The Lost Prince Book One: Tset-su Chronicles

By Āscien Keith

In the Neolythic Era of Kingdom Tset, three young princes acquire the skills necessary to become King.
Each man is uniquely talented, and on the verge of greatness.
For one, the world is at his feet. For another, the world is his for the taking. For the last, the world is unforgiving.
But all three will soon discover--while on their unpredictable journeys--that it is all too easy to become lost.. . ..

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Dec 16, 2017
• ISBN: 9781387449330

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The Lost Prince Book One: Tset-su Chronicles

The Lost Prince

Book One: Tset-su Chronicles

By Āscien Keith

Copyright © 2017 Āscien Keith

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Blujin Press

Post Office Box 199

Haymarket, VA 20168

Copyright © 2017 by āscien keith

Poetic Lyrics © by Fuel of Kikai

ISBN: 978-1-387-44933-0

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without prior written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles, reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For information contact Blujin Press at the address above.

First Printing: December 2017

Printed in the United States of America

Dedication

This first installment of Tset-su Chronicles is dedicated to my father: the greatest man I’ve ever known.. . ..

&

To my mother: the kindest woman I’ve ever known.. . ..

Prologue

I was once a prince of Kingdom Tset. I am now far from home and alone.. . ..

-- The Lost Prince

Part One

Trials

One

Solomon has been fighting continuously for days. Though he is keenly aware that Alexis and the Half-Brothers draw perilously near, exhaustion inevitably takes hold and drops him to one knee. Despite the inherent danger, he sheaths his katana, breaths deeply and leans back against a tree. Somehow, this all seemed less arduous, less vexing, infinitely less futile seven years ago.

The Battleground, itself, stretches two leagues in all directions. Not an inordinately large area, but daunting enough for one who has lost a step or two with the passage of time. Verily, in his younger days, Solomon would have immediately sought the high ground. He would have combed the field of battle and made himself acutely aware of his surroundings—as well as the relative locations of those around him. Adrenaline alone would have fueled his desire for the chase; and it would have served to hyper-focus his already keen senses.

A young Solomon would have stalked his prey. Stealthily, he would have moved from one tactically advantageous position to another, skillfully tracking his quarry with uncanny precision. Then, with all the alacrity and ferocity of a cobra, he would have assailed each victim in turn, leaving behind no trace of just how—or when—each was felled. His strikes would have been swift, unerring and final.

Irrefutably, in days past, Solomon was a hunter. Alas, those days are gone.

Now in his fortieth year, Solomon faces three adversaries half his age. Each one is bold. Fearless. Hungry. Each one is a hunter. Solomon, conversely, has become the hunted.

Still on one knee; still with his back resting against the relative safety of a tree; still with one hand poised on the hilt of his sheathed katana, Solomon waits. Patiently. Most assuredly, his many years of battle experience and well-honed instincts will compensate for a lack of youthful vigor and bravado. That is, at least, what he hopes.

Indeed, Solomon knows his opponents well. More accurately, he knows their fathers: Roland and Chance. Both are good men. Each have regaled Solomon, on many occasions, with countless tales of their respective children. Like all fathers, they extolled the virtues of their offspring, all the while cursing their impetuous natures and occasional lack of focus. Solomon recalls such conversations fondly. And now, tilting his head skyward, eyeing the twin moons of Tset high above, Solomon reflects upon knowledge gleaned from his friends about their progeny—the very children who now seek to vanquish him.

Alexis: daughter of Chance. Single-minded and soft-spoken, is she. One might even call her mysterious. Like most aspiring Tset-su, she discovered her Incarnation at an early age. Or, as some choose to believe, an Incarnation discovered her. In either event, Alexis quickly learned to embrace the concept of blind trust. She exposed herself to the possibility of betrayal; ready to accept the resulting consequences, be they positive or negative. Only then did her Incarnation do the same. Now, Alexis summons the Siren. It is said that when she was seven—and still gaining control of her gift—Alexis allowed her Siren to shatter a su Master’s eardrums with its sonic scream. True or not, such a rumor demands credence.

Then, there is Rece: elder son of Roland. He is said to be quick of wit and even quicker of tongue. It is widely believed that on all of planet Tset, none could possibly match the unadulterated arrogance of Rece. He found trust with the Lion. Like his Incarnation, Rece is nimble, cunning and ferocious. Both are inextricably bound. Each sees through the other’s eyes. Each feels the other’s pain. And, ultimately, each seeks to satisfy the other’s goals. Like all Tset-su, Rece is a mere vessel—a portal through which his summoned creature emerges. For despite mien appearances, an Incarnation is not a pet; it represents an extension of one’s self. In no case is that truth more evident than with Rece and his Lion. Reportedly, neither fears man nor beast. Only time will tell if such pride is warranted.

Finally, there is Stanos: Roland’s younger son, and half-brother of Rece. Perhaps the hardest to read, Stanos is known to be quiet and introspective. Nonetheless, he and his spirit-self have proven that apparent contradictions can coexist in harmony. It was rather late in life when an Incarnation made itself known to him. Thereafter, it is said, the true trial began. Despite many frustrating setbacks, Stanos eventually learned how intelligence could be used to focus pure rage. Now, despite his docile demeanor, Stanos allegedly enters skirmishes with all the finesse and subtly of a Tsetian battle tank. He summons the Stone Golem: an angry, thirteen-foot rock behemoth that is nearly as wide as it is tall. Still, in spite of its colossal size, the Golem is said to be surprisingly agile, much like Stanos, himself.

Now, Solomon lowers his gaze. Wistful thoughts drift through his mind as he surveys the landscape once again. This particular version of the Battleground is a dense forest, with trees that stretch hundreds of feet into the sky, touching the very heels of heaven. Consequently, Solomon chose this spot on which to wait—one overlooking a small clearing. For most certainly, when the battle is waged, it will be waged here.

Then, as if on cue, one of the Half-Brothers makes his presence known. He emerges from a grove of trees across the way, no more than two-hundred yards distant.

Without the slightest hint of compunction, Stanos strides into the clearing. He carries a unique black staff in his right hand. The staff is made entirely of obsidian, a rare glass that is more durable than diamond and hard as steel. It is five-and-a-half feet in length, and two-and-a-half inches in diameter. In the center of the staff, a twelve-inch, leather-bound portion is tapered to a narrow one-inch circumference. It is around this tapered portion that Stanos maintains his grip. He stops in the middle of the clearing and plants one end of his staff firmly into the ground.

Stanos is over six feet tall, and built like a gladiator. He wears a blackened leather tunic and blackened leather pants, apparently in homage to the Sky Nation of Kaemir, from which he hails. His head is clean-shaven. Only a black goatee interrupts the light brown skin of his face. With a steely gaze, he eyes the surrounding forest impatiently. His imposing countenance harkens back to the lustful days of warriors past. He anticipates confrontation. In fact, he seems to welcome one. Mayhap Solomon should stop thinking of Roland’s young son as a child.

And yet, if confrontation is what Stanos seeks, a confrontation he shall have. The sound of squelching leather is heard as Solomon’s grip tightens on the hilt of his katana. He nearly rises to his feet. But then, from the corner of his eye, he detects movement on the right. A new player enters the mix. It is Alexis. Not the girl, exactly, but her Incarnation.

Solomon sees a faint glow amidst a thicket of trees to the east. Like a wraith, Alexis’ Siren floats into the clearing. It is beautiful, indeed. Hovering four feet from the ground, the Siren is incandescent, and somewhat awe-inspiring. Its legs are together, toes pointing toward the ground, arms hanging loosely by its sides. Its hair is long and straight, the same pale blue color as its face and body.

The Siren wears no clothes, and is undeniably female. Yet, it emits a faint glow that somehow masks any discernable detail. Smooth as a marble statue, it is, and just as stunning. In another time, in a different situation, Solomon might have found himself unwittingly beguiled by this apparition; but he knows the Siren’s beauty belies deadly intentions.

Alexis’ Incarnation stops a mere fifty feet before Stanos. There it remains motionless; floating—the grass beneath its feet rustling outward in concentric waves. Within short measure, Alexis herself strides into the clearing. She stands no more than five feet, three inches tall. Nonetheless, she casts a regal figure, both in physical bearing and demeanor. Coming to rest next to her Incarnation, the young woman wears a tan, ankle-length robe that covers a loose-fitting cotton blouse and ballooning cotton pants. Her left nostril is pierced with a silver stud. Viewed in light of her brown skin and long, black hair, that single piercing indicates that she is of pure blood, from the northeast nation of Aezira.

Alexis eyes Stanos intently. She bows at the waist. Stanos returns the gesture, bowing deeply before standing upright and locking eyes with her. Then, acting in a manner contrary to just about every generally accepted principle of logistical combat, the Siren unleashes a sonic scream. The scream is inaudible, but it cuts visibly through the air: a translucent ring that grows larger as it travels.

In most cases—and for most Tset-su—a battle initiated by one’s Incarnation represents a tactical error. In Alexis’ case, however, the strategy is sound. Her Siren is quite capable of long-ranged assault. Inferably, the tactic would have proven more effective, had Stanos proven less aware.

Within milliseconds, amid a swirl of black and silver smoke, the Golem appears, standing resolutely before Stanos. It absorbs the Siren’s sonic blast, center mass, with no identifiable difficulty. It takes a step forward, significantly closing ground between itself and Alexis. With a second step, the giant gains momentum. By its third stride, the hulking rock juggernaut is at a near sprint.

With one massive, open hand, the charging Golem’s palm smashes into the Siren’s chest. Its stone fingers wrap tightly around either side of its victim’s neck. With brutal force, Alexis’ hapless Incarnation is slammed back-first to the ground. The Siren immediately disappears in wisps of smoke. Alexis, feeling the pain of her spirit-self acutely, collapses as well.

Stanos stands fast, some fifty feet away.

On her hands and knees now, still catching her breath, Alexis looks up—just as Stanos’ immense counterpart orients on her. She rises slowly to her feet and draws a pair of silver sai from her belt. Each sai is a piercing weapon with one long center blade, offset by two shorter blades on either side of the hilt. Alexis steps a few paces aside, then assumes a pose that places one weapon directly in front of her; the other near her right cheek. She eyes the massive threat warily, but remains poised.

The towering Golem draws close to the girl and raises both fists high overhead. Massive stone hands slam to the ground, creating two large craters in the turf where Alexis stood just seconds before. The acrobatic Aeziran, having leapt skillfully to avoid the blow, now finds herself in an opportune situation. The Golem is bent forward, both fists planted solidly in the earth. Unwittingly, it has become a springboard. Alexis digs a sai into each of the giant’s granite shoulders and launches herself over its back. She hits the ground running as the Golem slowly rises to its feet behind her.

With haste, Alexis proceeds directly toward Stanos. He remains still as a picture, even while observing the rapid approach of an aggressive foe. She reaches him within seconds, and despite an obvious disparity in height, Alexis attacks Stanos with unbridled ferocity. He reacts to the barrage with lightning speed. Staff spinning, Stanos deftly deflects one strike after another—parrying blade, foot, elbow and fist with apparent ease.

Both combatants attack and resist, evade and counter. They become locked in an exquisite, albeit lethal dance. Neither gains an upper hand in the skirmish—until Alexis attempts a two-handed jab, thrusting both sai directly at Stanos’ chest. He responds by taking one end of his staff in each hand and holding its entire length parallel to the ground. Swiftly, he raises the level staff above his head, catching both sai mid-thrust. The abrupt suspension of forward momentum causes Alexis to lose her balance. Her arms windmill as she stumbles back toward the Golem that had been approaching slowly from behind.

In response, Alexis drops to one knee. With her free leg, she delivers a solid kick to Stanos’ sternum. He staggers. The advancing Golem staggers, as well. Alexis follows up with a spinning back kick that lands squarely on Stanos’ right jaw. He remains on his feet, but his head is jerked violently to the left. Instantly, the Golem dissipates, leaving behind an acrid cloud of falling soot.

A briefly stunned Stanos attempts to regain his composure, along with a firm grip on the center of his staff. Just then, Alexis initiates a backhand swing with one sai. The center blade is aimed precisely at the Kaemiran’s heart. Stanos reacts to the advancing weapon in a manner that is seemingly inspired more by instinct than insight. He aggressively whirls one end of his staff in the girl’s general direction. Somehow, the erratic overhand swipe manages to intercept Alexis’ assault, critically striking her hand and wresting the sai from her grasp. Thereafter, he utilizes the staff’s other end, hammering Alexis in the stomach. She doubles over in pain. And close behind her, a familiar fog materializes, marking the second arrival of Stanos’ Incarnation.

The Golem grabs Alexis roughly by the waist. It then, rather effortlessly, throws her into a copse of trees to the north. Stanos walks slowly into the forest after her. He is hidden from view mere moments before reemerging—alone. Upon return, he steps near his Incarnation and kneels to retrieve the girl’s fallen sai.

Without warning, a Lion coalesces from a trailing swirl of vapor. Already in full stride, the urgent Incarnation leaps at Stanos. He reflexively turns on one knee, faces the incoming threat, and drives one end of his staff into ground, while digging the other end of his weapon into the Lion’s chest. Utilizing a mixture of momentum and raw strength, Stanos uses his staff as a fulcrum and hurls the Incarnation over his shoulder. He rises to his feet and watches the air-born Lion flail wildly. It travels several yards in an ascending, and then rapidly descending arc. Like all cats, the Incarnation lands on its feet; all four paws churning up dew-strewn earth as it skids to a halt.

The Golem immediately steps to the new arrival, engaging the Lion viciously. Stanos cocks his head to one side and watches the two Incarnations tussle. He appears somewhat entertained. The Golem, though agile and truculent, is unable to match the Lion’s quickness. The Lion, though lithe and aggressive, produces no damage with claw or tooth.

A distant whistle draws Stanos’ attention away from the brawl. He turns his head slightly, attempting to identify the sound’s origin. And there, standing defiantly on the west end of the glade, is Rece. He holds a long, golden katana casually in his right hand.

Rece is perhaps six feet tall; of medium build. His black hair is closely cropped; his face clean-shaven. He shares the same light brown complexion as his half-brother, Stanos. And for some odd reason, Rece dons rig workers’ gear—the kind worn by journeymen in the northern mining colony of Outpost II. His all-black, all-leather outfit consists of a fur-collared jacket, loose fitting pants, and heavy work boots. The ensemble is made complete by a pair of burnished-glass goggles that hang unobtrusively around his neck.

Rece smiles and bows deeply. His is an exaggerated, almost comical bow. His left palm lay flat against his belly; his right arm extends a katana-wielding hand wide. Stanos does not seem amused. He eyes Rece disdainfully and returns the gesture with a curt bow of his own. As Golem and Lion play cat and mouse in the background, the Half-Brothers step close to one another and have it out.

Rece proves adept with the katana. Stanos, again, exhibits uncanny proficiency with his staff. The two have obviously spent many hours training together—or, perhaps, at each other’s throat. One represents pure strength and brute force. The other is a model of speed and finesse. Yet, despite an impressive display of wildly divergent styles, the encounter goes on for minutes, with neither one securing an appreciable advantage. In fact, the conflict almost appears choreographed.

It is Rece who first capitalizes on an apparent familiarity with his rival. Adroitly, he ducks beneath the staff and drops low, performing a puissant leg sweep that leaves Stanos on his back. Immediately seizing the opportunity, Rece stands above his half-brother, places both hands on the hilt of his katana and brings the blade down with conviction.

Stanos intercepts the assault with precious little time to spare. He raises the staff across his chest like a barbell and halts the blade just inches from his face. Rece puts his full weight behind the katana, pressing downward. With both hands on the staff, Stanos pushes back against the razor’s edge. The struggle continues until Stanos manages to raise his right leg and plant a foot in the middle of Rece’s chest. With all the might he can muster, Stanos thrusts his foot forward, launching Rece quite some distance back. Rece, of course, lands squarely on his feet; Stanos, with great determination, springs back onto his.

Sinking into a relaxed stance, katana blade resting lightly on his shoulder, Rece eyes Stanos with seeming admiration and smiles. Stanos does not return the smile. Instead, he places both hands together on the center portion of his staff and establishes a tight grip. Slowly, he pulls the staff apart. As he does so, each end slides away from the other, revealing two swords that were hidden within hollow recesses of the long, obsidian rod. The end result is nothing short of astounding. Within seconds, Stanos holds two unique weapons; one in each hand—both an identical combination of saber and club. He grasps each weapon in the middle, which is wrapped in black leather and acts as a hilt. A two-and-a-half foot blade extends from one end of the hilt. A two-and-a-half foot baton extends from the other.

Rece watches in fascination and cocks one eyebrow. He steps forward, ready to contest his half-brother once again. Stanos steps forward and meets him halfway. The duel begins anew, but the complexion of this battle has changed. Stanos now holds an amalgamation of sword and blunt instrument in each hand, ostensibly creating four separate weapons, each capable of blocking or assailing from virtually any direction. Rece, once on the offensive, finds himself driven back now, seeking desperately to anticipate the opposition’s next move.

Sensing its spirit-self in danger, the Lion disengages the Golem and rushes to Rece’s aid. Alas, the determined Incarnation’s effort proves futile. For as the bladed portion of Stanos’ left-hand weapon parries a katana swing, the blunt end of his other weapon clubs Rece on the collarbone, near the base of his neck. Rece drops to his knees. Finally, with both hands together, Stanos