Forging Destiny

by Marc Alan Edelheit

  Fenton pulled out a bandage from his bag and began working on Greku, wrapping it around his torso and tying it tight. Greku winced as the healer worked.

  Glancing around, Tovak saw his people still staring at him. It made him feel terribly uncomfortable. The weariness had returned, greater than before. He suspected that using his power and connection with Thulla had drained him. He blew out a weary breath and sat back down again on the stone block. He undid his helmet and removed the heavy thing. He set it in his lap. It was a relief to have it off.

  The helmet was not the one he had started the day with. It matched the armor he wore and was square-ish, almost block-like. Roaring lions were stenciled on each side. Like the armor, it was incredibly beautiful, a work of a master to be sure. Had Thulla forged it? Tovak decided he liked the thought of that.

  He reached up and felt his scalp. His hair was matted with dried blood, a result of the fight with the krow. His head hurt. Heck, most of his body ached. He found a small cut on the side of his head. It no longer bled but was painful to the touch. Tovak felt the need to bathe. He was sticky and filthy, almost beyond belief, coated with dirt, blood, spider guts, webbing, and dust. He was sure he looked like a right mess.

  Tovak became aware that Hess was standing next to him. The gnome did not say anything, only reached out a tiny hand and then patted his, in what seemed like a gesture of comfort. Then, he stepped back and walked over to watch Fenton finish tying the bandage tight over Greku’s wound.

  “That should slow the bleeding,” Fenton said.

  Greku looked over the healer’s work. “Thank you.”

  “Is it true?” Gorabor asked, moving over to Tovak. “Are you a paladin?”

  “Yes,” Tovak said, hoping almost desperately his new status would not jeopardize their friendship. “It is.”

  “From Pariah to gods blessed,” Gorabor said, with a trace of a grin. “That’s quite a jump.”

  Tovak could only agree. He spied Gorabor’s waterskin tied to his hip. It looked full.

  “Might I have a drink?” Tovak asked. “Mine ran dry hours ago.”

  Gorabor untied the skin, unstopped it, and handed it over. Tovak drank deeply, then passed it back.

  “Thank you.”

  There was a flash of something large overhead. Looking up, Tovak felt the passage of a strong wind. He blinked, thoroughly astonished, not quite believing his eyes. Even in a day full of firsts and shocks, this was almost too much to comprehend.

  “Dragon!” Dagmar yelled, yanking out his sword. It was almost immediately followed by a terrible roar that seemed to shatter the very air.

  The dragon was almost impossibly huge. Tovak could not believe something so large could fly. It was magnificent and fearsome all at the same time. The creature swung around, tilting to the side, banking. Before Tovak could even react, it was flapping its wings, slowing its rate of descent. A moment later, its claws reached out and connected with the ground, landing just yards from them, by the entrance to the building. The ground shook and part of the wall to their right collapsed in a rumble of stone.

  Tovak found himself on his feet and could not remember standing. He was ready to draw his sword, only he felt no threat from the creature. It gazed down at them with eyes that spoke of a deep intelligence. The dragon’s jaw parted slightly. Tovak had a glimpse of rows of serrated teeth, each one far larger than he stood tall.

  There were shouts and cries of alarm from the nearby woods, panic even. Tovak could only imagine the alarm the creature had caused. He felt it himself. Then, his eyes were drawn to the figure riding on the dragon’s back. He was sitting in a saddle and wore all black armor, with the exception of a helmet. It was clear that this too was a Vass. Was it the same one he had seen the night before? Oddly, Tovak sensed a power of sorts within the rider, a spark very much like his own, almost emanating outward.

  “My ride,” Greku said and, with effort, stood. He hoisted his pack onto his shoulders. Greku looked down on the priest. “Thank you again for bandaging my wound.”

  Tovak turned to Greku and now understood. “The stone. It was some sort of a summoning tool.”

  “A very good observation,” Greku said. “It is a relic from a bygone age, called an Agaggi Stone.” The Vass looked towards the dragon and the Vass on its back, then stepped closer to Tovak. “We have an arrangement.”

  “We do,” Tovak agreed.

  “I would discharge my obligation to you,” Greku said. “In truth, I would have told you anyway. We Vass consider the Horde the enemy.”

  “I see,” Tovak said.

  “The pass is to the north. Look for a good-sized and fast-moving stream that comes out of the mountains. There is a ruined aqueduct at the point where it enters the valley. Follow the stream up onto the ridges. It will lead you to the pass. You cannot miss it.”

  “Thank you,” Tovak said. “I appreciate the information.”

  “I would not wait too long,” Greku said. “The enemy will be there soon enough. They might even be there now.”

  “I will pass it along,” Tovak said. “I am sure the warchief will act upon this intelligence.”

  “Very good,” Greku said and was about to turn away. He hesitated. “What you seek, Grata’Dagoth, is to the west. That fortress is sealed magically, but I have no doubt you will find a way in.” Greku seemed amused. “You are a paladin after all.”

  Tovak gave a nod, then looked towards the dragon and the rider. “Who is that?”

  “My boss,” Greku said, looking briefly towards the rider, “a Knight of the Vass, Ugincalt. I am thinking he will be very pleased by what I have recovered. One can hope anyway.”

  “You still won’t tell me what it is, will you?”

  “No.” Greku turned to regard Ugincalt again. “But—it may even make up for some of my past failures.”

  “Past failures?” Tovak asked. He seriously doubted Greku had many of those.

  “Perhaps our paths will one day cross again, paladin.”

  “I’d like that,” Tovak said.

  “I would as well.” Greku started for the dragon. He paused after a few feet and looked back. “Hess,” Greku said. “Let’s go.”

  “I stay,” Hess said insistently, “with Tovak. I stay and help Tovak. No like dragons anyway.”

  Greku seemed surprised by Hess, perhaps even more so than Tovak.

  “I don’t think dragons like gnomes either,” Greku said after a moment. “She will likely be pleased you are not coming. They consider your people vermin.”

  “Try not to be too curious, dumb kitty,” Hess said. “Don’t play with string.”

  “Oh no,” Dagmar groaned, looking between Hess and Tovak. “You can’t be seriously considering letting him stay.”

  “Are you sure you won’t come?” Greku asked Hess.

  “You found what want,” Hess said, “deal over.”

  “Very well.” Greku turned his gaze to Tovak. “He’s your headache now.” Greku paused and looked once more at Hess, then turned back to Tovak. “Take care of him, will you?”

  Tovak glanced down at the gnome, who had moved to stand by his side.

  “I be good,” Hess said. “Yes, yes. I promise. I help. No trouble. No trouble. You see. None at all.”

  Tovak wasn’t sure how he felt about the gnome staying with him. He sensed no menace in the small creature, only a desire to help.

  So be it.

  When he looked back up, Greku had turned away and was walking over to the dragon. When he reached the massive creature, without any hesitation, he climbed up the side of the dragon and settled himself onto its back, right behind the knight. There seemed to be a saddle there as well, which he quickly secured himself to.

  The dragon unfurled its wings and with several large beats took to the air, almost leaping upward and flying right over them. The wind generated by its wings was nearly enough to knock them over. Tovak had to brace himself. Then, the dragon was gone from view. Shouts of alarm from all around were sti
ll sounding out amongst the trees. Tovak could hear officers shouting orders as they worked to restore order.

  “Well,” Dagmar said, “that is something you don’t bloody see every day.”

  As he sat back down, Tovak thought that an understatement. He looked up at the sky, which was perfectly blue, with not a cloud in sight. The temperature was beginning to cool down as the evening approached. Tovak reflected that it had been a long and challenging day.

  Oddly, he found himself thinking on Serena, the wounded archer he had helped carry back to the warband. He hoped she was doing well. He had a desire to see her again a surprisingly strong desire. Once the warband set up camp for the night, Tovak decided to make a point of visiting her in the sick tents. His thoughts shifted to Karn and Jodin and he recalled what Thulla had said.

  Know that you may no longer heal others.

  Had he given them some healing? He suddenly had the feeling he had. Would they survive their injuries? It was an intriguing thought. He would also make a point to look in on them as well. The least he could do was give them some company.

  Yes, Tovak thought, still studying the magnificent sky and reflecting on all that had happened, the day had been a challenging one, but in truth, it had been a good one too. He thanked Thulla for that and hoped that there would be many more good days to come.

  The End

  Tovak’s adventures will continue in Paladin’s Light.

  Important: If you have not yet given my other series—Chronicles of an Imperial Legionary Officer, Tales of the Seventh or The Karus Saga—a shot, I strongly recommend you do. All three series are linked and set in the same universe. There are hints, clues, and Easter eggs sprinkled throughout the series.

  Give them a shot and hit me up on Facebook to let me know what you think!

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  Again, I hope you enjoyed Forging Destiny and would like to offer a sincere thank you for your purchase and support.

  Best regards,

  Marc Alan Edelheit, your author and tour guide to the worlds of Tanis and Istros.

  Enjoy this preview of Lost Legio IX, Book One in The Karus Saga.

  By Marc Alan Edelheit

  LOST LEGIO IX

  Chapter One

  There was a loud rap on the hardwood door. Karus looked up from the scroll he’d been reading, feeling somewhat annoyed. He was seated at a rough wooden table scattered over with a variety of scrolls.

  “Come,” Karus called.

  Karus sat back as the door scraped open to reveal Centurion Tacitus Cestius Dio. A wash of cold air from the outer corridor flooded into the already chill room.

  “Am I interrupting?” Dio flashed Karus a lopsided grin.

  “Yes,” Karus said.

  “Good.” Dio stepped into the small room, closing the wooden door behind him.

  Though spring had arrived, the morning temperatures were still quite bitter. The small brazier that sat in the corner of the austere room did little to combat the cold, even before Dio had opened the door. Karus had no idea how the locals managed to thrive.

  Dio glanced about the small room. Karus followed his friend’s gaze. Except for the table, everything was neat. Karus liked it that way. There were two simple trunks and a camp cot. A sputtering yellow lamp hung from the ceiling. Another lamp sat on the table and provided light for Karus to read by. A thin stream of black smoke trailed toward the ceiling, where the numerous drafts caught it and swirled it about.

  Karus’s armor, maintained to perfection, hung from hooks on the back wall, as did several spare tunics. His shield rested against a wall. It prominently displayed the bull emblem of the emperor’s Ninth Legion, Hispana.

  Dio’s eyes scanned the floor.

  Karus knew there was not a speck of dirt or a particle of mud present, unlike the rest of camp, where dirt seemed to cling to everything. He had swept it clean.

  “Is this an inspection?” Karus was being ironic. Dio was junior to him in rank.

  “For the legion’s senior centurion, you read too much.” Dio’s gaze traveled back to Karus. Dio reached down and picked up one of the open scrolls, narrowing his eyes as he studied the script. “Is this Greek?”

  “Yes,” Karus said with a sour note, “it is.”

  Dio made a further show of examining the scroll, though Karus well knew his friend was unable to read it. As it stood now, Dio could barely read Latin, and only enough so that he could manage his duties. Being able to read and write was required for promotion to the centurionate. After a moment, Dio lost interest and laid the scroll back down upon the table.

  “A proper soldier should not read so much,” Dio said. “It is not natural for those in our line of work.”

  “Only a fool ignores the histories,” Karus said, “particularly those focusing on our line of work.”

  “So, I am a fool then?” Dio asked with a hint of a smile.

  “Let’s just say you are my kind of fool.” Karus began to roll up the scroll he had been reading, along with the others scattered about the table. No matter how much he desired to continue reading, he had duties to attend to. It was time he began his day. “You should try reading sometime,” Karus suggested. “You may learn something for a change.”

  “How to speak, and read, like a Greek?” Dio chuckled. “No thank you. I am a soldier, not some dishonest merchant. Besides, thanks to your brother, you are now of the equestrian class, with aspirations of nobility. I understand from good authority that all respectable patricians learn Greek. So, I find it fitting in a way that you can read this stuff.”

  Karus spared his friend an unhappy look as he finished securing the scrolls of the book he had been reading. He tied each off with a bit of string. Satisfied, he leaned over, stool creaking, and carefully placed each into a small trunk, which was filled with similar scrolls.

  “What were you reading?” Dio asked curiously when Karus snapped the trunk closed.

  “Polybius’s Universal History,” Karus said. “I have all forty books.”

  “All forty,” Dio teased him. “You sound rather proud of that.”

  “I am,” Karus admitted, and it was the truth. It had taken him years to collect all the historian’s books. They were now the pride of his collection, and he was quite confident another complete set did not exist anywhere in Britannia.

  “What does old Polybius have to say?”

  “A great many things,” Karus said.

  “Such as?” Dio pressed.

  “I was reading on Governor Galba, and his tenure in Hispana specifically.”

  “Galba?” Dio said. “Never heard of him, though I guess our legion has something in common with him.”

  “He was a bit before our time.” Karus stood. He groaned with the effort, using his hands to help push himself upright and off the stool. He massaged the old wound on his thigh a moment, then glanced up at Dio. “What say we grab some grub? While we do, I will tell you all about him.”

  “I thought you would never ask,” Dio said.

  Karus was already dressed. In truth, he had been waiting for Dio. Over the winter, as in others past, this had become their morning routine. Though these days Karus’s responsibilities were greater, the two still made the effort to continue the practice. Karus was the legion’s senior cen
turion, the primus pilus of First Cohort. Dio, on the other hand, commanded Second Cohort, and was that unit’s senior centurion.

  Officially, a cohort numbered around four hundred eighty men. A cohort was lucky to come close to that number. The emperor’s legions were always understrength. This was due to a number of factors, some of which included death, disability, retirement, or sickness. Or, in the Ninth’s current circumstance, a lack of recruitment.

  First Cohort, Karus’s own, was a double-strength cohort and, out of all the formations of the legion, was maintained as close to full strength as possible. The First was the backbone of the legion and boasted the greatest concentration of veterans. Not counting those on the sick list, Karus commanded nearly eight hundred men.

  He glanced back at the spare tunics hanging from pegs on the wall opposite his bed. He considered slipping on a second one. It was not uncommon in cold weather for legionaries to wear multiple tunics.

  A quick glance at Dio changed his mind. His friend was wearing only one tunic, and besides, Karus was of the opinion that the men should see their centurions as tough, unflappable bastards whom even the frigid morning air failed to disturb.

  Dio led the way out of Karus’s quarters and into the short hallway beyond. Unlike standard cohorts, Karus shared the barrack with the five other centurions from his cohort. Each commanded a double century, which consisted of a hundred sixty men, instead of the normal eighty. The doors were all shut, as most elected to sleep until the morning horn called the legion to assemble.

  The two men stepped out into the bitter cold of the quiet early morning. His breath steaming, Karus glanced up at the sky, which had barely begun to lighten. Within the next hour, the legion would be roused from its nightly slumber, the quiet shattered. They started walking in the direction of the officers’ mess.

  “I bloody hate Britannia,” Dio hissed as a bitter gust of wind whipped down a pathway between the buildings. It struck Karus like a slap on the face.