by K. J. Nessly
The Guardians of Rima
The Chosen
K.J. Nessly
Dragons: Guardians of Rima
The Chosen
© 2014 K.J. Nessly. All rights reserved.
ISBN 978-1-329-11805-8
Lulu Publishing
Cover and Interior Design: Isis Sousa.
This work is a work of fiction and any real places, events, or people is purely coincidental
Dedication
This book is dedicated to Jesus Christ
My Lord and Savior
As the first fruits of my labors
Acknowledgements
There are several people without whom this book would not be possible:
Dad—From start to finish you ingeniously complemented my ideas with your own and braved each new edit, treating each as if it was a new read.
Anna S. –You read the roughest of the rough and told me that you liked it. And you taught me about character.
Dan Murray—You opened my eyes to the real world and always answered my unending questions.
Emily W.—You kept my confidence up and made me believe I could do it.
Kirsten & Mikaela—My humor editors…I’ve completely lost track of the number of dinners we spent creating harebrained scenes and ridiculous scenarios
Isis Sousa—Your beautiful artwork brought life to the story.
Darkness approaches
Victory after victory it shall win
Death and Sickness reign
Man must search their hearts
To find hope buried within
A false peace shall cover the lands
Never knowing the enemy still commands
Rising upon the chosen power
Like a storm upon an ocean’s sands
The innocent and weak, darkness shall devour
Deceit runs rampant
Dishonesty is King
Truth and Light fade from memory
Illusions and tricks shall the evil bring
Sun and Moon in mortal form must rise
And save humanity from the endless tide
Allies and friends they will each advise
Without them, Hope’s Victory shall be denied
~ Iellwen, Ice Maiden
Prophesied during the reign of Queen Maira and King Jacen of Cadras four years after the defeat of Daaman Aleksas
Lost several generations before the Great War
Prologue
The sun rose over the occupied fields below, mocking the inhabitants with its golden glow and peaceful approach. Immortal in its duty, its beauty would be forever untouched or marred by the petty wars, schemes, and violence that consumed the inhabitants of the lands below. The horizon turned crimson red as its eternal face entered into the realm of man, portending the struggle that raged continually from the weeks, and years, before. Far beneath the scattered clouds, the sun’s rays illuminated a vast sea of warriors treading upon soggy fields saturated with the lifeblood of friends, comrades, allies, and enemies.
A lone eagle soaring high on a thermal gazed down upon the gently moving masses of the two armies and it did not matter which direction the creature looked all that could be seen below even unto the horizon, were tents, cooking fires, horses, war machines, and men.
Men who had not known a moment of peace since the day of their birth. Their whole lives and the lives of those before them for four generations existed to push the invaders, who had wandered into their midst, back across the sea to whence they had come. With one mind they sought to exterminate the invaders who had covered their land like a locust plague consuming, killing, and destroying everything in their path.
Alliances had been renewed and formed as the invaders, or the Wanderers as they were now known, cut a deadly swath across the once peaceful kingdoms. Many had fought, too many had died. Kings fell with frightening regularity and their families disappeared, becoming slaves or human sacrifices to the Wanderers. All too often the standard of the army commander had changed throughout the war. The royal standards which had once numbered six, one for the king of each kingdom, had been reduced to half as royal bloodlines died out. Now, up on a slight rise to the east, the standards of King Dierk, King Calannon, and Chief Einar whipped and snapped in the stiff breeze above the command tent.
Two generations before, King Dierk’s forefather, King Darran, had appealed to the Elves for an alliance and through the resulting treaty gained a new class of warriors who became his personal protectors. Exceptionally strong and powerful in magic these warriors, whose ranks were composed of both full blooded elves and half-elves, eventually broadened the scope of their mission to not only protect the king, but also his people. It was through the urging of the high council of Guardians, as the people now called these protectors, that King Dierk sought a second alliance, one with the Marjai of the north.
The Marjai were a hardy desert warrior people, literally digging their kingdom out of the sandstone and rock of the hot desert their people inhabited. Their warriors, with dark skin, stood out amongst the pale Elves and humans. Taller and stockier than the fair Elves, the Marjai were nearly their equal in skill and strength, conditioned by the harsh rigors and demands of the lands where they dwelled, and no mere human warrior could withstand their onslaught in hand to hand combat.
While the Elves favored their bows and fighting knives and the humans favored their double-edged broadswords, the Marjai favored a long curved sword with a single edged blade. The swords were so massive that when the blade’s tip stood on stone, the hilt would reach to the heart of its wielder. Their leader, Einar, was a giant even amongst his own people, reaching over three meters from the crown of his head to his toes.
Now these two armies, joined by the army of the Elves, were pushing the Wanderers back; regaining land that had been possessed by the invaders for over a hundred years. During the reign of King Darius, King Dierk’s father, the Elves had schooled the ragged human army in tactics and the building of weapons. Together, man and Elf, had worked side by side to strengthen ancient, decrepit strongholds, build machines of war, and improve the techniques used to forge weapons. It was also during this time that King Darius had put together a master plan for the final campaign against the invaders. In this plan he specified a location where the final battle should take place, a site that would benefit the army and cavalry of the Alliance more than those of the Wanderers.
Believing the inhabitants to be cowed, the Wanderers had built their strongholds to impress and frighten. Not until the Alliance had begun its final campaign against them had the Wanderer’s generals considered strengthening the imposing, but poorly built structures. And by then it was far too late. Guided by Calannon and the giant Einar, Dierk launched harassing raids at the Wanderers depleting their supply columns and shepherding them to the place chosen years before by King Darius where the final battle would take place. The Wanderer strongholds collapsed as if they had been built out of sticks and river mud. One by one the keeps and fortresses fell until just one remained. One bastion located in the southwestern tip of the old Kingdom of Rima.
To the west stood the Rawasi Mountains, to the south surged the great Eridanus River, and far to the north the Nahar River traced a meandering path across half the continent before finally turning toward the sea. Near the base of the Rawasi Mountains a massive structure stood firm against the elements, a castle with four towers, one for each of the elements the Wanderers worshiped. It was here the Wanderers had gathered for one last stand and it was here that the sun now rose so peacefully above.
Raihji Darktree, the leader of the Wanderers, was a cunning man and widely respected as a brilliant military strategist, even by his enemies. It was at his castle, situated on a small rise above the plains, that his army was now readying them
selves for the final battle. For five years the castle, which had been reinforced even as the rest of the Wanderer strongholds had fallen, had stood proud and tall.
Now there was little left but rubble. The golden towers which had once stood so arrogant now lay in crumbling pieces on the ground. Flying boulders from the Alliance’s war machines had punched massive holes in the walls, causing them to collapse. The main castle had been reduced to rubble in the bombardment the Alliance had put forth. Raihji’s army was encamped amongst the ruins, using the massive blocks and boulders as shields.
As the sun rose higher a band of earth distinguished itself from amongst its surroundings. It was unoccupied land…dead man’s land. Scorched black from numerous flaming projectiles that hadn’t quite made it to their target with deep furrows running in both directions, dead man’s land was desolate and uninhabitable. Any who dared cross was immediately cut down by the opposing side.
Today, however, one army was going to breach dead man’s land with the intent of never returning to their side in defeat again. They would succeed or die.
Calannon, Einar, and Dierk stood around a well-worn map with blackened edges, evidence of the close calls it had been in.
One last chance to back out of their plan…
As the sun began to crest over the ruined castle, the Alliance’s army began its attack. Hundreds of groups of men-at-arms locked their shields together to form one massive shield covering them on all sides and from above. Each group marched five abreast and one hundred deep directly behind the cavalry who would lead the charge. Off to the right, the Elven army stood ready, row after row after row of warriors with their shields, bows, and pikes. To the left, the Marjai warriors stood ready, their own swords glittering against the sun’s rays.
King Dierk rode up to the edge of band of scorched earth. “Raihji!” He called in a voice loud enough to be heard over the shuffling of feet and the jangling of harnesses of his own army, but that was also magically enhanced to be heard by his enemy on the top of the rise a kilometer away. “Your army has lost! Surrender and we will show mercy…although you would deny us the same courtesy.”
His message delivered, Dierk rejoined his army and waited.
High above, sitting in his command tent, Raihji scoffed. “Your army has lost!” He mocked the pagan king’s words in a high, whiny tone. “I will show that pagan who has lost. Begin the charge.” His lieutenant bowed and moved to carry out his order.
Safe in his tent, Raihji watched as his army raced towards the insufferable foreign army…
The two armies collided in dead man’s land.
As far as he could see man fought man, and it gave him immense pleasure. Soldiers were nothing more than a means for conquering others. Many would die, but they would die with honor and their families would be taken care of. Those who did die would continue on to Reingard, the place of heroes and would be given riches according to their purpose in life. Spreading his hands on the ground he prayed, “Oh, Gaelal, Lord of the Earth, accept the sacrifices of our slain enemies and hail our fallen as heroes in Reingard!”
The battle stretched for days. War machines on both sides flung heavy boulders and flaming projectiles towards their opponents. Volleys of arrows streaked across the skies accompanying the barrage hurled by the war machines. The sound of swords clashing was accompanied by the cries of the injured and dying. Wild animals on both sides battled each other.
Raihji listened with glee to reports of their secret weapon, the Nauro, as it ravaged the enemy’s troops. Victory was at hand. None could withstand the Nauro, not even the Elves. He watched from his tent and directed his troops with messages to his generals. It was beneath the dignity of the supreme commander to venture onto the battlefield and thus he enjoyed ultimate safety.
Despite how hard Calannon, Dierk, and Einar fought to make their way up to his tent, they would never manage to kill him. His guards were too well armed and were the best of the elite fighters in his army. Even without them he would present a very difficult opponent. Dierk was no expert with a sword and he knew he would have no trouble overcoming the upstart king. Einar and Calannon on the other hand were renowned warriors on both sides of the war. Calannon would bring his two shorter swords to bear, each moving with such speed it would take all of his concentration to stay ahead of the whirling attack. However it was Einar that gave him the most pause. His only chance against the Marjai chieftain was to get in close for a quick strike before the bigger man had a chance to strike with his single edged sword. Raihji knew he could only parry two or three blows before he would succumb to Einar’s power, power that could easily cleave a full grown ox in half with one blow. But as supreme commander he would never be expected to face them alone. His subordinates would tire the two warriors before they could reach him and then he would take great pleasure in cutting them down.
And he knew that he would one day face them. It would be an insult for a common soldier to complete a king’s mission. He would just have to be patient…perhaps he would present himself as a target, as bait, to try and draw them out at a time when he was prepared for them.
If it would end the war and set him up as victor he might consider such a tactic. Until then, he would let them decimate their own troops until his army could crush them all.
After sundown on the sixth day Raihji recalled his generals to discuss new tactics. The Alliance was progressing faster, and further, than he had anticipated. The Elves had discovered a way to kill his Nauro and he was furious. Now it was his army that was being slaughtered, not the rebels.
Perhaps now he would present himself as a target. He presented the idea to his generals. Five were in favor, eight were not.
“It is too dangerous,” Hajim, his most trusted general argued. “What if, by some twist of fate, they managed to kill you? Then our army would be lost.”
“It would not be lost because you would complete our mission,” Raihji reminded him harshly. “We have spent two hundred years conquering these pagans. Just because they are now showing a little backbone does not mean they will conquer us!”
Even as he slammed his fist against his pristine map, he became aware of a sharp pain blooming in his chest. It grew until Raihji could stand it no more…just before the darkness took him he registered the shocked looks on his generals’ faces, and wondered just what was wrong with him to result in this burning sensation. Then the darkness pulled him into its eternal embrace.
The fourteen archers loosed two more arrows into each of Raihji’s commanders, ensuring that the enemy was well and truly dead. Slowly they moved into the tent and dragged the dead bodies to the wall facing the armies. There they hung the bodies of Raihji and his generals, by their wrists, for his entire army to see when day broke.
When the sun’s rays shone over the fields the next morning, the common soldiers saw their brilliant leader and his war council hanging dead from the wall. Most ran into the mountains, confused and demoralized. A few were foolish enough to stay behind, fighting for as long as they could…and then surrendered.
The fourteen archers, Dierk’s personal Guardians, were dispatched across the now united kingdoms to hunt down and destroy the remaining high ranking army commanders among the Wanderers who had escaped. After honorary negotiations, in which the continued unification of all the kingdoms under Dierk was ratified, the celebrations began. Weeks of merriment and gaiety followed two hundred years of destructive war. Dierk, Einar, and Calannon traveled throughout the kingdom proclaiming the news that the people were free of the Wanderer’s oppression and everyone rejoiced. Tired of war and battles, the people quickly threw themselves into creating a long lasting peace. Soldiers became farmers, merchants, bakers, blacksmiths, and scribes. Women returned their attention to creating a home and family instead of instruments of war.
The fourteen archers who had ended the war set up a school so that those blessed with gifts could learn to use them as instruments of peace and justice. They became more famous throughout their
lives as the stories of their exploits, both during and after the war, were told over and over again.
Fathers passed these stories on to their sons and grandsons and mothers to their daughters and granddaughters. And so it continued from one generation to another; history became stories, stories became legends, legends became myths, and myths became children’s tales. The Great War was all but forgotten and none could remember a time when Guardians had never existed.
The most inescapable prison we can ever find is our past.
The strongest chains,
Our Fears
The thickest walls,
Our Pride
The strongest bars,
Our Memories
The cruelest jailer,
Ourselves
~Princess Maira of Rima
circa 2500 years before the Great War
Chapter 1
Kathryn knew she was being disobedient but she didn’t care, her only goal was to escape from her master and mistress. After fulfilling her duties, she had left the two shouting at each other loud enough to wake the entire region of Rima. It was the second time this morning an argument had erupted between the Lord and Lady of Blackwood Manor and, Kathryn knew from bitter experience, that it wouldn’t be the last. There was a legend that said that a great and decisive battle of a two hundred year long war had been fought where Blackwood Manor now stood. If Lord and Lady Blackwood were any indication, the battle had never ceased to end. Some servants whispered that the land had been cursed, so that the fighting would never end.