A Coronation of Kings

by Samuel Stokes

  A Coronation of Kings

  Published by Samuel C. Stokes

  Copyright 2015 Samuel C. Stokes

  2nd Edition

  Cover design by Renee Barratt, www.TheCoverCounts.com

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  A foreword from the Author

  Firstly, welcome to A Coronation of Kings. It is my mission as an author to create an exciting new world for you to get lost in. For those who are frequent fantasy readers you will notice a number of differences between this novel and traditional fantasy works.

  First and foremost, the pace of the novel. My goal was to create an action-packed fantasy novel without any “down-time.” You will find some of the descriptions sparse compared to what you may be used to, this is intentional so as to not detract from the overall pace of the narrative with overly detailed but superfluous descriptions. Do you need a three-paragraph description on a breed of horse? If so this may be the wrong book for you. If you would rather those paragraphs be jam packed with glorious melee, naval warfare, spellbinding sorcery and siege craft, than I have excellent news for you. You have come to the right place.

  A Coronation of Kings is the starting point for what will be a series of books that will immerse you in a universe that you can truly get lost in. It may seem on it's surface a retelling of the classic good vs evil scenario that forms the heart of most fantasy literature, but this is simply a starting point. If you read carefully you will catch a glimpse of the breadth of the story soon to be unfurled.

  Lastly whilst the book features a number of romantic interests it contains no sexual encounters of any variety. This is intentional, I want readers of any age to be able to pick up my work without having to worry what they will come across in their reading. If that is what you are seeking there are plenty of other books out there that cater to those themes.

  I hope you enjoy A Coronation of Kings. If you have any thoughts or feedback don't hesitate to connect with me via any of the means mentioned above, I would love to hear from you.

  Sincerely

  Samuel C. Stokes

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  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  It was a miserable day to be outside; the driving rain was pouring down on Listarii Manor, a bustling, walled estate on the eastern coast of Valaar. The mood about the town was somber, dampened by more than the rain as the townsfolk gathered with heavy hearts to pay their respects.

  The Lady Elaina, much beloved by her people, had passed away tragically during childbirth the night before, thus all were gathering to bid their farewells. As the funeral drew to a close, a bereft Lord Marcus could be seen leading the funeral procession from the church.

  Marcus, Lord of the Listarii, was fit and regal, a warrior in his prime. His broad shoulders seemed to bear the weight of the world as he walked. His head was bowed and tears could be seen trickling down his cheek to disappear into his beard.

  The coffin was lowered into the damp earth whilst the attendant priest spoke a prayer to the Allfather. The words were little comfort to Lord Marcus who looked up for the first time, his weary brown eyes seemingly searching for something in the distance— perhaps a rhyme or reason for his loss and pain.

  It was almost as if he could see the hooded form watching from the edge of the woods. Looking back down at the coffin being lowered into the earth, he sighed. Too smitten with grief to speak; he simply clutched his newborn son tightly to protect him from the driving rain.

  The physicians had been concerned about the baby’s presence, but their protests fell on the deaf ears of their grief-stricken lord. The coffin descended to its final resting place and Marcus nodded to the nearby retainers who began shoveling earth into the hole.

  A priest of the Order of the Allfather conducted the service. The Allfather was the preeminent deity on Valaar, a supreme being both worshipped and emulated by the people. The priest offered a few final words petitioning the Allfather on the late lady’s behalf, passionately pleading for her speedy entrance into his Celestial City. As he concluded, the people began to disperse.

  Many offered parting condolences as they passed their lord, but the kind words seemed lost in the sorrow that now engulfed him. As the last of them left, Lord Marcus too turned for his estates.

  The figure in the woods sighed. It was an eerie scene to watch one’s own funeral. The Lady Elaina struggled to suppress her own emotions as she saw the outpouring of love from the townsfolk. She struggled within herself, wanting desperately to run and throw her arms around her beloved Marcus once more.

  Listarii Manor had been her home for many years now, and the townsfolk had become her closest friends. Unfortunately, the events of the night before had made this deception necessary. She looked down at the small figure clutched in her own arms and sighed. ‘Syrion, my son, we must find you a new home.’

  Unbeknownst to all but the lord and a few close servants, the lady had given birth to twins amidst much rejoicing at the birth of the heir to Listarii. As the Lord of the Manor embraced the youngest of his newborn sons he gasped in surprise: faint at first, but growing more defined with every passing moment was a large image of a dragon playing across the child’s back. Golden and gleaming like the sun it was moving slowly across the smooth skin of their newborn child.

  Her attention drawn by her husband’s surprise, Elaina glanced over also. As she took in the large image her surprise turned to a wide smile. ‘You’ll take after your mother, won’t you little one?’

  ‘Elaina, the people won’t understand this. They are superstitious and know little of your people. What is not understood is often feared.’

  ‘What would you have me do?’ she implored, fearful of his response.

  ‘He may not be safe here, but there is a place that he might be. It lies to the north of here, Tolanis by name, after its people. They are different—not concerned with the pettiness and superstitions of men. Perhaps amongst them, our son may grow strong and live in peace. For centuries they have made their home in the heart of the Eternal Mountains They stand as protectors and partners to the Dragon Host. Those mountains have been jealously guarded since o
ur forefathers first set foot on the island. Surely he will be safe there.’

  ‘I too have heard of them, my love, but I also know that no mortal has entered Tolanis unbidden since the Great War.’

  ‘Well then, my dearest Elaina, it is a good thing that you are not mortal.’

  Elaina turned, driving away her thoughts of the previous night, and strode deeper into the woods. The new mother clutched her child closely, fearing the driving rain would bring with it the chills or those other sicknesses to which newborns are so vulnerable.

  ‘Enough,’ thought Elaina. The weather may have reflected her turbulent mood, but nothing would be permitted to harm her child. Clutching her baby with her left arm, she stretched her right arm into the sky and made sweeping motions. At her command, a strong wind swept in from the West and drove the rain clouds out to sea.

  Chapter 1

  Listarii Manor, 18 years later.

  It was a beautiful day in Listarii. The morning sun beat down as a gentle sea breeze carried the scent of the ocean across the Listarii estate. Tristan bounded down the stone stairs of the manor and crossed the courtyard into the training hall. The barracks were largely empty as most of the manor guards were out in the fields, helping to gather the harvest.

  Tristan was the only son of Marcus, Lord of the Listarii. This year would mark his eighteenth year and the end of the passage from youth to adulthood. With adulthood comes responsibility, and for most that would mean taking up a post as a soldier, tradesman or farmer, but for Tristan, it marked the age at which he could inherit his family’s title. Marcus was no longer a child, but the heir to an aristocratic title. As such, his training and studies had intensified, his father determined to prepare him for the role he would one day fill as Lord of the Listarii. Tall and strong, Tristan stood head and shoulders above most his age. With hair as black as the night sky, he cut a handsome figure; his trim, muscular form honed from endless hours spent drilling in the barracks.

  Listarii Manor was situated in the heart of Listar, a peaceful province on the eastern coast of the Island of Valaar on the Boundless Sea. Valaar was a peaceful kingdom. All opposition had been driven into the ocean hundreds of years earlier, when Kai Valaar first unified the nomadic tribes and took his place as king of the newly united Valaar.

  Those who would not swear fealty fled before his wrath. Rumors filtered down through generations of a valiant few who were believed to have safely crossed the Boundless Sea— or so the bards claimed in their tales. With the threat of infighting crushed, a great age of peace was ushered in and the newly united kingdom flourished. There was always the threat of lawless bandits or the occasional slavers’ raid by the Pirate Lords who plied their despicable trade on the Boundless Sea. These raids were rare though, and the Valaar had long grown accustomed to the peace and stability provided by their king and his council.

  This peace had lasted for more than two centuries, until the last Valaaran king died without an heir. The vacant throne beckoned and civil war loomed ominously. The prospect of power and prestige had begun to divide the people and turn conspiring men against their neighbours. Bloodshed threatened to tear down the newly burgeoning civilisation. Threat of mutual destruction compelled the once proud rulers of the great houses of Valaar to arrive at an uneasy truce.

  The land fell under the leadership of the King’s Council, made up of the rulers of the respective families. They steered the Valaar away from the brink of destruction and re-established peace throughout the land. Doubtless a few of the old houses still aspired to the Golden Throne, but for the most part. The Listarii avoided these dangerous political games, preferring the peace provided by their distance from the old capitol at the King’s Court.

  Tristan crossed into the Training Hall to find Weapons Master Balan waiting for him. ‘Ah, Tristan m’boy. It’s good to see you’ve roused yourself in time for the midday meal.’ The aging weapons master was good humoured but relentless in his pursuit of excellence. Under his tutelage Tristan’s martial prowess grew daily and the young noble was beginning to draw considerable attention as he competed in various tournaments across the island.

  ‘In my eighteenth year I would hardly consider myself a boy, Master Balan, and despite those regal locks, I thought it best to get in some practice before our morning bout,’ replied Tristan, gesturing to the weapons master’s graying hairs as he drew his rapier. The weapon bore a long, thin blade, honed to a wicked point and it danced menacingly in front of his venerable weapons master.

  ‘You needn’t bother with that Tristan,’ smiled Balan. ‘You are already the equal of any of the guard with that little pig sticker you favor.’ He was right of course. Tristan had taken to the rapier with a natural ease that astounded his teacher. His quick reflexes suited the difficult weapon perfectly, and his growing ability with it had humbled many a more experienced swordsman. Balan continued, ‘Today your father asked that I familiarize you with some of the weapons that your less honourable opponents may employ against you. Namely those used by the Night Stalkers.’

  The Night Stalkers were amongst the most dangerous of the guilds on Valaar. Ruthless assassins, they thrived on the feuds between rival lords and bickering guilds. For a fee, many a noble had come to an unfortunate and premature end. Highly secretive and proficient with a host of martial weapons, the Night Stalkers area blight on the back of Valaaran society. Despite their loathed status, the Night Stalkers were kept in steady business by the Guilds of Commerce and aspiring courtiers seeking to increase their station.

  ‘Night Stalkers!’ cried Tristan in disbelief, ‘I doubt someone of my age is worthy of their attention!’

  ‘It’s not your age, Tristan, but your station that is likely to attract their attention. I’ll have you know that twice in the last three years, your father’s life has had a price on it. In one of those instances, he narrowly escaped with his life.’

  Tristan’s eyes went wide as Balan continued. ‘We took care of those who had called them into service, but it could easily have ended in tragedy. With their clients deceased and no hope for payment, the contracts have lapsed. The Night Stalkers have, at least for the moment, abandoned their intentions. Most targets are not so lucky.’

  ‘Tristan, you must be aware that you will face these same threats when you take your father’s place. Twice now, he has avoided an early return to him who is the Father of us all. ‘Balan’s hushed tones reverentially mentioned the deity that most Vaalarans worshiped.

  Tristan’s face fell in disbelief. He hadn’t heard a word of any of this. Balan pressed on, ‘I’m glad you have the good sense to understand. When you take your father’s place you must be ready for the challenges that you will face. As your father wishes, we begin your training with some of the more exotic weapons that you might face. Some of these are rarely seen in the practice pit.’

  Striding to a nearby stand, Balan picked up a weapon. ‘First, we will begin with ranged weapons. These come in many forms beginning with the humble dagger. Many a merchant has passed from this life on the sharpened point of a dagger thrown from a dark alleyway. Often used with poisons, they are simple and deadly, made even more so by the lack of respect most warriors give them. Moving on to some of the more complex weapons, we have the hand crossbow. Easily concealed, the hand crossbow is lethal at fifty paces for anyone not wearing armour. Even in plate armour, there is no guarantee. The bolts are wickedly sharp and it is also accurate and easily poisoned. As such, it is the lazy assassin’s weapon of choice.’

  ‘Lastly we have the shuriken. The shuriken is the antithesis of the hand crossbow. It requires much more finesse. The fact that it is thrown also limits its range considerably. On the other hand, it is extraordinarily dangerous in confined spaces and its capacity to injure multiple targets brings with it considerable collateral damage. Chaos and confusion can be effective weapons in a melee.’

  Balan went on to explain the basic workings of each of the weapons, and how they might be effectively employed, before excusi
ng himself. ‘Young Tristan, I have some things to which I must attend. You are to spend the day familiarising yourself with these weapons, after which you will train for an hour a day at with these weapons until such a time as I judge you proficient. Understood?’

  ‘Proficient?’ queried Tristan.

  ‘When you can strike within an inch of your mark with every draw, I’ll be satisfied. Now, to work and don’t let me catch you slacking before you are through.’

  Tristan let out a sigh, ‘It’s going to be a long day,’ he muttered as he picked up the set of knives from the table.

  The sun was starting to descend before a sweating Tristan fired his final shot into the practice dummy. The crossbow bolt had caught the stuffed figure just above the heart. At first, the throwing knives had been difficult, but after some practice, Tristan soon had them sinking blade first into the dummy each throw. He still wasn’t as precise as he would like, but it was a marked improvement on his earliest attempts which clattered noisily off the practice dummy as they struck hilt first and bounced loudly across the stone floor. The shuriken was easier to land in the target because of its many bladed points, but it was much more difficult to aim and would require many more sessions before he reached Balan’s demanding standards.

  Of the new weapons, the hand crossbow was the easiest to master. Tristan readily understood Balan’s comments as he was soon landing every bolt near the mark. In an effort to make it more of a challenge Tristan had begun firing it on the move as he would need to in the field. Tristan made his way to the practice dummies and worked carefully to remove, clean and restore the weapons to his locker before leaving the hall. As he passed into the yard he turned towards the river. Its bubbling sound seemed to call to his aching muscles. Upon entering the woods at the back of the Manor, Tristan heard a voice calling his name. Turning to greet the owner of the voice he called, ‘Malus! What brings you down into the woods at this time?’