The Trinity of Heroes (I Will Protect You Book 1)

by Mason Jr. , Jared

  His grandfather had started the Ironworks, bringing a wave of jobs and prosperity to Green Bryre. His father, Arcel, had used the family fortune to erect multiple academies, churches, and other public areas around the town. This attracted a flourish of culture, art, and craft to Forme that was unheard of throughout the lands at that time. The mayor of Haile had claimed that Green Bryre was the diamond of Veronicia, the most beautiful of all the villages, and people from throughout the world came to spend time there. Phillip knew the townspeople expected him to continue the family legacy of philanthropy, and to ensure that the Ironworks would continue to provide jobs for Green Bryre. But the truth was that Phillip despised the business world. He hated the long hours and the tedious details. But most of all, he hated the people. He didn’t want to be in a position of leadership. He would sell the business as soon as his father stepped down, and use the profits for his own leisure. Phillip had little aspiration to achieve anything. He had money and he enjoyed using it. He could never spend it all, and he gave no thought to future generations. As far as he was concerned they would have to make their own way. Anything that required him to lift a finger was out of his realm of accomplishment. The townspeople in Green Bryre knew it, too. They asked him those annoying questions: ‘What academy do you attend?’ ‘What do you want to be when you grow up?’ ‘Have you started working at the Ironworks yet?’ Phillip hated those conversations; it was his reason for leaving Green Bryre. He used to be able to stay in Knights Runn and hide from the biting inquiries.

  Phillip quickly made his way through the town, head down, doing his best not to attract the attention of the nosey people who walked by him. He had no time to waste, and didn’t want to speak to anyone other than his father. A few people called out to him, but Phillip didn’t entertain them. He walked past the statue of Mervin and continued to a large, brick home beset against a hillside.

  The homes in Green Bryre were some of the best crafted in all of Haile, but the Galexia home was a monument to architectural perfection. The home, referred to as the second castle in Forme by many, dwarfed all other buildings in Green Bryre in size and scope. It was awe-inspiring. The main entrance welcomed guests with its huge glass door. Caretakers worked on the trees, hedges, and lawn with surgical precision. Inside, Norman, the doorman, greeted Phillip with a bow, as he opened the door. Phillip walked past him, and other servants inside the house, without acknowledging their presence. Nothing about the home, inside or outside, could be considered awry, even to the most astute critic. Phillip didn’t care, but rather, he loathed the fact that his house was so large. It was a monument to his father’s ego, and another reminder of the unrealistic goals he was expected to achieve. It felt lonely and void, almost like a physical purgatory. Phillip wondered where his father could be. He didn’t feel like searching every room. The house was silent, except for a faint rustling coming from the end of a long, dimly-lit hallway.

  Phillip strutted toward the noises, hoping to find his father. What he saw perplexed him. Outside the door to his father’s study, large saddlebags sat overflowing with odds and ends. Manuscripts and maps were strewn about. Phillip tiptoed around the mess and peered through the open door.

  Arcel didn’t even notice his son as he scurried about like a ferret. He was frantically putting everything he could gather into larger and larger satchels.

  “Father,” Phillip asked, “what in Veronicia are you doing?”

  His father did not respond; he didn’t even look up. He just continued to dash about the study.

  “Father!” Phillip yelled. He walked into the study. He was intent on getting Arcel’s attention.

  Arcel finally glanced irritably at Phillip, and then lowered his head and went back to digging through drawers of an oak desk.

  Phillip decided to continue the conversation. “Father, I need your help,” he whined. “The mayor just kicked me out of the castle and banned me from returning to the city. All because I beat up some Knight Guard trainee who was meddling in my affairs. You need to go and have a word with Flint; he is out of control.”

  Arcel lifted his head in agitation as he slammed down a stack of papers he had gathered. “Are you serious, Phillip? Can’t you handle your own problems? You are a grown man now. I have bigger issues than your little scuffles to deal with. Can’t you see I’m busy?! I haven’t the time or the money to bail you out of any more trouble.”

  The words rattled Phillip, who had expected his father to at least take his side. Phillip knew his father was preoccupied, but he wished his father would take the time to listen to his concerns. Arcel was rarely around and this greatly strained Phillip’s relationship with his father. Phillip was still young and learning, he needed a mentor, but Arcel often chose the saloons and brothels over a chance to spend time with his son. Arcel and Phillip didn’t treat each other like father and son, but more like two rival siblings who both only wanted to speak to each other if it could be beneficial for their own gain.

  “What could be more important than helping me, your son, in his time of need? Please, Father,” Phillip pleaded.

  “Phillip, you don’t understand.” Arcel struggled to stay interested in the conversation. “I’ve wasted our fortune at the whorehouses and pubs in town. Even if I wanted to help you, there is no money left to buy favors. The Galexia name is ruined.”

  These words shocked Phillip. Arcel was known as a philanthropist, a man recognized throughout the lands for his charity. How could he have squandered the family fortune so quickly? This was supposed to be Phillip’s money, Phillip’s destiny. If the words his father had just spoken were true, then Phillip was poor.

  “What do you mean, Father? We have more money than we could ever spend. Are you sure you are thinking straight, you seem a bit distracted.”

  “Oh please, Phillip,” his father became irritated now, “don’t you think I know what I’m talking about? I gambled the money away on exquisite artifacts, whores, and fine drinks. There is no more fortune.”

  “Well then what are you doing in here?” Phillip at least needed to know why his father had turned his neat, tidy study into a disorganized mess.

  “Mayor Flint has commissioned me on a trip over the Frozen Mountains. He said if I can bring him proof of what lies beyond, I will be rewarded handsomely. I’m leaving soon. I’m doing this for us, son. I’m risking my life for you.”

  Deep in his heart Phillip knew better. Arcel was risking his life for his own gain; it certainly had nothing to do with Phillip’s future. But then, what did it really matter. Phillip rarely saw his father anyway, so he may as well hope that the man would be able to recover some of the fortune that he had lost.

  Still, Phillip detested the miserable fool even more for squandering his fortune in the first place. “How could you, Father? How could you do this to me? I have nothing now. I’m a nobody. What am I supposed to do now? I…I hate you!” Phillip stormed out of the study and sulked up two flights of steps to his room, which overlooked Green Bryre. A storm had rolled in and rain poured from the gray clouds that gripped the village.

  There was nothing that Phillip could do. The family fortune was gone. Phillip had to fire their servants because they had no money to pay them. The home fell to disorder as neither Phillip nor Arcel had the necessary knowledge or skills to do basic repairs. A cavernous distance grew between Phillip and Arcel. They rarely spoke. They purposely avoided each other like two ex-lovers. Arcel spent his time planning his excursion and begging old friends for a drink at the local bar. They obliged him, happy to add another member to their inner-circle of misery and despair. Arcel’s fall from grace was the talk of the town. Phillip had to withstand a barrage of questions from the locals every time he went to the market. Phillip begged for a job at the Ironworks, as a day laborer, to make some money to buy food and provide a meager living for himself and his father. The foreman, Jackson Jonah, was happy to oblige him.

  Chapter 13:

  From dawn to dusk,

  Iron to rust />
  We work all night and day!

  Brawn or bust,

  Until we’re dust

  We won’t be walkin’ away!

  - Ironworker’s chant

  A loud clamor awoke Phillip earlier than he ever had in his life. His new employment at the Galexia Ironworks required him to be to work before sun up. If it weren’t for his father stumbling home drunk from the pub in the early hours of the morning and banging the door shut, he would probably have overslept. Phillip struggled his way out of the silent, dilapidated mansion and groggily made his way to his job at the Galexia Ironworks. Jackson Jonah, the foreman of the Ironworks, and one of Phillip’s childhood friends from Green Bryre, was standing out front to welcome his newest laborer.

  “Time for some real work, Phillip, get down there, now!” Jonah bellowed, pointing a meaty finger toward the forge. The man took a sick pleasure in commanding Phillip, who he knew would be at his mercy.

  Phillip was unaccustomed to manual labor. But, he would have been able to adjust if not for the heat. Oh the heat! A heat so unbearable, so blistering, that it sent even the strongest men home on their first day in mere minutes. But, the foreman would not grant Phillip that reprieve. Jackson Jonah barely obliged Phillip’s request for water. Phillip removed all the clothes he could, but still the heat was insufferable. Phillip had to survive; he couldn’t lose his job. It was the only way he could afford to eat! It was as though the heat was pulling little drops of his soul out of him one torturous drip of sweat at a time. Beads of sweat inched their way down his brow, down his arms, down his thighs, driving Phillip closer to the brink of insanity, further into the depths of his own madness.

  Phillip descended the rickety, poorly constructed steps of the Ironworks, his ears ringing with the loud clangs of metals as he brought a large pitcher of water to his workmates. A large, burly man approached him, and grabbed the pitcher forcefully. He took a large gulp of water, passed it to a nearby workmate, and let out a satisfied “Ah!”

  The men were the bottom of society’s barrel, and Phillip didn’t feel as though he belonged amongst them. In the past Phillip always drank first, a sign of his family’s status, but here in the Ironworks he was nothing more than another hand that would eventually get crushed or burned to a crisp. Finally, a thin, muscular man thrust the pitcher back to Phillip. Phillip leaned his head back and shook the pitcher, trying to coax every drop of water from it. But still it was barely enough to quench his dry, parched throat. His hands shook as he dropped the pitcher to the ground, the clang barely audible over the bolstering forge.

  How did it come to this? Phillip thought to himself as he moved tools from one workplace to another, their weight tearing at his arms, causing him to hunch over in pain. I’m not meant to do these strenuous, menial tasks! I’m meant to marry a beautiful, wealthy girl and live a life of luxury! Those dogs in Haile will pay if it’s the last thing I ever do! Phillip brooded all day long while he worked in the forge. He was assigned clean-up duties as well as being what those who worked in the forge called a “runner.” He was forced to run tools from the depths of the forge all the way to town to be sharpened by the blacksmiths, and then return them back down to the pits.

  At one point during the day all of the working men gathered on the middle level of the ironworks and began eating sticks of salted beef and pork. They grabbed some dented mugs and dipped them into a community water trough. Phillip reached for a dirty, half crushed mug on a nearby table. Before he could wrap his filthy, battered hands around it, a stout, muscular man knocked it to the ground. “You used to treat us like dogs, Phillip. Hardly better than slaves!” the man shouted. “Now you’re the dog, now you’re our slave!” He moved his face to within inches of Phillip’s.

  Phillip recoiled from his rancid breath.

  “The only reason we haven’t torn you to pieces is because we need someone to do the running!” He pushed even closer and snarled, “You have no friends here, Phillip.”

  The man had made his point and Phillip dejectedly left the group to eat alone along a sidewall. He waited until everyone had finished eating and picked up the soiled mug from the floor. There was barely any water remaining in the trough, but Phillip scooped up what he could. The warm water provided him little comfort. Phillip swore quietly to himself and cursed his father for putting the family in the position it was currently in.

  Finally, work ended for the day, and Phillip limped out of the Ironworks. He was shocked to find darkness and stars covering the sky. How long have I been here? Phillip was exhausted and he was barely able to find the energy to shuffle his way home. The boys he had grown up with around Green Bryre, and was now forced to work with at the Ironworks, didn’t invite him to the pub after work. Phillip knew why. He knew that deep down they resented him, hated him even. He knew they would talk about him, and about his family’s decline.

  Phillip now longed for the giant home that he used to despise. He welcomed the way it greeted him with its cold, dead silence. He appreciated how comforting it was, and how it didn’t chide or belittle him. He felt safe. He could think there in the dark lonesomeness. He could plan. He could dream, dream of the day when he could return to Haile and have his revenge.

  Chapter 14:

  Fix what is broken, and break what you eat for breakfast.

  - Wakewood Family Saying

  A few months later

  The sun flooded Lawrence’s private, third-floor room in Knights Runn. It was early enough that Lawrence threw his hands over his eyes in annoyance with the sun’s invasive actions. His body still ached with throbbing pain, and Lawrence knew that his recovery would still take time. He slowly sat up. At least he could do that by himself. The dull soreness was still there, however, reminding him that he hadn’t fully recovered just yet. Lawrence thought back on the last months as he remembered all of the things that had happened to him. Healer Numidor confirmed after intense examination that Lawrence indeed had some cracked ribs and internal bruising. Outside of the cracked ribs, Lawrence’s other injuries healed very quickly and he now had begun some light lifting and swordplay. He had rejoined the Knight Guard daily training, but found himself falling behind the others. His endurance had suffered after his injury and now he found himself a shadow of his former self. If he wanted to get back to the level he was at he would need to train harder and longer than ever.

  There was, however, one good thing that came out of the time he spent recovering in the castle. He and Elsie had become very close and spent much of their days together. Lawrence didn’t know why, but Elsie insisted on having breakfast with him every morning. She told Lawrence that “it’s essential to a speedy recovery that you properly nourish your body every morning.” Lawrence was grateful for Elsie’s attentive care, and it seemed to be helping.

  The door opened and an elegantly dressed Elsie entered his room. She wore a golden dress and a large white hat. The dress came down to her ankles and was covered in frills and twists. She was a scion of beauty and Lawrence was happy he could start his day with the sight of her fresh in his mind. She walked to the foot of his bed and said, “Good morning, Lawrence. Isn’t it about time you get up?”

  “Isn’t it a bit early, Elsie? I don’t need to be to training for several hours yet.” Lawrence looked at a nearby sun dial on the ledge of one of the large windows.

  “How many times do I have to tell you, Lawrence? Until you recover, you and I will eat breakfast every morning and I will walk with you to and from training.”

  “I know, I know. Well, I suppose I need to get dressed,” Lawrence said. He got out of bed and slowly straightened his back. As he turned around and began to put on a shirt, Elsie saw the scars from Phillip’s assault.

  “Lawrence…” Elsie began, saddened. “Does it still hurt?”

  Lawrence paused for a moment, turned around, and donned his undershirt. “Elsie, the pain is temporary, but those scars are forever. I don’t know if I can ever forgive Phillip for what he did.”

  “
I don’t expect you to, Lawrence. I still can’t believe he had the audacity to do such an underhanded thing.”

  “It would have been different if he had challenged me fair and square, face to face, but he didn’t. Instead of being a man he took the coward’s way out.” Lawrence grabbed a handful of his effects, strapped his longsword to his side, and carefully draped his Knight’s vest over his shirt. “Shall we go, Elsie?”

  “Yes, let’s go to breakfast, Lawrence.”

  The two began to walk arm in arm out of the door and made their way to the dining room. Lawrence was still in awe by the size of Knights Runn on the inside. A beautiful red velvet carpet wound its way around the third floor and proceeded to guide them down the stairs to the lower levels. Beautiful art and polished golden candelabras hung on the walls. Their candles were the castle’s only source of light at night. The towering stone walls felt like they ascended forever as Lawrence looked up to higher levels only to feel a sense of dizziness overtake him. He looked down from their third floor balcony as they approached the stairs, where he could see servants carrying trays to their usual dining spot. Lawrence enjoyed getting an extra hour of sleep as opposed to waking early to eat. He often went to training on an empty stomach, but Elsie had slowly been changing his ways. Lawrence knew it was an unhealthy habit, and it was one he was determined to break.