest stuck out of his wooly black hair, and red mud covered the dark brown skin of his face. Consus assumed he looked just as bizarre.

  Outside, he heard the brögs splash about water as they too jumped into the stream. It was hard to understand what they were saying in their language, but it was clear that they had lost the brothers’ trail. Consus let a small sigh of relief escape him.

  There was a loud splash as one of the brögs leapt through the water. He came to a stop just outside the alcove. He sniffed and snorted the air and the walls of the bank. He took a slow step forward, and then another step forward.

  Consus stopped breathing; he did not even blink. He prayed he was not sweating lest his natural odor break through the musky barrier of moss and roots. The brög was only a pace away now, his black beady eyes staring directly at him. His crude iron war axe scraped the wall of the riverbank and left a scar in the mud. His rancid breath climbed up Consus nose as he huffed and snorted closer and closer.

  A stick snapped across the stream. The brög spun around and hurled his war axe through the air. It landed in the back of an elk drinking on the opposite side. The elk shrieked and moaned in pain before it turned and sprinted into the woods.

  The party of brögs laughed and jeered as the elk ran away with their comrade’s weapon. The nosey brög gave one final snort before it turned away and gave chase. The others yelled and cheered him on as they followed him, determined to cook their new escaping dinner.

  Kyran peered through the dangling moss and stepped out into the stream. “They’ve gone.”

  Consus breathed a sigh of relief and left the tree. “I thought you said there would only be two brögs. I counted at least four.” He looked at his reflection in the water and wiped the mud from his long nose and chin. He brushed the foliage from his hair and watched as it floated downstream.

  “There are more than expected,” he said. He tried to clean himself up but missed a patch of dirt on his square jaw. “But that just means more gold for us.” He tapped one of his twin blades that hung from his hips. “The more we kill, the more we earn. Besides, you can handle yourself in a sword fight.”

  Consus rolled his eyes. “I think your years as a soldier make you better equipped than I. As a scholar, I’ve only read about fighting.”

  Kyran clapped him on the shoulder and flashed him a confident half-grin. “Don’t discount what I’ve taught you in the past year. That’s insulting. I’m a damned good teacher, aren’t I?”

  “I suppose you’re ad
equate,” Consus said with feigned humility as he climbed up the banks. Kyran was a good teacher, and it was nice to hear his brother compliment his growth as a swordsman. His skill had developed quite well since he joined his three brothers a year ago. Still, mercenary work was not what he had imagined it to be.

  “If you’re so confident in my blade, then why did we run from them?”

  Kyran scanned the forest around the bank before turning and following the stream. “We were supposed to meet Altin and Ewan first and then take the monsters by surprise in their camp.”

  “I hope they’re alright.” Consus and his three brothers had been following the brögs’ trail for the past several days before it disappeared into the forest. They had rediscovered the tracks just this morning, splitting into two directions. The brothers chose to split into two groups to expedite their search: Consus and Kyran traveling in one direction; Ewan and Altin in the other.

  “I’m sure they’re fine. Ewan’s been tracking longer than you have and Altin’s a blazing mage.” Kyran shrugged his big shoulders. At twenty-two years old, he was the eldest Edderick sibling. He often acted like the six-year gap between him and Consus was much larger though. “Don’t fret. We’ll need to travel around the outskirts of the brög camp to avoid detection. If Ewan follows his trail, it should lead him to the camp as well. We’ll meet up with them before we attack.”

  Consus joined Kyran as he crouched to the ground. “Their camp is a mile in the other direction. It will take longer to sneak over. By then it’ll be night. Don’t worry about the dark. I’ve got something to deal with that. For now, we’ll take this route.” He drew a crude map in the dirt to indicate their position and desired direction.