The Freelancers: The Black Shield and the Red Fortune

By M. A. Frost

Once, there was a war against black magic in a Kingdom facing a civil
strife. Rebels gathered to fight, provoked by a corrupt ruler. When
the oppression ended, a hero left behind a legacy. Years later, history
repeats itself when a King dies. Having no relatives, a former disciple
of the King’s, claims to be the successor. His rivals were outraged by the
outcome. So once again, the civil war broke out. When warriors discover
the secrets behind the war, their struggles peaked. Their enemies become
overwhelming with the use of sorcery. Wizards offer their services as
mercenaries in the conflict. However, what worsened the situation was
a corrupt legacy. There were eleven ancient magic swords that chose
its wielders. Each one had a unique ability, but all are instruments of
destruction. One warrior found a sword that can reflect magic. It was
made to destroy the ancient swords. Cornered by sorcery, how will he
level the playing field with all that he had?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Partridge Publishing Singapore
• Release date: Jul 28, 2020
• ISBN: 9781543759556

M. A. Frost

M. A. Frost is a fan of fantasy and adventure. So, he creates this story to explore the world and sources of magic if any should exist in ancient times and the consequences of having such force to play a role in ancient society.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

Anfan approached Durah, with his sword drawn to invite justice and victory. Durah denied his crimes. He refused to lose all his authority in his own stronghold. He struggled for an escape while lying on his back, battered on the floor of the peak of his tower, hoping for one last chance. ‘You think you’ve seen everything? You know nothing! This is my domain, my stronghold!’ he yelled.

Anfan dwelled on his thoughts. His sword was glowing bright gold under the dark clouds. With it, the wielder might see a hidden truth of his opponent. Looking into the eyes of his brother, Anfan saw that many innocents died by his hand and his kingdom was ruled by spreading fear and chaos. Anfan glared at the foresight. ‘I haven’t seen everything. But I’ve seen enough. Your years of power struggle are coming to an end.’

Suddenly, a forceful impact struck him from his rear and broke a part of his golden armour on his left shoulder. It took him off balance and forced him to crouch with his sword jabbed to the floor. Without knowing who or what caused it, he swung his sword to whatever was behind him, leaving a deep scratch on the craftily carved floor. A powerful shock wave screamed out of the sword. It hit and paralysed a wizard behind him so that he fell with a mild thud.

With that, Durah got a chance of regaining his lost position. He rolled over to his left, took back his sword on the floor, and stood up with pride. Anfan quickly raised his sword once again, not giving Durah any chance of outmanoeuvring him. The two warriors kept their guard up while orbiting and glaring at each other.

‘You’ve betrayed me, brother!’ Durah exclaimed. ‘I offered you many things, the wealth, the glory. But you turn your back on me! And now you come back to take it all for yourself?’

‘I did not betray you.’ Anfan dramatically clenched his fists wearing gauntlets and pointed his finger. ‘I remained loyal to the path of righteousness. You turned against me. You turn against your own people, and that is why you must be stopped!’

‘Do your worst!’ Durah grunted and smashed his sword to the floor. Anfan sensed a dark magic was cast by his younger brother. The carved pattern on the floor suddenly lit up. There were five shiny circles around the tower’s floor. These surrounded them both. Durah then stabbed one of the circular patterns and shouted, ‘Anfan, I challenge you to a duel of the realms!’

Anfan struck one of the other circles on the floor with his long glorified double-edged blade. Immediately the glowing patterns flashed once. As the flash dimmed, a colour of blackness crawled up, covering their clothes, armours, and weapons, all except their own flesh. It was the effect of the magic. Lightning struck the tower, and the world around them changed. But in truth, they’d entered a rift.

Random floating weapons appeared and disappeared in thin air like pollen on a gentle breeze. It seemed that they weren’t the first to have been in this strange place. Dark clouds turned red, and a thunderstorm roared in the sky, even greater than back on the tower. ‘Do you see?’ Durah echoed throughout the plains. ‘We are in the rift between the world we live in and the hidden realm.’ He walked around his pitiful brother as his brother glared around his shoulders. ‘This place is a place where battles end with certainty. The fallen shall be exiled to the hidden realm.’

Anfan glanced around and saw a lifeless desert surrounded by mountains. If this was the rift, then the hidden realm would surely be worse. This match would determine their fates. Anfan didn’t know much about this magical duel. He shouldn’t have accepted it. He would rather capture his brother alive. But now only one could escape the rift. He realised that he never had a choice. He focused on Durah twirling his sword, readying it for an epic battle. ‘Let’s end this.’ He welcomed his brother’s challenge.

The two warriors charged and battled each other as archenemies. The sound of the blades clashing resonated throughout the plains. They were the only two souls that could hear it. They were trapped in the rift until one spilled the blood of the other.

Within minutes of fighting, Anfan eventually grew tired from Durah’s overwhelming skill of swordsmanship. He spent most of his energy defeating Durah’s guards. He was at his limit and losing.

Durah executed a vertical slice at Anfan. Anfan blocked it with his sword, crossing the blades. They glared at each other in resentment. It was nothing like the sibling rivalry back in the days when they were children. This time, Durah would really kill his own brother.

‘What’s the matter?’ Durah noticed Anfan in his weakened state. He laughed at the pitiful sight. ‘Can’t your magic sword heed you? Who are you to stop me?’

Demoralised by taunts, Anfan was pushed down to his knee, barely blocking Durah’s blade from reaching his throat. Convinced that the sword couldn’t work its ability at the time of need, Anfan took a risk and used Durah’s own overconfidence against him by fending off his sword.

Durah missed his mark, where his sword tasted dirt instead. Anfan quickly got on his feet and slashed his brother’s wrist, only leaving a small scratch. ‘I am the last of good you will ever see,’ Anfan coughed. His eyes were focused, filled with condemnation of what he thought was necessary and knew that it had to come. ‘Farewell.’ He threw his last word.

Durah looked at his most recent wound as his body was starting to feel lighter. He couldn’t believe his own eyes. His body started to become hollow from the tips of his fingers and all the way down to his feet. He was in shock, trying to grab his brother as he faded into another realm. He scowled at his brother to the very end, leaving Anfan an unforgettable memory.

The world around Anfan changed, and the colour of blackness that engulfed his armours and weapon disappeared as he returned to the material realm at the tower. The battle was won as it was lost. The brother he knew was gone forever. A cold rain started over Anfan under a dense cloud. He gazed upon the darkness of the sky. ‘You left me no choice, brother.’

At the bottom of the tower, Anfan walked off the spiral stairway. Outside the tower, the rebels waited for him. After they saw him exiting the tower, they made way for him, cheering for his victory and the fall of the tyrant.

Not making any time for it, Anfan simply walked away from the celebration. While everyone was free, he felt wrong to celebrate while mourning for his loss. He passed through the city streets towards the castle while the rebels raised their torches and pitchforks saluting to the ending of the oppressive era.

In the throne room, Lyle, the leader of the clan that assisted in the rebellion, was waiting. He made way for the rightful ruler of Mattermaph. ‘Your throne awaits you. Let me be the first to address you as our new grand king,’ Lyle announced.

Anfan mused, ‘I am no king, Lyle.’ After his brother was gone, the next in line for the throne would be Anfan himself. But he didn’t want the throne. It wasn’t what he fought for. The history of Mattermaph should not be remembered as what it seemed.

Lyle thought that Anfan might have misunderstood. He would explain to the grand king. ‘But, my king, you are next in line to the throne. It’s what you’ve been fighting for.’ He added, ‘It’s what we have been fighting for.’

‘No,’ Anfan denied, ‘we fought for our freedom, our rights, not the power Durah once had.’ He refused to claim the seat of the throne.

Lyle couldn’t accept a future of Mattermaph without any leader. It had to be Anfan. All his relatives were gone. There was no one else worthy. So Lyle tried to reason with him. ‘But you belong here. This castle and all other castles in Mattermaph belong to you.’

Anfan held Lyle’s shoulders, signifying his trust. ‘Then I’ll leave Selenor and Lightmark to you and your family. You’ve proven me too that you are a good leader and a noble warrior.’

‘But where will you go?’ Lyle asked.

‘I have some things to take care of,’ Anfan said. He was planning on leaving Mattermaph for good, running away from his memories. He simply walked out of the city, leaving the rebels behind as they watched him, wondering what had happened.

Anfan freed the people of Selenor and everyone in Mattermaph. Before long, he was known as the Golden Knight, a hero that came from the royal family, the man who rejected his rightful seat on the throne and placed a noble clan in charge instead. It was a symbol to let his people and the next generation knew that he defeated his brother to end the troubled days, not to steal his power. As Anfan’s purpose to save people from oppression was fulfilled, the miraculous sword in his possession tempted him no more.

One afternoon, he came to a dark cave with the sword and found a smooth stone under sunlight emanating from a hole above. He looked at the sword. Unlike a regular sword, the blade was made with the handle, seamless in between. Both were made out of the same metal. It was three fingers thick, but heavy and without engraving.

Anfan made a final decision. The sword flashed for a moment and then slowly dimmed into a plain silver-coloured metal. Anfan raised his sword with all his might; he stabbed the stone. The clash sounded like a sledgehammer hitting an anvil. Anfan turned his back on the sword as if what he left behind had a very small price. As he distanced himself from the sword, it vanished in the sunlight.

CHAPTER 1

LYLE’S MERCENARIES

Under a cloudy summer sky, Azalar calmly opened his eyes while resting on a grassy field at the summit of a mound. The breezes were calm and peaceful. The pleasant scent of the fresh grass was casting him adrift. A white moth fluttered across his view of the sky and landed on the handle of his high-quality sword on his back. He eased in his mind until he was interrupted.

‘Azalar,’ a friendly call echoed from a distance, ‘enough resting. We have to get going.’ It was his companion, Ferend. They’d travelled here by foot. It took days. But they were finally close to the city.

Azalar rose up with his long dark-brown coat caught in the breeze, sounding like a curtain rising. His hair was dark brown, lengthened up to his ears. It was wavy like waves of the ocean lopsided to his right. Azalar turned to his closest companion with lazy eyes. ‘So which way are we heading?’

‘We are going to uh … Hold on,’ Ferend stuttered. He quickly reached for a map in his scroll case. He took out a messy bunch of rolled and folded parchments, unfolding it like trying to squeeze a cabbage with his bare hands. He noticed that Azalar had folded his arms, silently amused from seeing him taking so much effort to prepare a simple map. Such an impression was only making him struggle.

Suddenly a gust of wind blew the parchment to Ferend’s face and forced him to take a step back. It slid around his face and was blown away. Ferend spontaneously pointed towards the flying piece of parchment. ‘That way.’

‘Are you kidding me?’ Azalar tapped Ferend’s shoulder and started walking. ‘Come on. We’re heading east. Forget the map. Let’s just go. We have to be there before dark.’

Azalar ignored Ferend’s suggestion. He always liked to do things his way. He was not like a lone wolf. He in fact embraced a team effort. But if there was a team, he was the leader. And for some reason, people were easily drawn to him. He wouldn’t have it any other way unless it was forced down into his thick skin. So Ferend, who grabbed Azalar’s shoulder hard, stopping him from walking away, nearly tripped him backwards.

Azalar staggered, trying not to fall. ‘What?’

‘We need to get it back! That was our way into the castle. We can barely get into the city without it,’ said Ferend.

‘What are a bunch of scribbled lines going to do to the castle’s door?’ Azalar asked, mocking Ferend’s nonsense. They could do without a useless piece of parchment. They’d seen the map, and they were told how the city looked. All they had to do was head east. They couldn’t miss a heavily fortified city.

‘That was the king Lyle’s mercenary list,’ Ferend answered, ‘not a map.’

Azalar tried to be amused for a few moments. He in fact tried to go for a pity laugh, thinking that Ferend might have been jesting. But knowing him to be so careless most of the time in the past, his expression changed. His eyes were closed halfway, filled with disappointment and boredom. ‘The mercenary list, you fool! Do you realise what would happen if we lose it?’ Azalar scolded.

The letter contained a list of names of every mercenary that served King Lyle. The information must not be allowed to end up in the wrong hands. One might be able to predict the military strength of its neighbours just by knowing the mercenaries that served them. Moreover, the seal on the list proved that they were sent by the king. They needed it as proof of their allegiance with Lyle.

Ferend echoed while rushing down the hill going after the list, ‘Look, I’m sorry. The scroll case is small. I get it mixed up with the map!’

Azalar simply walked down the hillside. He figured that if Ferend was already chasing it, his help would be a waste of effort. He was not too worried about how the problem might worsen. If anyone was to be blamed, it would be him.

The list landed on a passer-by’s face at the bottom of the hill. She sighed; taking the list off her face, she couldn’t help seeing the contents of the list. ‘What is this?’ Looking at the other side of the parchment, she found a royal seal that appeared to be from the king’s older brother, Lyle. This could not be good for her and her friend she was with.

‘What is it, Lenne?’ a young woman from behind asked. She was a friend of Lenne. She was curious at the sight of Lenne looking quite troubled.

‘Hey!’ Ferend yelled from the higher ground, looking down towards the two women at the bottom of the hill. ‘Don’t lose that!’ he ordered.

Lenne and her friend looked up and saw him shouting at them while racing down the mound. There was no question that the parchment came from that man. Lenne quickly got hold of her friend’s wrist and insisted that they run away.

Her friend was confused why Lenne was so eager to get away from clearly just a friendly commoner. Why not just give the parchment back to him? It made her think that Lenne might have upset the man. She stopped her from pulling her arm. ‘Lenne, what’s wrong?’

‘He is one of the officials from the castle. If they catch us, we’re done for. Come on, Princess,’ Lenne said as she handed the parchment to her. If anyone from the castle found out that she brought royalty outside the walls without any authority, she could be in trouble.

Her mischievous way was only because of the princess. She had known the princess almost all her life. If it wasn’t for her, the young princess’s greatest freedom to the world was her balcony and a small window. But the bird in a cage needed to fly from time to time. So they slipped out together and had never been seen.

Ferend was still moving down the mound until carelessly tripped by a rock covered in some weeds. He hit the ground, seemingly painful, and ended up rolling down the hill. Just before he could finally stop rolling, he took one last spin and hit a tree at the bottom of the hill.

The ladies saw what happened, and it forced their escape to a halt. This seemed like a bigger problem. It might be best to put aside the troubles they might face from confronting the man. So they cautiously approached the man, hoping that he wouldn’t be severely hurt. The man seemed to be unconscious.

Azalar, from the hill above, saw two hooded persons covered in light brown cloaks surrounding Ferend, who was now lying on the ground. Azalar sighed at the sight. ‘What now?’

Lenne crouched over and examined on the downed man closely. ‘He seems fine. I don’t see any blood.’

‘Is he dead?’ asked the princess, showing the least concern she could have for the peasant. If he was dead, it wouldn’t be their fault. But leaving him alone could make it their fault. Yet by not leaving him alone, a number of people soon would know that the princess was outside the walls. And then the king would know, and she would be in trouble. There was no winning in this situation. So she stared at the presumably dead man and thought, ‘We’re doomed.’ The princess walked back and forth panicking. ‘I don’t want to be a part of this. I’m not a part of this. I was never here!’

‘Calm down, Princess. He might still be alive.’ Lenne nudged the man, making him moan in pain. ‘He’s alive!’ Lenne was relieved. The man didn’t appear like a bad person. Lenne moved Ferend’s brown hair that covered his eyes with her hands and saw his handsome face and white skin.

The princess sighed loudly, relieved that she might escape the troubles ahead of her after all. ‘Okay. Let’s leave him here,’ she suggested.

‘Are you crazy? We can’t leave him here to die!’ Lenne remarked. She held the man while crouching next to him. ‘Sir, are you all right?’

Ferend opened his eyes and saw the most beautiful young maiden his eyes had ever seen. He held her hands. ‘Who’s there? It’s dark. I can’t see.’

‘Oh, you poor man, don’t move. I will return with help,’ Lenne assured him as she was about to urgently go get some help. She apparently had fallen for the stranger. She was not the sort of person that would leave a turtle upside down.

The princess was speechless from seeing a dying man. All she could do was to watch the man helplessly. According to her highest note, her downfall was on the horizon and approaching fast. She wasn’t going to get out of the trouble, now that Lenne decided to help the man.

‘Wait!’ Ferend yanked Lenne closer, not allowing her to leave. ‘Please, don’t leave me here,’ he pleaded.

‘You’re going to be fine. I’ll make sure of it,’ Lenne promised, so passionately and emotionally touched while she stroked his hair as she would stroke a cute kitten.

Maiya rolled her eyes at the sight. ‘Oh, just brilliant!’ She was a little worried about her friend. But her priority obviated the concern.

‘What’s going on here?’ Azalar interrupted as he neared the scene from behind Lenne.

Lenne turned around, gasping as she saw another stranger. He sounded quite angry and seemingly unreliable. But seeing the state of the man on the ground so helpless, she would take any help she could get. ‘Please, sir—this man is hurt,’ Lenne pleaded.

Azalar examined Ferend. He suspected that Ferend might be playing another one of his foolish pranks. As if it made any sense at all, Ferend usually did this so that he would be admired or noticed by beautiful women. After all, his potential victims turned out to be beautiful and tall for a couple of random women. One of them was black-haired and had a spark of bravery in her eyes. The other one almost got him dwelling in the gaze. Her long hair was blonde and loosely curled at the ends, like grapevines. Her skin was nearly as white as the root of her fingernails. Azalar tried to look at her face intently, but she shunned eye contact from him. She must be afraid of her own shadow. But there was something about her that didn’t seem quite right to Azalar.

The princess stole a glance while avoiding Azalar looking back at her. He was somewhat good-looking, but not enough to be trusted. The sword he was carrying was large and looked very scary. Just the sight of it gave her chills. She saw her family insignia on Azalar’s coat. So she touched Lenne’s shoulder, signalling her to let the new stranger take over and hoping that the insignia got her attention.

Lenne stood up. But unfortunately, her eyes didn’t move. She was disturbingly charmed by the injured man. Her eyes were still focused on the peasant lying on the ground. One last push, the princess tapped her shoulder and pointed towards the stranger’s coat. Finally, Lenne gasped after a quick glance at the man’s shoulder.

Azalar looked at Ferend’s face, and for a second, he saw a smirk. That immediately gave it away. It was just as he thought. He was impressed, nonetheless. Never had he imagined Ferend could come up with such a devious plot. He might have done this before. However, this theatrical display was getting them nowhere. ‘Hey, get up!’ Azalar kicked his arm, causing a slight pain.

‘Ouch! Hey!’ Ferend sat up by force, stroking his arm to relieve the pain as he looked up at Azalar, irritated that Azalar was not acting too. ‘You never could play along, could you?’

Lenne and the princess were stunned for many reasons. Never had they minded how two gorgeous young men that they had never seen before served the king. It couldn’t be a coincidence that they both appeared in the same place. It would seem that these men knew each other. It was then when Lenne finally realised that the man on the ground wasn’t really hurt. They were making a fool out of her. So she disenchanted herself by shaking her head. ‘Who are you and what are you playing at?’ she demanded as she backed up and ensured that the princess stayed behind her.

Azalar pulled Ferend up nearly forcefully to his feet while looking at the ladies. ‘I could ask you the same,’ he remarked and awkwardly added, ‘Well, except for the playing part—because you’re obviously not … playing.’

After being outrageously betrayed by her kindness and sympathy, Lenne ignored Azalar and eyed Ferend. ‘You deceived me?’

‘The name is Ferend,’ Ferend introduced himself as he cleaned the dirt off his shoulders and smiled. He found that the way Lenne looked at him was rather strangely attractive, now more than ever.

‘How dare you! What were you trying to have me do?’ Lenne scolded, demanding an apology.

‘Well, that depends.’ He winked. ‘How far would you have gone?’

‘What did you say?’ Lenne suppressed her anger by grinding her teeth. The smirk on his face was really putting her off. She’d soon feel guilty for leaving his face free from her slapping hand.

‘Look, we’re sorry,’ Azalar apologised as he was not interested in their quarrels. ‘But who are you? And what are you two doing here outside the city near the forest?’ he asked. He assumed that they lived around here. It was rather strange to him because people didn’t just wander around here without a weapon, especially not two women, unless they’d been here and knew what to expect. It was not a place for crowds.

The two young women looked at each other, exchanging thoughts, unsure whether the truth should be told. Lenne stepped up. ‘I am Lenne and …’

‘My name is Maiya. We are just—passing by,’ Princess Maiya continued, answering for Lenne, letting her know that she decided to keep the truth under her hat.

It wasn’t what Azalar had expected to hear. If they came from the villages around the city, they should know the way to the fort. Otherwise, they must’ve come far away from the city, which was highly unlikely. There was another thing that was quite odd. Lenne seemed to be protecting Maiya. She might be stronger than she looked, or maybe Maiya was someone special to her. Azalar wanted to be sure if they were all right. So he asked, ‘The two of you alone?’

‘We can take care of ourselves!’ Lenne assured him confidently, with a slight bit of anger in her tone. She couldn’t trust them, not after what happened.

‘Is that so?’ Azalar quietly muttered, looking in Lenne’s eyes, seeking the truth. She definitely had something to hide. But it was none of his concern. ‘Anyway, you have something that belongs to us. We want it back.’ Azalar put up his hand.

Maiya lightly responded and handed over the messy parchment to Ferend. The sooner they had what they wanted, the sooner they would leave. Maiya was only glad that she and Lenne wouldn’t be in trouble after all.

Azalar felt a little guilt after regaining possession of the list while leaving the two women that saved it unrewarded. But time was wasted. Fortunately, these women must know something about the castle. It would be awkward if this conversation got too long. So he asked the ladies, ‘Do you know the way to the castle?’

Provoked by Azalar’s ignorance, Ferend cut in. ‘What are you, a girl? We don’t need directions. We have the map.’

Lenne was still angry at Ferend’s prank. So she mocked, ‘You look like you could use a lot more than just a map.’

‘She’s a feisty one. Good luck to you, brother,’ Azalar whispered to Ferend.

‘Whatever.’ Ferend rolled his eyes, certain with himself that he could handle one grumpy lady.

This slope was getting way too long. So Maiya reassured these strange men. ‘We do not know the way to the castle. We are just outsiders passing by.’

Her words alone weren’t very convincing. For a moment, he could have sworn that he saw what seemed like an expensive fabric worn underneath Maiya’s cloak. Such fabrics could only be bought from the city. Villagers of their standard should know the directions. However, time was short, and his arrival at the castle was expected. There was no point in fussing over them. So he decided to disregard what just happened and resume his journey with Ferend. ‘Well, we must be on our way. Let’s get going.’ Azalar signalled Ferend.

It was quite difficult to leave the two women alone and unprotected, especially when it was nearly dark. But they preferred to be left alone, and there was no time for chivalry for the two. Selenor was in need of them. So Ferend and Azalar left the ladies with their own businesses.

Before Ferend left, he gave Lenne a joyous wave, which he knew would only irritate her. ‘I hope fate will lead us together again,