Sovereign's Pairing

By E.L. Glenn

E. L. Glenn, takes you on an intriguing journey through a reality that contains multiple, parallel universes. Though there are uncountable universes, there is only one Nexus Universe. The progenitor universe from which all the others have originated from.
Those within the Nexus Universe have the ‘ability’ to enter any of the others. The Nexus Universe has a problem though, a man named Hessler, who embodies the ‘Antithesis’ spirit, has made it his quest to conquer not only the Nexus Universe, but the other parallel universes as well. To achieve this, Hessler has been using an army comprised of men and orcs, numbering a million. Hessler must also attain the ‘Crystal Sword’, an incredible source of power.
The ‘Crystal Sword’ had been hidden in the caverns of one of the kingdoms of the dwarves. Protecting it are wizards, men, elves and the dwarves themselves. They cannot use the ‘Sword’, only one embodied with either the ‘Antithesis’ spirit, or the ‘Sovereign’ Spirit can, and the one embodied with the ‘Sovereign’ spirit, is in another universe. They must find him in the hope of stopping Hessler.
Mariah, a searcher in the caverns, has found the prophecy that will lead them to the universe that the ‘Sovereign’ is in. Taking it to the seekers, Mariah is informed that she must be the one to enter the ‘Sovereigns’ universe and bring him to them. There isn’t much time and they have no idea what the ‘Sovereign’ will be like, but he is their only hope. Hessler and his orc army, are almost upon them.

• Language: English
• Publisher: E.L. Glenn
• Release date: Mar 22, 2018
• ISBN: 9781370321605

E.L. Glenn

E. L. Glenn is a curmudgeon. He really doesn't understand why people want to know about the personal life of an author. Yet, he does like a friendly round of golf, visiting in person with friends (he hates the phone), and when the idea for a book pops into his head. The reason for his writing? He's getting old, the brain needs stimulation, and to fend off boredom. That's about it.

Book preview

Sovereign’s Pairing

by

E.L. Glenn

Our own heart, and not other men's opinions form our true honor

Samuel Taylor Coleridge

A special thanks to my daughter, Brandy, and my good friend, Richard Sandstrom, for their reading of, and input about the drivel that started this madness. Also to my wife, Mary, for her just being there, and in that way, inspiring.

E. L. Glenn

Text Copyright © 2014 E. L. Glenn All Rights Reserved

Published by E.L. Glenn at SMASHWORDS

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your enjoyment only, then please return to amazon.com or your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 24

CHAPTER 25

CHAPTER 26

EPILOGUE

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

PROLOGUE

He couldn't believe it had happened again!!! It was his ninety-seventh birthday and maybe nothing special, but still, it should mean something. He had been hoping to hear from his daughter and son, through a card or a call, but neither had done anything to acknowledge him on his birthday. Perhaps he was expecting too much, but just recognition of his existence would have been enough. On reflection, it occurred to him that maybe they didn't acknowledge his birthday, because as their father he had missed so many of theirs. Neither of them lived close. His son lived in Washington D.C., having spent a life of trying to make a career in the political arena. His son had not had much success. His daughter lived in Santa Fe, New Mexico, locating there in the hopes of becoming a world-famous artist. She had spent her life painting hotel art to make a living. When he had talked to them both over the years, he knew that they both felt that their lives had been failures.

He ached for them, but he had learned a long time ago, that everyone must live their own life. Thinking again about the perceived slight of not even acknowledging his birthday, a part of his mind told him that they should have gotten over this and their pettiness. His son was nearly seventy and his daughter was in her mid-sixties. He felt that they should have realized and finally understood that it hadn't been his fault. He hadn't had any personal control over his absences in their childhood, due to his military career. He had served in WWII, the Korean War, and in Vietnam. Their lives as children had occurred during the latter two. That had caused him to miss a great deal of their childhood, and try as he might, he couldn't replace those lost times, no matter how many times he tried. It left within him a feeling of betrayal, but even though you may long for it, you cannot make someone else be what you want, even if they are your children.

Shaking his head, he grabbed his cane and decided to take his usual walk. It was early afternoon, and he would go to the park and reflect on his continued life, even though he no longer felt any joy in it. He had been doing this for so long since Maria had died, that he had become a creature of habit and not one of thought. Perhaps if something else had occurred in his life after her death to spur him on, he might have moved on. Nothing had come along though, and as much as he had willed for his life to come to an end, he still kept on breathing and existing. Twenty-two years since his Maria had died, precisely on this day. For his seventy-fifth birthday, his gift was the death of the person he had held dearer than his own life. It had made him a shell of his former self. Because of that, his ensuing birthdays were a constant reminder of his loss, and he dearly wished that there was someone who could help him with his pain, but there was none. She had been ten years younger than him, and he had always assumed that he would die first, especially considering his career. Thinking of that, he felt that it was one of the real ironies of life, that your assumptions almost never come to fulfillment.

Exiting his house, he was a little surprised. He had been out a few hours earlier that morning, and it had already appeared to be in the fifties, with the usual amount of moisture expected for this area of Oregon in the late spring. Now it was cooler, more like in the mid-forties, and the air felt decidedly more humid. Looking around, he didn't see any clouds that would signify a front was coming in, and the atmosphere was quite still, hardly a breeze. Shaking his head and stepping back into the house, he stripped off his cardigan, got a light jacket out of his closet, turned, and went out of the house again. Pausing as he exited, he marveled at how clear the air was. With the additional moisture, his mind told him that the atmosphere should be mistier, but it was startling clear. Looking to the south, he could see the Klamath Mountains, and then gazing a little more to the east, the Siskiyou Range, both with a bit of snow still on them, with all the mountains intervening in surprising clarity. Turning his head, he gave the surroundings a panoramic viewing. A little smile formed at the feeling of how much he delighted in the natural beauty of the area.

As a child, he had often visited relatives in the area with his family, and to him; it had always spoken of home. After years of traveling the world as a member of the military, when he retired, this area immediately entered his mind as the place to stop. Suggesting this to Maria, they came for a visit. She too fell in love with the region, and here they stayed. After Maria's death, he did consider relocating, mainly because of the pain he would feel when going somewhere they had frequented, but to him, it was still home. So, he stayed. Shrugging at his thoughts, he turned and started off down the sidewalk.

He started his walk at a good energetic pace to cover the half-mile to his favorite park situated on the south bank of the Rogue River. He figured he would get to the park within ten minutes. Observing his surroundings, he noticed that the streets seemed pretty deserted. Perhaps the unseasonable chill to the air was keeping others in, he thought. After minutes of walking, he had seen and passed only one other person. Another man, but one who was talking with so much intent on his cellphone, that the man didn't even appear to see him, nor greet him, even though he, himself, had said Hello to the man. Cellphones, and the people he saw that seemed to be continuously attached to them annoyed him. He was so tired of being in a public place and having them bump into him, or almost walk through him like he wasn't there. Cellphones! How did we ever get along without those damn phones! He thought.

Tapping his cane on the sidewalk with a little irritation because of his thoughts as he walked, it was evident that he didn't need it for balance or infirmity. In truth, he had bought the cane, with its dense metal head, as a protective device, nothing more. It seemed that some of the people in the neighborhood didn't care if their dogs stayed on their property, and strays were very prevalent. Realizing that he wasn't as agile and quick as he used to be, he decided a cane would be an excellent tool to have with him on his walks.

Most people who encountered him assessed his age to be in the early to mid-sixties, not someone approaching the century mark. In his prime, he had been six feet three inches tall and had weighed in at two hundred and twenty-five pounds. Even after all these years, his posture was still erect, and he probably weighed around one ninety. Despite his advancing age and total lack of interest in life, he was still physically active and vital.

His estimate had been pretty accurate. He was entering the park within the ten minutes he had projected. Heading for his favorite park bench, he glanced over and saw that Hank was on the park bench he favored, feeding his pigeons. The park was idyllic, mature oaks and pines, ample open areas of grass, and the river running close by. There were several benches and tables with barbeques for families to enjoy a picnic, but families seldom came to the park anymore, because of the prevalence of skateboarders and other kids who hung out there, often creating some disturbance. At this time of day, it was pretty quiet. Just a couple of skateboarders who were trying to break their necks in the mindless pursuit of impressing each other, in their endless attempts to pull off the most improbable landings. Why couldn't they go to that other park the city built for them, with all those concrete ramps, bowls, and landing areas? No, they still had to come to this park, trying to slide down the sides of benches and tables. The sound of their wheels on the concrete irritated him, but he attempted to suppress it from his consciousness and ignore them.

He observed Hank out of the corners of his eyes, and an interesting, curious thought occurred to him, maybe because it was his birthday. Even though Hank was probably twenty years his junior, he had always felt like Hank was older than himself. His internal sense of self, made him feel like he wasn't as old as he was. He still thought of himself as a man in his prime, not someone as old as he viewed Hank to be. For some odd reason, this made him feel a mild irritation while watching Hank feed the pigeons and he said, Hank would you stop feeding those damn birds. All they do is shit all over everything.

Hank looked up and over at him a little surprised and said, Lance, did you get up on the wrong side of the bed, or are you just naturally cantankerous. These birds never hurt anybody.

Lance replied, Sorry Hank, but I am a little upset. It's my birthday, and the damn kids didn't even give me a call.

Hank gave Lance a steady look for several seconds, then said, My kids don't hardly talk to me anymore either. Guess they think that their lives are more important or something. By the way how old are you?

Lance replied without giving it a thought, Ninety-seven today.

Hank's eyes widened, and he said, Jeez Lance, all these years, I never knew. I thought you were about my age, maybe even a little younger. Christ, you could die on me at any moment.

Lance just smiled at him and said, Not likely Hank, I still feel pretty good.

Yeah, his name was Lance. Lance Corpral. Named by a father who was a career marine, thought it was funny and had a wife that would humor him… a father who had been harsh with him and had shown little kindness. A father who had taken out his frustrations on his only child, and if Lance's mother intervened, found them directed at her too. A father that when Lance returned from WWII, had just disappeared.

His mother had told Lance that his father had gone to his den one night, to play with his relics, as she put it. Relics that Lance's father had found and collected, in a lifetime of travel around the world. Coming onto bedtime, his mother had gone to get him, but the den was empty. She had searched the house, but her husband wasn't anywhere to be found. The car was still in the garage, its keys on the kitchen counter. His clothes were still in the closet and dressers, and nothing seemed to be missing. If he had left, all that he had was the clothes on his back and the money in his pockets.

Lance's mother filed a missing person's report, but the police found nothing. She thought about hiring a private investigator but realized she didn't know enough even to give him a direction to start looking. She watched the bank account to see if there were any withdrawals or unusual activity, but there never was. She finally came to the acceptance, that her husband of more than thirty years had just disappeared, never to be seen ever again. Lance's first emotion on learning this, was relief. He felt relieved for himself and his mother that they would no longer have to deal with his father's uncontrolled anger and hostility. That response though then triggered a feeling of guilt, but Lance quickly buried that emotion, along with the memory of his father, never to think of him again.

Because of Lance's name, others had found it humorous, mainly because he had become an army officer. He was awarded the rank of second lieutenant in WWII from the rank of sergeant. At the time, there had been a significant need, and there was a shortage of officers in the arena. Besides, he was the highest rank left in the company that was still able-bodied.

Lance was a natural, his company was involved in some of the fiercest battles in the war, and his men were ready to follow him into hell, they wanted no other leader. He indeed led; he was always at the front of his company and was the first to engage in a conflict. To a man, the men that followed Lance, especially those that had lived through it, believed that many more of them would not have made it home, if not for him. By wars end, he was a captain. He ended his career as a lieutenant colonel during what he considered to be a fiasco, the Vietnam War.

During Lance's whole career, there was always someone who would observe that he was an overachiever, or that he had joined the wrong service. Another thing they were quick to point out was that his luck was phenomenal. He had been awarded several medals in his career, including the Bronze Star, Silver Star, and the DSC, but he had never earned a Purple Heart. Even though he had always been at the front in every conflict, he had received nothing more than some minor bruising and strained muscles.

Lance had never told anyone, but he thought he had an ability that he had never heard of anybody else professing to have. During a battle, he would feel anger and fear envelop him, and he would feel suffused with a power to the point that it felt like an invisible sphere surrounded him. He was also able to use his mind to push, pull mentally, or twist, his opponent physically, if they were close enough.

Lance was pretty confident that the sphere existed because, in one conflict, he was engaged hand to hand with an enemy soldier, when another came at him from the side with a knife. He was too involved with the first to be able to do anything about the second. Lance watched in horror as the blade came at him, but it seemed to glance off him, and drove straight into the chest of the soldier he was battling. Dropping the soldier that was stabbed, he quickly finished off the second, who had frozen, absolutely stunned.

Lance didn't know what this ability was. He felt sure that it had saved him repeatedly from bullets, but to himself, he just called it the POWER. Another aspect of it that occurred time and time again was that during conflicts in the night, his vision would border that of the supra-natural. He was able to look into darkened recesses and corners, and perceive those within the darkness.

While Lance had been thinking about this with his head down, he had turned his vision inward and hadn't been paying attention to his present surroundings. But then he heard Hank's voice yelling in panic, Hey, get your hands off me!

Lance lifted his head and turned it to see that the two skateboarders had decided to take a break from their inane pastime, were grabbing Hank, and trying to get into his pockets.

Come on old man, where's your money; you've got to have some. Give us your money. This was said by the taller of the two, who probably stood a little over six feet, but maybe only weighed about a hundred and fifty, and had a fair complexion with what appeared to be natural blonde hair.

The other skater was probably six inches shorter and even skinnier. His blonde hair looked like it came from a bottle. This one, deciding that he would add a little more leverage against Hank, picked up a rock and hit one of the pigeons with it, yelling, Give us your money old man, or maybe we kill all of your precious birds! The poor bird gave out an odd sounding coo and tried to fly away, but seemed to be having trouble with its left wing.

Hank cried out in a pleading voice, Please, leave the birds alone! They've never done anything to you! From the laughter of the two, it was apparent that they didn't care.

Because of the event of the morning, there already existed in Lance a small kernel of anger, and this immediately blossomed into a full-bodied rage. Standing Lance yelled at the skaters, Leave him alone!

The tall one swung around and looked at him, then looked to his partner and said, Well looky here, we've got another oldster, and I bet he's got some money too.

Lance could envision what the skater thought he was looking at. An old man leaning on a cane carried away with his anger… an easy target. What they couldn't, and didn't know, was that Lance was feeling the POWER surge through him, stronger than he had ever felt it before. He hadn't called on it in decades, and it felt like it had been growing in strength, without his even knowing it. He felt a need to make them back down without conflict, and said again in a more normal tone, but still with strength. Leave him alone.

Oddly, it worked. The two skaters left Hank and started advancing on Lance. As they approached, Lance was aware that neither showed any real experience of fighting. While their balance on their skateboards might be terrific, on the ground, they were flat-footed and were moving their bodies in a cumbersome way, not really ready for a physical confrontation. Lance thought he could probably take them both with no extra ability at all. Just him and his cane, but what the hell, they pissed him off, so why not go all out.

As they came forward, with the tall one in the lead, it became apparent; he was the leader, and the other, always the follower… so, simple arithmetic, leader first, follower second.

You need to leave, Lance said again.

And who's going to make us old man. I don't see anybody but you two oldsters here, and neither of you ever saw the day you could mess with me. Said the tall one with a sneer on his face.

Lance could only smile. The kid had no clue what kind of ‘old man' he was dealing with, but to the kid's credit, he didn't waste another breath and started a massive overhand right. So massive, that Lance figured he could have counted to five before reacting, but instead, only stepped inside of it, tossed his cane up, caught it, and smacked the kid above his left temple with just enough force to knock him out, not enough to break his head. He just wanted to stop the kid, not have to explain to the police why it was necessary.

Turning to the follower, Lance released the pent-up POWER. All Lance intended to do was to push the follower off balance, giving himself enough time to move into position, to pretty much do the same thing to the follower that he had done to the first one. That's not what happened. The kid didn't just lose his balance; he went flying… flying over ten feet in the air into a solid, old, oak tree, knocking him out cold. Lance's mouth fell open. He looked at the kid by the tree, looked at the tall one in front of him on the ground, then turned and looked at Hank, who was staring at him with amazement and asked, What the hell did you just do Lance?

Lance was confused. He shook his head, turned around, and faced towards the river. What he saw there, threatened to strip his sanity away. Maria was there. Not the Maria in her sixties who died twenty-two years ago, but Maria in her prime. Somewhere between twenty-five and thirty-five, in the fullness of life. He blinked his eyes and looked away; then he looked back, she was still there.

Lance's heart was thudding in his chest; it felt like it was about to burst. His throat felt full like he wasn't sure he could even take another breath, and all he could do was stare. He started to tremble, but another part of him was still taking in all the salient facts of what he was seeing.

Standing next to Maria was a man, with a staff that looked like a small tree trunk, but a man like no other Lance had ever seen before. A man who was at least eight feet tall, and weighed four hundred, or maybe even five hundred pounds. Both this man and Maria were dressed in a manner that Lance found weird, even alien. Between them and the river, there was a shimmering circle in the air that resembled the heat shimmer you see in the desert that creates a mirage. Maria walked towards him, but all Lance could do was tremble.

Stopping before him, the woman said, Well, I'm glad to see that you still seem to be able to use the ‘ability' Lance. For Lance, the world spun, and all he could sense were strong hands holding him, and slowly lowering him to the park bench.

1

Mariah hated the caverns. True they were keeping them safe, but she belonged in the open meadows, the mountains, the valleys, among the trees and wildlife that she so dearly loved. The dwarves had been kindly and in their way welcoming, but they were not of her kind, and didn't understand the need for open air, and the sky above you.

With a sigh, Mariah turned back to her task of trying to make sense out of the prophecies of madmen over the millennia. Somewhere in these raving chronicles, there was a truth to be discovered that would tell them where the ‘Sovereign' might be found. Thinking of that, Mariah looked across the cavern at the ‘Crystal Sword' encased in its pool of power, that only the ‘Sovereign' or the ‘Antithesis' could penetrate, and thereby grasp the ‘Sword'. To any other it would be instant death, at least that is what the histories told them, and no one had ever seemed willing to test it out. Glancing around the rest of the cavern, Mariah saw others bent over their desks to the same seemingly impossible task as her. There was a strain in the cavern that was almost palpable, that of time being of the essence, with none left to spare.

Bending back, and trying to focus on the page at hand, Mariah still found her mind to be wandering. Looking back up, she again looked around the cavern and had to admit to herself that the cavern did hold a beauty of its own. The cavern was composed almost entirely of marble. Because of that, the number of glow orbs needed to illuminate the cavern was less than might seem necessary for an area its size.

Due to the industriousness of the dwarves, there were no stalagmites or stalactites, since they craved the crystalline structure of them for their purposes. Thus, the marble floor, walls, and ceiling of the cavern were not blemished and reflected the orbs in a golden glow, which almost seemed otherworldly.

Thinking this, Mariah then noticed a group of dwarves apparently headed back to their city. They were just then passing the ‘Sword,' with four of them bringing up the rear, pulling a large cart behind them. Must be miners returning from the southern caverns. Maria thought. Shaking her head with some annoyance and lowering it, Mariah continued her thoughts, I must get back to my task. The ‘Antithesis' is already here. His name is Hessler.

Hessler had suddenly come to power almost seventy years ago, and he was trying with all his resources to find the ‘Sword.' Hessler killed any who stood in his way. Cared nothing for the minions who found themselves under his rule, and proved his callous,