The New Age Saga Box Set

by Timothy A. Ray

  Serix had cast another spell and a circle of light suddenly thrust from the ground, protecting him, the axe striking it mere seconds after. He thought it’d go through the transparent wall of light, yet he felt relief rush through him as it slid to the ground before the mage’s feet.

  War’s eyes flared brighter as he howled in rage and charged across the clearing, bringing his other axe to bear. White light shot out from behind the wall the mage was hiding behind, striking the orc in the face and knocking him backward, the momentum of his feet driving him on his back.

  “Guardians, to me!” he yelled as he dashed forward and attacked the fallen warrior. Large chunks of armor had been melted away and he quickly thrust his sword through the revealed sizzling flesh beyond.

  War howled in pain, his thick arms sweeping towards him and gripping his sword. Lifting him off his feet, he felt his body launched forward, his head impacting dirt mere feet from the goblin horde. He could feel their hate, their need to kill him, yet they stayed their hand. Apparently, their commander wanted him all to himself and feared reprisal should they act on their impulses. That was rare for a goblin; they had to really be afraid of him.

  Windel and the other Guardians had continued to stab the orc, who had risen to one knee and had both axes once more gripped in his hands. “Windel get out of there!” he bellowed as one of the axes suddenly arced his aide’s way.

  The elf had heard his warning and reacted, nearly getting clipped as he dropped to his knees. The two Guardians next to him hadn’t acted fast enough and the blade seared easily through their armored bodies.

  That was enough, this had to end.

  With a rising voice, Serix raised his arms and called upon some unseen force to come to their aid. Something must have heard him because all at once the ground around them began to shake violently.

  He could barely keep his feet as he tried to make his way forward, the quakes causing his knees to almost buckle and send him to the ground.

  War was having trouble keeping his armored feet planted, and his bulk was weaving as the Guardians scrambled to stay clear of his mighty battle-axes.

  The quaking stopped.

  Standing to his right was a black armored figure in full platemail, a black cloak slithering across the suddenly still soil. A white furred snout could be seen protruding through its cowl and when its cold eyes fell on him, he knew at once that he was standing in the presence of Death incarnate. A scythe was held in one hand and the other rose and pointed at the mage. “How dare you summon me. I am not one of your undead minions to come running at your beck and call,” the figure told Serix in an icy voice.

  He began moving towards the exhausted mage, who’d fallen to one knee with the amount of magic it’d taken to cast his final spell. Windel had begun swinging around as well, putting himself between the armored hulk and the vulnerable mage behind him.

  “Join War, brother, let’s end petty battle,” the orc roared, pausing to look at the cloaked figure standing to his rear.

  Oh crap, they were working together? He felt like slapping the fallen mage. He reached down and helped him to his feet instead, allowing his arm to be used for support as he prepared to protect them against the next swing of an axe. The remaining two Guardians stepped in front of them, knowingly sacrificing their lives for his safety.

  “I’m not your brother,” the cloaked figure spat, taking a step forward. “I’m here because my Master saw fit to answer’s that necromancer’s request, nothing more.”

  The orc roared with rage and turned on the specter slowly gliding his way. “Phoenix never treat with insignificant pest,” War growled, holding his axes ready at his sides.

  “The Phoenix has no control over me, she’s the insignificant pest, and you’re just her lackey,” Death responded, gliding to a stop several yards from the red armored hulk.

  With a howl of rage, the battle-axes suddenly whipped around and swung towards the black armored figure in opposing arcs. Death’s cloak reacted instantly, slithering hungrily towards the one on the right while the scythe blocked the one on the left. He watched with fascination as the black flowing fabric enfolded its target and yanked it free of the orc’s grasp. A loud crack could be heard as the weapon folded in on itself, then disappeared in a wave of darkness. The scythe shoved the other axe away and Death drifted another step forward.

  Horns sounded across the battlefield from their right and left and the goblins around them were snapped out of whatever trance they’d been in and suddenly surged away, chasing after the source of the sound. He was left there with his Guardians, holding the mage upright, and noticed that the specter had suddenly ceased to exist.

  “I could only hold him for so long,” Serix wheezed, blood on his lips, as he coughed violently against his body.

  War swung around with his one remaining axe and he could feel the weight of his hateful stare focusing on him. The land around them had cleared, the goblins racing to face whatever those horns had been signaling, and the orc had been left to finish them off alone. His eyes traced the fighting on the horizon, the entire field a chaos of swords and blood, yet for one hundred yards, there was nothing left but his group and War.

  Sighing, he set the mage on the ground, knowing the man was effectively out of this fight. “I guess it’s just you and us now,” he told the fuming warrior, bringing his sword to bear as he began working his way forward.

  The orc’s answer was to charge, axe overhead, voice bellowing across the countryside.

  Resigned to whatever fate had in store for him, John stepped forward to meet War in combat once more.

  Chapter 2

  One day at a time

  I

  Reluctantly, Tristan sat near the campfire, Willow’s arm around him, and though he felt like breaking free of her embrace, he quietly told himself to breathe and let it go. The ferret had not left his body since he’d gone to embrace his fiancé and was once again curled up in his lap. Though the elven princess had raised an eyebrow upon seeing it, she saw the effect it had on him, and let it pass without question.

  The others were talking around him, but he took no part in it. He was barely sitting still as it was and didn’t want to create a scene by thrusting himself up and walking away.

  Breathe.

  Merlin had shown them a large claymore that he’d retrieved from the desert. The huge sword looked to be too heavy for the mage to wield, as it kept trying to fall towards the Earth. Ironic, given the element it supposedly represented, maybe they drew towards each other. He heard the mage explain that it was named Richter, then the story of how he’d come across it.

  Glancing up when he heard of the horseman Death, he traced the lines of the mage’s face, looking for exaggeration, but found none. The idea of Death trapped in an earthly host, sweeping across the land to collect the dying souls, visible to the naked eye, disturbed him greatly and it took all his willpower to remain seated as the mage went on.

  Had he been there when Melissa burned, hidden amongst the crowd?

  The friend that Merlin had been told would be waiting turned out to be Kallen, the leader of the clan of griffins that had flown to their aid. He’d offered transport back to the others and for two days, Kore and Merlin winged their way east. After stopping to saddle the rest of Kallen’s clan, they’d taken flight once more, soaring to the last place Merlin had seen them in his visions and only finding Trek, Bleak, Reyna, and Jared when they got there.

  The siblings had gone off to find firewood and had been forced to head back to the forest to the north, as the grasslands had nothing to offer worth burning. They’d been confident in the other’s safety, as Melissa had been awake and watching over them. So they took their time about it, not once suspecting that anything would happen to them now that they were moving away from the enemy armies to the north. When Jared picked up on the riders, they were too distant to do anything about it. His telepathic powers were out of range to stop the horsemen, as he had the people in the town’s squar
e. As they raced back, the only thing he could do was distract the men from the two swords lying by their beds, and though they walked over them, dug in the soil around them, they never saw what had been right in front of their eyes. The swords had been saved, but there was nothing the two of them could do to save them as well.

  Trek had been wandering in the woods hunting prey and when he returned to see what had happened, he had been a ball of hiss and fury. Reyna had wanted to give chase immediately and the shapeshifter had offered to wing them there, but Jared had felt a slight pull on his mind and felt Merlin’s thoughts winging their way. So, they had stayed and waited, though the impatient black knight had come very close to just taking off anyway.

  He didn’t know she cared and probably didn’t; it had been the fact that she was supposed to be watching over them and they’d been taken away right from under her nose that had more than likely pushed her into it. In fact, if he had to put coin on it, that’d be exactly how he saw her reacting. It was harsh, but he was hollow inside, and just didn’t care. To hell what anyone else thought of him right now, he didn’t have a high opinion himself at the moment.

  The others didn’t ask what had happened to them and he didn’t care to relive it. Kylee’s rage in the town square had been noticed, her feral hacking of a corpse long past dead gave voice to the suffering they’d been through. Only Merlin knew the extent of what had happened, and Tristan knew that it had been Melissa that had given him that information. Thankfully, the mage had not broached the subject with him again and he only prayed that it could quickly be put behind them. Yet, his heart ached, his mind throbbed, and in his core, he knew it would never really be gone. Something like that stayed with you and would haunt you at the most unlikely of times.

  His father’s sword had been packed with his armor and was lying in a bundle nearby. He hadn’t touched it yet, his hands feeling unworthy to touch the ancient blade. He was unclean, and he had committed murder. Despite the circumstances, those two truths could not be argued or denied.

  Willow had placed the other sword with her belongings and when he looked across the campfire at the claymore in the mage’s hands, he realized that they only had one sword left to retrieve and felt hope that this might soon be over. After all, that was their quest, right? To get Excalibur? He’d made no promises of what he’d do after that was done and had a strong urge to go home after it had been completed. He’d take Willow back to Lancaster, spend time with Jenna and John, then head east to Griedlok and marry his pregnant fiancé. There he’d try to let the new life and environment wrap around him and make him forget any of this had ever happen.

  It was wishful thinking, but it was possible.

  Stroking the ferret, he listened to Merlin tell Kylee that they’d been able to find Tuskar in the grasslands to the south, where he’d been shot by the Kershaw riders when they’d captured her. That explained her fury, her devastation, and he listened as the mage told her how he’d healed him and left him to rest while they had gone east to free them. The gratitude in the ranger’s face was apparent and he watched her mouth a silent thank you.

  To their left the five griffins had laid down for the night and he briefly wondered what had happened to Trek. He had memories of the orange dragon disappearing upon their arrival and had been told that the shapeshifter had reverted to his usual form. The cat was nowhere to be seen. Though, after what had transpired over the last couple of days, it’d be surprising if he’d gone out of earshot.

  Bleak had been resting by Merlin, his distress over his Mistress’s death too much for him to handle. He looked down at the ferret and wondered if he should put an end to the little man’s misery.

  Let him grieve for now, I’m not ready, the soft voice told him.

  He nodded his head in understanding. They were both trying to heal the best they could, and he would not push her as he himself refused to be. Willow kissed him just below the ear and the hairs on the back of his neck stiffened. Her lips instantly reminded him of another’s, and his hand began to tremble as he fought to keep seated and not run away screaming.

  Token rose and beckoned Merlin to follow him into the shadows. The dwarf had been quiet during the entire conversation, drinking his ale heavily, and watching the flames before him as if lost in thought. Now their stout companion was standing just on the edges of light and he could hear a harsh conversation taking place. Merlin’s hands waved to his sides as the two continued on, then Token put his hands on his hips and simply shook his head.

  Merlin said something further, then extended his hand to the suddenly vocal dwarf. He had no idea what they were talking about, but the meaning was clear; Token would not be going on. He watched the dwarf take Merlin’s hand, give it one single shake, then walk off in the direction of their horses and out of sight.

  He remembered the frightened look in the dwarf’s eyes on those gallows, the noose tight around his neck, and he sympathized for what their companion was feeling. He was still here, but that didn’t mean that Token would choose to stay. Unlike him, the dwarf didn’t have any skin in the game and hadn’t been singled out by the Phoenix’s mercenaries.

  “Token has asked for some time to himself and will be taking our horses onto Grendweir to await our return from the south. As we would have to leave the mounts behind anyways, he feels it’d be a shame to abandon them on the prairie,” Merlin told them.

  He had no argument worth speaking and wished the dwarf well on recovering from the ordeal they’d just been through; finding himself longing to go with him.

  “Tomorrow we fly south and within two days we should be in sight of our destination. I suggest you all get some sleep. I’ll keep watch tonight,” the older magician told them.

  He nodded and got to his feet. He could use the rest yet feared the nightmares that would plague his sleep. A short time later he was lying next to Willow, an arm draped over his side and in a fit, he shook violently, groaning in fear and discomfort. The ferret that had been resting nearby slowly inched her way forward and curled up against his chest, her body pressing against his beating heart. The hitches stopped, and his face smoothed out. Then finally, the two of them were able to sleep in peace.

  II

  The four of them circled War, the giant orc patiently waiting for his time to strike. It was possible, however unlikely, that the beast was starting to tire.

  John was having trouble continuing himself. Yet, he would not give in, not while his heart beat beneath his breast. Stepping forward, he tried to stab one of the exposed places the acid had eaten through and the warrior effortlessly parried his blow. An axe arced in his direction and he dodged it, rushing forward and driving his sword once more towards the creature’s chest. The axe swung around and deflected his strike, sending him rushing past with his forced momentum. He barely had time to roll over when once again the axe arced down, cleaving the earth his body had just been occupying.

  In the distance the horns blew again, much closer this time, and he chanced a look over his shoulder to see that the enemy horde was being routed. Goblins ignored their whip masters as they scrambled over each other to flee. The orcs held their ground, yet they were overrun by their horrid cousins. Silver knights were riding into view and at first, he thought it was Tar Reiz’s force, but the commander ushering his knights forward had removed his helm and the black-haired elf charging forward was not the fair-skinned one he’d been talking with. Soldiers marched into view bearing elven armor, long swords and pikes, each bearing the crest of Forlorn on their kite shields. Banners whipped in the wind and his heart soared; Erik’s forces had arrived as promised.

  A shout from one of the Guardians brought him back to his own battle and he turned to see that War had forsaken continuing the conflict and was sprinting towards the lake at an impossible speed. The elves were giving chase as Serix simply turned to watch the warrior flee. With his forces routed, had the mighty warrior decided it was time to cut his losses and make a break for it before the army swept back their
way?

  Roars split across the sky and swooping across the lake’s surface from behind the forest were two very large horned dragons. The larger had red scales, massive legs and a very long tail. A saddle was upon the creature’s back and it landed swiftly before the approaching orc, bellowing fire at the soldiers in pursuit. Windel was in the rear and dodged free, but the remaining two Guardians weren’t as fast, and he watched in horror as they burst into flame, incinerated in seconds.

  The other dragon was black and had a slimy look to its scales, like it was covered in oil. It wasn’t as large as its kin and had a rider already mounted on its back. He squinted in the dying light and saw a familiar face grinning back at him.

  “Clint!” he bellowed, leaping to his feet and charging towards the hovering dragon. Vengeance was within reach and with fury beyond anything he’d ever felt, he pumped his tired legs harder, sprinting across the battlefield to the sneering man beyond. Fear of dragonfire hadn’t even entered his mind as he pursued the man that had killed his parents. “Come down and fight me, you murderous bastard!” he yelled as he drew closer.

  His heart was enraged further when Clint simply smiled back and raised a hand to wave at him, as the black dragon pumped its wings, gained height, and soared away. War’s dragon was already a spec on the horizon, the orc using his pursuit of Clint as a distraction to make his getaway.

  He hollered after them, screaming with rage, falling to his knees and dropping his sword in the mud at his side. After everything he’d been through, the sacrifices made, the bastard had got away. Cheers of victory roared from the armies behind him, but he felt nothing but defeat.

  III

  Riska hugged a tree and peered at the castle in the distance. His eyes traced the path of the goblin patrols as they circled the grasslands beyond and watched as another group emerged from the damaged drawbridge of the fortress’s outer wall. There was no longer any doubt in his mind that any dwarf that had once resided within Kamdeac’s walls was either dead or in the process of dying. The hatred between goblins and dwarves was and always had been mutual; they would not suffer a member of his race to live under any circumstances.