The Ranger (Book 1)
Read The Ranger (Book 1) Online
Authors: E.A. Whitehead
Chronicles of Pallà
:
The Ranger
A Novel by E. A. Whitehead
This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, organizations, entities, etc. are the product of the author’s mind, or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual events is unintentional.
THE RANGER
Copyright © 2014 Ethan Whitehead
All rights reserved
For all those who encouraged or inspired me along the way:
Thank You!
Table of Contents
Chapter 1: A Trip to the River
Chapter 3: The Final Challenge
Chapter 6: The Pallàdrim’s Tale
Chapter 8: The First Assignment
Chapter 13: Shadows of the Past
Chapter 16: Keeper of the Stone
Chapter 20: The Gathering Storm
Prologue
“Fall back!” Someone was shouting, it sounded like the person was close by, but it was hard to make out the words, almost like he had water in his ears. Who was shouting, and why was he on the ground?
“Guardian, you must get up, we need to run,” a different person was saying, pulling him to his feet. He looked at the man who had helped him to his feet. The man wore a strange silver mask that identified him as a Pallàdrim, an elite soldier of the Pallàdian army. It hid his features but still showed his vivid red eyes. He knew those eyes. They belonged to an old friend, Jason. “Nick, you need to move.”
Nick. Yes, that was his name. Nicholas, Guardian of the Royal Family of Pallà. Memory started to flood back to him. They were at war. The Eresian Empire had attacked. The defences on the boarders had been overthrown. And it was all his fault. If he had listened to the prophecies, heeded their warnings, this might not have happened. But it was too late for that.
Nick looked out over the battle field. The plains around the Capital City of Gesta, which had once been lush and green, were now scarred and littered with bodies of the fallen. Both Eresian and Pallàdian clashed still, but that was not the cause of the great devastation. The Magi, the servants of Katrina were tearing through the lines of the Pallàdian army. They were beast-like creatures that killed indiscriminately. In the distance Nick could see the outline of the hulking figure that was the Grand Magi. There was no way to stop him. He was too powerful.
Anger bubbled within Nick; so much death and destruction, and for what? An age old feud between the people of Pallà, who served the Goddess Sandora, and the Magi, who served the Dark Lady Katrina, Goddess of the Abyss. In ages past, Katrina, Mistress of Animals had ruled with Sandora in the High Plain, the realm of the Gods. But Katrina’s rebellion in creating the minotaur caused her to be cast out, banished to the Abyss. Ever since, the servants of Katrina had warred with the servants of Sandora.
The rage continued to grow within Nick, a smile grew on his face as he allowed the power of his token to envelop him. Sandora had not left her people defenceless. She had granted her tokens to her people. The Tokens of the Sandora allowed her knights to manipulate the elements, and her priests to minister to those in need. Nick, having been grated the Token of Fire, could wield fire as an effective weapon.
His hands burst into white flames as he started forming massive balls of fire to throw at the advancing line of Magi. Each of the beasts that were hit by the unnatural fire was immediately consumed, living only long enough for a short yelp of pain before crumbling to the ground.
“Guardian,” Jason urged, “the King has called a retreat. It’s over! There is nothing left to be done here.”
“If I’m going to die, then I plan to take as many of these abominations with me as I can,” Nick growled.
“I have no intention of dying today,” Jason yelled, grabbing Nick by the shoulders and jerking him around to face him, “and the King doesn’t intend for you to die either. Now, we need to regroup.”
Nick was still boiling with rage, but Jason was right. There was nothing to be gained by dying here. With a grunt of frustration Nick turned once more toward the advancing Magi and launched a wave of blue flames at his foes. His frustration grew. He had intended to send white hot flames, but he was tired. Using the power of a token was exhausting.
After watching the front rank of the advancing creatures thrown through the air by the force of the crashing wave of flames, Nick finally turned and followed Jason away from the front of the battle. Just outside the gates to the city, they found the King.
The ruler of what had once been the most powerful realm in all the world leaned against the walls of the city, clutching a deep gash in his side. Four Freya, the female personal guards of the Royal Family flanked him.
“Nick,” the King said between laboured breaths, “I am glad you have come. The day is lost, as, I fear, is the kingdom.”
“Your Majesty, you mustn’t speak like that,” Nick replied, removing the golden mask that identified him as the Guardian. Concern was written across his face. “It is not over yet. We can regroup, launch another assault. They haven’t breached our walls yet. We could hold out for weeks within the walls of Gesta.”
“I have always admired your optimism,” the King smiled, but it was a cold smile, resolved, “but we would only be prolonging the inevitable. How many more of my people would die by continuing to fight? I cannot let that happen. I intend to surrender within the hour. I have already sent an emissary to the Emperor. He is a reasonable man when it counts. He will halt the attack in exchange for our total surrender.”
“If you do this, they will surely kill you,” Nick said softly.
“I am aware,” the smile on the King’s face was gone now. “It is my hope that by giving myself up willingly that they will allow the people of Pallà to continue in our ways, worshipping the Goddess Sandora.”
“Then I shall come with you,” Nick stated firmly.
“No,” the King replied warmly, “they would kill you too. As my general, and as a Pallàdrim, you would be considered too dangerous to be allowed to live,” he paused. “No, Nick, I cannot allow you to come with me. Instead, I have a greater task for you.” The King motioned to the gate and a fifth Freya emerged carrying a small child wrapped in blankets. “Take my child, Nick. My bloodline is descendent from Breen, the first ruler chosen by Sandora. That child is the only hope to one day restore the Kingdom. It may be many generations from now, but one day, the Kingdom of Pallà will rise again. When that day comes the people will need someone to sit on the throne. Do this last thing for me and you will have my eternal gratitude.”
Nick took the child. Despite the destruction and death that raged around them, the child slept soundly. Nick looked back to the King and nodded. He wanted to speak, but the words were caught in his throat.
“The rest of you go too,” the King instructed to the Freya gathered around him. “Spread the word to my officers. They should go into hiding. The Eresians will hunt them down if they don’t. They deserve better than that.”
A tear slid down Nick’s cheek as he turned and walked away from the King with the small child asleep in his arms. The future of Pallà now rested with him.
Chapter 1: A Trip to the River
Vincent Alexander quickly checked to make sure no one was looking before he darted behind one of the larger trees on the grounds of the Abbey of the Golden Sword. He pulled off his ceremonial helmet and laid it on top of the ceremonial shield he had been carrying. He was still adjusting to being required to carry these gaudy pieces of armour. He had completed his training as a Templar Knight in the Order of the Most Holy Sandora only a week before. Ever since then he had been in his ceremonial gear. The final graduation ceremony was to be held that evening. After that, he would be free to wear a more casual suit of armour.
The late spring sun shone through the leaves of the tree, glinting off of his pristinely polished breast plate as he sat next to the tree. The golden hand of Sandora in the center of his breast plate reflected brightly, accenting the royal blue sleeves that billowed out of the breast plate. The ceremonial armour was completely impractical for actual combat, but it was impressive to look at. It had been the impressive look of the armour that had been the tipping point for him five years previously when he had joined the Knight’s Academy.
Now that he thought about it, he would have likely ended up joining the Order eventually anyway. The monks in the Order had raised him since he was orphaned at five. His parents had been killed by a band of thieves that had raided their home. It was the Rangers, a group of elite knights, which had rescued him and brought him to the abbey. He owed everything to the Order.
He paused for a moment; he had been five when he first came to the abbey. It had been sixteen years since then. The abbey was a part of him now. It was his home. Vincent closed his eyes with a sigh as he leaned back against the tree. As much as Vincent enjoyed the training that the Knights put him through, he hated standing guard around the walls. As long as he stayed well out of sight he wouldn’t be put on duty. It was a satisfying feeling.
A shadow suddenly blocked the sun. Vincent grudgingly opened his eyes, rather disgruntled at the disturbance. He was met by the care worn face of Jerome Auna, Master Templar.
Vincent scrambled to his feet with a start in order to salute his commanding officer.
“Sorry Master Auna,” Vincent stammered as he tried to brush the grass from his pants. “I didn’t see you.”
A warm smile graced Master Auna’s face. “Sit down Vincent, please,” he laughed, his red eyes shining happily. “There is no need for you to become so formal all of a sudden. We have been friends since you first came through those gates all those years ago. There is no reason for that to change just because you are a knight now.”
Vincent smiled. Master Auna was an unusual man. No matter how hot it was, he always wore a long sleeved robe, with leather gloves that went high up his arms. Then there were his strange red eyes. If Vincent didn’t know Master Auna as well as he did, he would have probably found them intimidating; but there was something about those eyes, something familiar that Vincent could not quite put his finger on. Somehow, when he saw those eyes, he felt safe.
Auna sat down slowly next to Vincent, adjusting an odd, white hilted sword that looked incredibly old. Auna brushed his long black hair from his face and straightened his crimson robes, the sign of his position. The man looked no older than forty, and his face shone with the light of youth, but it was worn with care and worry. When Vincent spoke to Master Auna, he could sense a depth to the man: vast wisdom, great adventure, and deep sorrow.
“I wanted to ask you if you would accompany the children to the river to go swimming. They’ve been begging me to go all morning.”
“Certainly,” Vincent replied, remembering how much he had enjoyed going to the river when he was younger; it was one of the few pleasures the orphans got while staying at the abbey. “I would be happy to.”
“Good,” Auna said patting him on the back, “Thomas said he would go as well. He is gathering the children behind the abbey, but that will take a few minutes.”
Thomas Honson was Vincent’s training partner in the academy. They shared a room in the dormitories. Thomas was skilled when it came to combat, but less so when it came to dealing with children.