The Chronicles of Hissfon Volume 1 - The five Mages

by Remy Lecornec

  The Chronicles of Hissfon Volume 1 - The five Mages

  Remy Lecornec

  Translated by Olivier Regimbal-Cote

  “The Chronicles of Hissfon Volume 1 - The five Mages”

  Written By Remy Lecornec

  Copyright © 2018 Remy Lecornec

  All rights reserved

  Distributed by Babelcube, Inc.

  www.babelcube.com

  Translated by Olivier Regimbal-Cote

  Cover Design © 2018 Dusan Kostic

  “Babelcube Books” and “Babelcube” are trademarks of Babelcube Inc.

  Cover Illustration:

  Copyright © 2017 Adobe Systems Incorporated

  Author:

  Dusan Kostic

  Translated by:

  Olivier Régimbal-Côté

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Copyright Page

  PROLOGUE

  First Chapter | The power

  Chapter Two | Departing

  Chapter Three | A sign

  Chapter Four | Ashes here below

  Chapter Five | The Black Mage

  Chapter Six | From power to power

  Chapter Seven | The revelation

  Chapter Eight | The Paladin

  Chapter Nine | The race

  Chapter Ten | The storm approaches

  Chapter Eleven | The troop

  Chapter Twelve | Finally!

  Chapter Thirteen | The tortured

  Chapter Fourteen | A magical destiny

  Chapter Fifteen | Unavoidable war

  End | of | Volume 1

  PROLOGUE

  There was a world called Hissfon. Situated on the edge of nothingness, this star was inhabited by Mages. Endowed with multiple powers, these sorcerers of Good were five in number and inhabited each of the Hissfon continents. Spreading their magic in different regions was not easy; they were immortal beings with a thirst for power, which implied grave obligations.

  Tanbus-Erhlenam

  Dismay showed itself when an artelian, the young Thâar, secretly acquired the dark power of the Mages. The large majority of Mandrares Lands’ inhabitants rebelled in vain. The power of Thâar, now Necromancer, were so great that he was able submit some the artelian’s under his power. The inhabitants who voluntarily or involuntarily accepted the decision adopted the Darkness and were called the nevrigians, which meant the Cursed in the sacred tongue of the Ancients of Hissfon, these people were of incomparable ferocity, war was their holy word.

  Shadow reigned supreme for two hundred cycles, this era was called Tanbus-Erhlenam, the Gods of Darkness. Misery struck those who were not influenced by the Necromancer and Thâar’s magic set the artelians against themselves. Following such a plague, the Mages of Good could do nothing, and so the Necromancer saw his power reach its pinnacle.

  The collapse

  A mage, more perceptive than the others, named Donnhum, was given the Integral Power of the Sacred Mountain of Merhidios by the Elder of Hissfon, founder of the free artelian people. It was then that an endless battle broke out from the top of this mountain, and the nevrigian Empire of Thâar, the Necromancer collapsed.

  The exhaustion of the dark master's cohorts made the attack on the free lands impossible thanks to Mage Donnhum’s Integral Power; The Necromancer stopped his new assault against the Sacred Mountain of Merhidios which he had planned for the acquiring of the magic of the coveted Ancients.

  The retribution

  Necromancer Thâar’s inability to conquer the Kingdom of Merhidios angered him deeply, but the failure touched the lands already ravaged by the artelians thanks to his powerful magic.

  The tenebrous being elaborated then a counter-attack which consisted in capturing the Mage one after the other, in order to destroy the chain-like bond which united them. Without this link, the inhabitants would be vulnerable and would not have withstood the critical attack by the hordes of nevrigians.

  The call

  In order to remedy these losses, the inhabitants of the Mandrares Lands and surroundings as well as the Mage Tohn-Mâ called upon the Auttum Warriors. Honored by the free, thanks to them, the Mages could be saved but only after overcoming perilous adventures.

  First Chapter

  The power

  The small village of Auttum, surrounded by great plains and separated from Galnor, the great city of arms by the river Elnoh, unknowingly enjoyed its last hours of tranquility.

  The nevrigians’ war drums were heard advancing slowly, along the rivers and coasts, from the Port of Reltre to the South-West, passing through the great white city of Varnum in the North-East.

  Some emitted the idea that a new plan was once again conceived and set in motion by the necromancer Thâar, and this time, nothing could stop it. Worried villagers no longer felt safe as the drum sounds closed in. With the grip of inevitable destruction, the noise shook barns’ grounds and small houses’ foundations.

  Neighboring Kings of Fahl united in Auttum to decide what was best for the artelian. Some had lost fate and wanted to leave the nevrigians what belonged to them rather than losing loved ones again or forfeiting their own lives. Others wanted to raise an army and fight, but a majority desired to appeal to the Warriors of Good.

  The method

  Spinning around on dry scattered leaves that fell by the previous day’s gusty wind, Kenthaë the lancer, was deep in thought and alone near the pathway of Dead.

  Kenthaë was a blacksmith's son, born in the village of Auttum, he grew up motherless, she had died at birth. At a young age, he had visions of himself possessing powers, the existence of which even his father was unaware of. From then on, he became passionate about the art of fighting on foot and on horseback. He would show off at festivals organized by Gan-Trê, who was the king at the time. He worked dutifully to make his dreams of becoming lancer reality. He lived with his two companions, Carhâa and Artemion, working in the service of King Berum, they were very good friends with his son Doltha, a young paladin with astonishing magical powers. Kenthaë’s sword was forged by craftsmen from Ancient Worlds, his blade became increasingly powerful and intense when used during combat, his weapon and him shared a unique bond.

  The path of the Dead, under Kenthaë's heavy steps, was particularity magical, if one believed in it enough. This was a feeling that the Mages knew well. Powers bestowed by the Ancients of Hissfon who had walked the passage many times and made it sacrilegious after long rituals.

  Kenthaë wondered whether the darkening hours were only the fruit of his imagination or was evidence that the armies of the necromancer were advancing. Carhâa came to the lancer with hope that, she too, would find an answer and thus unclouded their doubts.

  The courageous Carhâa was born in the village of Ponthal to a father she never knew and a peasant mother. She was lively and very understanding. For her, every problem had a solution, even the complicated ones. She lived a long time in the village of Auttum, in company of Kenthaë, after the murder of her mother by the nevrigian hordes, who pillaged and burned her home town. She wore a gold bracelet that she used as a shield against simple magic and with it reduced her enemies to ashes. This jewel was sought-after by her enemies; they desired to use it to conquer new lands.

  Carhâa stepped forward with a slow, unsteady step: a twig cracked and surprised Kenthaë, he stared at her with a thought-weighed gaze and kneeled down on the ground as he looked at the handful of dirt flowing through his fingers, he asked:

  -I don't know where to start and what to do?

  -This is a time that even the Ancients would not be able to shed light on,
my friend, Carhâa answered.

  The wind blew so strongly and made a deafening sound that turned the blood of the two Warriors into ice. They looked behind them, in vain. A cracking branch and a bestial snoring made the blade come out of the sheath which the lancer grabbed with his two-handedly. He shouted, "Who is it?" but no one answered. Suddenly, as the two young adventurers looked at each other, puzzled, Artemion jumped out of bush, with a worried look on his face.

  The Fearless Artemion was originally from the town of Galnor, close to Auttum, born to a renowned warrior and a mother enlisted in the ranks of King Berum. He drew his strength from his parents' blood, which made him look enmetic. He was always on the lookout for battle, but he was loyal to the Good and would never hurt another artelian. He spent his little free time in Auttum, confident that the source of magic given by the Mage Tohn-Mâ would protect the village and its surroundings. He could channel the energy of his body through his fighting spirit and propel it before him with such great force that it would pulverize his enemies. No one knew where this kind of magic came from, especially since it required neither magical tools nor incantation.

  Exhausted, the words of the colossus came out with difficulty:

  - Calm down, my friend, what's going on? Asked Kenthaë.

  - I... I... I think... that you must seek out... The Oracle! Artemion replied breathlessly.

  - I cannot disturb our Oracle for so little!

  - So little? Asked Carhâa, it is a good idea, you must consult her. She will listen to you and guide us in these dark hours.

  Kenthaë looked up at the starry sky. Put his forged blade of the Ancient Worlds before him and breathed deeply. He thought of all the ways this unexpected visit could go and said:

  - Let it be so! We should remain silent while on path of the Dead during this hour of the night," he added, anxious that this conversation might be heard.

  The three Warriors returned to the village where inhabitants worried about their fate.

  The Oracle Tenchlar

  After a long walk around outskirts of the village of Auttum, the Lancer Kenthaë felt a particularly pleasant sensation in him, as if returning to his ancestral lands. Behind a hollow tree, tall of about ten men, and some shrubs, he saw rising in the horizon, an immense domain belonging to the Oracle Tenchlar. Fearless, he stepped forward to enter the house whose door could fit-in entire legions.

  Kenthaë walked along endless corridors, when suddenly, surprised by the splendor of the place, he stopped and contemplated the marbled cobblestones as well as the white columns decorated with indescribable signs, some century-old relics were placed here and there. He stepped into an immense room, and then found, sitting on a small chair visibly tired by the years spent in this great building, cold and absent of human warmth, the famous Oracle, the divine word of this World.

  When approaching her, a hoarse voice said, “Come nearer. Are you afraid to see me?” Closing in to talk. He looked at her face; the features seemed caused by age and long journeys probably incrementally dangerous. For a moment, Kenthaë seemed confused, the Oracle Tenchlar already knew of him but he knew barely anything about her besides her unequalled gift of foresight. Kenthaë said:

  - My companion and I agreed that I had to see you.

  - I know, added the old being, your spirit is mirrors a cyclone carrying along everything on its path

  - Indeed. From what I’ve heard, the Mages are in grave danger, but I do not know which way must I follow, said the young man.

  - It is not about the path, but for whom you should walk it for! This is the primordial choice, she told.

  - I know this choice already, confirmed Kenthaë.

  - Certainly, otherwise you wouldn’t have come here... Are you afraid of the future? Asked the Oracle with a sly smile.

  - No! He yelled with rage.

  - Perhaps, but I will not be able to help if you cannot accept your fate. Your choices will be the same where ever you go and the wrong ones will lead to your peril, similarly to the path you chose! Your quest will depend on it.

  Shook from the answer, which the Oracle did not care about, he begged for a winning strategy to follow, she said only this « Take the short route and you shall perish! ».

  He understood clearly and chased his doubts away. With a courageous look on him, he knew then what choices had to be made.

  After taking into considerations Oracle Tenchlar’s revelations, the lancer Kenthaë turned around and went on his way, entering and exiting rapidly each chamber before heading out towards mysterious lands. He looked at the plains that went on as far as the eye could see, stained with the first rays of sunshine, and saw smoke rising in the west, announcing the premature departure of the three Warriors.

  Chapter Two

  Departing

  The frail branches were cracked by yesterday’s wind. Two or three inhabitants of the small sleeping village staggered about in a much too short night. Freezing wind from the south made the horses restless, it was deafening for some but comforting to others: winter was coming. The thumping of dirty boots of the three Warriors awakened villagers whose joy was almost palpable. These peaceful beings finally felt like that the sun was rising for the first time in decades. They hoped to put an end to misery and sorrow and get back the comfort of their past lives.

  The news went around Auttum like a tornado whooshing tree leaves protecting the path of the Dead. None knew of the three Warriors’ long and dangerous road leading them to the missing Mages. Rumors of their leaving swirled the bushes at the exit of the village. They headed north towards Bäl-Geren which was an important step in their quest.

  Kenthaë looked up at the sky looking for answers, Carhâa, worried, stared at him and asked:

  - What's the matter, my friend?

  - I have my doubts, replied the lancer.

  - About what?

  - The pact uniting the Great Mages, he confessed intriguingly, “I hope it is well guarded in Auttum”.

  - Of course, said Carhâa, satisfied with the safeguarding techniques the villagers trained for.

  - If anything happened to this bonding, I think our World would experience the most horrible end! Kenthaë cried out.

  - No! Don't say such a thing, this scripture is very well preserved, you know that, she replied sighing endlessly.

  Artemion, who had been staring at them since the beginning of their conversation and looking at the horizon, hastened to add, as soon as Carhâa had sighed:

  - Are you almost done? We have a long way to go, save your breath because you will need it to face Count Nerrum and his minions.

  Nodding after becoming aware of the extent of this talk, the Warriors of Good set out on their charger, all three embellished with the coat of arms representing the free folks of the South.

  A sacred land

  As if the cold was not enough to petrify the three mounted Warriors, heading towards a narrow path they crossed in single file. Corpses were littering the ground, belonging to the poor souls of nearby cities. Every morning, they travel through thick mist stayed true to the old Auttum asked of them, they went to Bäl-Geren. Not far beyond the Great Plains, you would reach a place of prayers and sacraments, a most important hieratic institution in all of the Mandrares Lands. They had hoped to find there the relic of Faln-Lannar. This object, according to hearsay, each as obscure and unspeakable as the next, it had the power of lucidity. Thanks to this great power, whoever held it possessed clairvoyance.

  The ancient knew that having this relic would be the only way for the three Warriors to reveal Count Nerrum’s traps. If this ancient relic was in wrong hands and used for other purposes than the Good, it would lead the weakest inhabitants toward total annihilation.

  The war drums echoed more and more each day as the three Warriors, with great haste, approached Bäl-Geren. The arduous rock, sometimes still bloodied from the Nevrigian invasion, gave way to tender greenery and flowers, in spite of a fast approaching and cold biting winter. Kenthaë ordered his comp
anions to stop by a stream. We heard the horses neigh in strange tranquility, the few fish here and there were wriggling in clear water. Artemion enjoyed this moment of sweetness after days of stupor mixed with blood and agony. While enjoying the few rations left in their weary bags, Carhâa sketched a smile then laughed while watching the colossus devour his meal, he stared at her, surprised, and said:

  - What's happening to you, my friend?

  - Despite what has surrounded us since Auttum's departure, you are the only one who still makes me laugh, replied the young woman, staring at the inexorable stream.

  - Glad to make you smile, said the giant smoothly before devouring the meager dish of bread and undercooked meat.

  - I reassure you, Artemion, I am not laughing with you. The bread you are so passionately savoring was destined to the horses, it started to rot inside our bags! Confessed Carhâa as she dropped onto the fresh grass.

  After hearing this, his eyes grew wide, as if he had just learned something horrible. Artemion bent furtively to spit out the pieces.

  Kenthaë looked at them carefree, shook his head to come to his senses and waved to the two companions.

  - We have to hurry, friends, let's pick up the pace and find a place beyond the forest of Shân-Fhel. These mountains are hardly a place for amusement. They swarm with vile apprentice sorcerers who challenge lost travelers with their forbidden magic.

  Artemion and Carhâa gathered their things, while sensing increasing hostility around them. They jumped on their horses and set out for the Great Plains, far from these cursed forests.

  Chapter Three

  A sign

  The Darkness at covered most the Mandrares lands, the necromancer Thâar’s grip becoming stronger. Thousands of Nevrigians were pillaging the villages without any mercy. As they advanced, even from the highest volcanoes of the Volcanic Hill of Méfron, noticeable black smoke would rise from the vestiges caused by the hordes.