The Black Sword Trilogy: The Four Nations

by VanMeter, Jeffery

  The Black Sword Trilogy

  The Four Nations

  A Novel by Jeffery L. VanMeter

  Edited by Cindy Conn

  Cover Art and Design by Kyle Matthews

  The God Kings of Masallah

  Before the dark times, there was no nation known as Masallah; only a collection of small city states on the eastern slopes of the Blue Mountains. When the dark masters began their war against the peoples of the world, these independent cities banded together for mutual protection. A warlord known as Ellorid emerged as their greatest leader and when he was given the Stone Hammer from the Spirits of the Land and Sky, he led the, still small nation in the war to banish the creatures threatening the world of women and men.

  After the Dark Times, Masallah was the smallest of the four nations. However, Ellorid and the two kings succeeding him led their armies eastward in wars expanding Masallan territories. They rooted out the native Morgrils from their forests along the hundreds of streams and tributaries of the massive river known as “The Tree of Life”. But it was the fertile plains and fields of Walechia the Kings of Masallah most coveted. Gregor the Mad led his armies through the narrow mountain passes of the Blue Mountains and the Great War began.

  After Farraday restored peace, he made his friend Alhor King of Masallah and he ruled justly for over fifty years, gaining great popularity and love among the people. His successors would build upon this popularity, becoming virtually worshipped by the people of Masallah that had become rich and powerful under their rule.

  However, the Morgrils of the forests were still proving to be a problem as they stood in the way of further Masallan expansion. After a war that lasted fifty years, they were all but annihilated and their dense jungles plowed over for coffee and tobacco fields. Ellorid the Second (taking his name from the legendary king of old) then proclaimed himself a living god and created a lineage for his line that, he claimed went all the way to The Great Mother (The Masallan name for The Great Lady of the Sky).

  From that day forward, the God kings of Masallah were worshipped as a cult by their people. Once a year on the Festival of the King, crowds of thousands line up in a huge courtyard in front of a massive golden door on the other side of which was the Holy City of Merz wherein lived the high priests and administrators of the realm. Also in the Holy City was the palace of the King carved into the mountain of Glahm. It was a seven day festival marked by feasting; revelry and weddings were traditionally held in front of the golden gate. On the last day of the festival, the gates would open and the King, hidden behind a curtain of fine linen and seated on a golden throne carried by ten men would come through the gates and out among the throngs of worshippers. Offerings would be made; ritual sacrifices and the daughters of prominent citizens were offered as wives to the holy King. It was traditional for the King to have as many as one hundred wives (Gussahr the Bone Crusher had over five hundred wives), none over the age of twenty five.

  After the Morgril wars, the Kings of Masallah never left the safety of the Holy City. They let their land be ruled by a beurocracy of barons, counts, sheriffs and administrators interconnected like a web. Only major decisions, such as taxes or matters of national defense were ruled over by the King himself and unlike the somewhat limited power of the Kings of Walechia, the power of the God Kings of Masallah was absolute. They were worshipped by their peoples and the network of aristocrats and administrators; not only maintained order, but the myth of a monarch with the power of life and death over all his subjects.

  Chapter One

  Wearing a white hooded robe, a steel breastplate and perched on an outcropping of rock like a vulture, he stared down into the Great Chasm. It was a scar in the world, high in the devastated landscape of the Badlands. It was a mile across and so deep the bottom of it could not be seen.

  Of course, he knew that there was a bottom, having been cast down into the pit so many years before. He knew how deep it was, having taken so long to climb out of the utter black darkness and back into the sunlight of the living world. For centuries, he’d fed on the putrid carcasses of the dead creatures that had been cast down in the war that he had seen lost. It had taken so long to climb out, he had forgotten who he was and lost his purpose.

  When he returned to the world of women and men, he had found himself in the Blackwoods where his real name was such a curse, it caused decay in the forest. They called him “friend”. But one night, he heard the spirits call his name. He went through the veil into the sanctuary and remembered who he was and why he had been called to this world. They would say he had been driven mad, but only he knew that his madness had been taken from him, removed like a cancer. His will and sense of purpose had returned and now the time had come for him to bring his justice to the world.

  Looking down into the chasm, he saw his creatures climbing out of the dark pit. The Wolfen howled and the Silthers looked up at him on the rocks and raised their hands in thankful praise. They would be collected by his servants, fed, given provisions and then trained for his war that was only now beginning.

  He heard a distant rumble of thunder in the mountains and saw thick, black clouds climbing over them. Bright, blue flashes of lightning pierced the darkness striking the high mountain tops and creeping slowly, but steadily, towards the Chasm. He climbed down off of his perch and headed to the stone temple forbidden to all but him.

  He passed through the entrance of the dark temple guarded by its statues of tortured looking warriors. The floor was smooth, black marble and a huge statue of a headless goddess dominated the center. He went past this statue to a small room behind the goddess.

  The sword, his sword, lay on the anvil in the center still incomplete. It was rough and course, the black blade jagged and pitted. He thrust the blade into the roaring fire wearing no gloves to protect his hands. As the blade began to heat up, smoke began to rise from his burning hands along with the stench of burning flesh. This was the only way he reasoned, that he could truly become “one” with this weapon. In this way, it could be mastered by him and him alone.

  When the blade began to glow red, he pulled it from the fire and placed it on the anvil. He hammered it in perfect rhythm while he chanted ancient enchantments. His sweat from the hard work and the hot room dripped on the blade causing little blue flames to jump from the body of the weapon. When the blade would cool, he would thrust it back into the fire until it glowed and begin again in his work. All the while, he could hear the storm draw nearer.

  For hours, he worked on the sword in this way until he could tell the storm was nearly on top of him. He took the still glowing sword and put it into a bucket of his own blood to quench it. Steam and stench rose from the bucket and covered his face, staining it red.

  He left his workshop and the dark temple and climbed back to his perch. Looking down, he could see still more creatures escaping the prison of the deep they had been cast down into so long ago. The storm raged, hard, stinging rain poured down from the sky. Lightning flashed all around. He then thrust his blade towards the heavens and a streak of lightning struck it, causing it to glow bright blue. It was so bright, it illuminated the camp below and the creatures fell to their knees in awe and worship. As the glow began to darken, he looked up at his weapon and smiled.

  “Nearly complete,” he said in his smooth, deep voice. “Nearly complete.”

  Chapter Two

  General Krall peered through his telescope at the mass of enemy soldiers marching across the plain towards a farming village just north of the city of Keelan.

  “Silthers” He almost hissed.

  They weren’t as skilled or fast as the Wolfen he and his army had faced in previo
us battles. They were slow and awkward, barely able to swing the weapons they could barely hold. But they were usually in much larger numbers and relentless. They could march day and night without resting. They feared nothing, not even fire and unlike Wolfen who would run when the battle was over, the only way to defeat them were to kill each and every one of them.

  “Tell the men their work will be difficult today.” He told an officer close to him.

  General Krypt, his subcommander went to each of the Captains in front of their companies passing the word of the coming battle. The infantry assembled into formation. The cavalry formed a straight line nearly a mile across the plain and the archers lined up behind them. Krall’s army was twenty thousand strong and the war they’d been fighting for two years had forged them into experienced, hardened warriors.

  Krall moved to the front of the formation ahead of his army with his subcommanders flanking them. He insisted that his Generals lead from the front, now cowering behind. The Silthers were moving slowly but steadily along the plain. There had to be five thousand of them by his reckoning and they would have to be slaughtered down to the very last one of them.

  He was just about to order the archers to loose their arrows ahead of the cavalry charge, when one of his junior officers alerted him to a single rider coming from behind.

  “It’s a messenger from Kallesh.” The young officer told him. “He says he needs to speak to you now.”

  “Now?” Krall said in disbelief. “Tell him I’m a little busy.”

  “I’m sorry General. He has a message from the King.”

  Krall looked again at the enemy moving closer and then the messenger rode close to his own horse.

  “Make it fast.” Krall said angrily. “I’m in the middle of something.”

  “I’m sorry General.” The messenger told him. “The King commands that you come immediately to Kallesh.”

  Krall closed his eyes and gritted his teeth.

  “You can not be serious.” He told the messenger.

  “I beg your pardon, General; but my orders are clear.”

  Krall glared at the young man.

  “I’ll come tomorrow.”

  “Again, I beg your pardon General. But my orders are that you are to return immediately upon receipt of this message.”

  Krall could see fear in the young man’s eyes.

  “Upon pain of your own death?”

  The messenger nervously nodded.

  “Are you armed?” Krall asked the young man.

  “I have a sword.” He answered.

  “Get in line with the rest of the cavalry.” Krall ordered. “At least if the Silthers kill you, you won’t have to face the King.”

  “But General…”

  “You can either fight by my side or I will kill you myself. I have no time for nonsense right now.”

  The young messenger rode away to the end of the line of cavalry.

  Krall turned to General Krypt, his most trusted subcommander.

  “It’s time.” He growled.

  “No inspiring speech this time?” Krypt said smiling.

  “If these men aren’t inspired to save their farms and families, then words of mine will be able to change that. We’ve wasted enough time. It’s time to start killing.”

  Krypt turned his horse around and rode to the front of the archers. As he raised his hand, the archers aimed their arrows to a high angle. He dropped his arm and a black cloud of arrows sailed over the cavalry and began to rain down on the oncoming Silthers. Dozens fell at once, but the rest, appearing to not even notice kept coming forward. Krypt ordered another volley and still more Silthers fell. He ordered another and more enemy died, but the others simply stepped over the fallen bodies and continued on.

  “Sound the charge.” Krall ordered. About one hundred of the cavalry with trumpets blasted their horns, piercing the stillness of the morning with a deafening roar. The cavalry rode almost as one in a line towards the enemy formation. The ground shook as thousands of hooves struck the ground at once. A cloud of dust rose up behind them. A quarter mile from the enemy, the cavalry spread out and curved around like the horns of a bull. When they reached the Silther army, they swung around the sides of the enemy formation, surrounding them. The soldiers began cutting down the Silthers dozens at a time. The enemy fought clumsily, swinging their clubs, axes and swords almost blindly. Sometimes they would find their mark and a Walechian soldier would fall. As he did, many of the mindless creatures would gather around the fallen soldier to try and consume him. This only made it easier for the Walechian cavalry to cut down more Silthers.

  The cavalry, surrounding the Silther army closed in around them, killing at will, but even the horses were sought after by the creatures. The sound of their screams was even more chilling than the sound of the falling men. After nearly half an hour of slaughter, the cavalry broke their circle. From out of the cloud of dust, the infantry came marching in. Their officers on horses urged them on and then they charged into the mass of bodies. With their axes and spears, they too easily began to kill Silthers. But the very size of the Silther army meant that even with their primitive tactics, many Walechian men died.

  The men stabbed and slashed at the Silther troops, cutting them down one by one. Some killed as many as twenty by themselves, but the Silthers would not stop or retreat. It took hours, but eventually the last Silther was dead. After the carnage was over and the job done, Krall inspected the field. He could see that all the Silther were gone, but he could find no hint of enemy human officers or soldiers.

  In the battles with Wolfen armies, human officers were needed to lead them and keep them in line. They fought with the beasts. But with the Silthers, their officers only gathered them together in large formations and then unleashed them in a general direction as they stood behind and watched from a safe distance. In the two years of war, no Silther army had ever won a battle. However, they had taken a horrible toll in human lives, slowly wearing down Krall’s grand army. New fresh troops often came in, but never enough to replace the soldiers lost. This was a war of attrition and Krall wondered if Wallechia had the numbers to outlast this horrible enemy.

  As the dead were being gathered and prepared for battle, Krall looked for and found the young messenger who had come for him. He found him seated on the ground near his fallen horse and crying like a child. Clearly this boy had never fought in a battle before.

  Another soldier grabbed the messenger by the arm and helped him to his feet. Krall looked down on him from his own mount.

  “Alright,” he told the young man. “Now I will go to the King.”

  Chapter Three

  Krall, Krypt and Loren the messenger rode hard through the night. At just before dawn, in the dim light, they reached the main road to Kallesh. At that point, Krypt stopped his horse, jumped off and examined hoof prints he found in the gravel.

  “What is it?” Krall asked.

  Still looking down at the tracks, Krypt answered, “Rider. At least a half day’s ride ahead of us.”

  “One of the King’s spies, no doubt.” Krall added. He then turned to face Loren who suddenly looked panicked.

  “You’d better go back to the encampment.” Krall ordered.

  “My orders are to return with you to Kallesh.” Loren said shakily.

  Krall’s eyes then flashed with anger.

  “Do you want your parents to see your head on top of the Iron Gates?” Krall growled at the boy.

  “No sir.” Loren answered.

  “Then get your ass back to the encampment. You just joined my cavalry.”

  As the boy began to turn his horse around, Krall called to him again.

  “And give up that sword when you get there. Only officers carry swords and you haven’t earned that rank yet.”

  “No sense killing our horses over this now.” Krall told Krypt.

  “The King won’t be happy.” Krypt replied.

  “He’ll live.”

  They rode at a much more relax
ed, but still steady pace throughout the day. By the end of the day, they could see the white walls of Kallesh gleaming in the setting sun. Rather than ride on through the night again, the two exhausted men camped next to the road.

  “His Majesty really isn’t going to be happy about this.” Krypt told Krall. He handed him a cup of coffee he’d just made fresh from the campfire. Krall took a careful drink and nearly spit it out.

  “Where the hell did you learn to make coffee?” He said with a grimace.

  “Your mother.” Krypt replied, almost matter-of-factly.

  Krall looked at him angrily at first, but then softened.

  “If you were anyone else…”Krall said, almost smiling.

  “Yes…” Krypt interrupted. “You’d probably draw that sword of yours and get your ass kicked.”

  The two men laughed.

  “Aren’t you going to wash that face of yours?” Krypt asked.

  “No.” Krall answered grimly. “This is the blood of both men and Silthers. I want the King to see it.”

  “You really are pressing your luck with him.”

  Krall took another sip of the awful coffee and then stared thoughtfully down at the ground.

  “I’ve given my life in defense of this country.” He said in a sad tone. “I’m proud of my service and the men I’ve served with past and present.”

  “I’m happy to hear you say that.” Krypt added.

  Krall then looked his friend in the face with raging eyes.

  “But I tell you, I do not serve this King. I serve my country and my people, but not this King.”

  Exhausted, the two men fell quickly asleep, but then rose again at dawn to continue their journey. By mid-day they were within the gates of the White City.

  They passed through the streets, around the giant pool and fountain and to the steps leading up to the Palace of Justice. Two soldiers in the uniform of the King’s guard then approached the two Generals. Krall noticed them and glared at them in an expression that forced both men to take a step back.