The Callindra Chronicles Book Three: A Fall of Stars

By Benjamin Fisher-Merritt

The Callindra Chronicles is a fantasy book series that follows the adventures of the swashbuckling, magic slinging impetuous young woman Callindra Sol’Estin as she attempts to make her mark upon the world. In 'A Fall of Stars' events have drawn Callindra and her friends back into the world after they mourn their many losses in their own ways. The Adamantine Brotherhood once more sets forth to find any survivors they can, organize resistance against the Abyssal Taken and fight to their last breath to take their world back.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Benjamin Fisher-Merritt
• Release date: Jan 3, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463194942

Book preview

A Fall of Stars

The Callindra Chronicles Book III

Written by Benjamin Fisher-Merritt

Copyright 2019 by Benjamin Fisher-Merritt

Prologue:

Callindra could not believe it. The battle that raged around her was nearly beyond comprehension. Glarian; no Luftin, danced the Korumn with Sakar a living extension of his limbs. The winds themselves answered his call. Storms sang his fury. Lightning struck where he pointed. His siblings were no less amazing as they commanded the very elements to destroy their enemies.

What was unbelievable is that it was not enough. It was nowhere near enough. The hordes of Abyssal spawn seemed unending, and worse yet, the great Black Dragon seemed impervious to all their attacks. The green fog that dripped from its mouth corroded anything it touched, whether that be flesh or stone or the Weave itself.

Despite everything, Callindra laughed in exultation. She was fighting by her Master’s side at last, and they moved perfectly together. When he struck a sweeping blow, she knew exactly how far to lower her head, and her follow up thrust would inevitably finish off the dying monster before it could counterattack. They leaped and spun, twisted and slid only to spring back to their feet borne by the lightness of the winds themselves.

When they had carved a space for themselves on the battlefield, Callindra paused to look for her brothers. Vil was doing surprisingly well paired with Ild, and Cronos seemed to be watching Vandis’s back. The sting of a dozen or more cuts made her wince; she hadn’t noticed them while the fight was raging.

Callindra, you fight well, Luftin said with a mad grin. I’m afraid you can’t follow me this time, though. I have an old score to settle, and that bedamned beast is too much even for your new talents.

You can’t be trying to face it on your own? She panted, looking high above where the Black Dragon still circled. It seemed to be waiting for them to be worn down by legions of Spawn before it attacked.

No, Ild and Vandis will give me a head start. He said, You get out of here. I’ll catch you up.

I won’t leave you! She said fiercely, reaching out for him. I searched for so long. I lost so much.

He wasn’t paying attention to her. Crouching low, he summoned a spell from Sakar and sprang into the sky. As he rose, ice began raining down in jagged shards, cutting into the dragon’s wings while a wave of flame roared up from below, obscuring him until the last minute. His sword hacked into the dragon’s throat, and black blood poured from the wound.

Callindra’s shout of victory died in her throat as the monster swiped Luftin out of the air with a clawed hand and swallowed him whole. The Dragon roared in triumph and breathed acidic fog down upon them. While Ild and Vandis were momentarily distracted deflecting the caustic substance with a wave of flame and a deluge of water, the Dragon traced a series of runes in the air. The symbols flashed, and Cerioth the Black, Destroyer of Farenholm, Bane of Ignitum dove through the portal that opened between them.

Chapter 1

The winds struggled against stagnant heat. Great rents in the ground spouted acrid smoke that stopped the natural flow of the air. What blew from the Abyss wasn’t wind at all; it brought with it the charnel reek of fresh blood mixed with brimstone and rotting flesh. Anything it touched died. Worse than that, when the things died, they were animated by the Abyss and so the infection spread. Some seemed to be resistant to the plague, and they set up as much resistance as they could, living in small enclaves or fighting building to building in large cities.

Rumors abounded, some said all the gods were dead, others reported that Jorda was the only one killed. Everyone within a hundred miles could see the smoke where the Grandfather Tree was burning. Luftin had lost his mind. Ild had sided with his treacherous brother at long last, and they were conspiring to burn the world. The only living people who knew the truth weren’t likely to tell it.

A dry sulfurous wind blew through the nearly empty streets of a once prosperous trading town. Although it was near Hellgate Keep and between that cursed edifice and the High Forest where a haze of smoke still clung to the treetops, Varild had somehow managed to survive.

The ones who had been taken by the Abyss had answered some strange summons and left as a group. The others who had been living for almost a year on stored provisions, rainwater, and the occasional wild game that still eked out a living in the lost land around them.

Other than the obvious problems of a land cursed by the infection of the Abyss, Varild was in a lot better shape than other places. The storehouses had more than enough food for the surviving townsfolk, and the well was still good.

A pair of figures wearing dark cloaks with hoods pulled low approached the front gate. Finding it barred, they hammered on it with the butts of their daggers. Hello, the Town! One shouted.

Keep your skirt on. The guard on the wall grumbled. He’d had a long night and had drawn the short straw, meaning he had first watch as well. "None may enter hooded. Throw back your hoods and show me your eyes, or you will not be allowed inside.

A wise precaution. The taller of the two said, pushing his hood back to reveal blonde hair in a cluster of braids. The other likewise uncovered his face to reveal a face with dark skin and a bald pate. A latticework of scars covered his head, and the guard could see the pattern was deliberate. He shuddered involuntarily.

What’s your business? He demanded.

We seek some folk. Rumor has led us here. The shorter man said. The ones we seek were last purported to be seen around this area. We have our own provisions and carry our own water. We will not be a burden upon your settlement.

No need to skimp here, strangers. The guard said, Survivors are welcome, and news of the world is as valuable as clean water here. He climbed down, inspected their eyes through a slot in the gate, and then opened a small steel door to one side, barely large enough for them to squeeze through.

-

You think that’s her? Callindra heard the voice from across the tavern and intentionally paid it no mind.

Barkeep. Her voice rasped in her ears, Where’s that bottle I ordered?

You wanted…? The man behind the expanse of the oak bar asked, nervously dry-washing his hands.

Whisky. You know damn well what I asked for.

I just thought… It’s only nine bells…

Gods be damned; I care not for the cursed time of day!

Pardon, but are you Callindra Sol’Estin? The man didn’t look like a warrior or a mage, but she had long since learned that looks could be deceptive.

What. Do you want? She turned a baleful eye towards the two men standing a few feet away. If you are from The Order, Glarian is dead. My Master is dead. Her voice sounded flat and dead, even to herself. In her mind, she whispered, ‘Luftin, God of Wind is dead.’

Here’s your whiskey lass. Your sword, could you sheath it please? The barkeep glanced nervously at Shadowsliver lying flat on the bar, his chain piled on the floor next to her before stretching back to the Mithril cuff on her right wrist.

He doesn’t want a sheath, so he doesn’t have one, Callindra said, pouring some of the dark amber liquid into the glass he had provided.

Ah… The two men were nervously standing on her left.

You’re still here? Callindra drained the glass in one long swallow, What in the nine hells do you WANT?

We aren’t from… we’re here to ask… are you Callindra? The man cleared his throat, We are looking for The Adamantine Brotherhood.

The brotherhood is broken. Her voice fell to a whisper, Leave me here with my sorrow and my memories. You’ve chosen an ill day to mention brothers.

The door to the common room opened wide, and Vilhylm strode into the room. Barkeep, ale, and meat! He paused when he saw Callindra sitting at the bar, You’re still here, sister?

Nay, they made me leave for a few hours. You’re up early, brother. She poured another glass of whisky.

It is a day we should be observing together Callindra, and one we should be marginally sober for.

Sir, are you Vilhylm the Just? One of the men asked.

I am Vilhylm. He said, What can I do for you?

They are looking for the Adamantine Brotherhood, Callindra said, looking at him out of the corner of her eye.

I fear good sirs that this is an inauspicious day to bring up that name. Vil said, Perhaps, you could come back tomorrow.

But Sir, we have traveled for moons to beg your assistance.

We aren’t in the hero business anymore, especially not today, Vilhylm said, looking at the man with a suspicious eye.

Listen. If you want to talk, you have to drink. Callindra gestured to the barkeep, and he handed her another pair of glasses. She filled them with whisky and topped off her own. To Tryst. May his soul rest in peace until the end of days.

I apologize I did not realize we were interrupting- One of the men began.

Shut up and drink! Callindra said, putting her left hand on Shadowsliver’s hilt. You dared to come and find us on this day; I fear that means you share in our remembrance of the death of my brother.

The men exchanged glances and picked up the glasses.

Callindra, stop picking on the strangers. Cronos’s voice came from the doorway. Even though he was younger than her, he had grown a lot in the last year and appeared to be several years her senior. He wasn’t wearing his twin bastard swords and looked strange without them.

What can I get for you, sir? The barkeep was bravely attempting to do his job, and Cronos looked slightly less odd. Especially since the sleeves of his shirt covered the tattoos that proclaimed him a powerful mage.

Fruit juice, or water if you don’t have juice and some bread. Callindra, isn’t it a little early for the hard stuff? Why not just have an ale, save the falling off your chair for later. His voice sounded harsh, but she could hear the concern.

You must be Cronos? One of the strangers was still standing uncertainly, holding his glass of whisky and looking at him with a confused expression on his face.

These gentlemen are looking for The Adamantine Brotherhood. Vilhylm said, I have invited them to return on the morrow to discuss whatever business they wish.

I’ve told them they have to drink to the memory of things lost. Said Callindra. She pulled a withered, dried crown of woven plant stems from her hair. It did not come loose easily, but she disregarded the pain, tearing hair from her scalp without flinching.

I waited a year for her. Tears began coursing down her cheeks, I wanted so badly to believe that a Goddess was truly immortal. She showed me the power of putting others before yourself and inspired me like only one other has. Then she died. Because of me. Just like Glarian did. Just like Tryst did. Because I’m too weak.

Stop the whining, since when did my sister become a sniveling little girl? Cronos said, I don’t remember you asking anyone for help. You are cheapening the sacrifices of those who CHOSE to make them because THEY believed you would pick up the torch of their cause.

This has gone on long enough, Callindra. Vilhylm said, It’s time to let go of your sorrow and move forward. There is work to be done.

I don’t care. She said, picking up her glass again. Vilhylm knocked it from her hand with a lightning-fast maneuver that she hadn’t anticipated.

I’m not going to let you do this to yourself anymore. It has been months since I saw you practice. He towered over her, rage burning behind his eyes. You’re less than useless like this; you disgrace the memory of your master!

You want to trust me? Callindra’s voice rose, You want to rely on ME? After what’s happened, you want ME watching your back? Unnoticed by her, the winds began to blow about the room for the first time in a year. I am not strong enough to watch your back brother, find someone else.

There is no one else. Vilhylm looked at the floor, a grimace on his face. Even if there was, they couldn’t replace you.

What are you going to do? Beat it out of me? She grabbed the bottle and took a drink.

If I must. Vilhylm took her by surprise, grabbing her by the shirt and bodily throwing her out the door of the tavern. Shadowsliver’s chain rattled after, finally reaching its limit and jerking the sword through the air toward her.

Callindra tumbled into the street, staggering to her feet just in time for Shadowsliver’s edge to cut deep into her shoulder. A whirlwind began to form around her as the pent-up rage at her loved ones for dying, at her inability to do anything to stop it, and the world for allowing her to survive was released in a wild torrent as she pulled the sword from the deep wound it had carved into her body.

What do you want from me? She shouted at the sky, at the world, WHAT MORE CAN YOU ASK OF ME? Thunder rumbled in the distance, and her hair began to stand on end from the static charge in the air. What more can I POSSIBLY give to you?

The hair that once had Brightstar flowers twining through it, showing the blessings of Jorda, now tangled around her as the wind began to pick up. Curse it all to the god rotting nine hells! Callindra had been so proud of that hair, but now like everything else, it was getting in her way. She held her hair in a loose bundle with one hand and cut it off with one smooth stroke of her sword.

Outside of town, coruscating bolts of lightning struck the earth and overhead, dark clouds billowed. Wind whirled around her, rattling the shutters of nearby buildings and kicking up plumes of dust. Cronos stepped outside, Vilhylm close behind him.

Callindra you need to stop this, it’s dangerous! Cronos said, looking nervously at the sky.

YOU are the ones who wanted this. YOU trusted me; this is on YOUR heads! Callindra said, I wanted to GIVE UP, but you are forcing me, FORCING ME, back into the world. You want me to use the power again? She raised Shadowsliver above her head. FINE, I’ll turn it loose.

A bolt of incandescent electricity lanced from the heavens slammed into the tip of her sword and ran through her into the ground. The crack of thunder shattered windows and knocked her brothers off their feet. Callindra stood in the center of the madness, lightning swarming around her like a mass of serpents while a whirlwind kicked up dust and debris.

You want to trust THIS to watch your back? She shouted in a voice that made the lightning strike sound like a whisper.

Vilhylm had picked himself up and limped through the chaos towards her. Without hesitation, he folded his sister into a crushing embrace, disregarding the electricity that scorched his flesh. Callindra, I’ve already lost one of my brothers. I refuse to lose my sister too. Yes. More than anything else, I want you to be by my side for this fight.

The lightning scattered, and she burst into tears, leaning on his shoulder and crying like a child who had lost everything. With those tears, rain began to fall. The first rain that had fallen here in almost a year soaked in to the parched earth. Even after the storm had passed, breezes once again began to blow. Something had changed. It wasn’t a massive change, but most things come into the world small.

On the outskirts of town, a dry, brittle circlet of vines fell from the whirling winds above. A seed pod fell, the rain beating it into the soil. A bright green sprout sprang up as though it had been waiting for this moment. Curiously enough, the plant that began to grow looked more like a tree than a vine; its small trefoil leaves waved defiantly against the wind. Despite all the destruction that had been visited on the land, life refused to be defeated.

Chapter 2

Durrak Caverstorm; Battlemaster of the Drakanda style and sole survivor of Farenholm trudged down the road at a mile eating pace. It didn’t look like he was moving very quickly, but his short legs moved steadily, not slowing when going up a steep incline or indeed at all until the sun reached its zenith. He might not have stopped even then, but a roadside inn and rest hove into view, and he decided it was worth a look.

The large bag of provisions he had been carrying had shrunk considerably over the last few weeks, and if these folk had anything to spare, he would buy it and damn the cost. Shifting the straps of his pack, he transferred his Gisarme to slant across his right shoulder as he approached The Ox and Cart. Smelling the scent of cooking meat made his mouth water as he rapped smartly on the door with the butt of his polearm.

It had been a year since he’d won his title, and the world had changed substantially during that time. Folk were less trusting, and he had discovered seeing a capable traveler who was alone sometimes made them more nervous, so it paid to be upfront.

Hello, the Inn! He said in a voice that would carry but hopefully not inspire fear.

Who’s that then? A woman said from within, No need to rattle the door off the hinges; come on in if you can pay and bugger off it you can’t!

This was a pleasant surprise; many of the people he’d found didn’t take coin anymore. I do be able to pay alewife; what do that delicious scent be? He pushed the door open and strode inside, his Dwarven eyes piercing the slight gloom with ease.

The arrangement of the furniture formed a familiar pattern, low tables with benches instead of chairs, and a small bar at one end next to a hearth where a haunch of meat was turning on a spit. The woman who regarded him with a jaded eye as he entered was shockingly young, perhaps fifteen summers, although she took in his appearance with ease that suggested she had grown up in a tavern.

Let’s see the coin, and you can have what you want. She said, touching a crossbow that was cocked and loaded sitting over the taps. We don’t have prejudice against Dwarves or adventurers as long as your coin is good.

Durrak grinned, setting his pack and polearm down on a rack by the doorway before walking up to the bar and plunking down a half dozen gold. Lady, please do be letting me know when this runs out. I do be famished and parched from many long days on the road.

She brightened a bit at the sight of the gold and even further when she scratched them with a wicked-looking belt knife and revealed them to be pure. Pulling a sizeable wooden tankard of frothy ale, she set it down on the bar. This will help with the thirst master Dwarf. That roast needs to cook for another hour, but I got some cheese and bread, maybe some leftover sausages.

I do gladly be sampling your ale and nibbles until the roast do be ready, Durrak said, drinking deep and smacking his lips. The ale was a bit light for his taste, but it was quite refreshing.

As Durrak ate and drank, several more folk entered chatting amicably and ordering drinks and inquiring about the roast. They took him in without comment, a few nodding politely and some staring but not in an aggressive manner. All of them had also put a weapon of some sort aside as they entered even though they were villagers, not adventuring types.

Thunder rumbled outside, but no rain fell. It hadn’t rained for ages, and the land was parched and dry. The winds seemed to be blowing erratically of late, not bringing the moisture from the sea to nourish the soil — all signs of bad times and possibly worse to come.

The door opened to admit another traveler, his cloak black and ragged at the ends. Setting an overly large pack down next to Durrak’s with a heavy