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

by Mason Jr. , Jared

  “Einhander?”

  “Yes, son, this very sword has saved my life more than once,” Jerreth explained. “Do you remember the stories about Necromancer Ghast and his evil army? When Sabre and I rode against him, there was nothing more instrumental in defeating him than this weapon.” He held the sword in front of him, showing it to Lawrence.

  The blade glistened as Jerreth held it up and offered it to his son. Lawrence obliged and grabbed the weapon. As Lawrence took the sword in his hands, he was shocked by how light it was. He looked at his father in bewilderment. “Father, this blade feels like it would shatter into pieces if I hit something with it.”

  Jerreth laughed as he proceeded to educate his son. “I thought the very same thing when an anonymous blacksmith first handed the blade to me. According to the mysterious blacksmith, there is rare powdered dragon’s fang mixed in with the steel used in this sword, giving it its magical properties. It is even lighter than most one-handed longswords, and hits with the force and ferocity of a two handed sword. Trust me, son; in the heat of battle, it’s a real advantage to swing a powerful sword without becoming fatigued.”

  Lawrence looked over the mighty sword; its golden handle felt like it was made just for him as he gripped it with both hands. He swung it easily with two hands, and then tried it with one. He couldn’t believe how effortlessly he swung the sword with only one hand. His eyes traced the golden handle to its hilt where its blade sat forged in place. His eyes continued to the blade, heavy gray steel that had a slight white hue to it, making it look as though it were almost glowing. “This is a great weapon, Father; I wish I had one just like it.”

  “I think perhaps you misheard me, son. This sword now belongs to you. Unbuckle your longsword and give it to me.” Jerreth extended his hand to ask for Lawrence’s sword.

  Lawrence was shocked and he defensively took a step back. “Father, I cannot take this from you.”

  Jerreth took a step toward his son. “Lawrence, in the battle to come you are sure to face many demons. I will start facing my own demons right now by making things right with you. I want you to take my sword, and my word, that from this day forth, Jerreth Sanctus fights for Haile once again!”

  Lawrence unbuckled his longsword. He handed it over to Jerreth who fastened it to his own belt.

  “Well, it’s been a long time since I wore a blade like this; it’s going to take some getting used to. Lawrence, Einhander looks great in your hands.”

  Lawrence didn’t know how to respond. His father had told him that the blade was enchanted. Lawrence had heard tales of some of the strongest swords in the lands, but he never imagined that he would ever get to hold one, let alone use one. Lawrence was entranced by the blade’s beauty and how unbelievably light it felt in his hands.

  “So, let me get this straight. You’re telling me that when I hit something with this sword, it’s going to impact like that of a real zweihander?” Lawrence questioned his father.

  “Yes, son, if you don’t believe me, try it out on that tree over there,” Jerreth instructed, motioning to a nearby pine tree about eight inches in diameter. “I bet you twenty cryn that if you swing that sword like you would your longsword, you will chop that tree right in half.”

  Lawrence gripped the sword with one hand, still fumbling with it a little as the feel and size of the blade was still a bit unfamiliar to him. He approached the tree and took his stance. Lawrence closed his eyes for a moment, thinking about everything that had happened in his life up until this point. He thought of his training and of his dead mother. He thought of the Pyre family and the serious relationship he had with Elsie. He worried for Benni’s safety, not knowing if he had survived the attack or not. Lawrence even pitied Razzius, the man who turned his back on his people and now led an army of dark evil against Haile. However, the one thing he thought about most of all was the return of the exiled one, Phillip Arcel Galexia. Phillip had charged Haile with the evil army, and before Lawrence could respond, it had consumed his entire city. The only thing Lawrence could do was ride away with his mother, leaving the citizens to fend for themselves. He wondered if the Pyre family was safe, or even still alive. His stomach churned at the thoughts of the horrors that awaited the survivors in the dungeon of Knights Runn. Lawrence harnessed his energy and his thoughts. Finally, he opened his eyes. A fire of determination burned brighter than ever before as he readied to swing his new weapon.

  “Hiyah!” he called out through the sprawling forest as he swung the mighty sword. The sword hit the tree and glided through its trunk like butter. Lawrence stood there for a moment, in shock at what he had just witnessed. The tree didn’t move, didn’t waver. He thought for a second that he had missed it completely. Then it began to fall. The tree toppled over, revealing a clean cut right through the middle.

  “That’s my boy!” Jerreth shouted in excitement. He ran over to Lawrence and congratulated him. “I knew you could do it!”

  Lawrence beamed at his father’s adulation. “Father, this weapon is incredible. I feel as though I don’t deserve it.”

  “I know you will use it for good, for justice. Think of this as a tool with which to protect the ones you love, and the things you treasure most.”

  “The things I treasure the most? Yes, I think I can do that, Father,” Lawrence responded, swinging the sword a few more times.

  Their conversation continued, the two men finally forging some common ground and understanding. Lawrence realized that his father still loved him very much, and wanted badly to repair the damage to their relationship that he had caused. Jerreth became a tutor and went over the basics of fighting with the Einhander with Lawrence. Lawrence relished the opportunity to finally train with the legendary Knight. He felt contented that he had finally attained, in his own mind, at least a semblance of understanding with his father.

  The two men finally lay down to rest for the evening, knowing that the next day would require all their strength. Jerreth whistled shrilly, and a fiery red steed emerged from the surrounding woods. Lawrence stared in awe at the animal, mesmerized by its red-orange coat and long, swaying mane. The horse neighed playfully as it trotted up to Jerreth who caressed its slender snout. Lawrence recognized the horse as Jerreth’s trusted steed. It had survived for five years here in the wilderness with him.

  The night grew darker; the dawn loomed nearer. Lawrence lay there on his side looking at the pile of smoldering wood and ashes from the funeral pyre. His thoughts danced in the embers. What if I’m still not strong enough? What if I fail again? What will happen to all of those people that I care about? What will happen to Elsie? What about her dreams and aspirations? I have to protect them! No matter what, I have to save them! Tomorrow, I ride to Haile to take back my city! Tomorrow, I fight for my home!

  Chapter 43:

  Just west of the ironworks rises the Pass, known throughout Forme as Broken Wing Pass, where a mighty beast sits guard, blocking all trade and communication between Melde and Forme. Men say the beast towers easily over even the largest of dwellings in Forme, and is overshadowed only by Knights Runn, Haile’s massive castle. Men say the beast’s wings span seventy-five feet to each side, and its claws are like daggers; daggers so finely honed as to make a forgemaster weep. They say the beast’s teeth put the claws to shame, easily cleaving an envious tear in twain as it falls to the earth; they say its breath is hot enough to melt the strongest steel and thickest armor to a river of iron tears down a brave Knight’s chest. But the eyes. The eyes. Men tell no tales about the beast’s eyes. Not the most seasoned trooper in a bright-lit taproom full of good friends and strong ale; not the bravest Knight in armor brilliant, atop trusted steed on sun-dappled dale in wide-open field. No man tells tales of the beast’s eyes; he whispers. Whispers say that the eyes glow redder than the hottest of morning suns, redder than the freshest of blood, redder than the hottest fury of a good man wronged. Whispers say that the eyes torture the soul, vanquish bravery, and haunt deep-night dreams forever. Whispers say th
at the eyes hate.

  - The Legend of Valpherinox

  Galvan was surrounded by sandstone and boulders. He walked forward. He had been here once before. When he was younger, after first leaving the Everglen, he was looking for shelter during a storm, and sought it out under the large cliffs of the Pass. He did not encounter the dragon then, but he could still remember the noise he heard that night. It was a roar louder than any he had ever heard before; its ferociousness pierced his very soul.

  Galvan never thought he would see the day when he was actually seeking out the legendary Valpherinox within these stone walls that could soon be his own tomb. As he walked, he noticed dead animal and bird carcasses scattered everywhere. Death was abundant in this cavern. He walked into an opening, a gigantic clearing in the chasm. He saw nothing but bones, and a vile stench caused him to gag slightly.

  “Now, where is he? I thought he would be here for sure,” Jameson’s voice called from Galvan’s pocket. His little paws crested the edge of the pocket as he pulled himself up to see the surroundings. “Do you think he’s hiding?”

  “No, I think he’s waiting,” Galvan responded, bracing himself for what may come. He knew Valpherinox was here. Deep in his chest, he could feel a strong, ominous presence following them as they walked.

  Galvan walked further into the clearing, noticing a few rock structures jutting from the earth. The next couple of steps that Galvan took caused him to pause. The solid stone and rubble turned to loose sand that barely supported his weight. He watched as the sand around him formed small whirlpools that very slowly fell away underneath him. Galvan summoned some of his spiritual energy to make his steps as light as possible. He barely upset the sand as he walked now, his presence even less detectable.

  Jameson again poked his head up out of Galvan’s pocket as they neared the middle of the clearing. “We should not be here. I have a bad feeling about this.”

  Galvan stopped as he felt the sand shift quickly underneath him. Galvan quickened his pace almost immediately. The sand continued to shift, now flowing from side to side, almost as though it were water. Galvan looked to his left and his right as he ran to the other side of the clearing. The sand was now falling on all sides of him. The solid ground he had been on started to move as he neared the end of the clearing. Suddenly, it began to rise up underneath him.

  Galvan knew he had to act fast.

  He leapt for his life. He stretched out, barely grasping a rock ledge on the opposite side of the clearing as the ground beneath him fell away. He pulled himself up slowly and upon glancing back, he saw it. The great dragon, Valpherinox, was standing in a massive sand pit; its body length went from one end to the other, stretching completely over it. The beast had yet to notice him. Galvan was sure he would already be dead if it had. He scanned the recessed clearing; he could see the large, scaled legs and wings of the creature. The gale force of the wind from just one wing made standing difficult, and Galvan had to brace himself against a stone outcropping. The creature’s head came down toward Galvan and rested on the bank. Its eyes scanned the area. Galvan froze. The monster’s huge, fire-red eyes became transfixed on him. It opened its mouth, revealing its razor-sharp fangs. The dragon reared its head back, roared ferociously, and lunged for the sorcerer.

  “Run!” Jameson squealed from his pocket.

  Galvan spun around, avoided the dragon’s bite, and broke into a fierce dash. He tore through a narrow passageway, running as fast as he could. He could feel the ground tremor underneath him as the beast made its way free of the sand pit, and climbed up onto the top of the Pass. Galvan looked up and saw only the scaly underbelly of the beast, which blotted out the sun and covered the Pass. Galvan kept running, winding around bends, and ducking under broken trees until he spotted another clearing. He continued his dash; the hulking, lumbering dragon followed him until it came to the end of its higher ground. It tumbled off the ledge without a care, and hit the ground with a crash. It spun around, its feet kicking in the sand for a brief moment. It stood, positioned itself, and turned to face Galvan who had just made his way out into the opening.

  The creature was no longer covered with sand, yet its back was the same color as its surroundings. Under its outer shell of armor-like, golden scales sat green flesh that turned several shades lighter as it neared its belly. Its legs were massive, twice the size of any totem, or any beast that Galvan had ever seen. Its wings were edged in sandy gold scales that turned from one color to the next: gold, then green, then to a sunburst orange, and finally to a golden hue. The dragon was one of the most magnificent sights Galvan had ever witnessed. His eyes made their way to the beast’s thick neck that connected to a gigantic head where twin ivory horns jutted from its carapace. Its pointed, jagged teeth dripped red blood from a recent meal. Galvan shuttered at the sight of them.

  “Uman!” the beast roared in a low, deadly voice. “What you want, uman?! Why you come here?! My domain, my lands, my resting place! Answer me, uman!”

  “I am Galvan Gabrielle and I seek Valpherinox!” Galvan shouted, attempting to assert himself as dominant. He became lost in the beast’s shadow as it lumbered over him, one wing still folded in, its red eyes burning with an intense hatred.

  “You find him, uman!” Valpherinox declared. It sprayed a huge wave of fire down on Galvan, covering the sorcerer with a hot, fiery magma. It burned, charred, and killed the ferns and shrubs around them. The dragon lifted its head, let out a shattering roar of victory, and turned to walk away.

  “Are we going to talk, or are you just going to breathe hot air at me all day?” Galvan’s voice sounded from behind the creature.

  Valpherinox immediately spun around in surprise. “How you survive? No one survive my breath! You just uman, how you do this?” The creature’s broken words formed somewhat cognitive sentences.

  “It doesn’t matter how I survived, all that matters is that you realize that your attacks will never reach me. Your claws would shatter against my skin should you attempt to strike me. Your teeth would rot and fall out were you to attempt to bite me, and your stomach would ache should you attempt to swallow me. Now, what say you to a bit of a proposal?”

  The beast roared again. It shot another blast of fire at Galvan, who this time, sent a single ice bolt through the fire breath, piercing it. The frost spear smashed into the dragon, nailing it right between its eyes.

  The dragon reared in pain as it collapsed to the ground, clawing at the sands and smashing nearby trees with its long tail. “It hurts! It hurts! Why this hurt so bad?! What strength you have?! How you do this to me?!”

  Galvan understood Valpherinox’s broken speech enough to know that the dragon was surprised, and fearful. This was his chance to command it. “I am a powerful sorcerer, one that you could never hope to defeat! But, I don’t come to fight. I come asking for your help, your strength. Haile is in trouble, its people need you now more than ever.”

  Galvan couldn’t say any more, he was interrupted by draconic laughter from the beast. “Hahahaha! Haile hate me. They shot me and broke wing! Why I ever help them?” The creature bumbled out most of its words in between long, anger-filled gaps.

  Galvan’s eyes met with those of the mighty dragon, neither of them budging an inch. “I offer to change all of that!” The beast turned its head in wonder. “I can mend your wing,” Galvan continued. “I can give you the freedom to fly back to your home. I offer you the chance to become a hero to the people of Haile.”

  Jameson poked his small head out and whispered up to Galvan, “Do you really think he will go for this, Master? I mean just look at him, he’s so angry looking!”

  “But without his wings and the power of flight, he’s useless, Jameson,” Galvan patronized, just loud enough so the dragon could hear him. “We just have to hope he’s smart enough to take a good deal when he hears it.”

  The great beast roared in an attempt to regain Galvan’s attention that was now focused on his small rodent friend. “No ignore me, uman!” the dragon co
mmanded, stomping a foot on the ground, causing a fissure to form under it. “How you help me? Haile, hate me! They no accept me! I left home on Isle of Dragon… I forge own des…de…dest…destiny! My father said I unruly, unfit to be king! I leave to become stronger! Look what happen to me!”

  The beast turned to show Galvan a better view of its wing, the one that Jeremayah Damascus had destroyed during the Great War. The bone protruded, it was splintered and rotting, and black with decay from the years of exposure. “I a sh…sh…shadow of what I once was!” The dragon grumbled out its angry tantrum, smoke billowing from its nostrils every time it breathed.

  “Are you near finished!?” Galvan erupted suddenly, his voice strengthened by his own magical energy. “Think of what I am offering you. This is a chance to show your father that you are worthy to be his successor!”

  There was total silence; the only sounds were those of the great beast’s heavy breathing and Galvan’s own heart pounding in his chest and reverberating through his head. He needed Valpherinox to embrace its own strength once again, or Haile might never be saved.

  The dragon crooked its head and thought for a few moments, smoke billowing out of its nostrils as it breathed. Finally, the creature lowered its body and broken wing down to Galvan and said, “Prove me your strength. Heal me, uman!”

  Chapter 44:

  Lawrence awoke with a steely resolve; he knew it was time. Lawrence dusted the dirt off of himself from the night’s slumber and rose to his feet. A cold morning breeze blew through the clearing. The remains of the pyre smoldered, a faint smoke rising from it. He glanced over at his father, who was stirring beside him. The two men gathered their things without speaking, knowing the challenge that awaited them.