DAWN TREADER PRESS
Smashwords Edition
Copyright Ian Alexander 2010
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictiously. Any resemblance to actual locales, events or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.
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Praise for Ian Alexander’s bestselling debut novel
ONCE WE WERE KINGS
“…an amazing
epic adventure that will take the reader on an unforgettable journey
like no other.
“… I was immediately sucked into the
story…”
“…absorbing me and surrounding me with amazing
imagery, emotion and distinctiveness like none other I had ever read
before.”
“…truly poetic.”
“…a generation bridging
epic fantasy that is sure to span and hold strong through the test of
time as well as our ever changing society and circumstances of
readers everywhere.”
“…I often found my heart gripped within
sadness, as well as bursting with joy.”
“…action, adventure,
intrigue, romance and even shape-shifting spirits.”
“…the
ending is the perfect segue into future books.
“A true classic
in the making.”
~Cafe of Dreams Book Reviews
“…a
page-turning epic fantasy adventure…”
“…right out
of the Golden Age of fantasy…”
“…elements of
Tolkien…the Belgariad, the ‘Adept’ trilogy by Piers Anthony,
and a healthy dollop of C.S. Lewis’ Narnia Chronicles.”
“…Ian
Alexander provides a spark, a momentum often absent in other epic
fantasies.”
“…Compulsively readable…”
“…an
admirable debut novel.”
~Michael Bellomo, Amazon
Bestselling Author
“…an epic
fantasy tale of pure delight…”
“Joshua
Graham transitions from writing suspense and
thrillers to the fantasy realm as Ian Alexander with flying
colors.”
“…invokes awe in the reader that I’ve
only felt with J.R.R. Tolkien, David Eddings and before them both,
C.S. Lewis.”
“..a page turner with a very driven
plot…
“What doesn’t this book have? Magic,
shapeshifters, powerful deities and characters that you love and love
to hate…”
“…will stay with you long after you’ve
gotten to the end and leave you wanting more.”
“This
is one of those books that you cannot miss in 2011 if you’re a
fantasy lover.”
~The Top shelf
“…an amazing
adventure…”
“…a fast-paced, action-packed
adventure that hooked me from the start and kept me glued to the
pages until the very end.”
“…incredible action,
adventure and characters…”
“…The characters
practically leap off the page, they are so vivid and real! “
“…
rich symbolism with a great message…”
“…values
and a message that you can feel good about…”
“…I
would definitely be the first one in line for more Ian Alexander
novels!”
~Life in Review
“Ian
Alexander’s ONCE WE WERE KINGS sets new standards for epic
fantasy.”
“ONCE WE WERE KINGS transcends the
qualities found in such great works as “The Chronicles of Narnia”
to “The Lord of the Rings”.
“… a true master of
the written word.”
“…a thoroughly magical story
filled with memorable characters, danger, hope,inspiration and
romance.”
“Alexander’s ONCE WE WERE KINGS should
sit on the highest shelf of your library.”
“A
sparkling story that will leave the reader breathless and wanting
more.”
~Susan Wingate, author of DROWNING and the
award-winning BOBBY’S DINER series
“…[Ian
Alexander] delivers a very pleasing fantasy epic.”
“…seems
to parallel some of our own socio-political climates, in regards to
terrorism, racial and cultural biases, religious biases…”
“…many
pleasant surprises…”
“…definitely recommend it,
especially to those who are fans of novels such as Narnia”
“…I
look forward with great anticipation to see what occurs next with
some of the characters from this [book].”
“…You
won’t be disappointed.”
~Rhodes Review
Legend of the Tiger’s Throne
Joshua Graham
Winner of the 2011 International Book Award
writing as
IAN ALEXANDER
TEN THOUSAND YEARS AGO, there lived a young tiger named Chúa Giê-xu. Chúa Giê-xu once dreamt that he had given away his last meal to a wolf, during a time of famine and drought. Everyone knew that tigers despised wolves, as they were lowly and base. So he found this dream particularly distasteful.
"But it is a wondrous vision, my son," said his father, the King.
"I can see no meaning in it."
"Place little confidence in what sees the eye of flesh. For all is not as it appears, in heaven and on earth."
Chúa Giê-xu kept his father's words in his heart and gave this dream no further thought.
As the years passed, a great famine and drought did indeed sweep through the land. Weakened by starvation, Chúa Giê-xu's beloved parents both died at the talons of the Vultures of the Forbidden North. These vultures had invaded and begun a campaign to take the kingdom at its darkest hour.
The last of the remaining aristocracy and surely a target of the vultures, Chúa Giê-xu fled to the hills. There he grew emaciated and weak, having found no food or water for days. Finally, he came upon a dying rabbit who, upon approach, bowed low and said, "My Lord."
But Chúa Giê-xu was much to weary to answer. He simply lay on his side, panting and observing the little rabbit.
"My Prince," said the rabbit. "We are without a ruler. If you die here, the vultures will take the throne and all will be laid waste. We shall all become carrion for their sustenance."
"There is nothing to be done," said Chúa Giê-xu, "For I am feeble and about to die."
"Not so, my Lord. I am near expired. Kill me and partake of my humble flesh, so that you may live, and that I might die with honor in service to my prince."
With regret, Chúa Giê-xu did as the noble rabbit asked, and carried her body towards a clearing in the center of the forest. There, he came upon a large, grey mass which at first looked like a rock. Until it moved and turned its head, revealing long, pointed ears.
The very wolf of which Chúa Giê-xu had dreamed in his childhood! And he too appeared to be dying. It was at this very moment that the prince's past, present and destiny converged. Before him stood a choice: to ignore the low-born wolf and suffer it to die, or to do as he had dreamed and give him his last meal.
"Look not upon me, my Lord," said the old wolf, "for I am unworthy of your grace."
Compassion arose in Chúa Giê-xu's heart. The wolf's voice, his very trick of speech, so reminded him of his father, incongruous as it was. But this was the basest of base, the lowest of low. Wolves dare not even breathe the same air as Tigers, how could he show him such kindness?
Above them, three black vultures flew in circles. If Chúa Giê-xu were to give his meal to the wolf, he would soon faint from exhaustion and the vultures would perhaps begin to feast on his entrails even before he were dead.
And yet, his dream became more than a memory. He felt compelled to obey its prophetic edict. So Chúa Giê-xu stepped forward and said, "Wolf, look upon me. For it has been foretold that I should show you this extraordinary kindness. I know not why, nor to what end, but I shall do so, though it cost me my life."
Even as his eyes grew dim, his legs grew soft, Chúa Giê-xu brought the meal to the wolf. One of the vultures swept down from the air, the other two followed. But at the moment he released the rabbit from his jaws, a blinding white light flashed throughout the hills.
Bolts of lightning shot out from the ground where the rabbit and wolf had been and destroyed not one, not two, but all three vultures, who had been the pretenders to the throne.
All around him, the brilliance enveloped him warmly, brought strength to his weary limbs, lifted his head. Chúa Giê-xu opened his eyes, and before him in the place where the wolf and rabbit had been, stood the regal forms of his mother and father, both adorned no longer with striped, ember-colored coats, but dazzlingly arrayed in white, as of snow!
"Well done, my son," said the King. "By your sacrifice and obedience have you restored my kingdom."
And as Chúa Giê-xu gazed down, the once alluvial hills turned green. Before his very eyes, the entire kingdom came back to life, waters springing forth from the earth, animals chittering, flying and roaring. "Mother, Father. I do not understand."
"Because you did not keep your gift to yourself, and because you did not trust the eye of the flesh, you have proven worthy, Chúa Giê-xu. And you have earned your right to the Tiger's Throne."
It is said that Chúa Giê-xu reigned with wisdom and justice and mercy for a thousand years, before his own descendants began to see visions of a new Heaven and Earth.
Preview from
ONCE WE WERE KINGS
IAN ALEXANDER
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Award Winning Titles
Beyond Justice
2011 International Book Awards
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2008 Amazon Breakout Novel Award Competition Semi-Finalist
The Door’s Open
2010 Authonomy Christmas Story Competition
The Accidental Series
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The Accidental Acquittal (Death and Taxes)
The Accidental Healer
The Accidental Hero
The Accidental Rebel
The Accidental Poltergeist
Historical and Fantasy
Four Gifts for Aria
Legend of the Tiger’s Throne
ONCE WE WERE
KINGS
Joshua Graham
writing as
IAN ALEXANDER
ForAlexander and Madeleine,
My beloved children
FORE WORD
Gathered round the wide and level stump of the Great Ancients' Tree, the Twelve Elders of the Sojourner's Council stood within the stone walls of the courtyard and rejoiced that the fulfillment of Shamis the Stargazer's prophecy was now at hand.
By the alignment of the northern constellations they knew that the time of deliverance drew nigh. By the anomalous tide shifts and the unprecedented lunar phases, they knew that the dark reign of Malakandor would soon come to an end.
What they knew not was that a traitor lurked amongst them.
Oreus, the chief elder stood and raised his chalice. "Brethren, thou hast honored the name of Valhandra with longsuffering and steadfast hope." He turned to the elder on his right. "Hephesta the Wolf-Hearted, thou hast endured three wars over the course of five hundred years."
With deep humility, Hephesta arose and inclined his head.
"And Bereus, the Tiger-Hearted." He too arose. "Thou hast served as the stalwart protector of the royal line beyond three hundred years." This continued until he turned his attention to the final elder. At seventy-nine years of age, she was the youngest, most spry of them all.
"And thou, dear youngling, Lucretia, Raven-Heart." At the very mention of her name, the council began to applaud to such effect that a flock of wild night birds flew blackly from tree branches into the deep and purple sky. A fleeing cloud. "Unto thee do we bestow special honor. For fearlessly hast thou employed the gifts bestowed upon thee by Valhandra for a cause predating even thine own birth." Once again Oreus regarded the entire council. "Would that we possessed such faith as our beloved sister, when we ourselves were but fledglings."
Completely aware of the effect her beauty had upon all who beheld her, the impostor who had killed the true Lucretia and taken on her likeness now feigned a smile and inclined her head.
"Rejoice brethren, for our redemption is nigh," declared Oreus. "And now, among the faithful, in the villages of Talen Wood, in the great Citadel of Valdshire Tor, yea, verily, in thine own hearts," once again he lifted his chalice and cleared his throat, "Prepare ye the way for the beneficent reign of the Great Deliverer!"
They all responded lifting their chalices. "The Great Deliverer!"
"The Deliverer." The false Lucretia scoffed quietly as she tapped her cup against those of the other council members. She smiled again at the old men as they imbibed of the ceremonial Dragon'sblood Wine. Noble warriors though they were, able-bodied and powerful though they were, she could not help but laugh at the pathetic manner in which they would meet their demise.
First, Hephesta fell. Clutching his throat, his eyes widened with something entirely alien to those who'd known him and certainly to himself:
Fear.
A chorus of confused cries filled the courtyard. All gathered around the fallen Hephesta. The impostor did not join in. Rather, she watched with satisfaction as the pulverized Shikar stone mixed in the wine began to take its toll.
One by one, they fell. Ancient warriors who had arrogantly considered themselves immortal. Just like Hephesta, now writhing, now frothing. A most pleasing sight indeed.
Now, the impostor did not even attempt to restrain her smile.
Having witnessed the violent throes of death and realizing what was happening, three of the surviving Elders—Oreus amongst them—stopped short of drinking the poisoned bloodwine. They saw her laughing and charged forward, swords and crossbows at the ready.
"Lucretia, what hast thou done?" cried Oreus.
Timena and Cerbeas trained their weapons upon her.
"You have not only betrayed us, but all Sojourners," said Cerbeas as he drew his crossbow.
"And it is you who have betrayed the true ruler of this world!" Her hands trembled. If only she could fly this very moment. But she had prepared for this, trained her reflexes, her mind.
"You have turned against Valhandra, Himself," said Timena.
"Valhandra is dead!" The impostor stood defiant. One hand still in her pocket, she fingered the razor-stars fashioned out of smooth Shikar stone. Their very presence weakened her, but not for long.
Oreus lifted his staff. The orb atop glowed blue and white. The impostor knew better than to hesitate. "Wouldst thou compound the pain of this betrayal by compelling me to deal with thee as I must?" His eyes now brimming azure pools, Oreus pointed his staff.
"But I am not Lucretia, old fool!"
Stunned, Oreus hesitated.
The impostor let out a feral cry and leapt into the air. She forced her eyes shut and invoked utter blackness around her entire being. In one swift motion, she flung the three Shikar razor-stars at Oreus, Timea and Cerbeas.
The first struck and lodged itself into Oreus' forehead. He let out a roar and fell to the ground, convulsing and howling in pain.
The second caught Timea in the leg just as he began to transform. He cried out and fell to one side, trembling and foaming.
The third grazed Cerbeas just as he completed his equine transformation and flew from the slaughter and bounded clear over the stone wall.
Unhampered by the fetters of a human body, the impostor flew up and looked for him. But to her dismay the night did not betray her quarry. Even from this vantage point high above the courtyard, she could not see him, though he had galloped into the night in the form of a mighty stallion.
It mattered not. Cerberas had been grazed. If he survived, it would not be for long. She would simply report that the mission was prosperous. And this would more than suffice, unless her master condescended to having the bodies counted.
Alighting on the Great Table of the Ancients, the impostor smiled with satisfaction. The only remaining testament to their existence would be the carcasses, whatever had not yet been picked apart by vultures.
Chapter One
Six Months Prior
In the blackest of nights, a fortnight before the seventeenth birthday of a slave named Render, the moon, full and blood-red glared down upon Talen Wood, a ways from the Citadel walls of Valdshire Tor. Three boys bent upon nothing good approached the lad as he lay down, trying to sleep. Renders's master—last seen with his beard bathed in drivel—reclined in his chair, a drunken stupor barely veiling his cherry-nosed countenance.
Outside the damp broom closet better known as Render's room, in that fetid cottage in which he and his master dwelled, one of the boys tapped furtively on the wall.
"Render. Hssst!Render."
"What? Who's there?" So poor was his vision he could barely see the fingers before his face, for the sands of slumber had encrusted his eyes.
"Come on, Render. Are you going join us or not?" He recognized the voice of Kaine, his elder brother. He too was a slave belonging to an old master on the other side of Talen Wood. Some two years his senior, Kaine led this band of mongrels who, despite all their capers, had always eluded capture. They were the closest thing to a family he had.
Atop the ledge of the window sat a black cat, not unlike the one he had seen a day or two prior. It ceased licking its paw and washing its face. With turquoise eyes, it stared straight into Render's. Throughout Render's life, black cats appeared frequently, though he had never been able to take one as a pet. The cat looked over to Kaine and his companions, then back at Render. It leapt down from the ledge, almost daring Render to follow.
Kaine appeared in the window and grinned. "Coming or not, Rend?"
"After last time? I shouldn't go anywhere with you again." But something about that cat drew Render's curiosity. The way it regarded him, as if it knew of something interesting, an adventure or a pirate's chest full of gold and trinkets. Perhaps a magical sword.
Render stole past his snoring master and out the door.
"Come now, you old tortoise," said Kaine, the oldest of the boys. He stood at least a head taller than Render. Kaine brushed his fire-red hair out of his eyes, smiled and slapped a heavy hand onto Render's shoulder. "Hungry?"
"Do birds fly?" Render's master afforded him but one meal each day, though he toiled without respite in his stables and fields and barnyard from the rising of the sun till dusk.
"Well,they'rehungry." Kaine tossed a glance to Folen and Stewan, the twins. When they faced each other, they looked like reflections. Beneath the dirt lay bespeckled cheeks which in the daylight took the hue of apples. This more than betrayed their tender age of eight years.
How diverse a band.
Yet one thing bound them in common. They were orphans, all of them. And all of them slaves.
Searing pain like a branding iron scathed Render's back when he stretched his arms to yawn. Wounds from yesterday's lashing reopened. He winced and groaned but dared not reach back to touch it. "You'd better go on without me," he said. "If Bobbington catches me..."
"On then," Kaine said, raising up fistful of tree branches fashioned into spears. "I heard dinner grunting by the stream."
Render's eyes opened wider, though it brought no clearer vision in the gloom. "You don't mean—?"
"A boar," whispered Stewan, excitedly.
"Wild, fat boar." Kaine handed Render one of his spears.
"Do let's go," Folen said, pulling Render's sleeve. He held up a glinting dagger which he'd undoubtedly stolen from a traveler who'd taken pity on him, and stopped to give him a piece of bread.
"Yes, do let's," Stewan echoed.
"I don't know."
Kaine leaned down and whispered, "Big. Fat.Juicyboar."
Charging into the wood, Render joined in and let out a mighty cry of ancient hunters. The thought of fresh meat teased the tips of his tongue.
Less than half an hour later, and arguably twice as hungry and frustrated than before, they returned. The entire village now lay quiet as a graveyard. The boar had proven a most crafty beast indeed, and escaped. Grunting merrily into the bush, it seemed to mock them.
Bested by a pig.
The shame.
Thankfully, darkness blanketed the night. Not a soul stirred. But this did nothing to prevent Render's stomach from making a formidable growl. At that very moment, amidst Folen and Stewan's giggles, the black cat climbed up onto a barrel just outside the door and mewed.
"Hello," Render said and walked over, with confidence.
"Wait," Kaine whispered. "Don't frighten it. We can cook it."
"Not to worry. I've got a way with cats. They trust me." Render took pity on it, however. It was but a bag of fur and bones. From deep within his pocket he pulled out a scrap of salted fish, stolen from his master's cupboard, and put it under her nose.
Mroooow! The cat hissed and scratched his hand.
"Ow! You horrid little beast!" A pale beam of moonlight revealed three dark lines growing deeper and wider on Render's hand. Straight across the oddly shaped birth mark which to him always looked like an ancient symbol. Like those found in the archeology books he'd liberated from Bobbington's shelves.
Render sucked the salty blood from the wound and glared at the vicious creature. It sat quite satisfied with itself on its hindquarters. Glowering down at the dried fish scrap, the cat knocked it off the barrel and into the dirt with its paw.
Render huffed. "There's gratitude for you."
Laughing and slapping his thighs, Kaine said, "You've got quite a way with cats, indeed." He raised his spear.
"You're not serious," Render said.
"Quite." He crouched low, pointed the spear at the cat. It arched its back, flattened its ears, and with a hiss, bore tiny white fangs.
"Come on, she's hardly worth the effort." Render grabbed Kaine's arm. Folen and Stewan had raised their spear and dagger as well.
Kaine huffed. "It nearly tore your hand off, and you mean to defend it? Stand aside, we're going to have dinner if I have anything to do with it."
"No!" Render's shout echoed through the hills rousing the barks of several dogs. A chill rain through his blood when he heard Bobbington snort and awaken inside the cottage.
"Render! REN - DER!" he roared. "By the scrolls of Malkor, where are you!"
"Now you've done it," Kaine said and gathered the two younger boys. "Better run with us."
"And when I return?" Sweat seeped through the opening in his scabs and burned. "You know what he'll do to me."
"Suit yourself." And with that Kaine flew off with the boys.
The door blasted open.
The cat leapt off the barrel and into Render's arms.
The sight of Bobbington, his lardy, hairy belly hanging over his pants, and the whip in his fist made Render's hands tremble. Had he the stature or strength, he might well stand up to the brute.
Render had neither. Nor did he possess the fortitude to escape for orphaned as a babe and sold as a slave, this was the only home he knew.
"Wretched vermin!" Bobbington said, his foul breath steaming up into the night. "You dare run? In the middle of the night? Have you so soon forgotten the last time you tried?"
The wounds on his back permitted no such relief. "Sir, I—"
"And what is that, eh?"
Render glanced down at the warm, furry creature of destruction, sitting in his arms and purring. "It... it's a cat."
"I can see that, you fool! Bring it here so that I can gut it and sell its innards to the fiddle maker."
Render turned the cat away from him, as if she might be offended by Bobbington's words. "What a ghastly thought!"
"It's just a mangy cat. Bring it here, boy!"
"No!"
That was the moment that changed everything. Bobbington's lips shook, his right eye twitched. With great malice, he uncoiled the whip. Render had been lashed many times before, but now he feared for the cat.
"Go," he said, and placed it on the ground. "Run!"
Bobbington blinked, his mouth gaping in surprise. "Why you...you insolent little—! Stand still and receive your due!"
The cat ran a few steps towards the wood, then stopped and turned around. With its back arched it watched.
"Five lashes now," Bobbington said, "then ten more after I drag you back inside!"
Teeth clenched, eyes unblinking, Render stood there, gazing into Bobbington's inebriated countenance.
He was prepared.
Bobbington lifted the handle of his whip, wound back his arm as far as he could without falling.
Render mustered all his courage.
His shoulders crept up. His neck tensed.
And then...
He ran.
"What—?" Bobbington sputtered and lashed out. But Render was out of reach. Bobbington, surprised as Render, fell forward landing face first into the dirt.
The cat flew into the thicket.
Render followed, arms and face clawed by dry branches. The frigid air seared his lungs as he ran.
Bobbington gave a great shout. "Come back here, boy!" His heavy footfalls grew nearer. "I'll flay you and that flea-ridden cat!" In his condition however, it was doubtful he could ever catch him. Nevertheless, Render ran faster still.
Letting out a growl befitting a creature many times its size, the cat raced over to the only possible hiding place.
"Not there!"
For lack of a better plan, Render followed. Straight into the black cave, which neither he, nor Kaine, nor anyone with half a brain dared set foot.
In he charged, following the lunatic cat.
Chapter Two
Pallid moonlight entered from between the vines which dangled over the cave's mouth like the fingers of a hag. Sliding his hand along the rough, damp wall, Render continued to step deeper inside. The air hung thick and old. It reeked of moss and other decaying things which he hoped not to discover.
"Boy!" Bobbington's voice boomed into the cave. Again he called, but this time a bit quieter. "Render?"
Just then, something rather large and heavy brushed past Render's hand. He gasped and braced himself against the cave wall as the firm, sinewy form, covered with bristly fur pressed up against him.
He saw nothing, but felt the creature's warmth and heavy footfalls thumping ahead. Then, the rumble of a deep growl filled the entire cave, like that of a great lion or bear. A cold tingle danced up Render's back.
"If...if you think this is amusing...." Bobbington's voice broke. "You'd best quit this foolery right now and come out."
He dared not move.
The growl started again.
"What in all that is—? Render come out at once!"
Render's heart pounded so loud in his ears he feared it would betray him. Just when he could stand it no longer, the growl sprang up into a terrible roar.
Bobbington let out a girlish scream.
A mad rush of leaves and branches.
His quickly fading cries.
Bobbington fled. Faster than one could have imagined, considering his weight and condition.
With his ear turned to the cave's entrance, Render listened to the roar once again echoing into the wood. Whatever beast had frightened Bobbington away would surely return for Render.
And the cat.
Where was that foolish little animal, anyway?
Better the monster eat her than me, he thought. But then, from the front of the cave came a tiny sound. Something that struck him as both odd and alarming.
"Meow?"
If he didn't already suspect delirium, Render would have remained completely still, within the cave until dawn. But how was it that the cat stoodthere, near that dreadful monster? And alive?
Unless...
Render approached the cave opening, standing as tall as he could for he had heard that if one were to confront a bear or a mountain lion, one must stand as erect as possible and shout loudly.
Steady now.
Ready to shout....
He waited a moment, then leapt out into the open.
"HYAH!"
But there was no monster. Had it hidden behind a rock? A tree? Waiting to pounce and shred him to ribbons? To the left, he directed his eyes. Then to the right. Above and behind. Nothing.
No monster.
And then...
"Meow?" Warm, and furry, the cat rubbed against his bare ankle, just above his shoe. Render jumped back and gasped. "Oh, it's you."
"Mrow." The little rascal. With a tilt of its head, it gazed up at Render as if he had gone completely insane. But then it continued to circle his legs, leaning in and rubbing warmly against them. Had it no fear, no sense?
He scooped the cat up into his arms and stared down the hill. Below, oil lamps mounted on cottage walls flickered. The hinges on his master's door—his former master—squeaked. Bobbington had a habit of complaining such that his neighbor's could hear of his woes and perhaps commiserate. Instead, they took to avoiding him.
He could be heard now, muttering on about how Render had become more trouble than he was worth. Bobbington rushed in and shut his door with a heavy slam that reverberated throughout the village.
"Well then," Render said, rubbing the cat behind its ears, "We'll not be going back, I suppose." It purred as he slipped it inside his leather vest, sharing some much appreciated warmth.
From the top of Smyth's Hill, Render's shadow stretched down to the bottom and made him look enormous. He gave the farming village, the place he'd called home for as long as he could remember, one last look, then turned to face the moon. Amber light, brighter than he'd ever seen before, almost made him shade his eyes. Within his vest, the cat moved. It too stared at the strangely bright, strangely hued moon. To Render's surprise, it turned its eyes to his, as if to speak.
"I've never seen anything like it before, either," Render said, and scratched gently under the cat's chin. Its throat trilled as it leaned its head down in the crook of his thumb and forefinger. From where he stood, Talen Wood ended behind him. Before him however, an open plain stretched for about a mile and dropped off.
A howling wind chilled Render to the bone and nearly threw him off balance. He held cat tighter and reestablished his footing. "You all right?"
Its claws dug into his forearm.
And as quickly as the gust came, it passed, swaying tree branches below. Like ripples in a lake, the tops of the trees shivered.
He'd never wandered this far from the village before. But up ahead, he knew of a rocky precipice—the largest of several—which dropped so far, no one had ever returned to say just how high it stood over the plain. Further East, miles past the white desert valley, a battalion of mountains lined the wasteland like sentries. The Handara Mountain Range. The tallest summit, towered far above the others like a commander inspecting warriors under his command. Render's pulse quickened at the sight, for he had never gotten such a clear view before.
What lay on the other side?
Lacking proper education afforded only to the genteel people of Valdshire Tor's grand citadel, all he'd heard were tales, legends and rumors.
An escaped slave now, Render imagined life as an exile, crossing to the East. As far from Valdshire Tor as he could get. After all, to return meant certain capture—or re-capture, rather. He'd heard rumors of young slaves being turned over to the traders because they either displayed defect or were not particularly useful. And as he'd now proven himself a useless slave, Bobbington would probably have him hunted down, hauled off, and killed. Like the runt of a litter.
"Sort of like you, eh, cat?"
It buried its head deeper into his vest. At least he would not travel alone. He was glad of the company. But how would he traverse such a distance and so treacherous a terrain?
As if the ground had heard his question, a rumbling underfoot drew his attention to the wood. The cat stiffened as the whinnying of horses and the thunder of their hooves approached.
Render tried to run. But with nowhere to go but down, he froze in place. Three riders wearing red tunics over chainmail shirts and hoods approached from all sides.
With all his might, Render dashed into the fast closing space between two of the horsemen. The sickening sound of scraping steel filled the air as the dark riders unsheathed their swords.
Glints of reflected moonlight flashed.
Render was stopped in his tracks by the cold, sharp edge of a sword under his chin.
Chapter Three
"Halt, if you fancy the head upon your neck," said the mounted rider. "Or continue and leave it behind as a token." From her tone and the shining decorations on her armor, Render gathered she was the leader.
She scoffed. "What's your name, boy?"
Not a word escaped Render's clenched throat.
"Seems to've misplaced his tongue," the rider to her right said.
"Speak boy," said the leader, leaning down so that the ends of her dark hair touched Render's face. "Or I'll find that tongue of yours with my dagger."
"Please, ma'am. My name is Render." The cat squirmed. He held it tight and out of view.
"Where're your parents?"
"Dead, Ma'am."
She let out a hearty laugh and the others joined. "Perfect." Pointing her sword down to the foot of the hill, she said to the rider behind Render, "Bring him back with the others. That ought to be the last of them."
"Yes my lady," he said in a gravelly voice. Between Render's shoulders, the point of the soldier's sword urged him downwards.
"If he resists, cut off his ears," the leader said, all humor gone from her tone. "If he tries to strike you, cut off his hands. If he tries to run cut off his feet. And if he tries to call for help..."
"I understand."
"As best you should," the leader said. "The wagon is nigh full by now. You know where to bring them."
"Aye."
"Hyah!" With slaps on their horses' rumps and a clinking of spurs, the dark rider and her remaining subordinates rode off.
Down the hill, Render now saw a horse drawn wagon, covered with a heavy canopy. Its driver sat at the reins, waiting.
When he stepped in, or rather, was shoved in, Render's captor forced him to sit upon a bench. "I won't hesitate to dice you into vittles if ye try anything," the horseman said. He then shackled Render's feet which were chained to those of some other unfortunate souls, whose faces were obscured in the pitch black wagon.
Like his fellow prisoners, Render dared not speak.
The door slammed shut. A thin beam of light stole in from the small square windows around the top of the door and walls. Immediately, the wagon lurched forward. Every bump in the path jarred him.
From the stuttering breaths, drawn through clenched teeth, Render could tell that there were children around him in that cramped space.
"I want to go back," came a pitiful murmur.
"Me too."
"Quiet!" hissed a familiar voice.
Render blinked in surprise. He sat up straight and inclined forward and whispered, "Kaine?"
"Keep to yourself, whoever you are, or I swear, I'll knock you down, kick open the door and toss you out. Then you'll be dragged to death, or they'll think you're trying to escape and...and—"
"Kaine you idiot, it's me, Render!"
All went quiet. Save for the rolling of the wheels, the blowing and snorting of the horses and the humming of the driver.
"Render?"
"It is you then, isn't it?" Render's heart leapt.
"Over to the light where I can see you," Kaine said.
"You first."
"Bother! Isn't it just like you to quarrel so?" Kaine exhaled sharply. "All the same, let's go to the edge so that we can see each other in the light."
"Right."
There at the end of the wagon, their eyes met and lit up.
"Why, itisyou."
"Of course it is," Render said and grabbed his arm. He could not help but smile. "We're going to be killed!"
"Yes! Isn't it fantastic?"
If there was any joy at being taken prisoner by dark knights and horsemen, or whatever they were, it was in finding his brother and the twins. Not that Render wished ill upon them. It was just better not to face this alone. He asked the twins if they were all right. They were, but felt frightened. Though he had no basis for saying so, Render assured them that all would be fine.
Kaine stared down at Render's vest. "And what have we here?" At the opening of his vest, the cat rested with one paw casually draped over the other. It glared at Kaine with flattened ears. "How in the world didthathappen?" He asked.
Render lifted it out and placed it on his lap, soothing it with strokes along its stiff back and tail. "As I said, I have a way with cats." Still staring at Kaine, her claws gripped Render's pant legs. "Anyway...I think she likes you."
"She?" Kaine scoffed. "That beast is too fierce to be a she."
"What do you know of cats?"
"What doyou? I'll wager my slingshot that it's a boy."
"That so?" Not about to back off from a challenge, especially one which he knew he could most certainly win, Render held the cat up and lifted her tail.
"Reeeow!" She swung around and swatted Render in the face. Then she jumped out of his hands and went into the dark part of the wagon.
"You win," said Kaine.
"I told you so. Now, if you would be so kind and hand over your slingshot."
"Of course. As soon as I get back to retrieve it from my master's home."
Home.
The very word caused a twinge in Render's chest. Never had he known such a place that he could truly call home. Growing up a slave robbed him of something so important, so fundamental to being human: a sense of belonging.
Oh, of course he belonged. He belonged to Master Bobbington, as did cattle or sheep or any other livestock: property. But Render envied children who went home to warm dinners, whose fathers took them hunting, taught them their wares, whose doting grandparents served as purveyors of forbidden confections. Such things he beheld only from a distance, remembered only as a dream.
The carriage came to an abrupt stop. A great deal of yelling and commanding alerted Render. The cat returned to sit upon his lap.
Kaine, pulling the slack between his shackles and Render's, stood on his bench and peered through the slits in the wagon cover.
"What is it?"
He didn't answer.
"Kaine!"
"Shhh!"
Folen and Stewan whimpered, the chains of their fettered feet scraped the floor. The cat, back on Render's lap, sat up and inclined her ears towards the window.
"By the decree of The Lord Mooregaard, Lord Duke of Talen Wood, advisor to King Corigan, open the gate!" It was the horseman who threw Render into the wagon.
"Where are we?" Render whispered. A cold drop of perspiration rolled down his spine.
"You're as observant as you are good with cats." Kaine clicked his tongue. "A blind man could see."
"See what?"
"That we're at the gate."
"What gate!"
"The Citadel, moss-brain."
The cat stiffened and leapt from Render's lap. She then climbed up and squeezed through the window in the door.
"Hey!" Render didn't bother trying to stop her. So distracted was he by sounds outside. They were so alien, he hardly noticed that she'd gone. Without realizing, he held his breath.
Heretofore, he had only heard stories of the great Citadel, where streets were paved with gold, where the highest forms of art, science and heraldry flowed. And where those unfortunate enough to be deemed criminals suffered unspeakable horrors.
"Don't you understand?" said Kaine, excitement hanging on every syllable, "We've been appropriated."
"Appro...?" said Stewan.
"It means," Render said, "we no longer belong to our masters."
Folen leaned over and whispered. "You mean, we're free?"
"I mean we're being sold."
Chapter Four
The Empire of the East
In the Eastern Empire of Tian Kuo, during the rule of the Lohng Dynasty, the greater part of the population lived in rural villages outside the capital walls, without the amenities of the Emperor's city. This had not been the intention of the Emperor, but rather that of his widow, the Empress Dowager, soon after his demise.
Though they were afforded marginal protection by imperial troops during wars, for the most part these villagers were left to their own devices. This is not to say that they were what one might consider provincial, uneducated or uncultured. On the contrary, much of Tian Kuo's fading cultural, scientific and spiritual wisdom found its roots in the written and oral traditions of outcast cultures such as that of Xingjia.
Towards the Western border of Tian Kuo, between the Myng River and the Lohngdi desert, lay a peaceful hamlet set within tall palms and flowing silvery brooks. The inhabitants of Xingjia were an uncomplicated people. But many of them had once been scholars or government officials, and possessed an ancient wisdom, from which many a great storyteller and seer had emerged.
And then put to death.
For their beliefs were considered the dangerous superstition of the wealthy land owners, the so called "oppressors of the masses." But that was over two centuries ago. Ancient history.
Now, to the Tianese Empress, the people of Xingjia were nothing more than a backwards people that had best keep to themselves.
"Ahndien," Mother called, cutting vegetables at the stone table in their wooden house. "Father will return soon. Go out and fetch those Kai roots."
Barely hearing, Ahndien carefully turned a withering page from theBook of Didactic Songs in Praise of Falun Darahand attempted to recite Song Number One Hundred and Six,The Fall of Mah LhaKor,in the ancient tongue.
"Ahndien!" Mother called again.
"Yes, Ma! I'm coming." Still holding her book, her face buried in its pages, she began walking back towards her house. Before she could complete the final line, the book was yanked from her hands. Her mother's annoyed eyes took its place.
"Ai! You are just like your father! Nose in book, head in clouds! Don't you know that we need to have dinner prepared for his return?"
"But Ah-Ma," Ahndien said, grabbing at the old leather-bound book which she had taken without permission from Ah-Bah's library.
"Go get the roots now," she said, and shook her head. "Always talking superstition like your father."
"But Ah-Bah says that everyone has a spirit, a potential to—"
"Ai! Enough! You are nearly a grown woman. How will you ever find a husband if you keep going on with these childish fairy tales?" She handed Ahndien a satchel packed with nuts, dried pork, a steamed bun, and a flask of water for the journey to the Huangtoa hills, where the Kai roots grew. "Where is the spirit potential to put rice on the table? Hmm?"
"I'm hungry," said Shao-Bao, her little brother.
"Yes Ah-Ma." Ahndien lowered her head, tied the pack around her waist and shouldered the empty buckets. "May I at least take Ah-Bah's book with me?"
"When would you have time to read?"
"Please, Mother?"
Her stone carved countenance softened. A smile emerged from Ah-Ma's features and she lowered her arched shoulders. "I tell you. You'll end up an eccentric word-eater like your father." She handed her the book and huffed. "If you are lucky, you'll end up with a husband who will put up with all this..." she waved her fingers dismissively. "This nonsense!"
Ahndien bounced on her toes and clapped her hands. "I won't waste any time. I promise."
"You can read while you take your lunch."
"Yes." Ahndien rummaged through the closet making an extraordinary amount of noise. There she found father's antique sword and made sure Ah-Ma wasn't looking when she strapped it to her waist. She winked at Shao-Bao and went to the door.
"Be home before dusk," said Ah-Ma.
She was already out the door and on her way.
The midday sun began its indolent ascent into the sky and warmed Ahndien's shoulders. She took a sip from her flask and wiped her brow. With a red ribbon she tied up her long, ink-black hair and gazed out at her surroundings.
How lovely the mountains were this time of the year. Green with life, intoxicating jasmine blossoms, new life emerging all around. Taking it all in with a deep breath, Ahndien felt a profound connection to the very land on which she stood.
Directly above her in a tree branch, nested eagle chicks cheeped for their mother. Perhaps it was the great bird's shadow among several that had flown over Ahndien several times since she reached the hill. A shrill cry told her that this was the case. The eagle returned with a small rodent in its beak and alighted in the nest to feed her young.
Ahndien reached into her satchel and pulled out a small wooden flute which she only played when she left the village, for the old songs grandfather had taught her vexed mother so.
Five notes. In improvised sequences, she created a song which originated from her heart in reaction to the inspiring landscape. At the first piercing note which split the air and echoed down to Xingjia below, she expected the birds to fly off in surprise.
Indeed, the birds flew.
But instead of flying away, they all gathered around her, some on the branches, some at her feet, and some on her shoulders—a secret pleasure Ahndien had enjoyed since her eighth birthday when Ah-Yeh (grandfather) gave her his flute.
Her otherworldly pentatonic song filled the mountain and she began to march around a fallen tree trunk. A procession of sparrows, rainbow finches and even a wild goose followed.
When she stopped, the birds cocked their heads to the side. Down below the people in her village went about their business. She felt a twinge of guilt. They are all working so hard at their chores, and here I am enjoying myself. But her heart took flight when she looked down into the village and saw a broad shouldered man entering the village gates.
"Ah-Bah!"
Mother and Shao-Bao, ran up to greet him. He had returned from the symposium earlier than expected.
"Little brothers and sisters," Ahndien announced to her winged friends. "Thank you for gracing me with your company. But now I must make haste."
The birds, now encircling her, stood perfectly still. As she unpacked her food, preparing to give her entire meal to her avian friends, a rustling in the bush caught her attention.
Chittering into the sky, every bird flew off.
Ahndien called into the thicket. "Hello?" There was no wind, so someone or something must have been there. "Please, show yourself." She reached for her waist and unsheathed the sword that mother did not know she'd taken. Her mouth grew dry. The rustling drew closer.
Chapter Five
"Ah-Ba!" Shao-Bao cried out, ran and leapt into his father's open arms. For all his shortcomings as a husband, Myanwu conceded that he always redeemed himself many times over as a father.
"Shao-Bao, be careful. You'll hurt your father's back."
"Beloved," her husband said wrapping his free arm around her shoulder. He kissed her forehead. "Forgive me for arriving early without sending word."
"Nonsense, Bai Juang," Myanwu said, her ears warming and not from the midday sun. "How was the symposium?"
Bai Juang set his son down and pulled a toy bird made of bright colored feathers and handed it to him. Shao-Bao squealed in delight when his father pulled a string and the bird began flapping its wings.
He turned to Myanwu, and though his smile remained, the light in his eyes was dimming. "I have been away from my family for two weeks. I don't want to bore you with matters which do not concern you."
"Husband," Myanwu said,slightlyhurt. "I only meant to—"
He stood and regarded her sharply, then moved his eyes to Shao-Bao. For a moment, Myanwu could not understand his reticence. Apprehension hollowed her stomach. He only acted that way when—
"But where is my little Empress?" said Bai Juang, a warm smile washing away the tension. Myanwu let out the breath she'd been inadvertently holding.
"Ahndien has gone to gather Kia roots. Did you not hear her flute?"
"Ah, I thought that might be her," he said and put his pack of books down. "Perhaps I should go join her."
"Ah-Ba?" Shao-Bao said, now whimpering. He was facing down into his cupped hands, sniffling in little hiccups. When he looked up at his father, two large tear drops rolled down his plump cheeks.
"What is it, little warrior?" he said and knelt down to open his hands.
"It's broken," he sobbed. "Won't fly anymore."
"Ai!" Myanwu scowled. "You always break every new toy your father—-"
Bai Juang held up a hand, took his son into his arms and let him bury his face into his shirt. "Do not fret. Nothing that has been damaged is beyond repair."
Would he spoil his son as he had Ahndien?
"Run along, son. I will repair this for you later." From his bag, he produced a small picture book and handed it to Shao-Bao. "I believe I made you a promise before I left?"
His wet eyes opened wide and his frown inverted. "The Dragon Adventures of Kronis the Great!" The boy hugged his father's neck and ran into the house. "Thank you, father!"
Bai Juang straightened up and smoothed the wrinkles in his cloak. He turned to Myanwu and shrugged with repentant eyes. "I know what you are going to—"
"Bai Juang," she said, sharply curbing her indignance. "Would you simply fix everything for your son, rather than teach him to take care of his property?"
"He will learn."
"Not at this rate."
"He needed comfort."
"You always chose the heart over the head."
Bai Juang put his elbow in his hand, rubbed his dark beard and pondered this. His eyes deepened and his lips pulled thin. Then he stepped over to his wife and put a strong arm around her waist. "I choose the heart over the head because it was the only way I could win your hand." From behind his back he pulled out a Golden Fire Orchid.
And the walls fell.
She wanted to remain angry at him for leaving her with the children for weeks at a time, for being more devoted to his cause—a dying one at that—than to his own wife. But what stopped her were these two things:
First, deep down, she too believed in his cause; because she believed in him. Never had she met a man of such integrity and conviction. If Bai Juang believed something, it must be true. And second, he always knew the paths of diplomatic warfare when it came to their conflicts.
"Where did you...?" She took hold of the flower and wanted to cry.
"My bride. How soon you have forgotten. "Twenty years ago today," he pointed to the hills, "at the foot of that very mountain where our daughter gathers Kai roots, you and I met for the first time and—"
"Bai." Myanwu took the flower and sank into her husband's embrace. "I will never forget."
She remained there, holding him tight, glad that he was home. Even if it was only until his next three week trip to and back from the symposium. He was a good man. And she treasured these moments.
Then, at the sound of something she hadn't heard since she was a child, Bai's body went stiff.
"No."
From the outskirts of Xingjia, atop the sentry towers, a clarion call resounded. "Shao-Bao," Bai Juang's eyes darted to the village gates. Myanwu dropped the Orchid and ran to the house not realizing that she had trampled and torn the delicate petals on the ground.
Frantic, she vaguely heard her husband shouting to the men running back into the gates, calling all men to arms, "How far off? How far off!"
The only reply she heard was, "How can this be! Where are the imperial guards?"
Already inside the house, Myanwu found her son, rushed him down into the hidden room beneath the house, and held him close.
Out in the courtyard, someone cried out, "Torians!"
She winced. Above them, someone was overturning chairs, ransacking the cabinets and dropping dishes and utensils to the ground.
Shao-Bao let out a gasp.
She covered his mouth. Held up a finger.
The crashing of furniture and items being kicked aside onto the floor grew closer. Louder.
Then, the worst thing that could have happened, did.
The door hinges above them squealed. Where was Bai Juang?
The door to the hidden room flung open.
Myanwu and her son screamed, their eyes squeezed shut.
"Where is it?" Bai Juang said, his eyes round with panic."
"What?
"Where is my sword!"
Chapter Six
"Come out." Affecting all the courage she could, Ahndien grasped the hilt of her father's sword tighter still. "Show yourself...and...and I won't hurt you."
The rustling in the bush stopped. Curiosity overtook caution and Ahndien stepped forward, ready to strike, though Father's sword felt a bit too heavy to swing with any effect. When she reached the place from which the rustling sounds came, she took a deep breath, held it, and with her foot, pushed away some of the branches.
"Please," she whispered. "Answer me." Father had warned her not to wander off to the top of the hill. There are vicious mountain lions that devour little children, he had always said. Her heart beat like the festival drums of the New Year, yet fear had not seized her. Not entirely.
She pulled the branches aside. "Aha!"
Just then, a small man, slightly hunched in the back and wearing the white garb of a monk, turned around and gasped. "Ai!" He lifted his walking stick as if to strike. But when he saw Ahndien's face, he lowered it. "What do you mean, startling an old man like that? Why, I might have..." he coughed, sputtered, pounded his chest. "I might have mistook you for... for a bandit!"
"I'm sorry," she said and rushed to his side. "You didn't answer."
"Eh?"
"You didn't answer me when—"
"Eh?" he turned his head. "Speak into this ear, my child. The hearing's not what it once was."
"Never mind." She helped the old man out into the clearing where she had set her things down. "Have you eaten yet?"
"My food is knowledge, wisdom...and truth!" From behind the white beard that stretched down to his chest, a smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. The monk bore a striking resemblance toAh-Yeh, her grandfather who lived with her family until he passed away last winter.
Ahndien thought his bones would surely creak as he sat on the tree trunk and rested both hands on his cane. "Was that you, playing the song of the Fenghuang?"
"Feng...what?" This had always been her secret, not so much the music, but her way with the birds. "I don't know what you are talking about."
"Of course you don't." His round belly rolled like grass jelly when he laughed. "And yet, you do."
She should have felt apprehensive speaking to a stranger, alone on the mountain like this, but for some reason she did not. He was too frail to be any sort of threat. Perhaps it was the way he spoke, the way he laughed. Just like Ah-Yeh.
"My name is Lao-Ying." He leaned forward on his cane.
"I am honored to make your acquaintance, sir," she replied. "I am—"
"Ahndien, daughter of Xing Bai Juang," he said. His hazel-green eyes sparkled. They seemed unusually sharp for a man of his age. "I have waited long to meet you."
"But how do you know me?"
Before he could answer, a strange sound rang out into the mountains from below—the sound of horns, rapid and urgent. Lao-Ying arose and bounded to the edge of the hill. With a hand he shielded his eyes. "And so it begins."
"What is it?"
"Something that should not have happened for another ten years."
Ahndien came to his side and looked down at her village. Her heart sank at the sight of the trebuchets, large monstrosities on wheels, pushed by soldiers in red vested chainmail and armor. Flying high with the army's advance, a flag with the image of a crimson, winged creature stood tall on a pole.
"What are they doing?"
Lao-Ying took her elbow and tried to lead her away. "Come along, child. Come."
"Wait." Just then, the three trebuchets stopped a good distance from the village walls. She looked harder at the flag, the soldiers and realized. "Are those...?"
Lao-Ying lowered his gaze and shut his eyes. "Soldiers of Valdshire Tor."
"Western Demons!"
The Torian soldiers lit the cauldrons in the center of the slings and flames burst upwards. In swift succession the trebuchet's massive arms swung forward, hurling the flaming projectiles at the village.
"No!" Ahndien tried to run. But something restrained her with alarming force. She looked down at her arm. Lao-Ying had taken hold of it.
In a low and regretful voice, he said, "It is too late."
A thunderous explosion erupted from the center of the village. Cries of terror arose with plumes of fire and billowing black smoke. Like a swarm of red fire ants, Torian soldiers with swords, crossbows and all manner of weaponry charged into the village.
Ahndien broke free and ran down the path. Even at her best speed, the village was at least half an hour away.
"Please," shouted Lao-Ying, "You mustn't!"
Chapter Seven
The sharp sound of curtain rings ripping across a rod, followed by a blinding light jarred Render from his sleep.
"Arise!" boomed a husky voice.
Render rubbed his eyes. Had Bobbington fallen ill of the throat? Had he dreamt the entire thing last night? But when he saw Kaine waking up in the bed across the chamber, and Folen and Stewan as well, Render knew it was not a dream.
"Up now, you den of sloths. All of you!" A rather large and rotund man with flaxen hair stood at the door. Dressed in a brown cloak, he very much resembled one of those Malkoran scholars, illustrations of which he'd seen in the moldering books of Bobbington's library.
Folen yawned and nudged Stewan who, laying next to him, was still asleep. "Come on, sleepy head, wake up."
"Who are you?" Kaine said to the scholar. "And where are we?"
"You will address me as Sir Edwyn," he said gazing down the side of his considerable nose. "And you have three minutes to clean up and change into those." He pointed to the neatly folded bundles at the foot of each of their beds and then gestured to the basins and pitchers at the end tables. Sir Edwyn clapped his hands, making Render wince. The sound of it resounded throughout the cavernous stone walls of their chamber, which, when compared to his room in Bobbington's cottage, seemed more like a cathedral. "Quickly now. When I return you had best be ready."
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