.​The Secret of the Sunstones
Book 1:
The Wanton Kingdom
By Jeffrey Howard
~ Updated 10-29-2015 ~
wan·ton (wÅn-tÉ™n)
adj.
As flies to wanton boys, are we to the gods? They kill us for their sport.
- William Shakespeare
Author's Overview / Forward
Hello SparkaTale Readers,
I wanted to reach out to this community to share a project that I've been working on for many years. It began as a fan fiction of the Final Fantasy IV video game, but evolved into something very different. While it maintains a fantasy/adventure genre and shares some plot elements with the original, I've put a ton of work into the backstory and character development, and altered many of the major story line elements to take the story in a brand new direction.
The story spans three books, and I've designed them to stand on their own for a general fiction audience unfamiliar to the original work. I've already finished the first two books, and have a full outline for the third. I've also had extensive cooperation from beta-readers from the Fanfiction sister site, who have given me tons of feedback, which I've put towards major revisions. I hope that readers here will appreciate the extra quality I've put into it, since I feel it's time to expand my reader base to a broader category of fiction readers.
I've put an enormous amount of work into developing what I think is a unique and interesting narrative that builds as the books progress. Although the story starts out within the framework of another story line (as mentioned above), it evolves into something very different. For this reason, I'm not interested in publishing this or trying to make money off of it. All I want to do is share my personal hobby and years worth of hard work to readers who can appreciate it. I've put exquisite detail into developing the plot, timelines, and events. The story itself unfolds as a gradual reveal, which peels the layers of the onion with each chapter, taking the reader deeper into a complex yet fulfilling narrative, filled with twists and surprises. Hundreds of hours of meticulous note taking and revisions have worked the plot to create a truly compelling experience.
It would mean a lot to me if readers here would take a look, and offer reviews as they follow along with the story. If anyone here has any critiques or suggestions, please feel free to reach out and send feedback of any kind. I love critical feedback just as much as any other. I hope you enjoy my work, and I extend a huge thanks to anyone willing to read and provide a review.
Graciously yours,
-Jeffrey Howard
Updates
12-01-2015: First publish.
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2: Book 1, Chapter 1, Part 1Chapter I. A Prelude
- Part I -
Evening of Quartus, Twenty-Eighth Day of Harvestmoon
The world of Gaia was filled with magic and mystery. A prosperous civilization flourished there, filled with humans who busily went about their lives, ignorant of the danger that lurked in their midst. Somewhere within its thousand-year prison, a long-forgotten consciousness stirred in its ancient sleep. The time approached when it would be freed, to once again reign anarchy and destruction upon the world.
Ignorant of this threat, mankind instead focused on rebuilding their lives. After years of bitter conflict, the event referred to as "The War" had finally ended. Peace followed, and their world spun in the midst of a revolution that combined a long history of wizardry with newfound science and technology. It brought order and convenience—and best of all, prosperity to the masses.
Social and economic changes swept throughout the continent, driven in large part by the mighty empire known as Angkor. Two of its neighbors—Koba and Kitezh—had initiated the War over a border dispute, and had mounted a considerable challenge. Despite their combined advantage in size and resources, Angkor emerged victorious. It was largely due to the military brilliance of one man.
Bram Morrison was part of a corps of men known as Gnostic Knights. They were highly experienced combatants used for missions of strategic importance. Loyal to the king and feared throughout the land, they trained to be cold-hearted killers. They made a formidable force during the War, but in the two years of peace since, their kingdom's dependence on them lessened. The king's court no longer deemed their particular specialization as necessary, especially as power shifted from military generals to bankers and businessmen.
The kingdom still used Gnostics for covert operations and foreign intelligence, but Bram feared his career stood on the brink of obsolescence. In order to justify their continued existence, the government would invent frivolous missions to evaluate their usefulness outside of traditional duties. However, these ordeals often tested the patience of the Knights as well as the coffers of the king. With this in mind, Bram felt particularly uneasy over his new mission.
He ran a hand through his argent colored hair, which fell in thick waves down to his shoulders. It was not a sign of age, but rather a distinctive trait since as far back as he could remember. In stark contrast, his skin had a youthful appearance with medium complexion, and his face was clean-shaven and chiseled. His build was muscular, with broad shoulders and thick forearms from years of training. He carried a strong presence with the kind of poise that turned the heads of those around him.
His features were different from other Angkorians, but he had no way to trace his heredity, since he was raised by foster parents. He had no memory of his blood parents, but the mother and father who raised him provided plenty of care and nurturing, despite having come from an impoverished village beyond the outskirts of Angkor's capital. It was a farming community, with a lifestyle filled with grit and moil. Bram was no stranger to hard work in his youth.
Despite his humble beginnings, he hungered for strength and knowledge. Rather than commit himself to the fields, he attended the Academy—and later enlisted in the army, where he out-trained his peers and grew quickly in rank. In only a few years, he became one of the youngest to reach the rank of Gnostic.
It came with the benefit of captaining his own personal aircraft. Bram's ship was an early design, modeled after ships of the sea. It included brandished white masts, wooden hulls, and on-deck cannons—everything a person might expect from a machine that doubled as a sea-faring vessel, except that it could race through the sky at great speeds. A precise combination of science and wizardry kept it afloat, and although newer models sported even more marvelous innovations, Bram preferred the speed and agility that made the Heron the envy of the king's fleet.
His relationship with His Majesty began years ago when he served as an ensign under the command of General Richard Cromwell. That year, Angkor's monarch—along with the heir—died in a supposed traveling accident. Political chaos ensued, and Angkor's most powerful and influential vied for control. General Cromwell used his military expertise and impeccable war record to make a move for the Crown. After eliminating his opponents, he became the first king in Angkor's short history to originate outside the royal family.
Though Bram and the new king shared a strong history, Richard grew increasingly distant since the War's end. He shifted alliances to those who furthered his ambitions, and seemed to lose interest in old loyalties. In the past, Bram picked and chose his own missions, but now various layers of bureaucracy altered the chain of command. He no longer reported directly to his liege, but rather through a series of middlemen, each less trustworthy than the last. And finally—he faced the culmination of all his distaste and frustration.
At first, his mission statement read more like an errand, but for reasons he did not understand, it was given the highest priority. By special writ, he was ordered to escort a newly appointed chancellor to a region known as Minoa, which lay across the Great Ocean. Here was a village far from Angkor's interests, holding little else but the resident wizards, as well as the scores of refugees who ended up there following the War. In most cases, Bram maintained a genuine respect for these old scholars—but the ones in Minoa held no allegiance to any political leader. Instead, they followed some kind of village elder who remained forever hidden from public view.
He considered what might have suddenly attracted Angkor's interests to this pitiful village on the Southern Continent. He knew of just one point of interest—an old artifact known as a sunstone that had once been worshipped as having a divine connection with the Goddess of the planet. Minoa was one of four dwellings of these so-called sacred objects. Although believers of Gaia had maintained a lore of otherworldly power, many respected scholars had researched the sunstones over the centuries and produced no such evidence. Bram did not believe the stories either, but he knew of nothing else that would draw his king's intense interest.
The nations of Kitezh and Koba each held their own sunstones, but if these objects held any intrinsic powers, they did nothing to help these countries during the War. Both once stood as mighty empires, but Angkor defeated their military forces and shattered their economies. Although their prior rulers were allowed to maintain governance, the nations themselves became puppets to Angkor's influence. Vineta—home of the eight clerics—housed the final sunstone. It was a country far on the outskirts of the continent, with an economy too small to engage in political relations.
Bram once thought the same of Minoa. He saw little value from a sty adorned with living conditions that only Angkor's livestock would envy. Clearly King Richard would not have sent his most venerable resources, unless there was something of high value—but if it were not for the sunstone, then what else? Bram made it a policy never to start a mission based on vague orders, but he could not avoid it this time. It left him feeling anxious.
From his personal quarters, he calmed his mind by staring out the window of his aircraft. He sat at an old oak desk, letting the disappearing rays of a setting sun warm his skin, while taking in deep breaths of crisp ocean air. From a thousand spans above the water, he watched as delicate waves reflected slivers of sunlight that danced in a myriad of golden hues. The view never failed to elicit a sense of wonder.
His meditation was interrupted by a pounding on the door. It was rude and deliberate—the harbinger of an impatient visitor. He tore himself from the view to beckon the person inward.
"Come in."
A middle-aged man stormed through the door, dressed in dark silken robes with golden embroidery. His long, blond hair was pulled back and slick, and his high cheekbones and carefree expression suited his role as a mid-ranking politician. His name was Virgil Garvey, and he was the very same chancellor whom Bram was ordered to escort to Minoa. A prideful air surrounded him, and he never even bothered to ask forgiveness for barging in uninvited.
"Captain—it's time I revealed the details of the mission."
Bram had waited long enough for this briefing, and felt it apt to make his displeasure known. "It's about time, Mister Garvey. Your orders may supersede mine for the time being—having come directly from the king—but you'd best learn quickly not to keep a Gnostic waiting."
"There's no need for formalities, Abraham. My orders do indeed come directly from His Majesty, and you'd best remember that."
Bram did not appreciate the tone of disrespect, much less the condescending use of his birth name. Gnostic Knights stood at the highest rank, and for the most part they achieved respect through fear and intimidation. Perhaps it was the look of arrogance in the chancellor's face that angered Bram the most, for he knew he would hold very little influence over this subordinate.
"First tell me why we're here," Bram began. "What's the king's interest in a place like Minoa?"
"You mean to say you haven't surmised?" Virgil returned with an unmistakable smirk. He clearly enjoyed pulling rank with his temporary status and privileged information.
Bram's tone darkened, wondering what game the chancellor was playing. He contained his indignation and pressed for further details. "I presume we're here for the sunstone, though last I heard from the Angkorian government, the sunstones were—and I quote— 'Nothing more than the tawdry ornaments of a dead religion.' The king wouldn't send a force of our might to strip Minoan zealots of a worthless icon."
He spoke of the Gaian Priests, an ancient organization, but one whose teachings had recently grown in popularity following in the War's end. This was especially true in areas such as Minoa, which accepted many refugees that had been displaced in the aftermath of battles on the Northern Continent. Like most others, Bram found it irrational to put his faith in a faceless deity—but even so, he recognized the desperation brought about by the horrors of war.
He continued, his tone cynical. "Am I now to believe that Angkor wishes to research the sunstones, even while countless others have failed? How much is the government willing to throw forth in resources, just to arrive at the same conclusion? Or have you somehow unearthed something new?"
As he intended, the remark caused a reaction. It lasted only a moment, and was nothing more than a twitch of Virgil's brow, but he knew how to notice such subtleties. "Don't be presumptuous," the chancellor responded curtly, clearly hiding something. "Besides, the details are classified. All you need to know is that the sunstone is our objective, and the king is willing to expend any cost necessary to retrieve it."
Bram nearly broke out in laughter before he realized the chancellor was serious. Virgil's darkening mood added to the gravity in the room.
"What kind of fool do you take me for, Mister Garvey? I'm a Gnostic Knight, in command of the king's most elite squadron. His Majesty would not deploy us for such a trivial bounty, and I demand the truth. Why are we really here? We haven't lived through war to become gambits in someone's political game."
"This is not a game, Mister Morrison," Virgil returned in a level tone, "and you'd do well to take it more seriously. I'll only state that the king's intelligence in this matter has been well vetted."
Bram could no longer tolerate the chancellor's obliqueness. "I've had enough of your secrets! If the sunstone were so important, then why am I speaking to a newly appointed chancellor, rather than a member of His Majesty's senior staff? I demand to know the true purpose of this mission, or so help me—"
He had not intended to lose control, but his voice was filled with anger. The chancellor's eyes narrowed. "I don't take orders from you, Mister Morrison—and neither does the king need to inform his Gnostics of every detail. If I were you, I'd put some trust in my liege, and carry out this mission without further insubordination."
With that said, Virgil walked toward the door. Before leaving, he looked over his shoulder and tossed out one final remark. His forefinger pointed accusingly. "Remember where you came from, Gnostic. You didn't start your life in Angkor's good graces. If you're not careful, you'll have nothing to protect you!"
The thinly veiled threat left Bram speechless. He scarcely believed that a mere chancellor had mustered such audacity—but Virgil quickly departed, slamming the door shut behind him.
Disrespect of this magnitude was unheard of to an officer of Bram's rank. Anyone else would have feared for his life. Regardless of the king's mandate, Virgil would pay for his insolence. Bram decided he would use his influence to unseat the impudent man upon his return to Angkor. A smile crept upon his lips, as darkness descended in the cabin. The sun had set, and the rush of air caused by Virgil's hasty departure had blown out the night lamp. Yet Bram stewed in his seat a moment longer, contemplating how to gain the upper hand.
3: Book 1, Chapter 1, Part 2Chapter I. A Prelude
- Part II -
Before Daybreak of Diapente, Twenty-Ninth Day of Harvestmoon
Rosalyn Reynolds heaved a sigh of disappointment as she absentmindedly stirred her cup of chamomile tea and honey. The mixture had long since blended, but the repetitive exercise served to placate her troubled mind.
She was the only child of Tom Reynolds, a substantially wealthy and influential banker, who raised her to be one of Angkor’s most privileged. Her upbringing offered a wide open world, filled with wondrous places, famous people, and important events.
Many considered her quite beautiful, with long voluminous blond hair, light complexion, and a supple feminine figure with athletic build. Her deep brown eyes and long lashes attracted the attention of men all around her, many of whom had asked for her hand over the years. In spite of the attention of many qualified suitors, she had already given her heart to the brilliant war hero and Gnostic Knight, Bram Morrison.
Sadly, things had not worked out as she had planned. As she sat and stared into her teacup, she wondered if she had chosen the wrong path. She had once followed different dreams, but had long since cast them aside.
They began long ago, when she was inspired as a child. For hours at a time, she would sit in her room and read tales of the legendary Vinetan healer and wizard, Isabella Clairvaux. They told of an unlikely heroine who brought a prince back from the dead after Bake-kujira—the great leviathan of the sea—had swallowed him whole. The two eventually fell in love and lived together, forever, in happiness.
The children’s tales helped her to foster an interest in the White Arts, which Rosa pursued through dutiful studies. Wizards often required years of academia to master their art, but Rosa’s instructors claimed she had been born with unique potential. Given enough years of scholarly research, she could one day be among the most powerful wizards of her time.
Unfortunately, after her first few years of schooling, the government shut down her classroom and placed its students on the battlefield. It was during the War’s later years, when Angkor was desperate for additional forces to gain ground against its enemies. Bram was a soldier at the time, climbing the ranks of the king's army, and somehow chance had brought them together.
As they fought side by side, they built trust and shared in mutual hardships. Through struggle and conflict, a relationship blossomed. He seemed to be the prince for whom she had long searched—and thinking her tale now over—she withdrew from her study of magic and utilized her repertoire to join him in battle.
Sadly, the partnership did not last. In the years of peace following Angkor’s victory, Gnostics faded into obscurity while white mages returned to academia—all except for Rosa, of course. She aimed for a quieter life, while Bram continued his work for the king. She knew he loved and trusted her with his soul, but could not deny his heart belonged to the knighthood. Slowly, boredom and complacency strained their bond.
During the previous night, he took off unexpectedly for another of his impromptu missions. As with other departures, he left her nothing but a short message from the chambermaid. She never even had the chance to say goodbye. Of course, given the opportunity she would have gleefully obstructed his flight. After all, the War was over and she wanted him to retire and help to raise a family.
For some reason, he always seemed against the idea, claiming he would do anything to avoid the pompousness of the Angkorian aristocracy. Instead, he wanted to defend and protect his kingdom—which was nonsense! Angkor no longer needed his protection. Meanwhile, she had a responsibility to uphold her family’s name—something her father demanded she adhere to. If the man with whom she dared to share a household were not to stand by her side, it would bring shame and embarrassment to her entire family.
Why would he not make a few sacrifices for her, after all she had given up for him? Her studies, her dreams, her youth—it all seemed to have been in vain. She shed a tear, wishing things would go back to the way they used to be.
These thoughts circled in her head like the chamomile leaves in her teacup. She had awoken before sunrise, a habit picked up during the War. She often drank a cup or two of tea to start her morning, but these days she seemed to waste her morning hours feeling sorry for herself, rarely venturing forth from the sitting room of her manor house.
Meanwhile, the chambermaid sat across from her, in an apparent state of extreme boredom. She was a young little biddy with straight brown hair pulled tightly in a bun, and a crooked nose. Her eyebrows were raised in sympathy, but her true feelings were revealed by the way her eyes wandered around the room while she discreetly cleaned her teeth with her tongue. A ruder and more inconsiderate girl she had not met!
“There, there,” the young girl said. If she was attempting to add words of comfort, it was not working. “Soldiers aren’t bred to be considerate, you know.”
“What would you know of it?” Rosa snapped back, annoyed at the complete and utter thoughtlessness. “You mustn’t be more than what—thirteen?”
“Fourteen, milady,” the maid responded as she picked up the teapot from the table. “Would you care for some more?”
Rosa let the question steep. She needed some fresh air and an escape from her servant’s pitying eyes. “I’m going to the market,” she announced, frustrated.
“Milady, it’s still far too early,” the maid protested. “The shop keeps must still be in bed at this hour. Why not send one of your attendants—”
“Do not attempt to tell me when I can leave my own home,” Rosa scolded. “The fact is, I need some fresh air. I’m trained in the White Arts and can take care of myself, you know.”
“As you wish, milady,” the young girl responded meekly. Smoothing her dress, she moved about the room in a caricature of acting busy. Rosa ignored the feeble attempt, and wondered how she ever let her father talk her into hiring such a useless girl. She supposed it was his prerogative, after all, since he did own the manor house itself. She and Bram merely lived there on behalf of his grace.
She took the stairs to her ornate foyer, where an assiduous butler drew an overcoat around her shoulders. After walking outside and closing the gate behind her, she noticed the ash-colored evergreen shrubs and miserable looking flower beds that served as landscaping around her front entrance. She shook her head in disapproval.
A month ago, the groundskeeper left to return to his family in Vineta, a country to the west. He was one of many who made an effort to reconnect with loved ones following the War’s end. Bram had promised to find a replacement, but like so many of his responsibilities, he neglected to follow through. To start over now would cost at least a hundred silver coins. Rosa wondered if the man had a care in the world outside of the knighthood.
Her downed spirits followed as she slowly and casually headed toward the district’s central courtyard. She enjoyed the cool morning air as the sky turned orange above her. She was just starting to relax and forget her worries, when a middle-aged man with a brown mustache and dressed in a dark suit approached her.
“Who are you?” she asked.
“You may call me Andrews, Madam,” he responded politely.
Rosa recognized the man. “That’s right, you work for my father, don’t you?”
Andrews smiled and offered a slight tip of his head. “I was planning to seek you at the manor, but it seems you saved me a trip. Your father requests your presence.”
Rosa’s chest constricted, as she usually associated these discussions with bad experiences. “I’m busy,” she lied.
“I’m certain you can make time for your errands later, Madam,” he said, hinting that she had little choice in the matter.
Rosa straightened her posture and held her head up high. “Very well, then. I know the way, myself—thank you very much.” She was not about to let this servant of her father’s escort her like a child.
Andrews tipped his head again and walked away. She did not suppose she would be able to avoid the confrontation at this point, so she changed direction and headed towards her father’s place of business, the Royal Bank of Angkor.
4: Book 1, Chapter 1, Part 3Chapter I. A Prelude
- Part III -
Morning of Diapente, Twenty-Ninth Day of Harvestmoon
Bram Morrison’s airship was swift and sturdy, but flying across the Great Ocean held many dangers to the unseasoned soldier. Surviving the flight required an ever-vigilant eye and a ready sword, which was why he was quick to awaken and don his Gnostic armor within minutes of hearing the ship’s battle horn.
“Captain, we’ve encountered spawn,” his lieutenant explained the moment he emerged onto his ship’s deck.
The term referred to a class of creature whose recent appearance meant a new threat to mankind. Unlike Gaia’s native plant and animal species, these vermin only appeared in recent history. People first reported them feeding upon the dead and mortally wounded in the aftermath of battles. They were dangerous, aggressive, and ferociously attacked anyone who approached them. And yet, their origin was a mystery, as if they spawned from the battlefields themselves—a tale that earned them their notorious name.
“What’s the status, lieutenant?” asked Bram.
“We’ve run into a wave of chiroptera, sir—”
No sooner had the lieutenant said this when a series of dark leathery shapes approached. They were airborne creatures that resembled bats, but their size was as large as a human torso. Their wings seemed almost too small to lift their bloated bodies, and their sharp teeth and one-eyed faces gave them a monstrous appearance. They lacked the grace and agility of other flying spawn, but they attacked in large numbers, making them just as dangerous.
Even so, they were no match for the skill of a Gnostic Knight. Bram’s sword was in his hands in moments. It was an enchanted blade, imbued by black wizards with the most powerful curses and toxins known to man. Even a small nick against a person’s flesh would be lethal—and fortunately, it worked just as well on spawn.
He and his lieutenant ran to outflank the swarm from either side. With a series of rapid thrusts and slashes, Bram’s sword tore through the creatures’ leathery hides, hacking off pieces of them at a time. His own battle rage formed a synergy with the blade’s magical aura, adding to its strength. Dismembered wings and snouts fell upon the ship’s deck as he cut through their numbers.
His lieutenant had also done a fair job of downsizing the vermin, leaving Bram to take a breather while admiring the pile of carcasses before him. With the immediate danger out of the way, he looked down the length of his ship to see what else needed his attention. However, it seemed his men already had things under control.
“We’ve taken care of most of them,” his lieutenant reported, “but I’m afraid the larger threat is from the spawn who fly out yonder.”
Bram looked to where his subordinate pointed. In the distance, just at the edge of sight, flew a species of spawn known as corvusaurs. These soaring menaces had the face of a lizard and the body of a raven. Covered in ink black feathers, these monstrosities had oversized maws capable of swallowing a man whole.
“Finish off the chiroptera before worrying about those,” Bram responded. “Also, make sure we have enough firebombs below deck in case others show up. As for the corvusaurs, I want you to load the cannons with lightning rounds. Now go!”
“Yes, sir!” The lieutenant saluted before leaving.
Bram had a proven technique for protecting his ship from spawn. The first of these involved a devious device known as a firebomb. Concocted by Angkor’s black wizards, the munitions produced a furious blast of heat and flame. Since they damaged everything within a ten-span range, miniature catapults along the sides of the deck launched them far enough away to avoid damage to the ship. Several blasts were enough to cull most spawn colonies, except for the larger beasts.
That was where the lightning rounds came into play. Because corvusaurs were so massive and agile, the firebombs were insufficient. Other maneuvers such as cannons or longbows lacked the necessary strength or velocity. So instead, Bram invented an approach that defeated their aerial advantage.
Once again, he utilized Angkor’s black wizards to store an electrical charge inside cannon munitions. Like discharging a massive capacitor, it released its energy in a powerful storm of sparks. Combined with the static accumulated on the tufts of a corvusaur’s features, it resulted in a burst of electricity that traveled in between the beasts in bright white arcs. Most tended to be killed on impact, while the survivors usually fled. Bram intended to employ this technique, but so far the spawn flew at too great a distance.
His lieutenant returned from his tasks below deck. He saluted his superior. “Sir, I’ve completed your orders.”
Bram nodded. “The corvusaurs have not taken an attack pattern. We may yet avoid a conflict.”
The man agreed, but seemed to have more to say. Although Gnostics typically flaunted their threatening reputations, many held a more subdued relationship with their own crew. Some even went as far as to offer counsel during times of grief. Bram was such a knight.
“You may speak your mind, soldier.”
The lieutenant stepped forward. “It’s about the spawn, sir. How much longer must we fight these creatures? It seems like every week we gather cleansing parties from all our major cities, and send them out to the countryside to decimate their numbers. And yet, sightings have only managed to increase.” He paused before adding, “I’m not the only one who feels this way—the others share my concern. Surely you must know how the king intends to address this curse.”
Bram had pondered it himself. Early on, spawn avoided the cities and larger settlements, preying instead at the agrarian outskirts. Farmers would find half-eaten remains of livestock in their fields, and travelers would report seeing bodies of lone tradesman who errantly ventured into the backwoods unarmed. Over time, however, the spawn became increasingly aggressive. In an attempt to fight the invasion, cities would send out warriors capable of killing hundreds at a time. But in spite of their efforts, spawn sightings grew each month.
“It’s true,” he responded. “The menace is larger than ever before, but I’m certain the king’s advisors are looking into it. My own opinion is that blood from the battlefields has drawn these creatures out from their underground lairs, but the infestation is only temporary. Once they’ve exhausted their food source, they’ll return to—.”
“Sir!” The interruption came from a soldier at Bram’s rear, his navigations officer. He spun around quickly, causing the man to flinch. Such was commonplace in the presence of a Gnostic Knight. Part of it was due to their attire, which included a fearsome mask with skull and horns that was carefully designed to invoke fear and intimidation. Even a knight’s own men—veterans and brothers of many battles—shrank before its terrifying aura. Bram waited for the officer to regain his composure.
“We’ll soon reach our destination, sir, but we can’t land with the corvusaurs in the distance. If they attack during our descent we’ll be at a significant disadvantage.”
The lieutenant took his cue and withdrew to make landing preparations. Bram addressed his navigations officer. “What do you recommend?”
“We should either draw them into battle, or find a way to outmaneuver them.”
“We can’t shake them,” Bram responded. “The ship stinks of death, and corvusaurs have a keen sense of smell.” He shook his head. “We’ll have to do what we can to lure them within attack range. Where are the other men?”
“In the holds, sir, searching for munitions. There’s not much left.”
Bram sighed quietly. He did not want his subordinate to overhear and mistake it for doubt. In order to lead, he had to set an example to embolden his men. “Collect what you can and make sure the cannons are loaded.”
“Yes, sir!” The officer saluted and went below deck.
Bram wished he still had Rosa on board. Her magic would have certainly come in useful. Her quarters were still below deck, untouched since she last fought at his side during the War. Even in the midst of conflict, he could hear her charming voice as he imagined feeling her soft, beautiful skin. During those cold nights on the battlefields, far from Angkor’s safety, he would caress her lovingly. She would move in close enough for him to smell her peppermint-scented breath, as he ran his fingers through her long, golden curls.
Despite his love for her, the knighthood demanded he reserve all displays of affection to more private settings. Rosa seemed to understand little of his obligations, and since the onset of peace, became even more outspoken of her distaste of the Gnostic organization. He used to count on her to have his back, but now she insisted on living the life her father dictated. She even had the gall to tell him that she would no longer be the girl who so foolishly ran away from home to fight with her lover. Did she always consider their love so tawdry? Selfish woman!
Looking across the deck, he saw his men had started to clear the carcasses of chiroptera by throwing them off the side of the ship to the ocean below. The creatures carried an unmistakably rancid smell. He commanded them to stop. He had an idea.
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