The Dragon of Illenwell: Testament of Wielders: Book One

By Philip Brice

A kingdom in peril summons an aging wielder with a calm head on his shoulders backed by seasons of experience to his next job. But during his quest, a job that pits him against fierce predators across a diverse landscape, diversions take him further from the truth while the suspects grow closer to him. And when an incriminating clue points to the woman he loves but had turned away, the wielder’s testament could be jeopardized.

This fantasy has it all! Love, hate, discrimination, pride, and one heck of “what’s going on?” Throw in a few beautiful women and several dragons and you have a love triangle. Reader beware and watch your back!

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Aug 31, 2022
• ISBN: 9781663234285

Philip Brice

Philip Brice resides in Ohio with his family, wife Tina and three children Kyle, Haley and Nolan. When he is not networking computers you can find him freelancing about town as a professional jazz musician or selling insurance and when he is not out pedaling those talents he is busy typing away on the next wielder saga…

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Copyright © 2022 Philip Brice.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, places, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

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ISBN: 978-1-6632-3429-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6632-5175-6 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-6632-3428-5 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2022911576

iUniverse rev. date: 03/15/2023

Contents

Acknowledgements

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

For my son, Kyle, who couldn’t find a dragon

book that he liked, so, I wrote him one.

Love,

Dad

There is no remembrance of the men of old; nor of those to come will

there be any remembrance among those who come after them.

—Ecclesiastes 1:11

Acknowledgements

There are many that I wish to thank and there are many more that I could not possibly thank enough.

God, from whom all inspiration comes including those testaments that aid our wielder to success.

To iUniverse including Traci, Maggie and the editorial team for whom I could not have had this book completed.

The Sawmillers, Sam and Melissa. They read this from infancy and encouraged me all the way. Melissa, write that novel!

The neighborhood boys and especially John Joseph Noble who helped me create some of these characters.

The magnificent artwork of Vladimir and his patience to help me understand the cover design.

My awesome and rather large Italian family that adapted me and never stopped believing in me, thanks ever so much and their lovely daughter that married me for better or worse and for our three children, Kyle, Haley and Nolan who helped to inspire me the most with this book.

Olivia Marie Luevano! Welcome to the family and THANK YOU!

Finally, and equally important, thanks Mom, Dad and Oz for all your love and support.

image%201.jpg

Jubilee Date 18, After Founding 9085

For those who find and can translate and interpret these testaments, blessing be upon you from our Divine Giver. For only He truly knows when these will be found and/or can be even translated or salvaged?

You now hold in your grasp the testaments of Anglyllon and the stories of our age, some nine thousand seasons now.

Testamentors were skilled at their craft. Sources ranged from creditable to eyewitness accounts—from actual events told by those who knew them well to the stories handed down through oral traditions.

They came from actual wielders and apprentices to lords and ladies who ran our kingdoms.

Zoarians, our watcher brothers from the skies, observing us and sharing with us their observations and wisdom.

Here is but one of the many countless deeds of our wielders. Our dates were added to the beginnings in order that one may place them in some chronological order, depending on what, if any, should survive.

Unfortunately, testamentors can be a bit biased (to downright opinionated), so try not to read too much into them.

Some testaments are from anonymous authors—either simply unknown or those who wish to remain unknown or long forgotten.

Many are from those who cleverly and, with great stealth, hid away, while others yet are survivors themselves.

Perhaps you can take our successes and failures to better understand your past and where your future lies.

Still yet perhaps, just maybe, burn these all, along with our past and write your own future.

Chapter 1

P.D. 87, A.F. 8130

The wielder pressed his white windbred on. It was a magnificent beast, sturdy, agile, and just as determined as its owner. Four strong legs swiftly devoured the road. The windbred was as relentless as its owner, and both focused down the East Road and could see nothing but their goal. Muscles tone and taxed to the point of exhaustion as they collapsed the amount of time between them and their destination. The wielder’s sword of gold, a distinguished symbol of achievement, bounced with the rhythm of the charging windbred. As he rode low to the beast’s neck, he could smell the sweat and perspiration from the heat of the mid sun, coupled by that of the long ride.

They moved as one, breathed as one, thought as one, and ached as one—through the brightest part of the suns and the darkest of nights and everything that came in between. Both rested when needed and ate on the move, for even at this moment, the wielder’s mind had already arrived at their destination. But it, unfortunately, would take several more suns to make Strong Tower. And that disturbed him immensely, for he knew that, even now, the kingdom was held together by a thin strand of hope, hope that would now be shadowed behind the eyes of a concerned lady. Her lord and an entire kingdom, not to mention the rest of the country, were forced to wait patiently for their anticipated arrival.

Although, in his mind, there would be no safety on this job, he was at least grateful that his rugged companion could outride whatever distractions would come their way. After all, they had just left the settlement of Ree on the shore of the Useppettus River and would not stop until it intersected with the other three roads in the middle of Strong Tower, some four or five suns away. But for now, this part of the country was thick with forests, and that kept the rider ever more mindful as they cut through the kingdom of South Avalore, where he really expected nothing at all. However, to the direct south was yet another story, for it invited endless possibilities for distractions.

Even though Lord Krhan would say it was part of his kingdom of Lavenden, it was completely open to the development of future kingdoms and sparsely inhabited by small villages and small clusters of tight-knit families who rather relished in their own private affairs, far from lords, orbs, and other such politics. For now, that didn’t concern the rider as much as the distractions, so they drove on, each keeping a mindful eye to the thick forest on either side. For leaving this part of the country could not come soon enough.

The windbred momentarily stumbled under the wielder’s weight, forcing him to lose his concentration.

Steady boy, The wielder spoke to his true companion as he reached out and patted the windbred’s sweaty head. I know you need a break. But we can’t, my best friend; they needed us there promptly.

But they both understood who really needed him. And it burned impatiently within him, and he tried desperately to bury the thoughts. One wielder, one sword, he cursed. What in twilight’s end are these Zoarians working at? He cursed again, and his windbred grunted loudly as if it agreed. There are now too many kingdoms and more coming. He cursed and kicked his loyal companion on.

Perhaps, in the earlier seasons of Anglyllon’s founding, this worked. But not now! Too much travel, more corruption. We need one body, one kingdom with all the orbs. Unified Anglyllon. The wielder’s exhausted mind screamed for relief. Will someone listen before I’m dead? His mind shouted toward his windberd, about the only living thing that understood him right at that moment.

Well, he changed his direction of thought to calm himself down, at least she is listening to our call for unification. He continued to address his windbred as he spoke of the lady, but that only transported him to their last departing some four seasons past now. He remembered it all too clearly. The soft rain and cooler evening had just begun to announce the beginning of the harvest season. He held her close to him as they stood on the tall east wall overlooking the road and what lay beyond. Her touch and smell immediately tortured his mind. That moment, like so many moments before, had allowed them to reminisce about what could have been, what should have been, what almost was. And what really was.

That very same moment had plagued him like so many before and had upset him all the same. But that last time was more so than any other departing, just with the remembrance of that embrace and that kiss. It wasn’t a farewell kiss or a soft impression upon his lips, not a see-you-soon smack. It wasn’t a casual good luck brush across the cheek. Rather, it was the burning, lustful, starving kind of kiss that left the lasting scar of yearning upon his very being. Perhaps that was her plan—he cursed—a plan hard and cruel. Make him never forget his decision, his choosing if you will. True to his word, the wielder had yet to have chosen a woman. If he couldn’t have her, he wanted no one else. But he knew all too well that was a futile thought. Soon, he would have to find a bearer of a son to the sword—one who would carry on the testament of alliances and the unification of the orbs if he should fail his testament.

She wanted that position. No! The wielder cursed. She had fought for that position—eager to birth the next wielder. But he knew their paths tore them in different directions, and if they would have shared their vows and just stayed true to their union it would have most assuredly driven them both to their ultimate demise. He had to be strong for both their sakes and that of Anglyllon, which at this very moment hung in a fragile state, much like crossing thin ice. It could collapse at any moment, but he could not help to shake his thoughts of her and what she had looked like the last moment before he left. That golden hair with then just the faintest hint of silver beginning to reveal itself as it twisted its way through her soft long curls. Her alluring eyes of hazel always seemed to hide such deceitful acts of crime, where wrinkles sprouted from their corners to blemish a perfect face of gentle smooth cream and her body. Stop! His mind screamed at the very thought of her pleasure. The wielder suppressed the images. There were more pressing issues at hand to occupy his mind. But he could only image how she would greet him when he finally arrived. He went over each possibility in his mind, and it helped ease the long, arduous travel, as it grew ever more taxing with each passing sun.

The windbred continued, already sensing its rider was heading off into a different train of thought. Both were exhausted but equally tenacious in achieving their goal. There was a quick jerk, momentarily startling the windbred, as a sudden shift from a sleepy rider’s weight almost threw the rider to one side of the road. Instantly, both recovered. Jolted back into alertness, they continued their plight.

There has been far too much traveling. The wielder gave his trustful companion a quick pat of assurance, while his other hand grasped the reign tightly. He was ever grateful that his windbred stayed faithful and true.

The East Kingdoms remained in turmoil, and that was where, regrettably, he would have to leave them, for now, there in the hands of his apprentice. Immediately responding to this latest job, he and his windbred would need to travel west to Strong Tower and aid the lord as fast as possible. For Lord Baylor had fought the good fight to unify. But the issue was not so much that no one wanted the orbs in one place; it was more like, which kingdom should they rest in? And he was all too aware of the opposition that opposed Urlon and its magnificent city of Strong Tower as the recipient. He couldn’t help the fact that he was closest to her and the lord, which easily prompted many to see the favoritism. But that truly was not the case. The fact remained that Urlon was almost dead center of Anglyllon. Where better than all the known orbs to be? Where safer than surrounded by the other kingdoms? It was a sound argument to those in favor. But that, unfortunately, was just a handful of kingdoms.

Ahead, the wielder could now visualize the first sign of Urlon’s border, two tall markers on opposite sides of the wide road that marked the distance to Strong Tower. He would be grateful to leave the East Kingdoms for a time and get a chance to dry out. The wet season had come—and did it rain. Pour was the more appropriate description. The wielder anticipated the milder season of Urlon, not to mention the more spacious and clear plains that made up most of the kingdom. However, the wielder gave no sign of relief yet, at best a little more than halfway to their goal. He urged the windbred on, for there was still no security once past the border.

Even now, the wielder was surprised by the ultimate silence of his journey and, quite frankly, a little disappointed in the opposition—not one diversion or intervention, not even one distraction. In fact, quite disappointingly, not one came forward offering their services to become the next apprentice. But of course, where this job was about to take him, he knew no one with even half a mind would follow him—not into the Mountain of Illenwell to face that dragon. Besides, the real challenge came after the recovery if there was to be one. After all, one would have a better chance getting the orb from the wielder than that dragon.

With that thought in mind, the wielder had already anticipated his adversaries’ next move. Why should we get roasted while trying to retrieve that orb? Why not wait for our esteemed wielder to recover that orb for us, for the kingdom of Urlon was worth the wait. All Anglyllon marveled at Urlon, being one of the larger and wealthier kingdoms under the sun. Its borders stretched across endless fields of lush green grass. Orchards of fruit bearing trees kept a fair portion of the townsfolk working hard during the productive part of the season. Most, if not all, produced there was dispersed throughout the countless opportunities that went toward the creation of the country’s favorite drink, lade. As for the rest of the kingdom, it attracted some, if not all, the finest Anglyllon had to offer in merchants, scholars, and scientists. Builders, blacksmiths, and crafters of every trade converged upon the kingdom in hopes of adding their own mark upon the kingdom as well.

The buildings and dwellings were advanced for this time of Anglyllon’s season. Significant architecture and design had no equal throughout the rest of the country. Travelers and visitors flooded the four roads that led them to the midst of the square. There, the largest structure and the reason for this city’s name, Strong Tower, stood as a testimony of the human spirit. It could be easily seen from all directions and had become a symbol of assurance, of justice, and of promising hope.

However, it also attracted all those who envied it. Its owner could do much to change the kingdoms forever, not to mention the quest for unification. The wielder cursed as he urged his windbred on. It must have taken several seasons to forge such a plan as this. Clever, calculating, and persuasive this individual or organized group must be. Scrutinize them all, the wielder thought. Take the orb out of its kingdom! Who tricked the lord into that? What in the name of the great Zoarians was he thinking? And now what of Urlon? Why, the kingdom’s people could easily handle Lord Krhan if he was involved in this. But what of Sauros? Most, if not everyone, had had little tolerance of those lizards since long before the Saurotillian wars. And just the thought of them sending an emissary to the hall. Well, I’ll bet they’ll not make it. And they have every right to be there. For at this moment, whoever recovers that orb will rightfully own the kingdom of Urlon. That’s the law. That’s the way of things for now anyway. The wielder cursed, for he could just spit over this sudden and recent disrespect of responsibility. He regrettably urged his windbred on harder.

As they continued to own the road, the wielder’s mind dug through the depths of his conscious, searching for the possible clues that would confront him while on this next job. There were already several suspects, and the first was the most obvious one—Lord Krhan, for who was just savvy and lowly enough to try and pull off this massive job. But the second person, the wielder couldn’t quite place a reason for. He knew Lord Laiaden, and although at first the dragon had come as a threat and a nuisance, oddly enough, over the course of the seasons, both he and Illenwell had begun to see the significance and beauty of having such an animal around. Why, almost immediately, Sauros had ceased its constant attacks upon Illenwell. And soon, no one would risk traveling there. But he would not rule out the conceivable thought that Krhan had involved Laiaden in this plot to some degree or another. And what had been promised in the sale of this idea? For the wielder understood Laiaden to be a radical recluse who, quite possibly, had sold his personality to the kingdom of Illenwell for the sole purpose of keeping it isolate, safe from outside influences, which made his job of trying to unify the kingdoms that much harder. So, what or who tempted Laiaden into meeting with Baylor? He probed the possibilities. But that doesn’t make sense? He would not jeopardize his port so. Then again, it wouldn’t surprise me if Lord Laiaden were not up to this.

And with that, Nolan was struck with a terrible thought that he now would have two orbs and kingdoms in peril. Oh, he could just spit!

And what of Lord Krhan? Why, that little deceitful dragon parading around as a lord. I’m quite sure that crafty lord has already pounced upon this opportunity. In fact, it wouldn’t surprise me at all if he didn’t conjure up this plot just to throw me right to the dragon to see what I could come up with? In fact, nothing would surprise me. But I guess I had this coming to me all these seasons of avoiding the inevitable. So, it’s either me or that dragon, but Anglyllon can’t have both. And with his Lady Tonelia now smack in the middle, best get there, and yester sun wasn’t soon enough. They are just so reckless that I could spit! He cursed.

The wielder had contemplated for so long that, when he finally returned his attention back to the road, they were well past the border and on into Urlon. Again, this brought him no relief as of yet, but it did convey to him that, soon, the forests would grow thinner until they melted into the plains that were not far off and would be a clear indicator that they were nearer the city itself. Soon, he would see signs of dwellings, as crop growers would be out attending their ankle-high spices and other profitable greens. From there, he would have a better view of oncoming riders. And just as he thought of nourishment, his stomach abruptly reminded him of the emptiness, and with his arms and back aching and by now his windbred as well, it was time for a quick rest.

But like all things, the sense of urgency kept pecking away at him like woodpecker to tree, relentlessly hammering away until it finds a meal. And with it, one more awful thought plagued him as it surfaced to the forefront of his mind—like dread. What would she have to say to him for being so elusive all these past seasons? Why, the last time he’d seen Strong Tower had been a better part of four seasons. But her face was there all the same, fresh as the air and like the celebration during the start of Jubilee Season. He knew she would be wiser and older, but Tonelia all the same.

The wielder cursed again for his absence, but at this moment, they needed to stop. He searched for a spot to rest and soon got his answer. For far off in the horizon, he spied the majestic flight of a Zoarian as it soared toward him. An occasional updraft made the bird jerk a little, and then it recovered. The wielder had always admired the warm blending of gold, brown, and slightly tanned color of the advisors but just about always dreaded the meetings. And again, the topic would be more of the same. Urlon; its orb and the lord; the counsel; and how, like every other time, it was imperative that he arrive. Not, that he didn’t get a little annoyed or anything; after all, he was just one wielder.

He brought the windbred to a quick halt in a clearing just off the road. Then he dismounted and walked his ride to the nearest tree. The Zoarian came in low and circled once. It had already spied the same clearing with those sharp eyes and motioned its body into a smooth landing on its extended talons and then quickly tucked in its wings. The wielder made his way over to an already old friend, which easily towered over him, and gave it an appropriate bow.

What news do you have for the moment, mighty Vestron? Nolan requested impatiently.

Hail, mighty wielder of the golden sword, the Zoarian returned the greeting. Although they had only talked suns before, it was always the custom to return acknowledgements to each other. Vestron continued, Lord Baylor’s brother has come to his aid, and at this very moment, they make a painfully slow return to Strong Tower.

I see, the wielder said. Then I still have time.

Time? The advisory blinked at him. I am afraid, as always, that you do not.

Here it comes, the wielder thought and then responded quite sarcastically, Well you can carry me there.

But the tall birdman was not amused one bit, given that Zoarians’ bone structure for flight could not easily handle an adult male.

After all, I’m just one wielder. He stated the obvious, a slight bitterness in his tone. I could just spit at their carelessness!

We understand your plight, and truly we are sympathetic to your cause, but we are only here to advise you and direct you toward one possible solution, the great Zoarian said.

But I need a solution, and I need one now, Nolan fumed.

And a solution that demands you and your kind make a decision and stand with it, the Zoarian responded calmly.

Why is it that you don’t just come out and say what road I must go? Nolan blurted out irritably. Aren’t you the ones with all the knowledge?

Well, yes, Vestron said in defense, but your species won’t learn if we lead you.

The great bird observed the wielder becoming more frustrated than before. How would your kind learn if not allowed to experience what logically or naturally follows a decision?

Well, Nolan responded sarcastically, you’d be keeping us from making a terrible mistake in our decision.

Then you would blame us for thinking for you. Vestron smirked back.

Fine, the wielder replied, unsatisfied. But I don’t need to remind you that, back there, my uncle is just barely hanging onto Itmoore, he stated bluntly.

We understand, Nolan, Vestron said sympathetically. And we will continue to keep you apprised of that situation. However, the loss of Urlon would be far greater.

Nolan understood that better than anyone, so for the moment and the avoidance of argument, he thought better of continuing this debate. There was a far more pressing task to be dealt with, so he changed his thoughts and moved to the objective at hand. Now what of Strong Tower? He was most insistent on getting the report.

You are anxious to see her again? Vestron was blunt and was not referring to the kingdom.

Well, yes, it’s been a while, he stated regrettably.

Understandable, the advisory said. Now—Vestron changed his tone— Aquila has arrived and is at this very moment our only contact for Strong Tower, and he has sent me to inform you that Lord Krhan is due to arrive shortly.

Nolan cursed, for he was anxious to arrive ahead of him. How soon? He hoped for time yet to make it.

I am afraid this sun, Vestron replied.

I could just spit! He cursed.

Vestron gave Nolan a moment to collect himself.

What of Lord Laiaden, then? he asked knowing, all too well that there was nothing he could do about anything for the moment except get the report.

I am afraid that all of my brothers and sisters in flight view the mountain as volatile and completely hostile for the moment since the dragon’s emergence, he responded, sounding very apologetic.

Understandable, the wielder replied, knowing all too well that even Zoarians flew the opposite direction of dragons.

But earlier reports confirmed that twenty-one warriors accompanied the Lord of Illenwell through Jawed Peaks just north of the mountain, Vestron added.

Twenty-one, the wielder clarified.

Twenty-one to be exact, and fifty with Lord Baylor. Vestron anticipated the wielder’s next question.

Small parties … treaty, he spoke softly to himself.

Sounds like it, the Zoarian offered, hearing the wielder clearly enough.