The Ashenborn

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2019 by Matthew W. Fenn

  All rights reserved. This book may not be reproduced or stored in whole or in part by any means without the written permission of the author except for brief quotations for the purpose of review.

  ISBN: 978-1-7339945-5-2 (print)

  Fenn. Matthew W.

  The Ashenborn

  Edited by: Elizabeth Russell

  Published by Warren Publishing

  Charlotte, NC

  www.warrenpublishing.net

  Printed in the United States

  Thank you everyone that has encouraged me to do this. I’m blessed beyond measure. I especially want to thank my wife Keri for all she has done to push me to pursue my dream of writing.

  Prologue

  The man’s body shook as he held the enchanted weapon in front of him. He was sweating, and the veins in his forehead protruded. He gritted his teeth and tightened his grasp on the ancient weapon.

  “Once more,” he said, his chest heaving.

  The cloaked figure across from him hesitated, then opened the crimson-colored book and flipped through the yellowed and torn pages.

  “If you insist,” he responded as he lifted a hand toward the twilight sky.

  Bolts of golden flames poured from his palms—a shower of golds and yellows. They fell onto the ground like rain and soaked into the dry sand. The dirt sparked and shook as a tentacle-like light rose from it. The tentacles wove themselves around the cloaked man, interlocking and solidifying into a dome of pearlescent gold. The cloaked man was outlined in blinding electricity.

  “Do not hold back your strike!” the cloaked man shouted, his amplified voice reverberating from inside the dome.

  The man clenched his teeth as the ruby and obsidian stones within the pommel of the weapon began to glow.

  He yelled as he charged. The sword whistled beside him as he ran. He cleared the distance and raised the sword high above him. He used all his strength as the blade arced downward, slamming into the magical barrier. The aura vibrated but stopped the blade and held it rattling in place.

  The man breathed heavily and lowered himself to one knee as the blade sank into the dirt, leaning on the hilt to steady himself.

  The cloaked man lowered his hand and looked at the barrier with interest.

  “You managed to scratch it this time,” he said, pointing at a cut in the aura.

  As he spoke, a cracking noise ripped through the air, catching the man’s attention. The cloaked man’s eyes widened as the aura cracked and splintered into smaller pieces of glass and light.

  The man wiped away the sweat from his brow with a fierce look on his face.

  “Are you satisfied now?” the cloaked man said. “You have finally reached your goal.”

  The man rose, a glint in his eye.

  “Not yet,” the man said. “Not yet.”

  He sheathed the weapon behind him and sighed.

  “What now?” the cloaked man asked.

  “You take me to him. As you promised.”

  The cloaked man nodded. “But first what we agreed upon.”

  The man reached into his pocket and tossed a bag of coins to him.

  Without looking, the cloaked man snatched it from the air and eyed its contents.

  “I will take you to him.” The cloaked man smiled, a poisonous look in his eyes. “What do you intend to do?”

  The man narrowed his eyes.

  “I plan to kill him,” he answered.

  The cloaked man looked at him with surprise. “Kill him?”

  The man wielding the sword cleared his throat. “Yes. It is time to release those who are bound in chains.”

  The crackle of magic filled the air.

  “Even if it means taking from one to give to another.”

  Chapter 1

  Lifesveil

  Elder Derrick hurried toward the glass chest; although the chest was clear, the contents were hidden. With a wave of his dark crimson sleeve, the chest opened with a solid thud that resonated throughout the ornate, yet empty, temple. Reaching within the chest, his dark, wrinkled hands pulled out several glowing fragments of stone.

  The stones appeared to be gems of the common variety at first glance, but they glowed as he touched them, indicating their significance. Colors of various shades illuminated Elder Derrick’s weathered face, making his grayish-brown hair look multicolored in the gleam of the stones’ light. His eyes widened as the fragments began to shake gently in his hand. Bolts of color burned from them as the stones warmed. He let out a grimace. Furrowing his brow, he placed the opposite hand over them, extinguishing their light. He closed his eyes and muttered something indistinguishable. In a moment, his eyes snapped open.

  “Bring me a parchment and seal,” the old voice spoke.

  An attendant standing nearby bowed, grabbed the requested items, and returned hastily.

  “Is something wrong?” the young man asked.

  “Surely,” the elder answered. “But nothing that cannot be solved.”

  The attendant handed him the parchment, which was decorated with strokes of gold and silver. He also produced a fine gold dragon-claw seal that was intended to address the scroll.

  “Bring a candle as well,” Elder Derrick requested, rubbing his temples. “My eyes are not quite what they used to be.”

  The flame of the candle added additional light to that of the already flickering torches. Elder Derrick wrote a simple message with a quick stroke of the feathered quill and wrapped the parchment carefully, pressing the red ink into the cup and upon the letter. He grabbed a sword beautifully decorated with rubies and sapphires from the wall. He dipped the dragon-inscribed hilt into the ink and carefully pressed it onto the parchment beside the dragon claw. The symbol depicted a mountain with a dragon flying around it. That was his specific signature among the order. Each symbol, depending upon rank, was different from the other. Derrick himself was one of the higher ranking members of his order.

  I’m not sure what good that will do, he thought, when things need to be righted among them. He shook his head and rubbed his temples again.

  “Have a bird deliver this immediately,” he said as he wiped ink off the hilt with a cloth and tied the sword to his belt.

  The attendant bowed and left through the large, ornately decorated door, the main entrance of the temple. Derrick looked around the immense open space before him. Stones decorated the floors, with illustrations depicting battles of the past. Dragons and knights were interspersed with spirals of ancient symbols whose meanings were long forgotten. The flickering torch light caused the markings to appear to ripple with regal flashes of wine red and shimmering gold. In the expanse were fine linens and an altar separated by dense cloth and rope.

  A place of calm and learning, Elder Derrick thought as he looked around. A place of peace.

  With a sudden burst of light, the door creaked open.

  “My apologies, Elder,” said a familiar voice, “but the king wishes your company.”

  “Tritus,” Derrick replied with a hint of amusement in his voice. “It seems coincidental us meeting like this.”

  Tritus looked at him questioningly, one eyebrow raised. The man standing before Derrick was a newly enlisted soldier of the King’s Guard. He was no more than twenty years, and already he had a hint of a black moustache and beard forming on his smooth skin. Derrick was fond of him because
he always sought new knowledge to better himself and always had so many questions.

  “I was headed that way myself,” Derrick said, shaking his head. “I am surprised you don’t have any more questions to ask.”

  Tritus stepped aside, bowing as he did so.

  “I am on my way to guard duty,” Tritus said. “I have no questions yet, but the day is young. My apologies, Elder, but the king wanted me to inform you that this matter is best attended to with haste.”

  Derrick nodded. “Then I must waste no time in responding to his summons.”

  Tritus bowed again and excused himself.

  “How the young grow, and the old remain old,” Derrick chuckled to himself. His thoughts turned to the king’s summons. For the king to require haste meant the matter was of extreme importance. Derrick was thoughtful as he walked the marble path past a few houses leading up to the castle. The grandiose marble stronghold shone brightly in the morning light. The castle stood on the furthermost edge of the mountain, and from it stretched thick, fortified walls that surrounded the kingdom of Lifesveil. These barriers, despite having seen battle in the past, gleamed as white as if they had never seen a day of conflict.

  Derrick smiled with pride at the sight of the many houses of straw and stone scattered throughout the inner safety of the walls. The incandescence of something so massive made him feel small, despite the importance that he carried among the people. He passed the blacksmith’s shop, blackened from the continual use of fire for the benefit of the kingdom. The flags of Lifesveil could be seen fixed upon the many watch towers built into the walls. The stone path, worn from use, led him straight to the large doorway that opened into the castle of Alanias, the king of Lifesveil. Two flags swayed in the wind; the highest was a white flag bearing the image of a white dragon outlined in black, roaring and spewing gold flames. Below it was the flag of Lifesveil, which possessed the same decoration as the seal on Derrick’s sword—a dragon circling a mountain. The highest flag represented High King Archkyris, who ruled over the entire realm of Yadir.

  The Ashenborn temple was relatively close to the castle, not only for convenience but to symbolize its importance. Elder Derrick approached the entrance and found it guarded by four men dressed in copper chain mail. Hanging from their necks were chains strung with single silver claws representing their rank among the Guard. The claw that Derrick wore was golden, signifying his authority. Only royalty or the highest of the guard of Lifesveil or generals could wear a golden talon. By his count, there were six other than himself who possessed the golden symbol.

  The guards nodded and parted as the chains were cranked, opening the gateway to the passage of the king. The massive columns of stone moved, and fragments of mirrored stone shone as they tilted in sunshine. Several nobles greeted Derrick along the way, and though he acknowledged them, his attention was preoccupied with his own thoughts. He snapped back to his surroundings to find that he was outside the war room. The king could often be found in the war room, a meeting place of great importance.

  The servant leading Derrick bowed graciously as he entered, and with a gesture from the king, he announced the arrival of the graying and prudent elder. Derrick was impressed by the regal look of the king’s golden crown, inlaid with white opals and sparkling rubies. It was not often that the king chose to wear his crown.

  King Alanias was adorned in pale blue garb with the emblem of Lifesveil stitched upon it, a dragon like that of many who served under the greater rule of the High King. Standing next to the king was General Zarx, who was significantly younger than both the king and the elder. Zarx was middle-aged but had the complexion of one who was no more than twenty. His hair was jet black and stood in stark contrast to the white of Alanias’ head. The general boasted a reddish beard, and beneath it, a golden talon hung from his neck. Zarx was the first to acknowledge Derrick. Zarx respected Elder Derrick but did not approve of the magic that he and other members of his order, the Ashenborn, possessed.

  “Elder Derrick Ashen-Elder,” he said, putting a hand to his chest and bowing slightly.

  Elder Derrick returned the motion, surprised at the show of respect from the general, and turning to Alanias, bowed longer and lower.

  “Your Highness, and General,” Elder Derrick said, nodding to each of them.

  Alanias smiled “You have no need to call me ‘Your Highness;’ you are my equal and more than I could ever hope to define. But if you must continue to call me so, then that is your choice.”

  Elder Derrick blinked. “My king, you honor me.” Bowing again for good measure, he added, “Besides, I would show honor to my king.”

  Zarx turned back to the large scroll sprawled out on the wooden table in front of him. The table was large enough to seat a war counsel of thirty if circumstances so required.

  Elder Derrick joined the two men and examined the scroll, noting that it was a scale map of Yadir, including a limited portion of five islands to the south called the Minos Isles, a region outside of the High King’s realm. Of the kingdoms under the reign of Archkyris there were seven, one being Lifesveil, where they resided. The closest to them were the kingdoms of Malfait to the north and Mavet to the south.

  “We have received word of a disturbing situation. One that should alarm the ears of all who hear it,” Zarx said hoarsely.

  “What is it?” Derrick asked, untying his sword and placing it beside Zarx’s sword, which lay against the far wall. This was out of respect and often symbolic of equal footing within this specific room. The king’s royal sword rested upon the same wall.

  Alanias watched him with interest.

  “Hroth, of Mavet, has sent word that a small battalion stands at his gates,” Alanias said. “He seems unable to deal with it at this time.”

  “What makes this any more unusual than usual?” Derrick asked. “It’s not like Hroth makes friends with everyone. Barbarians dwell in the mountains in the south; he has done nothing other than kill and route them. I imagine I would respond in kind.”

  Zarx snorted in amusement.

  “This is correct, Elder, but the description and circumstances say otherwise,” Zarx said. “These are not giant men of the mountains.” He pointed to the kingdom of Mavet on the map, a hand’s length away from Lifesveil. His finger made a dull thump as he tapped the map.

  “Hroth sent word that after examining the combatants, he saw the mark of the reaper’s hammer upon their cloaks, which oddly enough, covered all their faces.”

  “The symbol of Mavet? Are the people of Mavet going to attack themselves?” Derrick said. “It is simple to conclude the barbarians merely stole these garments from Mavet and want to cause trouble.”

  Alanias nodded. “That’s what Zarx and I were discussing before you arrived. However, when Hroth sent men to meet the battalion, they provided a more curious report.”

  Alanias opened a scroll he had in his hand and began to read aloud. “They burned our men with what we believe to be magical flame, and when archers fired arrows, they pierced them, but none succumbed to mortal wounds.”

  Zarx rolled his eyes. “Hearing it a second time makes me wonder how Hroth rules his kingdom, too often calling us to aid for something that he could easily handle himself. A few juveniles with swords could easily deal with this supposed problem.”

  Derrick cast him an amused look.

  Alanias’ gaze was fixed upon Zarx for a moment before he slowly turned to Elder Derrick.

  “I asked you here because magical fire is cause for concern, and I would think it would be wise to have your opinion on a response. You alone are the most qualified in dealings such as these.”

  “Let them figure it out,” Zarx growled. “Whoever it is threatens war. If we become involved it may cause further conflict.”

  “We could remain aloof, but Mavet is a key merchant trader. They are an ally, so any war or battle would result in us assisting them. Eve
n if it may be foolish,” Alanias said flatly, remaining focused on Derrick’s face.

  “There is that issue …” Zarx said with a smirk.

  Elder Derrick ran his fingers through his own beard.

  “A reaper’s hammer,” he said, speaking of a weapon specific to royalty that resided in Mavet. A scythe and battle hammer forged together. A weapon such as that would cause immense damage to any who crossed its path in hostility.

  “Is there any detail as to what made the fire?” Derrick said thoughtfully, his gaze elsewhere.

  “None has been specified,” Zarx replied. “My opinion is it is nothing but smoke.”

  “What do you think, Elder?” Alanias asked again.

  “This is speculation, but I believe it could be linked to something that alarmed me earlier in the temple,” Derrick said.

  Zarx gave him an inquisitive look.

  “The dragon eyes have begun to pulsate and shine hues of color, unlike the usual dull color that they possess,” Derrick said.

  Alanias’ eyes gleamed with excitement.

  “They are kindling, as the Ashenborn put it?”

  Derrick nodded. “Their power can be felt from within the temple. I have sent word to the Ashenborn.”

  Zarx scratched his hand.

  “What would this signify?” he asked, turing to Alanias. “Forgive me; I do not have much experience in dealing with magic stones.”

  Elder Derrick put his right wrist outward. Bright shards of light pulsated under his skin.

  “My Ashenstone’s natural hue is a reddish brown, signifying the power that I carry. With it, it enhances my already natural magic. Its power to bond with another is at its fullest when it begins to glow. The oldest of us can feel them. When the stones glow, called the kindling, the Ashenborn then are able to bestow the right to use its power.”

  “When this occurs, it means that new Ashenborn will enter the world,” Alanias finished Derrick’s words.