Crystal Fire

By R.L. Kiser

· Eons ago magic users were unguided and undisciplined. There were those that applied magic intelligently, those that were unscrupulous, and worst of all, the amateurs. Magic ran rampant in the land. Those pure of heart came together to form a standard of discipline, they formed The Crystal into which the hearts, minds, and souls of hundreds, eventually thousands, gave their special talents.
Those powerful from the beginning, corrupted by the black arts, coveted the power of The Crystal and would try again to posses it, their previous attempt thwarted. But that battle used powers beyond control and the effects were devastating. Crystal Warriors, scarred by that battle, were scattered throughout the land.
But now the call goes out for their return, The Crystal is under attack, the need is urgent. Principal among those Crystal Warriors are Tarina, known as Awiel of the Dance, a beautiful veil dancer, Crystal Seeress, and wicked with a blade, far away in the southern lands.
Rowan, former Captain, psychically scarred, hiding far away in a place where there is little magic, disguised as an old man selling firewood.
Macon, a drunken sot who must pull himself together to become the powerful Crystal Warrior he once was.
Tarina, known as Awiel of the Dance, a sought after veil dancer and powerful Crystal Seerees, and wicked with a blade.
They and many others are forever attuned to The Crystal and hear its call. They must heed the call and travel thousands of perilous miles to do battle with overwhelming forces. An epic tale of magic and warriors, but more importantly, of flawed human beings overcoming adversity and personal demons to do what must be done.

• Language: English
• Publisher: R.L. Kiser
• Release date: Jan 30, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301051922

R.L. Kiser

R.L. Kiser is the author of the Tales of the Crystal trilogy, The Prophecy of Tara (A Mystical Fantasy), the Educated Injun series, and Exile-A SciFi Adventure, which received a 5 star review and made the first cut in the 2013 Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award. (www.rlkiser.com) Born in Idaho, raised in Arizona, grew up in Los Angeles he's a Vietnam Veteran, been a musician, a Hollywood taxi driver, a computer programmer, a single parent, and ran his own Internet marketing business. He holds an associate's degree in computer science. He currently resides in Sparks, Nevada with three computers, three bicycles, a recumbent trike, and an '02 Mercedes SUV (no, that does not stand for Small Ugly Vehicle). He's currently hiding from the ATF, CIA, DEA, DHS, DMV, DOD, DOT, HUD, ICE, IRS, ONI, SPD, and FBI, but the NSA knows where he is.

Book preview

CRYSTAL FIRE

Tales of the Crystal

Book One

R.L. Kiser

Published by KiseSoft unInc.

Smashwords Edition

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage retrieval system, without the permission, in writing, of the publisher.

ISBN: 978-1301051922

This is a work of fiction. Names and characters are strictly from the imagination of the author. Any resemblance to any person living or dead is purely coincidental.

Cover design by Elite Book Covers.

CONTENTS

Top

In The Beginning

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

About The Author

Click on any Chapter Title to return to the Table of Contents

In The Beginning

Crystal Fire

In the beginning there was magic, pure, raw, unadulterated, available to anyone that had a natural talent to use it. Over time there were those that came to abuse its power. Chaos reigned.

There were those pure of heart that came together to form a standard of discipline to which all could adhere. They formed a central point into which the hearts, minds, and souls of hundreds, eventually thousands, gave their special talents. They formed The Crystal.

But of course there were those powerful from the beginning, corrupted by the black arts, that coveted the power of The Crystal and would stop at nothing to possess it. Their nefarious scheme thwarted once before they would try again.

Crystal Fire (1) is the first of three tales.

The Last Battle (2) is a prequel in the timeline of Tales of the Crystal and fills in the pre-history while setting up the third story.

The Twelve Tablets (3) takes up where the first story left off and tells more of Darian’s quest in the deep desert.

CHAPTER ONE

Crystal Fire

It wasn’t the kind of weather anyone would like nor dislike. It was one of those grey, drizzly, early winter days that you woke up to and dealt with. The grey haired old woodsman ignored his aches and pains and pulled a well-worn pair of greased leathers over his woolen hose. The fire helped to stave off the aches in his swollen joints but now he had to venture out into the dreary half-light of constant drizzle. The leather pants and heavy boots, both liberally coated and soaked with animal fat would help, but this constant state of wet was unusual even for this time of year.

He pulled on a heavy hooded canvas cloak, tightly woven to ward off the rain. As he stepped onto the covered porch of the tiny, ramshackle cottage, he threw old oil rags around the evenly cut firewood to ward off the drizzle, now becoming a heavier rain, threw the heavy bundle over his shoulder onto his back and trudged the mudded path to the soggy road to town.

His firewood always brought a premium price gladly paid by the merchants, bankers, and gentlefolk of money in town because it was evenly cut, burned smoothly and long, and always gave off a pleasant scent. There were a few of the poor townsfolk who occasionally had the pleasure of his long-lasting hearth fuel because even though he played the grumbly old man, beneath that gruff exterior beat a soft heart.

As he passed the miller road he saw as well as heard the miller's young apprentice cussing a blue streak, pulling on the horse’s bridle, trying to get the already straining beast to break the wagonload of milled wheat from the muck and mire that sucked at its right rear wheel. The horse’s eyes were wide with pleading as the old woodsman passed by, the heavy burden on his back bending him over.

I’ll trade you a ride into town for help in freeing your load from the mud, he shouted to the young miller’s apprentice over the noise of the heavy downpour. The young man quit his straining, dumped water from his hat and wiped the mixture of sweat and drizzle from his face with an already soaked handkerchief. He nodded his approval.

The old woodsman threw his burden of firewood up into the foot well of the wagon. To any other than the casual observer he threw such a heavy burden a little too easily for such an ‘old’ man. He winked at the horse, who nudged him gently with his large head and winked back. The horse instinctively knew who, or what, he was but wasn’t about to tell anyone. The old woodsman nodded at the apprentice, who once again grabbed the bridle. He mumbled something to himself, his fingers rapidly making runes, toned muscles bunched under the old man clothes, and the wheat filled wagon rolled forward easily. The rest of their journey into town over the pitted, muddy road was surprisingly smooth.

As the old woodsman descended the marble stairs of the house of his last customer the thought of a pint or two of the stout, bitter local ale sounded more and more appealing. His feet automatically found their way down the street and across the alleyways towards his favorite local pub, his mind on other things. Less than a block away through the grey drizzle his attention was suddenly focused on the swift movement of a bluish hue sparkling against the mist. He chose this small town on the outskirts of nowhere for its lack of magic and magicians, witches, wizards, necromancers, warlocks, mages, and altogether boring existence. But that sparkling blue he glimpsed a moment before, all but invisible to the common man, was definitely the sign of special powers. He found himself thinking back as he sloshed through the street water and found his way to the foyer of the small but well-kept tavern.

It was several years earlier up north defending Crystal City when he last used the full power of his magic. His lifelong chum and brigade companion gave his life force to him that day in defense of the Crystal. That life force flowed through him into the Crystal. The anguish and helplessness to do no more than that, and later the complete loss of his best friend was too much for him. With the battle won he traveled south until he was dog tired and found a simple place without magic. The only magic he allowed himself was for survival. Once you take the path of a mage or magician warrior there is no going back. The magic of his firewood, which is not detectable to even the most adept because of the way it was infused, and occasionally as today with the rutted wagon. Nothing else.

The tavern was not large but it was clean and comfortable. There was an entryway at street level big enough for two or three large men to shed the weather from their cloaks. To the left and right of the entryway were large wooden pegs for hanging hats and cloaks. Two steps took you down to the weathered wooden floor. To the right was the bar, a long solid wooden affair closed in the front. Nothing fancy, just solidly built by a craftsman who knew his art. Behind the bar were two large barrels of ale, one light, one dark, and smaller barrels of wine. To the left of that was a cutting board for meats and cheese.

A stone wall cut back into the room at an angle supported a wide door to the store room in the back. Along the back wall were two dartboards and on a shelf an old trophy or two. Not many had time for darts these days.

On the other wall opposite the bar, also cutting the corner, was a large hearth and fireplace where one of the old woodman’s special logs burned happily filling the place with warmth and a pleasant smell. Placed randomly facing the fireplace were six sturdy tables, each with four chairs.

He looked around the sparsely populated tavern trying to spot the glow of magical power, but couldn’t. But he did spot something unusual. Sitting in the back in the shadows was someone out of place, someone in rich traveling robes of tightly woven bluish-grey wool, a slight hooded figure with an aristocratic aura of breeding and education. He laid his last fire log down on the counter and was greeted warmly by the innkeeper with a mug of warm, stout ale and a shot of fine whiskey to ward off the damp. Such whiskey was secreted away and only served to his best customers.

The old woodsman stood tall for a moment revealing himself to be a big man, much larger than his old woodsman persona would have you believe. He waved the whiskey under his nose savoring the aroma and tossed it into his mouth holding it there for a moment tasting the fire, and swallowed in a single gulp. He truly enjoyed the taste and shock of that first fleeting moment of whiskey.

The barkeep picked up the fire log and placed it next to one like it near the end of the bar. I am truly indebted to you, sir, he said, I haven't even used the last one. This rain, business has been really off. Not even any travelers for the southern trades.

Yes, the old man nodded. The rains have been unusual. He picked up his mug of ale and turned to face the back of the room where the stranger sat. There was a sudden lightening of the gloom under the hood and he could see a pair of eyes, pretty eyes, a woman’s eyes. At the same moment a soft woman's voice said to him, I must speak with you. It is urgent. Yet her lips didn't move and no one else heard her speak.

As lightning flashed outside momentarily lighting her dark corner, he was aware that she was not alone. There were wisps of shadows, the glimpse of movement one occasionally catches out of the corner of the eye. There were ethereal beings who travel between worlds, at least two of them, with her as protectors. In a crisis they would be real enough and their enemies just as dead. He saw their kind fight before and had a healthy respect for them. But he also had a sudden desire to know who intruded upon his private sphere.

He strode over to her table, set down the half drained mug, leaned his large fists onto the solid oak, leaned toward her, and in a soft but demanding voice said, Who are you?

One who brings an urgent plea for help, she replied softly. Her lips moved now, it was the same voice.

Do I know you? he queried.

You know my mistress, she replied and filled his receptive mind with a vision of a woman so beautiful as to turn most men’s eyes to water and minds to mush. A woman who at one time filled his heart and mind almost to the exclusion of all else. A soft, oval face framed by thick, lush, blonde hair the color of summer wheat, luscious lips colored by the kiss of a rose, a thin, dainty nose separating two large, soft, round eyes the color of a pale blue summer sky, eyes that sparkled with humor, intelligence, wit, and once held nothing but love for him.

Upon seeing this vision there was a sharp intake of breath and he felt his heart seize up a moment with an ache that would fill the void of space, he felt such love for the woman in his vision.

Noooo, he moaned and slumped into a chair. Why do you torture me so? I cannot help you. Looking down he sat for a moment but quickly started to lift his bulk from the chair.

Her soft and dainty hand was on his as she said, Please... a pleading in her eyes. The Crystal is in danger, she is in danger, your friend... Her voice trailed off as she saw his visions of his best friend's life force ebbing into the Crystal. She continued, You are one of the only ones left who knows the secrets of the Crystal. Who knows the way of the defenses...

No! he shouted, startling what few patrons there were. Never again. It's too dangerous for even the gods. His memories of having summoned powers from deep beneath the Crystal, horribly destructive powers, were locked away. Now they were set free and his face was pale, the life in his eyes dim, staring at nothing a thousand years away reliving those days of the last battle.

The northern hoards descending upon them, severely outnumbered, he and his few Crystal Warriors dredged up from the earth a terrible fire which rained down on the invaders. Intense heat and flames, clinging to man and beast alike, wave after wave of fire erupting from the earth, falling from the heavens, the smell of cooking flesh permeating their very existence.

He came back to the present with her gently rocking him, his head against her breast as if he were a small child, her soft voice cooing to him. None of the other patrons paid any attention to them, which is what she wanted.

My mistress warned me of this... and I am here to help. What this man went through to defend his kind and sacred Crystal shouldn't have been asked of a god, least of all a mortal man. Even one as adept in the ways of crystal magic as him. Yet he survived, though how he kept his sanity was still a mystery.

Upon her signal the barkeep passed another whiskey under his nose, which he gulped down thirstily. What would you have of me? he croaked, resigning himself to whatever might come next.

She needs you, came her soothing reply We all need you. We must travel north, but not by magic. There is wizardry about, black sorcery. I have a coach and fire stallions nearby. Fire stallions were a sort of wizardry unto themselves and were known to cover leagues in a day, but they were rare and no one was ever known to tame them nor keep them for long.

He sat there staring into her soft blue eyes for several minutes saying nothing, the pain and horrors of the past clearly visible in his eyes. He downed the rest of his ale and slowly shook his head from side to side.

He said, I'm not who you think I am. I... I... no. You must go, now. Leave this place. Leave me, and he stood to go.

Again she placed a soft, gentle hand on his and said, You are Rowan, captain of the Crystal Guard. Rowan, who holds the heart of M'Lady Ariel. There is no other. Her soft eyes looked up at him beseechingly.

Still his head shook slowly from side to side denying the truth in her words. He was trembling. So softly he could barely hear it himself he repeated, No... no... no. With tears in his eyes floating the fear and horror he said, "I