Law of Might: A Dark Epic Fantasy Novel

By Joshua Landeros

Sinhar was a boy when the people of Sebel rose up in revolt against their former overlords. Through much bloodshed and strife, their lands truly became their own after a century of occupation. However, in this new era of peace and long sought freedom, tribulation rears its ugly head. Sinhar is finally old enough to join the Mystic Order, an ancient fighting force that teaches magic and molds the future protectors of the homeland. Sinhar has dreamed of joining their ranks all his life. It’s time to turn this dream into reality. In order to do so, he’ll have to overcome his enemies and own personal demons. If that wasn’t enough, his classmates are all vying to be the best. The competition will be merciless.

Unbeknownst to the earnest cadets, secrets lurk within the Mystic Order. Pacts have been made, archaic law rules, and alliances are stronger than blood ties. The next trial brings power, but nothing can be gained without a price.

Law of Might serves as a prequel to the Pantheon series but also stands entirely on its own. Fans of adventure, fantasy, and horror rejoice! This edition includes:

Trial of Roses (#1), Trial of the Lake (#2), Trial of Mettle (#3)

• Language: English
• Publisher: Joshua Landeros
• Release date: Jul 24, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215723913

Joshua Landeros

Greetings, everyone Welcome to my humble little page where I am building my self-publishing business. Ever since I was in grade school I loved the art of writing. As a compulsive TV/movie/book addict, I always wanted to tell my own stories. So I started working on my first novel way back in high school, several really, but none that pleased me. Finally, I picked a story I believed would connect with people and also test my limits as a writer. Thus, my first book "Reverence" was born. Ever since I discovered the wonders of self-publishing, I realized we live in an age where authors do not have to beg at the feet of big publishers to see the light of day. Though it takes A LOT of hard work and dedication (and unmentionable amounts of coffee), I find writing my stories probably the most fulfilling experience in my life. This page will detail my works as they are published, starting with "Reverence Volume 1" which was published early 2016 but was re-released in December. My books touch on a lot of topics that I find relevant in our world today, among them war, poverty, political apathy, family, all wrapped in engrossing sci-fi epics with plenty of action and touches of humor. That being said, let the books speak for themselves and check them out. Please like, share, and thank you for all the support guys!

Book preview

There was, oh, what there was in the oldest of days, ages, and times across the world known as Avah. Across the world known as Avah, there are vast oceans and six continents. Yuna, the arid continent known for its vast dunes and desert oasis kingdoms, lies in the west. The continent of Jingseh resides in the far east. It is a land of gargantuan forests, legendary dragon riders, and the kingdom of Theine. At the southern pole of Avah is the Wasteland continent, a land so cold it is uninhabitable. At the northern pole is Ilea, a similarly chilled continent but home to the Ilean people who boast powerful magic. Some believe it to be black magic under the guise of long-lost knowledge. In the warmer regions of the south is my homeland, Sebel.

The Jingsehi ruled over my homeland for one hundred cycles, collectively known as the Clouded Centenary. I was but a boy when my people rose to face down the dragon riders. Blood and darma were sacrificed by all. Families disintegrated. Soldiers fell in droves to dragon fire and Jingsehi magic. But all this struggle bore fruit. The occupation came to an end at Age 975. In the cycles after, the people of Sebel sought to rebuild what they’d lost. Others sought purpose beyond. I shared a vision most my age did: membership within the Mystic Order. The mighty wielders of magic went toe to toe with Jingsehi mages and royalty. The secrets they now safeguard can only be wielded by those willing to bear the weight of being a servant of Sebel and an agent of Vah. I stand ready to do my part and embrace this duty with zeal.

Prologue

Age 977 P.X.D.~Giganato prefecture, Sebel

An eight-cycle-old Dahan sat on a log by a creek. The shade of a towering weeping tree enshrouded her. It was a spectacularly sunny day in early Enno. The day did not carry the heat of the subsequent month of Sullah. A tepid wind made weeping tree leaves dance around her as others landed atop the slow-moving water. The adolescent girl took up a smooth pebble in her gray hand. It couldn’t possibly be the same stone as before, with so many hundreds lining the shore, but she believed it was. She knew this place all too well. This tributary became a part of the much larger and stronger River Nenca. On this very shore just three cycles ago, Dahan had seen her sister for the last time. They’d seen the plumes of smoke rising over the trees and wetlands from their elevated position. It was the telltale sign of a dragon rider attack.

The Hollow Wars were over now. There were endless celebrations and talks of where Sebel was going next. Just a few meters from her, a rowdy group of boys played a game of keep-away along the riverbank. They crossed through mud and sometimes into the shallow water, all in a bid to take the rubber ball away from the boy in the lead. Dahan barely heard them. Her thoughts drifted back to memories of her sister, as they always did. The southern Sebelians who’d traveled north to fight had all returned to their respective prefectures. Dahan had waited faithfully at this spot for two cycles straight, consistently leaving the orphanage every day at the crack of dawn just to be here. Some insisted she stop. Most let her continue the ritual, blindly hoping she’d find the joy of Vah’s light again.

Hey, look out! a voice cried.

Dahan turned to the voice and saw the dirt-colored ball coming at her face. She stopped the projectile with a single hand, the ball dripping with muddy water down her forearm. Her cold eyes looked over the dozen or more Sebelian boys gathered not far from her.

Most were shirtless, dressed only in loincloths. They were a mix of ages, some younger than her and some a few cycles older. Dahan was none impressed by their scrawny physiques. They stopped a few meters away, talking among themselves; finally, one made his way to the front. Unlike the rest, he wore a purple tunic that stopped at the ankles. A blue face mask went from his nose to his neck, and his black hair was wild and curly.

Once before her, he pulled down the mask, revealing a boy her age with a big smile and dark brown eyes.

Nice catch. My apologies.

Dahan hurled the ball back. The boy used two hands to catch it and was still knocked back a couple of steps. Instead of irritation, she saw his eyes light up with wonder.

You’re not half bad. Why don’t you come play with us?

I’d rather not, Dahan snapped.

Looking over the boy’s shoulder, she noticed the others growing restless. Finally, one of the stockier boys stepped forward, his hair cropped short and his cheeks round.

Let’s go, Sinhar! You the leader or not? the thickset boy demanded.

A Sebelian girl stepped forth; her long black hair rested on her shoulders and trailed down her back. Her fearsome eyes didn’t take away from her warm smile, complete with large dimples. As was a tradition in her family, a red stripe was painted under her eyes and over the bridge of her nose, running perpendicular across the natural stripes that marked the face of every Sebelian, starting at the innermost corners of the eye and trailing down like black tears. The Ensur line was among the earliest raiders into Jingsehi-occupied territory. She was taller than most boys and as bruised as all the rest. Her yinmar skin skirt was loose enough not to hinder her strides.

What’s taking ya?! Don’t go talkin’ her up just because you needed to catch your breath! Nabir Ensur proclaimed. The other players all nodded and yelled out their agreement.

The leader eyed his challengers. This is your chance, Chun! To the strongest!

The former leader punted the ball. Dahan couldn’t help but feel slightly impressed by the power behind his kick. The ball soared over the group, and all went chasing after it. Chun went for it, but Nabir tackled him out of the way in her mad dash. As his friend spiraled into the creek, Sinhar laughed aloud. The splashes and shouts started up again with a reignited fervor. Dahan’s brow furrowed.

What’re you doin’? You forfeitin’?

Yeah, I guess. My brother always said you help a Sebelian in need. So, I guess that’s what I’m doing.

The young girl scoffed. Who says I needed help?

Maybe it’s me who needs help, the boy teased with a smile. May I sit?

Yeah, she replied cautiously. Dahan scooted as the boy joined her on the log. He made sure to lift his cloak to avoid sitting on it.

Dahan, right? I’m Sinhar Guia.

And how do you know of me?

How could I not recognize the sister of the great Vira Imitarian? My brother fought at the Battle of the Plains just like she did. I heard she didn’t make it back. She certainly earned her place in the Perennial Plains. Vira was a fierce warrior who had the Jingsehi shaking in their boots. It took everything they had just to stop her. Vah was strong within her spirit.

Dahan’s anger simmered. She felt a hollowness in her chest and focused on the creek. The sparkling water was beautiful. The girl forced down her emotions. She had heard enough songs of praise for Vira to last a lifetime. The last thing she wanted was more sympathy.

My sister left me at this very spot. Now I’m alone. She… Dahan fought back tears. She refused to let weakness overtake her. She shouldn’t have gone at all. It’s not fair.

Sinhar paused thoughtfully before replying. His young face seemed lost momentarily as he examined the creek's shimmering waters. With the boys’ game moving downstream, the small fish had returned.

I bet she was thinkin’ the same thing as my brother. He’d just returned from battle in the deep south before heading north. I begged him not to go. Told him he’d done enough for Sebel. He told me he had to keep fighting to give me a chance at a peaceful life. The Clouded Centenary is finally over, so I’d say they did their jobs well. It’s as Asum Ram said, you must be ready to sacrifice everything for Sebel if it is to be free. And it is now. All thanks to them.

Dahan thought about the words of Asum Ram. North and South had joined, just as Asum Ram had foretold. She felt her spite melt away to a reluctant pride. Now, for the first time in over a hundred cycles, every Jingsehi had been driven off the continent, even as far as Kimsee Isle in the Gulf of Lutan. Thinking of all the sacrifices made to get this far, she felt reassured of what had to be done. The pain was still there but wasn’t as raw as it had been before.

What of your brother? Did he make it back?

He made it back, but he’s not...the same. I don’t know if the real him is ever coming back.

That admission reverberated through Dahan’s body. She resolved not to pry any further. She’d seen the Sebelians broken by the cycles of war. They saw the horrors of the battlefield and were never the same. They could no longer hunt. Sometimes they rambled about the past in excess. Others hid away from the prefecture. They were the ones who, as they said, only spoke to Vah and the trophies they’d brought back from the various battles. They didn’t believe in peace and warned that all the Jingsehi would return to reclaim the continent. Thinking of all those lost souls, Dahan was moved to stand.

I bet I can take the ball away from the leader before you do. Loser has to dig latrines for the hunters tomorrow!

Dahan spat in her palm and extended her hand. Sinhar looked confused for a moment but then mirrored the smile on Dahan’s face as he stood with her. He spat in his hand, and the two shook on it.

I hope you like the smell of shit in the morning because you ain’t winning.

Dahan smirked. Silly boy. If you even get close, it’ll be because I don’t want to embarrass you in front of your friends.

The two took off down the stream. Fish scattered as water splashed Dahan’s ankles and face. That day, she remembered what it meant to feel alive.

Typical hara, the preferred mount of the Sebelian people (illustrated by Hendyoga)

Chapter 1

Age 988 P.X.D. ~Yungan prefecture, Sebel

’Twas the tail end of the month of Sullah. The Yungan prefecture was the last that resided on the southern side of Lake Anard. Beyond it were the likes of Dabomir and, farther still, the ruins of what was once known as the great city of Muruid. Here in Yungan, much of the land was covered in grass past the hip. Hiding among the grass was a hunter. His name was Sinhar Guia. On this momentous day, the sky was consumed by thick gray clouds that lightly drizzled the area in a warm summer rain.

Sinhar wore nothing but a loincloth, exposing his gray Sebelian skin and the black seed-like markings that ran along his legs, arms, and shoulders. Like all Sebelians, he had a black line under each eye. His curly hair that he wore long and full, unlike most from his home prefecture of Giganato, clung to his face in the rainfall. He was glad for it, not that it made the day much cooler. Storm or sunshine, it didn’t matter in the end. Sinhar would’ve endured it all for this opportunity. Today was indeed special, for today was Sinhar’s third attempt at a sacred hunt. He came to a sudden halt, focusing on keeping his breathing steady and silent as he spotted his quarry ahead, standing in plain sight.

A bipedal animal, just under two meters at the hip, stalked through the grass, crouching parallel to the ground. It was known as a marsh bolt. If not for its horizontal posture, it would stand half again as tall as any Sebelian. Its smooth, scaly skin glistened in the sun in shades of brown and green. Its most notable feature was the thousands of osteoderms running along its neck and back, down to the tip of its tapered tail. These bone formations were aligned in parallel rows and extended to the upper hide. Those along the back were flat, while the hide osteoderms along its sides were pitted. The reptile had four fingered clawed hands and a head that resembled a green-scaled featherless bird, complete with a minute beak.

The marsh bolt strolled among the sew trees, just a fraction taller than the lanky strider, with slim, dark green leaves packed closely together. The marsh bolt had no interest in those. It was here for the lumpy fruit that dangled so alluringly. The reptile sniffed each fruit scrupulously, passing on most in a few seconds. It was on the lookout for ripe sew tree fruit, hoping to beat out the herds of yinmar that would come in the cooler weeks of Daimo. However, because of this early timing, most of the sew tree fruit had not ripened to their crimson red. Even so, the fruit bathed the area in a haze of foul order.

The muggy air crept into Sinhar’s lungs. He found himself hesitating as he crouched in the tall grass. In his seventeen cycles, he remembered only one goal: acceptance into the Mystic Order of Giganato. The first step of many in this process was completing the sacred hunt. His mother had told him to wait until he reached his twentieth cycle, but Sinhar had refused; he was determined to fulfill his lifelong dream. He’d failed his first attempt due to overlooking the wind direction. His prey smelled him coming from kilometers away. He never got close. The second had ended with him grazing a yinmar’s hide with his spear, only to be nearly trampled by its massive hooves. The sacred hunt could be done during any season, but it could only be taken once a cycle. The elders of the Mystic Order thoroughly reviewed each of these solo hunts. If he finally succeeded, it marked the beginning of many training cycles, all for a one-way ticket into the Mystic Order of Giganato.

Anxiety rocked him. At eleven meters, he was playing his shot close. The young man envisioned coming home, once more a failure. His mother would undoubtedly embrace him and serve him a fine meal, assuring him he’d do better in the next cycle. His father would say only one thing, You didn’t prepare enough. Sinhar turned the anger inward. No more, Sinhar told himself. It ends here.

Sinhar arched his arm back for the throw. His spear haft was composed of wood, but the tip was the polished crimson gem, kymir. As he rose from his hiding spot, the marsh bolt whipped its head around, alerted to his presence. Sinhar hurled his weapon regardless. His aim was perfect, but the agile creature dodged it easily, and the spear gouged into the soft earth. The marsh bolt didn’t look back and darted off with incredible speed, its lengthy tail a perfect counterbalance to the weight of its heavily armored body.

No way in hell would Sinhar let it end here. He whistled loudly as he ran to pull his spear from the mud. From behind a sew tree by the lakeshore came his hara, Sun-Eater. Long, curved necks held their small heads with a flattened bill, not unlike a duck’s. Sun-Eater was a southern hara, sporting dull green feathers marked with brown stripes that became a darker, emerald shade at the tail tip and vestigial wings. The crest atop his head curved upward into a pointed end front and back. Sinhar climbed atop his mount and took after their quarry.

Hara were larger than marsh bolts, and their long legs made their speed comparable. The perfect mount for battle as well as hunts. Sun-Eater fervently pursued the marsh bolt, unhindered by the tall grass. Upon his saddle, Sinhar tracked his target. The bony reptile lived up to its name, darting between sew trees and leaping over logs without slowing for a second. As they got farther from the lakeshore, sedges became more common. These grass-like plants were lime green with orange flowers. Many were trampled underfoot by Sun-Eater’s three-toed feet.

Sun-Eater could get no closer than a few meters. Even if he could close the distance, hara were herbivores like marsh bolts. They sported no ferocious teeth or claw-tipped fingers for gripping prey. It was all up to Sinhar now. The spear had failed him once already, so he decided to forgo it in favor of his bow, which would take extreme precision amid the chase. Sinhar calmed his breathing as the increasingly torrential shower from above pelted his face. The muscles in his arms tensed as he took a deep breath and drew his bowstring taut, the fletching brushing against his cheek. Keeping his eyes glued to his target, he slowly exhaled and released.

The projectile pierced the marsh bolt in the back of the neck. The bone armor stood no chance against refined kymir. Sinhar’s target tumbled through the grass, legs kicking wildly into the air as its tail thrashed. Sun-Eater maintained distance while Sinhar nocked another arrow. Within a second, another arrow had pierced the marsh bolt’s exposed chest, penetrating vital organs without the thick osteoderm armor to slow it down. The lengthy tail wriggled again, but it lay motionless on the grass floor within moments.

Sinhar froze and stared in astonishment. He couldn’t believe he’d finally done it. The marsh bolt lay dead at his bare feet. Only the incessant rain reminded him this was reality. The young Sebelian let out a yell of triumph. His heart should’ve settled with the prey now put down, but he felt ecstatic. He let out another howl. Sinhar turned to Sun-Eater, his sharpened canines exposed by his proud grin. His loyal hara peered at him strangely and refused to come closer; its small brown eyes darted about as the feathered steed sniffed the air.

What is it, Sun-Eater? It was then Sinhar heard the rustle of leaves. He turned back to his kill, which had fallen close to a copse of tall sew trees when the branches were suddenly pushed aside.

Towering more than a head above the sew trees was a creature Sinhar had only read about. Like the hara, it had stubby, flightless wings and a long neck, all covered in fine gray feathers. The head was massive with a vast, black beak that ended in a broad curve with pointed corners, much like a hatchet. The lower jaw was slightly smaller than the top, with a smoother, rounded curve. It stood on tall featherless legs, covered in black scales, that ended in three toes tipped with sharp talons, though it only walked on two. The innermost toe was elevated off the ground, extending a long talon with its distinct sickle shape that stood out from the others. The monster leveled its predatory gaze directly at Sinhar and his hara. Its green eyes seemed to smile menacingly. Sinhar stared in wonder.

A cutlass walker, he exclaimed in a choked whisper. According to his studies, few hunters had ever survived an encounter with one.

Sinhar raised his bow, struggling to keep his hands from trembling as the monstrous bird prepared to charge him. Those enormous feet could easily pin him down, rendering him utterly helpless as the huge sickle claw plunged into his torso and sliced his abdomen open. A bleating wail from Sun-Eater tore Sinhar’s gaze to the left. Another cutlass walker came in with that slow, cautious stride, enormous head held high. More inquisitive green eyes emerged in the rain from all directions. Junpa brained fool, Sinhar cursed himself. He counted seven more of these giant birds of terror.

Some were slightly shorter than others, making them less of a threat. They moved to surround him while an eighth hung back, striding like a general around the encirclement. It was the tallest of them, standing a head taller than all the rest. Tufts of blue feathers ran along the back of the head, marking her as the matriarch of the family unit. This cutlass walker would not attack until it was deemed necessary.

Sun-Eater bleated and stomped his feet. There was no opening to dart between. The only way to survive was to stand their ground. Sinhar spun around left and right, aiming at several of the cutlass walkers as they moved to close in. The threat of a kymir arrow was something these intelligent predators understood, but he knew he couldn’t keep them at bay forever. Their green eyes remained ignited with their ravenous intent. Sinhar knew from his studies that their instincts were to corral their prey, keeping it trapped until they could shred it apart with their talons, making it easier to devour. He watched his back constantly, sticking close to Sun-Eater, contemplating his next move.

Easy, boy, easy, Sinhar said calmly. The hara didn’t move to flee, refusing to abandon his partner.

Sinhar saw a flash of movement on his right flank and moved like lightning to aim. The charging feathered giant took an arrow to the chest, causing it to leap in shock. For such a large animal, it moved nearly as nimbly as a hara. It stumbled forward, its lengthy legs covering a remarkable distance, stretching out its long neck to snap at him as it fell. Sinhar jumped back to avoid it and fired again, launching an arrow into the lower beak right where it met the skull. Refined kymir split bone, and blood dribbled from the giant’s chest and beaked mouth. It toppled, but the other six tightened the circle in that instant. Sinhar ran on pure adrenaline, nocking another arrow in a heartbeat.

He was once more wheeling around wildly, attempting to aim in all directions at once to keep the beasts back. Despite his efforts, they slowly closed in, and their shadows engulfed Sinhar in darkness. Some more anxious birds stood on one foot, stretching their talon-ended toes in impatience. The matriarch kept her distance, lifting her head to see over the others. Sinhar realized there was no scaring them off. They were determined to feed and would eventually take him. One of the beasts raised its head to strike just as a series of screams sounded in the distance.

All cutlass walkers turned to the sound. A dozen hara were incoming, each one mounted by a Sebelian hunter. Between the bleating of the hara and the yelling of the hunters, the rain was all but drowned out. Sinhar looked away from the predators, staring in disbelief at his saviors. Leading the cavalry was a wide-shouldered young Sebelian in his late twenties with a bald head and thick beard. Sinhar recognized him as Turuk. He raised his spear above his head, bellowing like a crazed beast. Donned in his scaly poncho, he rode in without fear as his hara stomped through puddles. Not far behind him was Dahan. She was Sinhar’s age, with curly hair longer than his but just as wild, draped in a reptile hide poncho that matched Turuk’s. She charged with her spear pointed forward, roaring just as fiercely as the older men around her.

The cutlass walkers saw the wall of spears coming at them and backed away. Sinhar smiled and joined in their battle cry. The monstrous birds let out a series of screeches and bounded backward, some nearly trampling him as they scrambled away. As the cavalry closed the distance, the matriarch let out a squawk of her own. She lingered a moment as she stared down at the Sebelian hunters. Perhaps another day was what Sinhar saw in those eyes. Finally, the matriarch turned and fled, trailing the rest.

The hunting party surrounded Sinhar. Turuk, the tallest of them, leaped off his mount. A burly Sebelian who’d fought in the Hollow Wars in his teens, Turuk was the current leader of the Imitarian hunters, called so after the original leader, Vira Imitarian. A band of young hunters brought together by the war, they’d remained a unit long after. Turuk stared unreadably at Sinhar momentarily before grabbing his arm and raising it.

The boy’s done it! Turuk yelled. By Vah’s glow, he bagged two!

The hunters cheered along with him, and Sinhar returned his wet hair and joined them. He’d waited for cycles to hear those words. Trained since he could stand. The fruit was indeed sweet. Even in all that jubilation, Sinhar couldn’t help but notice that one rider never left their hara to hug or clap him on the back. Dahan smiled at Sinhar, even standing over his kill to see it for herself, but there was something to her supple gray face. Something told him that smile was forced. In the throes of the moment, Sinhar tucked it away in the corner of his mind.

Chapter 2

Giganato prefecture, Sebel

Thousands of kilometers to the east was the heartland of the Sebelian south. The Giganato prefecture was the fortress from which southern power emanated. It also had one of the largest populations within a prefecture, well over one hundred thousand. Several rivers ran through it, but enough land spread between these waterways to accommodate this populace. Tonight, a section of the swampland shined nearly as bright as the stars above. Tonight was a night of celebration.

Tall torches were stabbed into the soft earth, and several well-spaced bonfires added even more light. During the Hollow Wars, giving away one’s position so carelessly was unthinkable. Such a display would surely serve as a beacon to the Jingsehi dragon riders. During this age of peace, however, this prefecture celebrated many different events regularly. The solemn vow of their sacred leader, the Asum of Giganato, proclaimed they would not live the sheltered and cautious lives they did during the Hollow Wars and the overlapping Clouded Centenary.

Several people danced around one of these enormous bonfires while holding various animal bones.