Eye of the Warrior

By Michelle Wilson

In the days of old and times long gone comes a magical story of one warriors tale. His journey will take you to a place of dreams and possibly ones own nightmares, only to see the reality we all face with good and evil in our world. From the dungeons of kings to their winged demons who serve them, to Sorcerers and witches alike, to the land of fairies, to the river sticks, to his friends who fight by his side, this is a story of love, hardship, and victory over evil as only one could see itthrough the eyes of the warrior.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Nov 27, 2017
• ISBN: 9781543461220

Book preview

Copyright © 2017 by Michelle Wilson.

Library of Congress Control Number:     2017916493

ISBN:                Hardcover                 978-1-5434-6120-6

                          Softcover                    978-1-5434-6121-3

                          eBook                        978-1-5434-6122-0

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

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

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 11/03/2017

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Contents

Chapter One:   The Web of Tiltor

Chapter Two:   The Vision

Chapter Three:   Chains of Loneliness

Chapter Four:   Escape

Chapter Five:   The Mountain of Witches, Warlocks and Demons

Chapter Six:   The Wizard of the Woods

Chapter Seven:   The Trials of a God

Chapter Eight:   The Valley of Tears

Chapter Nine:   The Wages of War

Chapter Ten:   The Dreams of Kings

Chapter Eleven:   The Fight for Kingdoms

Tell me my child, do you not dream at night, and do not these dreams feel real? So real that you can almost touch and wipe the tears from all companions, for your journey to them is over now.

They’ve carried you to another world. And in return you’ve fought their wars, you’ve loved and been loved. You’ve lost and now, my friend, they lose you. Though you will once again return, when the sun falls and you close your eyes to sleep, there is another trail you must walk and another dream you · must dream through the eye of the warrior.

Chapter One

The Web of Tiltor

The Mamanthion Forest spoke of silence that was soon coming to be. Their branches and leaves slowly rustled as the wind blew through them in eagerness; loneliness called out for someone who would listen as they bowed and swayed in the autumn breeze.

Peace Bringer! Peace Bringer! their limbs cried forth, The hour runs late. Chrilmstine Castle is falling . . . falling. Hurry! Come to us before it’s too late . . . too late.

Then all was silent. Nothing could be found in motion. An eeriness crept forth almost hauntingly, as if reaching for the very soul of life itself. The sky grew from hues of crimson to shades of blacknesss. Chrilmstine Castle stood within it like the sun breathing rays of light upon its darkness. Mist billowed and flowed upon its rolling landscapes, devouring whatever laid within its path. It had begun, and all felt its terrifying presence upon them. It could not be fought, only endured. The evil had come.

Tiltor’s bony fingers raced upon the red glowing crystal.

Aaahhh, his lips parted. Come, my friend. Come to me. Show me the vision of destruction.

Clearer, Old One, I cannot see. His bulging eyes, long disfigured nose and thin tapered lips gave him an almost grotesque appearance.

Within the crystal his eyes saw the princess. Her long fiery hair draped upon the floor as she knelt before her bed softly weeping.

But for whom? What is this? Tiltor’s fingers traced his jaw. He looked into her green eyes. Tears softly fell upon her gown an, d his eyes lowered in sadness, for they were not tears of fear but tears of love.

But for whom?

The crystal then began to grow brighter.

Tell me! his harsh voice cried out. Tell me, and I shall destroy him!

The image of the princess disappeared. And from its illusion came forth another vision as he stared in a furry of blindness at what now flowed before his fingers.

A stallion’s puffs of breath came into focus, its heels kicking up mud from the steady speed in which they moved. Then the apparition became clearer and louder. The legs and body of the beast surging, its nostrils snorting steam into the chill of the night. Upon its back sat a gallant warrior, his muscles tightened upon his body as if man and beast were one. His blond hair whisked about his shoulders like coiled serpents, his green eyes slicing through the night in furry. Edging his horse to full speed, his sword dangled from his hip as they glided through the forest.

Faster, my precious beast! Faster! We must reach the princess before our time runs out or it will be too late.

Louder and louder came the vision to Tiltor’s ears. So much so that his hands came to cover them, losing contact with the crystal. The vision then vanished as easily as it had come to him.

You fool, Tiltor’s wincing tongue blurted out into the silence. You will never reach her in time, Warrior. For I will make sure of it.

As he crossed the room to place his black cape about his shoulders, a half-mongoloid looking servant scurried forward to adorn it for him.

Master, may I help you, he asked.

Out of my way, before I squash you beneath my feet, Tiltor hissed. Freaks, all of you.

Yes, my Master. The servant limped away out of sight behind a door concealed in the darkness.

Tiltor placed his medals upon his royal garments. The servant watched in curiosity.

I hope you are destroyed, Master, the mongoloid said to himself, his mouth winced and razor sharp teeth protruded. It would serve you justice for your evil nature. And soon, very soon, it will be done. For the Warrior, whose paces quickened, will be the one to destroy your destiny. And as it falls, Master, I will watch in joy.

As his master left the chamber, the servant muttered, You’ll see, my King, it will be soon, and he scurried off unnoticed.

Tiltor’s body swayed as he brushed through the corridors. His feet pounding loudly upon the marble that laid beneath them.

I will kill him! Servants! his voice bellowed, My shield and staff. Bring them to me and be fast. There is little time to do what must be done!

Upon the castle turrets thirty black stallions, with dragon like wings waited for the inevitable with anticipation. Their eyes were green, their breath of fire. One stood by itself. Its muscular build weighted out all others. Upon its right ear a golden star, and eyes of red coals blazed as its legs kicked in obedience. For the fight that was before him, his body was adorned in red velvet, gold trinkets hung lavishly from it with the seal of the crown embossed on them. This creature was Tiltor’s pride and joy, and the envy of all as his wings fluttered to fly forth.

The Skeleton Warriors then came out in single file, their joints and limbs crackling, mouths gaping and clattering to the drum rolls. With armor belts clanging, they mounted their beasts of death as did their leader.

Tiltor held the reins of this mighty majestic beast tightly and called out to his fighters, Now we fly, my warriors, to Chrilmstine Castle! It is long past time that I claimed my bride.

The laughter rose within his throat mockingly, as their beasts rose up and flew into the now darkened sky, leaving only the stench of decay behind them.

The servants watched in bitterness upon their master’s departure. He does not know of yet. He does not know of yet, one of the servants sighed, that this may be his last battle to wage. For taking the princess by force could only mean one thing. And that is war.

But the dark lord would have it no other way. As the servant lowered his head, he muttered He has all but signed the destruction of us all.

To place one’s self in the enemy’s hands is to only allow defeat. To fight back in justice one must allow the space for mistakes.

To sing a sad song and think that no one will hear can only mean one does not believe in the spirit world. For what can help if it cannot walk, touch, feel, or hear. But tell me, my friend, what we see before us is always what it appears. And in the distance cries for help are heard.

Chapter Two

The Vision

The King of Chrilmstine sat upon his brightly adorned throne. His face drawn with ttie stress that he now faced with the reality of war. Determined not to miss a mere beat of his heart, as it pounded endlessly within his chest, until he felt himself so wound up he thought surely he would not live to take the next breath of air that his lungs would permit him to breathe.

His glazed eyes looked about the throne room. Its many tapestries hung gracefully from the walls in multiple colors. Kings, queens and men of armor, their