by Tiger Hebert
Tiger Hebert
The Chronicles of Aurion
A Prequel to Dragon’s Fire
The Chronicles of Aurion
Copyright © 2016 by Tiger Hebert. All rights reserved.
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under the copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in, or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without prior written permission of the author.
This novella is a work of fiction. Names, descriptions, entities, and incidents included in the story are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, events, and entities is entirely coincidental.
Published by
Brightblade Press
Cover Art by
Caleb Havertape - www.havertapeart.jimdo.com
Cover Design by
Tiger Hebert
Published in the United States of America
ISBN-13: 9780997844405
1. Fiction / Fantasy / General
2. Fiction / Fantasy / Epic
3. Fiction / Fantasy / Christian
Acknowledgements
A special thanks to my wife for her infinite patience and belief in me. To my little ones, who always ask if daddy is still writing the dragon book. To my friends and family. To my trusted beta readers; Garrett Weaver, Jamie Downing, Marcus Ryder, and Lucinda Ryder. To my friend and fellow author, Robert Mullin, for all of his help along the way. And to God who makes all things possible. Thank you all.
And last but certainly not least, a big thank you to the many contributors that helped make this book a reality; Dad & Darlene, Wendy & Jermaine Butler, Lucinda Ryder, Ryan Bergman, Chad Bowden, Bill “Wystan” C., Jamie Downing, Ian & Lindsey Maines, Deb & John Neal, Adam Page, Maura Quinn-Von Mosch, Jean-Luc Reyes, Olli Tooley, Alberto & Karen Velazquez, Garrett Weaver, Mike Wolff, and Peter Younghusband.
Contents
Acknowledgements
1 Welcome to the Red Dawn
2 Consumed
3 Legacy of Blood
4 Annihilation
5 Rise and Ruin
6 The Fifth Stone
7 Taming the Dragon
Author’s Note
1
Welcome to the Red Dawn
Between breaths, the middle-aged priest shouted over his shoulder, “For someone so eager to discover the nature of our voyage, you sure move slow!”
Arden struggled to keep up with his teacher. He wondered how the old boy managed to move through the sweltering streets of the jungle city so quickly. The red-headed boy was barely old enough to know the discomfort of a day old shave, yet he was out of breath trying to keep up with Absell, who he guessed was at least thirty years his senior.
“Come on, my boy, I mustn’t keep him waiting!” bristled Absell, without missing a beat.
Arden stopped only long enough to wipe away the streams of sweat that poured from his face and to run his fingers through his fiery curls. This crazy old fool is going to be the end of me, he thought. Then with a deep breath, he lifted up the travel sacks again and raced after the master priest.
“Why rush, when we have such lovely weather?” quipped Arden.
“Humorous,” replied Absell dryly. “However, you will quickly find that humor is not a quality that Captain Ponterossi is known for.”
“Lovely,” replied Arden with a roll of the eyes-perhaps not the best idea while running. Arden was actually a bright scholar, one of the best, but this was not his finest moment. It was all arms and legs as he tumbled tail-over-tea-kettle across the stone street. When he finally stopped rolling, his handsome grace was reduced to a disheveled pile of robes, books, and bruises accompanied by a sheepish grin.
Absell’s jaw fell slack, and disappointment was written all over his face. “Why do I bother? The Captain will love a half-wit like you—when it comes time to chum the waters.”
The bitter sincerity of Absell’s words cut, they always did, and there was no shortage of them, but at least he still spoke to Arden. There was still hope. The day that Absell no longer found his pupil worth speaking to, would be the day that the youth’s dreams of being a priest would end. Until then, Arden would just bite his tongue as Absell’s tongue bit him.
A few blocks later, huffing and puffing, the duo reached the eastern side of Karthusa, where the city met the Kiyai River. They wouldn’t meet the captain and his crew just yet; his ship was far too large to make the voyage up the snaking jungle river. Instead, a flat-bottomed boat would take them down river to the cove where they would finally meet Captain Edgar Ponterossi. It was all happening quickly; too quickly for the likes of Arden. He was a devotee of the temple, a priest in training. He had been groomed for the priesthood his entire life. Chasing the winds upon a pirate ship was never in the plans, and he was entirely uncomfortable with the idea. Arden tried to get out of going, but Absell was adamant that the trip was integral to his pupil’s education.
The boatman slowly ferried them over to the massive, triple-masted vessel. Arden knew the ships of the sea were large, but he never imagined they would stand so tall above the waters of the sea. His scientific mind struggled to grasp how the ship could defy the laws of physics. Arden could only guess as to the depth of the ships keels or the weight of ballast that it would take to keep such a tall ship from capsizing. Then his eyes quickly shifted to the highly decorated markings upon the sides of the wooden ship. Arden couldn’t help but shudder once he realized what they were; the markings were blasphemies of the most vulgar kind, warning the gods themselves to steer clear of the ship and crew.
“Can’t you at least get on the ship before you start daydreaming?” snapped Absell.
“Will you really explain the purpose of our…quest?” asked Arden, his focus now upon his teacher.
“Yes, and a great deal more than that, my young student. Simply telling you what we are looking for and where we are to find it will do you no good,” answered Absell, his voice finally revealing a gentleness. “No, there is a great deal of history that I must teach you first.”
Absell could see sincerity fill the youth’s smile.
“You really do love history, don’t you, boy?” asked Absell.
“Yes sir! Any hints?”
“Men, orcs, Ki’Roten, the Mage Wars—any of those ring a bell?” he asked.
“I know the histories of orcs and men here in Darnisi, but I don’t think that’s what you’re after,” guessed Arden.
Absell stared into his student’s blue eyes and smiled. “Fortunately we have a long journey; we’re gonna need time. Lots to learn. Now let’s board this ship.”
“Yes, sir,” Arden answered. He turned to discover that they had reached the side of the great ship. He tossed the travel packs over his shoulder, and began to climb the rope ladder that dangled against the side of the ship.
Arden did his best not to pay attention to the markings upon the side of the ship; instead he focused on the climb. That is when a handsome face and a surprisingly sophisticated voice greeted him. “Welcome to the Red Dawn!” Slick black hair, dampened by the day’s oppressive humidity, fell to his shoulders as the sailor removed the red tricorn with a flourish. “Captain Edgar Ponterossi, at your service,” he said with a dangerous grin.
Arden nodded clumsily, hardly paying the proper respects. Ponterossi simply maintained his grin as he watched the youth help his mentor reach the ship’s deck. Absell went through the formal introductions with the captain, and then the crew prepared to pull anchor. Within minutes the experienced crew had the Red Dawn moving toward the open waters of the sea. Captain Ponterossi was an old sea dog, and t
his wasn’t his first commission. He paid no mind to his crew; his mind was on the business at hand.
“Sea Barons rarely ask questions of clients,” admitted the captain. “It’s bad for business. But your terms leave me more curious than a sea cat with an itch to scratch.”
The priests’ faces flushed with discomfort at the vulgar remark. Absell had warned Arden that it would be best that they both grow thick skin. Bringing delicate sensibilities or thoughts of the arrogant self-righteousness that priests are known for would make them targets. Surely the captain and crew would go to any lengths to have a laugh at their expense. But apparently Absell needed to remind himself, too. The captain simply laughed at the priests’ shocked expressions.
“Cat scratchin’ aside, I just gotta know more about this mission of yours,” said Ponterossi. “Priests of well…any order don’t just plan vacation cruises on pirate ships. And they sure as hell don’t pay with your currency.
“Indeed,” replied Absell carefully. “We could have commissioned any vessel for our journey to Antirri, however it is the return trip that is of concern. Due to the nature of our business affairs in Antirri, our return trip will need to be one of…discretion. It must be free of ports, their schedules, and their questions. With a job description of such…unique requirements, it seems that Sea Barons were the only logical choice, and you, sir, are regarded as the greatest of them all.”
“I hope there’s as much silver in your coffers as there is in your tongue,” said Ponterossi with a wink. “You made a fine choice though. You didn’t just pick the right man for the job, you picked the right crew. The Red Dawn is a collection of the finest mates a scoundrel could hope to find. We will honor the terms, discretion and all, just make sure your people hold up their end of the bargain!”
“Should we revisit the terms?” asked Absell.
That ill-intentioned grin rose again. “Nope. Payment is five and a half sheks now, five and a half again upon return.”
“Plus you will have unhindered trade access to the Karthusa—”
“Unhindered and tariff free access to Karthusa,” corrected Ponterossi.
Absell replied curtly, “Yes, unhindered, tariff free access to Karthusa.”
“Good, good. I can already see a lot of new business coming my way,” chuckled the captain as he extended his hand, calloused palm up. Absell and Arden exchanged looks of confusion.
“I’ll be having that deposit now,” Ponterossi commanded with a voice too gentle for violence, but too cold to trust.
“Oh yes! Arden, please pay Edgar—er, may I call you Edgar?” asked Absell.
“Nope,” replied the captain, all traces of any grin vanishing.
Absell’s face flushed and he stammered as he corrected himself, “Arden, please pay Captain Ponterossi the deposit.”
Arden hadn’t waited for his teacher to finish. He had already fished out the eleven shiny coins from the leather purse. First he counted out the five golden sheks, and placed them into the palm of the captain’s large hand. Then the student counted out six smaller golden skurs, and handed them over.
“That’s it, five and a half sheks,” added Arden, as if the captain didn’t know how to count his money.
“Heh,” muttered the captain with a half laugh. “You still haven’t given me any real clues to your ‘business’ yet. So, what is this business of yours that has the priesthood, or Karthusa, or whoever the hell is paying, ready to pay so handsomely? Just what in the hells are you planning?”
“We are going to tame the dragon,” answered the priest.
The mischievous grin returned to the captain’s face. He replied, “Aren’t we all,” and with a laugh he turned and walked away.
Arden turned to his mentor and repeated the phrase, “Tame the dragon?”
Absell rolled his eyes and muttered, “This is going to be a long trip.”
The seafaring vessel was now free of the cove. The captain gave the order and the crew scurried to release the main sail, which snapped as the wind filled it. Arden and Absell had planned to leave the comforts of home to travel across the Black Sea on a ship belonging to one of the world’s most notorious criminals. Their voyage had just begun.
2
Consumed
Captain Ponterossi and the crew of the Red Dawn undertook all manner of business, but rarely did it involve passengers. The captain had his men convert one of the storage rooms into a makeshift chamber for the priests. The two cots sat on one end of the room while sacks of oats sat piled against the other, and barrels of oranges filled the corner. Of course the room did not have any portholes, so their lighting was limited to the single brass lantern that hung from a hook overhead. It swayed each time the sea rocked the ship, casting shadows about the room. It was in this darkness that the story of the Elder Stones first came to light.
“So are you finally going to tell me what this trip is all about?” groaned Arden.
“We have an ocean between us and our mission, what’s the rush?” replied Absell.
“Come on!” the youth said. “You already convinced me to follow you across the world on some wild adventure, and now we have been on this ship for three days, and you haven’t said a word. The least you could do is fill me in.”
“Alright, alright, my boy. There is much to teach, but first we must lay the proper foundation. Now, you must understand that much of what I tell you will conflict with what the history books have told you. The truth is, the history of man is full of deeds both dark and wicked. They are the likes of which most would choose to be unremembered. And as such, much of the world’s history has been…curated…if you will. However, man is not the only keeper of records.” Absell paused and scratched the stubble upon his chin for a moment and then he continued, “Perhaps that is why it is most appropriate we start with the story of orcs and men, and the blood they spilled across the Frostlands. We must go back 262 years, to the year of 7267.”
The first rays of light had slipped into the small village as the sun began to peek over the rugged horizon. The visibility was awful that morning. The snowfall was light enough, but the swirling coastal wind made it miserable and even harder to see. So he was surprised when he saw a reddish-orange glow coming his way. He strained to see with the one eye he had left, but it was an impossible task in this weather. It didn’t matter, though. Even if he saw what was coming, there was nothing he could do about it and he knew that.
Captain Valric’s voice rose above the wind, “You do realize that redemption dangles before you?”
The orc never looked at the human captain; his eye was fixed upon the fiery glow. The long piece of iron sizzled as the snowflakes vaporized upon its smoldering surface. It wouldn’t be the first time they had burned him, but it would be the first time that he was branded.
Valric, the regally garbed captain, a perfect symbol of what the Church of Providence had become, stood before him with the holy glyphs upon his armor and hatred in his heart.
“You still don’t get it, do you?” ranted Valric. “Are you too stupid to realize that I have the power to make the pain stop…that I have the power to free you, to pardon you of your guilt?”
Reklash spoke for the first time in weeks, “My… guilt?”
“Don’t play games with me, greenskin!” snapped the human. “Your misbegotten kind are an abomination, a curse upon Aurion. It is only in the service of the righteous that you will find redemption.”
“Righteous, ha!” spat the orc defiantly. “You seek to enslave my people!”
Reklash didn’t even see it coming. The words were barely out of his mouth before his head snapped back with pain and the familiar taste of blood began to fill his mouth, and he kinda liked it. Reklash spit out the pool of bloody saliva along with a piece of the newly chipped tooth. Then he looked up, setting his vengeful eye upon his captor.
Valric, the gilded champion of the light, shook his own hand as if it would relieve the pain from the blow.
“I am convinced orcs
’ heads are made of rocks. You refuse to tell me where they are, and that’s okay. I have other means of making you talk,” replied Valric as he raised the red-hot iron.
The orc closed his eye and braced for the pain. Impossible. The skin upon his bare chest blistered upon contact. The captain dug that brand as deep into the orc’s flesh as possible before ripping it away. The blisters popped as the scorched flesh tore away. The singular, four-cornered eye of the Church was now a part of Reklash. He was branded for life.
The intensity of the pain had surpassed all of the cruel things they had done to him, all the beatings he had been given. The pain of his seared flesh seemed like it would last forever, but it was the hatred that lingered. The agonizing howl that erupted from the orc was an avalanche of sound. The thunderous echoes that replied shattered the silence of dawn. The once bold captain was overcome with terror when he realized the source of the echoes. It was not the howl of a single orc, but the war-cry of many. The green wave crashed upon the human village as orcs fearlessly charged through the streets.
The humans tried to defend themselves, but they were not prepared for the early morning raid. The orcs were ferocious, but they were also focused and controlled. Axes swung indiscriminately as they hacked down those who would stand in their way. They had come for their brother, and nothing would stop them. In just a matter of minutes the orc war party had surrounded captain Valric and their wounded kinsman.
“Good job. You savages just murdered innocent men and women, but you will pay for it,” snarled the commander. “Reinforcements are already cutting off your escape.”
The orcs did not say a word, they just stared at him with disgust as they moved toward Reklash.
“So what did you think you could accomplish here? Did you really think evil could triumph over good, or is it just in your nature to kill?” shouted the captain as he pulled his sword from its sheath.
