The Warriors of Lleuad Songs of Arcana

By Robert M Walmsley-Evans

Magic was so entrenched in the very air and waters of Arcana that everyone had access at least the most simple of spells, and yet in one moment magic was cut off. Within one generation magic became a myth, a story remembered only by the young people's elders. 

A leader from the old wars r

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mystic Stone Books
• Release date: May 24, 2022
• ISBN: 9780645470017

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Published by Mystic Stone Books 2022

Copyright © 2022 Robert Walmsley-Evans

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All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission from the publisher.

Disclaimer

Every effort has been made to ensure that this book is free from error or omissions. Information provided is of general nature only and should not be considered legal or financial advice. The intent is to offer a variety of information to the reader. However, the author, publisher, editor or their agents or representatives shall not accept responsibility for any loss or inconvenience caused to a person or organisation relying on this information.

Book cover design and formatting services by SelfPublishingLab.com

ISBN:

978-0-6454700-0-0 (pbk)

978-0-6454700-1-7 (e-bk)

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

At the start of this book, I would like to acknowledge the people who made this possible. Thank you to Georgina Ballantine for her helpful comments that still left room for my creativity. Thanks to Kelly Hart who helped at the initial stages to set me on the right path. To the wonderful people at the Rainforest Writing Retreat who have been fantastic friends and colleagues throughout these many years. I would especially like to acknowledge Charmaine Clancy and Christine Titheradge who have been good friends from the beginning of my writing journey, you have shared your knowledge so freely, and thank you for not minding my many questions. Last but not least thanks to my friends and family who have been supportive and especially my mother Lynn, who has come with me on every step of the journey.

CHAPTER ONE

THE MASTERS

AND THE MAN

The tapestry of the cosmos proceeded to be laid by the forces of nature. Threads of magical light wove their way throughout the universe, creating a separate reality connected to space and time but at the same instance, not. These tendrils of shining light wove themselves into patterns, symbols defining the spheres of reality. Sparks ignited within one of these spheres forming new and brilliant forces not of the usual sciences but something different. Something which hands could form twist and turn, a malleable mass of magical energy. Physicality was formed, shaped and created by light and shadow. This was the beginning for past, present and future heroes and villains, swept up in a universe of infinite possibilities. What came next will be unbelievable, though everything in this tale should be believed. For if you can imagine it, anything can be true.

The Master of the Cosmos wrote this in his index. He was only a hundred years old and yet his mind had clarity enough to observe what he saw with philosophical insights. He would not know anyone who thought and observed the cosmos in its’ entirety quite in the same curious manner for nigh on a millennium into the future, or was it the past? The master of the Cosmos could not know one way or the other, yet his wisdom let him focus on the present. And that is the only thing we can do.

Mark drew back his sword and lunged forward in a smooth motion. Cutting the air again with his blunt cedar practice sword. He thought to himself, I hope I never have to use a real sword. I was taught to protect people, yet I would be reluctant to fight, even if provoked. He repeated the movement, perfecting his style. Only when he noticed Lord Taren approaching his acre of land did he pause, mid-thrust, to observe his visitor. The imperious Lord trudged towards him, polished black boots flattening the thick, dry grass; his red cloak trailing. A black cloud of bats began to wake from their daytime slumber, eager to catch their meal in the day’s waning light. Why is he, the Lord of an important town coming to visit me, a lowly carpenter? Mark swung his blade moving through his stances. Lord Taren folded his arms, watching the young man’s technique with his eyebrow raised.

‘You look well-practised,’ the nobleman called. He walked closer to the paling fence separating Mark’s land from the next acre. ‘I have the best army in the lands; I’m enlisting people much like you.’

‘I’m not a great swordsman.’

‘Yes, but you will be soon enough. I see great potential within you. I’m putting together an elite team of warriors; I would like you to join them.’

I cannot refuse the authority of Lord Taren. I have heard rumours about him locking people away for years at a time for less severe crimes than disobedience. He shivered. I wonder what he wants us to do, I could be injured badly or worse. ‘Yes, thank you,’ he replied, biting his lip to repress the negative thoughts flying through his mind.

Lord Taren smiled, ‘Wonderful. Come to the Government Tower in Lleuad for practice, the day after tomorrow at noon.’ He turned sharply on his heel and walked away.

Mark stared after him. He started back towards his house, setting his practice sword down as he entered. A half-finished table he had been working on lay upside down atop a dusty workbench. Mark approached the bench, removing a few nails from their small wooden box, a birthday present from his adopted father. He seized a hammer and tapped a nail into one of the table legs. A glint of light caught his attention. Mark turned and spied a purple crystal brooch set upon a shelf. He stared at it, grabbed a rag and polished the surface. The intense colour of the brooch reminded him of his mother and the strong aroma of Gorse flowers that clung to her whenever she was around. He sighed under his breath, ‘I miss you.’ As he returned the brooch, his mind drifted and he imagined what his father would have looked like if he were still alive. He grasped at his engineered memories.

Mark set his hammer on the workbench and brushed sawdust off his rough tunic. He wandered over to his dinner table, sat down and ran his fingers through his shaggy chestnut hair and stared at the grain of the table.

I can’t fight! I was taught to be a carpenter by the people of Yellowleaf. Now I’m being forced to become a warrior. Fate is pushing me in that direction.

He prepared for bed before lying down on his pallet. Strands of straw fell from the mattress. I must have that mended, he thought, staring through the crossbeams and sparse thatched ceiling at the dusk light where a few faded stars started to shine.

In the depths of the northern part of the mountain range that arched around the interior of the continent of Arcana, the Master of Life stood in the middle of the chamber that he surveyed. He walked with shaky ancient legs dragging a cloak that swept across the cold floor to a crystal inlaid on one of the walls. Deep into the surface he gazed, the light swirling into the focus of the sleeping Mark. ‘Your underdeveloped body and mind will be shaped by your experiences. I wish Mark that you could know what is in store for you. Your sawdust-covered skin, accidental cuts and gashes from your carpentry, and scruffy hair, signs of your mundane existence, will be transformed into a muscular fighter, and thoughtful individual. I do wish the master of the cosmos would stop gallivanting around the universe and be focused more upon domestic issues.’ The master of life shook his head and looked down at his feet mumbling. He looked back up at Mark, ‘May my nieces, the spirits of this land guide you.’ Mark shifted on his pallet. ‘Ah, my young friend, you don’t yet know what you will become.’

He walked to another one of the crystals. Images of war and cold senseless brutality flashed into the master of Life’s field of vision. He shook his head, ‘so much destruction.’

The Master of Life walked back to the middle of his chamber ‘will I never know why my brother created this world, only to see it ravaged by war?’

A ghostly apparition of a man much taller than The Master of Life appeared. He appeared younger yet had worn out eyes as if death was always approaching. The Master of Death addressed his brother in a sarcastic tone. ‘Who knows the purpose of the great and all-powerful dragon god Aurora?’

‘You know he is no god. He is fallible like the rest of us. I have seen the future encrusted upon these walls. Why do you encourage such destruction in this story of life?’

‘My old brother, I move with the flow of the Well of Magic. The people of the land do as they wish. I wouldn’t say there is any reason for it, my task is to aid in the final outcome.’

The Master of life sighed and shrugged, his bones cracking. ‘Life wearies me sometimes; always only working in the background. Kill minor players if you must, if it needs to happen, but please know the play must go on.’

They turned and watched the lives of lords and average citizens alike go by.

Mark awoke, his eyelids sticking together. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, sat up and swung his legs over the mattress, feet planted firmly on the dirt floor.

He looked at the table he was working on, the previous night. A flicker of a smile played over his lips as he looked at the feet, carved with fine detail. His smile melted into a frown. I wonder how my life will change. My carpentry must be pushed to one side if I am going to train with these elite soldiers.

Mark pulled on a clean tunic. He put a match to a pile of wood lying under a metal rack in the hearth and placed some bread on the wire stand above. He sat cross-legged on a chair, staring at the bread as it toasted. The aroma of the bread filled his nostrils, forcing his stomach to grumble. The warmth from the growing flame permeated throughout the room.

I wonder if Meredith will be there when I visit Henry today. I would very much like to see her. Mark blushed at the thought. Will my life here with Meredith change, and how?

The dry, light-coloured wood flared. The flames grew ever more intense. The bread turned a light brown. Mark leant forward and closed his eyes, listening to the fire crackle, and wondered what his life would be like after tomorrow.

My fortunes will change after tomorrow; I can feel it. His eyes snapped open. Mark picked up the piece of toast. ‘Ouch!’ he said, dropping it. Mark laughed and shook his head. He finished his breakfast. As he walked out the door, he grabbed his dusty red cloak.

Bright clouds lit up the blue sky. Mark craned his neck to check the weather, shading his eyes. He strolled past tall, bricked houses of the wealthier families. Wooden shutters covered the windows, with ornate brass hinges. Not for the first time, Mark wished he could afford such luxuries. People thronged the streets. He knew all of the villagers, if not by name, by face. Most were farmers, some were carpenters, butchers and potters. He walked down the gravel path and greeted a few neighbours; one or two called, ‘Good day, Mark.’ He nodded and returned the greeting.

Mark had always thought that the connecting paths of the hamlet of Yellowleaf looked like a spider’s web. He turned into the lane which led to Henry’s house. The house was the largest in town. Stone with dust and dirt baked on to such a great extent that, if they tried, and try they did, the people could not scrub it off.

Mark stepped into the doorway and looked up at the thatch. It appeared dark against the sun, stiff and well-compacted. He remembered it hadn’t been touched in many years. He knocked four times in rapid succession. The door swung open.

‘Meredith,’ Mark said. Her long hair was streaked with different shades of auburn. A leather belt secured a loose tunic around her slender waist.

‘Hello, Mark! Come in, come in.’ They embraced, pecking each other on the cheek.

‘How’s father today?’ Mark asked.

‘Fine. All the better for seeing you. Henry doesn’t expect you to call him father now that you’re seventeen.’

Mark raised his head. ‘I know, but I’d like to, even if we’re not related by blood.’

Meredith took Mark through an archway to a sitting room. A man with thinning red hair sat on the sofa.

Meredith gave a slight bow, ‘Look who it is.’

‘Meredith, will you fetch us some pastries please?’ Henry asked. She left the room in silence.

‘Mark, how are you?’ Henry asked. His tone was even and cordial as he gestured for Mark to sit down, waving his wooden walking stick.

‘I am well.’ Mark took a seat opposite his mentor.

‘Nice young lady, Meredith. Such a tragedy when her parents died.’

Mark inclined his head.

‘Mark, what’s wrong?’

He avoided Henry’s gaze. ‘What do you mean?’

‘You have a question. I can see it in your eyes.’

Mark ran his fingers through his hair. ‘Lord Taren of Lleuad asked me to join his elite team of swordsmen.’ He lowered his head and sighed. ‘I won’t lie—I’m frightened. What will they ask us to do?’

Henry leant his stick against the wall, the light caught the silver snake’s head on the top of it. He sank back into the sofa and pressed his fingers end to end.

‘In my opinion, not as your father, but as honorary Minister of Lleuad, you should accept this challenge. Remember, the lady who brought you to Yellowleaf many years ago said that your parents were important village leaders and helped to prevent a war. You should carry on helping people, leading men and women, it’s in your blood. But whatever you decide, tell Meredith. You are, after all, fond of each other. I know you well enough to know you intend to move forward with her.’

The corner of Mark’s mouth twitched. ‘How could you possibly know this, father?’

Meredith entered with a tray of golden savouries heavy with the scent of lamb and rosemary. She set the metal tray down with a dull clang, apple juice sloshed inside clay cups.

Mark took a pastry, his mouth watering.

Henry said, ‘I’ve told you both many stories over the years when I was teaching you to be a carpenter, Mark, and when you came to visit, Meredith. Do you remember?’

Meredith replied. ‘Of course, Henry.’

‘Well, there is one I haven’t told you, and I think now that I should. As far as I know, it is true—part of it, at least.’ He leant forward taking a sip of juice, his eyes lowered.

‘There were three kings that ruled this realm. The three kings were brothers, the sons of Aurora the Dragon. They were named Eartha, Hydra and Aira. Hydra owned all of the south, Eartha lorded over all that exists around us and the land that the mountains tower over, and Aira owned all that stretched past the mountains to the north. They each owned one mystical stone. Always they fought, for the stones were valuable to them. As their obsession grew, they desired the other stones. Their possession of land was a front to possess the stones, to mask their obsession from the people. To take possession of another’s land is to own them, therefore the stones themselves. They always believed that the stones came from the stars. To them, they were not of magic although they were a force to be reckoned with; a force of nature that influenced them to the point of obsession.

‘Between the three kingdoms, the citizens felt like they were constantly at war. The Kings’ rivalry stretched to a point where the dragon lords and their leader Leah were forced to intervene. They were the overseers of magic. It was decided that the three kings should have one last battle between themselves, alone. They could use any method or weapon they wished, from hand-to-hand combat to sword fighting’.

‘The power of the stones, coupled with their own magic, destroyed the Kings. The stones rose from the battlefield into the sky and repelled from each other towards the terrestrial antipodes. Some tribes believed that the kings’ powers remained in the field, where they fought, twisted and congealed into dragons. Certainly, dragons were born on that day.

‘While the dragons soared above the kingdoms, the people buried their three rulers, but without continued governance, they drifted away from the cities to form tribes and establish villages.’

Henry placed his hands on his lap to signal that his story