This ebook collection is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Defiant Guardians
A Collection of Epic Fantasy Tales from Five Wizards of Fantasy
Copyright © 2018 Jacob Peppers, D.W. Hawkins, Andy Peloquin, Aaron Hodges, and Stevie Collier. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this ebook, or portions thereof, in any form. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical without the express written permission of the author(s). The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this ebook via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials.
Defiant Guardians edited by Jacob Peppers and D.W. Hawkins
The Silent Blade Copyright © 2017 Jacob Nathaniel Peppers
The Killings at Rockman’s Ford Copyright © 2018 Daniel Wesley Hawkins
The Renegade Apprentice Copyright © 2018 Andy Peloquin
Dragon Born Copyright © 2017 Aaron Hodges
Cambion Copyright © 2018 Stevie Collier
All rights reserved.
Foreword by Jacob Peppers
Novellas are funny things. They’re a little too big to play in all the short story games, and the big kids (novels) turn their noses up at them when they come around. If, that is, they’re lucky—novels, as you no doubt know, can be fickle, dangerous things. Still, for all that, I love novellas. For me, there’s nothing quite like them. You can read one in a day, true, but at the end of it, you feel as if you’ve had a chance to experience another world, to decide if maybe you’d like to visit more, get a mortgage, maybe a picket fence to go along with it.
Inside this anthology, you’ll find a variety of worlds to explore. Come on in. Have a pint of ale or visit the nearest tourney (there’s always a tourney going in these parts). There are a thousand wondrous things here for you to experience—heroism and courage, joy and honor. But be warned—where there is courage, there is also cowardice. Where there is honor, there is also disgrace. As for joy…well, the sun can’t always shine, can it? The night comes sooner or later. And what of heroes? What of those guardians of the worlds you are soon to discover? Well, heroes don’t become heroes by lazing about and drinking ale in taverns—at least, not only that—and guardians must have something to guard against.
Here you will find magic and mages, swords and swordfighters. In your journey into these worlds, you might happen upon creatures of myth and creatures of nightmare, dragons and demons and all the rest, so sharpen your sword and ready your shield. And do not worry overly much, for we have traveled these paths before you. Oh, they have their dangers sure but then…that’s what makes it fun, isn’t it?
I had a great time putting this anthology together and had an opportunity to work with some of the best fantasy authors I’ve had a privilege to know. I’ve enjoyed reading their stories and visiting their worlds myself, and I look forward to you doing the same. So if you’re ready—I know I am—I’ll let you get to it.
Happy Reading,
Jacob Peppers
Table of Contents
The Silent Blade--by Jacob Peppers
The Downs, the poor district of the city of Avarest, is home to cutthroats and thieves, pickpockets and prostitutes, all of whom pay tribute to one of two powerful crime bosses. It is also home to Aaron Envelar, a disillusioned sellsword known as the Silent Blade, who cares nothing for the criminal overlords or their schemes, who only wants to survive and make a little coin in the process.
But when a group of unwitting thugs steal his mother’s necklace, the only link he has to his murdered parents, Aaron decides that sometimes gold isn’t enough—sometimes, blood is the only payment worth taking. And whatever else will come, this time, he will not be silent. After all, when you take everything from a man, what else does he have to lose?
The Killings at Rockman's Ford--by D.W. Hawkins
A dangerous fugitive. A deadly secret. An unwelcome champion.
For generations, the seasons have turned with indifference to the sleepy hamlet of Rockman’s Ford. Residents and visitors alike would say it’s a delightful place where terrible things don’t happen—not murder, and never sorcery. Those things happen to other people in other places.
When a man is found murdered by hostile magic, the peaceful illusion is rocked by the emergence of dark secrets.
For D’Jenn Pike, a Warlock of the Conclave, hostile magic is an everyday occurrence. When he’s asked to help find the killer, his soul is tested by the chase. With bodies mounting, D’Jenn is all that stands between Rockman’s Ford and vengeful magic, but his courage could get him hanged alongside the murderer.
The guilty must pay, but the gods have no interest in justice.
The Renegade Apprentice--by Andy Peloquin
A fight to the death. The prize: freedom.
Evren hates the endless torments and cruelties of his life as an apprentice priest. When he finds the opportunity to flee, he seizes it in both fists.
But the streets of Vothmot hold their own share of dangers. He must battle street thugs, rival gangs, even his own trusted comrades to truly be free.
Dragon Born--by Aaron Hodges
For five long years, Enala has lived in exile. And for five years she has trained, mastering the arts of war and survival. Yet she remains trapped, forbidden to leave the boundaries of the forest. Smothered by her parents, she longs for adventure, for the chance to escape the stagnation of her life. Desperate, Enala turns to the only creatures that might help. The Gold Dragons…
Cambion--by Stevie Collier
A pastor for a mother.
A demon for a father.
The devil wanted a son, and, using his evil trickery, was able to obtain one while simultaneously spitting in God's face.
Follow the path of a teen once loved by everyone who is now hated.
What makes him so different isn't just the horns that sprout from his head, but the powers the devil has bestowed upon him.
Will he use them to slaughter the followers of God? Those who so easily turned their backs on him? Will he accept his heir to the dark throne?
Or, will he use his powers to fight his serpent of a father and all his minions?
A Note from the Editors
THE SILENT
BLADE
A Seven Virtues Novella
By
JACOB PEPPERS
I
The door of the Maiden’s Haven flew open and slammed against the tavern’s inside wall with a resounding crash. Conversations cut off abruptly as men and women turned wary gazes on the open doorway. At first there was only the darkness, huddled and waiting outside the light of the common room, a creeping, living thing. Then a man materialized out of the shadows and stepped into the lantern light. He wore a tattered brown cloak over his clothes, and as he entered, he pushed the hood back to reveal a face that might have been handsome if it hadn’t been so cold. The stranger stopped in the doorway, studying those gathered with eyes that seemed to be everywhere at once, that seemed to know them in an instant and men and women looked away as the weight of that gaze fell on them.
Benjin, the in
nkeeper, had lived in the Downs, the poor, crime-riddled district of Avarest for over fifty years, and he’d seen that look before. It was the look of a man with murder on his mind. The thought gave Benjin little comfort, the man himself even less. It wasn’t uncommon for street toughs or men set on violence to come in the Haven, but there was something different about this one, something that made a shiver of fear run up Benjin’s spine. Some of it was the man’s eyes, the way he seemed to take in everything, missing nothing. Part of it was in the way he held himself, a man that looked as if he was only a moment away from violence, but, most of all, it was the fact that, beneath the brown cloak he wore, the stranger’s tunic and trousers were covered in blood, so much of it that Benjin was hard pressed to tell what color they’d originally been.
Benjin also couldn’t help but notice the sword sheathed at the man’s back. Weapons, too, weren’t a rare sight in the Haven—it was the Downs, after all—but most of the time they were carried by either off duty guards or young men wanting to put on a show about how tough they were. This man wasn’t a guard; Benjin would have bet his life on that. He was more like the reason why people hired guards in the first place, and he thought that any show the man put on would be one he’d pay to miss.
Benjin let his hand drift beneath the counter to where Bertha, a stout foot and a half club with a well-worn grip, lay always within arm’s reach. Bertha had served him well over the years, and he’d once liked to joke with his friends that his peacemaker could also be a “piece-maker” depending on how the night went. They were old jokes made by a younger, dumber man, and they’d not been made about men like the one now standing in the doorway of his inn. Still, as the stranger approached the bar, the club was some small comfort.
The man sank onto a stool with an exhausted sigh, and Benjin felt sweat begin to bead on his forehead as the newcomer studied him, his expression unreadable. “I need a room,” he said finally, “And a drink—the strongest you’ve got.”
“Sure,” Benjin said, having to force the word out. He poured a double shot of whiskey, barely resisting the urge to pour one for himself. He’d quit years ago. It had been lose the booze or lose Sheila, his wife, and that really hadn’t been a choice at all. Five years since the fever had taken her, yet he hadn’t taken the habit up again, had never had the urge. At least, that was, until now.
He spared a glance at the corner of the room where his daughter, Anna, was serving two bearded men who, judging by their sleeveless shirts and high-cut pants, were sailors only recently arrived from dockside. It was, he suspected, more luck than skill that kept the two mugs of ale from winding up all over their owners considering that Anna (like everyone else in the room, including the men themselves) was studying the stranger with a guarded wariness as if she expected him to draw the sword at his back at any moment.
Benjin forced thoughts of Anna and the whiskey away. They went hard, especially the whiskey, but they went, thank the gods, and he slid the glass across the bar to the stranger. “There you are. And don’t worry, it’s on the house. About the room though … well, sorry to say we’re all full up.”
“Oh?” The man said, raising an eyebrow, “Too many fair maidens seeking sanctuary?”
Benjin tried an uncertain grin, but it felt wrong on his face, so he let it fall. “Something like that.”
The man sighed and reached into his pocket, withdrew something and tossed it onto the counter. Benjin barely managed to catch it before it rolled off the side of the bar and stared at it in surprise. A gold coin. Real gold, if the weight was any indication. The Haven was no fancy hostel on God’s Row, and if he was being honest with himself it wasn’t even near the best the Downs had to offer. A gold coin like the one he now held would have bought a man a month or more of room and board.
Benjin swallowed then slowly, reluctantly, put the coin back on the table and slid it back to the man. “Listen, mister, I don’t want any trouble. I’ve a daughter to look after.”
The man studied him intently, “That yours in the corner there? Big brown eyes? She’s a pretty one—you and the missus must be proud. Though I’ll say she looks plenty old enough to take care of herself. What is she, eighteen? Nineteen?”
Benjin found himself frowning, his fear giving way to anger—and how had the man known she was his daughter anyway? “Nineteen, she is. And just what concern is that of yours?” As he spoke, his grip tightened on the peacemaker’s handle.
The stranger waved the question away. “I don’t mean any offense, friend. Look, my name’s Aaron Envelar. What’s yours?”
“Benjin. Benjin Caldesh.”
The man reached into his pocket again and, in another moment, a second gold coin rested on the counter beside the first. “Listen, Benjin. I’ve had a really long night. Shit, a long week as far as that goes, and I just need a room and something to eat; there’s no need to pull that beater you’re eyeing. And as for trouble, well, it’s already come and gone. The way it will.”
Benjin’s hand froze where it gripped Bertha’s handle. The way it will. There seemed something a little too final about that last bit, as if maybe the man had been the one to make the trouble—trouble that bled a lot, by the looks of it—go away. Benjin saw Anna shaking her head out of the corner of his eye, but he pretended not to notice, watching the man as he took a long drink of the whiskey. “Alright,” he said finally, letting go of Bertha and putting both his hands on the counter. “That’ll do me fine, but I’d just as soon you not pay so much. Rooms are two coppers a night and dinner’s an extra. Nothing fancy—my daughter Anna isn’t a particularly good cook, takes after her mother, the gods look after her, but you won’t starve.” He reached across to take one of the gold coins, “Let me just get you some change.”
The man grabbed his hand before he pulled it back and forced the second coin into it. “Never mind that, just take it. And two coppers a night, you say? A third for dinner?” He shook his head, a rueful, tired smile on his face. “An honest man in the Downs. I never thought I’d see it. Just what in the name of Salen’s dead fields are you doing here, anyway?”
Benjin shrugged, reluctantly taking the coins. “Been here near all my life. Just living.”
The stranger grunted, taking the sheathed sword from his back and setting it on a stool beside him. If he noticed the looks of relief that spread through the room at that, he gave no sign. “Aren’t we all. Until we’re not, anyway.”
Benjin swallowed hard, “You know. That is, if you don’t mind me sayin’ so. You’ve got a bit of something right,” he gestured vaguely at the length of the man’s body, “well. Just there.”
The stranger, Aaron, looked down at himself as if he’d only just noticed the crimson stains on his clothes and nodded. “Yeah. It’s blood. Not mine though. Or, at least,” he shrugged, “most of it.”
He took another pull of his drink, and Benjin watched him, fascinated despite himself, as the man finished it and sat it down on the counter. “Well, I won’t say it’s good whiskey, but I guess it’ll do the trick.”
“The only bad kind’s the kind that won’t,” Benjin said, the grin coming easier this time. “Now, about your room—“
“I’ll show ‘em to it, Master Benjin.”
Benjin and the stranger turned to see Dayna, the Haven’s newest serving girl, sauntering to the bar. There was a glint of excitement in her eyes Benjin didn’t much care for, and he thought, not for the first time since two weeks ago when he’d hired her, that he’d made a mistake. She was pretty enough, if in a dirty, misused sort of way, and he’d hoped, selfishly maybe, that some of the eyes that so often wandered to his daughter might wander to her instead. And maybe they even did, but it seemed to him that the woman had spilled more drinks than she’d served and anytime work needed doing she somehow managed to disappear. Still, better her than Anna to show the man to his room. “That’ll be fine, Dayna,” he said, “Just come on back soon as you’re done. That stew won’t serve itself.”
The girl frowned,
a look of disappointment on her slightly too-pinched face. “Yeah, alright, Master Benjin.” She turned to Aaron, “This way, mister, on up the stairs, ye get.”
The man looked at Benjin, raising his eyebrow again, before sliding his empty glass across the table. He grabbed his sword from where it lay and started toward the stairs, Dayna following close behind him. As they walked, Benjin met Anna’s disapproving gaze. For his part, the sellsword was focused on putting one foot in front of the other, the whiskey having hit him harder than normal in his exhausted state. For this reason, neither of them noticed the look Dayna gave to a man sitting by himself at a table in the corner, or the slow smile he showed in return.
II
In his room, the door closed and latched, Aaron finally allowed himself to relax. The room was small with nothing but a simple bed and an old wooden night stand in way of decoration but that didn’t matter to him. It was clean, and what was there was well kept, but most importantly, it had a door with a latch.
He eased his tunic over his head, wincing as it caught on the quickly drying blood. Despite what he’d said to the innkeeper, Benjin, some of the blood that covered his shirt and trousers most definitely was his. He looked down at his bared torso, grunting as he noticed that the hasty bandage he’d wrapped around the wound in his side was stained a deep crimson. A nasty wound, but not a killing one, thank the gods. The cut on his arm was shallower, and the bandage he’d used to wrap it before leaving his other room was only spotted with blood.
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