UNAFRAID: The Last Minotaur

By Written by Phillip Meyer and Illustrated by Andrew Meyer

Before the days of the great King Leon, Athnan was an untamed wilderness, with its people living in the constant fear of trolls. But for young Gaillard, life in Goodwood was idyllic and peaceful, until one fateful evening when his faith is shaken forcing him to question everything. Alone and terrified, Gaillard finds himself adopted by an ancient guardian of the planet.

While Gaillard grapples to understand his role in the land of Athnan, he is inevitably brought into what promises to be the greatest battle the young kingdom of Goodwood will ever face. As the people of Goodwood prepare for a desperate fight, the King of Goodwood struggles to rally his small kingdom and its allies against a great and ancient enemy.

With heroic virtue and intense battles, Unafraid: The Last Minotaur will immerse you into a heart-stopping conflict deciding the fate of Athnan.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Covenant Books, Inc.
• Release date: Aug 10, 2022
• ISBN: 9781638149132

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UNAFRAID

The Last Minotaur

Written by Phillip Meyer and Illustrated by Andrew Meyer

ISBN 978-1-63814-912-5 (Paperback)

ISBN 978-1-63814-913-2 (Digital)

Copyright © 2022 Phillip Meyer

All rights reserved

First Edition

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher. For permission requests, solicit the publisher via the address below.

Covenant Books

11661 Hwy 707

Murrells Inlet, SC 29576

www.covenantbooks.com

Table of Contents

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

Chapter 1

On a cold and rainy night in the wildlands of northern Athnan, two men crept toward a fire-lit cavern. Their long hair was soaked with water, and their muscles were weary from the long, dreary hours of scouting. The mission at hand was paramount, and stealth was essential. Yet the conditions were not on their side, and the long trek they had made threatened to catch up with them. The gray volcanic rock and pebbles made slippery in the deluge made it even harder to keep silent. Despite this, the resolve of these men was strong. Skillfully they continued, creeping upward, nearer and nearer to the small entrance of the grotto before them.

They crawled on discreetly, sometimes stopping for several moments to listen, above the driving winds and rain, to the rough voices that came out of the cave that lay about fifty yards ahead of them. The fissure in the ground that formed the cavern was made by a crack that went right down the middle of a small walled hill, opening as it crawled down a rock face that was impossible to either ascend or descend. There was nothing to the south, save an open rocky wasteland. Farther north, a huge mountain of dread loomed above the craggy foothills. Should the two scouts be seen, there was little hope of escape.

Relying on the dark-colored tunics they wore and the cover of night, the men crawled nearer to the opening of the cave, hiding behind the boulders that littered its entrance. Straining their ears, they heard the clear sound of deep, gruff voices.

I have had enough of this living on the outskirts like this! said one. Can’t get a good meal, always hiding, running. And now that the cold weather is coming, there is no decent shelter.

Quiet! And quit your whining, you weakling! said a louder and more powerful voice. Always wanting food. Don’t you think we are all hungry? Boss gave us this job, and it means that I will stay here in this desolate place even if I have to eat you!

The smaller voice cursed and sputtered; then he was silent.

I am your captain, said the powerful voice, and you will not make excuses or complaints unless you want your head mounted on a pole. I have had too much of this undisciplined behavior among you scouts.

We want to go back to Morferous, said another voice. All summer, we have been scouring around this barren land looking for men, and how many do we find? Not been a one for over a month and not because we haven’t tried. There are so few men this far north, away from their villages.

Many other voices now joined in agreement with snarls and growls. They will not come close to our fortress. They are too afraid of our might in these lands.

And they won’t go around the lake, another voice snarled. They are afraid of the lake. Even as he spoke, his cruel voice sounded frightened.

Don’t be fools, all of you! the leader roared. "You are the ones who fear the lake. Don’t think I haven’t noticed. When we finally invade south, you had better get over your dread of those dark waters."

I hardly think it is worth going after those small villages, the very first voice growled.

Northford is the real prize. I told you already, the chief answered. But first, we need to destroy all of its smaller allies. All men will be destroyed in time, at least those on this side of the river. Even as we speak, our leader has gained the advantage. As soon as the army is assembled and prepared for war, we will begin our purge, ridding ourselves of these intruders once and for all!

At this, the owner of the voice took a step nearer the cave entrance so he could look out of it. The two men lay motionless and silent, scarcely breathing, as the outline of his dark muscular body flickered in the firelight of the cavern.

For several minutes, the troll stood at the cavern door as if he was smelling the air. He peered keenly into the darkness, beady eyes searching as he spoke.

If the rain lets up in the morning, I will take a patrol on the western sides of these foothills, he said. The others can guard farther northeast. Now, there will be no dispute among us. I will see to it that any deserters will be put to death. I want two sentries at the door as well, for I swear that even in this rain, I caught the scent of man-flesh in the air.

The brute then backed away from the doorway and demanded the best of the remaining rations for himself.

The two spies waited nearly an hour before they slowly crept away from the entrance of the cave, careful not to wake the sleeping sentries, until they were at a safe distance to speak.

What do we do now? the first man asked in a hoarse whisper.

By the sounds of it, there are at least thirty trolls in that cave, the other man answered. All that shuffling and those voices sounded more like a small army than a scouting mission. With that many eyes in the area, we will be spotted for sure. It would be best to make distance between ourselves and them by dawn and then to watch from a distance. Our camouflage is good enough at night to get this close. But when the sun is out, it is too risky.

Then let’s cover some ground and get away from here, the first man answered.

It was neither a pleasant time nor place to be out in the wildland. The rain continued, and the night was reaching its darkest hour as the men began their slow trek to safer ground. Being careful not to slip on the slick rocks took immense concentration and mental energy, something that was difficult to muster after such a taxing endeavor for both body and soul.

As the morning approached, the rain began to dissipate; and just before dawn, the sky cleared. With their spirits slightly boosted, the men slowly but surely made ground between themselves and the cave. By the time the sun rose, they were over a mile away from the trolls, on a low hill overlooking the valley that they had just traveled; and the range of mounds with the troll’s cave was far in the distance. It now looked small in the vast and mostly flat landscape. Keeping hidden for most of the day, the men could see the trolls groggily leave their cavern and begin to move to the west.

One of us should bring back the information we received, the second man said. I will go. You remain here. Do your best to stay out of sight. But keep your eyes on them, and keep waiting for news from the others further north.

But, Jacques, there is still much more to find, the other answered. You are more skilled than I, and my fear is that I will be captured if you are not here to protect me.

Gurth, you must do as I say, Jacques answered. The king needs us to remain resilient in our mission. Stay north and watch. Do not leave until winter hits hard. When it does, go to the first shelter on the east side of the lake. From there, find out what you can. And if an attack should be coming, do not tarry in sending word.

Reluctantly, Gurth agreed; and after bidding farewell, Jacques set out, the land now bathed in a late-afternoon glow from the sun. A long journey back south awaited him; but with luck, it would take less than a week.

Five days later, the last sun of autumn was just setting over the village of Goodwood, and the final rays of pink and yellow light settled behind a string of low-hanging clouds in the west. The darkness grew, the shadows lengthened, and men hurried indoors to evade the harsh cold that blew from the north.

Already there were small snowdrifts on the ground, and many houses in the village were covered in ice. The lake that lay just to the northwest frothed golden in the sunset, and smoke curled thick and heavy from the chimneys of the small but well-built log homes—many of which were rather new, for Goodwood had been rebuilt from recent events involving a dragon.

As the day continued on, the clouds to the west moved closer and closer, eventually shrouding the sun. Then came a light snowfall, and the red gravel streets were soon freckled in swirling white.

Only a few hundred lived in the city, although the population was growing fast, as the last two years had been rather plentiful and disease was at a low. Three years prior, a great wingless dragon had come up from under the surrounding moors and destroyed most of the village. That had been a hard winter, but as a result, the people had banded together more than ever before.

Crops prospered in the two years after the attack, and the people were recovering. It was a healthy time for the realm of Athnan. Game was abundant, and many of the foul creatures of the north had not come down from their frozen homeland in many years. The great monsters that had lived south were now almost all gone, and men grew in strength and might.

On the outskirts of town, several hundred yards past the walls, was a rather large house made of sturdy timbers. It had a high roof and arched door crafted with great skill. Inside was simple yet pleasant with a truly rustic beauty.

The walls still smelled of pine and were finely laid with smooth siding, decorated with two stag heads and a painting. The woodwork of the cabinets glowed dark auburn in the firelight, with their silver handles shimmering. The floors, which were polished smooth, danced to the flicker of the flame like a calm lake at sunset. Large dark glass windows were covered in frost; yet inside, the huge fireplace kept the home warm.

In the pale light of the flickering candles and fireplace, Jacques, three other men, and a young woman holding a small child sat around a table. The men were the king and two of his most trusted knights, and the woman was the king’s wife.

The young king was originally from Northford, a great stronghold to the east. He had traveled long and far, seeking adventure in the west, and had by chance found the village of Goodwood terrorized by a great wyrm of vast strength. In a valiant fight with the mighty serpent, the man had emerged victorious. After this, he had helped rebuild the town and grown to love the village. He also had an even greater love for the woman who had caused him to stay in Goodwood. The bond they had was closer than most who were wed, as the knight had saved her life from the dragon.

The king’s name was Joseph. He was five years older than his wife, yet still young and in the prime of youth. His face was hard and bold, but there was a kindness in his eyes, and he was quick to laugh. He was lordly looking indeed, and knightly blood was in his family from of old. Much more could be said of his past adventures, but that is another tale that is written elsewhere.

King though he was, he lived as many men in Goodwood and refused to use the town hall as his residence. Instead, his knights used it for barracks as well as a refuge for the homeless. In times of plenty, great meals were served under its roof on summer nights; and in times of danger, it became a fortress.

Agnes was the name of the young woman. She was slender with dark-brown hair that fell to her waist. Handsome she was, yet with an earthy look, somewhat worn by the hardships she had faced in the past. At first glance, she looked stern, although her heart was as kind as an angel’s.

The reason for the meeting was that Jacques was trying to persuade the king to build a castle to the south of Goodwood, on account of the things he had seen on his scouting missions in the north. It would cost much in both stone and labor, and Joseph feared that now was not the time for such a venture.

We cannot build until we have had at least three more harvests, he told the men gathered there. The village is not ready for such a large project. If we wait, we can make the fortress much larger than if we build with the few materials we will have this spring.

My king, the longer we wait, the greater the risk of a raiding army of trolls coming and wiping us off the face of Athnan, Jacques said. "We must build up defenses and strength before we are attacked. We have been lucky so far, but I fear it is only a matter of time…

"There