Kilgore's Five Stories #10: May 2021: Kilgore's Five Stories, #10

By Shaun Kilgore

Kilgore's Five Stories #10 includes another exciting variety of fantasy stories from intense sword and sorcery to political and religious intrigues. Add a sci-fi tale of a alien encounter to round out this latest collection of stories by author Shaun Kilgore. The May 2021 issue includes the following stories: The Will of Candash, The Swordsmen of Calabray, Agent of Change, Inheritance, and The Fall of the Witch-King.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Founders House Publishing LLC
• Release date: May 3, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201175436

Shaun Kilgore

Shaun Kilgore is the author of various works of fantasy, science fiction, and a number of nonfiction works. His books appear in both print and ebook editions. He has also published numerous short stories and collections. Shaun is the editor of MYTHIC: A Quarterly Science Fiction & Fantasy Magazine. He lives in eastern Illinois.

Book preview

Contents

Introduction

The Will of Candash

The Swordsmen of Calabray

Agent of Change

Inheritance

The Fall of the Witch-King

About the Author

Copyright Information

Kilgore’s Five Stories #10

May 2021

Original Short Stories Every Month

Shaun Kilgore

Introduction

Well, I can’t believe I’ve made it to the tenth issue of Kilgore’s Five Stories. I must say that when I decided to do a monthly publication of my short fiction, I had some doubts about whether I could keep up the schedule, but somehow I have. I’m excited to keep these mini-collections coming for the foreseeable future. I’m including mostly reprintsin this volume, a final bunch of fantasy stories and a sci-fi tale of alien encounterspective. I also managed to include a brand new one in this volume. Issue #10 also includes one brand new story. Since I’ve basically reprinted most of my short fiction in the pages of Kilgore’s Five Stories, future issues will consist of all new stories. That means I’m busy writing them to get future issues filled. I hope you enjoy the stories.

Shaun Kilgore, May 2021

The Will of Candash

I.

The deep tolls of the bells reverberated through the thick, stone walls of the ancient temple. Each sonorous tone echoed the simple melodies of long ago rituals so that even the most irreverent parishioner was reduced to rapt silence and this solemnity deepened when the low voices of the choir began to chant in sequence with the bells. The Temple of Alavan was a hallowed place that honored a common figure in both Turian and Eradani religions. No one dared to defile its sacred precincts. Not even an infidel like Ramas.

The proceedings were a smaller battle far from the front lines of the holy war where spiritual magic was used to wage battle in the names of the gods. There, in the midst of the believers of a foreign religion, Ramas was anything but comfortable, but that didn’t matter. He had been given the task by the seers of the Red King, the emperor of Eradan, his homeland so far across the Orisian Sea. Officially, Ramas was a diplomat. That didn’t stop the whispers from circulating among the denizens of the royal palace of King Weylas that he was a spy from the emperor. He couldn’t blame the Turians; they were right to be suspicious.

Ramas was gathering information for the emperor. While it was true that the Eradani and Turians had suspended the bloodshed, the truce was terribly fragile. He knew he was risking his life just being in the Turian capital, but it was to serve a better purpose. The truth was that the Red King wanted peace. He had grown weary of the war. Fifteen years of fighting, interspaced with periods of quiet that were interrupted when some hotheaded young lordling with a grudge or a name to make set things afire once again, was more than enough. Still, the Red King had stopped short of withdrawing his soldiers from occupied lands, mostly because his marshals urged him to show strength.

Much the same had proven to true among the Turians. King Weylas spoke to Ramas at length during one of their private meetings about his own interest in ending the hostilities among their peoples. But his own advisors felt that peace was still far off. The leader of the Alorian faith, the High Priest Talevan, was even less sanguine about the prospects. The cleric was openly hostile to the prospect of reconciliation. Ramas saw the man as little more than the standard type of religious hypocrite that stained the faith he professed. He was beholden to far more worldly interests and strived for political power—or so his sources told him. The same was true with many of the lower officiants and overseers. Like their counterparts the Mordean faith, these men and women were supposed to be the protectors of pure religion, ever vigilant against the tides of corruption, but they were flawed mortals. Ramas had learned the opposite from his time with the overseers, schooled in their ways from the moment he was handed over to them at the age of nine, as was custom. It had been Ramas’ place to be instructed in the teachings of Mordea, the last of the Blood Guardians to walk the earth before the great God Candash began his ageless slumber. He was given a place among them, by law, but Ramas’s talents lay in other areas. The chants the Alorian priests were praises to same Candash he and his people worshipped but as for Mordea, they interpreted him far differently. They believed Mordea to be a blasphemer and a betrayer of his brethren. Their versions of the sacred texts said as much and more.

The Alorians believed that the Blood Guardians, unsundered, walked the lonely paths of the world, righting wrongs, influencing the affairs of men, and provided passage to the afterlife for the worthy. They supposedly enacted Candash’s will on earth.

Foolishness, thought Ramas. The Blood Guardians lie with Candash, residing with the god until all mankind was drawn to them. We must stand on our own in this world, serving Candash and proving the worth of our faith in what we do. There are no hands of vengeance meting out divine justice nor offering the keys of Kuryar to those that merely believe such lies.

Ramas felt his face flush with anger. He gritted his teeth so he wouldn’t cry out amidst the solemnity of the temple gathering. Yet, Mordea had been quick to forgive those who denied who he was—a Blood Guardian—or that his fellow guardians had joined Candash. Mordea’s unfailing patience was just one of the many models Ramas relied on to be better stewards of Candash’s bounty upon the earth. It was that truth that kept him silent. No matter that Overseer Charos would rail against the blasphemies of the Alorians, cursing them and begging Mordea to awaken from his own long slumber to smite them in the name of Candash.

The harangues of the militant agressors and zealotous theologians alike sowed far more chaos and destruction than they offered solution. Ramas was sick of the political games. But I’m caught deep in a politician’s web, am I not? There’s no way to avoid such unpleasantries now.

Once the rituals were over, Ramas and his small retinue were escorted from the temple by a contingent of Turian warriors. King Weylas left the temple by another route. Thus Ramas emerged from the cool confines of the mighty temple and entered the oppressive heat of midmorning. The sun was blazing across a cloudless sky, perched just short of its zenith. A large open plaza spread out away from the great doors and Ramas marveled anew at the intricate brickwork that formed an image of the seal of Candash, an image so ancient that the two religions shared it in common and deigned not to comment on it, at least in polite circles.

The plaza was an open place with knots of worshippers and sight-seers alike flocking to various monuments or taking their ease at one of three ornate fountains. All, however, gave wide birth to the departing dignitaries. The more quarrelsome among the crowds were kept in line by two rows of the Turian soldiers, garbed in full dress armor and sporting jagged swords and long pikes. Ramas stood out with his foreign dress, and dark features. Those bold enough shouted curses at him, their eyes wide in thoughtless rage. He was the enemy and deserved to be dragged by horses through the streets of the city. They were quickly hustled away by the soldiers before their fiery words could incite the others.

They would take me outside the walls and crucify me if they could get to me.

Ramas was grateful that King Weylas was serious about negotiating a lasting peace and saw him as a vital part of that effort. He would honor his promises of protection. The retinue was led to a series of carriages that had been given to them for their use. Ramas boarded his and settled back on the cushioned seats. Though it was warmer inside the lacquered carriage, it was still a relief from the mercilous sun. He still hadn’t gotten used to the southern heat. The vehicle lurched into motion and Ramas parted the curtain enough to view streets of Velensia. They passed through the city on a circuitous route that bypassed the more bustling squares and busier districts. The passage was a royal passage, a special track that the Turian king used to travel to and from the temple during times of high worship. For his part, Ramas was doubly grateful to Weylas for keeping him away from the general citizenry. There would be little chance of escape if they became bogged down in the traffic. They would tear me apart then, thought Ramas uneasily.

Despite the exclusivity afforded by the track, the journey back to the palace took