Windcatcher: Book I of the Stone War Chronicles (2 page)

The soldier’s eyes remained locked on the high monk as he approached them at a slow pace. The man’s armor looked to be mostly leather with some metal parts which had both been colored black. A cross of four diamond-shaped icons were displayed on his left chest piece. The cape that hung from his shoulders slowly waved in the air as he walked toward them.

“Please step back, Master Wén,” said To’Pal, politely.

Lai’Ping noticed the senior monk move sideways in order to step in front of, and to shield him from, this unknown threat. He held up his hand to stop the senior monk from moving.

“No, the monastery is my responsibility…”

Lai’Ping had no intention of letting anyone else speak for him. The monks were under his protection, even the more experienced senior monks. He tried to get a feel for the soldier moving toward them; although many lay dead in the main hall, Lai’Ping did not feel any murderous intent coming from this particular individual.

The soldier, now only a few feet away, still had not uttered a word. Lai’Ping tried one more time.

“Why have you come here?”

The unknown soldier stopped a step short of them.

“My good sir! Why…we’ve come for your most sacred treasure,” said the grinning man.

It was not the completely unnerving friendliness of the soldier’s tone that surprised Lai’Ping and the senior monk behind him, but the fact that the words were spoken to them in their own local language.

Lai’Ping looked into the cold, blue eyes of the soldier, slightly confused by hearing words spoken in his mother tongue with a thick foreign accent—a language no foreigner should have been able to learn, as teaching Tiankonese to outsiders was forbidden. An unexpected, sharp pain in his belly made him look down; he saw the heft of a knife sticking out of his side. He had not even seen the soldier move.

When did he take a knife in his hand?

He looked at his fingers, colored red with his blood. The senior monk jumped forward and lunged at the soldier’s throat with a high-speed thrust.

Lai’Ping knew the movement well, it was one of the more dangerous dragon’s claw techniques, designed to hit and grab an enemy’s throat and tear out the larynx with one, quick motion. But the outsider reacted with lightning speed. He deflected the monk’s attack to the side. Immediately, the soldier’s arm came back in full swing. An armored backhand crashed into To’Pal’s temple. The impact had such force that the monk slammed sideways against the pillar. Lai’Ping knew the monk would not get up anymore…the position of his head clearly showed his broken neck.

Turning around, the soldier pulled out the knife and walked back to the sanctum doors. Lai’Ping felt the strength drain from his legs. Slumping to the ground, he held one hand on his wound, trying to stop the bleeding. He felt his warm blood seeping through his robe. His other hand tried desperately to support his body and to prevent it from collapsing onto the floor.

The sacred relic…it must be secured! The doors will delay them. It should be enough time for them to get away. They have to get away…the safety of the Empire relies on it!

Lai’Ping felt colder than he had ever felt before. No longer having the strength to support his body, he slowly lay down on the floor against his own will. His gaze stared at the sanctum doors. He implored them to stay closed.

Suddenly, the soldier gave a shrill whistle toward the main courtyard.

As he grew colder, Lai’Ping felt his body get heavier. He noticed his heart rate slowed down in his throat. His vision blurred, but he refused to let the Inner Sanctum doors out of his sight. He heard his heartbeat grow louder. The sound was so heavy, he swore he felt the floor vibrate with each thump. Every beat grew louder and made the ground shake harder.

As the last light faded from his vision, Lai’Ping’s eyes spread wide from what they saw. Two shadows, twice the size of a man, stomped past him toward the sanctum doors. Their heavy steps shook the floor in unison with his own heartbeats. His vision faded. The image of the outsider, pointing toward the heavy sanctum doors, and those colossal shadows, following the command, disappeared into darkness.

What kind of inhuman abominations are those things…?

Lai’Ping’s bones felt so very heavy and his muscles felt so very tired. The image of a girl’s face floated into his mind. The warmth of love flowed through his cold body.

I wonder how she’s doing…I hope she’ll be okay.

His hearing was the last of his senses to finally give out. Those same ears had made him smile that very morning. Those same ears had delighted him with the morning sounds of the monastery—the monks training so far away, the soft wind rustling around the garden, the calls of birds waking up to the sunlight. Each wonderful sound had reached his ears during his meditation. But these new sounds were the unwelcome, loud cracks of thick wood splitting apart. They forcefully invaded his hearing as he felt his life slip away. And as his heart gave its final beat and the world disappeared into nothingness, Master Wén realized—to his horror—the sanctum doors had not merely been opened…they had simply been shattered by a single punch.

Chapter 1

Wait

Raylan felt his legs cramping up. He wondered how long they had been waiting in this cold. He saw his own breath in front of him as he forced his jaw to stay still. He peered around the rock that hid him in its shadow. Nearby, the dark leather armor of his squad mates shimmered wet from the rain. Whenever the moonlight broke through the clouds, everyone kept their swords close. Otherwise, the moonlight surely reflected on the smooth steel, if any of them swayed outside of the shadows. They had to be careful not to lose the element of surprise; their success depended on it. Raylan’s own sword was loosely in his hand, until the time arrived to act.

His fingers felt the familiar touch of the sword’s hilt, its leather worn down by the hours and hours of training. The blade was straight, wide near the hilt, and it narrowed into a broad tip at the end. It was rather on the short side, but it was forged sturdy and well balanced. Designed to be handled in speed, the weight of the thick blade gave it extra impact, while the edge guaranteed it would cut through unprotected flesh easily.

Back home, he had seen some amazing swords being forged with sparkling stones and intricate engravings, none of which you would find on this one. It was not a piece for display, nor a work of art, just a very effective tool, efficiently designed and made for its intended purpose…to cut…and to kill.

His leather armor complemented the speedy aspect of the sword, providing enough freedom to travel light and to move around quickly, while still offering some protection from attacks. Breastplate, shoulder pads and protection for both upper and lower parts of each arm were present. A number of leather flaps around the waist and pads on the upper leg gave freedom of movement while protecting vital blood vessels in the legs. The feet were protected by a pair of high, leather boots. They were flexible and improved his footing, but they provided little protection from the cold weather if they were soaking wet…as was the case now.

Although very familiar with the sword, Raylan disliked using it. He preferred to avoid confrontation rather than to seek it out. In fact, he would rather not be there at all, in the rain and the cold. Unfortunately, he had been one of the best sword fighters during training, which made him of interest to the high commander. In the end, it earned him a spot on this special reconnaissance squad—a group under command of his older brother, Gavin—to make matters worse.

His heart raced as he shifted his weight nervously. It would be his first real combat experience, something he did not look forward to. There was little choice though, as not participating in the attack would have severe consequences and might even brand him a deserter—or worse, a traitor. Of course, it was exciting, in a way; it was not that he was scared, he told himself, and he loved to travel…to see the world, but why did they have to drag him to this cold and dark land?

He sighed and located his brother. Gavin crouched on higher ground about ninety feet from Raylan’s position. As their leader, his brother chose his position wisely. The high spot allowed him to check up on the enemy camp they were approaching. They all waited for the right moment to spring into action.

While he stretched his fingers, Raylan wondered what Gavin was waiting for. The cold, night air made his fingers go numb; he had to make sure they would not lose their grip on his sword when it was needed the most. His fur coat would have been a welcomed layer of warmth against the freezing night; but the coat was too bulky for combat, as they needed stealth and speed for the surprise attack…so he was ordered to leave it behind. The only clothes keeping him warm now, was a thin fabric with his armor on top of that.

As Raylan considered his older brother, he felt a mixture of annoyance and pride. Growing up, they had not always seen eye to eye on things; but Gavin was an exceptional squad leader, making well-weighted decisions in the field and avoiding unnecessary risks. Gavin, being three years older than Raylan, joined the armed forces years before him, at the age of sixteen. It was a career choice for Gavin to serve, aiming to join the royal honor guard of the king. That was eight years ago, but circumstances were very different now.

Aeterra, also called the midlands, covered a big part of the central continent. Its western territory border started at the oceanic waters of the Great Western Divide, then spanned across the continent until it reached the waters of the equally impressive Great Eastern Divide. It could easily take a horse at full speed three to four weeks to travel from coast to coast, but it would have to travel from first light till sundown. Freight wagons or caravans, on the other hand, took months.

Communications in such large regions was always a challenge. Over the decades, the kingdom created an extensive network of special inns where messengers replaced tired horses with well-rested ones. But the most important messages were either sent by pigeons or via a special breed of raven or falcon.

There were about two dozen medium-to-large cities spread across the kingdom and thousands of smaller settlements, strongholds and villages scattered in between those large nerve centers. The main capital, Shid'el, was amongst the oldest of the larger cities, and was situated a week’s travel from the western coast toward the center of the kingdom. It was there that both brothers grew up.

Sons of a blacksmith and his wife, they lost their mother at a young age. Raylan barely remembered his mother during the day, but sometimes her face floated up from memories held deep down in a hot summer night's dream. He was grateful for those moments, but at the same time, he had difficulties shaking the feeling of loss and deep sadness when he woke up.

Being older when it happened, Gavin took the death of their mother much harder. It resulted in a lot of anger that Gavin could not direct at anything. He was often the center of small trouble. Trying to keep both his sons out of trouble, their father was very strict and made them help out in the workshop daily. It meant both boys got to know tools and weaponry from a very young age, especially since Gavin and Raylan practiced with swords together, in secrecy, when their father went away on a delivery.

As he grew older, Gavin's anger slowly transformed into a strong urge to protect—he protected his younger brother from bullies, his father from angry customers, even the workshop’s cat from street dogs. The feeling evolved into a sense of duty to protect those things which inspired him and that he loved. Eventually, it was this sense of duty that drove him to protect the stability of his homeland…so he aimed to join the royal guard.

Lately, Raylan often thought back to those days that he had spent close to his brother, to the many times that his brother had challenged him and both had become so familiar with the sword. Handling a sword had come more natural to Raylan, but Gavin always had the advantage of power, being the oldest. And like most brothers, their swordplay had been fierce, at times…and they both had the scars to prove it.

Aeterra had been prospering for almost a century now, which was when the last Great War ended. Because of its history, Aeterra’s geographical location was not the only reason it was called the midlands. The center of the kingdom was seen as the place where the Great War ended. It was there that the noble families finally established a truce and began working together. The newly formed great kingdom was able to look outward more, instead of being plagued by internal conflicts. It succeeded in setting up prospering trade agreements with its neighbors for generations to come, agreements which in turn brought the people a very welcome stability on the entire mid-continent, allowing settlements to flourish for decades.
While Gavin turned his attention toward joining the royal guard, Raylan’s road was very different. For a number of years now, he served on sailing vessels, much to his enjoyment. At the time, he needed to get away from his brother, who was constantly pushing him to join the army as well. But Raylan, who preferred the movement of the sea and the freedom of the wind over being stuck in a workshop in a crowded city doing mundane chores—or being drilled and grounded into a soldier—took off in the middle of the night. And for a few years, he escaped the life he had dreaded so much.

He left the workshop, traveling down the western mountain road to Naustile, the closest shipping port to Shid’el. To the west of the Aeterran kingdom laid a number of bigger islands groups and, far beyond that, the two large parts of the western continent. Raylan quickly learned its informal name from other sailors—the Broken Tooth continent.