Rimdale

By Miriam and Jonathan Bowan

"Bellug, spectral knight.""Leander, wizard.""Alyse, battlemage.""Ninet, thief.""Krys, sorcerer.""Cort, conjurer.""Lira, assassin.""Rancar, mechanist.""Beladon, bowmaster.""Shadow, mystic warrior."Of the physical and magical disciplines that defended a kingdom, mystic warriors were rare and sometimes chosen by the nature goddess to be catalysts of destiny. Shadow, a newly trained mystic warrior, and nine students of other disciplines are sent to the kingdom of Leo to prove their mettle and join an elite fighting unit. But dark magic moves unseen, causing monsters to rise and ravage the land, age-old protections to erode, and kingdoms to fall. Young and inexperienced, can the only elite team left in the west be welded into a force capable of facing the coming war?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Dec 12, 2022
• ISBN: 9781662487712

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Rimdale

Johnathan and Miriam Bowen

Copyright © 2022 Johnathan and Miriam Bowen

All rights reserved

First Edition

PAGE PUBLISHING

Conneaut Lake, PA

First originally published by Page Publishing 2022

ISBN 978-1-6624-8768-2 (pbk)

ISBN 978-1-6624-8771-2 (digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

About the Author

Atop a giant wisp tree, a hawk studied the flashes of light coming from far below in the valley at the base of the mountain. The faint sounds of battle were barely audible when they reached his perch. Sword blades were reflecting the sunlight, catching the bird's eye. Smoke was rising up from small fires all over the battlefield. With his keen sight, he watched the struggle of the small figures below, gold and purple against green and black, dragon against serpent. It would have been a glorious battle had he concerned himself with such things. Just then an explosion rocked the side of the mountain, and the hawk took flight.

Standing on the walkway of the hastily-built palisade, Captain Thoren of Dracon kingdom, a red-haired, barrel-chested mountain of a man, was shouting orders to his troops. As he was glancing over the carnage, his frown darkened with his thoughts. The battlefield…plowed with the ironclad boots of soldiers, watered with their blood, and sown with their bodies—only to reap a bitter harvest. Three thousand strong we were yesterday; now of those yet able to fight, barely a third. The best armor and weapons our blacksmith could create, and still we fall. And to make matters worse, a storm was moving in from the west. Sergeant Lance yelling at him dragged Thoren's mind back to the battle.

They're breaking through! Lance shouted, turning and raising his shield just in time to block a well-aimed sword thrust. He cut the offending soldier across the middle and watched him fall. The corpses were piling up, making it hard for both sides to maneuver. Sergeant Lance disliked stepping on his comrades' bodies. He quickly pushed that thought to the back of his mind. There was a battle to be won.

The Dracon archers were on the fort's upper walls, firing arrows at the Pagon second line every time they came within range.

Keep it up, lads! Thoren encouraged them. Don't let them engage without paying the toll. The Breach won't fall this day, gods willing! Our blood still flows, and our wills still hold.

The front lines of both armies were already engaged when the explosion hit. The earth erupted, flinging soldiers, Dracon and Pagon alike, into the air. The shock wave and debris momentarily stole the captain's voice. The heat wave that followed was nearly unbearable.

When the captain rallied, face bloody from several fresh cuts, he commanded, Second line, engage! Close the gap! He leaned over the wall, blood dripping from his thick red beard. Squires, help get the wounded back to the fort.

The men advanced, some losing their footing on the well-churned, blood-soaked ground. When they hit the Pagon first line, the ringing of swords, clashing of shields, and cries of pain grew ever louder. Tense moments later, Thoren glanced around to tally his losses. His front line, brave lads all, were scattered across the battlefield, some bloody, some dismembered or dead. Now the Pagon second line was closing to engage. Dracon archers started thinning the line as best they could, but they were running out of arrows.

The captain caught movement in the tree line to the left of the battlefield. As his eyes focused through the smoke, he realized what he saw—the Pagon sorcerer who had caused the explosion. Good thing the bastard couldn't see our archers from his position, or he'd have blown them off the wall by now. Thoren looked over his shoulder, down to the Dracon Elite, who were patiently waiting behind the palisade.

Your time approaches! Stand ready! he shouted to the old wizard, Rayus, the head of the Elite.

There were always ten fighters in a kingdom's Elite. They were comprised of a range of capabilities, and when they worked in unison, they were a force to be reckoned with. Let us pray they are enough, Thoren thought somberly.

The next Pagon wave hit hard enough to drive the Dracons back, causing many to fall, tripping over the bodies of their countrymen. The captain looked back to the sorcerer in the woods. The devil was working up another spell. Thoren knew his men would not survive another blast. He leaped from the palisade into the melee, his heavy armor helping to press a part of the enemy line to the ground. He came up swinging his sword and, using his shield like a battering ram, hacked his way through his opponents. As he finally emerged from the fray, he pointed his sword at the sorcerer.

Your life ends now! the captain shouted. He broke into a run.

Seeing the enraged man barreling forward, the sorcerer panicked and cast the spell at him. The earth erupted beneath Thoren's feet, and he knew no more.

*****

Corbet's eyes shot open. He quickly scanned his surroundings, leaped from his bed, and ran to the bench that held his clothes and the rucksack he had packed. Grabbing them as he lunged through the tree hut's window, he landed on the platform outside, the old wooden structure creaking under his weight. The mighty ashen tree's branches that held the hut swayed slightly. Several varieties of birds took flight from their perches. So much for stealth, Corbet thought with a sigh. He quickly donned his clothing as he surveyed the canopy of trees. Where is the Master?

Master Ramus, his teacher, was always there to wake him before the dawn, thorny staff in hand, attacking him before sleep had fully fled and conscious thought could take control. It improves your awareness, the Master had told him repeatedly. Corbet had never believed this; he thought the old man was just mean-spirited. But today is the day of ascension, he thought, as relief started to swell inside his chest. Today is the Rite of Choosing. Corbet would earn his place among the champions of the kingdom chosen for him, according to his placement in the trial.

Jumping from the platform to the ground, he turned to face the direction of the training circle, which was a few minutes' jog from here. The circle had previously been a place of dread for him. The place where all the years of training and one-on-one combat had taken their toll—a place of pain, bruises, blood, and broken bones. Today would be the last time Corbet would ever need to see it, thank the gods in their heavens.

A baby Gulu, whom Corbet had recently friended, lived nearby; the primate tried to leap onto the Dalian's back as he passed. Corbet caught him and gave him a snuggle.

Not today, Knuckles, he said. I've a trial to win. He let the baby back down to the ground and shook his little hand. Goodbye. Corbet leaped upward and grabbed a branch.

He made his way through the trees, running along branches and leaping from limb to limb as needed, his passage startling various tree-dwellers as he traveled. He smiled slightly. You'd think they'd be used to me by now.

The wind was starting to stir, tossing the tree branches under his feet. It did not impede his travel. His own caution slowed him—but not once did the Master appear.

Tamra was already at the circle, as expected. Somehow, she was first at almost everything. Corbet smiled; he'd always liked Tamra. He somersaulted from his perch to the edge of the circle beside the girl as she shifted the weight of her own rucksack.

She smiled warmly. Show-off, she said, mirth making its way into her sky-blue eyes. She was shapely, and sun-kissed skin didn't hurt the appeal. Corbet blushed slightly at her attention.

Her auburn hair moving in the breeze made Corbet aware of the strengthening wind. And clouds were starting to move in; he could smell rain in the air. No matter, he thought. Today he would prove himself a mystic warrior.

I didn't want to be late. He leaned in closer. Have you seen the Master? he whispered.

No, strangely, I haven't, she replied in similar tones. No beating this morning. And where is Hayden?

Maybe the Master finally killed him, Corbet replied jokingly. Tamra laughed.

As though the mention of his name had conjured him, Hayden appeared at the far edge of the circle, dropping his rucksack on the ground. He looked across at them with a grin that didn't quite reach his forest-green eye, the one that wasn't covered with shaggy brown hair.

Are you ready to be defeated by the greatest mystic warrior who ever lived?

Yes! Tamra shouted back. We're just waiting for him to show up. Corbet burst into laughter.

Hayden's eyes turned red as flame; he drew back heavily muscled arms as his hands caught fire.

Tamra grimaced. Why is it always fire with you? Her eyes went white as she drew back her arms in turn, ice forming on her hands.

And out of nowhere, their teacher appeared in the center of the circle, arms outstretched to block any oncoming elements.

Do not test my patience, he bellowed. For today, I rid myself of you.

All students came to attention.

Since you were the age of two, I have fed you, clothed you, sheltered you, and trained you to the best of my ability. Now, at last, your trial is near. Look to the north, he commanded, his long arm sweeping up to point. There lies Sapphire Mountain. Three huts stand atop it. The first of you to reach the top will enter the first hut and claim the weapon that lies within. The second will enter the second hut. And so forth.

The Master turned to the students, gray eyes piercing each in turn. I have coddled you for thirteen years. And now—a sudden gleeful grin lit his face—it is time for you to leave the nest. Remember the things I have taught you. His face just as suddenly went somber. They will keep you from dying for a while. And I say to you: learn for as long as you live. When you refuse to learn, death will soon follow. Now stand there. His hand pointed to the southern edge of the circle. The students obeyed, lining up side by side, observing the poles at the northern edge of the circle.

Their teacher continued, As you can see, each of these poles has a banner. The banners are of the kingdoms you will serve—Leo, Draco, and Pagos. The first of you to reach the poles has his or her pick. The second chooses between the other two. And, of course, the last gets the last.

He approached the waiting students and there stabbed the end of his staff into the earth. Now it is time for the giving of your true names.

The gnarled staff leaned outward toward the girl student. Tamra, you are one with nature. Your mystic power rivals my own. I name you Tempest.

The staff leaned toward the boy on the right. Corbet, you use your fighting art and mystic power in unison. I name you Shadow.

Now the staff leaned toward the boy on the left. Hayden, you use your power to fuel your battle rage. I name you Wrath.

Shadow snorted. Wrath sent him an angry glance.

I bid you all farewell. The Master's hand lifted in front of him. Once I leave the circle, the trial begins. The hand fell, and he disappeared from sight.

Wrath, with dexterity unusual in one so strong, bent double and grabbed Tempest's ankle. With one fluid motion, he flung her like a rag doll. The back of her head hit Shadow square in the face. The impact burst his nose and knocked him off his feet. The two landed in a heap near the edge of the forest, Shadow bloodied and unconscious, Tempest stunned but otherwise intact.

It was Wrath's turn to laugh. Looks like I get my pick. I never knew what the Master saw in you anyway. He strolled over to them. You're worthless, pathetic, and weak. He spat in Tempest's face. Grabbing his banner of choice and his rucksack, he left.

Tempest rallied her senses. Head pounding, she rolled off Shadow and got to her knees. Quickly, she undid the lacings of his tunic and pulled it open, laying bare his upper body. Running her hands over his tanned skin and well-defined muscles, she willed energy into him as she probed for injuries. Her hands went to either side of his neck, turning his head gently side to side. Satisfied, she ran her fingers into long raven-black hair to his scalp. She found no injury there.

All's good so far, she thought with relief. Now for his poor face. The usually handsome features were distorted, swollen, and covered with blood. His nose was laid to one side, and his face was beginning to bruise. Tempest removed her water flask from her belt, popped out the cork, and poured some water into her hand. The blue of her eyes grew darker in color as she summoned the healing energy and directed it into the water she was holding. She poured the water over Shadow's face. Swiftly, she grabbed his nose between her thumb and forefinger and pulled. There was an audible snap as the bones moved back into place. His left eye flew open, the other too swollen to manage, and a small groan escaped his throat.

Tempest stared intently into a hazel eye shot through with red. Listen well before you pass out again. I will try to catch up with Wrath and make him pay dearly for this. You rest now and come when you can.

The last thing Shadow saw was Tempest running to the banners, collecting one, and running into the forest. Darkness claimed him once more.

*****

The Dracons heard the spell singing through the air. Shouts of Take cover! rang out, but there was no cover to be found. The blast hit. Sergeant Lance looked up just in time to see the enemy line erupt in flame. It barely touched us, he thought, baffled for a moment. Then he realized what must have happened. He had seen the captain running toward the enemy sorcerer; the sorcerer must have turned the spell on the advancing threat, not noticing how close the captain was to Pagon lines. Not like an Elite to panic. If the others are as ill-trained, we may yet survive this, Lance thought, as wild laughter burst from his lips. The laughter abruptly died as he noticed the nine figures at the far end of the battlefield.

Rayus, we need you now!

No sooner had the words left his mouth than he saw the half-

ling thief leap off the stone fortress wall, jumping from one unseen projection to another rapidly to land unhurt forty feet below. The palisade gates burst open as the spectral knight charged through. The mechanist rolled out an odd machine with a long metal tube attached to the front and blasting powder packed into the back.

The mystic warrior and the assassin appeared suddenly beside the sergeant, startling him. Looking up, Lance saw the bowmaster at the top of the fort wall. The master archer drew his bow, an arrow appearing on the string; magical arrows began raining down on the enemy soldiers near the palisade—fire, ice, lightning, poison. The wizard, conjurer, and sorcerer strode through the gates, the gems on Rayus's staff shimmering to life. The old wizard pointed his staff toward the sky and its approaching storm. He began to glow slightly, his white hair flowing out behind him in the wind. The conjurer, Ryza, was animating dead soldiers, friend and foe alike. Their eyes glowed an eerie green, revealing the wind elementals inside them.

Kill the Pagons, she commanded.

The undead soldiers, numbering in the hundreds, advanced to attack the Pagons, some of whom tried to turn and flee, to no avail. Under this massive onslaught, the remaining enemy fell in short order. In a sudden moment of silence, the undead straightened and stood waiting.

You will now obey Sergeant Lance, Ryza commanded. They couldn't have heard her voice at that distance, but it didn't matter.

On your order, Rayus called to the sergeant.

Lance raised his sword then let it fall to point at the Pagon Elite. He yelled to his remaining men, the undead, and the Dracon Elite, Charge!

At once, Lucas, the Dracon sorcerer, placed a shield so large it covered the fortress wall and half the battlefield. The assassin, Baelin, vanished in a cloud of smoke; he reappeared near the Pagon Elite, just outside the bombardment. Reaper, the mystic warrior, materialized beside him. Reaper immediately began raining down elemental energy, while Baelin ran in slightly closer to throw poisoned daggers. Both Elite weaved and dodged enemy retaliation.

The battlemage, Hamil, let loose a lightning bolt that speared out a hundred feet in front of him. Simultaneously, Rayus, the glow around him abruptly intensifying, caused lightning bolts to strike in rapid succession at the Pagons at the southern end of the battlefield.

The mechanist lit the powder on his contraption; a barrage of small cannonballs hit the far end of the field and exploded in a cloud of shrapnel.

Good girl, Pepper, Kambyl said, gently patting the contraption.

Sardis, the spectral knight, had gained unnatural speed, outpacing the infantry, but came to an abrupt halt at the edge of a huge crater where Pagon Elite had been. Ryza's elemental undead began falling into the hole, marching onward until she realized. She moved forward to command them to retreat a short distance and then released them. Dracon soldiers arrived shortly after, coming to a stop perforce. A cheer went up.

Some threat they were! one man shouted.

When I saw 'em, I nearly wet myself, another admitted.

Rayus, making his way through the crowd, lifted his voice over their laughter to warn, Do not let your guard down. Such as we are not defeated so easily.

An elated soldier turned to him. Calm yourself, Master Rayus. Can you not see that nothing could have survived this?

The old wizard shook his head. They are our counterparts. Trained by the same masters, having the same powers, fighting the same battles, surviving them all.

Sergeant Lance put his hand gently on the Elite leader's shoulder. Master Rayus, if you believe they are still alive, what should we do?

All felt a humming in the air. Lucas quickly tried to enlarge his shield, but the earth exploded once more.

The Pagon sorcerer, still hidden in the woods, viewed his work after the fires died down a little. Satisfied, he headed across the battlefield toward Pagos. A few steps later, he stopped at a sound behind him. He turned to see the Dracon spectral knight, massive sword in hand, charging with enspelled speed, trailing smoke and embers. The sorcerer cast a protective shield around himself. He began readying a spell, waiting for the spectral knight to attack. The knight jumped instead, as fast and straight as an arrow, an impossible feat for a normal man. When he hit the shield, it dispersed almost instantly, the knight passing through with little resistance. The sorcerer felt the power of the runes the knight had cast upon himself and saw his mistake, too late. The huge man hit the Pagon head-on, grabbed him by the throat, dragged him up, and held him at arms' length. Dazed by the impact, the sorcerer could do nothing to defend himself.

Through gritted teeth, Sardis growled, Death is too good for you.

He slowly slid his sword through the sorcerer's heart then flung the body to the side with disgust. Glancing at the smoking battlefield where his friends lay dead, or so he thought, rage rose in him. The knight ran for the trail leading to Pagos.

The mechanist, still just outside the gates, staggered when the terrible explosion hit. When he saw Sardis emerge from the fire at a run, he was amazed. Kambyl looked to a pile of burning bodies, praying to any god he'd ever heard of to let him see more of his team appear. After long minutes of fading hope, he was unable to stand still any longer. He ran down the battlefield to the piles of corpses. Avoiding the fires, he began carrying out bodies, laying them side by side in the field, hoping he would not find anyone he knew in that pile of horror.

Eventually, however, he came to one corpse partially enshrouded in a burned robe, saw familiar sigils, and knew it was Lucas, his friend. Well, former friend now, Kambyl thought, grief darkening his sight for a moment. Then he sniffed mightily, wiped away tears, and continued his work.

*****

More exhausted than he'd ever been in his life, Wrath finally made it to the base of Sapphire Mountain. Two steps to get here, he thought. Farther than I've ever gone. How will I make it to the top? He leaned against a boulder for a while until he could breathe without gasping. He squared his shoulders and started up the slope to the mountain path. For a moment, the rock behind him showed two deep handprints. Then it fell to dust.

The black maw of a cave yawned to his left. Maybe it goes through the mountain. He changed direction, ending up at the entrance. The ground inside was broken but would be easy enough to walk over. A while later, he saw daylight ahead of him. As the cave floor was smoother here, he was able to break into a run, eventually emerging into woods. The trees looked disappointingly like the ones inside the Nest. He glanced up the cliff face then walked farther out to see the mountaintop. The Master had made his three students climb the mountain once every year; Wrath had thought that the most useless task of all the mostly useless work they had had to do.

I'm never going to step again. That was Shadow's thing, he thought with revulsion. The one thing he was good at. He glanced upward again. I don't want to slog all that way on foot. The freshening wind blew his hair back suddenly. Storm coming. Don't want it to catch me halfway up.

He paced about for a few minutes indecisively. He wasn't used to not knowing exactly what to do. He imagined Tempest and Shadow—when they woke up, ha ha—being at the top of the mountain, gathering their weapons, starting down…

They'll have to come by here eventually. He ran up the mountain path enough to turn and see down over the treetops. Ah, there's a good, clear spot. He ran back