Pure of Heart (the New Age Saga Book 2)

by Timothy A. Ray

  Pure

  Of

  Heart

  Book 2 of the New Age Saga

  Timothy Ray

  Pure of Heart

  A Ray Publishing Book/ May 2017

  Published by

  Ray Publishing

  Tucson, AZ

  All rights reserved

  Copyright © 2017 by Timothy Ray

  Also by Timothy Ray

  The New Age Saga:

  The Acquisition of Swords

  Pure of Heart

  Phoenix Rising

  Prophecy

  Rotting Souls:

  Charon’s Blight: Day One

  Charon’s Blight: Day Two

  Charon’s Debt

  My pride broke it.

  My rage broke it!

  This excellent knight,

  who fought with fairness and grace,

  was meant to win.

  I used Excalibur to change that verdict.

  I've lost, for all time,

  the ancient sword of my fathers,

  whose power was meant to unite all men...

  not to serve the vanity of a single man.

  I am... nothing.

  -Arthur

  Excalibur 1981

  for my children

  Prologue

  Though the sun had been cresting the horizon when he’d fallen through the portal, it was still night when he struck the rough sand and rolled into the surf. Dazed, he struggled to breathe, as a wave rushed over his head and filled his lungs with water. His body rejected the cold, salty liquid; throwing it up when the waves rescinded enough for him to do so. He opened his stinging, crusted eyelids, just in time to see the flash of green light coming his way. When he tried to counter the spell with one of his own, his mouth was once again flooded with sea water, and it died in his throat.

  The flames hit him full in the chest, knocking what little air he had managed to get, out in a quick burst of exhalation. He was thrown backwards, bouncing off the water, as if he were a flat rock being skipped by a bored teenager. When his momentum stopped enough for gravity to take over, he was completely underwater, not sure which way was up, his staff tightly gripped in both hands. His lungs were burning. He knew that if he didn’t get air soon, he was going to die.

  Surgere! he commanded from within his mind, thrusting his staff in the direction he prayed the surface was. His hand almost slipped from the crystalline staff as it yanked him forward. His eyes were closed; body roaring with the pain of being in the freezing water. He couldn’t hold his breath much longer and once he began inhaling, it’d be over.

  His fingers felt a cold wind as they broke the surface, the staff tightly in hand, pulling him free of the ocean’s grip. His cloak wrapped around him tightly as he rose higher; the ocean breeze chilling his bones. “Cessabit!” he croaked; throat sore and struggling to work. “Deinceps!”

  As he floated towards the coast, he saw a red-light flare, and knew that the goblin was retreating. Surprise had passed, and now that he had resurrected himself from the ocean, the creature fled before he could reach him. He lowered his staff and his foot touched the beach just above the tideline. As the other touched down, he released the magic, and felt his body pulled by gravity once more.

  Merlin surveyed the beach around him; the sun finally beginning to rise on his right. It was late summer and soon fall would be upon them. The light touch of cold was dissipated the moment the sun’s rays struck west. A glint of metal sparkled in the distance, probably discarded trash, but still worth investigating. Endless beach stretched to either side; no hint of civilization within sight; he needed to figure out where he was.

  Stepping forward, he plunged up the slight rise, his feet digging into the loose sand; rarely giving solid footing. He had been expecting to find hard ground eventually and was disappointed when it was just more sand. It was tanner, lighter, and dry; they were in a desert. The question was, which one? If it was California—he’d be screwed.

  A pit fell in his stomach when he realized that for now, his comrades were on their own.

  “Kore not hurt! Mage leave Kore alone!” roared a familiar voice.

  That didn’t bode well.

  How many had followed after him; how exposed had that left the others? Stepping to the top of the sandy dune, he looked down at a short, desolate valley, and spied two figures crouching in the fleeing darkness. At least it was only two of them; not as bad as it could have been, but worse than he had hoped. Kore was the only muscle on that cliff top; magical creatures aside.

  He sighed as he approached, listening to the two squabble. When Kore shifted, the new morning light struck a piece of metal and Merlin’s eyes shifted, then widened with surprise. The large battle axe was buried in the skull of the goblin sorcerer.

  “Would you tell this oaf to stay still? I’m trying to heal the burn on this idiot’s face,” Serix cursed in his direction; glaring angrily at the defiant orc in front of him. The mage’s gray peppered hair was covered in sand, and he shook some loose as he turned to glance his way. The sand scattered over his black robes, giving an impression of stars upon the night sky; constantly shifting. Serix once more leaned forward in an attempt to heal the third degree burn on Kore’s right cheek, but the warrior was having none of it.

  He must have gotten blasted in the face; the angle of the helm telling Merlin it had come from Kore’s right.

  He let out another sigh and knelt next to the big guy. “He’s smarter than you think. Try not insulting him and maybe he would let you help him.”

  “He’s just an orc,” Serix sneered.

  He eyed the man coldly. “If you want to continue on with me, don’t you ever say that again. Go scrye for water.” He waited until the mage got up and moved off, before turning to attend to his comrade. The platemail was sturdy, dented in numerous places, and covered in greenish black sludge mixed with sand. Kore’s tusks were working as he moved his tongue around his mouth, experimenting with the inner damage to his cheek.

  He slowly reached out and removed the big guy’s helm.

  “Ass,” Kore snorted, eyes watching the black-robed mage standing a few feet away.

  “I know,” he responded, placing a hand on the orc’s burnt skin. Kore’s eye reflexively squinted, but he was a boulder that would not move any further. “Sanabit,” he whispered tenderly and felt the magic begin to flow. Soft white light spread over the orc’s face, and the skin began to slowly stitch itself back together.

  Tusks still rotating, he knew that the orc was lost in thought.

  “I thought that bastard got away,” he commented, nodding in the direction of the nearby corpse.

  Kore’s eyes shifted, but he didn’t move his head, letting the mage do his work. “Goblin run. Try magic leave. Kore axe faster. Ass no help.”

  The warrior’s broken English was hard for some people to understand, but once you got used to it, your brain automatically filled in what was missing; translating it instantly. The red light had been the goblin trying to enact his magic while fleeing from the two new arrivals, but Kore had flung his axe, and nailed him before he could make his escape. And apparently, Serix hadn’t done anything to help. He sighed, remembering how disoriented he’d been when he came through, how he almost died in the water—he hadn’t been much help either.

  The healing was finished and he touched the freshly skinned cheek, making sure that his work was truly done. Kore didn’t flinch, so he wasn’t feeling any pain; or he was just that good at hiding it. He reached out with his mind and touched the orc’s thoughts, letting them truly communicate like they had on the plains where he’d found him.

  If it still hurts, you need to t
ell me.

  Kore fine. Cheek doesn’t hurt. Thank Merlin, his friend replied; their thoughts melding. Even in their own language they referred to themselves by name, never using the term I. It was just their way of thinking. The tusks had quit moving and now the orc’s eyes took in the landscape around them. Where is Kore?

  The west coast of the Dierdan Desert, judging by the angle of the rising sun and the slant of the coast line. Other than that? I don’t know, he admitted, hating it. Even if they started back now, it’d be more than a week before they would get clear of the desert. They didn’t have their packs; which meant no food, no water, and there would likely be neither on their trek east. It was a dangerous situation and he had to see a way out of it.

  Kore thirsty, the big guy told him and he could sympathize.

  The salt water had scoured his throat and his chapped lips were eager to be washed free of it. Why did you follow me here? Why’d you leave the others?

  The orc turned and looked at the fallen goblin. Slave master, loved to beat Kore’s brothers. Kore knew goblin, goblin was cruel. Kore was not going to let goblin live.

  Something within clicked into place and he had an epiphany; the goblin.

  He got up and glanced at the enemy corpse, the axe still embedded in the goblin’s skull. He found what he was looking for discarded a few feet from its owner had perished. He bent over and picked up the red staff; inspecting it with intense curiosity. Unlike other races, goblins were not born with innate magic; they needed talismans to give them their power.

  A weapon crafted and empowered by the Phoenix was in his hands.

  He delved into the crystal with his mind, searching the reserves held within. He didn’t have a teleportation spell, but he was sure of where to find one. That goblin didn’t know one either, the Phoenix had placed it within the staff’s crystal, and told the goblin what to say. He sensed the magic, but it was weak, almost depleted. Though he gained the knowledge of the words used to invoke the magic, a sickening feeling hit his stomach when he realized it would only transport one of them free of the desert, or three of them a third of the way. If he wanted to get back to Tristan and the others, he’d have to leave them behind. With neither the ingredients or practice of using the spell, he would have to rely on the staff alone; so he was going to have to make a choice.

  He looked at his friend, the orc’s tusks moving once more as he considered what to do next, and knew in his heart that he couldn’t do it.

  Gritting his teeth, he rose and looked to see where his black robed companion had trounced off too. Serix was standing twenty feet away, head bowed, lips moving. He knew that there’d be little the mage would find as far as water. He didn’t recall seeing an oasis on his last journey through this territory, and the riverbeds had long since dried up.

  A staff in each hand, he turned away and walked back towards the thundering Atlantic; he needed time to think.

  Stepping onto the beach he’d just fled, he sat just outside the tideline, feeling the sand mold around his rear as he got comfortable. He laid the staves down and opened himself to the cascades of time waiting to be heard. His eyes misted over as he once more delved into what could be.

  He spent an hour on that beach, half-listening to the waves crash in the distance; the water rising just short of his feet. His mind had flowed through each possible future, each one spiraling from a decision that he would make. Leaving the other two, one of them leaving him, all three using it to travel a third of the way back, and a slew of others including breaking the damn thing and throwing it in the ocean.

  Then he had searched further and looked into the lives of the others he had taken responsibility for.

  Erik was lying in a bed, put there by his confused wife. Something had happened to the King, and tried as he might, he could not figure out what it was. A druid sat by his bedside, lost in thought, and it was apparent that something tragic had happened; something unexpected and out of his control.

  What the hell’s going on?

  It was a question he knew would not be quickly answered. He could sense the possible futures of others, but not their past. That was written and well out of reach.

  The Queen of the Elves was currently marching a legion of their army west; searching for their daughter in her husband’s absence. This had been unforeseen and his nerves had lit up with increased worry. Pieces had begun moving, and he was off the board in the middle of nowhere, unable to do anything but watch.

  He turned his attention south.

  Tristan and his group were safe; they had survived the battle on the bluffs. There was an audible sigh of relief that they hadn’t perished after his disappearance. Melissa was leading them down the mountain to regroup with the others, and they were preparing to head to Camelot. It wasn’t how he wanted it to happen, but his crusade was still on course. He prayed that he could trust the witch; she’d always been a fickle creature only interested in self-preservation.

  If the time came, would she abandon them?

  Lancaster was under siege. Clint had been found out, but had escaped. The palace had been breached, yet it had been quickly contained; the threat ended. The horde army was pounding on the gates, as if expecting to be let in. If Windel hadn’t been sent back—that’s exactly what would have happened. He could sense great danger approaching the castle and feared that it wouldn’t survive the week.

  But what could he do to help any of them? He was one man, sitting on a beach, and they were just over two hundred miles away. Even if they had a paved road to follow, it would take them half a week to get there by foot. He suddenly wished for the old technologies that Man had created. It was a four-hour drive from what used to be Newquay to Oxford, where Lancaster had been built. Hell, you could watch Dances with Wolves and be there before the end.

  He sighed.

  Rising to his feet, he was surprised to see that his companions had come to sit behind him. He had been so lost in his thoughts that he had missed their approach. To his surprise, Serix had found water and was using Kore’s helm as a bowl. Where’d—

  “The desert is on the surface only. Much of what used to be lies just under the sand. There’s a reservoir under a few layers of rock, which I summoned to the surface. Can’t guarantee it’ll taste very good, considering its container, but hey, can’t be picky, right?” Serix finished with a smile. “The big oa—warrior offered his helm—what was I going to say?”

  Beady red eyes had glared at the mage and flicked to him when Serix stammered and changed his wording. The frown on Kore’s face indicated that the last second correction did little to change the orc’s opinion of the man; not that Merlin could blame him.

  He took the helm from Serix and for the first time since they arrived, Merlin felt like laughing. He was surprised! After the past hour he’d spent watching their futures, he wondered, why he hadn’t seen this? Was he looking too far ahead, or did he not pay attention to the details? What else might he have missed? He pressed it to his lips and took a short drink to wash his mouth out.

  Serix was right, it tasted pretty bad.

  “I think you need to wash your armor more often,” he told Kore with a smile.

  “Kore take off, Merlin wash for Kore,” the orc grunted; eyes glaring at him.

  He snickered. “Fat chance buddy.”

  Refreshed, somewhat, he went over the details of what the young mage had found, and replicated it until he was certain he’d gotten the hang of it. It wasn’t a complicated spell, just one he hadn’t considered using that way. He was going to have to broaden his mind some going forward. Certainty over your abilities, the pride, could limit the imagination. That’s why he liked delving into the minds of the young; they could surprise you and elevate you to higher levels of thinking.

  “The goblin’s staff,” he stated, as he stood between the two seated souls, who were waiting patiently to see what Merlin had decided while in his trance, “has enough power to open a portal once more. The magic was drained by the four of us com
ing through, so I’m afraid that it is only useful for one.”

  Serix’s head drooped. “When do you leave?”

  “I’m not,” he told the necromancer. “You are.”

  Kore remained passive. He didn’t care either way; he would go where needed.

  “What?” Serix blurted with surprise. He had been resigned to being left behind, to try and traverse the desert without dying from heat stroke.

  He handed the mage the goblin’s staff. “In a few moments, I’ll instruct you in how to invoke the magic, but first, I need to tell you where you’re going. Lancaster is under siege. There’s a slim chance that they might be able to survive on their own; they have friends riding to their aid. But slim is not good enough for me. If Lancaster falls—all is lost. The Phoenix could use it as a staging point; a beach head to reinforce her invading forces.”

  “I can’t go. John won’t trust me, even with the traitor revealed within his midst. He will question every bit of advice I give and I would be nothing more than a talking mouth piece. Kore can’t go either. He’d be imprisoned as soon as he appeared, and probably killed once they got around to it. Lancaster is not a safe place for an orc right now. You are a fresh face, an untainted voice. You can say what I cannot,” he finished, sure that his reasoning was sound.

  It really was the only choice.

  Serix shook his head. “I’m not ready. What you’re asking me to do—,”

  “What I’m asking you to do is be the extra weight the scale needs to tip over. Offer your assistance. Use your imagination, as you did with the water, to help find the horde’s Achilles Heel. Break the siege and send the Phoenix’s forces running back to the north. Just keep your attitude in check, and you’ll do fine,” he advised. He could say more, but you had to be careful while manipulating time. Too much help, they might not question what they should; become too reliant on the victory foretold. Not enough—they’d be overrun and killed.