The Grand Unraveling: The Eludrians, #1

By LN Heintz

In a world teetering on the brink of war, whispers of a monstrous army, the Vilazian Multitude, stir fear along the watchtowers. Ada Halentine, rebelling from a life of privilege, and Galager Swift, a hotheaded rogue with a buried past, are anything but heroes. Yet, a suicidal gamble with a dangerous magic, Eludria, binds their fates.

Instead of a swift demise, they awaken as Battle Mages, wielding raw power that both terrifies and enthralls them. Summoned to the legendary Castle Lavalor, they face a chilling reality: a coming genocide fueled by a secret buried by the gods themselves. As the lines between past and present blur, Ada and Galager must unravel this ancient mystery before it shatters the world they know.

Embark on an epic, complete adventure in a land rich with magic, monstrous threats, and unlikely heroes forged in the fires of war. Join Ada and Galager as they fight for survival in The Grand Unraveling, the first installment of the Eludrians, and its conclusion, Crossing the Precipice.

• Language: English
• Publisher: LNH Books
• Release date: Nov 15, 2022
• ISBN: 9798215988961

Book preview

1

In the heart of the majestic city of Vivona, where towering spires kissed the sky and shimmering bridges connected realms, lived Ada, the daughter of Mayor Edward Halentine, a man of both power and honor. Vivona stood as a testament to the resilience forged in the fires of war, a city built upon the sacrifice of heroes and the dreams of a thriving populace.

Having seen only her seventeenth birthday, Ada, a spirited soul with eyes that mirrored the ethereal glow of the Vivona sky, moved through the bustling streets with the grace befitting the mayor's daughter. Her father, Edward, was not just a city leader but a war hero, celebrated for his valor on the battlefield. Ada's world, seemingly secure and sheltered within the city walls, was about to unravel in ways she could never have foreseen—until today.

Until today—because it was a day like any other when the winds of destiny whispered secrets only Ada could discern. A mysterious encounter in the ancient Victoria Gardens sparked an awakening within her, a dormant power that set her apart. Ada had discovered she possessed the Gift of Insight—a unique ability allowing her to perceive crucial choices in the fabric of reality. She would learn that, in the blink of an eye, she could sometimes alter the course of events with her choices, navigating the threads of fate with an unparalleled understanding.

As this revelation unfolded, Ada's world immediately became a tapestry woven with newfound challenges and unforeseen dangers. But the Gift of Insight, she already discerned, was both a blessing and a burden, a power that would soon set her on a path of unforeseeable consequences. With each choice she would later make, the delicate balance of her life would sway between survival and death.

Yes, death—because Ada’s journey would intertwine with ancient prophecies, long-buried secrets, and a looming darkness threatening to engulf the Commonland of the Five Realms, and most importantly, the Realm of Severcal, of which she was a citizen. The Gift of Insight, a double-edged sword, thrust her into a destiny far grander than the cobblestone streets of her beloved city—a destiny that would test her courage, unravel the mysteries of her lineage, and unveil the true extent of her extraordinary gift. The tale of Ada, the Mayor's daughter, had only just begun, and the echoes of her choices would resonate through, not just the Kingdom of Severcal, but the world.

The revelation had occurred while she was visiting the gravesite of Constance Fane, the Commonland’s first and only female eludrian—a wizard! In the heart of the ancient Victoria Gardens, where time seemed to slow amid the whispering leaves and blooming flowers, Ada found herself in a secluded glade bathed in the soft hues of an overcast sky. Unbeknownst to her, this tranquil setting held the key to unlocking the dormant power within.

As she approached the wizard’s final resting spot, a gentle breeze carried the fragrance of rare Victorian blossoms, and the ambient hum of mystical energies surrounded her. The air seemed charged with an otherworldly energy, as if the very essence of Constance Fane awaited her. In the center of the glade stood a weathered stone pedestal, atop which rested an ancient tome, its stone pages bound by vines that seemed to pulse with a subtle glow. A trick of light, she told herself. Below the pedestal was Fane’s grave. Ada approached with a curious blend of trepidation and fascination, her fingers delicately tracing the mystical script inscribed in stone. She was surprised she could read the passages on the two open pages, though the language was foreign to her. She had long ago been told the pages were the epitaph of Constance Fane, but no, now she knew they were much more than that.

As her vision poured over the pages, a surge of energy coursed through her, a connection between the dormant Gift of Insight and the ancient wisdom encapsulated within the tome. Visions unfolded before her, glimpses of pivotal moments yet to come, and the understanding of choices that held the power to shape destiny.

A fleeting figure materialized—a spectral guardian of eludrian secrets, its female presence marked by an ethereal glow. With a voice that resonated like a distant melody, the guardian spoke cryptic words that echoed through the glade, revealing snippets of Ada's destiny and the significance of her newfound gift.

The encounter left Ada both awestruck and perplexed, as the guardian—a woman—faded into the mystical ambiance of Victoria Gardens. Ada clutched the ancient tome, now imbued with the essence of her destiny, and felt the pulse of the Gift of Insight within her veins. From that moment forward, Ada’s life would forever more be intertwined with the threads of fate, and she knew the choices she made would ripple through the tapestry of the Commonland’s history.

Her first choice came at that very moment. It’s time I challenge the eludria, she whispered, wondering whether the inimitable Constance Fane was listening. Yet, as she pondered that question, she became aware that another important figure—a man—would soon enter her life. The story of Ada wouldn’t be one of hers alone.

But who was this other person, and when would he appear?

2

Eight attempts. Still clueless. All of them! He grinned because no one had yet figured it out. His dream of journeying to Bethuria to find his father was still alive and kicking, if not exactly on its feet.

After the first try they beat him up. But that was pretty much a weekly occurrence anyway. So that didn’t stop him.

After the second try they stuck him in the hole for seven days, confident that solitary confinement, hunger, thirst, and heat would make him learn his lesson. Nope. Bethuria still called to him. He wanted out of this godforsaken place more than ever, the earlier the better, and he’d do anything to make it happen. Well, almost anything.

The third try? What a joke. The overseers recruited one of his fellow conscripts to spy on him. They had promised the kid favors (more food) if he’d only discover Galager’s secret—his way out of this two-year prison they called the Solsace Military Academy. The easy solution this time was to steal the food and bribe the kid himself so he wouldn’t look too closely at his activities. Worked like a charm.

It was after the fourth escape attempt when things started getting tricky. The overseers punished the other members of his company instead of him. They were the ones beaten now, or deprived of rations, or made to work more, and his mates hated him even more for it. If almost a hundred of his mates were motivated enough, they’d either force him to change his ways or work together to figure out how he was sneaking past those unclimbable academy walls. That ultimately didn’t work either, although it made it harder for him to find opportunities to skedaddle. It took him longer and longer between his fifth, sixth, and seventh escape attempts once his barracks mates had made it their mission to foil his efforts.

After the eighth try, a pair of boys, tired of being punished, plotted to kill him during his sleep. Fortunately, an overseer overheard their scandalous whispers and promptly put an end to that conspiracy. But he heard the rumblings. An idea had been implanted into the minds of the other teens in Second Company that day: they’d get Galager to kill himself.

A brilliant idea in all truthfulness. Especially because of recent rumors that the sword academies dotting the Commonland were under pressure lately to find ways to compel more conscripts to challenge the eludria—a veritable death sentence to anyone but the chosen. It had been almost eighteen years since anyone had lived to tell the tale.

There was lots of disturbing talk about the winds of war being fanned along the Sunder Line in recent months by the Vilazian Multitude, their age-old enemy from across the oceans. Minor attacks had increased in frequency, kidnappings too, and there were even some stories about powerful battle mages being assassinated, though none of it could be verified way out here in the low country. Either that, or no one wanted to confirm that troubling times were brewing.

Now all Galager’s mates had to do was to get him to ring the bell.

Pure genius!

The other conscripts hooted and hollered as the bully’s fist hurtled toward his rain-spattered face. Galager jerked his head to the right, trying to slip the punch, but his opposite foot slipped in the slick mud of the training pitch and he instead got bonked on his nozzle. He went down and rolled onto his back.

He heard splashes behind him—another of his mates from the cheering throng of sword wielders. He tried to get a look, but all he saw was a muddy sandal stomping down toward his head. Thankfully, a glancing blow.

Someone else jumped into the tussle. He joined the second teen, and they each grabbed one of his arms and wrestled it to the pitch. The bully—a kid named Augie—was sitting on him now. He straddled his abdomen and pressed down on both his shoulders, pinning him firmly to the ground.

Do it, Red, Augie demanded, all six-foot-three of him. Ring the bell! We want you gone.

Not a chance! screamed Galager, wondering why none of the overseers were intervening. But he knew why. They didn’t want him here either. He had embarrassed them too many times.

Augie thrust his face down at him. His eyes, round and wide, a pair of sphincters exuding anger and hostility, were just inches away from his own. Ring the bell, you coward.

I CAN’T, he yelled. It’ll kill me.

That’s the point, said one of the kids holding him down.

Leave me alone! Galager snarled. Get off me!

Augie didn’t relent. You don’t ring that bell, you’ll wish you were dead. We got plans for you.

Cowards don’t belong here, said one of the others. What kind of person runs from his duty?

Tonight, said Augie, the whole company will have a party, right inside your ass. It was an insidious and believable threat that shocked Galager into stopping breathing for a moment.

Not just his ass, added the third kid.

Ring it, demanded Augie yet again. I’m not kidding. You’re safer chancing the eludria.

But it was a lie. The bell wasn’t a safe way to exit this existence at all.

Only escaping was, especially now that his mates wanted him dead.

Or worse.

Galager couldn’t restrain himself any longer. He headbutted Augie, causing the bully to jerk back up straight. A golden light exploded in their midst—unexpected, silent, but brilliant. He winced tightly and shielded his eyes with his hands. He snapped open his lids after the light subsided. He prepared to fend off another assault, but Augie was nowhere to be seen. One moment he was there, and the next—poof! Same with the other two.

He quickly got up on his elbows and looked around. A strange clap of thunder growled in the distance. A tremendous gust of wind whistled forlornly between the pair of long, one-story stone barracks where they had been fighting. Augie was curled up on the ground, over past his feet. The other two were behind him. All three looked unconscious. The onlookers who surrounded them had gone silent. Their mouths were agape. Their fists no longer punched the air.

What the devil? one of them said.

Magic, uttered another.

Lightning bolt, said someone from behind him.

He doublechecked his three attackers. They were beginning to stir. Not dead. Rain still pelleted his face, though it had slowed considerably. Nevertheless, his red mop was soaked, his clothes as well, and trickles of water poured at random from the clay tile overhangs of the barracks roofs.

He gingerly touched his aching nose and stifled a yelp. His muddy fingers wiped stinging tears from his eye sockets, plus some blood off his chin. Between the shifting forms of the gawkers, he caught a glimpse of the bell. For the first time, it called to him, pulled at him, summoned him.

Ring me! Ring me!

But that was death.

He briefly considered escaping instead—his ninth attempt. But he hadn’t yet figured out how to avoid capture once getting beyond the walls. Each and every time they caught him, they later brought him back.

Freckles, you okay? came a single voice of compassion from out of the crowd.

Galager pointed a furious eye at the fellow—one more face among hundreds here who never became a friend. Not a single one.

Don’t call me that!

He climbed to his feet, slung some of the mud off his tunic, and spat more blood into the red mud. But something else rose up with him. Something unexpected. A kind of determination.

A choice.

He glared at the bell once more, and suddenly decided to submit to its call. There really wasn’t any other choice, he figured, although it would probably kill him. Come to think of it, why not?

He turned toward the central square, toward the bell. He squared his shoulders, and took heavy, final steps. He pushed through the tight crowd and finally popped free like a fish from a net. He picked up his pace and strode defiantly to confront the vicissitudes of his destiny.

He’s gonna ring it! yelled an incredulous person in the crowd.

A murmur of disbelief erupted behind him. Galager didn’t care. He walked briskly across the field, straight through any puddles in his way. The mostly silent throng sloshed along with him, following closely.

Good riddance! uttered someone from the rear.

He arrived under the ivy-covered arbor at the center of the Solsace Military Academy. In front of him stood the bell-dais, a circular stone platform about a foot high and ten feet in diameter. A sacrificial altar. A stone crossbar capped two non-descript stone posts at the center of the platform and a bronze bell hung at eye-level from the crossbar. The bell itself was as plain as everything else here in this wretched place.

Now or never, he thought.

He leapt onto the platform, surged toward the bell, and rang it.

He felt a weight lift from his shoulders, as if he had fulfilled a destiny or accomplished an impossible task. A wave of relief passed through his body as his defiance rang throughout the quadrants of the academy. He wondered why he hadn’t done this sooner.

From this central location, he had a clear line of sight into the four adjoining training fields that radiated out like spokes in a wheel. Each field was delimited on either side by a long barracks structure, and its end by more buildings or that giant, curling wall, the one that hovered over everything and everyone like a dome with its top cut off.

The activity in all four fields had abruptly ceased at the peal of the bell. Every single face in each of the four companies now stared at him.

A door banged open from the headmaster’s building at the far end of First Company near the sole entry gate. An old man in a dark brown robe emerged from the open portal. He was the headmaster of this academy, as ancient as these buildings themselves. His name, Baryon Dirac, a retired flag officer, a veteran soldier. He started toward Galager, as did everyone else.

The rain had stopped now, although here, under the arbor, water dripped slowly and haphazardly from the overhead vegetation and the wooden crossbeams. Galager could hear each drop striking the stone dais.

Pff! Pff! Pff!

He looked down and saw tiny blood splatters on the wet stone.

Pff! Pff! Pff!

He pinched his nose to stem the blood flow. It hurt, but what the hell. Within a minute the entire square was packed with conscripts, about four hundred strong, identically dressed in standard army uniform—sleeveless brown tunic, trousers and leather sandals. Even in war that would be their uniform, along with a barely protective leather war vest, since vilemaster magic would burn them dead in a heartbeat if they wore any metallic armor of any kind. They all carried wooden swords and bucklers.

The overseers bruised their way through the tightening mass to the edge of the platform. They formed a wall between the dais and everyone behind them, forcing the conscripts to peer over or between their shoulders toward Galager.

Dirac finally arrived at the edge of the dais. He placed a sandaled foot on the platform. He grunted and lifted himself onto it. The veteran stopped a few feet from him. He held a sword—a real, razor-sharp falchion, not a wooden training waster. An overseer with gnarly hands took it from the old man then positioned himself behind him.

The crowd suddenly roared into life, excited conscripts yelling while beating wooden swords against bucklers.

Clack! Clack! Clack!

Dirac turned to face them. The ones closest anyway. He held his arms up over his head.

Clack! Clack! Clack!

SILENCE! he bellowed, his command overpowering them all.

After the cacophony of guttural bellows and wooden crashes subsided, the headmaster returned his weathered gaze to Galager and cleared his throat.

Do you understand the need for the sword?

Galager nodded. The eludria. It’ll turn me into an ogre.

Maybe, Dirac said. Why are you doing this? The question was a desolate whisper. It’s been almost two decades since anyone successfully transcended. I’ve lost count. Weren’t you aware?

Galager wondered how to respond. Should he tell him his mates would violate him, if he didn’t do this? Or that his dream of finding his father was bust, and that escaping the ceaseless Vilazian war was a fantasy?

He shrugged. I heard the rumors. We’re short of battle mages, right? It wasn’t the truth, but why stop telling lies now?

Dirac sighed. An expression of sympathy appeared on his face. I must honor the bell. Your life no longer belongs to you.

Galager wondered whether his life had ever truly belonged to him. Seventeen years, and now it was over before it began. He suddenly had to fight to hold back a different kind of tears.

My God, I’ve killed myself.

He remembered that boy who had undergone this same ritual the year before, and his excruciating death. He couldn’t remember his name. It seemed so long ago. The boy had started convulsing within minutes after assimilating the eludria. And not very long after that, a sword had finished his worldly sufferings and his body had been dragged off to the burn pit, where they then harvested the priceless eludria from his worthless corpse.

Galager whispered, Um, maybe I made a mistake.

Too late, stated Dirac, standing more erect, gathering purpose into his ancient frame. Then more softly, Too late.

Galager felt like a fish on a hook. He had erred by biting the lure, and now his fate was sealed. They could easily release him, but it wasn’t going to happen. He thought of Augie. His plan to get Galager to kill himself had worked perfectly.

Dirac spoke again. My boy, if you survive this, even if you are not transfigured, I must warn you that you might nevertheless be changed—in a different way.

You mean, I’ll transcend?

Yes, of course. But the eludria—the magic—might cause parts of your life to flash before your eyes. It’s not uncommon. And some people don’t handle it well, even if they transcend. I tell you now so you’ll be ready for it, if it happens.

That surprised Galager. He didn’t like it.

Dirac lifted his wrinkled hands. He unwrapped a bit of red cloth, an old linen rag he had held in one hand and withdrew two objects hidden within the folds. He held them up for all to see.

Eludria!

Resting in an upturned palm were two metallic round balls, rubies, as they were called, although they weren’t gemstones. More like red gold. They were the color of dark blood, irregularly shaped, round, with smooth surfaces, each about the size of a peach pit. Galager had never seen one up close before, but here were two of them.

Dirac offered the rag over to Galager. Your nose, he said.

He accepted it and quickly dabbed away the mixture of blood and snot under his tender nostrils. Dirac declined to take it back.

Keep it. Your name?

Galager Swift.

A moment of recognition passed over Dirac’s face.

Where was I? he mumbled, before lifting his voice so all could hear it. It’s not without great courage this young hero, Galager Swift, has offered his unending service to the Commonland. Few are those chosen to be empowered by Jhalaveral to defend our sovereigns, our land, our people, our way of life. Dirac leaned closer. I know every bit of that is horse manure, he whispered. But I’m supposed to say it that way. He nodded vaguely toward the crowd. For the next one.

You mean, the next idiot, thought Galager.

Dirac stood straight again, cleared his throat, and continued. Transcend or transfigure! he said. Only God can choose. I’ll administer Jhalaveral’s blood now.

Dirac’s aging voice and eyes suddenly revealed sorrow and resignation. This ritual was clearly a burden to him, a painful duty made necessary because of the constant need to find more eludrians—battle mages—to fight this never-ending Vilazian War. How many times had this old man been forced to participate in an innocent’s transfiguration?

Open your garment.

He reluctantly complied, clumsily unbuttoning his tunic. One of the overseers joined Dirac at the center of the dais. A dagger flashed. The man delivered a short but deft slice a few inches above Galager’s exposed sternum, a cut surprisingly lacking any sting. After ensuring blood flow, he stepped away and disappeared from Galager’s life.

Dirac stared intently at the cut. He pressed one of the eludria rubies onto the wound. A sizzle rose up from Galager’s chest along with a wisp of smoke. He tried to get a look, but the eludria had already disappeared into his bloodstream. Dirac withdrew his hand and had him close his tunic.

It’s done, the old soldier declared. Now we wait. Not long.

The wound began to sting. Galager lifted the rag halfway to his chest before lowering his hand. He didn’t want to reveal his discomfort. Would the pain become worse?

Dirac leaned forward again. How did you do it? he whispered.

Galager didn’t understand. Do what?

Get past the wall. What was it, seven times?

Oh, uttered Galager. Eight.

He wondered if he should tell the old man, but he supposed it no longer mattered. I dove into the gong pit. I swam through the turds and piss, out the drain tunnel, and into the river.

Dirac was shocked at first. He gently laughed and shook his head.

A warm sensation blossomed deep in Galager’s chest. It didn’t hurt though. Instead, he enjoyed it as it radiated outward into his extremities. Then his vision suddenly went white, same as what happened just minutes before when he fought with Augie. Scenes from his past fluttered through his mind. Dirac had warned him about this, but it was really happening. It was almost like he had been transported backward in time.

He first experienced a glimpse of that long ago day when he told his mother he was going to run away to Bethuria to find his dad. That’s when everything changed.

He’s not alive, his mother said as if revealing a secret, trying to talk sense into him so he wouldn’t leave. I’m so sorry, Galager, but I didn’t want to hurt you. I thought you’d be happier if you believed he instead . . . went away.

You lied to me? He’s . . . he’s gone? Forever?

His mother lowered her face into her hands and wept.

How? he asked, shedding tears of his own. How did he die? Where?

Where does everyone die? she said, her words muffled by her hands, The Sunder Line. She raised her grief-stricken face and stared at him. You weren’t even one at the time.

The pain of that day hit him like a hammer blow from the past as his stepfather stormed into the room—the monster he had always been. His face was red and his fists swung like pendulums. He had overheard everything.

The images blurred forward in time. Galager remembered himself and his stepfather, alone in their modest hovel. She lied to both of us, he yelled. "Wasn’t enough that I loved her, that jealous witch! She wanted me to look over my shoulder all those years—for a man that could never return! Maybe it's time I hurt her." He threw Galager to the floor, undid his belt, and dropped his pants.

GET AWAY FROM ME!

The fabric of existence ripped violently in half as Dirac’s voice sucked Galager through a dark crack and set him back down into present reality. He felt tears on his cheeks. He wanted to scream, but his breath came in short, uncontrollable gasps.

Time! Dirac declared loudly. That’s enough time.

Galager paid him no attention. Those horrible images were transfixed in his mind. His father was dead. He had never gone to Bethuria. And his stepfather had tried to violate him. He asked himself whether he could trust these new revelations, but he knew in his heart he could.

Dirac held up the second ruby, still dark in his fingers, the one he held in reserve. He already had a smile on his face.

Your hand, he ordered. Give it to me. Quick!

Galager tried to shake his head clear as he raised an arm. Dirac reached out and pried taught fingers apart and dropped the remaining ruby onto his quivering palm.

How could I have forgotten all of that?

Damn! exclaimed the old man. It’s glowing!

This is good news, he quickly added. He looked up at Galager then gripped his shoulders with trembling hands. My boy, you’re going to be alright. He lightly shook him to get his attention. You hear me?

He stabbed the old man with disbelieving, watery eyes.

Galager Swift, my boy. You are now an eludrian. I’ll be damned. Welcome to the Covern!

Galager ignored him. Instead, with over four hundred rapt faces pointed his way, tears rolled down his cheeks. Fortunately for him, it had started to rain again.

3

Ada Halentine watched a shooting star rip across the inky sky. It perfectly reflected the way she and her companions had ridden across the vast expanse of the Commonland these past eight days.

A gorgeous night, she proclaimed to the three men sharing her campfire. Two others were out walking the perimeter somewhere, as per the orders of the man tending the fire.

Kivich briefly peered at her through the thin veil of smoke. His eyes and lips were both compressed. He seemed a little annoyed at her, yet he remained polite—so far. He stretched his lithe frame forward and adjusted the sputtering chunk of oak with his falchion, the same type of weapon issued to almost every Commonland soldier just