Ages Unending_Dusk Into Dawn

by William Fewox

  Ages Unending

  Dusk into Dawn

  William Fewox

  Copyright Information

  NOTE: If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either the products of the Author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  AGES UNENDING: DUSK INTO DAWN

  Copyright © 2017 by William D. Fewox III

  All rights reserved.

  Cover art by Christian Bentulan

  Map by Justin Leo

  ISBN 978-1-9732-4947-4

  Published by Amazon Kindle Direct

  Dedicated to

  Bill and Bonnie Fewox

  This was a long road to take, and one I didn’t always want to travel, but thanks to your love and guidance, I found where I was supposed to be.

  C o n t e n t s

  ______

  Copyright Information

  Chapter 1 Son of the Forest

  Chapter 2 The Bybic Tribe

  Chapter 3 King of the Faithful

  Chapter 4 The Spoils of War

  Chapter 5 The Old Masters

  Chapter 6 Glory and Honor

  Chapter 7 On the King’s Road

  Chapter 8 The Battle of Springhead

  Chapter 9 The Victor Claims His Prize

  Chapter 10 Father and Son

  Chapter 11 The Usurper

  Chapter 12 In the Land of Immortals

  Chapter 13 The Faith of Prophets

  Chapter 14 The Voice of Prophets

  Chapter 15 In Pursuit of Virtue

  Chapter 16 Words of Faith

  Chapter 17 The Prophet Returns

  Chapter 18 Letters and Sermons

  Chapter 19 In the House of the Creator

  Chapter 20 The King’s Justice

  Chapter 21 The Crossing

  Chapter 22 The City of Man

  Chapter 23 Sins of the World

  Chapter 24 The Archon Ascendant

  Chapter 25 First Light

  Chapter 26 Reunion

  Chapter 27 The Weight of Power

  Chapter 28 A New Dawn

  Chapter 29 The Great Moot

  Chapter 30 Long Live the Queen

  Chapter 31 March of the High King

  Chapter 32 The Virtuous Host

  Chapter 33 Forever Free

  Chapter 34 The Age of Prophets

  His father’s memory was wound round his heart

  With golden rings, iron swords, and loyal men

  Thus do sons build their fathers’ legacy in peace

  But protect it in war; so do warriors earn their fame

  And the future for their sons is shaped with a sword.

  ——The Saga of Fravan Ironhand,

  Sung by the Skalds of the Altani,

  Lines 2712 – 2716

  (circa year 700, Age of Ash)

  Chapter 1

  Son of the Forest

  The hunter turned his eyes to the fading sunlight overhead and grunted with frustration. He wanted to thank and curse the gods in one breath. The fiery autumn colors made spotting his quarry easy, but the reverse was also true, and he was hard to miss at the best of times. Hakon Bybicson stood taller than any man or beast he had faced, broad of chest and shoulders, limbs roped with thick muscle. He kept his copper hair long enough to cover his ears, but not too unruly to obscure his unnaturally bright green eyes. He moved through the forest with a deft and quiet stride, frowning at his kills. He had enough to sate the leader of his tribe; Jarl Gunnar often called on him to provide meat for his hall, and Hakon never disappointed. Three well-fed boars lay at his feet, enough to feed the Jarl and all his warriors, but it wasn’t enough for Hakon’s pride. The white wolf was still out there.

  The warrior drove his spear into the ground and bowed his head reverently. “Aemir, Goddess of the Hunt, and Faolen, War-God and Father of Wolves, I beseech you both. I have killed man and beast alike, slain every creature in this forest, and driven back the enemy of my lord since I was a boy. No warrior of the Bybic Tribe has offered greater glory. I alone am worthy of catching the white wolf that stalks these woods, and I promise to deliver the beast’s heart as a sacrifice,” Hakon muttered. Then, he heard it; his prayers had been answered.

  He spotted the wolf lapping at the stream. After years of hunting this elusive animal, he had committed every feature to memory; a great, shaggy coat as white as snow, powerful limbs, and icy blue eyes. It was larger than any wolf he had ever seen, but just as he readied his spear, a rustling of leaves near Hakon ruined everything.

  The wolf immediately perked its ears, and turned to face Hakon. The great beast sat tall, meeting his opponent’s stare as he had so many times before. Hakon snarled, hurling the spear with all his might, sending it sailing unerringly through the trees. As it had done for years, the wolf leapt away at the right moment, dashing away between through the trees.

  With a roar of frustration, Hakon raced to the stream to grab his spear, but when he swerved around to catch the wolf’s trail, the beast had vanished again.

  “You miserable coward! May Faolen’s fangs tear the pelt from your bones!” Hakon shouted. When he could see no sign of the beast, he swore and kicked at the water.

  “Is the mighty Bybicson attempting to conquer babbling brooks, now?” a familiar voice called.

  Hakon’s angry snarl slipped into an easier smile as he watched a young man his own age struggle to get off his horse. “Alfred! If you were any other man right now, I’d punch your teeth out.” He cocked his head back to where the wolf had fled. “You scared away the beast,” he commented, relaxing as he pushed back his long copper hair.

  Alfred frowned, leaning on his horse for support. “I did? Sorry, brother. But, at least punching my teeth out would’ve pleased Father.” The contrast between the two was striking; Alfred barely met Hakon’s chest, a result of his malformed legs and the small hunch in his back. He was thin and wiry, with a perpetually sickly pallor, black hair, and dull gray eyes that belied his intelligence.

  The larger man grinned, enveloping his friend with one arm. “Nevermind Gunnar. Jarl or not, he’s just a bitter old man.”

  Alfred scoffed. “Don’t let him hear you say that. Is this where you’ve been all day, after Father chose you for his honor guard at the Great Moot? Hiding from the tribe like a Fospar?”

  The warrior smirked, jutting his thumb back to the three boars. “I was getting dinner.”

  Alfred made a face. “Boar again? Can’t you hunt chickens? Pheasants, perhaps?”

  “Pheasants are no challenge. They don’t fight back.” Hakon hefted one of the boars over his shoulder with ease, carrying it over to his own horse, tethered some ways away from his hunting ground. “The gods call me to greater quarry, like the white wolf. I know it. I feel it within.” Hakon pounded his fist against his broad chest. “When I finally catch him, I’ll offer his heart to the gods as a sign of my victory.”

  “Yes, well, the gods don’t demand you bring dinner. We have other hunters. You don’t have to go every time father claps his hands like some hunting hound.” The sickly man stumbled to the back of his horse, causing the creature to nicker as he leaned against it.

  Hakon scoffed. “Gunnar took me in. I’m just earning my keep.” He tied the boars down to his horse. “Like always.”

  Alfred’s expression became sympathetic. “You’ve more than earned your keep, brother.” The young man sought the threads of ether that tied the essence of lif
e to this plane, practicing his strange and powerful gift. Soon, he felt his will latch onto the boar nearest Hakon. With nothing more than subtle movements of his fingers, Alfred jerked its head upright, the animal’s dead eyes opening and mouth falling slack.

  “Listen to Alfred, Hakon! He’s far smarter than you!” the boar squealed in a high-pitched mimicry of Alfred’s voice.

  Hakon shivered, frowning as the boar’s head fell limp again. “Don’t do that.”

  “Come on, I’m only trying to make you laugh. Besides…” Alfred shrugged, trying to get back in his saddle. “You must stick to your strengths.”

  “You’re a Deathspeaker, Alfred. You’re supposed to use your powers to speak to the dead and the gods, not turn fresh kills into fleshy puppets,” Hakon grumbled. Watching Alfred struggle with the horse, he rolled his eyes, effortlessly lifting his friend into the saddle.

  “When did you become so reverent?” Alfred asked. “You were drunk at the last sacrifice to the gods.”

  “We’re in the forest. The gods dwell here, not in our temple,” Hakon stated with a sideways glance to his friend. “It’s like how you’re fine cracking jokes about your father when he’s miles away, but in his presence, you wilt like a flower.”

  Alfred’s expression soured. “I don’t wilt,” he shot back. “I just have trouble standing, you know that.”

  Hakon grinned. “I thought you were born with a twisted spine, not none at all.”

  “Hah.”

  The two traveled the forest path leading back to their village in peace for some time. Enough sunlight remained overhead to guide them, but the red and purple sky soon darkened and yielded to the stars.

  Suddenly, a noise made both of them stop. Hakon gripped his spear, and Alfred readied his bow; they heard a voice in a distinct, clipped accent.

  “Listen,” Hakon growled. “I hear the Fospar tongue.”

  “I do, too.” Alfred pointed to a copse of trees to their right.

  Hakon held a finger to his lips, reaching his arm around the horse’s neck to guide it closer. Once Alfred was in position, Hakon snuck around the trees, hiding behind a boulder where he could hear the Fospar.

  “Aedanus, doshundim utet auror, emt graetim nu panii,” the Fospar whispered, knelt with hands clasped, his back to Hakon.

  The large man frowned. He was speaking in tongues, now? That was not the Fospar language. His tribe and the Fospars had fought for years; they were invaders, and his tribe were all trained to recognize their dark tongue. What if he was invoking some dark magic? Tensing his arms, he tightened the fur and leather jerkin he wore and gripped his spear. He leaped from his hiding place, roaring like an animal as he tackled the Fospar to the ground.

  “Hakon! Look, he’s not alone!” Alfred called from his perch, his bow drawn taut.

  Gripping his captive tight, Hakon spotted a fox, only it stood on two legs and stared at the hunter with unearthly yellow eyes.

  Grunting with unease, Hakon scrambled to his feet, his powerful arm wrapped tight around the Fospar’s neck. He pointed his spear at the fox, but it didn’t flinch.

  “What kind of sorcery is this?” he growled. There were legends of foxes and other creatures serving as divine messengers, but this was beyond anything Hakon knew.

  The Fospar scrambled, unsuccessfully trying to break Hakon’s hold on him. “Eleam! Eleam!” he gasped. He reached into the folds of his clothes and produced a small, polished piece of wood he pointed to himself. Alfred gasped, feeling the subtle pull of magic.

  “Mercy!” the Fospar cried. “Mercy, please!”

  Hakon let him go out of shock. “You speak our tongue, Fospar?”

  “It’s a spell. To communicate with people of different languages.” Their captive gave Hakon an indignant look as he dusted his plain brown robe off. “Fospars? Is that what you call us?” He was not an impressive specimen; short and plump, he had a gentle, almost boyish round face that was slightly red from Hakon’s attack. He would have looked like an overfed child if not for his scraggly brown beard. “We call ourselves Fosporians.”

  “We don’t care what you call yourself, pigling,” Alfred declared, urging his horse out from behind their hiding place, drawing his bow again. “You’re in the company of Alfred Gunnarson and Hakon Bybicson; I am the son of Jarl Gunnar of the Bybics, and the big one is our greatest warrior.”

  “I can see that,” the third man said, looking up at Hakon. “Please, brothers, there’s no need to quarrel. I am Magnus, and I am a disciple of the Prophet of the Creator. Please, I was preparing dinner. It’s not much, but we can share.”

  Hakon scoffed at the fire, where a pheasant had finished roasting. He grabbed the bird off the spit and tore off a hunk of meat for himself. “Why are you here, Magnus? Are you spying on us?”

  “Not at all.” Magnus chuckled. “I’m not exactly built for stealth. No, my friend over here, the, ah, the fox…” he gestured to the creature, which had remained still throughout the entire exchange. His unblinking, glowing eyes were beginning to make Hakon squirm. “He told me to come out here. I am supposed to find someone.”

  “You Fospars follow the orders of bewitched animals?” Hakon growled. “The Bybics rely on strength, not on witchcraft. That’s why we’ll drive you Fospars from our lands. Animals like this are sacrifices to the Gods, not the Gods themselves!” Snarling, he brandished his spear, shoving Magnus to the ground as he lumbered toward the fox. He had just reached his limit of the beast staring at him.

  Magnus began, “Oh, I wouldn’t do that if—”

  As Hakon thrust his spear at the unmoving fox, the creature lifted its paw. With a massive burst of magical energy, the great warrior was flung across the campsite.

  “Touch ye not the messenger of Dranasyl!” The fox’s mouth contorted as its voice echoed across the forest, sounding as if a great multitude were speaking as one.

  “By the Gods…” Alfred murmured, slowly backing his horse away.

  Hakon leaped to his feet, pounding his fist against a boulder as he snarled at Magnus and the fox. “What does he mean, Dranasyl?” he demanded.

  “Dranasyl, the realm of the immortals? Isn’t that what you call it?” Magnus asked.

  “The Gods sent a messenger? To the Fospars?” Alfred clarified, scoffing.

  “Not to put too fine a point on it, but it’s just the one. God, that is; the Creator,” Magnus said stiffly.

  Hakon scoffed, looming over the little man. “Our Gods are gods of war, the hunt, and the sun. If your Creator is anything like his followers, he relies on tricks to save him.”

  “Now, see here, I—” Magnus looked up at Hakon and blinked, leaning in. “Your eyes…”

  Hakon balked, grabbing his spear again. “What about them?”

  Magnus shook his head. “Forgive me, I’ve only seen that color of eye once before in my life. It can’t be!”

  “If you’re preparing to court him, Fospar, you’ll have quite a crowd ahead of you. Hakon has his pick of our women—and they all could beat you in a fight,” Alfred smirked.

  Magnus acted as if he hadn’t heard Alfred. He turned to the fox, who nodded only once. He then fell to his knees, bowing his head to Hakon. “My lord, I swear my service to you. As the Creator is my witness, I swear to serve you as your bondsman until my last breath. Ul voriea Aedanus, uleo verit.”

  Hakon stared at Magnus. “What are you saying in tongues?”

  “Forgive me, it’s an old language the Prophet taught me. It’s a blessing. ‘As the Creator sees it, so shall it be,’” Magnus recited.

  “What’s your game, Fospar?” Alfred demanded. “Are you swearing loyalty so Hakon won’t kill you, only to scurry back to your own kind with all the food from our larder the second our backs are turned?”

  Magnus bristled. “Brother, I am no thief. I go where my God wills me.”

  “Why do you keep calling us brothers? The Bybics and the Fospars fight each other.”

  “Well, we’re both human. That alone b
inds us, made as we were in the Creator’s sight.”

  Alfred rolled his eyes. “This is getting us nowhere, Hakon. Either kill the fat one and leave the fox until he takes root, or take your new ‘bondsman’ with you. We need to go, there’s barely any light left.”

  “I can lead the way in the dark,” Magnus offered. With that same slender piece of wood, he summoned a floating ball of blue fire in the palm of his hand.

  Hakon gasped, and immediately slapped Magnus’ hand, the flame sputtering out. “Are you mad?!” He stared at Magnus with wide eyes. “If you come with me, no witchcraft. None!”

  “But—” Magnus looked back to the fox, who stared back at him. The Fosporian sighed. “As you wish it. Shall we, then?” He gestured out to the forest.

  Hakon grunted. “Follow us. And if you run, my spear will fly faster than your legs will carry you. You swore yourself to me, and I won’t forget that.”

  “Understood,” Magnus nodded, collecting his things.

  As the three turned to the forest, Alfred kept glancing back at the fat little man they had collected. He looked at the silent fox that kept pace with them with suspicion. “Are you really going to let this Fospar into the village?” he finally asked his friend.

  Hakon shrugged. “If he eats more than his fill, I’ll have him whipped. And we can turn the fox into a hat if he gets too close.”

  “I’d like to see you try again,” Alfred replied. “Why are you really letting him come with us?”

  Hakon frowned. “I want to know why he was so focused on my eyes.”

  “Isn’t it obvious? You have an admirer. Look at him, he’s all soft and overfed. Doubtless, he’s looking for a big, strong warrior to protect him.” Alfred smirked.

  “You’re not helping.”

  Alfred shrugged, urging his horse on. “Not trying to.”

  Hakon rolled his eyes and hung back, waiting for the fat little man to catch up. “I have some questions for you, Magnus.