The Rekindled Flame: Dythea Dynasty

By Hunter Frens

Peace is impossible. Every Dytheian knew that.

Death and violence were constant on Dythea, and times of peace were rare and brief.

After a devastating war between the Thryian Confederation and the Hyrcanian Imperium, the longest recorded treaty was signed. But after forty years, war between the two empires was rekindled.

With the war came uncertainty. Uncertainty of survival, of victory, and of loyalty. Now would be the time to test the mettle of every warrior, especially the young recruits who had never had a true taste of war. Their resilience and determination could save their lives. Or their weakness and fear could be their undoing.

In this deadly life, every warrior now had to pledge their life to sacrifice. The sacrifice of life, limb, and soul.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Fulton Books, Inc.
• Release date: Jul 19, 2023
• ISBN: 9798887316697

Book preview

Table of Contents

Title

Copyright

Prelude

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Epilogue

About the Author

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The Rekindled Flame

Dythea Dynasty

Hunter Frens

Copyright © 2023 Hunter Frens

All rights reserved

First Edition

Fulton Books

Meadville, PA

Published by Fulton Books 2023

ISBN 979-8-88731-668-0 (paperback)

ISBN 979-8-88731-669-7 (digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Prelude

Dythea, a dark, deadly planet. Death and destruction plagued its surface. It was the year 772, and war was constant. Barbarians raided cities and killed travelers. Pirates roamed the seas, attacking ships and raiding small cities along the coasts, and many empires rose and fell in violent conquests. Two such empires, the Thryia Confederation and the Hyrcanian Imperium, had long been bitter enemies, constantly fighting in wars that left thousands dead. The last war had seen the Confederation finally repel the Imperium from their land and establish a beachhead on the Hyrcanian Peninsula. Although a peace treaty had been signed between the two empires, tensions still ran high. Forty years of peace did little to cool the fiery embers of war, and now, in a small village on the eastern coast of the Hyrcanian Peninsula, the fires of war were ready to relight.

Chapter 1

Fylan Derat walked along the northern cliffs of the Mystic Mountains. The cliff overlooked Fylan's village, called Tyria. As he walked along the cliff, his sheathed serpent sword banged against his side. The orbiting planet, called Fyre, cast a hazel glow across the night sky. Fylan typically walked along the cliff at night. He enjoyed the cool breeze that blew in from the ocean. Not far ahead on the dirt trail that climbed up the mountain was a rocky outcropping that provided a nice area to sit and look out over Tyria Village.

Fylan used to sit on the outcropping every night when he was younger. However, since then, he had gained numerous responsibilities. During the day, he was one of the village's watchmen; and every other night, he trained recruits. Fylan believed this was because his superiors did not think he was skilled enough, or strict enough, to oversee the training of the regular soldiers. His recruits were typically his age or younger. At any time, he would instruct five to ten recruits. Once they passed his training, they would go on to train as actual soldiers.

At twenty-one years old, Fylan was a trained warrior. He had been raised to fight, as most boys were. His father had begun training him at a young age, teaching him how to fight with knives and, later, swords. When Fylan was twelve, both his parents were killed by a group of bandits as they were returning from the city of Rycia in the south. He was then taken in by the local military troop and was officially trained as one of them. Fylan was fairly average in height, standing at five feet seven. He had wavy, brown hair that never seemed to take a certain position on his head. Fylan had never made many friends. Upon being taken in by the village garrison, his time was filled with training and various military exercises.

He stopped to look out over the village from the outcropping. Unsheathing his sword, he inspected it. A slightly curved blade, the serpent sword was standard for trainees. It was a poorly designed sword with longer, sharper, and more elegant swords being used in combat. Fylan sighed, frustrated at his evident shaming.

Still upset about the sword, huh? a young female voice said from behind him. He turned around to find Jassmi Flyoi, one of his current recruits, walking up the dirt path. She was a fairly muscular woman with a slender body. Her goldish-blonde hair was tied back in a bun. Her emerald eyes were warm and inviting, but Fylan knew there was a coldness hidden behind them. Jassmi was a very kind, young woman, yet she was a highly skilled fighter. Her family and background were unknown to Fylan, which surprised him as Tyria was a fairly small village. He wasn't even sure if she had any family left.

Fylan smiled at her, resheathing his sword into his scabbard. No, just reflecting.

She raised her eyebrows and looked at him incredulously. Yeah, sure. She blinked and sighed in disbelief. Well, shall we get to the Ring? she said, smiling sweetly at Fylan. Fylan nodded and walked with her up the path to the top of the hill.

The training yard was a large circular arena at the top of Mystic Peaks, typically called the Ring by the recruits. The Ring housed various training equipment including straw-training dummies, archery targets, weapon caches, and the infamous pit. The pit was a hole in the center of the Ring in which the recruits would fight. The first combatant to draw blood would win. The Ring was positioned on the middle peak of the three smaller and flatter mountain tops on the Mystic Peaks.

The Mystic Peaks was a mountain range that stretched along the southern edge of the village, from the Valley of Rycia to the Straken Sea, then stretched south along the coastline toward the city of Rycia. Both the valley and the city were named after the leader of the Thryian Fourth Army Legion, Ralto Rycia, who led the Thryia Confederation to victory during the Battle of Haprian in 732.

Since the conclusion of that war, both the Confederation and the Imperium had lived in an uneasy peace. Neither side trusted the other, and both sides wanted to expand into the other's territory. It had been forty years since the war, and despite both sides knowing that it was only a matter of time before war broke out once again, the Confederation seemed ill-prepared. Only a garrison army was stationed in the city of Rycia while at least three Hyrcanian armies were stationed in the Hyrcanian Peninsula.

Fylan found this to be concerning, and he knew many soldiers in the area did as well. If the Hyrcanians did attack, the Thryians would be vastly outnumbered.

*****

Gart Farsi stood in his watchtower along the shore's cliffside. His job was to watch for any incoming ships and warn the village of their approach. It was getting to be nearly midnight on the Hyrcanian Peninsula, yet Gart felt no edge of tiredness. His many years of standing watch had gifted him the ability to remain awake at such late hours. Though it seemed that was the only gift he had been granted.

The sounds of swords clashing broke through the silence of the night as the recruits trained in the Ring. Gart remembered when he was a recruit. Youth and exuberance had run through him then but not anymore. That had been thirty years ago, and Gart had grown rusty and had allowed laziness to settle in. He had joined because he had been expecting war to break out again with the Hyrcanians, but that war had never come. Instead, he spent his time standing guard in the village or standing watch over the sea.

Gart let out a bored sigh and lifted his spyglass to his eye. He scanned across the horizon, seeing nothing but the dark blue ocean waves. He was about to put the spyglass back down on its little shelf when he spotted a glimpse of something. A shadowy shape seemed to wave in the wind. He quickly raised the spyglass to his eye again, certain that he had seen a ship. His suspicions were confirmed a moment later when a ship's mast appeared over the horizon.

As Gart watched, trying to identify the ship, another mast appeared to the right of the first and then a third appeared to the left. More masts appeared over the horizon, hardly visible in the night's darkness. Gart suddenly felt his heart pounding in his chest. Looking frantically for a flag, he scoured over the ships with his spyglass. Finally, the green tint of a Hyrcanian flag grabbed his attention. His heart began pounding harder and harder. Grabbing the string for the bell on the roof of the watchtower above him, he rang the alarm bell, signaling an attack. The bell rang out loudly above him, temporarily deafening him and nearly drowning out his very thoughts.

Finally! he thought. Finally, I will get to fight! He grabbed his Tyrung saber from his scabbard and turned to join the defense at the beach. A second bell ringing from the northern gates of the village stopped him in his tracks. The watchman at the gate had spotted an army coming from the north. A worried yet excited grin spread over his face. This was going to be a good fight.

*****

From on top of the mountain, Fylan heard the warning bell ringing and immediately halted the duel between two of his recruits, Char Davis and Jalk Balkens. We are being attacked from the sea. Grab your weapons! Pirates, Fylan thought. They've been raiding cities all along the coasts, and if it were the Hyrcanians, they would have attacked from land. The thought had just barely crossed his mind when a second bell rang from the village's northern gate. Fylan sneered. It's the Hyrcanians! They've broken the peace.

Fear flashed through his mind. If the Hyrcanians were attacking from both land and sea, they could easily be attacking with two full armies. He pushed these thoughts from his mind and focused on giving orders. He turned to his recruits. Davis, Balkens, Sythin, go down and reinforce the village gates! Flyoi, Baski, Rinchi, come with me to the beach! The distant yells and sounds of arrows and ballistae firing rose to the top of the mountain.

Fylan and his recruits put on the thin metal chest plates that were stored at the Ring and started down the mountain. As they descended the mountain, the sounds of battle grew louder.