Chronicles of the Rose: Chronicles of the Rose, #1

By Michael Sauls

Chronicles of the rose is a book about mercenaries. Thorne, who has known nothing but war, travels across the ocean, learning the world is full of exciting people and mysterious magic. Xanfeer is a young man hunted by assassins. He is willing to do anything to hide; he flees through dangerous territory and makes some unlikely friends. Carson is a mercenary captain trying to grow his company, the strikers. His budding company faces disaster, testing his leadership. Lorena is a thief who makes her living off her wits—hired to explore forbidden ruins; she risks death for breaking a taboo. Evil is rising, people tempted by power seek out forbidden treasures, and mercenaries are only in it for the gold. Will they become unlikely heroes or prioritize profit?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Michael Sauls
• Release date: Jul 3, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201772246

Book preview

Chronicles of the Rose

Book 1: Chronicles of the Rose Series

Michael Sauls

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Golden Mice Press

Copyright © 2021 by Michael Sauls

All rights reserved.

No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

Contents

Prologue

1. Wolf Hunting

2. The Exiled Prince

3. To Coin and Plunder

4. A Sea of Grass

5. Desert Rose

6. Vengeance

7. A Bet is a Bet

8. Prefect Kagar

9. Ruins and Madness

10. A Southern Port Called Nowhere

11. Another Pile of Stones

12. Racing the Waves

13. Isula Tempeste

14. The Village Hidden in the Grass

15. Marina De Spezia

16. The Grand Experiment

17. The Flying Man

18. The Amulet of the Moon

19. The Ruined Tower

20. The Blockade

21. Thorny Vines

22. Maercenus Tale

23. The Heart of the Empress

24. Dragon Flight

25. The Man in the Mirror

26. Enigma

27. Twist of Fate

28. The Curse of the Wand

29. One Last Job

30. The Oracle

31. Love Is In the Air

32. Xan’s Education

33. Fish Food

34. The Company of Griffins

Prologue

Mardion was a small elven village in northern Azer with beautiful architecture that seamlessly blended with its natural surroundings. Ancient trees hung with moss that towered over green tiled roofs and elegant twisted spires. A lily pad-covered lake bordered the village. The water, still glass, reflected the mountain’s scenery like a giant mirror. A bridge spanned across it, and mist rose from the ground. A single white swan swimming across the surface created a ripple with its wake, causing the mirror image to bend and move.

There was a garden of decorative trees and bushes, and majestic mountains broke the skyline off in the distance. The elves of Mardion had a carefree existence. 

Besides its beauty, the village’s most remarkable feature was its most distinguished citizen, the Oracle of Mardion. She was said to be the most ancient of all the elves in the world, but her snow-white hair was the only sign of her age. Her skin was flawless, and her vigor unabated.

People came from all over to seek her advice and predictions, but today was a day of celebration. Today was the festival of the new year. She gathered all the children in the village and told them stories about the heroes of old. Children loved her tales, so she had them sit on the grass in a circle around her.

Have you ever heard the tale of the nine seals? She asked them. Some nodded, and others shook their heads. Good; I see that most of you have not, so I will tell you if you would like. She got enthusiastic nods and smiles, so she continued.

"Long ago, the gods placed seals upon the world of Ddaear to keep the evil from entering the world. The world prospered, and all of its people lived together in peace. There was no war, no disease, no famine. The whole world was a paradise.

But evil would not be so quickly denied. The ruler of hell devised a plan. He sent a witch to our world to discover and break the seals’ locations. She found a group of followers who worked tirelessly to find the seals and learned where they were all hidden after centuries of hunting.

This began the great cycle — the time of legends when heroes rose and struggled against the evil that entered the world. Eventually, they restored the seals, but the war had scarred the world, and evil creatures remained in the world. The witch was also still alive, and with her followers, the cult of Shunal Tachaal Ikh Ezen continued their evil work. They had learned hard lessons the first time, and the heroes had slain many of her followers. A magical artifact powered each seal, and the gods bestowed powerful curses on whoever took them. 

The cult began tricking others into breaking the seals. They would deceive the innocent, the foolish, or the desperate into taking the artifacts. Again heroes rose and restored the seals, so the great cycle continued until the last time. A great warlord received the seal of the moon, perhaps the greatest warrior the world has ever seen, a man cursed to be denied death. He defeated the heroes but not before they returned some of the seals before their defeat, but their work remained unfinished. 

The cursed warrior was not happy, though. In time he came to regret taking the amulet of the moon, and he sought vengeance against those who had tricked him into taking it. He hunted the witch and her cult down one by one. It became his life’s mission, and he did not rest until he had destroyed them all. 

When he finished with this, he lost his purpose. He had done great evil by breaking the seal and defeating the heroes. For a time, he went about the world trying to make amends for his mistakes. He fought against evil wherever he found it. He found the other seals and put them back. He took up whatever causes he deemed necessary. He fought in wars for money, glory, love, and honor. He realized that he still had no purpose, evil still had a foothold in our world, and he was still doomed to live forever. He formed a new kingdom in the shining isles, now known as the jeweled kingdoms, married an elf, and made her his queen, but he found no happiness in this. Eventually, he disappeared. No one knows for sure where he went or what he is doing. No, one except for me, of course. I wouldn’t be a very accomplished oracle if I didn’t make a point of knowing things that others don’t." She laughed, held a finger to the side of her nose, and gave them a wink.

Where did he go? One of the children asked.

How can his seal be replaced if he is still wandering the world? Asked another.

The Oracle got them all to quiet down, I cannot give you an end to the story of the cursed warrior, I’m afraid. His story isn’t over yet. Someday, someone will come to me wanting to know where he is, and I will have to tell them. He is hiding because he is tired and doesn’t want to fight wars or outlive his wives or children. He only wants to find his final moment of rest. So, for now, I will not tell you where he is because I would not have you grow up and try to find him.

What about the seals? Does that mean that evil can still enter the world?

Yes, sadly, evil can still come and go as it pleases, though the door is small. At least without the witch and her cult working in the shadows, no one else has tried to break the seals in many centuries. Perhaps someday we will also find a way to return the amulet of the moon.

Chapter one

Wolf Hunting

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The mercenaries all sat around the fire occupying logs, rocks, or merely sitting on the ground. A rabbit was roasting on a spit filling the air with the smell of cooking meat. The men were filling their drinking horns from a large cask of mead sitting on a wagon. They were dirt-stained from the road, and more than a few had bandages wrapped around one body part or another, but they were a cheerful group. Some talked about going home with their newly fattened purses, and others talked about blowing it all in the next town.

One of the mercenaries called out to Thorne, filling his horn from the cask, Hey, Thorne, I hear that you are from Elbrus.

Aye, he replied. He was a large man in black lamellar armor. He had short-cropped black hair and almond-shaped eyes like the Kalmyk of the steppes. The Kalmyk tended to be on the short side, though, and Thorne was near six feet tall, with a well-muscled frame. That told a tale of mixed lineage. Two swords strapped to his back, and a dagger rode sideways at his small back. 

I thought Elbrus was a country of blonde giants, the man commented. He had a look of disbelief on his face. You don’t look like a Northman.

Thorne sat down on a log, It sounds like you would like to hear my story. Is that it?

The man shrugged and looked around. Aye, tell your tale. Several others reiterated the request. They would often distract themselves with tales of one another’s exploits. 

Thorne took a deep breath and gathered his thoughts. "In the distant North, there are two people. There are the blonde giants in the mountains of Elbrus, and there are the barbarians of the steppes. For centuries the people of the mountains have fought with the horse masters of Kalmyk’s frozen plains. 

The horse masters are short in stature but mighty in the saddle. The Kalmyk were unique people with almond-shaped eyes and bronze skin. Their mastery of the short saddle bows is something to behold. I have seen them hit the bull’s eye on a target with their horse at full gallop.

The North men of the mountains are equally impressive. They are not giants, but they are men of great stature. They are cunning and ferocious, and they use the mountainous terrain of their homeland to great advantage. They have learned to neutralize most of the benefits of the Kalmyk in the saddle. 

For centuries these two peoples have endured almost constant warfare. One day a young chief named Odar, the first of his name, also known as Odar the Clever, learned of a tradition practiced by the Kalmyk. Among the barbarians, should a woman become pregnant due to rape, she would leave the child to die in the wilderness. When Odar learned of this, he ordered his warriors to rescue any of the children they found. 

Over time the practice evolved. They began taking women and children during their raids, and his people began to wonder if their leader had gone mad. As this retinue of enslaved people grew, they soon changed their minds. The women became concubines and nursemaids. The boys became warriors and spies. Odar called them his wolves.

When a Kalmyk tribe began causing trouble, he would use his wolves to divert their attention. He did this by working a deception. He studied the various banners and harnesses of all the Kalmyk tribes that lived nearby. He learned which tribes were allies and which did not get along. He would outfit the wolves with the banners and harnesses of a tribe’s rivals and then have them carry out raids. In this way, he kept his enemies at one another’s throats. 

Soon his stronghold at Valla became the most powerful in all of Elbrus, and the wolves were a legion of formidable veterans feared by all. Eventually, Odar began to unite the tribes of the Elbrus into a single nation, and they crowned him as their King. 

His descendants kept the wolves for many generations, though their purpose changed with each monarch’s vision. The people of Elbrus have little use for outsiders. So over time, Wolves’ mission evolved. While it was still a home for half breeds, it also became a place for others Elbrus society didn’t want. It became a legion of soldiers and spies made up of foreigners, bastards, criminals, and captured slaves. 

The wolves’ soldiers were expendable. They received only the worst assignments and earned a reputation for doing whatever it took to get the job done. The spy network became so proficient at learning everyone’s secrets that Odar III became known as Odar The All-Seeing.

When Odar IV, known as Odar the Mighty, became ruler, he decided that the military needed a new direction. Odar IV despised the wolves. So he formed a new vanguard of knights that he called the Artan. Membership was exclusive. The best military minds trained them and chosen candidates from the best Elbrus had to offer. Odar IV envisioned creating a new age of heroes to spread fear through his enemies and make a new golden age for Elbrus. 

The Wolves continued their existence, but as a legion, they were ignored and all but forgotten. Odar IV had three sons. Odar, Torin, and Luka. Odar V, the heir apparent, was groomed to rule. 

Torin was a brave warrior and embraced his father’s vision for a new knighthood. He was made General of the Artan and given charge over all matters military. His people gave him the nickname Torin Bright Blade for the magical sword that he carried. As his legend grew, so grew the reputation of the Artan Knights.

The King ordered Luka to dissolve the wolves, but he was much more intelligent than his father realized. Once he had control of the expansive network of spies and warriors, he devised his plans. He sent the warriors of the wolves packing, but he kept the intelligence network. Luka made himself the spymaster of Elbrus, and he is probably the most dangerous person in the kingdom. 

The former wolves were unwanted by both Elbrians and the Kalmyk alike. So they scattered to the four winds searching for whatever employment they could find. Most of them took work as mercenaries, and others turned to crime. 

Hells, it is even rumored that some made their way into Kalmyk and founded a new tribe under the banner of a black wolf. Coc y gath (dwarven for ‘holy shit’), wouldn’t that be something?" Thorne asked. 

He finished his story to the rapt attention of the men around the campfire. Then he took a long draw from his drinking horn. He looked around at the men, none of whom seemed offended by his use of curse words.

Mmerda! So you’re saying that you were one of the wolves? the man asked. (elven profanity for shit).

Aye, Thorne shrugged. I’m a bastard from Elbrus, so I joined the wolves. He said as if it were a matter of fact. Then he took another drink from his horn. When I lost my position with the wolves, I traveled south. I have always dreamed of seeing the great water. Someday maybe I will get there. Who knows? Wouldn’t that be something? He laughed, and a couple of the others did as well."

Is that where you will head next? The man asked.

I will keep traveling south until I reach the great water, Thorne said. Or until I find someone else paying a good coin for a mercenary.

You forgot one detail in your story, another man commented. He was a barbarian of great stature, and as he rose to his feet, he stood near seven feet, covered in solid muscle. He had his long blonde hair done up in a single braid and a long blonde beard with many bones and beads braided into it like the mountain barbarians. Across his back, he wore a great ax that gleamed evilly in the firelight. The beads were symbolic. Each bone represented a foe that this man had slain in battle, and each bead was an award for acts of courage.

Do tell, Thorne said casually. He had noticed the Northman more than once since making camp and had wondered about his intentions. He was a late arrival to their ragtag troupe, unlike the rest who had traveled the same road since the taking of Arlson Keep ten days past. He had also witnessed a bit of coin exchanging hands more than once in the past few days. One recipient of the coin had been the very mercenary that had baited him into telling his story. They were all mercenaries, owing no allegiance save those willing to pay, so they owed no loyalty to Thorne. The question in the back of his mind was; what was this new employer paying them to do?

You forgot to mention that there are still free men in the North, the barbarian said. You forgot to tell them that there are still men who do not bend the knee to Odar and his ilk. Men who say that his Artan are not true Northmen. They are Fel rhech mewn pot jam. (Dwarven phrase meaning ‘like a fart in a jam jar.’ It means someone is useless or worthless.) The barbarian climbed to his feet and beat his chest. True Northmen are men like me.

Many men laughed at the barbarian’s insult towards the Artan Knights. Most mercenaries considered them to be pompous jerks. Thorne smiled at the display of bravado. You think that the Artan is useless? He chuckled. I have never met one that wasn’t a testicu, He said (elven word for scrotum.), But I wouldn’t call them useless. 

Indeed, I didn’t talk about your people. My story was about wolves and their history. Perhaps you can share a tale about the freemen of the North, said Thorne.

I can.. The big man said, taking the bait. I am Rothgar, the Red Eagle Tribe, a free man of the North, he announced. "This is my story and the story of my people who dwell in the wild crags of Elbrus. Some people live by the old ways of the mountains. Odar the First may be called the Clever by his kin, but we call him Trucca, the deceiver in the tongue of the dwarves. We resisted when Odar made war on his kin to bring the tribes to heel. We ignored him when he called the others to sign his treaties and swear allegiance.

When he sent his soldiers to find us, they could not break us. His soldiers have spent far too many years in comfort. They have forgotten the ways of the mountains. The deceiver called upon our leaders to sign a peace treaty, but it was a trap. The clan leaders went to him in good faith, and he slaughtered them. 

He thought that would break the wild tribes, but he thought wrong. It only strengthened our resolve. Each of his descendants in their turn has tried to force us from our mountains, and each has failed."

So, how did you end up here? Thorne inquired. He sensed that whatever was getting ready to happen was happening soon. Also, as he asked this question, he subtly brought his fist over his heart, thumb, and forefinger against his chest. It was the first part of a salute from the Order of the Rose. About the camp, others responded in kind with a similar tribute, but as they lowered their hand, they extended the first two fingers of their hands, twisting their wrist slightly palm inward, and gave a two-fingered tap over their hearts before letting their hand fall. Others responded in kind with a similar salute about the camp, but as they lowered their hand, they extended the first two fingers of their hands, twisting their wrists slightly, palm inward, and gave a two-fingered tap over their hearts before letting their hands fall. There were at least half a dozen in the encampment. Thorne knew them all. Over the past several months, they’d fought in more than a dozen battles. The salute was more to get their attention than to inquire about their allegiance.

Rothgar paced before the crowd sensing the building tension., Are you asking if something is missing from my telling, wolf?

I do not have to ask what I know to be true, Thorne said flatly. He was quietly shifting his muscles, tightening a releasing tension to loosen himself up without seeming to show concern. You missed a critical detail. I am no longer a wolf. There are no more wolves. The legion no longer exists.

Rothgar laughed, The legion may be gone, but there are still wolves, not for much longer. You are right about one thing. I did leave something out. I forgot to mention one thing, and so did you. The wolves were not just used to harass the Kalmyk. No, Odar was not content to use his Drewgis on the barbarians of the steppes. He used them against his kin. He used them against the wild tribes of the mountains who refused to bend the knee. Isn’t that so, Thorne?

Aye, Thorne acknowledged climbing slowly to his feet. He remained relaxed in posture, nonchalantly stretching and yawning. He pretended not to be insulted at being called a smelly dog, but his pride stung a bit from the insult. The wolves were soldiers; just like any legion, they had followed orders.

You asked what brings, Rothgar of the red eagle tribe here tonight, and this is his answer, as I am sure you have guessed. I am hunting wolves on the mountain, or drewgi as we call them. He drew his great ax, his great muscled arms rippling in anticipation.

All around the fire, people moved. Some fled to get away from Rothgar, and others ran to join him. In a moment, a small group of mercenaries with swords drawn formed a semicircle around Rothgar. Thorne found himself facing five men. Many of whom until recently had been his sword brothers, but he did not concern himself with that. He understood the situation. They were mercenaries, and Rothgar had coin. Still, Thorne did not draw his blade.

Why the charade? Thorne asked, beginning to circle towards the flank of his foes slowly. He had seen them all fight, and he knew the weakest link in this group and meant to exploit it.

Rothgar seemed content to prattle on, so Thorne let him. Unlike you dogs of Odar, the freemen of the North have to honor. I would not kill an innocent man, even a bastard like you. I wanted to make sure that you were a drewgi.

I see. I was misinformed. In Valla, they say that the wild tribes are naught but inbred cowardly curs, without honor, Thorne