The Lifestone Chronicles. Foundation of a King's Legend

By David Stevens

This, the trilogy of the Lifestone Chronicles begins with:-

Foundation of a King’s legend
The story of the boy Arthur, who is destined to be the King of Kings; he unwittingly usurps a lawful and expectant boy King in waiting, which becomes a battle between good and evil, a battle between boyhood friends, with supremacy as the prize. In theory it is the battle to end all battles, whilst creating the foundation of the entity which becomes the Lifestone. The dark lord is created, the magic unleashed, the future of all hangs in the balance...

• Language: English
• Publisher: David Stevens
• Release date: May 2, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311004604

David Stevens

Dr David Stevens is generally regarded as one of the world's leading project strategists, particularly in value management, value engineering, risk management, partnering, project alliancing and strategic planning.His academic qualifications include three Masters degrees MEng (Hons); MSc (Environmental Psychology); MA (Literature); and a PhD, (Psychology). The framework and theoretical basis for his facilitation techniques are derived from his specialisation as an organisational psychologist. He is a member of the Australian Psychological Society. Dr Stevens was an Adjunct Professor at the School of Engineering and Industrial Design at the University of Western Sydney for ten years (1999 – 2009). He has acted as an external examiner of doctoral level theses. He has authored 7 books, one of which is a major international text published by McGraw Hill. He has held several board positions and has been Chairman of an Australian Standards Committee.

Book preview

Prologue

This, the trilogy of the Lifestone Chronicles begins with the

‘Foundation of a King’s Legend’

This is the story of the boy Arthur, who is destined to be the King of Kings. He unwittingly usurps a lawful and expectant boy King in waiting, which becomes a battle between good and evil - a battle between boyhood friends - with supremacy as the prize. In theory, it is the battle to end all battles. Creating the foundation of the entity which becomes the Lifestone. The dark lord is created, the magic unleashed, and the future of all hangs in the balance...

PART ONE

Chapter 1

The lone knight stood erect, his feet apart and planted firmly. Bright sunlight flashed off his gleaming armor. His heavy sword was drawn, but at rest held in front of him, waiting, suppressed, eager to draw the enemy's blood. Alert, but relaxed the knight waited. He was surveying the distant land whilst standing on top of the breastwork of an ancient, slowly decaying wall of stone.

Now, he thought. Now is the time of times. Now is the doorway to glory and life, or else death and destruction for all. He wondered exactly what he might be facing. He wondered if, as the legends of his world foretold, that he might yet still be the victor, protector to his people, creator of an eternity of peace. What an ambition he thought, as he carefully scanned the flat arid ground before him.

He chose the site of this the last battle. At least he hoped it would be the last battle. It certainly would be his final fling, for if he lost, his life would be forfeit. The enemy would shatter his body as soon as look at it, if they were able.

For the last twenty years there had been a continuing harassment of the people. Small villages, or even larger towns, had been raided by evil. That same evil now awaited him somewhere out there. Many hundreds of his people had been decimated and for what? For power, for ‘The power.’ Once his enemy had been his friend and companion, trusted, and yes, even loved, he thought, my boyhood friend. Sharing the same home, even at times the same room. Now he is my most bitter enemy. The nemesis of all descent people.

The bitterness had not been evident to him, but it was unknowingly firmly established between them from their first meeting. His arrival started the process within the boy, he had thought of as his true friend.

When as a six year old child and he walked out of the sun onto the plains, there was no way he could understand his very presence was the cause of the terrible bitterness that would control and guide his future. He could not then know he had dethroned a future King, denying him of his birthright, because of the power of a legend foretold of him as a man. The boy would never seek out power. He had no driving ambition to rule. For him, his friend could gladly have been the peoples leader. Unfortunately, for him that could never be. The legends had spoken and the interpretation been decided. The bitterness had arrived that day as had he and it would establish the pathway of his, and many other peoples lives.

The long road down which he walked led past a stone plinth surrounding a dead tree. Twin branches, both dead and slowly rotting, extended outwards to either side, reaching to nowhere. The trunk was swathed, encircled and hidden from sight, amidst a thick covering of pointed sharp thorns. He, a child destined to become a King, had stood at the road edge, drawn to that tree but without understanding its meaning.

He had encountered a lone soldier, who with the intelligence of the Elvin people decided a child walking safely out of the mountains was unusual enough, but a lone male child walking out of the mountains, his path lit by the golden rays of sunlight and standing by a grave marker, was even more unusual. The guard had decided quickly. He had given the young boy a drink and picking him up, had mounted his horse and carried his surprising find to the nearest town. Handing the boy over to the proctor in charge, who just happened to be a very wise priest, one who knew how to listen and then act on what he had heard.

The priest knew the legends and therefore the potential buried from sight in the boy. The boy he now held at his mercy. He called for his carriage and with all due haste he drove from the town. Miles passed beneath the rolling wheels as the priest sought out his distant destination. The castle of castles had been reached four and one half days later.

The carriage was admitted through the first of the city's gates. Soon it clattered up to a second gate. This time they were not to pass through as easily as they did through the first gate. The priest pulled from within his tunic a disk, on which was the image of two boys, one lit by the sun, the other swathed in dark shadow.

Seeing the talisman the guards immediately opened the second gate and waved them through. From there, the path climbed still higher, until finally a third gate was encountered. Again the disk was produced, but this time not with the same effect. These guards were not as easily swayed as their predecessors were, the priest talked for all he was worth and finally they agreed to send a runner. He would make haste to a certain building within the highest pinnacle of the castle. The runner was given a specific message to tell the recipient. He was told to say that the ‘boy was found!’ The runner repeated the rather strange message and departed at a fast run.

For one hour they waited, man and boy, in the shadows of the mighty walls. Nothing happened, silence reigned, then from within the last compound a loud voice could be heard shouting,

Let them in you fools, let them in now!

The gates opened and beyond them the priest and his charge could see the panting figure of a rotund male. He was rushing towards them, his arms flapped as he shouted.

Welcome, welcome guider of The One.

Beside him ran another runner, his cloak streaming out behind him. Beyond, following close, were servants and priests in a mixed jumble of panting, puffing and straining, all with pumping legs and arms flailing at the air. Amazingly, the knight who was now a King remembered. Amazingly the oldest of the group arrived first. He had always wondered about that for though he was very fat, the knight would learn that he had boundless energy and also great intelligence.

His priest reached out to the newly arrived fat man and flung his arms around him, calling him brother. The greeting was reciprocated and finally they parted, turning together towards the rather bewildered looking boy.

So this is ‘The One.’ This boy is what all the fuss is about.

There was a smile of genuine excitement on the face, which belied the content of the words he spoke.

Well boy are you hungry? When I was your age I was always hungry. Come with us. We can probably find something to satisfy your young appetite.

The group as a whole turned and began to walk back in the direction from which they had come. The boy found himself between the two men. One, the fat one, placed his hand on his young shoulders as if to guide or perhaps reassure him that all was well, and would soon be even better. That was at least was what the boy hoped the touch meant.

The boy did not have a single memory of his life before he walked out of the mists. He didn't even know his own name. The fat man kept referring to him as Arthur. The name had a sound ring to it and felt right. The name stuck and the strange boy became known as Arthur to one and all he encountered. The legends had taken a step closer in the real world. The boy Arthur knew nothing of those legends and would not do so for many years, but the old fat man did and he was pleased that all was going well. The future King had arrived, just as it had been foretold. The only problem now was that the expected heir to the title, the boy Nailstead, was about to be usurped by Arthur. That would be problematic to the fat man. Something would have to be done and he knew exactly what that something must be. The problem was he didn't like the thought of releasing even the slightest grip he had on power to another.

The person he had in mind could, if she complied, supply all of the answers to his problem. On the other hand, she might disagree with his view and intent, and then he would be left mortally wounded and possibly frustratingly impotent in the coming battle. This he decided would take some consideration before he decided whether to involve the witch. Of course, he knew at some point she would have to be involved, but that would be a long time in the future. That was if he could control both the pace, and the power, for good and evil contained in events to come.

Chapter 2

Arthur studied the ground, as beyond the distant mountains the sun slowly protruded, hesitant at first to cast its daily light, but quickly growing in confidence and illumination. Directly in front of him, and a hundred yards away, there ended a very wide black strip known as the evil road. Or, more commonly to his people, as the devil’s pathway or black road. Arthur looked along the strip. It ran straight as an arrow flies into the heart of the mountains. It was along this road, that as a young boy, he wandered.

Now he was facing it again, but this time he was looking for the first sign of an enemy. High in the sky dark clouds formed, seeming to rise from the teeth of distant jagged rock. They were swirling around and around with hidden purpose. The cloud was not harmless mist and water. It was made of living tissue. It was a cloud of thousands of winged creatures. Each of the constituents of the cloud were circling to gain height, before charging as a horde over the pathway towards his waiting troops. That cloud was the first sign the battle was commencing. That death would shortly come to many.

Behind him, and to his sides, his troops waited. All were loyal. All were desperate to win. Prepared for the onslaught their weapons were clutched tight ready for use. His eyes detected a blackness at the mountain’s foot where the road disappeared from view. The blackness closed, becoming clearer. Troops mounted on carts pulled by long necked flightless creatures, which he knew could breathe fire, charged towards his positions. Pike-men surged around the King's position digging their long pointed poles into the hard ground. Archers took up positions behind the wooden barricades. Behind him, the once boy, now King, knew his mounted troops were gathering for the first of many charges. Death blows would soon be exchanged. The outcome of which was uncertain and the end a long hard fight away. He watched and waited, his preparations made. It was too late to alter anything, life or death was at hand.

The battle would soon be engaged. The forces in opposition would meet and then a win or a defeat would be in the hands of the Gods. He devised his strategy knowing his enemy would chose to move the bulk of its forces along the black road that led from the mountains. He looked along the roadway seeing only a river of dark hardness down which he had walked so many years before. Now carriages filled with hordes of dark creatures threatened to charge along it, to obliterate all the gentle people of his world. They would destroy all he believed in, crushing the fine arts, destroying and pillaging, clashing and killing, in a slaughter unprecedented as they swarmed outwards and into the distant vulnerable lands beyond. It was up to him, and of course the hardy fighters behind and to his sides, to quell this evil force. He hoped to destroy it in its entirety bringing an end to the nightmare that had existed for too long.

Arthur looked into the rising sun seeking out a familiar shape. Nailstead the enemy of life. Nailstead his boyhood friend. Nailstead the deposed, was not in sight. High above his position the dark clouds dispersed into columns of winged creatures, each mounted by an evil force. They burst out of the rising sun intent on reaping their master's revenge. Behind Arthur was a range of low hills. On the top of those hills stood a thin line of people. They were the magi - the holy ones. The wielder’s of arcane powers. They were the first line of his defense against the use of magic or conjuration. They could also be offensive in nature. Now they banded close together, a huddle of decisive power ready to be unleashed at his command.

One stepped forward as the boy, now King, watched. He raised a glistening staff and fire burst upwards into normal clouds above them. The cloud reacted instantly, splitting and spreading, covering the grounded defenders. Lightening spewed from its heart striking into the evil creatures. Some was deflected towards the ground, but the mass of power exploded, dissolving the first and nearest of Nailstead's troops. Battle was sought. Battle was commenced. The first blow had been struck. Now only the will of the people could direct the outcome of this engagement. High above Arthur's head, the flight of enemies peeled apart. Much like a rotting corpse dragged by a horse might be rent into pieces. Wings beat at tainted air, vainly trying to avoid the searing destruction of light unleashed amidst their flock. From behind, mounted soldiers flew high above his head, circling, trying to gain the commanding battle position of height. In front of Arthur the first line of archers were readying their bows. Long shafts with heavy weighted talon like barbs tilted upwards in readiness of the order being given to let fly.

With simultaneous release the arrows scorched into the sky arching through the lightening streaks without damage, to plunge into the creatures of the cloud. Two barrages of wood and steel followed devastating the first wave of Nailstead's forces. With the last of the arrows fired, the mounted forces circling high above descended in a speed gathering charge, which cut a swathe through the blooded creatures. Those that were fortunate enough to survive turned with their cargoes and retreated towards the mountain pass.

They flew over their own forces as they marched along the black road seeking out their enemy. Arthur watched the army. The closer it moved the more troops there seemed to be. His scouts were flying high above them counting their numbers. Soon they would be back and he would know exactly how unbalanced this battle was going to be. Soon he would know if the threat posed was resistible with any hope of victory waiting unseen. Waiting to be snatched from defeat.

Giant wings beat the air above him. His twin guards, their weapons drawn back, took aim at the approaching bird. Their fingers tightly gripped the stretched gut cord of their short bows. Slowly, as recognition dawned, they eased back their taut arms, not lowering their weapons, but also not preparing to fire. The bird's wings easily stretched out twenty feet on a side. One beat of those colossuses was enough to slow the creature. A final flap and ten inch long talons grasped the three foot thick wall, using it as a handy perch. On the back of the giant Eagle Owl rode a creature, a creature that was part man, part elf and perhaps part something else that was entirely different. The male looking creature leapt from its saddle and approached the eagerly waiting King. Bowing smartly from the waist it presented a scroll. Arthur unrolled the hide cover to reveal the papyrus enclosed. He examined it eagerly, as though his life depended on it, which as deep thought decreed, he realized that it might well.

Drawn in neat detailed images were the outlines and formations of his enemy. Magic fueled the scroll. All that the giant owl needed to do was fly. Owls were not at their best in harsh daylight, but in this case, for this mission, the bird had been fitted with custom made dark glasses. Its mounted Halfling acted as extra eyes and provided aerial defense. Bow drawn the creature sat astride the owls back, gripping tight with its legs whilst firing arrows at any creature who attempted to interfere with its passing. There was no archer more feared than a Halfling going about its business, and no winged creature could match the grace or power of an owl in flight, let alone fight mode.

Together this pair penetrated deep over the dark forces ranged against him, and returned unscathed from their effort with a map of the enemy's dispositions. The battle it would seem was to be a straightforward, no subtleties, a full frontal attack, utilizing the black road as a fast access route. Nailstead would have a few surprises up his sleeves Arthur was sure, but then again so had he. He dispatched the Halfling to the south with a detailed plan now drawn on one half of the papyrus sheet. He then summoned a runner to his side, and dispatched him to the North, taking with him the other half of the sheet. His defenses finally placed, the King prepared to draw his final weapon, his loyal troops in defense of his realm.

Beneath the aerial assault Nailstead's stream of troops halted, fanning out to left and right into and across the dust bowl of the plains. They formed up into ranks and then tight grouped boxes of fighting evil. They were intent on marching as one towards the King's position, and swamping it by weight of numbers alone. The boxes moved slowly with deliberate strides, controlled by the beat of an invisible drum. Creatures huddled together, shields of wood and metal held out in front of them. Above them and also to their rear, creating an armored, impenetrable, single fighting entity were groups of creatures.

Though not swift in locomotion, the creatures moved inexorably forwards, closing with the waiting force of the King. Lines formed, as creatures settled into slow marching ground covering trains of armor. More creatures formed up behind the first ranks, adding to the potential for bloody devastation. Line upon line of the monstrous combined creatures closed, marching across the dust plain.

Still the King stood brave and dominant a top the wall, watching carefully the approaching hordes. He raised one finger slightly. To his right a runner departed heading towards the approaching wave of living machines. He raised another finger on the other hand and to his left a runner ran, also heading out into the plain. Both runners arrived at their individual destinations, throwing themselves into deep, well concealed holes, joining with the pair of humans waiting for their arrival. The signal was given. Now all that was required of the waiting watchers was to enact their instructions.

Turning as one to face forward, one of the twin humans gathered together the flexible strands which protruded from a single black tube, which extruded out of the soil in front of him. The second human picked up a tapering fuse and lit it from a steel flint grinder, sparking the taper to life. It flamed and settled eager to light and burn anything around it. The human applied it to the tightly gathered bundle of flexible fuses held by his companion. They both watched, they lit their oil soaked fibres grasping and welcoming the flame eagerly. The fires were alight. Now nothing could stop them as they burned.

Their duty done the figures scrambled from their pits eager to run for safety, but each was magnetically drawn to turn around and face the oncoming enemy. The runner watched from behind one of the humans, as an arrow fell from the sky piercing the fragile human frame with a long devastating shaft, more spear like than arrow. It protruded through the male body sticking into the hard ground, holding the victim erect and facing towards the oncoming enemy with a look of unexpected surprise plastered across his face.

Death was certain for the victim but still elusive, he watched, pinned as he was, breathing hard because of the wood shaft passing through his body. Blood bubbled from between his lips as he tried to tell his companions to leave. It was too late. They joined him, transfixed to the spot, pinned like moths on a collection board, each facing forwards, each watching as the nemesis of all human and elf alike slowly approached. All three died before the crawling machines of evil entities passed over them. Their bodies were crushed beneath booted or clawed feet failing to halt their marching or care about the lives so recently crushed beneath them, joining and adding to the dust.

Below them, hidden from sight, beneath the dust the fuses burned. Each spread out, fan like, linking up, lighting others, forming a wheel beneath the ground encircling the marching invaders, undermining their prospects. The King watched and waited counting down the minutes, then the seconds, before full engagement occurred. The first ranks had reached his troops, who retreated as planned, making a great show of their apparent cowardice, thus encouraging the enemy to march more confidently forward.

‘Ten.’ He turned from the slowly approaching enemy. He watched his troops rush past his position and settle themselves into pre-prepared trenches or taking cover behind walls. All aspect of their apparent previous cowardice had vanished. ‘Four.’ He raised both arms above his head and counted silently. ‘Two, One.’ Zero finally arrived and his arms dropped. Behind his unflinching back the earth exploded in sheets of fire. Gouts of soil burst into the air shattering the creatures trapped on the plain. Smoke billowed as more explosions occurred. Each was accompanied by its own walls of flame, which then flowed across the dry hard ground. They linked up cremating the King's enemies from the ground up. Flames crawled up the legs of the still marching evil, swallowing their flesh, destroying any remaining will to fight. It shattered Nailstead's army into pathetic screaming groups of partially cremated creatures. Beyond the king the approaching army burned in a living fire from hell. All encompassed were desperate now to escape the terror and torment of the encroaching flames and the death they wrought.

Death came slowly to those not instantly shattered by the explosions. The flames continued to link and expand reaching high into the clear sky. Fire flooded the clean air with the effluvial muck of the dying, soil encompassed creatures. Their spirits burnt away and were carried by the gently winds. Behind them, held in reserve at the base of the mountains, waited a large moving swarm of minions loyal to the Dark One. They began to spread like spilled ink across the plain as the King and his troops watched in awe at their numbers.

Their first assault had been broken, nay shattered to pieces. The winged beasts had been driven from the skies, but still Nailstead had more, much more to call on for his assault. He spread his army out in readiness of the charge, which should carry his forces over the resisting Humans and elves, defeating and burying them beneath beak and claw. Destruction of his enemies was his only concern. Total annihilation his only current goal. Even power took second place to his main aim of destruction. His army multiplied, closing up ranks to allow more and varied forces access to the battlefield behind the leading troops. Slowly the numbers increased. They marched confidently forward, the fire before them dying away.

The King stood his ground watching the mounting force. His plan held as did the bravery of his troops. There were more surprises in store for this force before the day would end. Again he wondered if there was no other way, no hope of peace with his old compatriot and childhood friend. Again he had to accept that peace was an impossibility. Now only battle, and death, remained for one of them.

He had sent an emissary with greetings to meet with Nailstead. A trusted emissary, a friend. In fact, the man who brought him to the place he now occupied. Nailstead betrayed that emissary who had also once been his friend, killing him slowly, roasting and peeling his flesh from his old bones. That was before sending a detailed account of his death back to the King along with what remained of the desecrated body. It was all neatly inked on the inside of the dead man’s own skin.

There could be no peace between them. Only death and destruction could be the outcome of this day. Death to whom, remained to be seen, but death breathed near to all on that plain, defender and attacker alike. Death held no interest in whom it claimed, only that it claimed any that were available. Death would be the main reveler this evening.

The death fires faded away, spluttered, and then finally they went out. They left pillars of black evil smelling smoke to roil upwards, carrying the burnt signatures of the deceased. Though out there were mostly creatures of the dark, now, spawn of evil intentions, each and every one of them had once been a creature like he. They lived their lives in and around the lands he now ruled. They were citizens prior to responding to the Dark One's call. They once had families. Some still had families, though they were by their own choice lost to them forever, a forgotten life.

Others were alone through choice. Disaffected youth turned to black evil creatures in the blink of a magical eye. Acceptance of the Dark One's aims destroyed the little remaining essence of humanity that had been creations gift to them. Now mounting and expanding they filled the distant horizon. They were bent on the annihilation and mutilation of the innocent, the people they blamed for their condition. The innocent people who carried no blame for their own decisions.

Only the Dark Lord Nailstead, his friend once, now become his enemy had any right to shoulder the blame that was stifling out on the plain. He would face them all, despite being outnumbered. He would never accept even the possibility of defeat. The dark army was on the march! Churning the dry soil they trample over into thick clouds of dust, camouflaging their image, but equally demarking their position.

Behind them, and concealed from the King's sight less the Magi or worse the witch locate him, waited Nailstead. He was clear in intent and favoring utter destruction. He unleashed his second wave of minions, not soldiers