Warriors of the Purple Sun

By David Barentine

The Rygem'dor War affected cultures and civilizations for centuries after its end, and within its bloodiest battles, the Battle of Thermotylus stands out prominently. When the whole of Rygem'dor laid siege to the lands of Asier'rian, the epic battle was set in motion.

Thermotylus was three days and two nights of constant war, the effects of which burned into history the names and cultures of both sides forever. The horrors of the battle live on long after the war, rippling through other worlds and cultures.

• Language: English
• Publisher: David Barentine
• Release date: Mar 26, 2012
• ISBN: 9780985425326

David Barentine

A lover of ancient history, cultures and fantasy, I've been writing for seventeen years now, creating a world in a hodgepodge of history-inspired fantasy cultures and events.

Book preview

Remembrances of Rostheromi

Chapter 0

Chapter 1 - Class in Session

Remembrances of Rostheromi

Chapter 1

Chapter 2 - The Demon Rorj’golém

Remembrances of Rostheromi

Chapter 2

Chapter 3 - Hidden History

Remembrances of Rostheromi

Chapter 3

Chapter 4 - Without Ceremony, Condemned to War

Remembrances of Rostheromi

Chapter 4

Chapter 5 - Mechanics of Religious Fervor

Remembrances of Rostheromi

Chapter 5

Chapter 6 - Fear the Pitch

Remembrances of Rostheromi

Chapter 6

Chapter 7 - Empire of Fear, Unity of War

Remembrances of Rostheromi

Chapter 7

Chapter 8 - Baptism of Crimson

Remembrances of Rostheromi

Chapter 8

Chapter 9 - Artisans of Death

Remembrances of Rostheromi

Chapter 9

Chapter 10 - Bleeding Beachhead

Remembrances of Rostheromi

Chapter 10

Chapter 11 - Maidens of the Spartrakus Sea

Remembrances of Rostheromi

Chapter 11

Chapter 12 - Night’s Fire

Remembrances of Rostheromi

Chapter 12

Chapter 13 - The Price of War

Remembrances of Rostheromi

Chapter 13

Chapter 14 - Riverbed of the Dead

Remembrances of Rostheromi

Chapter 14

About the Author

Connect with the Author

Other Books by the Author

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Prefatory Note

For those of you coming to this book via Charge of the Loxodonts, you will recognize Chapter 0, since it is the same short story. Charge of the Loxodonts was meant initially as a way to jump into the story’s world, and written to be an enclosed story through which a reader would know for certain more was to come.

Purple Sun, I should also mention, was originally meant as part of a larger book, Sphere of Darkness. The alternating chapters between present day and the past was meant instead for a much larger book, however the story in the past became a completed idea, one which would have competed with the overall Sphere of Darkness story. To preserve pace and continuity, the two books were split. I mention this only because at some points the present day chapters seem to indicate more, and have fully-developed characters which are not expanded on. This is a consequence of the separation, and the further story of these characters will be explained and expanded on in Sphere of Darkness.

Also, a free book, Warriors of the Purple Sun Compendium, has expanded biographies of the characters, locations and assorted information pertaining to the book and the worlds represented therein. So too can you find the information at http://www.wotps.com.

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Remembrances of Rostheromi

The thunder of the loxodonts enraged the gods, who did despise beasts of burden being used as weapons. The Warriors of the Purple Sun called to Tôgaru’kar and the Tither’rïan amazons called upon Réwen to punish the tribal nation of Rygem’dor. The two gods did converse, and in a union of war blessed their servants with strength to make the Thermotylus River flow early with the blood of Rygem’dor. By their decree, the Spartrakus Sea would be soiled red with the blood of heathens and no one would be able to name a slaughter more vicious than that visited upon Rygem’dor by their servants.

-Héro’daetïus, Remembrances of Rostheromi

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Chapter 0

Charge of the Loxodonts

Thermotylus, a cove-like area on the shores of the Spartrakus Sea, lay flush against the peninsula of Korrand’s Finger and the rocky Crag. The sky burned red, casting shadows black as pitch into the narrow chasm dissecting the Thermotylus Crag along the bank of the Spartrakus Sea. Steep cliffs molded with sinewy veins of eroded rock towered above; the jagged plateau that overlooked the chasm, pitted by hot springs, poured forth steam that cast hazy rainbows over the twenty-yard width of the crevasse. A small river still flowed through the center of the eroded gorge, the remnant of the winter and spring rainfall that fed the Thermotylus River. Now the river barely sank deeper than an inch, evaporating completely in the hot summers. The gentle river flow hardly made a noise, the clear flow of water only splattering with sound when the hot springs around the chasm erupted and warm rain skittered across its surface.

A new sound disturbed the silent riverbed, a splashing percussion of footfalls echoing against the high steep walls. Mud burst under their weight, burping trapped air and splashing onto the gleaming worn greaves of the soldiers marching down the gullet of the rainbow-covered dead riverbed. The unimaginable stepped through the chasm, row after row, shoulder to shoulder, bearing the honor guard flags of their homeland. At the front of the massive phalanx, the Warriors of the Purple Sun marched.

The bronze armor of the Purple Sun warriors was burned to the point of color, turning once-fine glinting copper into sheets of purple-hued metal, overlaid with newer iron and silver plates. The silver was gilded both with purple-copper and niello, providing a black inlay lined with gleaming violet. The colors were a warning to the enemies of the Warriors of the Purple Sun, the single most defining aspect of their garb.

Each of the warriors wore crafted bronze helmets resembling the revered steed, the lomogu. The lomogus resembled huge horned kangaroos which the Purple Sun would ordinarily ride. All that marked their influence were the helmets that each soldier wore. Comprised of four segments—the skullcap, the snout-like faceplate, and two round locking ovals of metal to cover the ears—the complexity of the craftsmanship was displayed on the massive, niello-inlaid silver horns, plain silver molded sheets at the crafted mouth, and the high vertical plume of lomogu hair rising like a fan from the center. This massive plume was often copied by the Warriors of the Purple Sun, many shaving the tops of their head to allow a towering central fan flanked by two tufts of hair on the sides of the skull.

Behind the warriors, Tither’rïan amazons strode in line, bearing their fifteen-foot long spears in readiness for battle. Though their armor consisted more of various plates of bronze and iron riveted to hardened leather, several of the pieces of visible leather were formed over large flats of bronze and embossed with various Tither’rïan runes.

These two armies joined in marching could scare their rivals in Asiér’rïan by sight alone, but to have the warriors of Rostheromi integrating several foot soldiers from those same Asiér’rïan city-states in their ranks spoke volumes of the day’s importance. Rostheromi and the city-states of Asiér’rïan were long-time rivals, but the imminent landfall of the Rygem’dor army inspired both to put aside the years of bloodshed for this day. Led by Jytor Lagnothor Calzarim, the small army rallied to the cause at the shores of Thermotylus Crag. Had they arrived in Rostheromi a week earlier, Lagnothor would not be here, having completed his business and returned home to Henopred long before word arrived of the Rygem’dor army approaching.

Harpies and amazon a’tetheroks soared through the windswept chasm, sweeping over the throngs and casting shadows over the phalanx with clear calm. They glided to the cliffs and perched there in preparation, waiting to join their Purple Sun and Tither’rïan comrades in battle from above. Grabbing at the edges of the crevasse, the aerial warriors kept clear of the smaller Tither’rïan amazons running the length of the high, narrow cliffs of the Thermotylus River.

Pairs of amazons raced down the length of the chasm and took their positions for battle: one the shield bearer, sitting in readiness and holding tightly to the square frame of the Purple Sun shield, while the second un-slung her bow and set her quiver on the rocky cliff to fire arrows from above.

Kyrrest Tsfirfin, the reigning military leader of the Tither’rïan amazons, crouched at the lip of the chasm’s end. Setting the Purple Sun shield along her left side, Kyrrest peered out from the chasm far in advance of the phalanx. Her brown eyes looked left, along the sandy shores of the sea. Were this winter, the sea would be pressed against the Thermotylus Crag, but now the receding water unveiled a wide beach whereupon massive super ships—septiremes and triremes—intentionally ran aground to shore.

The waves of the Spartrakus Sea hit hard on the sandy beaches and half-exposed rocks, breaking against the massive warships as each ran aground in the shoreline. The bronze-capped battering rams at their prows pressed the shore aside. Titanic ships carrying massive loads bore down upon the beachhead, mighty planks dropping from the bow. Their hulls were so wide and flat that the shallow waters of the Spartrakus Sea did nothing to hinder their voyage, even with the heavy cargo.

Thundering calls shot out from the main decks of these massive ships. The impatience of the mighty loxodontus mounts wore thin. The mahouts of these loxodonts—the men in sole charge of training these elephant-like beasts of burden from birth—sat steady in their saddles on the animals’ short necks, one hand on the bridle, another on the bow of their saddle to support.

The bull loxodonts resembled elephants, though far larger. Scutes ran the length of the animal like large plate armor, with three mighty horns sprouting from the crest of the skull and two tusks flanking the trunk. A continuous stretch of bone surrounded both eyes, lashing out like fingers, features prominently displayed on the Rygem’dor flags. This was their sacred animal, the bond that united the tribes of Rygem’dor under one ruler. Most leaders in Rygem’dor were not treated as well as the loxodonts.

The scutes for the moment were covered by the loxodonts’ bard, the whole body-encasing armor already fitted upon the massive animals for immediate protection. The various pieces were all made of hardened leather reinforced with sheets of wicker armor. Only the shaffron of the head and the nasal guard were made of metal. The tower fitted to each loxodont’s back could easily seat five men comfortably within, but for the moment it sat empty. On the flanks, proud fine silk banners were displayed, each colorfully designed with the markings and identifications of the mahout’s tribe.

Get these beasts to the shore and off-load our cargo! Nelledotor Greymic Halino barked. A methrian, the nelledotor would not stand for wasting time on the Thermotylus shore. He seemed appropriate for the amassed army of loxodonts, a mighty humanoid with thick, stocky arms and legs and an elephant-like head. Four massive tusks—three broken off at the Battle of Genlindal—spat from the flanks of his face, with two large horns breaking through the crest of his nose just in front of his forehead. Greymic’s methrian army from Atégantor solidified the backbone of this confederation of tribes, a mighty sight on the battlefield where towering methrian horns stood beside monolithic loxodont hides, all parading behind the porcupine-like spears of the phalanx this army would form.

Barking out, the various loxodontus steeds stamped forward, the super ships groaning under each plodding footfall. Large wagons squeaked, latched to the loxodonts to carry small catapults, supplies, and shelters. Behind these, the assembled army readied to march off the boats and form ranks on the shore.

The shoreline splashed at the feet of the Hyliseor and Nepengal tribes racing to the beach. Their bleached leather armor shone red in the sun, arranged against stretches of cloth and knurls of wicker. The better soldiers, those of sufficient standing, wore helmets of shaped wicker and leather, formed into a stylized loxodontus face. They stood out among their peers, waiting on the shores for the lesser soldiers to organize the beach.

The tribes’ wicker shields quickly came to the ready, poised before their eight-foot spears as each tribe arranged themselves into phalanxes. With disembarking only just beginning, thousands of troops were already on the Thermotylus shore, organizing as quickly as possible to clear room for the rest of the army. Banners of the major tribes sprung up, each depicting the face of a loxodont, a unifying theme surrounded by the tribes’ own identifying marks. The prominent number of Hyliseor and Nepengal banners spoke clearly of each tribe’s military contribution to this endeavor.

The loxodont calls and assorted shouts of the gathering army on the shore echoed against the sheer rock face of the Crag. The sounds of the preparation for war mixed with the waves lapping against the beach and crashing against the thin peninsula of Korrand’s Finger, which jetted into the sea from the opposite bank of the Thermotylus River: the cacophony swam on warm air currents along the cove-like mouth of the dried riverbed and over the delta of sediment into the fortifying chasm to Kyrrest’s ears.

The Tither’rïan amazon shifted her jaw, raising her shield and looking back. With three solid hits of her shield against the rocky ledge, she signaled behind to the other amazons stationed and ready. Quickly, each amazon in succession rapped her shield three fast times on the cliff’s edge, creating a percussion of sound down the length of the gorge. The shield bearers each grabbed for the loxodont whistles at their hips. The small bone tubes, made from the hollowed out vertebrae of lomogu spinal columns, were attached to thin twine and notched with holes to produce the correct pitch when twirled like a sling.

Nelledotor Rangthor Renthar looked up, marching at the front of the massive phalanx column moving down the riverbed. He spied the shield bearers grabbing their whistles and looked to either side of the phalanx. The loxodont charge is early! the Purple Sun nelledotor called out. All ranks spread forward!

The lines began to separate by almost a body’s length between rows, all but dissolving their phalanx formation. Still keeping mostly shoulder-to-shoulder, Rangthor’s line—like those behind—continued marching toward the end of the Thermotylus Crag where the river met the Spartrakus Sea.

To Rangthor’s left marched Rod’ler Vondil, a massive man of deep brown skin and muscle enough to make him seem even larger with his armor on. Rangthor could think of few he’d prefer at his side at a battle such as this. At his right marched Rezuin Hytlatulis, a burly amazon sheathed in muscle and bred to fight. She wore the scars of years of battle beneath her heavy armor, clearly a warrior to have at your flank.

Looking up, Rangthor acknowledged Kyrrest with a nod, silently waiting for her signal. The amazon leader nodded back, looking to Omeip Jalwekam readying her bow. The vy’liryn shared Rangthor with Kyrrest as consort and were it not for Kyrrest’s confidence in Omeip’s aim the vy’liryn would not be in battle.

The burnt orange skin of Omeip’s face glowed red with the sun. The various markings on her face and body flushed a deep shade of crimson in her excitement and worry over the battle. As with all vy’liryns, Omeip had to take special care to customize her armor to allow the large arm-like spines down her back freedom to move, as well as allowing her long tail to be mobile and yet protected. The spines did much to showcase her readiness when they erected in warning, but similarly fitting her armor around those spines often proved hazardous to its effectiveness. With her four-curved composite bow in hand, Omeip nodded to Kyrrest.

For a moment, Kyrrest wished she’d made Omeip stay in the Tither’rïan caves to make sure the small amazon children had someone to guide them if the battle turned sour. The vy’liryn’s resolve once again won Kyrrest over. She’d not let the Rygem’dor army take Rostheromi—to do so would allow Tither’rïan to fall. Her staying behind in that event would prove pointless.

Kyrrest leaned out over her shield, eyeing the gathering army on the shore, watching agitated loxodonts pulling carts and catapults from the gigantic boats. Ship after ship with their bows beached lined the shore, each emptying out onto the sands of the Thermotylus Crag. She could see the methrian soldiers readying their armor and weapons and tribes clambering onto their loxodont steeds to steady the towers on the mammoth backs.

Lifting her right hand, Kyrrest looked back to make sure all of her nearby amazons were prepared to swing their whistles. With her left, Kyrrest began a steady thumping of her shield on the rock—hammering it quickly twice with a third delayed strike and repeating—beginning a rhythm the other Tither’rïan amazons followed. Down the long stretch of the gorge, shield after shield began to pound, amazon hands raised at the ready with their whistles poised. The echo was almost deafening; all standing solid and stoic on the riverbed felt their hearts race with heightened anticipation.

Gal’den Gymesorm looked up from the flat front foot of his loxodont. The Nepengal tribesman cocked an ear towards the gorge opening, his brows furrowing at the clamor coming from its maw. Egit Faepental scratched his chin, setting the final latch on the loxodont’s shoe. With the wide shoes crafted of pterapthyodes leather, the loxodont would be less likely to skewer its broad feet on any caltrops or broken armor when charging.

I wonder what that sound is, Gal’den questioned aloud.

They’re probably trying to raise their spirits before we send them to their gods, Sorik Isoryr’fin scoffed. The mahout leaned over his saddle and rubbed the shaffron of his mount affectionately.

With her thumb and index finger clasped tight, Kyrrest let her whistle drop, where it bobbed at the end of its twine. Never stopping the thunderous clamor of her shield, Kyrrest slowly began swinging the whistle again at her right side. The low hum of the whistles soon began to reverberate through the chasm as amazon after amazon began to swing their whistles in tandem. Down the riverbed’s length, the whistling grew in pitch and strength, reverberating against the high sheer walls and spitting out into the Spartrakus Sea.

Sorik’s chest slammed into the bow of his saddle, thrust forward as his mount reared suddenly. Egit cried out in pain as the loxodont’s right foot smashed into his leg, pinning him to the ground by his right knee. Gal’den backed up to grab the bridle, trying to yank the loxodont down and steady it. Yan’sti! Get over here! Gal’den barked.

Yan’sti Warendil rushed to their aid, a fellow loxodont rider from the Hyliseor tribe. Grabbing at the reins, Yan’sti tried to settle the mount down, looking about as more loxodonts were fiercely clamoring about.

Kyrrest grit her teeth, swinging her whistle as hard as she could. The pitch and volume hurt her ears. Squinting, Kyrrest almost smiled to see the loxodonts going mad with the noise. Even as far away as they were, she could tell the thunderous feet of their mounts were pounding several keepers.

Yan’sti felt his shoulders pop as the loxodont reared and flung him to one side. Gal’den barely had time to turn to react before the loxodont’s feet slammed into his back. Roaring with life, the loxodontus charged forward, enraged, the trumpeting sounds of the other loxodonts following behind.

Sorik felt his chest crack, thrown against his saddle with every trampling gallop. Flung to all directions, the mahout’s arms desperately scrambled around the saddle to find some way of controlling the loxodont once more.

The tribes scattered, jumping clear of carts and siege weapons being broken and splintered. Screams rang out against a chorus of loxodontus calls, their huge legs trampling on, over, and through anything between them and the chasm. Wooden boards were flung away, carted weapons smashed underfoot. Plumes of half-dry sand sprang up from every footfall, the towers on their backs lurching to and fro. Soon the loxodonts broke free of the tribal armies that contained them, racing along the coast towards that maddening whistle.

Omeip readied her bow, calmly drawing back her arrow as she aimed. The squeak of similar bowstrings drawing barely registered in the vy’liryn’s ears. With a squint of her eye, Omeip let fly a bolt.

Sorik gurgled, grabbing at the arrow suddenly in his chest. With a snap, he felt his forearm break against the saddle, broken by the violence of the loxodont’s charge. Desperately he clung to his saddle with his left, gasping for air. The mighty trunk of his loxodont rose into his eye line, his jostling vision catching sight of the gorge coming up quickly.

Kyrrest slammed her shield into the cliff a final time, her whistle still flying. The percussion of the shields dissolved almost instantly in the gorge. Only the new high pitch of hissing arrows accompanied the loxodontus whistles now.

Rangthor’s grip on his massive spear tightened. The cessation of thumping was their final warning. With a brief pause, the loxodonts pierced the view of the Spartrakus Sea. Now! Rangthor shouted fiercely. Leaping from their spots, the spread phalanx began jumping from the middle of the lines to the sides. A trench in the phalanx lines split open in front of the loxodonts, the assorted warriors standing ready.

Watching the first loxodont run past, Rangthor leapt onto the moving legs of the second one. Warriors that had once stood in the middle of the phalanx’s lines followed suit, scaling the treacherous moving bodies and armor of the loxodonts as they charged down the open line of the phalanx.

Rangthor’s hands grabbed at the long leather straps, his body flailing with the loxodont as he used its armor to pull himself upward. He punched themahout, clasping the body’s armor and yanking the corpse free of the saddle.

Jostling about, Rangthor gripped whatever he could, hanging onto the saddle from its bow and cantle, keeping himself steady while struggling to seat himself properly. He barely noticed the whistles falling silent as the loxodont he rode raced out the back of the riverbed. Looking back at the Thermotylus Crag, Rangthor could see the long line of loxodonts barreling down the solitary open line of the phalanx with new riders taking to the saddles to steady the mounts.

Raising his voice triumphantly, Rangthor’s cheer resounded to each of the loxodonts as they corralled to a stop in the forest clearing several hundred yards away from the Crag. The uproar of cheers raised his fervor. Patting the head of the loxodontus he now rode, Rangthor soothed the animal happily. He looked up, eyeing each of the captured loxodonts and nodding to Státin Xan’ledo. Státin, it looks like your mount’s tower is the least damaged.

Státin looked over his shoulders, nodding with a heavy sigh, Yes, nelledotor.

Secure that loxodont at camp, Státin. You’re Sethrin’s rider, Rangthor ordered. Nodding with a sigh, Státin didn’t reply.

We’ll give them extra fury for you, Státin! Cytor Vrdat called out. The burly Warrior of the Purple Sun knew Státin did not want to be excused from combat, even if it was for the greater good. Státin raised an arm in a token show of thanks, cursing under his breath that he had secured the best mount and thus was no longer viable to stand with his brethren.

Well, I’m sure Soladanly will be happy Státin’s got to hold watch near Sethrin rather than fight with us, Elaisegen Ulafinal smirked. The Tither’rïan amazon thought for a moment of how happy her fellow amazon, Soladanly Gifemdal, would be to see Státin return alive. Were she not in the Tither’rïan Mountains so near birthing herself, Soladanly would be in the thick of peril as well.

I’m sure he’s thinking the same thing, Elaisegen, Toris Ine’kimy replied.

Enough banter, Rangthor called out. Prepare to charge.

Rod’ler looked up for Kyrrest’s signals. Omeip’s bow sat silent for the moment, the pair crouching behind their square shield as arrows