On the Shores of Irradan Read online

  On the Shores of Irradan

  by Ronald Long

  Copyright 2016

  Table of Contents

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Map

  Prologue: | The Journey to Irradan

  Chapter 1: | The Elf and the Bear

  Chapter 2: | The City Guard

  Chapter 3: | Wood Walkers

  Chapter 4: | First Wall

  Chapter 5: | Aimless Sailing

  Chapter 6: | Revenge

  Chapter 7: | The Glorious Empire of Enoth

  Chapter 8: | Sisters

  Chapter 9: | Black Sails, Red Flags

  Chapter 10: | Prisoners

  Chapter 11: | Unwelcome Allies

  Chapter 12: | Responsibility

  Chapter 13: | Legends of Old

  Chapter 14: | Practice

  Chapter 15: | The Quarry

  Chapter 16: | Barefoot

  Chapter 17: | Apologies and Anthologies

  Chapter 18: | Cuno the Red Handed

  Chapter 19: | Sunsets and the House of Nobles

  Chapter 20: | Visitors

  Chapter 21: | Out of the Woods

  Chapter 22: | The Crew Returns

  Chapter 23: | Elven Prisoner

  Chapter 24: | A Knife to the Throat

  Chapter 25: | A Personal Message

  Chapter 26: | Unexpected Acquaintance

  Chapter 27: | Hospitality

  Chapter 28: | Bloody Stairs

  Chapter 29: | The Visitor

  Chapter 30: | A Job to Finish

  Chapter 31: | An Island Map

  Chapter 32: | Quiet in the Ranks

  Chapter 33: | Floating Rocks and Halflings

  Chapter 34: | Poorly Timed Return

  Chapter 35: | An Abundance of Judgment

  Chapter 36: | No Respite for Rebellion

  Chapter 37: | To the Docks

  Chapter 38: | Sacrifice

  Chapter 39: | A Bossy Little Thing

  Chapter 41: | New Plan

  Chapter 42: | Another Ship

  Chapter 43: | From Bad to Worse

  Chapter 44: | The Strength of Flames

  Chapter 45: | Running Low

  Chapter 46: | An Old Elf's Tale

  Chapter 47: | Bargaining with Strangers

  The Story Continues...

  About the Author

  Retrovert Books

  More from Retrovert Books

  For Sarah, who won't stop asking for the next book.

  Thanks for pushing me to continue the tale!

  Map

  Don’t get lost, find your way with this great map!

  Prologue:

  The Journey to Irradan

  Spring, Imperial Year 1002

  It's been a year since I washed up on the shore of Good Harbor in Ruyn without a memory to call my own and no possessions save the gray coat I still wear when the weather gets cold.

  At first, I thought the only thing I needed to do was to find out who I was, why I was shipwrecked, and what I had left behind in my previous life.

  How much a year can change one's mind!

  I met my friend and mentor, Holve Bravestead, and was taken on an adventure I'll not soon forget.

  The continent of Ruyn may not be better off than when I found it one year ago, but I doubt it could get much worse. The lunatic Androlion Fellgate no longer controls the Southern Republic. He met his end at the hands of the man, if that's what he really was, Rayg.

  The war to cleanse all races from the continent is over. What few elves and dwarves of Ruyn we could protect now seek to rebuild. Men commit to live in peace. The Dark Comet, which still hovers in the night sky, burns dimmer than it had just a moon ago. Demons that had leapt from the surface of the rock were beaten or returned to the infernal thing.

  I did my part as well as I could, I suppose.

  It was Holve who took me under his wing and it was with him that I stumbled upon the friends I now have and can claim as the closest thing to a family.

  The most interesting of them being a girl named Blume Dearcrest.

  When we met her, she had just witnessed the death of her brother and parents. The ruins of her city surrounded her.

  Though most children might have succumbed to grief, she proved to be resilient beyond any of our expectations.

  More curious still, was the fact that she was an accomplished Speaker, one who can control the elements through Rimstone and perform magic.

  All this she did with an heirloom, a rather beaten up necklace that was her family's most prized possession.

  After the war ended and her part, which turned out to be of more significance than my own, she found herself without her ability to Speak to the elements as she had done so previously.

  Holve believes that her necklace holds more mysteries than we yet know.

  The demons, Rimstone, and Blume's own necklace are linked in some way.

  He hasn't shared all of this with her and I feel like he hasn't shared with me all that he knows.

  The only clue we have is the mention of an ancient and magical plant on Irradan: The Everring Tree.

  So now we sail to another continent in search of a clue to a mystery we don't rightly know yet.

  Holve is determined to find out the meaning of these events.

  We, who are now called "The Swords," follow him as our leader and guide.

  I find myself glad to have friends who surround me and call me friend in return.

  Perhaps someday I'll find out who I was before I was found bloody and near dead on the shores of Good Harbor.

  But that adventure will be another time.

  For now, we sail for Irradan.

  Ealrin Belouve.

  Chapter 1:

  The Elf and the Bear

  Panto grunted with every beat of his enormous front paws. The giant bear ran as quickly as his strong body and the armor that weighed him down allowed. It had been many moons since his master had urged him to such haste.

  Then again, the bear had perceived that many things were changing.

  Amrolan tried his best to quiet the beast. Even though they were traveling with all the speed Panto could muster, the elf who rode him knew that they would have to save some strength for the task ahead.

  War was coming.

  The trees here were new. Mere saplings compared to the ancient sentinels Amrolan had grown up in. Oaks that sprang out of the ground every few paces only reached the height of two, maybe three elven lengths. The flowers and new grasses of spring filled in the empty spaces between the trees. Had they the time to explore, there would be so much new life to encounter.

  But this was not the time for exploring. Now was the time for speed.

  Panto took the path they had worn into the new forest by traveling back and forth between the coast and the forest of their birth. Though both called the trees of the distant and old paths home, neither were welcome. Behind them, the twin suns of Gilia were sinking into the horizon. Night would soon be upon them. The darkness would not hinder their travels. Both of them were gifted with exceptional eyesight, even in near complete darkness. Both moon and comet would also light the night for them.

  The comet that had recently burned a violent purple was now orange again in the night sky and had helped the pair travel at night with ease.

  Traveling was what they did. They were nomads: doomed to wander and never to settle. Scorned by both lands that they might naturally call home and feared by those who were of lesser descent. They lived off of what the earth provided. Fortunately, they were both expert foragers and hunters. Only in the chilled south during the winter months were they ever in want for food. But in times of plenty or in great want, they were to serve t
heir ordained purpose.

  Every metallic clink of his armor was a painful reminder of the path he had chosen. The metal interlocking plates glimmered in the failing sun. Wrought not by elves or by men, his armor had saved his life many times from those whom he desperately wanted to call friends and family.

  Amrolan pushed such thoughts from his mind. There was urgent business at hand.

  He was a tall and proud elf, broader than most of his race. His hair was as black as the night and cut short to better accommodate the helmet he wore atop his head. Dark eyes surveyed the path before him without concern. These trails were theirs. Speed would not hinder their travel through the woods.

  "Tired," Panto said.

  Amrolan patted his bear companion with one hand, while keeping a tight hold of the harness attached to the beast with the other.

  "Rest soon," Amrolan replied, though he did so without moving his lips.

  The link that they shared went beyond a sharing of minds. Bear and elf shared a common bond that went to the very depths of the other's soul. When he wanted, Amrolan could see through Panto's eyes, could hear what the beast heard, and could smell what the black nose smelt.

  They shared an existence.

  Through the snout of his friend and only companion, Amrolan could sense that they were nearing their destination. Soon, both of them would see what they had feared would come. As they crested a hill, the twin suns of Gilia sank behind them and night fell in earnest. Amrolan gazed at the sight before him and his eyes widened in shock.

  Amrolan would not need the moon or the orange comet to light his way tonight. The soldiers carrying torches who marched in columns down the old road would provide more than ample supply.

  Never had he seen the noble elves outside of their cities before, and certainly not in full guard. A thousand glittering and fully armed elves passed underneath his watchful gaze. They were elegant and terrifying, beautiful and repulsive.

  Lest he be seen, Amrolan urged Panto to back off of the path they had made and into the woods. They hid themselves among the trees as they both continued to look in awe at the sight before them.

  The elves marched down an old road that followed the cliffs from the human lands beyond. That part seemed strange to him. Why were the elves marching away from the human lands? Wasn't that their goal? To overcome and be the dominant race on Irradan? Not that the elves needed ever really fear the humans. Their lives were so short and their skill so diminished in comparison to the elves.

  Columns of soldiers were passing underneath him. The ranks stretched from one visible bend in the road to the next. Standard bearers carried alongside the lines the white and purple banners Amrolan had both longed to see again and loathed to be reminded of his pain. He was so close to those whom he once called friends.

  Yet, so far.

  From this point, Amrolan would be safe from their surveying eyes. Or so he thought.

  "Danger," Panto said, the great bear taking in a breath and turning around as quickly as his bulk would allow.

  Amrolan dared not move. The blade that rested on his throat had already begun to draw a small trickle of blood.

  “Breathe, and I'll make you pay dearly,” a whisper said into his ear.

  He wasn't sure which surprised him more: that he had been snuck up on even with his keen senses or that the voice that spoke into his ear was not that of a gruff elven warrior.

  It was a woman.

  Chapter 2:

  The City Guard

  Bernard was a good man. He may have been physically fit and slightly more handsome than the average citizen of Lone Peak. He may have gone on more adventures than most of the city guard combined and bragged twice as much as the rest of them. One thing he couldn't get over, though, was his height. His friends and companions were a normal to average height. But he, Bernard Sturdyshield, was one of the shortest in the city defense force.

  Lincoln, however, his closest friend, was at least two heads taller than any of the other guardsmen and three times as wide. Rumor was that the seamstress who made his uniform quit as soon as she had completed it, swearing her hands would never be the same.

  They were as polar opposites as any pair could be. Bernard had dark, long hair, while Lincoln's was blonde and cut almost to his scalp. Bernard's eyes were brown and enticing, while Lincoln's were blue and airy. They had become friends by the sheer fact that few of the other guards desired to spend any more time with either of them than necessary.

  Bernard often found himself boasting of his previous exploits, and perhaps exaggerating on some of the finer details. Lincoln, however, instead of living up to be the hulking brute that most assumed him to be on first glance, spent his time composing poetry.

  Unfortunately, he wasn't very good at it. Bernard had told him so many times, but it had never dampened the large man's attempts at verse.

  "What rhymes with bird?" Lincoln asked Bernard one day while they were on guard duty atop the noble's wall.

  "Come again?" Bernard asked. He had been in the middle of retelling the story where he had single-handedly defeated thirty fox beasts on the plains north of Lone Peak after his entire company had been cut down by the monsters.

  Wrents, as was their proper name, were foxes who walked like men but were shorter in stature. They lived to the north of Lone Peak and would sometimes venture south and give trouble to the men who lived in the kingdom of Darrion.

  Bernard and Lincoln were a part of the city guard, the capital's armed forces. Darrion was the sole human kingdom on the great continent of Irradan. At one time, the ships of Darrion would sail from Ruyn to Redact and then on to the Holy Empire itself. Even the banner of Darrion bore on it a mighty sailing vessel, with the three ruling houses of nobles all emblazoned underneath.

  Those days were distant memories.

  Calamity, fate, and a lack of natural resources had left Darrion a shell of its former glory. Even the guard's equipment was getting old and rusted. Many elders talked of the glory days of old, but even they were only small children when the kingdom began its decline.

  Bernard returned his sword to its sheath after demonstrating how he had beheaded three creatures in one blow and returned to the wall next to Lincoln.

  The large man had his spear resting on his shoulder while he wrote on a minuscule piece of paper with a charcoal pen.

  "What rhymes with bird?" He repeated.

  "How about absurd?" Bernard offered. "Kind of like your attempts at writing lines."

  Lincoln pursed his lips and furrowed his brow in concentration, not hearing Bernard's insult.

  "No, absurd doesn't really work."

  He folded the tiny paper and returned it to his pocket along with the pen.

  "Oh," he added as he scanned the city below, as was their job. "The last time you told that story there were only twenty foxes and three of your company had survived."

  Lincoln also had a fantastic memory for details.

  The Lone Keep guard was tasked with policing the city and ensuring its safety. Bernard had joined for the promise of more adventures and exciting assignments. So far, he hadn't had either. The life of travel and adventure was also an expensive one. Bernard had many debtors collecting a fair portion of his pay.

  Lincoln had told Bernard he joined for the promise of a good meal at the end of a day's work. It wasn't hard to see why someone so large would be so motivated. Neither man had any family to call their own. Bernard had left his father and mother in the distant Darrion city of Bestone. Lincoln's mother had been his only family in Lone Peak and had passed away the week after he had joined the guard. Out of loneliness or desperation, they had found each other's company tolerable and clung to one another for friendship.

  Albeit a shaky one at times.

  Bernard shrugged at Lincoln's recollection of his story.

  "It was a very dramatic experience,” he said with an air of pride. “Maybe I've forgotten some of the details."

  "I think you mean traumatic," Lincoln cor
rected him. "What's that?"

  "Which?" Bernard asked, confused now and scratching his head under his helmet. The air was warm and he was hoping for a cool breeze to make standing out in the suns a little more bearable. "Dramatic or traumatic?"

  "That," Lincoln said, this time pointing his finger towards a group walking towards the gate of the Noble House. Bernard turned his attention to the street, following his friend's finger.

  Walking up the street in the middle of the day, was the oddest looking group Bernard had ever set eyes on in Lone Peak. And that was saying quite a lot. A female elf, three human men, two women, two halflings, a female pirate, a dwarf, a teenage girl and some odd, catlike monster were heading under the gate and right into the Noble House walls.

  "What's that gray looking monster?" Bernard asked as he stared at the group with a hand on his hilt.

  "I think those are called Skrilx’s," Lincoln replied, seemingly not as bothered as Bernard by the odd assortment of adventurers. "They're like men, but with catlike faces and tails."

  Bernard scoffed.

  "That's not a Skrilx," he said. "Those things are twenty feet tall and have wings like dragons."

  A Noble House guard was escorting them up the path. Bernard had the impression that he needed to draw his sword and defend the wall from this strange group.

  "Max is coming out," said Lincoln, turning to face the other direction.

  Max Condor was one of the ruling nobles of Lone Peak. There were three houses that, over the long years, had been the leading noble families of the sole human kingdom on Irradan. No king sat on the throne, but the leading member of the current ruling noble house would have the greatest amount of sway over policy and governance. Every five years, an election took place throughout the country to decide which house would rule and, by extension, which noble would represent that house in court.

  The house of Condor had led Lone Peak for the last fifteen years, with Max at the helm. He was a good leader, in Bernard's opinion. Honest and kind, as well as a former Lone Peak guard. Under his leadership, the kingdom of Darrion had thrived in the bleak circumstances it had been given. The other two houses, Bear and Leviathan, had switched between the second and third place during Condor's leadership. It was no small secret that they both craved the top position.