Epic Fantasy Adventure: The Angel's Blessing: Holy Paladin's Quest: Book 1 (Sword and Sorcery Epic Fantasy Adventure Book With Dragons and Magic)

by Hart, Blaine

  Disclaimer

  This is a work of fiction. Any names, businesses, characters, events, incidents and places are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or actual events or occurrences is purely coincidental.

  The Angel’s Blessing

  Holy Paladins Quest

  Book 1

  By Blaine Hart

  Copyright © 2016

  Check Out all My Books and Audio Books at: www.LordHartRules.com

  www.LordHartRules.com

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1 The Day of the White Rook

  Chapter 2 The Annas

  Chapter 3 Yasmeen de LaCroix

  Chapter 4 Of Demons and Angels

  Chapter 5 Galth

  Chapter 6 Visalth

  Chapter 7: Of Angels and Demons

  Check Out My Other Books

  To Receive My Newest Fantasy Books For FREE Just Click Here

  Chapter 1 The Day of the White Rook

  My Master did not become the great Warrior Shaman of peace because he was born with the blessings of the gods. He did not rise to his exalted place in the history of our worlds by the chance of ancestry, nor was he a child of fortune. He had no advantage other than his cunning, and he had no blessing other than that given to him by his grandfather. And that blessing was herb-lore.

  My master was conceived and born in violence.

  His mother was a young beauty who was ravaged by the invading Veylus pirates when our beloved city of Barnacle Atoll was overrun. When her time to give birth came, she held the newborn infant to her breast, the scrawny infant seeking to suckle a tit. But the nipple that the child found was cold and so he turned to his grandfather’s thumb instead, and that thumb was hard and calloused and yet rich with the taste of mother-earth and her herbs. And so in his first suckle of life, the babe that was to be known simply as Kell, tasted the roots of us all.

  Kell spent his youngest years under the domination of the brigands, and he quickly learned stealth and cunning as a way of life. In time, the Veylus were ousted by the armada of Queen Anastasias, and while her liberation was near devastation, the people of the Barnacles were once again free. With that freedom came years of reconstruction and tribute to the Queen, but that was far better than the pirates.

  In that time Kell grew up as boys will. He was astounded with the world. His grandfather had a bountiful garden, and in there Kell saw crawlers and wigglers and flyers of all sorts. As a toddler, he tasted them and found them much crunchier than the wiggly ones of the root cellar. His grandfather often looked at him and sighed as adults will. But despite his odd tastes, he grew up healthy and strong.

  Their small island of Dunsil wasn’t on many sea-routes, but he and his grandfather were often visited by passing ships looking for a remedy to help a wounded or sick crewman. Often a boatful of sailors would come ashore and seek one of grandfather’s special elixirs, and then ask of the ways with which to work the earth’s gift. His grandfather never refused anyone in need -- for a fair price. Over the years, the legends grew of his incredible remedies. It was an ideal childhood and Kell was very happy.

  Until the day that the Dorimans engulfed their island.

  They were a gang of thugs with ships. Their fleet was small and fast and they would prey on defenseless lands, not to conquer, but to plunder and destroy. And before the Queen’s forces could come to aid, they would sail away into the night’s fog only to reappear in some other land, rough-handed and demanding. They wore no uniforms, and in their motley gear Kell saw them as something to be afraid of. He was a teenager at the time and the Dorimans saw him as a value to their number. And so at his grandfather’s urging, he drew on all his cunning and he ran away.

  He ran across the crest of the island and to the common ground where others were also gathering and afraid. Understanding his plight, the elders brought him to a cove with a light boat hidden within. They told him to sail straight to Angove’s Cay, which was the home of Wendfala the Witch.

  The young witch, seeing my Master’s comely and youthful state, took him in and proceeded to teach him the ancient ways. It is said that in those dark hours while our very island writhed beneath the boots of the Dorimans, Wendfala made my Master into a man, and the young boy emerged from her clutches alert, able and with a new sort of strength that radiated off him like an aura.

  They say that he emerged from her embraces as a magical paladin who single-handedly rallied the people and sent the Dorimans howling away and afraid. They say that he was the hero who liberated our islands and that the Doriman still fear his name. And they say that when he was done with the Dorimans, the of battle was still upon him, and so he sailed the world in search of glory, wisdom and to inflict Holy Justice upon the wicked. For years sailors and merchants would land on our island and tell tales of Kell’s valor in lands unknown.

  That’s what they say.

  In the years of peace that followed many tales were told and retold, and then told and changed again and again. And in the small confines of the island of Dunsil the simple herbalist’s grandchild became a living legend.

  He returned to our island the year that I was born, and while many looked at the legendary hero in awe, their real amazement was that the lad looked as if he had never left. It was as though time had not touched him, and when he walked into his grandfather’s cottage with his backpack full of magic and treasures, the old man simply looked up and told him that the garden needed tending.

  He would say nothing of his adventures, but people would talk. Kell shunned their stories, but he didn’t shun their company. He was still young and he had a quick wit at the tavern and loved winning at darts and skittles. The young women all eyed him and so at the festivals and dances he never lacked a partner. His knowledge of herbs and medicines grew as his grandfather taught him all he knew as he waned in years. People came to trust the young man as they did his old grandfather, sometimes more.

  In time, the great herbalist finally passed. Every man woman and child on Dunsil stood on the white sands of the island’s eastern shore as Kell made ready the last boat. They covered his body in beautiful flower blossoms, in hopes that the sea would pause and delight in the scent and so allow fair winds to carry him to his eternal paradise. Even the witch Wendfala came to give her blessing.

  I was just a small boy at the time. I remember my mother urging me, my sisters and my brothers to let go of our flowers. But I was fascinated by the naked old man. He was nothing but old bones wrapped in tan skin at the bottom of a small rustic boat, and yet the blossoms made him seem almost alive.

  “Forgive my child Kell,” my mother said. “He is –“

  “Young,” Kell said. “And fascinated.”

  Then he set his gaze on me and he smiled.

  It was not that long after the funeral that I was selected to be Kell’s apprentice. I trembled with the honor and surged with excitement.

  I had heard all of the grand tales. Indeed, I had been raised in the shadow of those magnificent stories, and when he and my father bartered for my apprenticeship, I thought that the gods themselves had blessed me.

  “He’s kind of scrawny.”

  “Yeah,” my father said. “He is. But how much bulk do you need to scratch out your herbs?”

  Kell frowned.

  “Look,” my father said. “I have a farm
. Farming is a strong man’s job. The boy will be better in your hands. I will give you milk, cheese and all the whey you want for four years.”

  “Seven.”

  I listened as they haggled over my worth. In the end I went for the price of six years of milk, three of cheeses and all the whey I could carry between the houses until I was seventeen.

  It was a good bargain.

  Master Kell was a soft-spoken and kindly man. He treated me well and our house wanted for nothing. Along with teaching me herb lore, he also taught me numbers and letters, and while I found numbers valuable in weighing and mixing and figuring out the price to put on a remedy, I never understood why Kell put so much value on writing.

  We worked in a daily routine and there were always things to get done or learn. But Kell was a light-hearted soul and we often took the time to play. We would sometimes end a long day frolicking and fishing on one side of Crystal Lake while the women washed their laundry on the other. My master had an eye for the ladies and there were quite a few nights that I spent alone sleeping under the Starlight.

  When I came into my teenage years I learned two very important lessons of life. One was girls. When I was young girls were simply giggly playmates, but as I matured I began to see those gigglers grow round, soft and firm, and that made me wonder. And there were odd things about my own body that I didn’t understand; strange stirrings and desires. I asked my master about these feelings but he seemed somewhat at a loss, then smiled and assured me that all would be revealed in time.

  I wondered about how long that time might be. And then one day a woman named Loleena came calling. She was from the other side of the island and I barely knew her. Kell graciously invited her to sup with us and the woman seemed to take an immediate interest in me. I was flattered that such a fine lady would even recognize my existence, let along talk with me.

  The night was cool and getting cooler. Kell excused himself to gather more wood for the fire, but he didn’t return till dawn. And that night Loleena helped me understand what it was like to be a man.

  Over time I became an expert at herb lore and my master’s special elixirs where in high demand, giving me plenty of practice at the craft. When it came time for the harvest festival, I was invited for the first time to join the adults around the big bonfire. There was music and dancing, and everyone cheered when Kell produced a keg of his special brew. The draught was sweet and heady and at first I didn’t feel its effects. But then the festival started to feel a lot more happier to me. The dancing was lighter, the music was sweeter, and the young girls seemed prettier. The brew seemed to have the same effect on the girls as well, because they suddenly found me handsome. I did not lack for sweet company all that day and night.

  Winters on the Atoll were usually cold and dreary. Work still needed to be done, but the sun would set earlier and earlier and the nights cooped up in the cottage could be wearisome. In those days I was glad to have learned my letters. My master had books on his craft and a boring volume entitled The List of Leaves that helped pass the dreary time.

  We woke one chill sunny morning to a racket outside. Rooks were calling and crying. We rushed outside to see what was happening and the sky was nearly blotted out by their numbers. It was an amazing sight. Thousands of them were circling overhead. They seemed to be whirling in a vortex that narrowed closer and closer to the center eye, and in that eye I saw a single speck of white.

  As we watched the birds became more and more frantic. The center mass of birds began to dip down and then formed into a funnel. I cried out and fell back to shield myself, but when they were only a few hundred feet above us a single rook parted from the myriad, spread its massive wings and began to descend. As it got closer we could see that the rook was as white as snow.

  The pearlescent feathers seemed almost to gleam and its beak was like polished marble, but even as its spiny claws touched the sand of the earth the creature transformed. There stood before us a tall, bald man with skin as black as the night that seemed to almost shine blue where the sunlight fell on it. He was hairless from his head to his eyebrows and everywhere else a man should have hair. But what truly astonished me was that there was no manhood. At the place where his thighs met his pelvis there was nothing but smooth dark flesh.

  “You are Kell,” the man said in a silky, almost liquid voice.

  “I am.”

  And for all of my amazement and growing fear my master was as calm as the sea on a spring morning.

  “I am an emissary from Wendfala,” he said. “The Witch calls on your pledge.”

  There was a long pause before my master spoke. The birds above had wheeled out in a huge circle letting the sun shine onto us.

  “Why doesn’t Wendfala come herself to call on this sacred pledge?” Kell asked in a powerful voice.

  “She has been kidnapped,” the man-bird said.

  “Kidnapped?” Kell bellowed, his hand unconsciously flexing as if to grab his weapon.

  “She needs your help. In fact the whole of the Nine domains need your help.”

  “With what? What is going on?” Kell asked with obvious concern in his voice.

  “Wendfala calls for you. It’s not for me to judge her choice. I am only a messenger and ask you to hear her plea. I see smoke from your chimney. Can we go inside? It’s cold out here without feathers.”

  “Um, sure. But first tell me, what is your name?” said Kell

  “I am Byrinius.”

  Kell motioned towards his house and as they turned to go inside Byrinius pointed towards me and asked who I was.

  “This is Longo Nonan,” Kell said. “He is my apprentice.”

  “Longo,” the man said. “Look at me boy. I have no hair and I have nothing where a human male should have something. But can you tell me what else there is about me that is not like you?”

  At first I was frightened and my brain refused to work. But it felt as though the two would stare at me until I either flushed or fumbled like a child, or I solved the riddle. I looked. Then I looked again, and then I saw, but the words would not form and so I simply pointed to my belly.

  “That’s right,” Byrinius said laughing long and hard. “I have no naval. I was not born, I was hatched. Kell, the lad is astute. Let him come with us and listen.”

  My master gave me a strange look, but I went with them and sat quietly in the corner. Kell offered tea but the man refused. He plucked a large ember from the fire, sat at the table, and held the glowing thing in his palm as he spoke.

  “Visalth is coming,” the man said.

  As he spoke, vapors rose from the glowing ember. The smoke grew a little and then began to spin, then gather and spread into a wide sphere, and in the center of the sphere an image began to form. It was the image of a giant skeletal Dragon… A Bone Dragon.

  I had heard of such things in stories, and in my youth they were terrifying. The mindless, soulless things would always seek to steal, kill and destroy and they could listen to no reason and had no fear for their own lives.

  But these were modern times. Such myths were put away long ago along with frost fairies and trolls.

  But that day my eyes had seen a bird transform into the vestige of a man who was now holding a scorching cinder in his hand as if it were a pebble, and the vision that formed in the room made me believe.

  The dragon’s bones were not like the white bleached things of men I had seen washed up on the beaches. They were deep brown like rotten teeth. It’s long skull was swept back, flaring out into nine horns that turned forward like barbed fish-hooks. The hollow orbits were long, narrow and without eyes. It had a look of evil about it. I could not count the many spike-tipped vertebrae of the creature’s neck, but the thing could wind and twist like a snake. Its ribs were slender, but what once had been the torso was long. Its fore-limbs grew from a solid breastplate that looked scarred and beaten, and they were like a man’s arms ending in grasping fingers. Its massive hind-legs bent like a deer, but the thighs could have been as thic
k as a trader ship’s mast, and the claws could have crushed our house. The wings that sprouted from its back spread like enormous bird fingers, but between those bones there was no skin, only what looked like remnants of tattered sails or the clinging bits of flesh from creatures undreamed. The tail of the beast was easily as long as the whole creature, and as I watched the dragon fly about in the vision, the bony tail would whip back between the wings to attack like a scorpion.

  “Magnificent,” Kell said. “Truly a feat of powerful magic.”

  “Dark magic,” Byrinius replied.

  We watched the scene as the dragon lay waste to a solid castle set on a hill. The land was unknown to me. It was a lush place with rolling green grass, well cultivated farm land surrounded by walls and then a deep forest. But as we watched, the beast seemed to delight in wreaking ruin on the castle walls and buildings. An army of warriors looked helpless against the skeletal foe. Their arrows and bolts would bounce off the bones or sail through the empty spaces of its ribs. Even the catapults the men managed to muster had little effect, and they were quickly destroyed. When the undead horror had reduced the defenses to rubble it then turned on the army, sweeping men and cavalry away with its deadly tail.

  “It seems bent on wanton destruction,” Kell said.

  “Not so. There is method in its madness. Observe.”

  I watched with a dull growing terror. When the army had been broken and the warriors were fleeing, men began to march in from the woods. The dragon seemed to suddenly heed some sort of call. It lifted and flew up on wings that were no wings, circling the walled city as the invaders easily took over.

  “What are we seeing?” Kell asked. “What place is this?”

  “It’s Breakstone Hold, the Castle of Duke Venyez in Estile.”

  “Estile? That’s in the Nine.”

  “It is,” the man said. “It is on the Queen’s western realms. The bone dragon’s name is Visalth, and it’s forces seem to be working their way along the alliance. Before Estile, the Duchy of Halnn fell. But the curious thing about the invasion is the pattern of assault. There is no warning, but just before an invasion all magic seems to disappear.”