by Justin Sloan
CONTENTS
Dedication
Legal
Irth - The Lost Isles
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Author Notes - Justin Sloan
Author Notes - Michael Anderle
Social Links
Series List
DEDICATION
From Justin
To Ugulay, Verona and Brendan Sloan
From Michael
To Family, Friends and
Those Who Love
To Read.
May We All Enjoy Grace
To Live The Life We Are
Called.
Shades of Glory Team
JIT Beta Readers
Kelly ODonnell
John Raisor
John Findlay
Joshua Ahles
James Caplan
Paul Westman
Micky Cocker
If I missed anyone, please let me know!
Editor
Lynne Stiegler
SHADES OF GLORY (this book) is a work of fiction.
All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Sometimes both.
This book Copyright © 2017 Justin Sloan, Michael T. Anderle, CM Raymond, LE Barbant
Cover Design by Ivan Tao https://www.facebook.com/ivantaoart/
Cover copyright © LMBPN Publishing
LMBPN Publishing supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture.
The distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.
LMBPN Publishing
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First US edition, September 2017
The Kurtherian Gambit (and what happens within / characters / situations / worlds) are copyright © 2017 by Michael T. Anderle.
CHAPTER ONE
Lannis ran for all he was worth, but he’d long ago lost sight of the others. He knew he shouldn’t have followed them. They had explicitly told him to stay put, in fact.
He had to wonder, though, if they truly knew what he was capable of. While some might have still considered him a child, he would argue otherwise. Not all clansfolk could do magic, and with the help of his wind spirit friend, Stormy, he figured he could do more than most. Only three others from his village had wind magic, though he had heard of some people at the Fortress of Stirling with the same powers. He meant to prove himself, and one day be accepted to serve at Stirling.
But for now, he simply had to find the others and do what he could to help.
None of that would be possible, though, if he didn’t survive this. Every direction he turned, groups of sorcerers or paladins were walking, making their way back from the battle.
Whether they were in retreat or had won, he couldn’t be sure. It wasn’t like they were laughing and sharing tales of their gallantry, as the men from his village would have done after a skirmish. At the same time, their faces didn’t have the look of retreat on them.
He needed to make it through to the others and find out what had happened. Mostly, he wanted to make sure Kia was safe.
She was more powerful than him, but he had found that the more powerful often underestimated their need for help.
“Why let them escape?” a voice said from nearby, and Lannis ducked behind a tree trunk, hoping it was enough to keep him from being spotted.
“They aren’t the mission,” another said. “Think of them like a roach infestation. They just have to be dealt with. While it’s gross, they’re more of a distraction.”
Lannis slunk down, then dared to peek out. Two paladins were walking past, with several more behind them. If he stayed here, he would certainly be seen.
“That, or the Sorceress isn’t as perfect as we’ve been led to believe,” the first paladin replied.
Just as he was about to duck into the bushes nearby, he saw a flurry of robes and a sorcerer moving his hand in the direction of the paladins.
“Say it again,” the sorcerer spat. “See what happens.”
This was too good, Lannis thought. At least they weren’t a unified enemy without any faults. He watched as a flame sprang to life in the man’s extended hand, glowing brightly as he extended his reach. His eyes dared the paladin to make a move, but the paladin simply bowed his head. Lannis was about to turn back when he noticed a hint of red plaid under the robes. He frowned, considering what this could mean.
The sorcerers, or at least some of them, were from the clans? He didn’t like the sound of that. Though he didn’t know much of clan politics, he knew that the clans of the far north and the middle Highlands sometimes warred. Since he didn’t recognize this plaid’s pattern, he could only assume the man was from a clan to the far north, one he wasn’t familiar with.
“No offense was meant,” the paladin said. “My apologies.”
With a nod and a look of disgust, the sorcerer lowered his hand, but then his eyes flicked to Lannis’s hiding spot. With another wave of his hands, the fire was back and shooting toward Lannis.
He only had one option here—run like the wind. And so he did, pulling on his wind spirit to help him, so that the tree’s branches swayed into the path of the attack, catching the brunt and bursting into flames.
Nothing could stop him. His legs moved on their own, and the wind pushed at his back. He dodged between broad pines and oaks, breathing in deep, earthy scents, focusing on trying to control his heart as it beat hard enough to put a hole in his chest.
For a split second he wished he hadn’t followed the others, but then what type of man would he be? Many in his village didn’t consider him old enough to be a man, but considering what he was already capable of, he just ignored them.
He leaped over a mound that stuck out of the earth, only seeing mid-leap that it was some kind of old metal vehicle, half-buried in the ground. Another turn took him to the ruins of an old house, which he dove behind just as another burst of fire hit.
Shite, he needed to find a way out of there. He needed to reconnect with Kia, to find the larger group and convince them that he could do his part, that he could fight.
A glance around showed him nothing but trees and rolling hills in all directions, ruins sticking out of the ground here and there, but then he saw it—open air, indicating what he hoped was a dropoff. A large cliff would be best.
His uncle had chided him more than once for practicing his falls.
“You don’t want to show them what you’re capable of,” his uncle had said. “They’ll be jealous; the
y’ll come after you.”
“Let ‘em come,” he’d replied, now realizing how stupid that must have sounded. A little boy had said that. Now there was an army of sorcerers and paladins at his back, and he certainly did not want them to come for him. He so didn’t want that to happen that he was about to jump off a cliff and fall forever, for all he knew.
But he had faith.
Running all-out now, dodging another fireball, he reached the edge and leaped…
And fell, and fell.
His arms windmilled and the wind blew his hair and clothes about. As he saw the ground coming up fast, he felt his eyes turn black as he shouted, “STORMY!” at the top of his lungs.
Nothing.
The ground just kept coming, no sign of the spirit anywhere. Just before contact, it was like the wind spirit and he were one, as if he were riding the wind. It took him, whirled him in a circle like a small leaf, and then deposited him with a thump at the edge of a roaring river.
He lay there, arms outstretched, catching his breath. By the spirits, he had done it!
A tingling rose up his spine and he wanted to laugh, but there was no time. The sorcerers had appeared at the top of the cliff above. One lifted her hands, spiraling them, and thrust.
With her thrust, the river water was pushed up into the shape of a giant demon. The construct turned on Lannis.
“AHH!” was all he could get out as he rolled aside. The strike from the water demon missed him, but sent water splashing so that he was soaked.
He tried to pull his magic, but all that came was a small gust of wind—just enough to blow his hair out of his eyes.
When he saw the demon coming for him again, it didn’t matter how tired or drained from using magic he was—he pushed himself, every muscle in his body screaming in exhaustion. He ran and ran until he couldn’t run anymore, and then he collapsed.
His eyelids were already closing as he spotted the narrow tunnel nearby, and he barely managed to crawl into it. Before sleep took him, he grabbed a fern and pulled it down so that it partly covered him.
And then all was black.
He was lost to dreams, a dream of the last time he had been so exhausted—when he had first learned to truly control Stormy. It had been a beautiful day, a day of joy and celebration in his village, because the harvest had just come in. Everyone smiled at him and each other as he passed through the market. The spirit shrine was decorated in flowers, and he considered saying a prayer, hoping he would be blessed with wind magic.
A scream had interrupted his thoughts, so he never got to say a prayer. Instead, he had run back to see fire mages, one with a torch, the other moving her hands so that the flames leaped up and took the house Lannis had grown up in.
There was no waiting to see what would happen, no doubting himself. As if he had the magic all along, Lannis had charged the two, pulling Stormy to him so that the rock he picked up and then threw had the power of ten little boys—not much, but enough to knock the man holding the torch on his arse and draw blood.
A gust of wind put out the torch, but the flames were already eating the side of the house. His actions were enough to stall the fire mages, so that by the time the woman had helped her companion up, the village wind mages had arrived.
His mother had survived that day because of him. She never did tell him about the feud that had caused the attack, and he never told her about his magic.
The point was that he had kept her alive, at least momentarily. He only wished it had been enough to keep her and his father alive forever, but that sort of magic didn’t exist. Or at least, he didn’t know of its existence.
As he lay in hiding now, falling in and out of consciousness, he thought of paladin healing magic, and of what he had seen with the mystics and others.
The world of magic was so much bigger than he had ever imagined. So big, in fact, that he wondered if there could ever be a way to bring them back. His parents were dead, sure, but magic was magic, and he vowed to learn everything he could about it, whatever that meant.
He would conquer magic, and then see what was possible and what was just a dream.
Sleep took him as voices sounded nearby. Rough hands grabbed his limbs, but all he saw was the inside of his eyelids. He felt movement, being jostled about, and then there was nothing but darkness.
CHAPTER TWO
Bale was the last of the paladins to return, having lingered on the battlefield, unable to believe his leader was dead. His faith in the Saint had always been strong, but if he were being honest with himself, that faith had been more of a factor of his love for Sir Gildon, the High Paladin.
Now Sir Gildon was gone, struck down by Alastar with the Sword of Light.
He had stood there, frozen, watching as Alastar delivered the final blow. Bale had expected Sir Gildon to throw out a blast of light, to explode into the sun and then return with a vengeance, or to at least fill with light after he’d been struck down, only to be resurrected.
None of that had happened.
Instead, the man had fallen. Simply…fallen. Dead. Never to rise again.
Now Bale was here, staggering through the great hall to where he saw Taland and the others gathered on the far side by the rows of spears and shields. A long table held the remains of their earlier meal. It still hadn’t been cleared by the servants, to his surprise.
Taland glanced at him from the corner of his eye, and then turned to the table to find a half-eaten apple. He bit into it and chewed, eyes narrowed as he stared at the ground—even when Bale was directly in front of him.
“How…” was all Bale could say.
Taland’s eyes slowly rose to meet his, and Bale found himself hating the man. Taland had always been the better fighter, but his height, thick muscles, and flowing blond hair made it all the worse. He could take getting beaten by someone like Stone, wherever the hell that bastard had gotten off to, but a pretty boy like Taland? That ruffled his feathers.
“You failed,” Taland finally said. “I failed…” He turned, addressing the rest of them as his voice rose. “Every one of us failed!”
The others, no more than two dozen, bowed their heads. There was no arguing, as they all agreed they had failed. They had been over-confident, used to their leader—their lord—taking control and never facing the slightest setback, especially to the point of death.
It was clear in some of their eyes that they still expected the High Paladin to come waltzing in through the wide double doors.
Instead, they got the man of the shadows. They could have sworn he had attacked them and was their enemy, but Sir Gildon had told them he was actually their ally. Master Irdin.
Robes flowing about him as he strode in, Master Irdin didn’t even bother to walk over to the group. He simply came to a stop, looked down his thin nose at them, and scowled.
“Which one of you is in charge now?” he asked.
Nobody answered, but all eyes moved to Taland.
“You then,” Master Irdin said with a wave of his hand, beckoning him to follow. He turned on his heel and departed the room. After a moment, Taland took a cautious step after him.
“You and you,” he ordered as he walked, pointing to Bale and a tall fellow named Gerin. “With me.”
“But he said you, not—” Gerin started, but Taland shot him a look.
“Stay close, in case there’s trouble.”
Bale nodded, and Gerin didn’t argue further. The three exited the hall together and found Master Irdin already leaving the next hallway into the secret garden—a garden not secret at all, but forbidden for others to enter, and not viewable from any windows in the manor. Bale imagined it had been used for pacing when the laird of the manor needed to think, or perhaps other more exciting options. Not that he knew anything of the latter, but his mind wandered there from time to time.
At the entrance to the gardens, Taland motioned for the other two to stay put while he strode forward.
Bale leaned against the wall, hand on his sword.
If Master Irdin turned on them now, he would damn sure go down fighting. Without the High Paladin to cast his blessings upon them they wouldn’t stand a chance, but maybe he’d get lucky and take a few of those spellcasting sons of bitches with him.
He leaned forward just enough to see what was happening, ignoring the look of warning from Gerin. Master Irdin was pacing, following a path in the stones that circled Taland. Around them were four fountains
“Well,” Master Irdin started, spinning on Taland, “where does this leave us?”
“That depends on where this all started.” Taland seemed to be playing it safe, because he stood his ground while keeping his hands well away from his sword. “Sir Gildon wasn’t completely clear on what the arrangement was to begin with.”
“Simple, really. He was to bring Her the girl, the one you call Rhona. He would help conquer Gulanri, then be given an honorary throne to serve as the magistrate of the Lost Isles. All the lands will bow before her Holiness, and she rewards those who serve her faithfully.”
“And…now?”
Master Irdin snorted contemptuously. “Now you have to make a decision, but that decision depends on your capabilities. Are you able to bring us the girl?”
Taland didn’t hesitate this time; he simply nodded.
“Good. Make it so, and the deal stays, but with you as the magistrate. You will serve to keep the Lost Isles in order when She goes abroad, stepping aside for her to rule while she is here. Do you understand?”
“And the Dark Society?”
Master Irdin lifted a hand and his eyes went black; suddenly Taland’s legs were frozen in thick ice that was working its way up his body. With a flick of his fingers, the ice stopped, then drew away from the paladin’s body and became sharp spears pointed in at Taland.