Men of Renown

By Robert J. A. Gilbert

Saph wants to be remembered. He wants the bards to sing of his deeds throughout Atlantis and beyond. He wants his name to live on. Born the son to one of the four angelic guardians of Eden, Saph has a lot to live up to. When joined in battle by the most famous of his kinfolk, he is quickly disillusioned by their corrupt standards for success.

Then he meets Jared, a humble shepherd boy with an exceptional talent with animals. Soon Saph finds himself on a most unexpected adventure into the ruins of a lost empire—and into the arms of a beautiful woman whose quest to save an endangered species may lead to the most famous of heroic endeavors the world has ever known.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Robert J. A. Gilbert
• Release date: Dec 15, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301878734

Robert J. A. Gilbert

I am a storyteller at heart.I inherited it from my father who has told stories for as long as I can remember. His stories of his own youth, his travels, and his adventures in Africa as a bush pilot were as inspiring as they were fascinating.At this time I am a writer by hobby. I also design board and card games, write songs, and dabble in a few other creative mediums as well. My biggest love is teaching, and it is through teaching that I have discovered the art of fables, parables, and morality tales. You can read many of these on my blog page.I hope that you find my work interesting and enjoyable. Most of all, I hope that you come away from my writing with more than a smile—I hope you come away with a better understanding of the real message I aim to convey.

Book preview

Prologue

Plato tells the tale of Atlantis. The Bible tells the legend of Eden. Geology tells of a single, vast continent we call Pangaea. All speak of a world that is different from how it is now. Which story is true?

Can ancient legend and modern science agree upon a world and time where Eden stood at the center of the great continent, guarded by four unearthly men armed with swords of fire? Can geology and myth combine to find Atlantis not an isle in the sea, but a citadel upon the banks of the great rivers that flowed from Eden? Can archaeology and paleontology together tell how man and beast lived side by side, the wild lands ruled by the great lizards and dragons, the cities of man ruled by the strong and the brave?

What heroic stories could be told of this antediluvian world? What great feats did man accomplish in this most ancient of times? And what of their achievements remain?

You are about to explore a land without mountains, without weather-forming glaciers or tidal currents. You are about to experience a world barely created. And know that, beneath and above it all, lay great bodies of water – subterranean springs and atmospheric vapor – that man will never find again on this earth.

To begin we must look in the book of beginnings:

Genesis 6:4

" In those days, and afterwards, great men walked the earth. Born from the guardians of Eden to the daughters of men, they were the heroes of old…

…Men of Renown."

Chapter 1

The moon rose over a land that had never seen stars. Over people who had no word for them. The heavens, to them, hovered as though a dome far above. Concealed beyond its misty veil, the lesser light governed the night with waxing fullness.

Far beyond the world’s atmospheric shrouds, the white light climbed above the tree-less horizon. Saph watched the orb shimmer from his position atop the half-constructed wall of mud and wood.

A likely night for raiding parties, he commented to the men at his side.

More likely nights to come, a soldier returned. Gesturing upward at the waxing moon he continued. It’ll be a surprise to me if we don’t see battle before she wanes.

Saph eyed his companions in the dim light of evening. Keeping watch without torchlight here on the battlements, he could scarcely make out the bright red crests upon their moon-silvered breastplates. Daylight would again identify them as some of Atlantis’ finest soldiers. An entire company had followed him here to defend this distant span of the empire’s border. Many of them now lined the partially-completed fortification stretching to his left and right the length of this narrow vale. The others rested in the nearby village; their shift would begin at daybreak.

Would be a shame to see battle before this wall was built, somebody else mumbled uneasily.

Behind him, Saph could see the moonlit rooftops of Nahod. The village’s narrow, dirt-packed streets lay in moon-shadow—absent of torchlight. Though the tiny community quietly greeted the fall of night, Saph knew that the Villagers slept with their weapons ready. In the short time he had spent here, he had trained them as best he could for what would inevitably come.

The first soldier spoke again. I’ll be surprised if the Fallen allow us to finish.

He and his soldiers had journeyed to this tiny valley before the last waning of the moon. Here at the Northern edge of the great Atlantic Empire they had hastily fortified a tiny, insignificant village. Their objective: hold off the advancing throngs of Atlantis’ greatest enemy. Mu. City of the Fallen.

In hindsight, there were two things Saph had not counted on. The first was the arrival of his cousin Pherylit. Pherylit the bold. Son of Arael. Hero of Cush and the Southern realms. Pherylit the champion of Atlantis. Pherylit, five decades Saph’s senior and still in the prime of his health.

Pherylit the leader of the Four Winds, a quartet of warriors destined to equal the heroes of legend. Whose arrows never missed, whose swords and axes cut swift and deep. With righteous sorcery and shining armor they claimed more victories than any of Saph’s other kinsmen.

Saph eyed the approaching shadows from behind the battlements. Pherylit merely stepped around a half-completed gate-post to address the defenders.

The enemy is coming! He roared with might and ferocity; the epitome of a warrior’s voice. In numbers far too great to count. Saph had heard this before: Pherylit’s inevitable exaggeration of the enemy’s numbers. It was meant to venerate his impending endeavors. Unfortunately, among the small contingent of Atlantic soldiers and poorly-armed villagers, it served more to demoralize than to glorify.

My party and I are here to parlay with yours, Pherylit had found Saph’s armor-bulked shadow in the twilight. The Son of Arael addressed the Son of Mishrael directly. My hope is that together we have the might to defend this vital piece of borderland.

Saph suffered a momentary desire to refuse such aid. He had spent the last three weeks preparing this tiny village for defense against the inevitable attack of the Fallen. He had personally led these soldiers here; assigned their positions, briefed them on defensive strategies, reminded them of the importance of this tiny village on the remote border of the great Atlantic Empire. It was Saph who had equipped the few village men of fighting age. He had drilled them into an acceptable fighting force—at least acceptable under the given time constraints.

Now Pherylit’s arrival threatened to rob him of his command. Saph broke his pause with his own words of bravado. A pleasure it is for you to join us, dear cousin. He bowed graciously, I cannot turn down any possible chance of salvation.

The Four Winds had arrived in Nahod only moments before the enemy attacked. There was time enough to raise the alarm. Soldiers scrambled from the village to the wall, clamping their armor about them as they ran. The townsmen hastened their women and children to the fortified safety of the Great Hall—the only two-storied structure in the village. From the upper windows the women, armed with crude bows and missile weapons, would lend their assistance if necessary.

The second thing that Saph had not counted on was the dragon; the short-winged, flame-belching variety that Mu often tamed into beasts of battle. It announced itself as a factor with a sudden eruption of fire from above. Atlantic soldiers scrambled as the blaze caught upon a section of the wooden wall.

Saph could see the beast as it charged his position. Though its wings were too short to provide flight, the dragon’s bird-like bones and gaseous metabolism allowed for long, airborne leaps from which it could rain down fire on its prey. It easily cleared the soldiers atop the half-constructed wall. Hovering above the village, it let fly another vicious burst of fire. The pale glow of moon ceded to the growing red light of village rooftops aflame.

Seconds later the screams of terrified children came from the center of town.

Shouts cried out along the wall, The great hall is aflame! Several of the village men panicked. Save the women and children! Breaking rank, they ran toward the largest of the burning buildings. The dragon’s breath met them in the village square.

Before Saph could respond, Pherylit’s companions had drawn their weapons. The young man amongst them, splendidly clad in sorcerer’s robes and carrying an orb-tipped staff, quickly produced a luminescent blue barrier around himself and the woman in gilded-mail. As the dragon’s flames swept down upon them, she raised a large, ornate bow and fired a single, shimmering arrow. From the darkness above came a violent burst of blood and burning flesh as the dart punctured the beast’s gas-filled belly. With a roar of surprised pain, the dragon fell to the village’s dusty streets.

Instantly Pherylit took command. Hold your positions! he shouted to Saph and his soldiers. Turning to his own companions, the Champion of Atlantis growled, Slay as you like. He paused to draw a massive, two-headed battle-axe from his back-sash. But the Dragon is mine. With that, he disappeared into the village.

The cries of the advancing enemy sounded from beyond the outer battlements. An Atlantic soldier called back to Saph, The enemy is here!

Saph found his own sword in hand, its own enchanted flames leaping up along the blade. Instinctively he raised it above his head to rally the troops. For Atlantis! He cried.

Then the forces of Mu were upon them.

Shadowed half-man, half-foe shapes swarmed through the gaps in the village’s incomplete barricade. The soldiers of Atlantis met them with swords drawn. Saph joined them in dispatching those who broke through.

By the light of unwelcome fire Saph could see his opponents. Their armor was a mass of spiked pauldrons, chitonous plates, poorly-linked mail, and animal skins. Their faces wrapped in leather, their bodies twisted and hulking, they came at him with axes, cudgels, and crude iron blades. One after another they blurred at him—past him. He struck at them as they rushed past, bringing shrill, half-human shrieks of pain whenever his flaming sword pierced armor.

The three companions of brave Pherylit quickly took position among the battlements. As Saph dodged black-iron blades and obsidian spear-heads, he could see their part of the action. While the young sorcerer drove back the advancing horde with invisible walls of crushing force, the archer fired a steady stream of arrows into the throng beyond the barricade. The third member of Pherylit’s foursome matched Saph in heavy-armored dress. With the red crest of Atlantis on her spike-studded shield, her long-sword burning as brightly as his, she joined him in the fray.

Saph slashed and stabbed at a blur of countless shadowed attackers by the flickering light of the burning rooftops behind him. Around him, his soldiers gave better than they took from the faceless Fallen of Mu. From somewhere behind him he could hear the self-glorifying taunts of Pherylit as he squared off against the wounded dragon.

Soon the battlements were overrun. The battle fell back into the fire-lit streets of the burning village. The clash of blade upon armor—the groans of those whose armor had failed—joined with another sound: cries of terror. Cries from the women and children still trapped within the great hall.

Saph found himself in the village square. He glanced at the great hall doors; closed yet bulging under the strain of a panicked throng of villagers on the other side. They had been barricaded from within. Obviously in their terror they could not think to raise the heavy beam that now held the doors closed. Looking up, Saph could see the entire upper floor of the building engulfed in flames. At any moment, the roof would collapse onto the people trapped within.

To his left he caught movement. Two Mu warriors approaching with weapons raised. Saph sidestepped and swung his sword at his first attacker. His blade sliced into the enemy’s midsection. Quickly he brought his sword up to parry the second opponent’s blow. With a single, fluid motion, he returned the attack with his own. A grunt of pain announced the success of his thrust. As his foes fell to the ground he brought his attention back to the building.

Extinguishing the enchanted flame from his blade, he lunged at the barred doors. His sword bounced away, barely scarring the heavy timbers. More movement caught his eye. To his right, Pherylit backed into the village square, the wounded Dragon looming above him. Its gas-filled stomach chambers having been punctured by the well-aimed arrow, the beast could no longer belch flame or fly. Bound to the ground, only its teeth remained a weapon against the mighty Son of Arael.

Cousin, Saph bellowed. I have need of your axe.

Pherylit sent the Son of Mishrael a sidelong glance. Sensing a lowered guard, the dragon lunged forward, jaws agape. Pherylit deftly sidestepped the deadly jaws, rewarding the dragon with a swat against its horned nose with the flat-edge of his axe-blade.

I have need of it more, the Hero of Cush replied, not taking an eye from his foe.

Saph gestured to the second battle-axe strapped to Pherylit’s back. I need your spare. Quickly. We must evacuate the great hall!

Taking the readied axe in one hand, Pherylit calmly reached over his shoulder and drew his second weapon. The dragon struck again. Pherylit danced quickly away, rolling under the dragon’s listing body and rising to his feet with twin axes spinning. Saph could see that he was playing with the beast. This was a game not of life or death, but of self-glorification.

There is an axe in the stables, sounded a voice to his left. Saph turned to find a villager at his side, spear pointed toward the far-side of the village. Several of the Atlantic soldiers had also noticed the situation in the great hall and had broken from combat. Saph signaled two of them to follow him.

The trio hastily rounded the far corner of the great hall. The air around them suddenly whistled with arrow flight. One of the soldiers fell dead, the back half of an arrow-shaft protruding from his abdomen. Saph looked up to see several shadows standing at the far end of the narrow street. As he stumbled to a halt, they each reached to their quivers.

Archers! Saph warned. Take cover!

He darted back to the building as the air whistled once again. Two arrows thudded into the mud-brick wall beside him. Shards of brick and arrow-shaft splintered against his breastplate and helmet as he scrambled around the corner. Behind him he heard his remaining companion gasp as a third arrow struck its target.

Saph turned to watch the soldier collapse; dead. He peered around the corner again to see three archers advancing. Their bows were again ready with arrows. They would be upon him within moments. He looked around the square for an escape. Pherylit and the dragon had thundered away down another side-street. Several skirmishes still raged in the far shadows.

There was no cover he could reach before the archers reached him.

Chapter 2

Saph pressed himself tightly against the wall as another volley of arrows hissed past. The archers were advancing on his position. He saw no cover to which he could run.

Still the screams of women and children sounded from the Great Hall. He had to get to that axe in the stable.

Then the fog of battle lifted from his memory. There was something better than an axe in the stable.

Quickly he tore at the buckles on his right gauntlet, shaking it from his hand. Bringing his fingers to his lips, he whistled. Loud, long, shrill.

From the stables came the answer to his whistle. He heard it roar, a loud and low bellow as ferocious as the dragon’s had been before enchanted arrow had taken its thunder. Saph peered around the corner of the building to watch the three archers turn toward the large, windowless structure at the far end of the street. Suddenly the heavy stable door splintered from its hinges. Out from the shadowed doorway charged a large, spine-covered lizard. Spiked protrusions covered the beast from head to tail.

Rhotand, Saph’s personal mount.

The archers attacked, their arrows glancing harmlessly against the beast’s thick-plated skin. It was upon them before they could fire again. Rhotand turned sideways as he reached them, hitting them broadside with the full weight and spike-covered length of his body. Saph did not need to finish them with his sword. They were dead.

Hastily he raised his hand to calm the beast, then motioned for it to follow him. Rhotand lumbered behind him to the Great Hall doors.

Saph commanded his mount with a quick, deliberate motion of the hand. The beast again turned sideways. This time, it swung its heavy, mace of a tail against the thick-timbered door. Wood splintered. Another swing brought the door down.

Instantly the village square was filled with women and children. They poured into the fire-lit night even as Rhotand recovered from his tail-swing. Saph raised his flaming sword to gain their attention.

This way, he motioned, hoping that the path he had chosen for evacuation remained secured. Glancing quickly around the square, he could see that the skirmishes he had seen before had since retreated from the vicinity of his large, spike-skinned ally.

Follow my spike-tail. Saph pointed his sword in the direction of escape. Rhotand interpreted the signal and lumbered gently away. Saph turned to assist the stragglers still struggling through