by Robert Ryan
Waelenor: One of several tribes closely related to the Duthenor. Founded by their original chieftain, Wael, brother of Drunn I.
Wena: Kir. “The kestrel that hovers.” Leader of a Kar-ahn-hetep army.
Wizard: See lòhren.
Wizard-priest: The priests of the Letharn. Possessors of mighty powers of magic. Forerunners to the order of lòhrens.
About the author
I’m a man born in the wrong era. My heart yearns for faraway places and even further afield times. Tolkien had me at the beginning of The Hobbit when he said, “. . . one morning long ago in the quiet of the world . . .”
Sometimes I imagine myself in a Viking mead-hall. The long winter night presses in, but the shimmering embers of a log in the hearth hold back both cold and dark. The chieftain calls for a story, and I take a sip from my drinking horn and stand up . . .
Or maybe the desert stars shine bright and clear, obscured occasionally by wisps of smoke from burning camel dung. A dry gust of wind marches sand grains across our lonely campsite, and the wayfarers about me stir restlessly. I sip cool water and begin to speak.
I’m a storyteller. A man to paint a picture by the slow music of words. I like to bring faraway places and times to life, to make hearts yearn for something they can never have, unless for a passing moment.
Sample: Prologue for The Seventh Knight
Halls of Lore: Chamber 2. Aisle 31. Item 369
General subject: Founding of the city of Faladir
Topic: Establishment of the Kingshield Knights
Author: Ancient legend Translated by Careth Tar
War straddled Alithoras like a vulture hulking over a carcass. To the south, swords flashed and blood watered the trodden earth instead of rain. To the north, armies marched, the pounding of their boots the drum of death, their banners clouding the sky with the shadow of evil. In the west, the races of humanity were smitten as metal is beaten between hammer and anvil. There, in their homeland, they possessed only ruined dreams, gnawing hunger and soul-eating poverty.
The east alone offered hope, and thither they fled. But hope burned to ash, and was blown back in their faces as a choking wind.
They found only more war, and despair clawed at their hearts. Yet humanity was a hardy race, used to brutal treatment and the ill chances of the world. They took up their swords again. Their anguish they crushed beneath wills of iron. And still they kept hope alive like a spark against the night, for a foretelling was made, a prophecy born in the darkness of ruin, that at the end of their long travails a bright future would dawn.
Hope that should have died lived on, and it gave them reason to endure. And the frail spark they nurtured flared when they met the immortal Halathrin, they who in our time are named elves.
Bright were the eyes of the elves, and their faces were fair, and the wisdom of their thought reached deeper than humanity’s. Immortal and lordly as they were, wealthy in the ownership of jewels and metals that came of the earth and the crafting from them of beautiful things, still they took pity on the downtrodden newcomers and marveled at their courage.
The elves shielded humanity from the worst of the wars, allowing them to recover and grow strong again. Then humanity girded their swords, and they hefted their spears once more, and they marched to war beside the elves as allies. In time, they became the fiercest warriors in the elven armies, for they spent their blood and lives freely in service to those who had helped them. They became known as the Sword of the Halathrin, and it was a title of honor.
The Elù-haraken, the Shadowed Wars, those battles are named, and more is forgotten of them than is remembered. And this is well, for they were a time of darkness unsurpassed, where evil held sway over much of the land. No bird nor beast, no race of humanity nor get of monster, no elf nor dwarf nor sorcerer nor wizard, no dragon that flew the midnight skies nor crawled in the deeps of the earth was not divided to one side or the other, not locked in a death-battle against enemies.
Elùdrath, the Shadowed Lord as he was called, drew creatures of evil unto him, and he gave them power that they may smite their enemies, and he put lies on their lips, poison in their bites, fire in their breath and steel in their hands that they may conquer and rule the world under his dominion.
But against the evils of the world, Halath, Lord of the Elves, set himself. A great king he was, and his nation followed him to war. Against the dark they made light. Against despair they kindled hope. And they drew others to them who would not bow to the shadow and would rather die than suffer evil to prosper.
One race of humanity, the Camar, grew close to the counsels of the great king, and that people grew wise, and they learned lore that opened their minds to the mysteries of the world. This lore, they knew, would serve them well in the days to come.
It came to pass that the Shadowed Lord was defeated, his armies laid low, his stratagems countered, his traps sprung and his followers scattered across the land. He was killed, and yet also was Halath slain.
The land knew hope, but those who lived mourned the passing of an age. They grieved for loved ones buried in hurried graves. And they sorrowed at the passing of so many fair things that did not survive the storm and whose like will never be seen again.
The Shadowed Lord was said to be dead. Others claimed that though dead, the evil he spawned lived on and would harry the races of Alithoras for long whiles yet to come. Some few foretold that Elùdrath would rise once more in the future, though none knew when, or how.
Few cared. The troubles of their days were a greater burden than the possible troubles of the future. Only elves and lòhrens, wise men who possessed use of wizardry, set guards and wards against Elùdrath’s return. And they watched and waited. And they watch and wait still.
The Camar moved further east, and they prospered, and the knowledge the elves had passed to them flourished in days of peace. This was nurtured by the lòhrens who offered sage counsels and protection against the sorcerers who still lived.
Ever east the Camar roamed, and many reached the gray sea that crashed into the farthest shores of Alithoras. And there, those hardy people who once dwelt in rude huts or laid themselves down to sleep beneath the glittering stars, built themselves fair cities, and they established wide realms, and they raised proud kings to rule them. And there also they made bulwarks against the scattered evils of the land that yet attacked them at times.
Esgallien was one such city, and even the elves marveled at what the Camar had wrought and the uses to which their gifts of knowledge had been put. But it is not said that the elves visited further east. Few, or none, ever saw white-walled Camarelon, nor many-spired Faladir, nor red Cardoroth far to the north, yet still nigh the sea.
Many-spired Faladir shone as a gem, and its walls gleamed and the points of its spires glittered like starlight shot from a bow into the heavens. But it was one such place where the scattered evils of the world gathered, and though bereft of their master, they grew in power and came in force from surrounding hills, forests and dark places of the earth to assail the city. And sorcerers were among them, and they possessed a Morleth Stone.
Of old, the Shadowed Lord crafted some few of these. And they were talismans of great evil. Black they were, of diverse sizes and strengths, and their puissance was gained from the lives of sorcerers who sacrificed themselves to make them. Their sorcery and life became one with the stone.
In the Elù-haraken most were destroyed, but against Faladir the sorcerers raised one. And this was smaller than many, being able to fit into the hand of a child, but its power was the greatest.
Faladir came near to falling, and a mighty battle ensued that ran a day and a night and until noon the next. But at the end King Conduil, his retinue about him and his eyes blazing, led a charge against the enemy. With him came a lòhren, shielding him from magic, and the king reached the chief sorcerer, whose fist was held high with the Morleth Stone within to work some spell, and he hewed off the dark one’s hand and slew him, and his sword hiss
ed with steaming blood. And the enemy dispersed, fleeing into the dark places of the world, but the Camar were spent, their army dwindled, and they harried them not.
But Conduil seized the Morleth Stone from the dead hand of the sorcerer whose twisted fingers still writhed about it, and he felt the touch of its evil, and he cast it down again.
“This thing I shall destroy,” he swore.
But the lòhren slowly shook his head. “I fear not, sire. That is not its fate, though we wish it. This thing, and the evil it holds, will endure so long as Faladir stands.”
Conduil was not persuaded. But his oath he could not keep, for thrice he struck the stone with his sword, and no matter that it lay on rock no harm came to it. But on the third stroke, his elven-wrought blade shattered, and yet the black stone remained unharmed.
Thereafter, the king ordered all manner of attempts be made to break it. To forges it was taken for the heat of fire to melt it. It was cast from the top of a tower unto the stone below. Smiths caught it in vices and beat it with mighty hammers, and they bathed it long whiles in acid. But no attempt broke it, nor even marred its dark surface.
Conduil grew angry. And he went again to the lòhren. “Can you not destroy this thing with your power? Being made by sorcery, surely then wizardry must be able to unmake it?”
“It is not so,” Aranloth answered. But seeing the anguish of the king, he bade him stand back. Then he worked his magic, and he summoned white flames hotter than any furnace, and the Morleth Stone was hemmed all around by his power. And when he was done, the stone of the floor had melted and run like mud on a slope, yet still the talisman of evil sat unharmed.
“It is as I foretold,” Aranloth declared. “This stone will endure as long as Faladir stands.”
“Then must my people also endure its foul sorcery that long? Shall I not rather cast it into the sea or into some bottomless crack of the earth instead?”
Then Aranloth counseled him. “Whatever is cast aside may be picked up again, and whatever is lost may be found. And there is a power in this stone that calls to creatures of the shadow. Ever they will seek it out.”
The king’s anger subsided. “What must be done then?”
“This only, for no other choice remains. Keep the stone, but guard it well. Evil will search it out. The covetous will try to claim it. The ambitious will lust for its power. Like moths to a flame they will come, but it will be your task, and the task of your line to protect it, to keep it out of the hands of those who would use it for harm. It will shape you, and the realm, now and hereafter.”
The king looked at the stone, and there was wariness in his glance, for he understood this would be no easy duty to perform, but there was determination also.
“And in this way shall I keep my people safe?”
“It will be so. Unless you fail in your duty.”
“I shall not fail.”
“No, you will not. Yet the task will be difficult, and the passing of the years will make it more so. It will be a burden without end, and it will weigh you down, and those who come after.”
“Even so, I shall do this thing. I swear it.”
And then Aranloth drew deep of his wisdom, and of his compassion also.
“It is a great task, but you need not carry it out alone. This is what I advise.”
And the wizard counseled him then, and the king heeded him.
“An order of knights I will establish. And they will be the greatest warriors in the realm. And they will occupy a tower, and there at least one at all times will guard the stone. Their number will be six, and I shall call them the Kingshield Knights, for they will fulfill my will and guard that which must be guarded.”
Aranloth thought deeply. “It is not enough that they be great warriors,” he said at length.
“What else must they be?”
“The lure of the stone is strong. It will tempt the knights. Therefore, they must be not only great warriors, but men of honor and kindness. Let them learn also poetry and philosophy and all the arts according to their natural talents. This will strengthen their minds so they become as sharp and true as their blades.”
The king saw the wisdom of this. But he knew there would be more. The task of the knights demanded it.
“And finally,” Aranloth said, “that which they protect is a thing of magic, and some of those who seek it will possess sorcery. If the knights are to fulfil their duty, let them also learn of the mysteries.”
“You would make them wizards also?”
“No. One person cannot be all things. Yet still these knights will have training. They will know how to defend themselves against magic, and to accomplish that which ordinary men cannot. And I will be their teacher.”
This troubled the king, for he distrusted magic. Yet also he was glad, for his burden was lightened. And he took up the stone and went away to begin the task of his life and of his line to follow after. And he was the first knight, and he chose five others after long searching.
But the lòhren was wise, and he knew the hearts of men. And when the king had gone, he prophesized again, and there was none to hear him save a manservant in the palace who later told his tale.
“Strong as you are,” Aranloth muttered, his gaze lingering where the king had stood, “you will perish even as all mortal flesh. But the evil in the stone will never subside, and it will endure, and through the long years it will ever tempt its guardians. And a day will come where that order of knights who represent the best of men will succumb, and evil will enter into the realm.”
“What will happen then?” the manservant asked.
Aranloth turned to him, as though unaware that he had been there. “Then evil will rise again, and the kingdom, and all the lands beyond it, will stand in peril.”
“Is there no hope then? Will evil always return?”
The lòhren closed his eyes, as if in trance. “How can it not? For darkness is in the heart of humanity as well as light, and both shape all that we touch. But against the failing of the six knights, I say now a seventh will arise at the time that fate calls. And that knight will be the greatest of them all. In that knight, the hope of the land will reside.”
Aranloth strode away then, and soon after the king raised a high tower and there established his knights. And the land knew peace and prosperity, if even at whiles strange lights were seen atop the tower.
The knights made it a habit to ride the land, they and those who succeeded them, though never all at once, and they were the best of men. They brought wisdom with them, and helped heal the sick and settle disputes. Honor and praise followed as their shadow.
But the evil of the stone did not sleep, and the lòhren’s prophecy was but dimly remembered, and the stars wheeled in the sky as the years passed, and the king died. And soon both king and prophesy became legend.
The long years marched ahead after that, century after century, and legend turned to myth.
But the knights lived on.
Want to be sure of catching this new series at a discounted price of 99 cents when it’s released? Sign up to my new release list.
Yes please! – Sign me up!
No thanks – I’ll take my chances.