Falls of Redemption: Omnibus Books 1-3 (An Epic Military Fantasy Trilogy)

  FALLS OF REDEMPTION

  Justin Sloan

  www.JustinSloanAuthor.com

  To my family and friends, and all the others who believed in me as I set out on this writing journey. This was my first book, and therefore a scary endeavor, but you stuck with me.

  Falls of Redemption

  by Justin Sloan

  Copyright © 2015 Justin Sloan.

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. No people known to the author have become gods or believe themselves to have done so. The language in this novel has been modernized so as to keep it comprehensible, and liberties have been taken as such. The first two books have been combined here as one.

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  Thank you for supporting my work.

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  PROLOGUE

  It was the first day the youths were given swords in defense of Nethia, and Narcel was not pleased to be one of them. Saltwater stung his eyes and the wood of the ship’s deck shuddered with the impact of one of many triremes from the North. With an ear piercing creak, the ships pulled apart. Someone was yelling for a hard pivot to starboard, but a second trireme struck and Narcel spun, felt a sharp pain in his back, and then fell.

  The water engulfed him, surprisingly warm, and for a moment he wanted to float away from the chaos above. But he couldn’t, he had a duty. His family and his people needed him. As he watched his sword sink into the sand below, sunlight glimmering on the polished and yet unused bronze that was befitting the youngest son of the mayor, he wondered how a boy of thirteen was supposed to slay full-grown men—warriors, proven in battle. He was trained, but not yet tested.

  In the depths of the water, shadows coursed, swaying as if alive. His lungs burned as his last breaths trickled away. A face seemed to look at him, then many, not quite there… a silver glow to them, intensifying as he sunk lower, closer. Could they simply be his imagination? Hallucinations? A figure seemed to move from the shadows, eyes staring into his soul. A finger pointed as if calling to him, and the silver glow traced patterns in the water as it slowly spread its way toward him.

  He may not survive the war, but he could at least live through this.

  Arrows hit the water and sunk past Narcel, telling him that hand-to-hand battle would soon begin above. Jerking his head, he searched for the way up, for the origination of the arrows. He refused to give in. Another plowed through the water and he saw the rippling surface, and he pushed, leaving the living shadows of the water’s depths behind. As he breached the surface, a body hit beside him and he stared, dumbfounded, at the lifeless face of a boy he had spent hours training with only weeks before. He watched the last breaths of the body surface as it sank, only then realizing he could have used his own bubbles to find his way up instead of the arrows.

  Men roared from a nearby ship and a splatter of blood hit the water before another body in the blue robes of Valhia fell over the side of the trireme.

  Narcel swam the other direction. He hadn’t been ready for this when he was standing his ground with a sword in his hands, and he certainly wasn’t going to attempt to climb back only to meet his end.

  His fingers felt the soft sand before he processed that he was on the shore. He ran, his legs shaking and his mind spinning. When he reached the top of a small hill he paused to look back. He was a coward, and he knew it. But what he saw seemed to justify his cowardice.

  Men in the browns and grays of the North charged south, pushing back the few Valhian defenders that remained. Their ships were in retreat. In the midst of the chaos, he spotted the flash of his brother’s blue-plumed helmet, the bronze polished and bright in the sun.

  A short spear glinted, giving Narcel just enough notice to dive sideways. The spear clattered against the stones behind him. He turned to see a husky man wearing bronze armor with a brown cape, a sword gleaming.

  Narcel dodged the opposite direction and stared, horrified, as the man turned on him with an evil smile.

  “Narcel!” a voice shouted from nearby, distracting the man just long enough for Narcel to make a run for it.

  He heard footsteps behind him, and then a sickening crunch of bronze on bone. He turned back to see the man’s head roll across the ground. Valhia’s army had recovered, or maybe it was reinforcements from Nethia. He stepped forward, hopeful, but was met by someone he least expected—the servant Charos.

  “Your sword, where is it?” Charos shouted.

  “I….” Narcel stared as more men in dirtied clothes and used armor followed behind Charos. All servants. What were they doing on the battle field? Had the situation deteriorated to such levels?

  “Find it and join us.” Charos turned to the boys and men behind him and motioned forward. With a war-cry, they continued on.

  Narcel fell to his knees and watched the servants, often referred to by their more accurate titles of slaves, as they fell upon the opposing forces. He stared, amazed, as the tide of battle began to sway the other way. The men in blue were pushing back the attackers from the North, and one ship below breached the enemy line—the ship carrying his brother, Sinoda.

  Before he could watch anymore, a boy of no more than twelve ran past. Two towering enemy warriors pursued closely with swords drawn. Narcel couldn’t stand by as that boy was slaughtered. He followed them into the brush, no longer willing to wallow in his cowardice. One of the men grabbed hold of the boy, sword raised. Narcel had no weapon, but driftwood sat nearby and with a mighty heave, he lifted it like a club and broke it across the man’s face. Splintered wood mixed with blood on the grass as the other man turned on him. But the boy still had his sword. Using the distraction to his advantage, he jammed the blade into this second man’s belly.

  “This way,” Narcel yelled as he snatched up the dying man’s sword. He took a step toward Valhia, and away from the fighting.

  “No,” the boy said, pointing to the fighting below. “Those are our men down there.”

  The boy ran off to join the fighting, leaving Narcel to an internal struggle. Back at Valhia, his mother would be in Maigus Hall, protected by her guard, but what of Kaire, the girl of his dreams. Was she safe there? Then it struck him—if they lost this battle, Valhia would certainly be overrun. The boy was right, they had a responsibility, and it was here on the shore.

  With sword firmly grasped, he let out a war cry and charged. The wind blew warm on his skin and tasted of salt and fire. The battle rang in his ears, and then it was upon him. The boy fought to his left, Charos further up the beach in a clash of brown and blue amid polished bronze. Narcel blocked an attack and parried another. He felt, for the first time in his life, the slow suction of flesh on blade as he kicked a man back and off of his sword. He hadn’t even realized he had stabbed the man, but there was a twitching body before him.

  Another man charged and Narcel prepared himself, legs like stone and chest pounding. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the boy, a spear protruding from his belly, and Narcel felt his fingers loosen on the sword’s hilt. He became aware of the birds flapping away into the distance and saw the white of the charging man’s eyes and the spittle coming from his mouth. Narcel stepped forward, ready to act, when a crack threw his helmet forward and he tasted sand. He was on the ground, face first, ears ringing. With a grunt
he tried to stand, but instead collapsed as darkness took him.

  When Narcel could move again, a deathly silence filled the beach and the world seemed to be shifting around him. He opened his eyes and saw white clouds floating like wisps into the mountains. Only then realizing he was being carried. Charos’s face appeared, his eyes with crow’s-feet in his leathered skin, his hair matted to his forehead with sweat.

  “You’re going to be fine,” Charos said, and his face blurred as Narcel blacked out again.

  By the time Narcel recovered, a few days had passed and the North had been pushed back. His mother told him all about it as she caressed his forehead with a damp cloth. Valhia was safe, and Charos and his daughter, Kaire, were no longer servants. Gaila had made the decree when news of his valor reached her door.

  “Mother?” he said as he propped himself on his elbows and looked to see her staring out of the window.

  Gaila turned to him with her motherly smile, a smile he rarely saw now that she governed Valhia. “You slept through the best part.”

  “Is she, is Kaire…?”

  Gaila moved aside her lavender silk robes that fell over her cobalt dress so that she could sit beside him, a hand on his shoulder. “She is safe.”

  Narcel sank back to the bed. Kaire hadn’t been harmed. At the moment, nothing else mattered.

  Chapter 1: The Games

  Narcel’s nostrils filled with the scent of pine as the valley opened up before him to reveal what he feared–the others were in line, ready for the war games. Standard bearers stood beside the general’s sky-blue tent with flags rippling atop long oak poles, one hundred boys and young men in varying shades of blue tunics, training sticks and spears held at the ready. Their faces turned up the hill to where he had at last arrived.

  At fifteen he was already expected to serve as an example, to represent his household and his place in society. Being the son of Gaila Maigus, the mayor of Valhia and Nethia’s appointed representative, held its responsibilities. Though the war had long been over, they continued to study warfare in the barracks and practice fighting on the field.

  His narrow cobalt eyes softened to express the guilt he felt for being late, once again. With a nervous step, he tightened his gold trimmed sash over his navy blue tunic and started toward the lone tent below. His legs were heavy, but his heart raced at the sight of the bystanders surrounding the valley to observe the games. Many wore the blue typical of Valhians, but several wore dull browns and grays of the North. It had been two years since Valhia had seen battle, but the war-talks had only recently concluded. Pushed back from the region of Ikarin, leaders from the North were traveling through the lands to lay arms at the feet of its rulers and affirm future peace. Narcel’s mother would expect him to put on a good show of military prowess for these foreigners, and now he was late.

  “Where’ve you been?” Sinoda asked as Narcel stumbled through the tent flaps. “Preparations have already begun.”

  Sunlight breached the tent to illuminate Sinoda in full war-game attire, standing beside the strategy table. His acorn colored hair fell in a similar wavy fashion to Narcel’s, but Sinoda wore it longer, below the ears. Sinoda was the more handsome of the two brothers, with his high cheekbones and eyes like the sky, but Narcel would never admit it. A circular brass helmet cast shadows over Sinoda’s ever-observing eyes. Red wool cushioning hung down the back to cover his neck. His azure tunic was overlaid with a leather breastplate. The other team would be wearing similar attire, but in green.

  “You’ll never learn.” Sinoda tucked the sleeves of his tunic into the breastplate to show off his muscles. He grabbed his training sword and turned back to Narcel. “In three years you’ll be old enough to command your own trireme.”

  Narcel glared back, having nothing to say. He had no interest in commanding a trireme or any such leadership.

  Sinoda sighed, a weary look in his eyes. “Were you with Kaire?”

  Narcel ignored the comment and found the only available helmet and breastplate, donning them in spite of their overly large size. Had he been with Kaire, he would have gladly admitted it, but instead he had been painting and dreaming of her. Lately she had felt distant, and he hadn’t known how to respond other than secluding himself in his room with his paints, much like his father had done for years before disappearing.

  Sinoda turned to the war-table. “A standard bearer was last seen heading here to the north. We think they would have taken the Orelan hill on the far side of the woods, and two groups that we believe to be decoys were sent to the east.”

  “No standard was seen among them?”

  “That’s correct, so we have to find the second and third standards.”

  “I can run, if you send me with some attackers.” Narcel didn’t care much for becoming a warrior, but if he had to participate he wanted to make sure Kaire noticed. She always spoke so highly of great warriors, especially her father.

  Sinoda turned toward the valley, running his fingers along the wooden blade of his practice sword. “These boys need a leader who does more than dream. Today your job is to rescue hostages. I will lead the attack.”

  “But you’re the General.”

  “What better way to lead? Going against cousin Lokum, we shouldn’t have a problem.” Sinoda nodded, as if to assure himself. “I want you in the rear, saving our men.”

  Narcel lowered his head. He could never prove himself to Kaire if all he did was rescue captives. He needed to earn points and score the winning standard. Rescuing others from the prisons was necessary for the game, but not the most respected of roles.

  “This will teach you the importance of rescuers, of strategy above grandeur.”

  “I understand.” Narcel knew he was referring to the last time they played, when the trainer, Charos, had appointed Narcel general. He hadn’t wanted the role. Most of his time in the barracks was spent looking across the square, wondering what lay past the houses of Valhia, or watching Charos’s daughter Kaire in the corner reading her books. How could he be expected to lead an army?

  Sinoda tossed him a hunk of bread. “I’m getting too old to be playing these games. Get out to your men before they forget who you are.”

  Narcel presented a mock salute and jogged to the starting point, considering his brother’s fascination with politics. Where did it come from? He sometimes wished he could care as much as Sinoda.

  A warm breeze carried the salt of the ocean, reminding him of the thrill of past games. Music played in Narcel’s head whenever his adrenaline pumped, a slow beat at first, rising like the waves crashing against the Valhian cliffs on a stormy night. His legs were shaking with anticipation as his six rescuers came into view. His heart pounded with excitement, just like every year when the teams would gather in the early hours of the morning. Not excitement for the fighting, but for the adventure. What inspiration would the day bring? How many new ideas for grand paintings could he imagine? In spite of his nonchalance before the games, he always felt so inspired when the moment actually came, like a different person. He couldn’t explain the sensation.

  The rising sun cast reaching shadows like fingers through the formations of boys. Half-naked trees surrounded the valley, seeming to dance in flames as the sun beams sparkled and flickered through their branches. He imagined the color contrast on a fresh cedar panel and his mother’s approving eyes as she hung the painting on her bedroom wall. He imagined Kaire running to him with a smile when he won the games.

  The sight of team Maelstrom reminded Narcel of the sea about to engulf a fleet of ships in its madness. Sinoda had arranged for five decoy groups of ten boys each, with the standard bearers only guarded by five boys. This was a low number, considering the fact that Lokum generally surrounded his captains with fifteen attackers each. Attackers’ sole purpose was to defeat the defenders and allow for the captain to steal the standards.

  A conch horn sounded, echoing through valley and piercing the cool morning air. Sinoda came charging from his tent with train
ing stick held high. An eager battle cry roared from the boys as they saw their general join the ranks, excited for the games to start.

  He positioned his four captains in a half circle behind him, with the twenty attackers following each of them in a line. “Men, today’s game will not last long. I plan on leading the captains to the hill where I know Lokum will have positioned his standards. My cousin thinks himself clever, but I know better! I will break left, distracting his defenders, as all but the one captain and five attackers I take with me circle to the rear and attack their flank. That captain will be Talak.”

  “Yes sir,” a well-built young man named Talak called from the ranks.

  “Meanwhile, I want one standard to follow us, and the other to hide in an obvious position to the east of the valley. It is unlikely he will anticipate our standard to be with our attackers, fairly unguarded.

  “Charos will have Haden and the other servants helping him as arbiters. I’ll have no dishonesty in my ranks, only loyalty and a speedy victory.” He paused, took a deep breath and then yelled, “Are we ready?”

  The reply was a battle cry that seemed to shake the earth.

  Sinoda raised his fist in the air and led his troops down into the valley floor. Narcel stood back with his rescuers as the rest of the team disappeared into the shadows of the valley. His eyes searched for the sunlight reflecting against Lokum’s bronze helmet from across the way, where team Typhoon would be starting their assault. The second blast of a conch shell broke the peace, signaling a battle had taken place and at least one boy captured.

  Narcel glanced at the throng of Valhians gathered on the sidelines to watch, wondering if Kaire was there too. If she was watching, he had to appear strong, in control. His chest puffed out with pride as he looked across his team, making eye contact with each one.