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

  “Let’s move!” Narcel said as he led the way. He smiled to see his team of rescuers following.

  They entered the valley, and it was as if daylight had vanished. He looked at the men following him, wondering how he would manage if these were bronze blades instead of wood replicas. What would it be like to take a life, he wondered. To lose a life? Would he be able to handle losing one of these men in battle, under his command?

  His group rushed forward, cheering. Droplets of morning dew flicked their faces from the disrupted leaves, mud splashed under their feet. Conch blasts sounded from all directions as the skirmishes increased in frequency.

  “Keep together,” Narcel said.

  “Ahead!” a particularly wiry boy named Falan called out as a group of enemy attackers crashed through a nearby bush. They seemed just as startled to see Narcel and his followers. Each group began to circle the other in the clearing. The numbers were about even, though Narcel’s followers were physically smaller.

  “Where’s your brother keeping the standards?” a large boy and friend of Lokum, Melonto, bellowed from the enemy team. He was intimidating with his meaty hands and barrel chest, but Narcel thought him too ignorant to understand the strength of his weight.

  “I wouldn’t tell you even if you were on my team.” Narcel turned to his men. “Escape, I’ll distract them.” He charged straight for the enemy, imagining Kaire watching and clutching her chest with fear and excitement.

  Generally rescuers and saviors were the fast ones, as well as smaller and less useful in a major battle. Narcel’s group of rescuers was no exception, which allowed them to escape the clearing with no trouble. Narcel, on the other hand, had ran straight for Melonto and was now confronted with the seven opposing boys, sticks raised. He darted between failed attacks, smiling as Melonto took a step back. A branch caught, causing the ox of a boy to stumble.

  Narcel saw an opportunity and placed his left foot on the boy’s thigh to propel himself into the air while thrusting down with his training sword. His stick struck Melonto directly on the chest, a fatal stroke in the Game of Standards. Melonto was bound by the rules of the game to surrender himself to prison, but a wicked smile showed he planned otherwise.

  “Arbiter!” Narcel yelled as Melonto picked up his training sword, rubbing his chest where he had been struck.

  The other boys moved around Narcel.

  He sighed in relief as an orange arbiter tunic appeared in the clearing and he recognized the servant of Maigus Hall. “Haden, good. I struck him in the chest.”

  Haden, a boy small for his age of sixteen with wiry black hair, lifted the conch shell to his lips, about to blow when one of Melonto’s boys plowed through him. That wasn’t allowed! The conch shell flew into the air and was lost behind a huckleberry bush. Narcel’s pride crumbled as his success became meaningless, his eyes searching for Charos or one of the others to break this up. No sign of them.

  Melonto joined in the attack on Haden, leaving Narcel in the clear to run. But Haden was the Maigus family servant—Narcel couldn’t just leave him to these bastards. Several attackers turned in surprise as Narcel threw himself against the mountainous pile of boys. Melonto didn’t budge. He turned on Narcel with blood-lust in his eyes and teeth bared.

  Haden looked up from the ground and scrambled away. All attention was on Narcel and the looming Melonto. Narcel gulped, realizing it was hopeless. His arms covered his eyes as if that would hinder the boys from pummeling him.

  The echo of stampeding feet filled the clearing. Narcel opened his eyes, lowering his fists. One Typhoon standard appeared bobbing through the leaves, rushing toward the group that surrounded Narcel. Forty Maelstrom attackers were in pursuit with Sinoda in the lead. Melonto turned pale, and within minutes Charos was blowing his conch for six Typhoon attackers, including Melonto, and one standard bearer to be imprisoned. Only two Maelstrom attackers had been taken. Haden stood on the sidelines, his eyes smiling with gratitude for Narcel’s action.

  Sinoda noticed his younger brother among the cheering boys. “Saved you again did I? I thought it was supposed to be the other way around.” He punched Narcel’s shoulder playfully.

  “Can’t say it wasn’t good timing.” Narcel laughed. “The other standards?”

  “Yes.” Sinoda looked over his attackers and three captains that stood with him. “I have a plan. I’ll send Trill as captain with you. Take your rescuers and get this standard back to my tent. Your boys are fast, and can get through tricky situations. The rest of my boys here will accompany me to retrieve the last two standards. We haven’t lost many, and the way things are going I anticipate a quick victory. Go!”

  Narcel ran alongside the other boys as fast as he could, leaping over fallen trees and under low hanging branches. He only caught a glimpse of green tunics twice and didn’t encounter any problem. The general’s tent appeared ahead. Within moments Narcel stood among his cheering rescuers with two standards among them—a group of Maelstrom attackers had managed to bring the other.

  “I’m going to be looking out for Sinoda and the other standard, if you need anything,” Narcel told his team.

  “Make sure they don’t take too long,” one of his bulkier boys named Brak called out. “I’m really looking forward to the celebration feast. The corn, pheasant, and especially a nice, juicy, ham. If they don’t make it back soon I’m going to start without them!”

  Narcel laughed. He was almost enjoying himself. He approached the general’s tent and looked up to see the line of observers had broken, interspersed along the edge of the valley in hopes of finding better vantage points of the action below. An older man in auburn robes stood beside his daughter, holding her close, with eyes that constantly assessed the men in blue surrounding him. Something about the perfect posture of the man struck Narcel. Even his daughter held an air of importance about her as she looked down her nose at him.

  Their eyes locked and Narcel couldn’t look away. The girl couldn’t have been much older than him. He smiled at the way her maple hair was tied behind. The Valhian girls never wore their hair any way but down. Narcel noticed a sadness about her, despite her superior air, one that filled her cheeks with a rosiness to compliment her maroon robes. He supposed it was natural to feel gloomy when one’s army had just been pushed back from an invasion.

  He made up his mind. Almost forgetting Kaire, he stepped toward the girl. She cocked her head as if confused by his approach, but then her father noticed. He said something to a Valhian beside him, a wide shouldered man with a stern face. The man held out his hand and shook his head at Narcel.

  Narcel paused, recognizing the man to be one of old man Arkist’s sons. It was best not to start trouble with them, even if Narcel was Gaila’s son. He had been too slow in any case. The girl had turned to follow her father up the hill and away from Narcel’s gaze. Arkist’s son shrugged and followed.

  Narcel returned to the blue tent to wait for his brother. His thoughts wandered to the girl more than once, but she was gone. Likely the Northerners would soon move on to another city in Ikarin, and then many more before making the month-long journey back to their own lands. Had there ever been a marriage between a man from Ikarin and a woman from the North? He wondered if he would one day visit the North and see if their legends of immortal beings that drifted with the fog were true. Perhaps he could run away from his family and his obligations and then he might chance upon the girl in maroon robes again.

  He sighed, leaning back on a small stool. His thoughts returned to images of the post-game feast. Generally such a feast would only come at the times of harvest, but with the visitors from the North this year would be different. He still felt the heaviness from the five pounds he had gained from the harvest eight months before. With the added feast this year, he planned on gaining ten more.

  Staring out at the valley and imagining the many fig and olive farms beyond, he noticed the sun had risen directly above now. Myriad birds flew among the trees of the Valley of Winds. He couldn’
t remember the last time he saw so many birds, and wondered if it meant a storm was coming. Narcel squinted as he studied the sky, but found not even a wisp of a cloud. He decided to name the birds, chasing them with his eyes as they darted in and out of the shadows of the branches below.

  He finally closed his eyes, resting for a moment with images of Kaire’s smile floating in his mind. He couldn’t believe he had even bothered to look at the other girl. Kaire was his destiny, he was sure of it.

  Voices called from below and he jumped.

  Victory cries sounded and he rushed out to see a large group of blue tunics flowing through the valley in his direction—at their front was the third green standard, signaling team Maelstrom’s victory. Narcel rushed to join his team. The boys were cheering and pouring water over each other, but Narcel noticed one captain in the back, looking solemn and glum—Sinoda’s friend, Talak.

  “What is it?” Narcel asked. “We’ve won, you should be overjoyed.”

  “Sinoda was next to us in the fight for the second standard,” Talak replied, sweat dripping from his brow.

  Narcel hadn’t noticed the absence of his general and brother. “And?”

  “He appeared from the other side of the hill as we approached the top, and it was clear that we would gain victory. He saw some of Lokum’s captains appear and head for our standard, and instructed us to move on. It was strange that he and five attackers would go to defend our standard when we already had defenders on it, plus the fact that we were about to grab the third of theirs, but I didn’t think anything of it at the time. That was the last I saw of him. He hasn’t returned and I find it odd. I’m sure it’s nothing. But, where could he be?”

  With a nugget of doubt pinching Narcel’s insides, he turned to assess the hills in the distance and the valley below. The air tasted bitter and dry, like the day after a forest fire, and he knew something had happened to his brother.

  Chapter 2: Sinoda’s Disappearance

  Lokum sat in a green tent on the west side of the Valley of Winds, two wooden swords across his thick thighs. His man, Alses, remained nearby, a thin boy of sixteen with crisp forest-green robes. They waited at the General’s tent for their teammates to capture Maelstrom’s standards. Their own three standards had disappeared into the green valley below, held high by boys running, green flags to represent team Typhoon fluttering in the wind.

  His friend Melonto had led the charge. Melonto, the immovable force. How could they lose?

  “When will we attack?” Alses asked, poking his head around the tent flap.

  “Stay at your post,” Lokum commanded. He took a bite of an orange, not bothering to wipe the juice from his chin. “We move when our team has won.”

  It had been the same two years ago during the invasion of the North. Lokum had sat back, commanding grown men, due to his position as nephew to Gaila. The tactic had served him well then, or kept him alive at any rate. He still ground his teeth at the thought of his older cousin, Sinoda, and the praise he received for fighting among his men. Bravery? Lokum called it stupidity. And even worse was what had happened with Charos, the slave. He should have been punished for daring to fight among the true warriors, not rewarded with freedom and certainly not put in charge of the barracks.

  Alses had returned to staring back over the valley, hands at his side and body straight like a spear. “The sunset’s already coming, what if the game’s already over?”

  “For the love of the gods, enough!” Lokum stood and walked to the opening of the tent, one training sword in each hand. “Do I have to disqualify my own teammates?”

  “Sorry, I just wante—”

  “I said shut up.”

  Lokum moved to the edge of the valley and squinted, wondering at the progress of the games. Some said he had only won last year because Narcel had been put in charge, and everyone knew Narcel wasn’t the most inspired when it came to martial affairs. Today was Lokum’s chance to prove he could win against the older brother as well, against Sinoda. Not that he cared, it was a stupid game after all. A show of military prowess to the cravens of the North. In some ways, preparation for a land invasion if it ever came again from the Mawtu to the west.

  “When you see….” his voice trailed off. “What is that?”

  Through the coverage of trees, specks of blue were moving across the valley floor not forty feet away. A flash of sunlight against a bronze war helmet told him Sinoda was among them.

  “Think they have us figured out?” Alses said. “How many times have you played against him?”

  Lokum shook his head. “None officially, at least not with me as General, but many times for fun. What is he doing?”

  Several of the blue shapes below had circled around and seemed to be working their way back in the direction they had come from.

  “They mean to surprise us from the rear,” Alses said. “Smart cousin you have there.”

  Lokum held the point of his wooden sword to Alses’s throat. “What’d I say?”

  “Enough?”

  Lokum turned back to the valley to see three boys in blue continue forward, heading toward the hill north of them.

  “There must be a standard there,” Lokum said.

  “Why would he go with attackers to defend one of his own standards?” Alses said.

  “A diversion?”

  “Or they have no idea where our last standard is?”

  “I don’t know,” Lokum said, “but I’m going to find out.”

  “And me?”

  “You run into the valley and find some men to meet me on the northern hill. I’d say at least one of their standards will be there.”

  Lokum tossed his helmet aside so the boys below wouldn’t see the sunlight glistening off of it and know he was on the move. He had to go in stealth. No path lay in the direction he ran, but he made good time in spite of the overgrowth. He worked his way around the side of the valley instead of going down and then coming up again, though this meant less of a straight shot. Still, within ten minutes he arrived at the hill he was sure Sinoda had been heading toward.

  A roar of war-ready boys rose from the south. He didn’t usually get so excited in these games, but when he saw the group of green-clad boys charging in his direction he knew Alses had been successful. Then it was all confusion. Blue robes appeared around Lokum as hidden boys from team Maelstrom stood to take on his boys from team Typhoon. Two were directly in front of Lokum, so he raised his training swords and struck, turning immediately and retreating up the hill. He felt something pull on the back of his robe and turned to see a large boy from Maelstrom ready to strike. The boy grunted in surprise when Lokum’s kick to the chest sent him rolling backwards down the hill.

  Lokum made it ten paces before turning to look behind. He was out of breath, but otherwise would have sighed with relief to see the two groups clashing below. But where was Sinoda? He turned and saw a streak of blue continuing up the hill. Three boys, he guessed. He ran, cautiously so as not to be seen. The sun caught the bronze of the general’s helmet. Lokum stepped closer, hiding behind reaching ferns and hanging spruces. He looked down, wondering how he could gather enough boys to take them, but then a flash of blue caught his eye. He looked and saw the blue moving east along the valley wall. Sinoda was on the move, but why? Lokum darted forward, no longer caring to hide.

  At the spot where he had seen Sinoda, three paths were easily distinguishable—the one from which the boys had come, the one where they had gone, and Lokum’s own. But he hadn’t seen the bronze moving. He looked around, wondering if he was going insane. He looked up at the trees to see if for some reason Sinoda had chosen to climb and hide, but there was no sign of him. Then he saw it, the flash of bronze, up the hill and away from the action.

  The helmet and breastplate rested beside a tree, on the ground, hastily concealed by reeds. It didn’t make sense. Why was Sinoda going away from the other boys and the game, and why would he leave his gear? Sinoda had always prided himself on being the son of the g
overness, the natural protector of Valhia. He was great with the sword, and unmatched with the spear. Every warrior in Valhia wanted to be him, so why would he risk his reputation by breaking with the traditions of the game? It could only be for a girl.

  Lokum turned, smiling wickedly at the thought of catching Sinoda in the act. It wasn’t that he disliked his older cousin, it was just that with him cut down a notch or two, Lokum would be the best. He would tell the other boys what to do, and they would listen. It was about time. He continued the trajectory he supposed Sinoda to have taken, his excitement growing by the moment, his smile widening with each step.

  In a small clearing not far off, he saw his cousin and threw himself down to hide in the tall grass. Sinoda stood, arm clasped with a titan of a man with a shaved head and scarlet robes. There was no doubt the man was a Mawtu warrior, the leaders of the Kordom alliance. But where had they been when they should have led Kordom to join Ikarin in the defense of all Braze? It was supposedly one land, but the factions often failed to remember that. Someday Lokum planned to hold a spot in Nethian government and change all of that, make sure they stood united even against the smallest of foes, but first he had to pass those damned government tests.

  Lokum found his head spinning at the thought of the Mawtu in Ikarin lands. Was it the invasion the Valhians were in the midst of training for?

  The sun glinted from the Mawtu’s breastplate. Lokum’s voice caught in his throat, suddenly dry. Lokum wanted to yell out, warn the boys below. If the Mawtu were nearby, perhaps it meant Sinoda had committed treason, leading the enemy into the city, right under his mother’s nose.

  Lokum’s gut told him to run, to flee and pretend he had seen nothing. His legs wobbled as he forced himself to stand. He told his legs to run, but they didn’t respond. The Mawtu’s eyes flashed over. Lokum yelped. Instinct took over and he turned to flee, but a moment later a hand slammed his chest. His legs flew into the air and the earth seemed to shake as his back met earth. His vision cleared to reveal a face inches from his own.