The Lords of Alchemy

By Grant Stock

Zen Storm is a sixteen year old young man who is coming of age and must face the choice of what trade to follow. His family hopes that he will choose to join them as a blacksmith but Zen feels a desire to join the garrison at Maltar in order to help protect his nation of Morian. While visiting the recruiting station at Maltar, Zen finds himself fleeing for his life from a legendary Shrake warlord known as Rolinque. During his flight Zen is lead to an underground cavern filled with the secrets and technology of a forgotten order called the Lords of Alchemy - who could not only change led into gold but had the power to transmute all matter. Here he learns he is one of the last known descendants of this ancient order. Fearing their destruction at the hands of the Shrakes, the Lords of Alchemy created a bio-cybernetic interface designed to impart the power and knowledge of their Alchemy. Using this interface Zen learns the knowledge and ways of his ancestors and soon finds himself swept up in an age old battle that is destined to encompass the entire world of Iora.
Orphaned at the age of seven, Dela Rae was raised on the streets of the dead city of Aeternam by her tough street wise brother Zeb. Together they plan to rid the streets of the mercenaries that plaque their crumbling city. When Zeb is brought back dead with no explanation, Dela determines to fulfill their dream. One set back after another however seems to plaque Dela and she begins to despair of ever fulfilling her and Zeb’s dreams. Then she learns of her ancient heritage as a descendant of the Lords of Alchemy. In addition a young man named Zen Storm shows up and together they begin to form a movement that will not only rid her city of the dreaded mercenaries but have the ability to save their entire world. Perhaps I can fulfill our dream after all Zeb, is the silent hope that beats in Dela’s heart.
Enter the world of Iora where Dela and Zen begin their fight to free their people from the Shrake warlords who's rule is ruthless and supreme. This is a completely original world filled with unique people, heritage, cultures, plants, and fauna that will make your heart beat faster and take your breath away.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Grant Stock
• Release date: Sep 20, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311621047

Grant Stock

Grant Stock is currently serving as a high school principal in rural Missouri school district. He received a bachelor’s in physics and chemistry from Utah Valley University and began his career in education as a high school science teacher. A love for science and fantasy fiction led Grant to begin writing a book titled The Lords of Alchemy. While writing his book, The Lords of Alchemy, he also taught school, coached basketball, finished his master’s degree in education from William Woods University, and raised a family of seven children. He is currently working on his doctorate with Liberty University. Many say that Grant started writing The Lords of Alchemy because he was bored and had nothing else to do.

Book preview

Dela landed lightly upon the ground, between the Morian army and the savage horde of Neo warriors which was pouring forth from the gorge onto the Field of Cushan. Their bodies were painted red and white and their battle horns filled the air causing even the bravest of warriors to tremble at the sight of the on-coming host. But not Dela----she smiled and straightened from a crouch to her full height. Her sudden appearance caught the advancing Neo warriors off guard slowing their advances as they focused on the solitary figure standing tall and erect before them. Dela slowly pushed back the cowl that hid her face, as the Neos continued to pour forth from the gorge. Reaching out with the Flux, Dela felt the river of energy flow into her and she began to pull the earth up towards her outstretched hand forming a swirling vortex of sand which solidified into a dark wooden staff. Then with a yell born of adrenaline, excitement, and a little fear, she charged the oncoming army.

The Neo warriors in the lead recovered quickly from their shock and before Dela could reach them, a hail of arrows, spears, and knives swept toward her. Again she reached out with the Flux transforming the oncoming projectiles to water. The mist sprayed her as momentum carried her forward, soaking her from head to toe----then she was among the savage horde.

Everything around Dela seemed to slow as she began to flow among the Neo warriors. Her senses sharpened, her body felt alive and invigorated as she spun and whirled through and among her enemies. Her staff shot out, catching one alongside the head, another in the belly, and swept the legs out from under a third. Dela’s hands and feet were busy as well, lashing out with blurring speed. She was a true Alchemist Lord, flowing like water through every hole and crack in their ranks. Everywhere she went warriors went down in heaps. The forward motion of the Neo army ground to a halt as they confronted this new opponent, giving the Morian forces time to regroup into a coherent battle front.

When the Morian army reformed their lines, Dela leapt into the air flipping backwards so she landed between the two armies. The Neo warriors picked themselves up--looking out at Dela, who stood all alone. Her green robes swirling around her, the wind shaping them to the contours of her body. She stood confident her red hair fluid in the wind--her black staff held boldly in front of her. Her very confidence and manner, as well as the pummeling they had just received, gave the Neo army pause----after all who would stand all alone to defy an entire army?

Then a leaders of the Neo warriors cried out, Veneratio pro vita. Death before dishonor. Soon the entire army took up the call, Veneratio pro vita. The ground and air vibrated from the thunderous roar. At the command of their leaders they knelt as one, notched their bows, and fired a hail of arrows which filled the open sky. Again Dela reached out with the Flux converting the arrows into dust which rained down upon the Morian army.

With the battle cry, Veneratio pro vita, the Neos leapt forward again. Dela braced, ready for action. She heard Ryker Hamar, the leader of the Morian army, call out, Ready your arms, and the front two rows of Morian soldiers lifted their shields and planted their spears to repel the oncoming attack.

Just before they reached her, Dela flipped backwards through the air, clearing the heads of the Morian soldier’s front line. At the same time, she turned the ground in front of the charging horde of Neo warriors into a pool of water. They charged into the knee deep water and she let them come until they had filled the pool. Then using the Flux she changed the water into rock. Howls of dismay and fear filled the air as the front ranks of the Neo army found themselves encased in stone.

Dela landed nimbly among the Morian ranks and looked out at the Neo horde that still continued to pour out of the gorge. She set her jaw as she thought of the events that had thrown her and Zen into a war that was sweeping across the nation of Morian and in the end would probably cover the entire world of Iora. Well, she thought as she watched the now petrified Neo horde, the people of Iora will once again remember what it means to face an Alchemist Lord. With that thought, Dela strode over to converse with the leader of the Morian army. The battle for the city of Gem had begun.

CHAPTER 1

UNREST

(Six Months Earlier)

Zen Storm stopped, a grin spreading across his face, as he looked up at the structure towering before him. A few people grumbled as they stepped around him, but most were far too anxious to get inside to stop and make a fuss. The games of Maltar were about to begin.

The Town of Maltar hosted the best arena games for fifty leagues in any direction. People came from as far as Camlen Lakes and Tholton to participate in and watch the games. Zen watched as people filed through the three arched openings which allowed entrance to the arena. Stop gaping like a country lad come to town for the first time, he told himself and followed the crowd into the arena.

Zen had come to Maltar to talk to the army recruiter about joining the garrison that protected the Maltar area; that, and of course, to participate in the arena games. He was sixteen and large in stature for his age. The Storms were blacksmiths by trade and he had developed a powerful build from his work in the forge. At sixteen, he was of age to be choosing a career. In fact, as his father was fond of saying, it is past time for you to decide what you are going to do with your life Zen. You need to grow up and take on your responsibilities.

The problem is, Dad, Zen said, to no one in particular as he recalled his father’s words. I don’t know what I want to do. A few people turned their heads to look at the strange boy talking to himself. He felt his cheeks heat up when he realized he had said the words out loud. Setting his jaw, he determined not to make the same mistake again and followed the crowd through the arched entrance to the arena.

Zen's older brother Hanar chose to follow in the family’s footsteps and apply his skill at the forge, which had made everyone happy. His father reminded Zen often that they would be happy to have him join them as well. It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy the work, because he did. He just couldn’t see himself settling down to it.

Lately he had been training with their village weapons master, Deka. Deka felt that for his age, Zen was one of the best athletes and weapon handlers in the entire area. It was he who mentioned that Zen might think of joining the garrison around Maltar.

He liked the idea of going beyond his small village and fighting for the freedom of his people, but there was a problem. He loved the thrill of combat and rush of adrenalin that came with it, yet when it came to taking someone’s life . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . I’m not sure I can do it, he told himself. There it was, his dilemma; how can I be a soldier and be afraid to take someone’s life? Stop thinking about it, he told himself and pushed his worries from his mind.

When he entered the arena, Zen was immediately assailed by the smell of sweat and un-washed bodies, which caused him to wrinkle his nose. Dust hung thick in the air and stung at his eyes. What I wouldn’t give for a breeze right now he thought, as he reached back and pulled his long black hair off his neck, then quickly tied it back with a leather strap. He wiped the sweat from his brow with the palm of his hand and looked around.

The arena was a wide-open dirt field in the shape of an oval which measured one-hundred –fifty feet long by sixty feet wide. A small fence about chest high ran all the way around the dirt arena. Bleachers were built behind the fence upon a lattice work of wood rising to over twenty---five feet high. Long boards worn smooth from bodies that had occupied them over the years made up the seats.

Zen turned right and walked down the dirt path in front of the bleachers, his feet sending puffs of dust into the air. He squinted, looking up at the seats, when he heard his name yelled over the din. Shading his eyes, Zen swept the crowd, looking to see who had called his name. Half--way up the wooden bleachers and to his left he saw Deka waving his hand for Zen to join him. Zen grinned then started his climb up the bleachers, stepping over and around those already seated, and murmuring apologies as he went.

Hello, lad, Deka boomed out in a friendly voice. He reached out a hand, pulling Zen up and slapping him on the back. I was hoping to see you here today. There it was again, he thought. Everyone is always calling me a lad. They say grow up, yet they won’t treat me as an adult--All the responsibilities and none of the privileges. Wisely, he kept his thoughts to himself, besides he liked Deka.

Deka was a medium-sized man standing just under six feet tall. He was clean shaven except for long side burns which ran down the side of his face. His brown curly hair was set off by eyes of brilliant blue. With a lean face and sharp jaw line, Deka always made the heads of the ladies turn. He currently wore a brown shirt tucked into buckskin trousers with a large leather belt to hold them up. Deka was wire thin, but as Zen had learned the man could put power behind a punch.

I didn’t know you were coming in today or I would have joined you, Zen said.

I actually didn’t come in today, Deka responded. I came yesterday to meet some old acquaintances and pay off some debts.

Would one of those acquaintances be Ryker, the army recruiter?

Deka grinned like a man who knew a secret. So you did see him, I figured you would. How did it go?

Zen shrugged and looked out over the arena. All right I guess. He was friendly enough and seemed interested in me.

So do you think you will join the garrison? Deka asked slowly as if hesitant to know the answer.

I don’t know. A part of me says yes I should go and then another part says . . . well, I just don’t know. Then he changed the subject. Ryker said you guys fought together in the last Neo wars. He also said you were a good man to have around.

It was Deka’s turn to stare out over the arena, his mind wandering back to the wars. He was too, he said softly, almost to himself. That was a long time ago and yet it seems like yesterday. I experienced a lot of things and made some great friends, but just between us, I hope that we don’t ever have to go through those days again.

Hesitating, his training master looked down at his hands. However, I fear that we will. There is talk of Neos having been sighted up in the Black Root Mountains above Camlen Lakes. Hunting parties are disappearing and the garrisons are recruiting everywhere. There is a spirit of unrest.

So is this how the war began last time?

No, it’s different this time, Deka replied, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. Last time they came over the mountains in droves. Now it’s like they’re after something, but I don’t know what. He shrugged and said, It just feels different.

A crease crossed Zen's forehead as he considered what Deka just revealed. It brought back the decision that weighed on his mind. Do I go to war? Can I handle the brutality of it all? It is one thing to compete in a game but can I take another’s life? Zen wasn’t sure he had the answers to these questions.

Are you all right? Deka inquired, noticing the change in Zen’s face.

Yeah, I was just thinking. Then, not wanting to talk about it, he asked, I noticed there were quite a few guards in the gate houses and arrow towers, is that common?

No, Deka said, With so many people here today and the sightings near the Camlen Lakes, Ryker said they were just being careful.

This morning on my way in, I stopped to get a drink at the Ivory River, Zen said, You know where the old river trail comes in on the west side of the river? Deka nodded his head in acknowledgement. I was sitting there for moment just thinking, when I saw a flash of red movement in the brush on the other side of the river. It thought it was a person but I only caught a glimpse."

Deka was about to respond, when the audience around them broke into cheers. They looked out over the audience to see the mistress of the arena sauntering toward the center of the ring.

CHAPTER 2

THE ARENA

The Mistress of the Arena was dressed in a vest made of white fur that reflected the light causing it to sparkle in every direction. She had on tight leather pants and boots that laced all the way up to her knees. Her long black hair cascaded down her back and she held a long whip that dragged lazily in the dust. Cheers and whistles grew with every step her supple body made.

Shut your mouth before you start drooling, Deka said, grinning from ear to ear. Zen blushed at the thought that he had been caught being so enthralled by the ring mistress.

Her name is Hefa, he continued, And don’t let looks deceive you. She is as hard as iron and could take off my whiskers with that whip. You don’t become the mistress of the arena by being soft.

As if on cue, Hefa brought her whip up and around snapping it so hard the crack silenced everyone. The crowd stood and thundered their applause as Hefa slowly turned in a circle scanning her audience. She's a beautiful woman by anyone’s standards, he thought. Her body was slim but firm and curved in all the right places as if a master sculpture had carved her that way. A face smooth with a slight hint of pink to her cheeks, stared out at the assembled audience.

Two men entered the arena and made their way over to the large cabinets built against the walls. Opening the cabinets, they pulled out wooden stands that were about eight feet high. They attached a round disk on a string to each and began placing them around the arena. Next they went to the stalls and released two white horses. The horses had long silver mains flowing down their necks and gigantic hooves that sprayed dust into the air as they pranced to the center of the arena where Hefa stood.

Flipping her whip up and around her shoulder, she tucked the butt of it under her arm and sprang onto the back of the nearest horse. Taking the rope of her first mount in one hand, she reached out and grabbed the second horse’s rope. She pulled the two ropes together, then stood up with one foot on each horse. She placed the ropes in one hand, then used the other to unwind the whip from her shoulder and brought it around her head with a sharp crack.

The two horses reared up and then shot forward as one, dirt flying and hoofs pounding as they raced toward the entrance that led to the main thoroughfare of Maltar. As they neared the gate, Hefa pulled the horses to the left and began to circle the arena. Approaching the first stand that had been set up, her whip came up and around with a snap, shattering the round disk which had been tied to it into hundreds of tiny pieces. The sound shot across the assembled crowd making them flinch. Racing around the arena, she repeated the feat flicking her whip with breath taking speed. At the last one, after shattering the disk, she flicked the whip back catching the stand and flung it into the air. It soared up over the fence and hung suspended in the air for a breathtaking moment then plunged toward the crowed seated in the stands. The audience dived out of the way as it hurtled into the benches, shattering on impact. The bench it landed on did not fare much better, breaking in half, it dangled from the lattice work that held it aloft. The crowd leapt to their feet and roared with excitement.

Returning to the center of the arena Hefa dismounted with a backwards flip, while the horses were still running. The crowd exploded again with shouts that shook the bleachers. With three quick cracks of her whip she brought them back to silence.

Let the games begin! she shouted, and strode calmly out of the arena surrounded by the deafening roar of the crowd.

The next person to enter the ring was the Wilderon cat fighter. He was tall with long flowing limbs and his head was completely shaved. His muscles rippled under bronzed skin, a hint at the power and agility he possessed. The only clothing he wore was a loin cloth made from the hide of the great Wilderon cat. A short knife hung at his belt and a coil of rope slung over his shoulder.

He looks to be from the Mammoth Gorge area, Deka said. Most of the really good cat fighters are. Zen nodded his head in recognition of the comment.

The crowd fell silent as a metal cage was rolled into the arena. The cage contained the biggest Wilderon cat Zen had ever seen. It was at least five feet tall at its shoulders and weighed over six hundred pounds. His fur was glossy black and covered with small flecks of orange. The cat paced back and forth on abnormally large padded paws, the silky black hair on the back of its legs trailing like spider webs caught in the wind. Snarling and pacing in its cage, it frequently charged the bars screaming its rage to the world. Two long canine teeth hung down six inches past its upper jaw and when it snarled, you could see the true size of these pearly white weapons of death.

The Wilderon fighter walked over and pulled the pin holding the cage’s front door closed, letting it crash to the ground with a dull thud sending a cloud of dust into the air. Out sprang six hundred pounds of pure muscle and sinew, roaring its anger to the assembled crowd. The cat hit the ground in a crouch and began to scan its surroundings, ready to spring into action.

Yelling, the Wilderon fighter focused the cat’s attention on himself. It barred its fangs in a snarl, bunched its feet underneath its body, then sprang at the fighter. The warrior darted straight for the lunging beast but at the last moment slid under its outstretched claws. The cat pivoted and slashed out again but the warrior was gone - a quick roll having placed him several feet away.

The cat grew cautious and began to circle reappraising its prey. It seemed to realize that this scrawny two-legged beast would be more of a challenge than it had originally anticipated. Its screams and snarls stopped and its golden eyes focused on the bronze-skinned warrior before it.

At this point, the warrior pulled the rope from his shoulder. He created a large loop holding it in his right hand and kept the rest of the rope, still coiled, in his left. He began to taunt the big cat, throwing his hand forward with the open loop. The Wilderon cat swiped his large paw out swift as a snake trying to snag the loop.

After circling each other for a few seconds, the cat charged again. The fighter rolled under one of the swinging paws, grabbed the hair on the back of the big cat’s leg and used his momentum to swing up onto its back . Before the cat could react, the fighter slipped the noose around its neck. The Wilderon cat went crazy. It leaped and spun in the air crashing onto its back trying to dislodge the bronzed fighter, but the man hung on.

Zen realized at this point it would be a battle of endurance. If the cat tired first, the warrior would be able to loop its foot, plunge the knife under the right foreleg and sever its largest artery. The cat would bleed to death in a matter of seconds. But if the fighter lost his grip, he would be ripped to pieces by the Wilderon cat.

Their mad struggle brought them close to the cage and the cat made an unexpected twist, slamming the fighter against the metal bars. The warrior lost his grip and slipped from the its back. Luckily he landed underneath the wagon and with a quick push backwards rolled even further under, avoiding the claws that swept down to catch him. The crowded around Zen all sat silently on the edge of their seats waiting to see if the warrior would re-appear as the cat paced back and forth snarling and swiping at the wagon. Finally, it leapt backwards, roared and charged slamming its full weight into the wagon.

The wagon exploded, sending splinters of wood flying in all directions and the metal cage soared fifteen feet into the air then plummeted back to the arena floor. The few moments of reprieve, however, gave the Wilderon fighter the time he needed to get his breath and wits back. He sprinted for the metal cage, the cat following on his heels. Just as the warrior reached the cage, the cat sprang. With wondrous agility, the bronzed fighter ran up the side of the cage and did a backwards flip over the top of the Wilderon cat. Reaching out he caught the fur right behind its head and pivoted landing on the cat’s back as it slammed into the cage.

The frenzy began again but this time the cat did not have its original stamina. A few minutes later it began to stagger and its chest heaved as it fought to get enough air. The fighter quickly made another loop with his rope and caught the cat’s right foreleg pulling it tight. With one swift move he pulled out his knife and swiped it across the cat’s main artery under the right leg. The fighter then rolled free of the cat and began circling, watching the beast warily. The cat rose and then fell again to the ground. It snarled and tried to get up but was losing blood too fast. It shuddered and convulsed one last time then lay still in a pool of blood.

The bronze warrior approached the big cat and dropped to one knee before the carcass of the giant beast. He stretched out his hands as he bowed, his right hand in a fist, the left enveloping the right. Then the fighter arose, walked over to the beast’s head, stroked its mane and turned to stride out of the arena, the crowd’s cheers of excitement rolling after him.

He doesn’t care, Zen thought as he watched the man go. In fact he feels contempt toward us. He does not even acknowledge our cheers or the applause. Peering more closely at the man, Zen felt he could see a haunted look upon the man’s face.

You seem to be deep in thought, Zen. What is on your mind? Deka asked.

Zen turned to look at his companion What did you think of that fighter?

What do you mean? Deka inquired, not sure what Zen meant by the question.

Did you see the look on his face when he exited the arena? Do you think he enjoys doing what he does?

Deka shrugged and said, Honestly, Zen, I came just to enjoy the games. I really didn’t think much about his reactions. Is there a reason you’re asking me?

No, Zen said, shrugging it off as he pushed the thought from his mind.

Good then let’s go down to the arena, Deka said, After all, this is the part we came for, the combat in arms. Are you ready?

You bet, Zen responded, excitement returning to his voice. They both stood up and headed down the bleachers toward the arena.

CHAPTER 3

SHRAKE WAR LORD

Zen and Deka leaned against the fence which ran around the arena, waiting for Hefa to call the contestants into the arena. Out of the corner of his eye, Zen noticed a man step through one of the gates and stride toward the arena. A murmur passed through the crowd as others noticed him as well. It was against the rules for a contestant to enter the arena before the mistress had called for them.

This man, however, moved with a confidence that suggested the rules did not apply to him. He was a few inches taller than Zen with blond hair spilling down to his shoulder blades and a red bandana holding it back from his eyes. He wore a loose fitting pair of black pants and was shirtless, showing off his muscular frame. Strapped to his back were two kantanas which stuck out over his right and left shoulders. Where the scabbard, hilt, and handle met, was an image--the same symbol appeared to be on the bandana as well.

The Mistress of the Arena, sensing the change in the mood, turned to see what was going on. Anger flared in her eyes, then Zen saw her look change to fear.

Curious, he turned to ask Deka about it only to see the same look on his face as well.

What’s going on? He asked as a feeling of dread began to build in his stomach. Do you know who that is?

Deka slowly turned to look at Zen. That is a Shrake warlord, Zen.

Zen's eye brows rose with the statement and a smile crept onto his face. Shrakes are just legends. Myths, made up over the ages about unbeatable warriors, Zen said, his tone of voice clearly reflecting that he thought that Deka was playing a joke on him. We pretended we were Shrakes when we were kids but they are just that … made-up.

Oh no, they’re real, Deka responded his voice wavering. "I saw one in battle and it was the most frightening thing I have ever seen. You can tell by the markings on his swords and